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shadowbriar · 1 year ago

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Anthony Lockwood - If You’re Going to Break My Heart

Pairing : Anthony Lockwood x (she/her) TouchGifted!Reader Word Count : 5.8k. Warning : Blood. Minor character’s death. Panic attack. Possible OOC as I haven’t read the books. Angst, don’t sue me. Synopsis : The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues. Notes : Part II of I Love You So. I recommend listening to Inhaler - If You’re Gonna Break My Heart while reading. Thank you for giving the fic so much love and support, please don’t hate me as you reach the end of this fic. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Taglist: strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you. @nessa-stark @navznak28 @gwnwrites @archiveoftara @superpositvecloudshipper @cassiopeiia24 @wordsarelife @mellowarcadefun @ajordan2020 @a-candle-maker @obsessed-female @rambles-fanfic-trove @yokolesbianism

↞ I Love You So

“Anthony, I don’t like this.”

Lockwood drops his bag, carefully letting the sack fall off his shoulder. The heavy chain rattled as it came in contact with the ground. Her worried eyes tingles his heart, as if he couldn’t decide if he should be delighted to see how adorable she is right now or to take her worry seriously. She does have the tendency to be apprehensive at times.

She continues to express her worry but her words blur as if he was listening underwater. His brain was working itself hard to comprehend her sentences, to process whatever it is she was trying to tell him, and though he feels it in his heart that he knew what she wants and what she was saying, he still couldn’t compute the words she utters.

“We’ll be fine,” He finds himself says, mouth moving as if it has its own mind “We’ve been through this a hundred times, we’ll be alright. I promise to keep you safe.”

Her brows were still pinched, a small frown of disagreement displayed, but she remained quiet. Slowly yielding to his words and nodding in approval. She takes his hand, interlocking their fingers and guiding him inside the mansion.

Lockwood could see all the glowing traces on the floor as soon as they stepped in. He took out his rapier, ready to fight whatever is to come their direction. His breathing was getting shallow as fear started to crawl on his skin. Lockwood scrunches his nose, muttering to himself, everything will be alright.

But as he takes a step further, the sound of Lucy wailing in pain greets him. He turns to the source of sound, seeing Lucy kneeling and crying as she covers her ears with her hands.

Then another scream was heard. George was fighting ghosts just a few feet in front of him. Lockwood feels as though his feet were melting to the ground, unable to provide aid to any of his best friends, watching in horror as George fights for his life.

“Anthony,”

Now he turns to his right. She was sitting on the floor, leaning on the door frame with blood pooling around her. Her shirt was stained red. Her face is pale, gleaming from the sweat that is lacing her skin. Her right hand moves to his direction as if she was reaching for him. A futile attempt to eliminate their distance.

“No..” Lockwood mutters as panic sinks in “I’m coming. Stay with me, please, I’m coming!”

As he tries to reach her, a swarm of ghosts comes to his direction. He tries to fight them off, swinging his rapier in every direction as they just seem to be coming from everywhere. Lucy’s wail, George’s scream of help, and her trembling calls of his name become louder with each fought ghost. He wasn’t sure if he could save all of them, or any of them in that matter, but he would certainly die trying than to give in.

With the last breath of energy left in him, Lockwood drops to his knees and crawls to her. He reaches for her face, gently rubbing her cheeks to gain her attention but her eyes are vacant. Staring at him without a blink.

“No, no..” He chokes, crying and calling her name “Please, come back. I’m right here, please— I’m— Look at me, please. Hey, it’s me! It’s Anthony!”

Her still warm body was limp inside his embrace. He cries for her, screaming her name in hope that it would wake her somehow. His white shirt is now soaked red, marked by her blood.

Come back.

Please.

Lockwood jolts up from his bed, drenched in his own sweat as he tries to process his surroundings. His bedroom was dark, lit dimly by a candle by the wooden table. He lets out a relieved sigh, rubbing his eyes away from his own tears. This would be the third nightmare this week.

He peels off the blanket that was enveloping his body and puts his feet down from the bed. Lockwood stares on his bedside table. A new picture from earlier that day was framed and stood proudly. He was smiling, holding the most unattractive cake that George insists is a masterpiece while standing on his right, Lucy on his left. They were smiling brighter than the sun. They looked happy, whatever that word means these days, and truth be told he felt happy too then, but everyone could see the darker hue under his eyes and how dull his smile is compared to his best mates. This birthday was hollow.

It was his first birthday without her.

Lockwood stood from his bed and walked out of his room, finding himself gravitating to where she used to stay. He turns the door knob gently, as if afraid he would wake up anyone sleeping inside the vacant room, wincing as the door makes a creaking noise. He studies the room and pictures where her belongings used to be. He remembers the scattered jewelleries on the table, the pieces of chocolate wrappings by the bin, and the clothes hung behind the door.

He walks closer to the bed, resting his hand on the mattress and pretending to feel her lingering warmth. The scent of her sweet perfume that is now gone. Their pictures that used to decorate the walls were missing, leaving torn marks on the wall paint.

He let himself lay on the mattress. His eyes glued on the ceiling, thinking and imagining what she might be doing right now. Is she asleep? Is she caught in a book and lost track of time reading? Is she brewing a pot of hot tea to help ease her mind? Is she thinking of him the way he’s thinking of her?

The boy rests an arm over his eyes. He let out a long defeated sigh. There’s no one he could share his burden with now. No one would understand what he’s going through. Even if he tries to talk to someone, he knew that he could never be as transparent to a soul as he was with her. The weight that has been suffocating him gets worse each night and Lockwood wasn’t sure how long he could keep his feigned persona.

Please, come back.

—-

Lockwood knew that the job would have some complications. There was no way that the Prime Minister would only hire their agency for such a gallant event. The Ball was too important to be guarded just by three teenagers. No matter how proficient Lockwood would think his colleagues are, securing such a prestigious function would require more than a handful of elite agents.

“Kipps,” Lockwood greets as they enter the hall “Fancy seeing you here.”

Kipps smiled amusedly, turning to face the younger boy with such glee that it alarms him, “Dare I say that I’m glad to see you here, Lockwood.”

Lockwood shows a thin smile.

This job was a rather different mission than the ones they’ve done before. Instead of cleaning a mansion or securing a relic, the team was tasked to maintain the stability of the government’s event. With the ghost epidemic persisting and countries collapsing, the government is planning to hold an evening party to gather the powerful men and women from different countries to talk about their economic alliances. A couple of days ago, the government officials received intel that a certain group of radicals were planning to crash the Ball by releasing sources. Security has tightened since and there have been no troubles found so far yet one could never be too secure for such a paramount event.

“I heard you’ve been getting back on track, retrieving more sources and regaining attention at the agency.” Lockwood said, pretending to be interested in Kipps “Did you finally take that fencing lesson I told you about? How did it feel learning to properly hold a rapier with 6-7 years olds?”

Kipps smirked. The kind of smirk that says ‘I know something you don’t’ and it edges Lockwood to the bone. He hates not knowing about things that might cause him a disadvantage. Sure that their teams are now playing for the same flag, that they’re mates instead of rivals for the upcoming task, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that this is a competition still.

Lockwood’s mind was abruptly distracted when he thought he heard a familiar voice. He turns to the source, eyes softened when he sees her, talking to some officials. Her hair was styled differently and the stark difference of appearance she has now wearing Fittes uniform was rather nauseating but no matter how peculiar she looks right now, Lockwood couldn’t help but to feel delighted to see her.

“Ah, there she is!” Kipps says, clapping his hand with a big smile as he calls for her “Lockwood, have you met my newest member?”

His grip on the rapier tightened. Kipps is evidently rubbing it on his face now, holding her by her shoulders just like he did when they met at the grocery store months ago. Lockwood forces the corner of his lips to tug into a smile, trying to collect himself and avert his focus to her.

“Anthony,” She greets with a smile “I knew you would be here.”

Lockwood nods, a little bit too stiff that it made her gaze softened as if she was apologising for something he couldn’t tell. His mind was split in two, torn between feeling overjoyed on seeing her and wanting to punch Kipps’ face. He forced a smile at her, trying his best to ignore Kipps’ presence, “How have you been?”

“Great. Where are Lucy and George?”

As if on cue, a piercing squeal was heard behind them. George and Lucy were now running toward her, pulling her into a rib crushing embrace. The trio looked like a group of children returning to their kindergarten class after a spring break.

Lockwood smiles at the sight. This was what normal is for him. To see her with George and Lucy, talking and laughing as if the world was nothing but a background noise. She looks radiant. Her beaming smile etched on her face, cheeks flushed from the giddiness. She looks beautiful.

“So to answer your question,” Kipps says, making Lockwood to glare at his direction “Yes, I did take fencing lessons, and no, it was not with 6-7 years olds. I rather like this fencing partner of mine, actually.”

—-

Trying to keep his focus is evidently impossible with her standing next to Kipps now. Lockwood knew that today’s briefing was important. That the officials are telling them the rundown of the party, vital exit points, and more confidential information about the intel, but what exactly can one do when the person he’s missed the most is standing by his sworn enemy? Besides, Lockwood’s certain that George is noting everything down, they could surely just go over this back home.

“Don’t do it.” Lucy says as she glances at Lockwood.

“Don’t do what?” He questions, not moving his gaze from them.

“Whatever it is you’re planning to do, Lockwood, I’m warning you, don’t.” She says with more firmness “We’re working on the same team now. Kipps isn’t your enemy.”

Lockwood snorts, “Like hell he’s not.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. Arguing with Lockwood while the cause of his fury is still in the room would be pointless. His lips were in a thin line, murderous eyes locked on Kipps who was still talking to her, discussing their plan for the job. For anyone else the two of them would look like nothing but a pair of elite agents who are only doing their job, but for someone blinded with jealousy, a certain way of Kipps’ gaze already set Lockwood’s skin ablaze.

Time feels like it passes by much slower in this hall. Lockwood swears that it’s been forever, that Kipps has been whispering and making her smile forever. He knew that the two are close, hardly half as close as they were, sure, but she’s always been good friends with him. Even back at the academy, Lockwood had always seen Kipps as a rival since day one.

And no, this goes further than just the fencing thing.

But in the end, she would always come for him first. Lockwood would be the first person she would tell her day to, the first she would share the pastries she bought from the new bakery around the corner, the first she would come to practise her rapier skills with. Now it looks like Kipps has dethroned him from such a position.

“You’re going to lose her completely if you let jealousy cloud your mind.” Lucy warns “They’re just doing their job.”

Lockwood turns to Lucy, looking offended, “Mind you, I am not jealous.”

“Like hell you’re not.” She says, repeating his own words.

“Shut up, Luce.” He retorts “Listen to the officials.”

“Lockwood, I’m serious.” Lucy says, this time pulling his arm with firm warning “Your jealousy is bleeding right out and if you’re not careful, you’ll only push her further and remove herself entirely from your life.”

He remains quiet, looking at Lucy with unsure eyes.

Lucy sighs, letting go of his arm, “Don’t overthink it. They’re just friends.”

His lips were itching to spit more arguments but Lockwood gave in and nodded instead. He tries to avert his mind by asking George to give him a recap, telling him pointers of the crucial information he missed from trying to murder Kipps with his stare.

The job was simple. Come to the Ball, make sure no ghosts were released from the supposed source attack, fight whatever party that might be in their opposition, then go home with a check big enough to feed them for the whole year. A big fish for a rather simple task, Lockwood notes.

Lockwood could already see the list of activities his friends would do once they finished the job. Perhaps a week off for everyone to go enjoy their well deserving reward is due. Lucy has been wanting to visit her friend Norrie and it’s been a while since George went to see his Grandmother in Sidcup. And him? What would he do to fill in a full seven days of no work?

It would’ve been much easier to make notes of all the brilliant activities to do if she was still in the team. He could go and visit her family, it’s been some time since he met her parents. Or maybe they could go somewhere new, jump on the train and visit cities, perhaps countries. Or even just staying at home and listening to her favourite records echoing through the walls of 35 Portland Row. All things would be pleasant so long as he gets to do it with her.

He wondered what she would do with her share. Maybe she would use it to get herself a new rapier. A fancy one where she could have her initials engraved on it. Or maybe she would use it to buy new paint and canvas, she does have a talent in such art. Or maybe she would go and visit all the museums and libraries in town. She loves going to such institutions. Lockwood remembers the first time they went to the National Gallery, how fascinated she was with all the pieces though he would argue that none of the works displayed is half as magnificent as she is.

But now that he thinks about it, Lockwood couldn’t help but to have her words echoed in his head. When was the last time she painted? When was the last time they went to the museum? When was the last time they went to a library just to lend some overrated novel?

I don’t know anything about you outside of work anymore.

Lockwood slowly looks up, painfully looking back at her and Kipps who are now scribbling some notes on the clipping board he was holding for her. That used to be their thing. Even with George in the team, he would often brainstorm ideas with her first, him holding the notebook and her holding two pens with different colours— black for him and blue for her. Seeing her do it with Kipps now torments him to say the least.

What I want you cannot give, Anthony.

—-

Lockwood’s shoulders stiffened as he watched her approaching. Her gentle smile was present but for the first time in his life, instead of feeling comforted, Lockwood feels intimidated. The sight of her and Kipps still burns in the back of his head and his realisation of how much he’s lost her is something that he’s still trying to process.

“Hi,” She greets “Where’s George and Lucy?”

“Having a stroll around. George wanted to get a better idea of the building and you know Lucy had to make sure he didn’t wander too far away.”

She nods, “Why didn’t you come with them?”

Because I wanted to talk to you, he thought, but instead Lockwood only shrugs, “Just needed some peace for myself.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you—.”

“No,” He says fast, taking her wrist before she could leave “Please, stay.”

She looks down to his grip, taking a shaky breath before slowly peeling his fingers off of her. Lockwood swears that the day just keeps on getting worse and worse for him. But she stayed by his side, not leaving. Standing still as she looks everywhere but him. God knows what she’s thinking now.

Lockwood blinks to try and process the unfamiliar situation. His heart was crushed, worse than the state he’s been in and he thought he was already broken. It’s as if he could finally feel the distance she’s been talking about. The invisible space between them that he didn’t realise was present until it’s too late to close it. The wall that’s separating them is too high to be climbed now.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” She breaks the silence, reaching into her back pocket and still not meeting his eyes “I got you this. It’s nothing much, just a postcard I got when I went out of town. I should’ve sent it but I didn’t have the time, sorry.”

He took it gratefully, a genuine smile blooming on his face, ”You went to Liverpool?”

“Yeah, with Quill. We had a mission there for a couple days.”

“I see.”

Lockwood’s lips are on a tight line now. Just how blessed he is today, indeed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call for your birthday.” She says again “I wanted to, but I thought it would wiser for me not to.”

“Why not?”

“People don’t call their ex-employer and tell them happy birthday, Anthony.”

Ex-employer. Anthony thought he knew heartbreak until he heard the word come out of her lips. All these years of friendship, affection and tenderness shared with each other, reduced to such improper status. Whatever chance he thought he had to fix their relationship, Lockwood knew that it’s all gone into mere specks of dust now.

She finally looks up to him, realising the hurtful words she’s just uttered. It didn’t feel as horrible in her head but having to hear it herself she couldn’t help but wanting to slap herself. Since when has their relationship turned into who could hurt the other most?

“Anthony—,”

“No, I get it.” He cuts, nodding and feigning a smile “I’m glad you found an agency that could better appreciate your talents.”

Her expression softened, feeling guilt to weigh more on her shoulders.

“I know this would be wrong of me as your ex-employer to ask,” Lockwood says, his voice trembling as he tries to bottle his emotions “But can I please hug you?”

She winces at his use of words, how unsure he was with his question when they used to pull each other for warm embraces with bright smiles on their faces. She runs to him with open arms, pulling him close as if she needed the hug herself.

Lockwood could feel his body practically melting into her touch, the way his aching muscles finally relaxed as the familiar embrace was finally engulfing him once more, but his heart was heavier than before. If he thought he lost her the night she gave him her resignation letter, he was certainly proven wrong. This hug feels like the bitter slap of reality. That he was the only one crumbling, that he was the only one breaking, that he was the only one suffering from their separation.

And farewell tastes even bitter now.

—-

A couple of weeks have passed since the Ball meeting. A couple of weeks have passed since he last saw her. A couple of weeks have passed since Lockwood’s started to live his life as half a dead man. He’s been busy with other missions, trying to satisfy as many clients as possible and it’s looking pretty neat to say the least. Just don’t look too closely at him. You’d notice how he’s slowly slipping out of his mind if you do.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood chants in his head every time he’s working on the field. Holding onto the warnings George gives and all the ever so friendly scolds from Lucy. But even with as much reminder and support the two could give, it would never be enough to fill in the void in his heart.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood repeats to himself. Turning those three words into a prayer somehow as he’s slowly losing his grip. The only time he would brush the thought of her under the rug would be when his rapier is out, trying to fight for his life, trusting his instinct to swing the weapon against whatever trouble he’s come across, be it in the flesh or ectoplasm.

Just reckless enough, Lockwood muttered quietly as he tried to keep his focus. His shoulders were heavier by a thousand folds. The sight of that innocent man caught in the crossfire between him and some relic thugs tonight haunts him. How that poor man fell to the ground as Lockwood tries to flee from the scene, unintentionally using the man’s body as a shield from the bullets shot in his direction.

Now his feet were wobbly, trying their best to support him as he followed George and Lucy from behind, walking to 35 Portland Row with a heavy heart. No words were exchanged on the drive home and no matter how worried Lucy’s eyes stare into him, he knew that she’s seething inside.

“You two go first,” Lockwood says, making the two stop their pace and stare at him with confused eyes “I have somewhere to be.”

George could hear the exasperated sigh Lucy let out and with one unsure smile, he took the source from Lucy’s hands and entered their home. Better to secure the relic from the upcoming war between the two, he thought.

“Lockwood,” Lucy starts “Not tonight.”

HIs lips pursed. Cursing that if Lucy’s talents were listening and touch, why is it that it’s so easy for her to read him like an open book?

“You need to rest.” She says again “ You can visit her tomorrow morning.”

“I need to see her tonight.” Lockwood whispers, his tone begging “I think I’m losing my mind, Luce.”

Lucy remains quiet, her expression softened as she stares into his vulnerable state.

“I killed him.” He says, voice breaking and eyes brimming with tears “I don’t know why I couldn’t just stop and think straight lately. All I could think about is finishing as many jobs, retrieving as many sources as possible, all in an effort to bury her, to have a minute of peace without her ghost haunting my mind.”

Lockwood’s last words came out barely as a whisper. His whole body shudders, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that pitiful look on Lucy’s face. He didn’t hear her approaching but he could certainly feel her arms embracing him, trying to calm him down in the middle of the road. It was soothing, the kind of warmth that would keep you sane for the time being, but no matter how tight Lucy holds him tonight, she knew that her friendly gesture wouldn’t piece his sanity back together.

I need to see her.

—-

The tapping of raindrops to her window pane was soothing. A cup of freshly brewed tea, her favourite cardigan hanging loose on her shoulders, and a half read book in her hand. The night was peaceful for her. After a long week of complicated tasks, working with Kipps’ elite squad, such serenity is surely what she needs.

But her comfort was abruptly interrupted at the ringing of her doorbell. Whoever the guest was, they're surely impatient enough to not wait for another second to press on the bell whilst banging on her door at the same time.

She clicks her tongue, frowning at the disturbance. She places her book down, “Coming!”

Perhaps her guest has trouble hearing because even though the trip from her kitchen to the front door didn’t even reach a minute, the person was still banging on her door loudly. At this point she was sure the rain hardly dampened the loud noise they were making.

“Good Lord, I said I’m coming!” She says angrily as she opens the door.

She certainly didn’t expect her guest to be him. He was standing by the door, drenched so wet from the rain that you can see his shirt clung tight to his skin. His eyes were reflecting the emotional and physical fatigue he’s in. His shoulders defeated, chin hung low as if he’s a second away from passing out.

“Anthony—,”

The boy gave into her and pulled her for a tight embrace, melting into her like butter on a pan. He hugs her close, burying his face to the crook of her neck. Her body warmth was so comforting. After all these painful months, Lockwood finally feels like he’s home.

The boy hasn’t spoken a word but she knew that something had happened. Something so bad that it shook the façade he held so strongly to the ground. It was one of those moments when you just knew. Like a silent secret connection you share with someone special. Because otherwise, there would be no chance in hell that Anthony John Lockwood would go all the way to her flat in the middle of the night when it is raining cats and dogs.

“Please tell me you’re here.” He whispers.

“I’m here.”

And just like that all hell broke loose for Lockwood. His breathing is now shallow, chest tight as if he was being drowned in a lake. His embrace on her loosen. His feet weakened, making him fall to his knees. His demons have finally caught him.

“Anthony, breath.” She says gently, kneeling to level with him “Breath with me, okay? Follow my counts.”

“I killed a man.” He chokes “I didn’t mean to— He sacrificed himself— I should’ve gone to Barnes— I can’t breathe.”

She tries to peel herself from him, to try and assess his condition better, but the moment she tries to pull away, Lockwood only tightens his hold of her.

“Anthony, you need to let me go.” She whispers gently “Let me help you breathe, please, Love.”

Reluctantly, Lockwood loosens his embrace and lets her pull away. His hands are now busy pulling his tie and opening the first few buttons of his drenched shirt. His mind was frantic. Never has he ever had such an episode before.

She begins to count, helping him steady his breathing. Five seconds in, five seconds out. Then four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out with a whoosh. Once his breathing starts to get better, she asks him light questions. Five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste.

“I can smell tea.” He says between his pants “Are you making tea?”

She let out a small chuckle, relieved, “I did make tea. Would you like some?”

Lockwood nods.

“Let’s fix you a cup then.”

—-

Lockwood could feel his brain waking up, his senses coming alive as he smelled her sweet scent and felt the pressure of her body on his arms. He smiles. Sure they've cuddled more than one could possibly count, but never have they felt as intimate as now. Their bodies were pressed to each other, her head tucked close to his chest, and her arms securely encircling his waist. It was as if he could feel her radiating the kind of love he's been desperate about.

“Good morning.” She greets, he could tell that she’s smiling sweetly without opening his eyes “I know you’re awake.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Then how can we converse now if you’re still asleep?”

Lockwood pulls her closer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Alright, you’re breaking my ribs now.” She says with a chuckle “I have to run to the bakery and get us some food. You didn’t eat anything last night, you must be starving.”

“I’m fine.”

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, “Come on, Anthony, wake up.”

“Can’t I sleep for a few more minutes?” He asks, finally opening his eyes to see that her face was mere inches from him.

Lockwood gulps. She was staring at him tenderly. As if she missed him as much as he missed her. The corner of her lips were curved upward, making her look ever so beautiful. Even in the morning, perhaps especially in the morning, she looks the most stunning with her tangled hair and lazy sleepy eyes. A sight he would never get enough of.

“I’m gonna do something,” He whispers to her “If you don’t like it you can deck me later but please do it gently.”

Her brows knitted, smiling at his half spoken words.

With a loud beating of his heart, Lockwood leans closer to her, sealing their lips for a few seconds in a chaste kiss. It was an innocent one. The kind you give to your lover when you want them to know just how much you appreciate them and that is all he wanted to do. To tell her that he appreciates her, with a gesture that he hopes would explain better than words could ever do. All he wants to do now is just to let her know that.

Lockwood opens his eyes nervously, scared to see her negative reaction but to his luck, he could only see her smiling back at him. Like she accepted his message and is returning the feelings for him.

“Alright, you deserve a few more minutes of sleep for that.”

He chuckles, pulling her back for another tight embrace.

“Anthony, I really need to get us some food.” She protests “You need to let me go.”

“Stop wiggling.”

“Then let me go.”

Lockwood groans but let go of her anyway. His brows furrowed in disapproval, lips pursed in an annoyed frown, and despite his growing disappointment that she won’t be joining his quick extra nap, he knew that she has a tight schedule for the day and keeping her late for her breakfast wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do.

She lets out a satisfied sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed before looking back at his sleepy self, “Promise me you’ll still be here when I’m back.”

Lockwood nods and hums in agreement. His hand searches for hers, still with his eyes closed, and plants a kiss on the back of her hand. He caresses it with his thumb before letting go gently, “I won’t go anywhere.”

If only Lockwood would open his eyes for a minute, he would’ve seen the bright smile on her face. How her cheeks were flushed and the lovestruck eyes she has for him. But he was busy trying to recompose himself. What he did just now has certainly burned all their bridges to the ground. He has never been this bold, never that fearless and taking the leap of faith for their relationship, and yet he did. He needs to process this before he could see her again.

How the universe seemed to have aligned their stars together now.

Lockwood heard the soft click of the front door closing when she left. He finds it hard to fall back to sleep now from all the adrenaline rush. His lips were still curved in a satisfied smile. He feels giddy. Like his body was supercharged and he could conquer the world now. Funny how she could turn his world upside down just with a snap of her fingers.

He now finds himself getting up from the bed and looking around her flat. He could see the pictures that were glued to the walls of her room in 35 Portland Row now decorating the sitting room. Even when she doesn’t live with him anymore, it soothes him to know that she brought a piece of their home wherever she goes.

He heard the front door knob twisting, turning to see it with a happy smile, “That was fast.”

But the happy face was soon slapped off of his face as he stared at the man standing. Kipps were mirroring his confused look, staring at each other with the silent question: what are you doing here?

And then it dawned in him. Lockwood looks down to the shirt he’s wearing, the one she let him borrow to get out of his soaked clothings. The plain white shirt that fits him right but is certainly oversized for her. Why would she have a men’s shirt?

“Kipps,” Lockwood greets with a lump growing on his throat “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The same could be said for you.” Kipps said, his tone unsure but his usual smirk was decorating his face “Is she here?”

“She went to the bakery.”

Kipps nods, giving him an ‘ah’.

Lockwood bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he could feel the foul taste of blood from it. He should’ve known better. Why didn’t he think about it before? Why didn’t he see it? How could he forget that she was no longer his? Hell, she was never his to begin with.

“I, uh, I just remembered I have some things to sort out.” Lockwood says as he shuffles to gather his belongings.

“You’re going?” Kipps asks “Aren’t you going to wait for her first?”

“No,” He says, shaking his head “It’s something about work. Rather urgent, actually. She’ll understand.”

Kipps frowns, knowing that she would certainly not understand but nods anyway, “Right.”

With a forced smile, Lockwood pats on Kipps’ shoulder and finds himself out of her flat. He could feel his heart getting heavier with each step further from her. Like his heart was left there, on her bed, the moment he promised to wait for her to return. But what exactly could he do? He knew his place, even when he'd forgotten about it last night. He forgot and he was made to remember. She was no longer his.

She was Kipps’.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood fanfic #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood scenarios #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x oc #anthony lockwood scenario

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heyidkyay · 2 years ago

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Who can say no to bridezilla? |

Part Five

This one’s a little shorter than the last but what can you do? I can’t believe that this was meant to be a oneshot, a two parter MAX, and has somehow spiralled😭 Anyway, thank you so much for all the love on this series, really glad you’re enjoying it💗

Summary: With no date to your sister's wedding, what are you to do? No worries though, she's already got it covered, well, sort of...

Masterlist

Matty.

I felt my eyes slip closed at the sound of him calling my name. Silently allowing myself a brief second to regain some sense of decorum before I had to face him yet again.

I couldn’t believe how this night had turned into such a disaster. It was the very last thing I’d wanted, alongside the notion that I’d be leaving here tonight having probably lost Matty before I’d ever even really found him. And wasn’t that a thought.

I inhaled, one.. two.. then turned to him, wearing what I hoped resembled something short of a smile. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him any longer.

He was staring right at me when I mustered up the courage to meet his eye. George was stood just to his left, and he glanced between us both in obvious confusion but there was also a little sheen of weariness to his stare. I silently wondered what he made of all this.

“You two gonna be alright here?” The drummer asked in a low voice, eyebrow quirked upwards in question.

“Yeah, mate.” Matty breathed out an assurance, dipping his chin just the once. “Thanks for, you know.”

George clapped him heartily on the shoulder which shook Matty slightly, the taller man just smirked, “Don’t mention it.”

Then he looked to me, probing for an answer of my own.

I was quick to nod, and gifted him a small but genuine smile in retort. He returned the gesture and I watched him squeeze the juncture of Matty’s shoulder, giving him an odd look I couldn’t quite decipher, before walking away.

Time seemed to sort of still then- not in the crappy romantic kind of way, where the two main characters from some shitty hallmark film suddenly realise all of their mistakes, converse in a parade of silent longing looks, only to then kiss and make up.

No, it was a lot more awkward than that, unfortunately.

But not ‘unfortunately’ as in I was actually beyond desperate to kiss him! No. No, I just meant it in the sense that… well, let’s just say that if it was a life or death situation- or something a little less severe than that, Christ- I wouldn’t be so quick to wave away the idea. I just…

Oh, for fucks sake.

Now wasn’t the time for it, is basically what I meant!

I sighed inwardly.

Though, I guess I’d sooner kiss the idiot than have to spend the next however long stood here in this uncomfortable standstill.

I chewed at my bottom lip, unsure on what to say now that George had removed himself as a buffer.

I almost wanted to look around for something to distract myself with, but I couldn’t, not when Matty was looking at me with that glum expression of his. The sort a little kid would tend to make when gazing longingly out the car window at the McDonalds you were driving by.

And even though Matty had been the one to call out for me, I still felt as though I’d ultimately been left with the honour of continuing this painful encounter of ours.

Sighing again, I decided to bite the bullet. “Look it’s getting late, Matty... And I’d really like to try and miss all the traffic that’ll hit once this whole thing finally ends. So, can we just leave it here? I’ve had a good night, all things considered, and don’t really mind ending it off on a less than sour note.”

The crease between Matty’s eyebrows seemed to deepen at my words, and he blinked at me stupidly before he made a face.

“I’m sorry, what? It’s been-“ He glanced down at the sleek wristwatch he wore, “It’s barely even gone nine, and there is no fucking way we’re just leaving shit like it is! Not after all the blatant texting and shitting anxiety I’ve put myself through to be here tonight.” He shook his head, “Nah, we’re gonna have to sort it out now, ‘cause I already know if we leave things be, you’re just gonna end up pieing me off later.”

Now it was my turn to frown.

“Pie you off?”

Matty was nodding away again, seemingly on a bit off a roll now.

“I was dead nervous, yeah? Like proper fucking nervous for today- to see if it all felt the same in person. Because, from the moment we started talking it felt as though I’d already known you for ages. Like, we just instantly clicked. And that made me so much more wary of whether or not that would suddenly change things between us once we met. But it didn’t. No, 'cause you were just like I’d imagined! All funny and snide, but in the best fuckin’ way. And that gorgeous face of yours was only the cherry on the cake, really. But I reckon I’d've stuck around even if you were a bit of a minger.”

His eyes flickered away for a mere moment, as though he was spatially aware of the utter tit he was making of himself, rambling away but unable to stop. But then they found mine again and it was like he just had to get the rest of it out before he lost the nerve. I didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“I thought this would be a right laugh.” He shrugged forcefully and I could already tell that he was dying for another smoke just from the way his hand seemed to twitch. “I didn’t want to show up to Hann’s wedding all alone, looking like a complete twat. And then your sister offered up this whole idea, and I’d already heard a bit about you- snippets, little things, you know? Just here and there. And I couldn’t refuse. I mean, how could I? Why would I?”

Matty ran a fretful hand through his unruly hair, then scratched at the side of his neck apprehensively.

I couldn’t seem to find the words to stop him, completely baffled by him, actually.

“The shit I’ve heard… about how you support your mum and your siblings. How you go out of your way for everyone and everything. The utter crap you’ve had to put up with. I mean…” Matty dragged his hand over his face at that, rubbing his eyes before deciding to shake his arms out towards me. “God. We started messaging and you were like- you were just this girl on a screen that I couldn’t stop talking to, or about! And I swear, Ross has gotten so sick of me these last few weeks, mentioning you nonstop, worrying about us finally meeting and all the pulavar of it. I’m actually fucking surprised he hasn’t ended up following through on a few of his threats. ‘Cause believe me, there were a couple dozen.”

My mouth had sort of gone dry by this point.

I stared back at the man I’d originally thought had given zero shits about me, let alone this night, and openly fish-mouthed.

I’d truly believed it must’ve all been sort of jovial to him. The texts, the date…

But now it was all coming out. And I couldn’t quite manage to wrap my head around it.

“Fucking hell!” Matty laughed brazenly, mouth quirked to one side as he shook his head at himself incredulously. “If he only knew how bad I’d end up fucking this all up.”

“You haven’t.” I immediately replied, my mouth moving before my brain could even comprehend it. And Matty’s gaze snapped back towards mine, his brown eyes wide.

I cleared my throat slightly, unable to dither my attention from him, unsure if I even wanted to. “I- You haven’t fucked it all up, Matty.”

“I haven’t?”

“No,” I allowed a small smile to creep across my face as I breathed out a faint chuckle. “Not after… whatever that was. Your big speech.”

Matty groaned, suddenly abashed, and his chin fell to meet his collarbones as his shoulders shook slightly with unrepressed laughter. “I’m a fucking mess.”

I grinned, feeling a little lighter now. “You are, but so am I.”

“How very playground of us, huh?” Matty commented, peering back at me through dark lashes.

“Beyond trivial. A proper cliche.” I agreed wryly, smiling all the while. “Reckon we have some making up to do.”

I watched the way Matty’s face brightened significantly and couldn’t help the sudden rush of warmth that pooled in my chest.

“Oh, yeah? Think we could get it over with quick then? Kiss and makeup- or you could just let me grab you another drink and offer a decent shag ‘round the side of the chapel.”

I snorted, unable to help myself, before rolling my eyes at him.

Look at that, I thought, we were already back to basics.

“You can offer, but I seriously doubt I’d accept, not after all that manly assertiveness George just displayed.” I fanned myself, feigning a flush at the reminder.

“Oh, leave off.” Matty laughed in reply, swatting my hand away. Though, he slipped his fingers into mine as he did, holding my hand so that he could keep me close. Neither of us decided to comment on it and I smiled quietly to myself as I looked down at where our bodies were now intertwined.

Still, if we weren’t going to acknowledge the whole hand holding ordeal, then I was definitely going to bring up a topic of Matty’s previous ramble.

“So… a rockstar like you still gets nervous then? Feeling a little bit honoured here, Healy.”

Matty casted his eyes towards me, slitted as he exaggerated his irritation. “You’re really gonna lord that over me? Bet you were shitting bricks just as much as I was.”

I shot him a cheeky smile as I chuckled, “‘Course, but I never bigged myself up to be this massive egotistical prat.”

He rolled his eyes at me, the beginnings of a smile tugging at either sides of his lips, then hummed as he shrugged. “Not gonna deny it. The thought was daunting as fuck.”

I grinned, only noticing then that I’d begun to move my thumb against his own. “Oh yeah?”

He grinned right back at me. “Yeah.”

“You know you’re a bit of an idiot for not saying anything sooner, right?” I couldn’t help but mention, and the expression Matty made had me struggling to withhold my rising amusement.

“Uh, when the fuck should I’ve mentioned it? Somewhere between the vows, or would you have preferred me to casually drop it outside whilst we were mid-row?”

The small mention of our earlier argument had my mind wandering again, and so I just shrugged a shoulder at him in reply, casting a glance out at the rest of the room.

I heard him exhale before he reached out to knock the underside of my jaw, regaining my attention. He was closer now, much closer, his nose just a breath away from mine.

“I am sorry, about the shit that happened with Alexa.” Matty told me quietly, and the look he gave me was earnest. “I like the attention sometimes, get lost in it. Didn’t realise what had been going on until you said it.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, staring up into those eyes of his again. They were warm. Like chocolate.

“Well, as we said, there’s a lot of making up to do.”

He smirked down at me then and I had to hide my face in the crook of his neck when I chuckled.

Once I’d composed myself somewhat and pulled away, my gaze met his again. I found myself enjoying our newfound position, my body flush against his, our hands still linked whilst my fingertips grazed loosely at his undone tie.

“I’m sorry too, I suppose.” I murmured to him, liking the peaceful atmosphere we’d created for ourselves. Like we were in our own little bubble.

But the noise Matty made then surely burst it, it was nothing short of incredible and I could only really describe it as something akin to a squawk.

“You suppose?” He demanded dramatically. My eyes widened in joy.

“Yes, I suppose!” I replied instantly, laughing away, “What the hell was that sound you just made?!”

By some miracle, a slight flush blessed Matty’s cheeks and he had to look away in a casual sort of nonchalance (that was far from) to shrug at me.

“No idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

I was still giggling.

“No, no, no! You definitely do. It sounded like someone had set a chicken loose!”

“Oh, piss off.”

I was all but cackling now, leaning against Matty to steady myself, but even though I was ripping into him he still held me up, smiling whilst he shook his head at me, marginally exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah. So fucking hilarious.” Matty rolled his eyes before they turned to me with a teasing glint. “That laugh of yours though, definitely outranks whatever noise I just made. Mental.”

I gaped at him, “You really wanna go there? Because if we do, I can promise you now that you’ll be walking away with your tail between your legs, mate.”

Matty grimaced, pulling away from me to lean back, and groaned. “Don’t call me your fucking mate. Feels weird.”

I grinned brightly, chuckling as I tugged him back. “What ever do you mean? Thought we were the best of mates now.”

Matty wrinkled his nose in distaste, and I was just about to continue on with my teasing when he inclined his head downwards so that his mouth brushed against the shell of my ear. I stilled.

“I don’t typically tend to want to fuck any of my mates, darling. Always makes for an awkward situation.”

My breath hitched and our eyes immediately locked as he casually pulled back.

And of course that would be the very moment my sister would choose to make her grand reappearance.

For fucks sake.

—

Part six>

Taglist: @real-actual-human-person @wurldisavampire @partoftheairforce @kurdtbean

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grjarchive · 1 year ago

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Fool For Love (1989)

The next day was hanging day, the sky was overcast and black Big Jim lay covered up, killed by a penknife in the back And Rosemary on the gallows, she didn't even blink The hanging judge was sober, he hadn't had a drink The only person on the scene missing was the Jack of Hearts — Bob Dylan, "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts"

Seems like the cover artist was a bit nostalgic for the Lonesome Dreams era with that art, eh? In fairness, so was GRJ; those of us who look into such things have noted that Fool For Love is probably the biggest throwback of the Strange Trails novels, and the most "western" of this more modern (well, at the very least, firmly twentieth-century-set, if a couple decades back) series. Not too surprising, then, that we get the most extravagant depiction of George's Place as a "western" bar, and Either Buck Vernon or Remy Fusil (more likely, given the etymology of his name) with a pistol that doesn't actually figure into the story.

Ironically, this is one of the few Strange Trails stories that isn't a throwback in some sense, in that it's not a story in flashback. No, this one takes place on the very night that all the previous novels have been told as stories, and it marks the point where the night really goes off the rails.

... Or maybe it doesn't, because maybe it's not connected to the canon at all. Right at the beginning of this one, Buck Vernon, our narrator once more, admits to the reader that "sometimes, I see things that others say they cain't. I don't think that makes 'em unreal, but may well be I'm watching like through the window in the dark at the bottom of a broken bottle, seeing my other lives." That's as close to a fourth wall break as you'll get directly from GRJ in any story, here disguised as a fifth or sixth wall break, shattering layers of reality beyond the simple biniverse of story-truth that we all pass through without thinking on when we pick up a musty paperback. This before he tells a whole story using names that weren't in the bar up until then, and a lover named Lily who sounds almost, but not quite, like lovely Lee, whose story was just told. Li-Lee? Objectively, before we really get going, we do know that Buck came out to spin some tunes for the crowd at George's, that the set's done now and he's sitting back having a few too many while Dylan plays on the jukebox - that very tune in the epigraph is the one described, and it's notable that in the story Buck narrates in real-time, names of characters come into play.

The WBUB special based on this book didn't help with the character confusion either. Don't judge the book by the adaptation, obviously. That's always the rule.

A young fool (Buck himself, thinking he'll play the victorious Jack of Hearts in Dylan's tale?) psyches himself up and picks a fight with Big Jim (Remy Fusil?), lover of Lily. The World Enders, who are still hanging around, and the Tumbleweeds, who we're just meeting now but may be the descendants of Sri Tumbleweed's thugs from Time To Run, get caught up in things. The brawl spreads, chapter by chapter, to bring everyone in, even crashing into the Cambodian opium den behind George's which we only heard referenced in Love Like Ghosts. But things don't go well for our hopeless romantic Buck of Hearts. After a seeming escape from the chaos, Buck finds himself in a back alley where, well, spoilers, but there's a reason that the rest of the Strange Trails stories, especially Buck's, run evermore fantastically through that deep dark wooded valley between the ridges of death and life.

Keep following this blog for more insight into Johnson's work through the years.

May you live until you die!

#fool for love #strange trails #george ranger johnson #grj #vintage pulp #pulp #buck vernon #pulp art #remy fusil #lee green #vintage paperbacks #western

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limetameta · 1 year ago

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Voldemort, in 2013: If we can't say mudblood anymore can we at least say fag?

Delphini: D: No!!! Fag is a slur!

Voldemort: Queer then.

Delphini: QUEER is a slur!!!

Voldemort: Delphini, I got called all of these things. None of these are slurs.

Delphini: They are now. Hermione says only mages born to muggles are allowed to say mudblood.

Voldemort: I will have you know that the preferred nomenclature WAS mudblood in the 50s and 60s. Due to the Mudpride movement.

Delphini: The what?

Voldemort: The...Mudpride...movement. Does the name Nobby Leach mean anything to you?

Delphini: We don’t really cover the history after WWII. But yeah, that's the guy that died.

Voldemort: The guy who died...

Delphini: Yeah.

Voldemort: Who teaches History?

Delphini: Someone Vinda appointed. You probably don't know him. Zephyr Avery Jr.

Voldemort: That man is a Death Eater and I regret ever marking him. I did it as a favour to his father. Brainless man, that Jr. Only chases after skirts.

Delphini: You are so old.

Voldemort: Child. I am not even a hundred years old. You should know recent history.

Delphini: Nobody can tell it to you in an objective manner, though. That’s why people aren't teaching it. That's what professor Avery says. Mum says that after Nobby Leach died everything went to shit.

Voldemort: Do they still attribute his death to me?

Delphini: Nah. They uncovered a written confession from the late Abraxas Mafloy that he did it for clout.

Voldemort: For what?

Delphini: Prestige.

Voldemort: He did it because he was doped on cocaine.

Delphini: Lmao.

Voldemort: What?

Delphini: Nevermind. Hasthag rip king.

Voldemort: *blinks* How did Bellatrix let you become like this?

Delphini: Short answer: Mum loves me :)

Voldemort: A mother’s love *sarcasm* What a powerful magic.

Delphini: In the 1910s what was it like to see a telephone for the first time?

Voldemort: I was born in 1926.

Delphini: Ok fine. I bet you don't know when I was born. >:]

Voldemort, genuinely still struggling with remembering his years post ressurection, it's all just one continous thread of events: I want to say late 1997?

Delphini: 1998. HA!

Voldemort: All right. I tire of conversing with you.

Delphini: You want me to show you more youtube videos of people compiling news and major events?

Voldemort: If this is the only way I can get as much information in the shortest amount of time. I will suffer through these edited videos.

Many videos later

Voldemort: This has depressed me.

Delphini: Do you want to hear a cool song that I think will cheer you up?

Voldemort: If I must.

Delphini pulling up You’re gonna go far kid but in an AMV

Voldemort: It’s a nice song but who are these people?

Delphini: Just some anime characters. But listening to a song through an amv is 63738% better than watching the regular vevo.

Voldemort: :/ What happens if you put my name on here? *points to the search*

Delphini: On muggle youtube- nothing. Voldemort doesn't exist. There is a Little Hangleton sketch by some comics that mentions the Riddles. But they mean your father and not you when they say Tom Riddle. Now! If we access MAGE youtube *does her magic clicky things on her phone* *searches lord voldemort* The video with the most hits is a Jackass parody that George and Fred Weasley did in 2004. *pulls up video called LORD VOLDEMORT - FUCKING WITH THE TABOO* This is the biggest piece of evidence we had that the taboo was completely gone. Up until this moment people were still on the fence about saying your name. They say it... *fast forwards near the end of the video* 394 times.

Voldemort: :| Is that you in the shopping cart? *points at a little child in a shopping cart shouting Voldemort*

Delphini: Yeah! I was their little helper :) Harry held the camera.

Voldemort: And Bellatrix let you do all of this?

Delphini: Why wouldn’t she? These are all purebloods. Plus Harry. She had no reason to object getting a night off from being a mother.

Voldemort: And Rodolphus?

Delphini: Dad started a betting pool that someone would get maimed filming this. Fred lost an ear in a shuriken throwing accident. But that's another video. We were really into Naruto.

Voldemort: I have had enough.

Delphini: *puts away phone* *looks at him*

Voldemort: Yes?

Delphini: Do you have any mental illness or a history of such things? Any developmental disorder or such?

Voldemort, slipping into cockney from the sheer absolute disbelief and shock: Are you asking if I'm retarded?

Delphini: D:< That's a slur, too!!!

Voldemort: :// *stands up and leaves the room* I have had enough 2013 for the day, thank you.

Runs into Harry

Voldemort: What isn't a slur these days?

Harry, thinking: Err, I think cunt.

Voldemort: At least there's still something.

#lord voldemort #we forgot we were human #voldemort in this au is gonna be rly like those incredibly old fathers that are just :// while their tech kid is showing them stuff #man is bewildered

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youreyeslookliketheocean · 3 years ago

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youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.)

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation).

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

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weasleylangs · 4 years ago

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bunny rabbits & a clover patch - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader Summary: All the times Y/N and George spent their days in the clover patch next to her house. Warnings: Minor character death (Y/N’s mother, it’s in the second paragraph), I guess a mention of the war but it’s like one or two lines and it’s super brief like blink and you’ll miss it. Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: A huge thank you to @whiz-bangs78 who sent me this ask for a made up title game that inspired his entire fic (although I changed the title a smidge)! Requests are open and constructive criticism is always appreciated! This is my new baby, my most favourite thing I’ve ever written so please be nice

Please let me know if you’re interested in being added to a tag list!

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Y/N is five years old when she moves from the bustling city of Bristol to the quaint, little magical village of Ottery St. Catchpole. She’s just now starting to get her magic, little spurts here and there. Recently she dropped a ball down the stairs of the townhouse she and her dad live in and she somehow levitated it for two seconds before it slammed into a mirror and broke it.

Y/N’s dad is a muggle, her mother was a witch and unfortunately passed shortly after she was born. Being a single dad is hard, and being the single dad to a witch when you’re a muggle is even harder, so her dad did the only logical thing he could think of.

He knew his late wife dreamed of raising Y/N surrounded by magic, to give her the childhood she never had. Y/N’s mother was an extremely gifted muggle-born witch and she wanted nothing more than to raise her children with magic in tow. So when Y/N started to exhibit magical symptoms, he reached out to some of his late wife’s friends to find the best magical village in England. If it was magic she wanted, it was magic she was going to get.

That’s how he ends up here, in a tiny cottage for two on the outskirts of the village.

He looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s the address of the ‘nicest wizarding family you will ever meet’ and it turns out it’s the house on the plot of land next to his own. Scrawled in messy handwriting is the name Arthur and Molly Weasley.

He’d gotten the note from a friend, someone who works at the ministry with Arthur. He can’t provide a magical childhood for his daughter, but he hopes the lovely family that resides next to him in Ottery St. Catchpole can.

They’ve only just moved in when there’s a knock at the door. Y/N screams in excitement as her dad opens the door and she’s met with a pudgy looking woman with fiery red hair and two identically looking boys next to her. One of the boys is missing his two front teeth in the bottom row, grinning widely and the other boy is clinging to his mother’s leg, clearly more cautious than his exuberant sibling.

Y/N immediately decides they’re going to be her best friends. Even if boys have cooties and are sometimes gross.

“I’m Y/N!” she exclaims loudly, much to the dismay of her father who reminds her to use her inside voice. This makes her pout unhappily and in turn, makes the boy clinging to his mother’s leg smile.

“I’m George!” He replies, equally loud in fashion hoping to cheer the girl up. This was not George’s best idea, however, as it then causes the missing-toothed child to declare himself as Fred so loud, Molly and Y/N’s father sends them outside.

They sit themselves down on the clover patch to the right of the house and start getting to know each other. Y/N learns there're five other Weasley siblings, their youngest being their only sister named Ginny, she's a mere two years old and their oldest is William, who they both affectionately call Billy, and Y/N learns he's almost thirteen.

“Wow,” Y/N says, suddenly feeling extremely jealous. She’s an only child and while she’s only five, she has a child’s intuition that her dad isn’t ready to meet someone and bring more siblings into her life. “I’m jealous. I wish I had brothers and sisters.”

Fred puffs up his chest and grins, “We’ll be your brothers!” The grin on his face is 100% sincere and he looks so happy to gain another sister.

“Really?” Y/N questions looking at George for approval. “Of course. Are we best friends now?” He questions and Y/N eagerly nods her head.

The three of them spend their time playing tag or showing each other their ‘accidental magic’. Molly at one point calls out the window at the twins telling them they know better than to encourage underage magic but when George winks at Y/N as he somehow manages to turn her hair blue for two seconds it’s clear he doesn’t care about his mother’s warning.

“It’s okay,” he starts when he sees the look of fear rise in Y/N’s eyes, “we’re only five. If someone comes they’ll just see three magical kids and leave.”

Soon enough, Molly is muttering apologies about staying so late and trying to round up the boys to go back to their own home. Fred ends up in a tree, saying he wants to stay and poking his tongue out at his mother.

George however, is timidly looking at the clover patch they were all sitting in and plucks one, handing it to Y/N. When she examines it, she notices it’s almost a four-leaf clover, the stem is there if you look close enough, but the leaf itself is missing. “Almost luck, for you!”

He runs away at that, looking almost borderline shy and when Fred chases him all the way home, Y/N is convinced these boys will be her friends for life.

They’re eight now, and it’s a regular occurrence for Y/N and the twins to be seen together. Their parents have started referring to them as the ‘mischief trio’ because whenever the three of them are together, no one can turn their back for a second without something happening.

Y/N’s currently at The Burrow, convincing the twins to come to see her new pet bunny rabbits. Fred is reluctant, wanting to stay and play on his toy broom and trying to convince George he wants to do the same.

Fred, as usual, has an evil plan that involves the beater’s bat in their quidditch kit and Percy’s head after he told their mum that Fred was trying to fly Charlie’s broom yesterday. This resulted in Fred getting no dessert after dinner and the eight-year-old boy wants revenge.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” George starts, looking at the small girl to his left. They might only be children, but the twins are already growing taller and Y/N can barely keep up anymore, “I kind of want to meet the bunnies.”

“Come on, Georgie! Percy’s a prat and we need to get him back!” Fred dramatically exclaims as he flops his body onto the couch in the living room. As usual, it’s we, Y/N is always roped into the twins’ plans, and while she usually doesn’t mind, today isn’t the day for it. Fred never really knows when it’s time to be quiet, always wanting to be on the go and this pops an idea into Y/N’s head.

“Daddy got cows recently,” she begins and she notices how that immediately grabs Fred’s attention. He loves cows, whenever he’s in the car with Y/N and her father he points them out every time they see one, “you sure you don’t want to come to meet them?”

Fred is out the door quicker than you can say pranks, running towards the fence that divides their two properties. Y/N and George have to stop and tell Molly where they’re going because Fred left so hastily, that he didn’t even tell anyone before. After Molly sighs and gives them permission that the twins don't really care if they get, George grabs Y/N’s hand and runs out the door after his brother.

When they finally catch up to him, Fred's face is bright red from exertion, almost matching his hair and his eyes are bright and wide. Y/N’s dad only got two cows at first, testing the waters with how he’d feel looking after them but Fred is in absolute awe.

George pushes him over the fence as he’s laughing, telling him to hurry up so they can get out of the blasting summer sun. George and Y/N slowly make their way back over to the clover patch and Fred stays near the cows. He’s watching them shyly and Y/N thinks this is the only time he’s ever seen him calm and quiet- not wanting to scare the cows.

“This is Ruby,” Y/N says as she places the small, white rabbit on George’s lap. He looks nervous like he’s worried about dropping or squeezing the bunny rabbit too hard but when he settles, the bunny is content sitting in his lap.

“This is Cutiepie, I named him!” Y/N says proudly about the black bunny rabbit in her hands, “he’s my best friend.”

George looks up at Y/N at that and before he can say anything, Y/N is giggling, “Don’t look so worried, Georgie. You’ll always be my number one...” she pauses for a moment, and looks between Fred and the bunny rabbit in her hand before giggling, “just don’t tell Freddie.”

The two of them sit in comfortable silence, admiring the two bunnies as they eventually clamper down their laps and start hopping around. George is mesmerised- the only pets he’s ever had have been the chickens, an owl and the gnomes if you count them and he hopes Y/N will have him over every day to play with the bunnies. And hang out with her of course.

“Why did you want to come to hang out with the bunnies?” Y/N soon questions, curious as to why George chose the calmness over chaos. They both look over at Fred, who’s now bent at the knees looking like he’s going to run at a cow.

“I don’t know,” George shrugs, he didn’t know why he wanted to spend time sitting in one spot instead of pranking his older brother with Fred, “Bunnies are cool, I’ve never met a bunny before.”

Y/N hums in agreement, she thinks bunnies are the coolest pets someone could have and she’s glad George agrees. If George didn’t like bunnies, she thinks she’d have to demote him to number two best friend and while she loves Fred, she doesn’t want to do that.

It’s the day the three of them have been waiting for as long as they can remember. They’re on Platform 9 ¾, trying to get away from their parents and onto the train.

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetie,” her dad says, and Y/N thinks she might cry. She’s never been far away from her dad for long periods of time. The longest she’s ever been away from him was two days and even then, she was just at The Burrow.

But now she’s leaving for school and it’s all the way in Scotland, which to an 11-year-old moving away for magical boarding school, is forever away from her family. Tears well up in her eyes and her dad pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says pulling away and wiping the tears that have fallen from his daughter’s eyes, “your mother would be proud too. Now remember, stick with Percy and Charlie, Molly told me they’ll look after you.” Bill had graduated earlier in the year, leaving the 2nd and 3rd oldest Weasley brothers to mentor ‘mischief trio’ as they navigated Hogwarts.

“Please make sure the twins don’t get into too much trouble,” Molly says, pulling the small girl into a hug, but she knows it’s useless. Where Fred and George go, Y/N goes too and detention is included.

They eventually make it onto the train, Y/N noticing the tears in her dad’s eyes as he waves to her. They look around for a few moments, trying to find an empty compartment.

They eventually find one with just one boy in it who looks around their age. He’s got dreadlocks in his hair and he already looks bored. When he notices the doors open, he smiles widely and ushers the three of them to come sit with him.

“I’m Lee,” he introduces himself and after the introductions are done they find out he’s also in their year and convinced he’s going to be in Gryffindor.

“Us too!” The twins shout at the same time. Their entire family are in Gryffindor and while the Weasley’s are by no means a strict wizarding family, the twins would feel quite odd if they weren’t sorted into Gryffindor.

Y/N however, did not know what house she’d be sorted into. Her mother had been in Ravenclaw but she didn’t believe she had any of the Ravenclaw attributes. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice George shuffling closer to her and tapping her gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Y/N nods her head, contemplating if she should express her worry to George. She knows it’s silly, but now she’s starting to get a bit worked up. Worried that after all these years, her and George will drift apart, especially if they’re in different houses and definitely if she’s in Slytherin. “Just worried. What if… What if we drift apart, Georgie?” she whispers.

George hates to admit he’s had the same worry and the look on Y/N’s face tells George this is the first time she’s even considered this and it’s killing him. He’s grown quite affectionate for Y/N over their six years of friendship. Molly and Y/N’s dad have jokingly asked when’s the wedding numerous times and while they both yell about cooties, George’s face gets the tiniest bit red every single time the joke is mentioned.

“I promise we won’t. Remember what I said the day we became friends? Best friends, and best friends are a forever kind of thing,” he promises, holding out his pinky for Y/N to wrap her own around and they stamp each other’s thumb with their own. Their way of promising each other.

“Remember, if you break the promise, Georgie, your thumb breaks,” she says with full sincerity and George remembers the one time he gave her this exact threat. She had cried for 20 minutes thinking that she’d accidentally made an Unbreakable Vow over getting ice-cream with him at Diagon Alley and poor nine-year-old George was forced into comforting Y/N and apologised profusely.

Fred and Lee are talking animatedly about quidditch (Fred can’t wait to be a beater and while Lee isn’t big on sports, he thinks he’d be a great commentator) when Y/N spots George rifling through his bag.

He pulls out a photograph and smiles as he looks down at it. It’s the last picture they took together before summer ended. Y/N’s dad took it on his muggle camera so it’s not moving, but George doesn’t mind. They’re smiling widely, bigger than they’ve ever smiled before and holding their wands they just got at Diagon Alley. They, of course, are standing in their clover patch, Y/N trying to hold the black bunny rabbit and wand at the same time and her dad clicked the capture button just as Cutiepie tried to jump out of Y/N’s arms.

It makes him laugh every time he looks at it, but seeing the worry still in Y/N’s brow, he thinks she needs the photo more than he does. “Here,” he says, nudging her briefly and handing her the photo. “When you’re worried we’re drifting, look at this and remember you’re stuck with me forever.”

Y/N’s eyes well with tears, this is the sweetest gesture anyone has ever done for her. “Thanks, Georgie. You’re stuck with me as well,” she says, tucking the picture into her robe pocket that rests over her heart.

Summer of ‘92 arrives fast and once again, Y/N spends most of her time at The Burrow causing mayhem. Today, her dad’s at work and while he 100% trusts his daughter to be home alone, he does not trust her best friends, so she waltzes over to The Burrow, walking in like she’s lived there her whole life, kisses Molly hello on the cheek and runs around, trying to find her boys.

It’s scorching, way too hot for summer in Devon and all the Weasley siblings who still live at home have decided to go swimming in the pond. They started playing Marco Polo until Fred started cheating by running outside of the pond so he wouldn’t get caught and then tried to play Chicken fight until Ginny fell off of George’s shoulders and almost hit her head.

Now, everyone’s calmed down and just relaxing. George and Y/N are cuddled up and floating around and it’s making her heart race. In the last year, her feelings for George have developed from platonic to romantic and being this close to him, while not unusual, is making her heart race. But it doesn’t last long, and soon enough Fred splashes them to get their attention.

“I’m tired and I need a nap, I’m going inside,” Fred says, eyeing his best friends. He’s had the assumption that something is going on with them for a while, and while he’d love to meddle, this is George and Y/N and there’s an unspoken rule between the three of them that involves not messing with each other.

So George and Y/N decide to get out of the pond and make their way over to Y/N’s house. They sit themselves down in their clover patch and quickly get the bunnies out. It’s a tradition at this point, and this is their spot. This is the place they tell each other everything, almost everything in Y/N’s case and the place nothing else matters but each other.

Cutiepie and Ruby are getting older now, but they’ve had babies and now there’s plenty of bunnies surrounding the pair of friends. George picks one of the babies up and nurses it, having gotten over his fear of squishing them long ago. He pulls faces at them that cause Y/N to laugh and George loves it.

He loves making her laugh.

“How weird is it that we had You-Know-Who on the back of Quirrell's head, teaching us all year?” George says. They both heard the stories first hand from Harry, Ron and Hermione. The school year they just finished being ridiculous for the three first years, but Y/N can’t help the anxious bubble forming in her throat.

“I’m scared, Georgie,” she says, turning to face him and the fear in her eyes is obvious, “We’re only young but whatever’s happening seems like it’s going to be happening fast now Harry’s at school.” She sniffles, and George thinks he’s put his foot in his mouth. So he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He shuffles closer to Y/N and wraps his arms around her, difficult because of the two bunnies in their laps but he makes it work. “I’m always going to protect you, don’t worry,” he says confidently. He doesn’t know how or when he’d need to protect her, but she must know just how much she means to him.

They sit in silence, just listening to each other breathing and patting the bunnies in their lap. The silence between them is always comfortable, nine years of friendship does that to you. But George is itching to ask something, ask something that could change everything. He’s noticed, recently, that while himself and Fred are at quidditch practice, Y/N and Lee are getting closer.

Sometimes, when Oliver sets quidditch practice on the weekends, Y/N and Lee go to Hogsmeade together and George wonders why he has an icky feeling in his stomach when he hears about their days when that happens.

“Can I ask you something?” George asks and there’s no backing out now. He has no plans to confess, not at age 14 when he doesn’t think he needs a relationship, but he needs to know or he might, as Fred would say dramatically, die. When Y/N hums in agreement and turns to remove herself from his arms, his heart starts beating faster and before he can even stop himself, he’s blurting out the question-

“Are you dating Lee?”

Y/N stares at him in shock, not entirely convinced he hasn’t picked up her feelings for him and then she laughs. She laughs hard. And George is so confused that he starts laughing as well.

“Me and Lee?” She questions between giggles, “There’s no way, he’s like,” she laughs again at the thought of her and Lee dating, “he’s like in love with Angelina. It’s ridiculous.”

George realises how dumb he sounds. Lee’s feelings for Angelina have been so obvious, especially when he decides to comment on how good-looking she is during matches now that he’s the quidditch commentator. But George always thought he was joking and from his perspective, it always seemed like Lee had a small thing for Y/N.

“Lee and I are a no go,” she says when George doesn’t say anything besides his awkward laughter, “I.. I think I like someone else, but I don’t know. I’m 14 for crying out loud,” she laughs, “I don’t know what love is.”

She’s lying, she’s 100% sure love is what she feels with George Weasley. The way she feels with the twins is different. Fred is chaos personified and she knows if she’s ever hurt, Fred will be the first person to go after whoever hurt her, no matter who it is. But George is comforting, like home-cooked meals and Molly’s sweaters personified and she’s sure this is what love is.

George pretends to agree, they’re both as clueless as each other in regards to their feelings. George knows what love is, and it’s what he feels for his best friend who’s sitting with him in their tiny clover patch.

Y/N’s heart is aching. She hasn’t seen the twins in weeks and without seeing George every day, her days are a little bit duller. She understands he’s been busy, after all, opening the most anticipated joke shop in Diagon Alley is bound to take up most of your time, but Y/N misses the days when she could yell for her best friend and he’d come running, no questions asked.

Y/N’s short term boyfriend has just broken up with her and she longs for the comfort she knows the lanky, 18-year-old ginger could give her. They weren’t together long and she knows she should never have tried to date someone while she thinks she’s still in love with George, but it still hurts.

So, she’s sitting in the clover patch as usual. She still lives at home, her father being accommodating while there’s a war raging in the Wizarding World and he understands it’s hard to get a job these days.

She always sits there when she needs the comfort of George and he’s nowhere near. Today is one of those days. Everything is building up and she needs him but she doesn’t want to be a bother. They owl back and forth most days and he’s always talking about how much work he has to do.

She’s been laying in the clover patch, their clover patch, for so long the sun is starting to set and when she sits up she sees him.

George doesn’t miss the red-rimmed eyes and the messy hair that’s covered in grass. He notices the confused look on her face and he picks up a clover and conjures it into a bouquet of wildflowers as he walks over to her.

“Hi, darling,” he says, sitting down and passing her the bouquet. Y/N is trying her hardest to pretend like her heart isn’t swooning but it is, and it’s all George’s fault. “Your dad owled me. Said you needed some George time,” he chuckles quietly and Y/N lets out a groan.

Of course, her dad decided to meddle.

“Hey, don’t stress,” George says as he sees the look of annoyance on her face, “I don’t mind. I told you I’m always here for you, didn’t I?” She hates that he’s right.

“You did,” she starts, “but you’ve been so busy. You don’t deserve to be forced into listening to my boy troubles.” She’s mocking herself now and George lightly pushes her and shakes his head. Anything upsetting Y/N is worth listening too and he’d listen to her drone on about a broken muggle device if it meant she wasn’t bottling her emotions up.

“Sean broke up with me, said I wasn’t in it enough for him, which…” She trails off, debating whether she should continue, “he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t in it enough for him but it still sucks,” she mutters.

George is well aware she just got out of a relationship and he’s also well aware they’ve been friends, for now, thirteen years and if anything was going to happen between them, it would have happened by now. But he can’t help but feel the slightest bit happy when he hears they’ve broken up.

“Do you want to talk about why?” He enquires trying to be a good friend. Y/N falls flat on her back and sighs as she looks up at the sky above her, “I’ve been in love with the same person since I was 14 and I think I was trying to get over him? Or is that too specific?” she laughs but George knows she isn’t joking.

“Why… Why haven’t you told them?” He asks, hoping to all four founders of Hogwarts that Y/N is talking about him. She looks at him, a glint in her eye and she decides she needs answers. She needs to know if her feelings for George Weasley are ever going to be reciprocated or if she needs to get over him.

“Scared. We’ve been friends for so long…” She hints and she hopes to Godric he gets the hint and doesn’t think she’s talking about Fred, but decides to say more just in case, “He’s tall, funny, ginger, an incredible quidditch player, great with animals…”

“You like Charlie?” He teases to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest and she has to resist the urge to slap him. But she caught the glint of happiness in her eyes and he doesn’t even have to speak for her to know her feelings are reciprocated.

She launches herself into his lap, almost pressing him into a bunny when he falls backwards and she straddles his waist, pressing kisses over his cheeks, “No! I love you, George Fabian Weasley!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he exclaims, swatting her away, “What if I didn’t love you back?” He teases, eyebrows raised and Y/N lets out a cackle of laughter, “I know you, George Weasley, the look in your eye made it obvious you were excited I love you.”

It’s George’s turn to smile like an idiot as he rolls them over and presses his lips to hers, finally. Thirteen years of friendship, four years of loving her and he was not prepared for this kiss to knock the wind out of his lungs. All the love he feels for her is reciprocated and he feels like the happiest man in the entire world.

When they pull apart, George’s eyes are transfixed on hers. The redness disappearing and being replaced by what he can only assume is absolute pure joy. She blushes and turns her head, not being able to handle the attention he’s giving her and when George tries to follow her eyes, his own eye catches something.

He reaches up above her head and plucks something out of the ground before showing it to her. “A four-leaf clover,” he whispers and George can’t help but think it’s fate. The day they became friends he’d found almost a four-leaf clover and the day they became more, he found a real one.

“Your lucky day, boyfriend,” she winks as she pulls him into another kiss, but he stops her and she gives him a pout, “Who said I was your boyfriend?” He teases and the look of fear that flickers across Y/N’s face is reminiscent of the day he threatened her with a broken thumb.

“I- I- Sorry, I assum-” He cuts her off with a kiss, laughing against her lips, “You just didn’t give me a chance to ask you, darling,” he says as he pulls away and Y/N’s face is as red as a tomato in embarrassment and he kisses both her cheeks in reassurance.

“Y/N Y/L/N, would you please be my girlfriend?” he asks, but it’s almost phrased like a statement, like she has no other choice and honestly, Y/N doesn’t mind.

When she pretends to think about it, George waggles his eyebrows and waves the four-leaf clover in her face and she pulls him into a kiss again, hoping that a ‘yes, I’ll be yours for the rest of my days’ is obvious.

#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley one shot #george weasley x reader

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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago

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unrequited (draco malfoy/cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

PART 1

“You know you're my best friend, right?” Cedric muttered from beside you, nudging the side of your rib with his elbow. “Always will be.”

The final stage of the Triwizard tournament was creeping up behind you. It was said to be one of the most dangerous obstacles in history. Cedric acted smug about it, acting like the idea of death didn’t phase him one bit. In front of other Hufflepuffs, he let out an empty chuckle, declaring that the TriWizard cup would be home on the mantle of the Hufflepuff common room by the end of it all. But during the moments where only he and you existed in the world, his lips quivered and his breath was broken as he explained to you how much he loved you.

During Cedric’s first two years at Hogwarts, he would come home and tell you all about his year. He would teach you spells in secret and make potions with you so by the time you entered as a first-year, you were already ahead of everyone else. He would spend his days and nights with you when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. Fellow students would make fun of him for how often he would receive owls with your name attached to the back of the envelope.

Cedric was your best friend. Always will be.

“Of course, I know, you silly man.” You huffed, turning your head to face him. He was staring at you, eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the lonely moon. The air was crisp and the winds were quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the soft whispers between the two of you and if one were to focus enough, the incessant beating of Cedric’s heart rattling in his chest and the breaking of your heart in yours. “Why are you telling me this?”

He sighed, gulping down any sign of false bravado. He knew he never had to fake with you. You always did understand him, better than anyone ever could. “Y/N… Tomorrow’s obstacle is said to be deadly. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you in case it’s the last thing I’ll ever say to you.”

“Nonsense,” You replied, waving a hand in front of his face. You shook your head, not accepting the venomous words that slip past his lips. You blinked away the tears pricking your eyes, fearing that if you even let one drop slip, it might become a reality. “You’re Cedric Diggory. Nothing can break you.”

Cedric laughed a hearty laugh, startling the small animals finding sanctuary within the bushes that stayed static beside your bodies. His finger absently traced the scar on your hand, one that you got a few years back as you hid behind the Whomping Willow before you knew of its capabilities. Cedric rushed over to you once he heard you yelp in pain, a few meters away from the irritated creature. You ended up with Madam Pomfrey for a night and a half and the scar was the constant reminder you had of the memory. “Can you at least say it back?”

“Fine,” You playfully rolled your eyes, grinning at the sound of his laugh. It was your favorite thing. “You, Cedric Diggory, are my best friend. For now and for always.”

Cedric beamed and slowly started to sit up. You followed his actions and took his arm once he offered it to you. He led you a few steps towards the secret passageway that you both took most nights to get away before stopping. You cocked your head to the side, shooting him a puzzled look. He suddenly hugged you, tightly as if you were his lifeline, and mumbled incoherent, sweet, nothings into your ear. Cedric placed his chin on the top of your head, a single tear landing on your crown, making you shiver. “I’m scared, Y/N.”

You let out a broken sigh, digging your fingertips into the muscle of his back. You feel his warmth radiating on the side of your cheek, suddenly feeling wet. You hadn’t noticed the tears slipping from your eyes. It was quickly, too quickly, starting to feel like a reality. “Me too, Ced.”

“What do we have here?” A smug voice sneered from behind you. You and Hermione twisted your heads to look at the man harboring the posh voice. Malfoy. “A Hufflepuff and a mudblood. Pathetic duo, if you ask me.”

The boy was dressed in all black, a hint of emerald green in the silver pin that he sported on his vest. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, smiles reaching their eyes as they followed the Slytherin prince around. Draco’s hair fell perfectly to frame his face, loose strands looking intentional as they landed on the areas that made him look ethereal. It was unfair really, how beautiful Draco Malfoy was. He was like straight out of a painting; pale skin, soft hair, pink lips, that often contrasted his dark exterior and his detestable character.

“Get out of here, Malfoy.” You spat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Why are you even here? I’m sure all of us would have a lovelier time if you went on your merry way.”

“You’re a courageous little Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” He teased, words dripping with distaste. “I’ll have you know that I’m here to watch Potter crumble into pieces. Although, I’ll also settle for Diggory if it comes down to it.”

You let out an angry huff, “Oh, you little shi-”

“Y/N, don’t.” Hermione placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back. “He’s not worth it.”

Draco chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “A mudblood telling me my worth? Comedy. Where’s your boyfriend? Did Dumbledore finally get tired of housing the neverending line of Weasley scums?” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Took him long enough.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Malfoy.” Ron chirped up from behind the three boys, three butterbeers in hand. “But I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco rolled his eyes but left without another word, the two boys following him as soon as he took his first step. Ron took his spot beside you and Hermione, passing you the butterbeers. The three of you looked down to where Harry and Cedric stood, the two boys in deep focus before the final round started.

Cedric’s eyes wandered the arena, stopping when his met yours. He smiled, teeth uncontained behind his lips and raised a thumb up. You mirrored his actions, raising your butterbeer in celebration of him making it this far. Dumbledore called for Cedric’s attention, letting him know that it was soon to begin. He nodded and got ready. Before the sound of the cannon, he turned to look at you one last time and mouthed, “I love you.” Just as you were going to reply, the cannon went off and Cedric disappeared into the darkness.

You heard disgruntled mumbling from a few people beside you. You turned and saw Draco with his eyebrows furrowed, staring at you. His cheeks were dusted with the mellowest shade of pink when he saw that you caught him staring. He quickly turned away, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You continued to stare, unable to decipher the look on the boy’s face. His eyes darted back to look at you, awkward under your intense fascination.

“Y/N?” Hermione’s voice pulled you out of your daze. She waved her hand in front of you, growing concerned. “Hello, Y/N?”

You snapped your attention back to her, blinking a few times to adjust your view. “I’m sorry, what?”

Ron laughed, taking a sip from his butterbeer. He motioned to where Cedric stood earlier, “She asked if you finally told Cedric how you felt about him.”

You shook your head, eyes growing wide. “I told you guys. I’ll never tell Cedric how I feel. It’s not like he’ll return the feelings anyway.”

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” She asked, a slight irritation to her voice. “Sweetheart, that’s how every girl wants to be looked at. He’s so in love with you. It always baffled me how you never noticed.”

“Hermione,” You groaned, staring at your stubborn friend. “He doesn’t look at me in any way. He sees me as his best friend, nothing more.”

“Are you bloody stupid?” Ron responded, backing Hermione up. He ran his fingers through his ginger hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “We’ve known the two of you for a fraction of the time you two have known each other and even we can see that you two are madly in love!”

“We agree.”

You looked past Ron’s shoulder to see the Weasley twins, grinning and nodding in agreement with their brother.

“You two don’t even know Cedric.”

Fred cocked an eyebrow, “We’ll have you know, we have Potions class together. He always wants to partner with us.”

“So yes, dear Y/N. We do know Cedric.” George chimed in.

“Well perhaps you do know him,” You trailed off. “But that doesn’t mean you guys know what he’s feeling. You’re just guessing.”

“It’s not guessing when he said it himself.”

Your eyes widened at the twins’ revelation. As you were about to question the two boys, a loud commotion caught everyone’s attention. All of you turned to the source of the sound to find Draco and a shattered glass of butterbeer pooling at Crabbe’s feet. His eyes narrowed, shooting daggers in your direction.

He spat, “Are we here to gossip or are we here to watch the Triwizard tournament?”

All of you remained silent, not knowing the reason for his sudden outburst. The words that the twins let slip danced in your thoughts the entire time. Everyone’s patience ran thin as the competition seemed to drag on. People left and returned upon hearing any sign of movement. You stayed, however, no matter how long it took for anyone to come back. You looked down at your yellow sweater, the initials “C.D” embroidered on the left sleeve.

Cedric got you the sweater the summer before your first year at Hogwarts. He picked it up at a shop at Hogsmeade, in yellow, confident that you were going to be placed in the same house as him. He knew you were always scared that you were going to be separated into a different house so he did little things to put your mind at ease. ‘I’ll be by your side no matter what happens but in your heart and mine, you’ll always be a Hufflepuff.’

You smiled at the memory, rubbing your thumb over the golden thread. You looked up at the sound of shuffling feet, moving away from you. You saw Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle making their way out, growing impatient with the lack of gore, you assumed. The blond boy disappeared behind the doors, slipping away from your line of vision.

You were on your third butterbeer, eyes slowly fluttering closed when you heard an audible gasp coming from everyone in the crowd. Your eyes shot open and watched as Harry and Cedric appeared in front of everyone. Harry’s body was covering Cedric.

You stood up, wanting to get a better look. You couldn’t wait to hug Cedric and congratulate him. Then you heard someone wail. Mr. Diggory.

Your knees buckled as you heard him yell and scream as he rushed down the steps to meet Cedric. The breath was knocked out of your lungs as you leaned against the barricade for support. You felt Hermione and Ron hold you up, stopping you from falling through. You were breathing unevenly, chest rising rapidly.

“Y/N?” Mr. Diggory called, head twisting in every direction trying to look for you. “Where’s Y/N?”

You shoved Hermione and Ron away, apologizing in your head for your roughness and ran down to meet him. You tripped over your own feet a few times, eyes not being any help as tears clouded your vision. The cold air was hitting your overly bitten lips, the cracks and scars growing sensitive with each breath. You pushed past everyone and fell to your knees when you got a good look at Cedric.

“Y/N…” You heard Harry say. “I’m so sorry.”

“W-why are you apologizing, Harry?” You questioned, stuttering over your words. “He’s okay. He’ll wake up.”

You didn’t realize that Ron and Hermione followed you until you heard Hermione’s broken cry after you said those words. You turned around and saw her face buried in Ron’s shoulder, a protective arm wrapped around the small of her back.

“Y/N…” Harry tried again, reaching out for you.

You pulled away, nearly crawling over to Cedric. You leaned close to him, a broken smile on your face. You whispered, “Ced, I’m here. Wake up, Ced. You did it. Ced?”

“Y/N..”

“No!” You yelled, shaking Cedric's body. “Ced, wake up.”

“Miss Y/L/N.” Dumbledore called for you, looking down at your pleading face. His eyes pooled with tears. “He didn’t make it.”

You crumbled into Cedric’s unmoving body. His eyes were still open, blankly staring back at you. The love and adoration that once swam in his pupils were gone and replaced with a gray smoke. Death. You sobbed into his chest, clinging onto his lifeless limbs. Your piercing cries shook everyone to their core, the entire arena falling silent as Mr. Diggory wrapped his arms around you and his son.

You placed your left arm under him, clutching him closer to your body. His blood stained the embroidery of his initials on your sweater, a painful memory overpowering your once sweet one.

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therealvinelle · 3 years ago

Note

“By contrast, I can think of characters who resemble most other Twilight characters with a relative amount of ease.”

You put this at the end of an ask and was just wondering if you would please elaborate? Have a lovely day

(Anon is referring to this post.) Do you ever look at two characters, realize they have a few things in common, then blink, take a step back, and realize that they really do have an awful lot in common? That they're more or less the same person, only in different circumstances? The same archetype, at the very least.

I'm open to the possibility that you'll say no, @thecarnivorousmuffinmeta and I are strange people who see strange things.

All the same, here are a few examples.

Also, this contains spoilers for the animes Fate/Zero, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, and Revolutionary Girl Utena, as well as the play Vildanden, the book Candide, and the show I, Claudius.

Aro: Kiritsugu Emiya from Fate/Zero.

Kiritsugu is a highly effective assassin whose defining trait, and curse, is his willingness to commit any atrocity in the name of the greater good. His ambition is to save the world. Over the course of the series he sacrifices his father, surrogate mother, best friend, wife, and daughter, and treats everybody else like chess pieces. It will all be worth it when he has saved the world.

He is the opposite of Bella, who would let anything burn for the sake of her loved ones. Kiritsugu loves fiercely, but he will sacrifice that which is most precious to him with a steady hand.

Aro has that same ruthlessness combined with idealism. He sacrifices his sister and is willing to kill his only friend as well, to say nothing of the many other things he has done. He creates child vampires and will kill anyone who stands in his way. This is what he must do to gain and maintain power.

Aro and Kiritsugu will sacrifice anything and anybody if they perceive it to be beneficial to their goal, a goal they happen to share.

Also Aro: Claudius from I, Claudius.

Cladius is the emperor of Rome not because he wishes to be, but because the moment he steps off the throne, Rome will fall to pieces.

Aro did seek out the throne, Claudius very much did not. However, both are in the precarious situation where they can never leave their respective thrones. Rome would fall to pieces without Claudius, and the world would burn without Aro.

Also Aro: Voldemort in an AU where he won.

We're deep in la la AU land now.

But, Aro had to commit atrocities to get to the throne, we only meet him millennia later when his rule is secure. A post-victory Voldemort (and I here mean years and years and years have passed) would be a figure quite similar to Aro. A harsh, uncompromising leader, yet he’s been around for long enough to shape the world into what he wants it to be, people don’t remember that it was once different, and he is regarded as the distant, yet necessary leader.

Bella: Hedda Gabler from Vildanden.

Hedda finds out she's a child born of infidelity, and that her father no longer loves her. Wanting to win back his love she kills herself. Bella, too, has that utter lack of self-love, that willingness to sacrifice herself, and it’s all too easy for her to believe Edward never loved her. Both Hedda and Bella fail to understand there are people who love and would miss them

Also Bella: Homura Akemi from Puella Magi Madoka Magica.

This is not an obvious one.

But they both have that uncompromising drive to do anything and everything for the one they love, and by love I mean the one they fixate everything they are or have ever been upon. Homura, over the course of P3M, goes from wanting to use time travel to save everybody, to being content with saving only Madoka. She will destroy herself for Madoka in a very literal sense, seeing no worth at all in her own survival.

Give Bella a time machine and a timeloop where Edward always dies at the end, and she will go down Homura’s path.

Caius: Every warrior king ever. Ooh and he and Iskandar (again from Fate/Zero) have very similar vibes, although they're far from the same character.

Iskandar believes that kingship and leadership is not about being noble or virtuous or showing a good example to your people, it's about strength, conquest, and glorious victory.

Caius, I imagine, would heartily agree with that.

Carlisle: I love Carlisle, but there are Carlisles everywhere, especially in anime. Utena Tenjou from Revolutionary Girl Utena comes to mind in particular, though.

Utena begins her story as a righteous and brave girl who wants to be a prince. She wants this without quite understanding what it truly means to be noble, nor does she know what it means to save a person.

Her desire to save Anthy is especially this. Anthy is a traditional damsel in distress at the beginning of the story, and Utena is so eager to save her that she never takes what Anthy herself into account. She judges herself harshly for this failure, but comes to understand what it truly means to save Anthy in the end.

Carlisle has that same nobility and willingness to do good, he is the moral compass of those around him, but all the same he is hoodwinked and does not always know where best to thread. His rescue of Rosalie is a good example of this, he saw a young woman who’d been raped to death, and did the only thing he could to help her, only to learn this wasn’t what she wanted.

Also Carlisle: god, so many characters.

Shirou from Now and Then, Here and There. Suffers a ridiculous amount, but never loses his goodness and insists even in the most extreme circumstances upon the inalienable worth of human life.

Duck from Princess Tutu. Never uses violence or even powers to win against her opponents. She talks to them, finds out why they're unhappy, and wins through healing them. They become friends with her after.

Akane Tsunemori from Psycho-Pass. In a world where people’s souls can be calculated mathematically, Akane Tsunemori is objectively a good person, empirically proven to be incorruptible. That’s her defining trait, no matter what she endures she never loses her upstanding morals. The kind of person who wouldn’t succumb to the lure of human blood.

Just gonna drop the fact that Carlisle’s hair and eyes are the same color, Edward with his vampire sight notes that they’re only one shade apart. The guy is a misplaced anime character.

Oh, and Candide from Voltaire’s Candide. This is just a loose association, but “beautiful blond man travels the world, meets people who are over the top cartoonishly miserable (just... multiply Meyer’s backstories with each other and add 10. Victoria’s life + Rosalie’s life + Esme’s life + their mother is pushed off a cliff by dalmatians) but he carries on with a big smile, and eventually settles down with his found family of hilariously wretched people” gives me Carlisle vibes.

Edward: He's so many people and in so many different ways, oh my god.

He's a mommy's boy who cries because I'M A MONSTER - Buster Bluth. Arrested Development.

He thinks too highly of himself - Gilderoy Lockhart from Harry Potter.

He GOBs - George Oscar "GOB" Bluth. Again Arrested Development.

He appears normal to the outside world, yet there's a complete meltdown with incoherent rants, strong opinions about music, and strong disturbing tendencies towards violence he may or may not act on - Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

He's weird about women, mother figures, himself, and violent. Creepy yet undeniably charming - Norman Bates from Psycho.

The way he regards Bella - strong Humbert Humbert from Lolia vibes. Replace "nymphet" with "singer" and there you go.

Really, though, with Edward, he is like these yet unlike them all. He’s... he’s a lot.

Emmett: Much like how Caius is a warrior king, Emmett is Frat Bro™.

Jasper: Clint Eastwood for reasons outlined in this post.

Marcus: Arwen after Aragorn inevitably dies.

A sad sad elf who's fading away.

Rosalie: Cordelia Chase from Buffy

Speaks her mind, no matter how brutal it is or how little people want to hear it. She does not forgive those who wrong her, she is proud, and most importantly, she is misjudged. Her beautiful appearance and bitchy veneer make her easy to dismiss, but once the going gets tough she is a deeply good person. She’ll make bitchy comments about watching your back, but watch it she does.

I also do this with ships. Aro/Carlisle are a great match for Dorian Gray and Lord Henry, if Lord Henry had failed to corrupt Dorian Gray and been delighted by that fact.

I have other examples, but they go weird places so let’s not.

TL;DR: I'm Miss Marple.

#long post #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #aro #carlisle cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #caius #jasper hale #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #marcus

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emachinescat · 4 years ago

Text

The Day that Camelot Forgot

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 24 - memory loss

Summary: A vengeful Morgana casts a powerful curse on Camelot on the day Merlin is named Court Sorcerer, making everyone in the citadel forget that Merlin – and his impact on their lives – exists. She can only maintain the spell for one day, but twenty-four hours is more than enough time for the warlock to get himself into some serious trouble.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, the knights, Gaius, Morgana is mentioned

Words: 6,444

TW: anxiety attacks, burning at the stake, main character near-death

Note: This story is a bit late, as it was meant to be published on day 24 of Febuwhump, but I got sick, and missed a few days. I did post the first half of it on Tumblr on the 24th, but this is the finished product. I am seriously considering writing a sequel, because there are definitely a lot of ramifications that I gloss over here, a lot of angsty, whumpy stuff that I could (and most likely will) expand upon in another story. But I'll let you read the story for yourself, and see if you're interested in a sequel!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, and re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Merlin woke up to a broom head hitting him in the face, which was not how he expected his first day as Court Sorcerer to start.

An indignant squawk escaped him as he rolled off of his bed in an effort to escape the assault. He already had an insult for Arthur on his lips when his bleary eyes cleared and he realized that it had not been the king at all who had woken him in such a manner. It was Gaius, and he was poised to strike again.

"Gaius!" Merlin stammered, scrambling to his feet and dodging another blow from the broom. "What the hell are you doing that for?"

Gaius didn't answer. Instead, looking as mean and ornery as Merlin had ever seen him, the old physician demanded, "How did you get in here?"

Merlin cocked his head to one side, completely nonplussed. "I… live here? I remember turning Arthur's offer for new chambers down so I could stay and care for you – OW!"

Gaius had hit him again. "Who are you?" he all but growled.

Merlin blinked. "Gaius, you know me," he insisted, his heart hammering out his uncertainty at the pulse point in his neck. Something was wrong; Gaius might be cantankerous for his old age, and he might have enjoyed the odd joke at Merlin's expense, but never something like this.

Merlin tried again. "Gaius, it's me… Merlin." When Gaius only glared at him distrustfully from beneath two gnarled eyebrows, he added hopefully, "You know… Hunith's son?"

To his relief, recognition lit in his mentor's eyes at the mention of Merlin's mother, but distrust immediately replaced it. "I have known Hunith all of her life," Gaius said, voice low and measured, broom still held at the ready. "But she has no son."

Real fear exploded in Merlin's chest – fear for Gaius, not for himself. There was only so much Gaius could do with a broom, but if he was forgetting Merlin so suddenly and so completely…

"Ah, I'm sorry," Merlin said as calmly as possible, raising his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm. "My mistake. I'll … get out of your hair."

He darted out of his room, across the physician's main chamber, and out the door, leaving a confused and agitated Gaius in his wake. Merlin prayed that the old physician wouldn't get himself into too much trouble while he was gone, and then darted for Arthur's chambers.

***

He ran into Gwaine on the way – literally, he ran headfirst into the knight, so distracted by Gaius's sudden and dramatic loss of memory. At first he wasn't sure whose ridiculously muscular torso he'd bumped into, and despite his worry, he couldn't help but grin when he saw the bearded face glaring down at him in surprise.

Wait…

Glaring?

Merlin stumbled back.

"Watch where you're going, friend," Gwaine said in response. The way he spoke sent a wave of wrongness down Merlin's spine. He had called Merlin friend, but it was a vague, generalized term. When Gwaine normally called Merlin his friend, the word was saturated with warmth and shone with the light of a dozen charming grins. Now, it meant nothing. And when Merlin looked up into his friend's dark eyes, there was no recognition there. No smile that Merlin had come to understand as reserved especially for the knight's closest friends. Gwaine's eyes landed on him, flashed in brief annoyance, and then skirted off of him almost nearly as quickly.

"Gwaine?" Merlin asked, irritated at the uncertainty in his own voice.

Gwaine, who had already started sauntering away, turned back with a puzzled expression. For just a moment, Merlin was sure that kind, mischievous face was going to open up in an eyes-to-mouth smile like it always did upon seeing him, but then the brow furrowed, and Gwaine asked, "Do I know you?"

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He stood there, gaping like a fool, his whole body coiled as if ready to spring into action, limbs numb, fingers trembling, fear wrapping its constricting tendrils around his chest.

Gwaine gave Merlin an odd look, then shrugged. "Maybe we drank together once."

Merlin nodded weakly, remembering not just once, but many times he and the man before him had gone to the tavern together, often with the rest of the knights, sometimes even the king, in tow. He thought of laughter, and promises of friendship and loyalty, and tavern songs and Gwaine standing on top of a table doing a clumsy jig. He thought of the first time they'd gone to the tavern after learning of Merlin's magic, how Gwaine had asked him a million questions that had gotten more idiotic with every drink. ("No, Gwaine, I have never tried to transplant my nose into the center of a rose to see if flowers can smell themselves.")

By the time he had resurfaced from the barrage of memories that Gwaine had forgotten and that Merlin now clung to with a new ferocity, the knight had gone.

Feeling distinctly sick, Merlin resumed his trek to Arthur's chambers, noticing with fresh terror that every person he passed either didn't acknowledge him at all, or gave him a second, bewildered glance like they'd never seen him before, like he had no right being where he was – being in his home.

***

Arthur didn't remember him, either.

Merlin was so near panic when he got to the king and queen's chambers that he almost forgot to knock. Knocking was never something Merlin had been particularly adept at remembering to do, especially when it came to his duties to Arthur, but since the king had married Gwen, Merlin had made sure to amend his habits. There were some things that Merlin absolutely did not want to walk in on, and besides, he respected Gwen too much to risk barging in on her unannounced.

It was Arthur who answered the door, and Merlin was so flustered that he didn't wait for an invitation to enter (when did he ever, though?), and he squeezed his way into the room past the king. Gwen was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank the gods you're here, Arthur," Merlin huffed as he bustled in. "Something very weird is going on. Gaius and Gwaine are acting like they don't know me, like they've never seen me in their lives!"

He turned around to face his friend. To his surprise, Arthur's hand was on the hilt of his sword at his hip, and suspicion rolled off of him in waves. "Who the hell are you?" he asked flatly, blue eyes flashing with an intensity reserved for those who wished to do him, his kingdom, or his loved ones harm.

Merlin had been expecting a joke like this. Arthur was never one to pass up an opportunity to tease his former servant, soon-to-be Court Sorcerer. The dry retort, "Very funny, Sire," died before it could escape his mouth, though, because when he looked at his king, his best friend, he saw no glimmer of recognition. No familiarity. No kindness or warmth or irritated indulgence. Arthur's face was that of a man who had just had a complete stranger barge into his room and started talking to him like they were old acquaintances – which, Merlin was beginning to realize, was exactly what had happened from the king's point of view.

Merlin swallowed heavily and entreated, "Arthur … King Arthur. Please tell me that you know me." Desperation clawed at his throat and infected his next plea. "Please."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't relax his grip on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw the weapon either, which Merlin thought had to be a good sign. Finally, after several long, tense moments, Arthur responded in a slow, cautious tone, "I'm sorry. I have never seen you before in my life. What business do you have with me?"

Merlin's world, everything he knew and understood and loved, crumbled around him in that moment. He staggered back, managed to stay upright by pure strength of will alone. What the hell was going on? The familiar sting of tears pressed against the back of his eyes, and he only managed to keep himself from crying by sheer stubbornness. He took a deep, steadying breath, made a conscious effort to look as non-threatening as possible, and tried very hard not to panic.

"Okay," he said, and his voice shook, so he tried again. "Okay." This time, his voice was steadier. Arthur's glare pounded into him from across the room, and knew that the king's already thin patience was running out. "Something very wrong is happening in Camelot," the sorcerer began.

Arthur interrupted him. "I agree," he said pedantically. "There's a strange man in my chambers."

"I'm not – I am, or I was, your servant."

"My servant's name is George."

Merlin couldn't help it. He groaned. "George? The one who makes jokes about brass? He's your servant in this hellish version of Camelot?"

Arthur sent Merlin a look that was almost pitying. "You are obviously very confused," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "But I am king of Camelot, and you have no right to be in my personal chambers. Go now, and I will think nothing more of this intrusion. If you do not, then I will have to treat you as a threat, and call the guards."

Merlin shook his head, unwilling to let this go. In the span of a single morning, his entire reality, the world he and Arthur had worked so hard to build and the future that they were about to step into, his new position as Court Sorcerer, his friendship with Arthur, everything, had been ripped away from him. He had to figure out what could have caused this to happen. He didn't have to think long – who was out there with enough power to make what seemed like the entire citadel forget he existed? Who was angry and envious and vindictive enough to take away everyone he loved on the very day that the culmination of his and Arthur's dreams were finally taking shape?

Even as Arthur stepped forward, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, Merlin blurted, "It has to be Morgana!"

All the color drained out of Arthur's face in an instant. He stood there, frozen, a horrible expression of pain manifesting in his eyes. "How dare you speak of my sister," the king growled, and Merlin actually backed up a few steps, bumping into the end table that he'd polished more times than he could count.

"I know she's a difficult subject to talk about," Merlin managed, striving to keep his voice steady as the grief in Arthur's eyes turned to fury. "But it's the only explanation. Morgana must have cast a curse on the citadel – you have to let me go find her, please, and I can stop this, and the world can go back to normal."

Arthur drew his sword now, and Merlin had no more room to retreat. He stood before his king, his closest friend, his muscles aching from the tension gripping his body, his heart pumping so fast and hard he could feel the flutter in his chest. "Arthur, please–"

"I am your king!" the man who had Arthur's face but spoke like his father spat. "You will address me as such! And how dare you insinuate that the Lady Morgana was a sorceress! What vile game are you playing?"

Merlin's head spun; he had no idea what was going on, how Arthur was currently seeing the world, but he did know for certain now that Morgana was behind it. The reverence and love with which the king said his half-sister's name could only come from a delusion the sorceress in question had placed there. Then something Arthur had said hit home. "What do you mean 'was'?"

The expression on the king's face was faintly nauseated, as if he were being forced to remember something that he had hidden away deep inside, or as if he were actively fighting the urge to cut Merlin down on the spot. Either scenario felt entirely wrong and filled Merlin with a sense of dread. "My sister is dead," Arthur said flatly. "She who would have been queen – should have been queen." Oh, yes, Morgana was definitely behind this, Merlin thought wryly. It was bad enough she had these sick delusions in the first place, but to force everyone in Camelot to play a part in them was equally terrifying and sad. "Struck down by a sorcerer in cold blood."

Merlin flinched at the way Arthur spat the word sorcerer. It had been years since he had heard the title said with such hatred and derision, and never had he heard this level of malevolence for magic-users come from Arthur's mouth. After everything they had been through together, after the joy of watching their prophesied destiny unfold before his very eyes, after hearing Arthur accept his magic and plan to officially declare him Court Sorcerer, hearing the title that Arthur had so often spoken of with pride slide out of that same mouth slicked with hatred hurt. But Merlin reminded himself of the truth – this wasn't Arthur, not really; somehow he was being fed false memories – and he squared his shoulders and looked his king right in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said solemnly. Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Merlin hoped it was a good sign. "But Arthur – your highness – I need you to listen to me, please. I can explain everything. I can try, at least. But your memories aren't what you think they are. Morgana is alive and… very well, considering the power of this enchantment."

"My sister was murdered by magic, and yet you still insist that she is the evil enchantress!" Arthur fumed, and Merlin felt like he was talking to a stone wall, or even more deaf and unyielding, Uther Pendragon. He very seriously considered knocking Arthur out with magic and tucking him away safely in a wardrobe somewhere while he himself went to deal with the sorceress who had caused all this trouble. But Merlin could sense Arthur, the real Arthur, somewhere beneath the surface of those familiar-but-foreign eyes, and he was sure he could break the spell without having to go to the source. Merlin was Arthur's dearest friend, the king had said this himself (and yes, it still counted even if Arthur had been incredibly drunk after a night in the tavern with Gwaine when he said it). And Merlin knew Arthur better than anyone else, save the queen.

I can reach him, he reassured himself. Arthur is still in there, somewhere. I just have to find him. And once he's back to himself, I can deal with Morgana.

"Please, sire," Merlin said, putting every bit of sincerity he could muster into his words. "Just… let me tell you my side of the story. Let me remind you of who I am, and who you truly are. I am your friend, Arthur, and you have said yourself that I am the most stupidly loyal man you have ever had the displeasure to meet." A desperate chuckle lilted his last few words.

"You have two minutes."

"Um, there's a lot to cover, actually," Merlin responded. "Can I have a bit longer, because I don't think–"

"One and half minutes."

"Okay, okay, I'll stick to the basics!" And so Merlin gave Arthur the quickest and most condensed version of their friendship and history he could cobble together in less time than it usually took to exchange greetings with his king in the morning.

He ended with, "And so you see, it makes sense that Morgana would want to sabotage this occasion, because it marks the beginning of a new era that she desperately wants to be a part of but is too bitter and proud to humble herself and change for. She wants to tear us apart, wants you to do something that you'll later regret. But I know you're stronger than this, Arthur. I know that you remember me, deep down. The life you're living isn't yours. Your memories aren't yours. They belong to Morgana, but your mind does not." A strange, almost trance-like mask had descended over Arthur's face while Merlin spoke, and hope started budding in the warlock's chest – he was so close to breaking through, he could feel it.

"So," Merlin prompted, when Arthur did not immediately respond. "Do you remember? Have you realized the truth, sire?"

Slowly, Arthur nodded, and the dazed quality to his eyes cleared up in an instant. "Yes," he murmured. Merlin allowed his eyes to close momentarily in relief; his body sagged against the table at his back. Thank the gods, the nightmare was over. Now all that was left was to find Morgana and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

But Arthur wasn't finished speaking, and the hardness had steeled his gaze once more, his lips set in a straight line and his jaw clenched and held high. "I have realized that I was a fool to think that you were a harmless vagrant with delusions of grandeur who wandered into the wrong part of the castle. I should never have opened the door for you."

"Arthur–"

"I am your KING!" Merlin snapped his mouth shut, tears once again prickling at the corner of his eyes. The injustice of the situation weighed as heavily on him as his destiny once had. "You are a sorcerer, an enemy of Camelot, here in an attempt to take down Camelot from the inside. But your spells and tricks and poisoned words will not work on me."

"But–"

"Guards!"

"You don't understand, I–"

"Guards!"

***

Elyan and Percival were the knights who dragged Merlin to the dungeons and threw him roughly into a cell. Then Percival clasped his wrists in shackles, which were chained to the floor. The door slammed shut with a metallic clang.

"Percival – Elyan!" Merlin called out as the knights that had only a week ago pledged their acceptance and loyalty to him as the soon-to-be Court Sorcerer and chief advisor to the king. "Please, you know me!"

"You'll die for your treachery, sorcerer," Elyan spat.

The left, and Merlin sank to the cold, damp stone floor, chains clinking. He drew his knees up to his chest, rested his aching head on them, and did his best to remember how to breathe.

***

Merlin wasn't sure how long he had been in the dungeon, but it had to have been a couple of hours at least. He hadn't eaten breakfast because the old man who usually prepared it for him had instead attacked him with a broom. Now, he was certain he had missed lunch too. His stomach growled at him in protest, but the hunger pangs meant nothing to Merlin. Even if the guards dropped off a meal fit for a king, he wouldn't be able to eat a bite. Everything had gone so wrong.

And now Merlin was at a loss of what to do. He could escape the dungeons easily, he knew, and go searching for Morgana. But there were so many uncertainties, a litany of what ifs that railed against him whenever he thought about breaking out of his chains and sending the cell door crashing into the guards holding a silent but hostile vigil on the other side. If indeed he could find Morgana and discover a way to reverse the curse, then it would, of course, be an easy fix. Merlin's failure to connect with Arthur and break the spell himself had planted a seed of self-doubt deeply within the soil of his mind, however, and now what he had been so sure of before he'd tried to fix things himself – that he would be able to hunt down Morgana and stop this madness with magic – seemed like a distant, unrealistic goal.

And if he did fail? If he could not find Morgana, or if she had managed to employ a magic far more powerful or strange than he currently knew how to counter? If he was unable to break the curse? Then Arthur would go on believing Merlin was the enemy, and Merlin would have forfeited any chance of reaching his friend by flouting the king's edict, attacking the guards, and breaking out of the castle.

Merlin had only been able to get through to Arthur in his other life, his real life, by showing the king over a period of years that magic was not something to be inherently feared, not something evil in and of itself. He had had to show the king through his own life and actions the truth about magic, so that when Arthur had at last learned of his secret, it was from Merlin's own lips and with nearly a decade of loyalty and friendship to back up Merlin's assurances that he had only ever used his gifts to protect Arthur and Camelot. Sure, Arthur had been angry at first, and hurt that Merlin hadn't trusted him, but he had come to an acceptance of Merlin's magic much more quickly than the warlock had imagined. King and servant had grown even closer in the wake of the truth, and soon after, Arthur had started drafting plans for making magic legal and had proposed the idea of Melin's being officially named Court Sorcerer.

But if Merlin was forced to start from scratch, to rebuild his relationship with the king – a possibility that pained him deeply but that he was more than willing to do, if it was the only way to get Arthur back and get their destiny on track – then it would not be wise to start that relationship off with a jailbreak. Then again, he argued against himself, neither was blurting out his secret to an Arthur who had already shown great disdain for magic and who held no memory of or loyalty toward Merlin at all. At this rate, maybe it was better to just take the risk and escape, because how in the name of the Triple Goddess was he supposed to convince Arthur of his loyalty if the king most likely planned to execute him for treason?

He almost made his escape then, but something stopped him. At first, he couldn't identity exactly what it was, just a feeling, an uncomfortable squirming in his gut that could have been the voice of destiny, or instinct, or, quite possibly, hunger. But either way, it bothered him enough that he held off on his plans to break out and examined the feeling more closely. Eventually, he realized – if he left Arthur now, especially in the state he was in, alone and unprotected and with Morgana out there somewhere with her eyes feasting hungrily on the citadel she so earnestly believed should be hers, he could be putting the king in more danger. If Merlin wasn't able to find Morgana in time, and she used his absence to ease her way into the citadel and onto the throne, which Arthur would readily give up to her in his current state.. With him under her influence, she could do whatever she wanted to him – kill him, imprison him, break his mind forever… and Merlin wouldn't be there to stop her.

With this thought, he decided to wait it out, and to see how events would unfold. He would not use his magic to defy Arthur or make his escape unless absolutely necessary. After all, he tried to assure himself, there was the very real possibility that Morgana would not be able to hold this powerful of a spell for long. She might be a priestess of the Old Religion, but even she had her limits. Perhaps her plan was to lure Merlin out to find her and then to use his absence to take Camelot for herself, but it was entirely possible that she only had a limited window of time to achieve her goal and that she was counting on Merlin to act on his emotions and search her out immediately.

Or maybe her plan was just to simply wreak havoc in Merlin's life for as long as she could. Either way, Merlin reasoned, her hold over the entirety of Camelot could not last forever. Sooner or later, her grip would weaken and Arthur and the rest of the citadel would wrest their way out of her control.

Merlin just had to survive until then.

***

He was unsure of how much time had passed when they came for him again. No one had brought him food, or water, and no one had come to visit him during his imprisonment, either. Merlin thought it was highly likely that Arthur had ordered any curious parties to stay away; the king had made it abundantly clear that he considered Merlin a dangerous threat. The fact that he had not been given even a hunk of stale bread or a flagon of water sent warning bells off in Merlin's mind – if this strange Arthur was anything like Uther had been, then he knew that he would be executed swiftly and without trial, and there was no need to feed a dead man.

Gwaine and Leon came to collect him. Leon unlocked the shackles and shoved him at Gwaine, who spat at his feet. "And to think I was kind to you this morning," he growled, and Merlin fought the urge to remind him that he hadn't exactly been kind, more indifferent. Gwaine roughly spun Merlin around, wrenched his hands behind his back so hard that pain sliced through his shoulder blades. Merlin felt his hands being bound tightly, expertly behind his back with course, thick rope. He reached into himself and felt his magic, alive, pulsing, ready to rise to his defense, and he took solace in it, but kept it at bay.

Not yet, he told himself.

But he was getting scared, and he was running out of options.

***

They shoved him to his knees before Arthur, who sat unyielding and terrible on his throne, a mirror image of his father. Merlin realized with a start that there was only one throne.

"Where's Gwen?" he asked. Now that he thought about it, the servant-turned-queen hadn't come up when Merlin had told his story to Arthur earlier, and the king had made no mention of his wife. In fact, he recalled with a start, none of Gwen's more domestic touches had been in Arthur's chamber.

Arthur stood, striding forward and looming over his prisoner. "You should have gagged him," he groused. "He doesn't know how to shut up." For a split second, Merlin thought that maybe the real Arthur was beginning to resurface – that was exactly something that he would say! Then he crossed his arms over his chest and asked irritably, "Who is Gwen? Your accomplice?"

"No, no," Merlin quickly assured him, not wanting to cause any trouble for Gwen, wherever she was. It was odd, he thought: Most elements of Camelot had stayed the same in Morgana's living nightmare, like the knights – even the non-noble ones, even Elyan, Gwen's brother, had remained as they were. But Arthur, in this version of reality, had never married Gwen. It made sense if he thought about it, though. Gwen had occupied the role that Morgana had believed was hers, had, in the witch's eyes, betrayed her trust and left her for the man that represented everything Morgana hated. Of course, Gwen wouldn't have her happy ending, her marriage to Arthur, with Morgana in charge. She was being punished as well. Merlin wondered if Gwen had been left with her memories of the real world like he had been, or if she was somewhere in Camelot, living and thinking as a maid when she really was a queen.

To Merlin's relief, Arthur didn't pursue the line of questioning any further. "I have talked this matter over with my council and advisors," he said in a measured voice. A burst of bitterness howled inside of Merlin – he had been named Arthur's chief advisor! He had been a part of the original council, the Knights of the Round Table, when Arthur had first brought them together! And now this illusion of Morgana's had stolen that away from him, too.

Not yet, he reminded his magic, as it raged and boiled and frothed inside of him. Be patient.

He might have been able to control his magic, but he could not keep his sarcasm completely in check: "And I am sure that in your discussion with the council, you all came to a completely fair and totally unbiased decision based on facts and not the unfounded prejudices of your father's rule."

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly was not Arthur's face flushing an angry red, nor the back of his hand smashing full-force into Merlin's cheek, snapping his head to the side violently. He felt one of the king's rings split the skin on his cheekbone, and thought for a breathless moment that the entire left side of his face had caved in.

He couldn't keep back the lone tear that crawled from the corner of his eye. It didn't come from pain or even shock – but a sense of gut-wrenching betrayal that he could not reason his way out of, even knowing that Arthur was not himself. Even in the state that Arthur was in, even knowing that the king would make plans to execute him, Merlin never anticipated Arthur himself becoming physically violent with him. Somehow, Arthur's hitting him was so much more of a betrayal than a death sentence.

Just. Wait. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep his magic from rising to his defense.

"You will learn your place, sorcerer," Arthur hissed. "When you burn. Take him; we light the pyre at first dawn."

***

Fear screamed through Merlin's body like a whirlwind, and coherent thought fled in the wake of his worst nightmares manifesting before him. He had been sure that Arthur would have chosen hanging or even the chopping block, but a pyre –

Merlin had grown up terrified of fires, horrified at the possibility of dying a brutal, torturous death, swallowed and ravaged by flames, all because he was born with magic. Because of who he was.

No one had been burnt at the stake in years in Camelot. Certainly not after Arthur became king. It was a barbaric practice, and even the worst war criminals and traitors were given a swift, merciful death. He had assumed that Arthur would continue that tradition.

But no, when he was dragged out into the courtyard – the sky was dark, but the air chilly and damp, heralding the approaching dawn – a great pyre had been constructed, and the rest of the knights – his friends – had gathered around, their faces lit eerily by the flickering flames of the torches they held at the ready. At least Gaius wasn't there.

You're not actually going to die, Merlin tried to remind himself, dragging desperately for air through his nose, his mouth blocked by his neckerchief that they'd dragged over his mouth in a bid to keep him from talking, or screaming, or just out of pure spite, Merlin didn't know. You can escape. You will escape, and find Morgana, and stop this. You can't delay any longer.

He drew himself up as tall as he could between Leon and Gwaine, calling his magic to his aid and –

He wasn't sure what happened, or how his friends-turned-enemies had guessed that he was about to try something – maybe he had given himself away somehow, maybe they had noticed the change in his stance or a shift in his energy, or maybe Morgana was interfering even now, ensuring that he would not escape his fate so easily. Whatever the reason, just as Merlin drew upon his magic, something blunt – a sword hilt? – crashed into the back of his skull, and everything was pain.

Agony ripped through his head, his neck, and crackled down his spine. Any grip Merlin had on his magic slipped through his fingers, and he fell forward, held semi-upright only by the knights escorting him to his death. He didn't lose consciousness, but he did lose all sense of control over his body and his magic, and the only thing that existed was pain. His stomach churned in time with the throbbing of his head, and his eyes were driven shut instinctively by the light of the torches before him.

The next few minutes passed in a state of distanced terror and pain. Merlin was acutely aware of the heaviness and agony of his head and the nausea in his gut. He also felt every spike of fear, every bit of helplessness, every scream that wanted to rise up from the most primal part of his being. And yet, at the same time, it was as if it was happening to someone else, and he could do nothing about it. Everything hurt and he was going to die and Arthur was going to burn him alive, his friends were going to light the pyre, and he would die in agony, and not even his magic could stop it, because he couldn't feel it, couldn't find it – he was magic itself, and yet it eluded his grasp, all that existed was pain and confusion and his head swam –

He felt, as if from a great distance, himself be hoisted onto the pyre. He felt the rough wood of the stake rub blisters into his tied hands as he was shoved against it, head lolling uselessly as if it belonged to someone else. He felt rope wrap around his torso, his legs, securing him to the pyre, and he tried to lift his head, which rested on his chest, tried to find his magic, but all he uncovered was fear and despair and pain.

He vaguely heard Arthur speaking from somewhere close by – or maybe it was from miles away. He did not understand the words but knew them to be a list of the supposed crimes Merlin had committed – being born with magic the chief of those. And then, far too soon, Arthur stopped talking, and Merlin sensed through his partially closed eyes the knights approaching with their torches, and he felt the warmth of the fire as those torches were lowered to the wood.

Merlin forced his eyes open, thrust his head up and looked at his friends, then beyond them, at Arthur. He maintained eye contact with his king, his brother, his best friend, even as the knights lit the pyre and he felt the heat begin to spread. Merlin didn't know if Arthur could hear him from this distance, if his words would be loud enough, strong enough, or if they would be caught up and consumed in the rising flames. It took every ounce of strength and concentration to push past the pain and call out, as loudly as he could, "I forgive you, Arthur."

And then, as the flames began licking at his feet, his boots, his clothes, something popped. I was as if the world itself had been out of joint, like a dislocated shoulder, and in that moment, the painful but satisfying second of release, it had snapped back into place. The air shifted, the world stopped spinning for the briefest of moments, and then, it clicked back into its rightful place.

The spell had been broken; Merlin could feel it in every fiber of his being – his magic cried out in relief, and it was only then that he realized that it hadn't been his head injury that had prevented him from fighting back, from escaping – it had been a last, desperate attempt by Morgana to get her revenge, to hide his magic away from him just long enough for him to die.

But she had failed. Her power, her hold and control, had finally given out on her, and Merlin felt his magic bubble back to the surface, and despite the pain and the fear, he summoned rain from a cloudless sky as the sun continued its golden ascent and put out the flames.

Around him, he heard yells, and cries, and his name was shouted from all directions, from the mouths of those he loved and trusted and who had very nearly killed him. But his head pounded, and he was so weak, and the fire was out. He slumped in his bonds, eyes fluttering shut, head dropping to his chest.

He didn't even feel the hands untie him. He didn't feel the knights gently lift his too-warm body from the pyre, didn't feel himself being carried into the castle and placed on a bed, didn't feel Arthur's tears of mingled guilt and relief splash onto his face.

He did, however, somehow, amidst the quiet and dark of unconsciousness, hear Arthur's voice cut through the silence, strong and familiar and real. "Gods, I – I'm so sorry, Merlin. My dearest friend, I–"

When he woke, Merlin would embrace his king, reassure him that no lasting harm had been done. He would smile at his friends, clasp hands with the knights and hug Gaius, find Gwen and make sure she hadn't suffered the same disorienting day that he had. He would answer all questions asked of him, and he would assure Arthur and the knights as many times as it took that he did not blame them, would explain Morgana's dark role in everything. He would find Morgana, and make sure that nothing like this would happen again.

When he woke, the world would be right. It wouldn't be normal – after everything that had been done to him, after all the betrayals, even though he didn't blame his friends, it would take a while for normal to come back around. But Merlin would persist, and he would have his friends – his real friends, with their real memories – to help him through it. As he would help them through the ramifications of their own pain, guilt, and regret.

And when he woke, he would be named the official Court Sorcerer of Camelot. He would be given a robe fine enough for a king, but he wouldn't care about that. All that would matter would be him, at Arthur's side, protecting him and fulfilling their destiny. That was how it had always been, and Merlin, when he woke, would look forward to a bright future of peace and hope.

But for now, he gratefully, peacefully slept, knowing that when he next opened his eyes, Camelot would remember.

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years ago

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hi do u wrote for luna lovegood ? if so can u write something fluffy 🥺? i don’t mind what it’s about i just don’t see enough for her

I feel like I need to advertise this more: I write for ANY harry potter character. Any of them. Minus Dobby... Don't be that guy.

Warnings: Gay? uh... Mostly fluff. Kind of sad at times but seriously fluffy. Set in non voldy au

You met this girl in your second year

And oh boy

Luna Lovegood.

Oh how that name alone seemed mystical to you.

She was this little thing that you just... Could never seem to get out of your head.

So much so you literally just ran into her

"I am so sorry!" You gasped.

She blinked a few times.

"Your eyes are e/c?" She asked curiously.

You blinked a few times.

"...Uhm..... Yeah?" You nodded.

"Pretty." She said in that soft voice of hers that only made you fall harder.

From that moment forth she actually sat closer to you in classes.

You thanked your lucky stars you were in the same class as her much less in the same dorm

She was always so kind and so thoughtful i general

But right now many other Ravenclaws noticed her fixation on you

This week was finals week and you were stressed.

You were slumped over your desk with your wand holding a bun in your hair

So she went down to the kitchens and brought back brownies.

You looked over and she was sitting on your bed with the plate

"You should eat." She said softly.

You blinked a couple of times.

"Where... Did you get brownies at three in the morning?" You asked

"The kitchens... The house elves were more than willing to help me" she said handing you one.

You bit into it and smiled. "They're good." You nodded.

Her heart nearly beat out of her chest looking at your smile.

"hey Luna... Thank you for helping me" you told her.

"Your smile is very pretty tonight Y/n." She said.

You chuckled and she smiled

"How come I've never... Seen you hanging out with anyone? I mean I would figure someone so kind would have a lot of friends?" You asked.

"I don't really have friends. Not many people want to know the girl who talks to herself." She shrugged

"I want to." You said

"You want to be friends?" She asked

"Yep." You nodded.

So from then on you were friends

She was shorter than you and you found this to be adorable.

But sometimes you'd be talking in the hall and you'd feel her jump on your back

First time she did that you fell over but you were laughing

But from then on you usually came to expect it.

You and her didn't really like to eat in the great hall so you sat in the astronomy tower.

She loved hanging out with you but she also loved those days where you'd get sleepy and fall asleep on her lap

She'd play with your hair and hum little songs or tunes to get you to sleep

Some times it'd be vice versa and she'd fall asleep on you

You would put your cardigan over her and read or something to pass the time

You two didn't go to quidditch games because it was just meh to you

You liked to sit near the lake and skip rocks

The summer that year was fun, the two of you hanging out

You were mesmerized by her house

"It's not much--" "This is literally the coolest thing I've ever seen"

Luna, her father and you would all sit outside sometimes and have small camp fires

Fun fact: Luna plays guitar

She has a gorgeous voice and she'll make songs up off the top of her head

You loved listening to her sing while watching the flames dance

Her father could recognize the young love in front of him

And no. He did not care that both of you were girls

Your third year started and the triwizard tournament happened

"A competition that's dangerous... Think that Harry kid will compete?" You asked

"Mmm. Probably" she nodded

You noticed sometimes she'd wave to things you couldn't see and it confused you but you never said anything

Finally one day you asked her "Luna, what are you greeting?"

"It's called a thestral... You can see them unless you've witnessed death." She said softly.

Oh... OH.

You blinked a couple of times "Uhm... L... Luna when did... When did you--"

"my mother died when I was nine. Creating spells." She said softly

You nodded. "I see."

"I'm okay though... I've got you and dad." She said with a smile

You and her were inseparable

You were in herbology and noticed a boy who just could not catch a break

So you two helped him out after he passed out in class

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Neville..." He groaned as he leaned up.

"Does this kind of thing happen frequently?" Luna asked.

"All the time." He said with a sigh.

"Well with this attitude it's not going to be fun. Think of it as a surprise power nap." You said making Luna laugh.

"...Who are you guys?" He asked.

"Y/n L/n. Luna Lovegood." You introduced.

"Right... Loony." He nodded slightly dazed.

"What?" You asked, eye slightly twitching at the nickname for Luna.

"Something Draco mentioned." He muttered.

"I'll be right back."

So you convinced the twins to give extra love to their favorite Slytherin that week

Ohhh how you enjoyed watching Draco scream like a little bitch down the halls

Neville began to hang out with you two

You loved seeing Luna make friends and be all adorable and bubbly

"So you two are a year below me?" He asked.

"Yep. We've got a hogsmeade trip coming up too." You nodded.

"excited?" Neville asked.

"Yep." Luna said with a smile

Hogsmeade was so much fun

dancing in the snow to music you two were making up on the spot

The twins meeting Luna and thinking "This girl is crazy... But I'd literally die for this girl"

She'd say something off the wall and random but you would just consider that normal while the boys would just be confused

After a while they did get used to it

The yule ball came up and you were nervous about that dance class

Mcgonagall wanted you to be in boy/girl couples but there weren't an even amount of boys to girls so you danced with Luna (thank god for what ever the twins put in Draco's food that morning)

You were trying so hard to focus but Luna was so pretty

"Hey Y/n. Wanna go to the Yule?" She asked

"With you?" You asked.

"Preferably." She nodded.

"Absolutely." You nodded

You went to the Gryffindor common room after class and screamed into a pillow for two hours

"Y/n what's up with you?" Neville asked.

"Luna asked me to the yule ball and I am FREAKING OUT."

"Oh... I'm going with Ginny do you guys want to hang out there to calm your nerves?"

You leaned up. "God. You are a God."

He laughed and so you waited for Luna at the stairs

She came down and you were mesmerized

"...Luna you're..." You gaped.

"I know it's not much" she said straightening it as she walked up to you

"Beautiful." You finally said.

You met Ginny that night and she actually thought you and Luna were adorable together

You two were smiling and blushing the whole night

But it was particularly awesome when you and her went for a walk.

She shivered and since you didn't have a jacket you just wrapped your arm around her

She smiled and you two exchanged this look that can only be described as pure beautiful love

You kissed her and she smiled even bigger

"Does this mean we're... Together?"

"I really hope so." You chuckled.

So then you two started dating

Her dad was so excited for you two, he was so happy to see Luna in love

Ginny started hanging out with you guys more and loved seeing you two together

You and Luna usually sat on the floor when you hung out

She'd sit in your lap and you'd rest your head on hers, while you listened to Neville or the twins

She loved to put flowers in your hair

She loves when she reads against a tree and your head is in her lap just smiling at her

She'll lean down and kiss you with a smile

When the twins opened their business you were excited for them

You guys met Harry during his last year and he just knew you two as "the crazy lesbian witches"

He didn't hate you two or anything, it was just something you two were known as?

He met you when you two were hanging out with the twins and Ginny

He didn't recognize you two and asked who you were

You answered him while Luna was sticking flowers in your hair and you were giggling

Harry for some reason was like "...I must know these two" and started hanging out with you guys

When Harry graduated Luns gifted him handmade origami roses.

She said they were more heartfelt that way

He actually keeps those in a vase in his room

Lily loves them

During your last year you had this one moment where you were helping Hagrid with Luna, feeding a creature

You looked over and she had this smile on her face and you just knew she was the one

"Luna after graduation... Do you want to get married?" You asked

"To you?" She asked

"... Preferably." You quoted her words to you when she asked you to the yule and she smiled

"Yes!"

And so you two got married after graduation.

I am convinced you two defined the whole cottagecore aesthetic

She went on to work with magical creatures and you worked with Fred and George

She would get off work earlier than you and stop by the shop, always showing up with that beautiful smile

Nights where either of you couldn't sleep so you went stargazing

Waking up in the middle of a random field you decided to stargaze in

Midnight picnics are a thing with you two

A transportable record player and a random field? Uhm yes please

Luna bringing home a random creature like once a week and being like "Can we keep it?"

You saying yes because you can't say no to that face.

Adopting a little girl

Persephone Iris Lovegood

She always feels loved, especially by all of her uncles and aunts

Molly finally met you when you guys had a party to celebrate the adoption

She loves you and Luna to pieces

There is not one day where your daughter feels unloved or excluded

You made damn sure she'd never have to feel that.

Fred and George call her "their little minion"

She is a little bit of a prankster

Family picnics in the woods

Feeding deer like a Disney princess

Looking at your wife and thinking "This is the best life I can possibly be living."

#luna lovegood #luna lovegood x reader #this was gayer than I intented but I ain't mad

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ditsydaydream · 4 years ago

Text

Catch Me If I Fall

Newt (TMR) x OC

summary: before the events of the maze runner, Newt tried to kill himself and only his girlfriend, Florrie, can save him

notes: Maria and Ada are my other TMR OCs, the rest are pre-existing characters. Only change made or the story is that Florrie is the Keeper of the Med-jacks, not Clint. Florrie, Maria and Ada will each be getting their own post about their profiles and characters etc.

Newt was still asleep on one of the beds, he’d been out for a few hours now; I’d drugged him up on enough poppies so that he’d hopefully sleep for another few hours. I thought it was because I just wanted him to heal, he deserved rest, but my eyes kept jumping back to the ivy scales on the wall, and I knew then I drugged him excessively because I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened. I don’t think I’d ever be ready.

Every time I blink, I see him up there. Halfway up the walls that imprisoned the Glade, his grip on the vines loosening as he looks down at me, tears running down my cheeks. I could have sworn he mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. But it didn’t matter. Because a second later Newt let go of the vines and plummeted towards the ground.

The thud as he hit the grass tore through my body. I wasn’t aware of the desperate screams that escaped my mouth, my vision too blurred with tears to see all the Gladers run to his nearly lifeless body, as I collapsed on the ground.

Clint and Jeff were yelling at me, I was the Keeper of the Med-jacks, I was in charge of healing Gladers. This was my job, my responsibility. Newt’s life was in my hands. Their shouts were muffled, my lungs had tightened up as the only clear thing I could hear was the pounding of my heartbeat in my head.

I felt a tightness on my shoulders, someone started shaking them, snapping me out of my shock. Gally’s voice was firm, it cut through my despair like a knife.

‘Florrie! Hey, snap out of it. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking, you gotta push it aside. Newt needs you to save him, we all need you to save him.’

Regaining my focus and bottling up my shock, I nodded. Gally pulled me up and we both sprinted after the boys that were carrying Newt to the Med Hut.

‘Put him on the bed.’ I ordered.

‘Jeff, I need poppies, clean bandages, and a splint. Maria, I need you to grab herbs, get me yarrow, lavender, aloe and as much gingko as you can spare. Clint, examine Newt’s lower body for any broken bones, torn ligaments and wounds. Gally and Ada, I need three buckets of boiled water. Alby, get everyone out. Unless you’re a Med-jack or are getting me supplies, I don’t want you in here.’ I barked, yelling orders at everyone.

The Gladers darted off to retrieve the supplies I needed, everyone else filtered out of the Hut, trying to return back to their jobs.

‘You too, Alby.’ I ordered, as I washed my hands.

‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this? Clint and Jeff can do this.’ He said, gently.

‘Newt is on his death bed. And you think I’m just going to walk away? Alby, I can do this.’

He nodded, exiting the Hut. I went back over the bed hurriedly, the love of my life lying almost deadly still.

‘Sorry, babe’. I apologised, before ripping his mud-splattered shirt in apart, leaving his torso exposed to examine his upper body for injuries. I felt around his torso and shoulders, trying to sense the damage caused by the fall.

‘What are you thinking?’ Clint asked.

‘I’m thinking, few broken ribs, fractured arm, nasty cut on one side and head trauma. What you got down your end?’

‘Torn ligaments all along one leg, shattered ankle and a really deep cut.’

From the window, I saw everyone rush back with the supplies I asked for.

‘Alright.’ I said as I rolled up my sleeves, ‘let’s get to work.’

Clint, Jeff and I had worked all through the night, but it was worth it. Newt might not be as strong as was, but the important thing was he was going to make it. I’d made Jeff and Clint go back to their hammocks and get some rest, it wasn’t going to take three of us to watch over Newt and I could deal with any Slicers that needed patching up.

I’d collapsed onto the only other bed in the Hut, exhausted. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, ignoring the beams of dawn that were breaking through the window.

A few hours later, I was woken from my deep slumber by a gentle rapping at the door.

‘Come in.’ I groaned, unwilling to drag myself from the bed.

Ada crept through the door, a fresh stain on her green shirt from the kitchens and holding a steaming plate that smelt so good my stomach rumbled like rolling thunder.

‘Hey.’ She said.

I pulled myself up on the bed. ‘Hey.’ I yawned back.

‘You doing okay?’

‘I’m shucking whacked, I feel like I need to sleep for days.’ I said, unable to suppress another yawn.

‘You’ve done everything you can for him. You deserve to rest.’ As she walked closer, I began to recognise the smell from the plate and my eyes became fixated on what was smelling so utterly delicious.

‘Did you make me eggs and bacon?’ I asked eagerly, hoping the answer was yes as the thought of my favourite breakfast made me drool.

‘Yeah. Fry was making everyone else their normal breakfast, but I said I should make something for you and the other Med-jacks.’

I practically stole the plate from her hands, placing it on my lap as I gobbled up the warm, perfectly cooked meat and the soft egg.

‘Hungry, are you?’ Ada teased.

‘Shut up.’ I grinned back, through a mouthful of bacon. ‘You would be too if you spent the entire night trying to save someone’s life.’

‘How bad was the damage?’ Ada asked, gently. This was a topic I really didn��t want to talk about.

‘Bad. Really bad. If we hadn’t got him back here in time…’ I trailed off, unable to even say the rest of my sentence.

Ada rubbed my shoulders comfortingly, as I shovelled another mouthful of breakfast.

‘What are you going to say to him?’. She asked.

I sighed, exasperated. ‘I really don’t know. What do you say to someone after they try to kill themselves?’

‘Well, I don’t think you have long to figure it out.’ She nudged my shoulder, referencing Newt’s small groans and little movements. He was waking up.

‘I’ll leave you guys alone.’ She said, taking my finished plate from my hands and the three dishes on the table of uneaten dinner Clint, Jeff and had been too busy to eat last night.

‘Florrie…’ Newt mumbled; his eyes still glued shut as he gradually woke from his slumber.

I stood next to him, waiting for him to wake up.

His eyes fluttered open, I saw those beautiful brown eyes I loved to stare at, filled with such pain. His hair was a ruffled mess and the only thing covering his torso were the bandages I had wrapped around his ribs.

His eyes darted around the room for a second as he took in his surroundings and slowly realised where he was. His eyes met mine and they interlocked for a second, almost making me forget the horrible tragedy he’d inflicted on everyone, almost.

‘Florrie-‘. He began.

‘Quite a fall you had.’ I interrupted, unwilling to hear his apologies.

‘Love-’. He started.

‘Don’t call me that.’ I shot back, too angry for his pet name.

‘Was it a fall?’ I asked, ‘or was it a jump?’

Even though I knew better, I begged for him to tell me it was a fall, an accident. But Newt wouldn’t look at me, I had my answer.

‘I’m not sure your leg will ever full heal. You might have a limp for life.’ I said as I grabbed some clean bandages from the table and began wrapping them around his leg, fiddling with the material and forcing my eyes to not look at him.

‘Florrie, can we talk?’

‘No.’ I said solemnly, tying the bandages up and walking back over the table, pretending to play around with some herbs whilst I hid the tears in my eyes.

‘Please.’ He begged. I could hear the pain in his voice, and it cut through my like a glass shard.

‘I said no, Newt.’

‘Please. Just hear me out.’ He shuffled himself over on the bed, making a little room and beckoning for me to perch on it.

Reluctantly, I walked over to bed and sat next to him.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you through that. I didn’t mean to hurt you-‘

‘You didn’t mean to hurt me? Newt, you tried to commit suicide!’ I yelled. ‘I had to watch you fall from the wall, and lay on the ground lifeless! If I hadn’t managed to save your life, your blood would be on my hands! I’m the Keeper of the Med-jacks, I’m meant to keep everyone safe!’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think about you. I was just thinking about them.’

‘Who’s them?’

‘Everyone. Every Glader we’ve had to watch die. I couldn’t keep losing my friends, I couldn’t keep seeing them die and have their deaths on my conscious. I couldn’t watch anyone else I care about die.’

‘Newt,’ I slipped my hand into his, ‘We all feel that. I see Nick and George every time I go to sleep at night. No one should ever have to watch their loved ones die, but you can’t let it destroy you. We did everything we could for them.’

‘This place is a prison. We’re prisoners. We’ve been here for so long, what if there’s no way out.’

‘There is.’ I reassured.

‘How can you know that, love?’

‘I can’t believe that we are stuck in here for the rest of our lives, I won’t. There has to be a way out, because if there isn’t,’ I paused, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do. The hope that someday we’ll be out of here, is the one thing keeping me going.’

‘I think I’ve lost my hope.’

‘Find it again. You can’t give up, Newt. We’re Gladers, we got each other. We’re here for you, Alby, Maria, Ada, Frypan, even Gally. And I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere.’ I smiled.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest.

‘Thank you, love’

‘Promise me.’ I said, looking up from his chest into his eyes, feeling his warm breath smother my face, ‘Promise me, you’ll keep fighting, Newt.’

‘I will.’ He promised.

‘I know you want to die because of them, but I need you to live for me.’ I begged. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you, Newt.’

‘I love you too, Florrie’. He said back, pressing a gentle kiss on my lips.

For a while we stayed there, Newt drifted back off to sleep but I was wide awake. I cuddled into him, refusing to let got. Because, deep down, a part of me was afraid that if I let go, Newt would slip away.

#maze runner #newt maze runner #oc #maze runner gally #newt imagine #newt fanfic #scorch trials #death cure #newt deserved better #x reader #x oc #the glade #tmr frypan #tmr x reader #tmr newt #tmr alby #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom

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writings-of-dumpy · 4 years ago

Text

George Weasley AU: Cedric’s Sister

A/N: THIS IS THE GOD DAMN MAGNA CARTA. This mother fucker is 19k words, so strap in, bitches.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, major character death, and smut at the end.

Summary: George Weasley is not honest with his feelings for his longtime friend Claire Diggory, but the challenges they face at the end of their schooling pushes them to be closer than ever.

Fred and George were always flirts. With almost every girl they knew, it was a constant game of flirting for them. They came by it so naturally, but reserved the sweeter pet names for their closest friend, Claire Diggory. Only a year younger than her brother, Claire fell into Ravenclaw house the same year Fred and George were placed in Gryffindor. Their fathers had gotten along wonderfully over Arthur Weasley's time at the Ministry, so Fred and George were fast friends with both Diggory children, but were especially close to the youngest who was just their age, Claire.

“Good morning, petal,” Fred greeted her every morning with a wink. It never failed to make her blush, which George found incredibly cute.

“Good morning you bozos,” she greeted. They alternated which table they'd have breakfast at because it was only required to sit with your house on the first and last meals at Hogwarts. Most of the Great hall was a mix of colored ties and robes as well as the few seventh years who wore casual clothes to breakfast because their mornings were clear.

“Here comes the post,” George noticed as owls flew over their heads. A large package landed in front of Ron, who looked stunned.

“Mum and dad sent me something!” he said excitedly.

“Oh no,” Fred teased and the trio looked toward the younger Weasley. Ron opened up the package and his face soon turned horrified.

“They're not for Ginny, they're for you!” Hermione mused after a few moments of teasing from Harry. The twins laughed at their brother's bewildered face. “Dress robes!”

“Dress robes? For what?!” Ron asked.

“The Yule Ball of course,” Cho Chang said from the other side of George. “Come on Claire, Flitwick's expecting us.”

“Of course. Can't let my dance partner Thomas down, now can I,” Claire said sarcastically and shared a look with Fred and George. “I'll see you guys in potions.”

“Yeah, see you...” George said and waved as she and Cho walked out of the Hall. “Dance partner?”

“Attention all of Gryffindor house. A mandatory house meeting will be held in the adjacent classroom to your left in fifteen minutes. All Gryffindor students must attend this meeting or will face severe consequences,” McGonagall's voice rang out. Fred and George looked at each other in confusion.

“Must be pretty serious for the whole house to need to attend,” George surmised. He soon realized that McGonagall valued the reputation of Gryffindor higher than her competitiveness during quidditch.

After the dance lesson concluded, Fred and George headed to potions class.

“That was a terrible waste of time, but I'm so glad she picked Ron to dance with her,” Fred chuckled as they walked toward the dungeons.

“Oh I wish I had a camera!” George said.

“Hi guys,” Claire said with a smile as she met up with them in the hall.

“Hello, petal. How was your dance lesson?” Fred asked. “Were you a swan?”

Claire laughed and shook her head. “Far from it. Thomas was ever so kind when I stepped on his toes so many times, though.”

George smiled and thought about how adorable she must have been.

“So, I suppose we'd better scout some dates out, eh?” Fred suggested.

“Yeah, I just hope nobody asks me before I can ask them, it'd be really embarrassing for a girl to ask me,” George said nonchalantly.

“Why's that?” Claire asked. George shrugged.

“Call it toxic masculinity,” he said. Claire smiled and nodded her head.

The air around the students in the month leading up to the Yule Ball was becoming increasingly frantic, but Claire wasn't worried. If someone wanted to go with her, they'd ask. She was perfectly happy going alone. Well, not perfectly. She very much wanted George to ask her, but she'd never let on about it.

“So, here's all the ingredients we need for this potion, right?” George said and set down the armful of various bottles and boxes on the desk.

“I think so,” Claire said after looking at the items. They had been paired for their potions project and had spent the afternoon together in the library getting their assigned potion ready for presentation tomorrow.

“Are you alright? You haven't said much,” George said after a beat. Claire looked up from stirring the potion in the cauldron and furrowed her brows at him.

“Yeah, I'm alright. Suppose I'm just worried is all,” Claire said with a shrug.

George leaned on his elbows and peered at her from across the table. His eyes shone of mischief and concern. “About what, flower?”

Claire smiled at the name. “About Cedric. The FIRST task was to fight a dragon... Who knows what the second task will be.”

“I'm sure he'll be alright. He's smart and strong. Not as smart as you, though, darling,” George said with a wink. Claire blushed slightly. George often said things like this and it gave Claire hope that maybe he on some level returned her feelings, but she wouldn't act on them... Not before she knew he felt the same. George was a dear friend and she needed him in her life one way or another.

About two weeks before the ball, study hall was well underway for the whole school. Cho and Claire sat next to each other at the Ravenclaw table, but Claire could very clearly see Fred and George who were sat opposite them at the Gryffindor table. Each time Claire looked up, Fred or George sent her a small wink and Claire shook her head with a smile. At this point she had finished almost all of her notes that Snape had assigned, so she was stalling and waiting until her best friends were done so they could all walk together. Claire noticed that George's face fell after a moment and he chewed his lip. He and Fred shared a look and Fred gestured towards Claire. Claire was confused but starting to get nervous. Why were they talking about her? George then shot Ron a piece of paper. Ron was bad at whispering, so Claire could hear everything.

“Who'll you go with, then?” Ron said. George smirked and wadded up a piece of paper, then threw it at Angelina to get her attention. She looked slightly annoyed, but then George gestured dancing and then pointed to himself while asking her to the ball silently. She looked flustered and then said yes, of course, and George smiled proudly. Claire watched and felt her stomach drop. Fred looked impressed and Claire felt like she was going to cry. George looked up and made eye contact with her, so she quickly pushed her heartbreak down and smiled at him with a thumbs up. He had a neutral expression and smiled back at her.

“Would you like to come to the dress shop with me, Fleur and Hermione tomorrow night? I'm sure they won't mind the company,” Cho asked after seeing Claire's face fall once George had looked away.

“I'd love that, thank you,” Claire said, grateful for such an observant friend. She felt tears threaten to well up and fall from her face and the aching in her chest grew worse. “I'm gonna go...”

Cho gave her a sympathetic look and gently patted Claire's shoulder. Claire got up and turned her notebook into Snape, who gave a curt look and snatched the book from her. She didn't dare look at Fred or George even though she was sure they were confused since they had all agreed to meet up afterward. She walked out of the Hall using all of her strength to fight back the tears and sobs that were threatening to escape her throat. She was so focused on getting back to Ravenclaw commonroom without being seen that she wasn't watching where she was going and bumped into someone.

“I'm so sorry, I—oh, hey Cedric,” she said relaxing when she didn't have to apologize to a potentially rude stranger. She was impressed that her words weren't whimpers, but she assumed the momentary adrenaline rush helped her sobs subside.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You seem... flustered.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Just a busy week,” Claire lied to her brother.

“Those Weasley boys aren't giving you any trouble are they?” he said with a smile. “I heard George was going to ask you to the ball.”

Claire let out a small laugh and blinked tears away as she was reminded of her most recent heartbreak. “Well that rumor was false because he asked Angelina Johnson... Just now.” Cedric's face fell.

“I'll kick his ass,” Cedric said and started toward the Hall. Claire gripped his arm.

“No, Cedric! No, it's fine. It's not like we ever talked about it, it's fine,” Claire pleaded. Cedric calmed himself and patted her on the back.

“Well, I'm glad I ran into you. Would you be willing to give this to Cho for me? Like, leave it on her pillow?” he asked and handed Claire a card. She let out a breath and smiled.

“Sure, I will creepily put this on my friend's pillow,” Claire said slowly and took the card.

“You're the best,” Cedric said and gently touched the tip of Claire's nose which caused Claire to roll her eyes.

~*~

“So... Angelina, huh?” Fred asked George after study hall concluded. “Thought for sure you would have asked Claire by now.”

George felt slightly guilty and swallowed thickly. “No, um... I wanted to ask Angelina.”

“Well you won't mind if I ask Claire then, would you? Make a show of it?” Fred said with a sly smirk.

“You're not serious,” George asked with a lower tone. George had never been honest about his feelings for Claire and never admitted them even to himself, but this made his blood run cold in jealousy. He never considered Fred maybe felt the same way he did about Claire, and he felt like a knife was plunged into his stomach.

“I definitely am serious. So I'll take her to the ball. I mean since you have no romantic interest in her,” Fred said with a sly smile.

George swallowed, then clenched and unclenched his jaw. He stuffed his feelings down as he always did and didn't dare give Fred the satisfaction. “I, um... Yeah, okay. Show her a bloody good time. Shag her for all I care!” George began to walk away in embarrassment and heartbreak. He did it to himself, of course, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

“Oh, you'd be so mad if I did,” Fred chortled.

“Nope! Very happy for both of you!” George shouted with a wave behind him with his back turned as he climbed the stairs leaving Fred laughing maniacally.

~*~

The following morning, Claire came down to have breakfast and found a red enveloped howler note placed where she usually sat at the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't in the mood to be yelled at after yesterday's events that left her in her dorm crying for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening.

“Go on, open it!” Cho encouraged with a smile. Claire bit her lip and gently opened the red envelope. A musical melody played for a few seconds and the howler transformed into a rose. Claire had never seen such a clever way to make a howler.

“My dearest Claire, would you please do me the honor of attending the Yule Ball with me as your very romantic date? I promise to be a perfect gentleman the entire night. Love, Fred Weasley,” the howler said in Fred's voice as loud as the Great Hall would allow. “PS, turn around.”

Claire, shocked, turned around and saw Fred stood there with his longer hair flowing and a rose extended to her. He wore a hopeful and innocent smile on his face: a look Claire hadn't seen often on Fred. Remembering the promise she made to move on from her deep-seated feelings for George, she laughed and took the rose from him with a nod.

“Yes, I would love to,” Claire accepted with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Fred held his fist up in the air and they went to sit at the Gryffindor table next to George and Angelina. Fred beamed proudly and allowed Claire to sit before he did and sat close to her. Claire smiled and blushed at their proximity.

“How exciting!” Angelina gushed and smiled brightly at Claire. George's face was unreadable and Claire felt slightly guilty for playing into the show that Fred put on, but then remembered that George was the one who didn't ask her, and she didn't owe him anything. She decided last night after her heart was broken that she would stop pursuing him—he clearly didn't want her. Fred, however, seemed to show at least a little bit of interest. She hadn't thought of Fred that way, but maybe he was lurking under her nose this whole time. She smelled the rose he had given her and looked up at him with a smile. He winked at her and took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

That night, Claire, Cho, Hermione, and Fleur were all trying on dresses for the Yule ball at a shop in Hogsmeade. Fleur had helped each of them (especially Hermione) pick out a dress that best suited them and Claire couldn't lie, the pick she had for her was stunning. A floor-length navy blue a-line dress with silver jewels along the neckline and straps and a blue shift overlay made her look incredible. She felt confident and beautiful in the dress and stepped out to show her friends, who were also changed into their potential gowns.

“So, wait... I thought you fancied George? Forgive me if I'm overstepping, Claire,” Hermione asked once they had all seen each other and gushed about how lovely they all looked.

“It's okay. I mean... It's clear that George doesn't have those feelings for me and I'd rather be with someone who wants to be with me, you know? Fred is a bolder choice, but he knows me well and we get along great. And it seems like he might actually feel something more than friendship towards me.. Who knows? Maybe I'll start to feel the same,” Claire answered.

Cho nodded. “I know what you mean, but don't settle. It'll never make you happy.”

Claire smiled at her friend and nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

The night of the Yule Ball, Claire felt incredibly nervous. She and Cho walked out of Ravenclaw commonrrom, then followed the mass of students dressed to the nines towards the Great Hall. She and Fred had agreed to meet in the foyer and she had hoped she wasn't waiting too long for him or vice versa. Once they reached the last staircase to the Great Hall, Claire spotted two tall gingers standing off to the side in front of the doors to the Great Hall. She made eye contact with George, whose face fell in awe. She blushed at his gaze and admired how nice he looked in his dress robes. Claire smiled and waved at him shyly, then looked at Fred, who then trotted up the stairs to meet her. Fred also looked handsome and she noticed that the twins were wearing matching robes.

“My lady,” he said and offered his arm to her. She giggled and took it with a bright smile.

“Thank you, Fred,” she said. She still felt George's eyes on her as they proceeded into the Great Hall. Claire looked up at the decorations in wonder.

“It's so beautiful in here,” she said.

“Doesn't hold a candle to you tonight, darling,” Fred said with a sly smirk.

“I see I get full-on charmer Fred tonight,” Claire laughed.

Fred winked at her. “Couldn't pass that one up, petal.”

Claire stole a glance at George and saw his jaw tensed and his eyes cast down. She wondered why he looked so upset. Maybe these sorts of gatherings made him uncomfortable? She hoped he'd be able to have fun anyway. They stood off to the side as the champions and their dates entered the Great Hall and walked onto the dance floor. Claire waved to her brother and Cho, who both sent her beaming smiles. The music began to play and Claire watched as the champions waltzed for a few bars, then Dumbledore led McGonagall out onto the floor, quickly followed by a very eager Neville Longbottom and Fred's sister Ginny.

“Aw, Ginny's got a date,” Claire said to Fred.

“Yeah, I'll let him live,” Fred began after a huff.

“For tonight,” George completed. Claire laughed and shook her head at their protectiveness.

Fred stood closer to Claire and bowed slightly. “May I have this dance, petal?”

Claire bit her lip in embarrassment and blushed. She placed her hand in his and let him lead her to the dance floor. They joined the group and Claire did her best not to step on Fred's toes, but when he put her back down from the lift they were taught, her toes came into contact with his briefly.

“I'm so sorry,” she muttered through laughter. Fred laughed with her and shrugged.

“It's fine, darling,” he said. When the music became more raucous, so did their dancing. At one point Fred and George switched partners and Claire felt sick with butterflies when George took her hand and spun her around a couple times. She felt dizzy but not from the spins and she felt George hold her close to him as they danced. He smiled widely at her as they swayed to the music and Claire couldn't help but smile back.

“You do look beautiful tonight, doll,” George complimented with an almost sad tone.

“Thank you. You're very handsome,” Claire responded. George's cheeks went pink. Claire smiled and they danced for another moment before Fred pulled Claire back to him.

Fred was a very exuberant dancer and Claire tried her best to keep up, but found herself mostly watching him and him twirling her a few times. During a break that the band was taking, Fred gently gripped her hand and pulled her off the dance floor to a table.

“I'm going to get drinks,” Fred said.

“Yeah, I'm so parched. Want one, George?” Angelina said and fanned herself.

“Um, yeah, thanks. We'll hold the table,” George said with a smile. After a small pause, Claire decided to cut the tension and speak up.

“Are you having a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah, lovely time. It's a good night. You?” he asked.

“I'm having a great time! Everything is so fun in here,” Claire gushed. George looked as though he was hanging on her every word.

“You really do look incredible tonight, dove,” he said after a beat.

Claire blushed. “Thank you.”

“Alright, a punch for the lady,” Fred said as he returned to the table. The four of them sat down and the music started up again. The refreshment table cleared out as many of the students that were there went to dance more.

Claire drank the blue liquid down slowly and admired how fruity it tasted. She looked between Fred and George for a moment and suspected they may have put something in it to liven the night up, but then remembered that they'd probably get expelled for a prank that dangerous.

“You two didn't put anything in this, did you?” Angelina asked after taking a sip.

“Too late now. The whole school will be in love with us by morning,” George quipped with a sly smile and gave Fred a high five. Angelina's face dropped.

“They're not serious,” Claire explained with a slight shake of her head and eyes rolled.

Angelina looked slightly worried and looked between them. “How do you tell..?”

Claire shrugged and smiled at her best friends. She finished her punch and placed the cup on the table once more. When Fred finished his, a slow song began to play and he looked at Claire with a large smile.

“Care for a dance, my dearest?” Fred asked and offered his hand to her. Claire blushed and took it. As they made their way to the dace floor, Claire felt George's eyes on the two of them. Fred smoothed his hands around her waist and pulled her close to him and Claire draped her arms around his neck. The two had hugged before, but only briefly. This was the closest Claire had been to Fred ever, she thought. It was nice. He felt sturdy supporting her, and he was warm and soft to the touch. His arms were solid around her but not overbearing and she rested her head on his chest as they swayed back and forth. She thought about when George had held her earlier this evening and did her best to not compare the two. She enjoyed being in Fred's arms like this, but something about the way George's hands felt on her was more intimate and deliberate. Very briefly, she looked over and saw George looking in their direction. His face was unreadable and Claire surmised that he and Fred were having some sort of nonverbal conversation. Claire felt the softness of Fred's lips on her head and her stomach flipped. George cast his gaze down and looked away as Fred's lips kissed Claire's head once more. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, his lips, and it did make her nervous, but mostly because nobody had ever been this close with her before. She had a very brief affair with a boy named Frank last year, but that was no more than a peck or two here and there for the month they were seeing each other. Claire's cheeks went hot and she looked up at Fred.

“What was that for?” she asked in a soft voice. Fred shrugged.

“Just felt the urge. You're alright with that?” he asked earnestly.

Claire nodded and curled her lips upward slightly. “I liked it.”

Fred's cheeks turned slightly pink and for a moment Claire grinned with pride. As the night wound down, Claire and Fred decided to retire. She looked around for George to bid him good night, but didn't see him or Angelina anywhere. The thought of George with her alone somewhere sat in her mind like a moment-ruining goblin, but she was pulled from her bad feelings when she and Fred reached the Ravenclaw commonroom.

“I had a wonderful time with you tonight, petal,” Fred said as they faced each other. Claire hadn't noticed until now, but their hands had been interlocked the entire walk from the Great Hall to Ravenclaw tower. She smiled at his hands holding hers and then looked up at him.

“I did too, Fred. Thank you for a magical evening,” she said. Fred tucked his lip between his teeth and pulled her in for a hug good night. She gently embraced him and his strong arms encased around her with his hand supporting the back of her head. When they pulled away, their cheeks brushed together, which sent a jolt of nerves down Claire's spine. Neither Fred nor Claire pulled farther back. A beat fell between them before Fred's voice spoke barely above a whisper.

“I guess we should snog now,” he said. Claire's cheeks were lit aflame and she nodded, now curious about how Fred's lips would feel against her own. Fred's lips connected with hers and the sparks that Claire expected to feel fell short. She didn't feel any emotion in their kiss, it was merely two sets of lips moving together. It wasn't unpleasant, though, and Claire thought it was actually quite nice. Fred was a damn good kisser, but without any emotion fueling it, Claire didn't feel much.

Their lips parted and their grip on each other loosened. They were both flustered and let out a few nervous laughs before Claire said good night and entered the commonroom.

~*~

George didn't know why, but he felt a pull to Ravenclaw tower. He felt guilty for not saying good night to Claire, but Angelina seemed tired and he wanted to be a good date for her. He walked her to the commonroom and bid her good night and told her he was going to find Fred. She smiled and waved at him and now here George stood in the corridor before Ravenclaw commonroom. He saw Fred and Claire at the entryway sharing a hug and before he could greet them, Fred's lips were attached to hers. George had never wanted to punch his twin so much. Jealousy and pain filled him to the brim as he watched them share the moment. He felt like his world was crumbling and he refused to understand why. The entire evening his eyes kept wandering in a longing gaze towards Claire, who mostly wore a brilliant smile tonight, and that made this interaction between her and Fred all the worse for him.

“What are you playing at? You don't fancy her, do you?” George challenged Fred after Claire was behind the door.

Fred turned and looked at him, then wiped his lower lip clean of her lip balm color. “I could be in love with her for all you know.”

George took a step back and his face furrowed and he felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. “You're in love with her?”

Fred rolled his eyes and looked slightly angry. “No, you idiot. YOU are, but you're too bloody blind to see it.”

George frowned and they walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence. Fred didn't know what he was talking about, George was only interested in friendship with Claire George told himself over and over. It didn't matter that she was the object of his thoughts nearly all the time, and it didn't matter that he ached to be the one kissing her just then, no. He was just tired, that's all. He'd feel better in the morning...

~*~

“Hey you,” Fred greeted Claire one morning.

“Good morning to you too. Where's George?” she asked, thinking it unusual that Fred approached her alone.

“He'll be along. I wanted to ask you something,” Fred said. Claire motioned for him to continue with a nod of her head. He continued, “Would you go on a date with me to The Three Broomsticks tonight? Seven o'clock sound good?”

Claire's heart flipped in her chest. Her mouth hung slightly agape in shock as it had been a few weeks since their kiss and Fred hadn't made much in terms of moves toward a relationship. Claire supposed that this was his move and agreed.

“Um, yeah, sounds lovely,” she said with a smile. Fred beamed and squeezed her hand, then sat down across the table from her as George joined them for breakfast. Claire smiled at George and he smiled back. Things had been pretty normal since the Yule Ball except Claire had expected her feelings for George to go away by now. She had hoped that going on a date with Fred would set her mind straight, but she also feared that she was in for more hurt.

That evening, Claire walked into the courtyard before the entrance to Hogsmeade and found Fred standing there waiting for her. He smiled when he saw her and offered his arm to her and they made their way into the village.

“Are you excited about St. Patrick's day?” she asked him as she took note of the shamrock decorations and remembering his affiliation with the Irish quidditch team.

“Oh yeah. Georgie and I've got a few good pranks up our sleeves,” he winked. “None aimed at you, of course, petal.”

Claire laughed. “Thank goodness.”

They arrived at the pub and Fred pulled out Claire's chair for her before sitting down across from her. He smiled and ordered two butterbeers to start as the waiter handed the menus out. Their evening was filled with jokes, laughter, and an all around good time. Much like their time at the Yule Ball, Fred was an absolute gentleman.

“We have fun together, don't we?” Fred asked.

Claire smiled and nodded. “I think so, yeah.”

“Do you trust me?” Fred asked in a more serious tone as they walked back into the courtyard. Claire looked at him quizzically.

“Of course I do, Fred,” she said.

Fred nodded and looked to be in thought for a moment. He then turned to face her head on and took her hands in his.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. Claire looked at him suspiciously, but after a moment she let her eyes close. She wondered what Fred was up to. The silence of the courtyard weighed heavy on her in that moment and she wondered if maybe Fred had left. Suddenly, though, she felt a familiar pair of lips on hers. Fred kissed her with a bit more fire than their first time, but Claire felt the same. She tried, she really did... but Fred didn't spark any feelings in her. Claire pulled away from him and cast hear head down.

“We're better as friends aren't we?” Fred asked. “I mean don't get me wrong, you're one hell of a snog, but...”

“No magic in it,” Claire said. Fred smiled and nodded.

“Well at least it's mutual and now that we've gotten it out of the way we can move on,” Claire shrugged and they walked back to the corridors inside the castle.

Fred chuckled. “George is a lucky man.”

Claire stopped dead in her tracks, then looked at Fred, who stopped a few paces ahead of her.

“Why would you say that?” she asked innocently. Fred rolled his eyes.

“I know how you feel about him and how he feels about you, it's obvious,” Fred shrugged. Claire tilted her head away from him and looked at him through a side-swept view.

“So what, you just went out with me to make him jealous?” Claire asked with a soft and slightly broken voice.

Fred's eyes went wide and he closed the space between them. “No, no... Make no mistake, I wanted to take you out because I had a crush on you. Seems George and I have similar taste.”

Claire relaxed a bit and Fred continued, “But... There's nothing but a cherished friendship between us. You're honestly more like a sister to me now. But George... his feelings are much deeper. He'll come around.”

~*~

On the day of the second task, Fred and George were too busy collecting bets to notice Claire's complete absence from breakfast and lunch. George had wondered for a brief moment where Claire was between both meals, but after he and Fred got into their zone at the docks as students headed to the second task in the mid afternoon, he had forgotten that this morning was unlike the others he'd had.

“Hey, where's Claire?” Cho asked from behind them once the stands were full and the task was about to begin.

Fred and George shared a look, then turned back to Cho.

“She's not with you?” Fred asked. Cho shook her head. George had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Is she up there next to Cedric?” George asked in hope.

Cho shook her head once again. “I was just there, no sign of her. Cedric's worried sick... She never came back to the dorm last night either.”

George felt similarly. If she wasn't here and she wasn't near Cedric, where could she have gone? Before George could think too much, the cannon fired and the champions were off. He, Fred, and Cho decided to spread out and look more thoroughly for Claire while they waited for the champions to resurface. George searched the stands for almost thirty minutes before he circled back to where he was standing before. He met up with Fred and Cho and neither of them had found her.

“There's no way she wouldn't come to support her brother,” George concluded aloud. His heart sank into his stomach and he searched his thoughts for a way to find Claire.

Just then, two heads breached the water. The three of them were stood close enough to the jumping off point that George could clearly see that Cedric had resurfaced and won the task. The crowd cheered as Cedric swam to the docks with a huge winning smile on his face. George was pushed closer to the edge than he'd like, but then he saw the other person that had surfaced: Claire. Something wasn't right, though. Unlike Cedric, she hadn't moved. In fact, George couldn't see any sign of life from her. He panicked when he saw her floating and nothing being done about it, and without another thought, he rid himself of his jacket and plunged into the ice cold water.

“George, no!” he heard Fred yell as he leapt in, but George didn't care. He needed to make sure that Claire was okay. Every force in the universe was screaming at him to dive in and pull her to safety. He didn't have to swim very far to reach Claire's floating form and for that he was grateful. The icy waves that splashed on him and surrounded him were none other than wholly brutal. He understood Fleur stopping prematurely in her task and he wondered how Cedric had stayed down there for so long, then panicked more at the prospect of Claire being down there for even longer. He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to the ladder where Cedric helped her limp body back onto dry land.

Cedric appeared to be in a state of composed panic as he looked to Dumbledore and Barty Crouch, who were standing behind him with worried expressions.

“Is this part of the task?! I need to know NOW,” Cedric demanded of them. George made quick work of checking to make sure Claire was still alive. She had taught them this skill set in their fourth year when the threat of coming upon a poor soul who'd been petrified was high: how to check for a pulse and breathing. Luckily George was able to find both of these, but he was sure they were weaker than they were supposed to be. His hands didn't feel the warmth of her skin like he expected—she was practically frozen. George felt a blanket placed around his shoulders, but he immediately wrapped Claire up in it.

“No, the task is over for you, she should be conscious,” Barty blubbered.

“It seems the unpetrification spell wasn't as powerful for her. Miss Granger came out just fine,” Dumbledore observed and looked over to where Viktor Krum had just rescued Hermione from the depths.

“To hell with this, I'm taking her to the infirmary,” George said and scooped her up in his arms. He hadn't felt the additional blankets that were placed over his shoulders and only noticed them when he lifted her and they fell. He hurried to a boat and ignored Cedric's complaints as the judges held him in place to accept the results of the task. Fred and George boarded a boat as fast as they could to the shore and George did his best to keep Claire from getting colder. He looked down at her face as the boat floated across the lake at a seemingly agonizingly slow pace. Her lips were a blue tint and she looked pale. Her eyes were shut and if George hadn't known better, he'd say she was sleeping peacefully. His heart was beating out of his chest with adrenaline, but that didn't stop it from swelling with worry for the girl he held so close in his arms.

When they arrived at the shore, they made a mad dash for the hospital wing of the castle. George was careful not to jostle Claire too much, and he doesn't think he's ever run faster in his life. If he weren't so cold from his dip in the lake, he probably would be sweating bullets. They reached the wing and burst through the doors.

“Madam Pomfrey!” George bellowed. She poked her head out from behind a curtain and George saw her eyes grow wide. She silently directed him to place Claire on a large and empty hospital bed in the corner of the room.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It was the second task. She was in the Black Lake for Cedric and Dumbledore mentioned a petrification spell,” George said and reluctantly placed her on the bed. Madam Pomfrey's eyes squinted and she looked between George and Claire. She placed a hand on Claire's cheek and nodded. She muttered something and waved her wand above where Claire was lain before her and various numbers appeared in translucent blue letters for Madam Pomfrey to read. Pomfrey then nodded and the letters floated above them and mostly out of sight.

“We need dry clothes. For both of you,” Pomfrey said.

“I'll go get some,” Fred said and ran out of the room toward Gryffindor tower.

“Thank you for volunteering to keep her warm, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said with a gesture to George's wet clothes and hair, then began riffling through the cabinets above and beside Claire's bed.

“Pardon?” George asked.

Madam Pomfrey pulled out a small brown cup that looked like it had been in a furnace several minutes too long. She poured a black liquid into it from an equally charred bottle, then handed it to George.

“The best way to cure hypothermic shock is with body heat. Drink this, it'll prevent you from getting to Ms. Diggory's state. In other circumstances—were she conscious—I would give her some of this, too, but since you also require heat support, why not kill two birds with one stone, eh? Go on, drink up,” Madam Pomfrey said and gestured for George to drink the contents of the cup.

His stomach flipped and he looked at Claire, then drank the cup down. It felt like lava going down his throat, but the burning subsided almost as quickly as it arrived. Shortly thereafter, he felt a warmth radiating from his stomach that spread throughout his whole body. It was slow, but noticeable.

“Okay, I've got some clothes. Sorry, George, she's going to borrow a couple things,” Fred said as he reentered the infirmary.

“Excellent. Garmentus replaccus,” Madam Pomfrey said and waved her wand over the new clothes. In an instant, George felt dryer and was wearing the t-shirt Fred was previously holding as well as a pair of sweatpants he had picked. Fred looked confused as he held not only George's wet clothes, but Claire's as well.

“Good, now get under that blanket and hold her tight. Get comfortable, looks like you're in for a long night,” she instructed. George's eyes went wide.

“Uh... um...” George stammered. “The night?”

“Yes. I'm assuming you want to help her?” Madam Pomfrey said. George nodded, and without another word, he cautiously crawled under the blanket and held Claire in his arms. It was a nice feeling and one he didn't know he needed until now. His arms looped around her shoulders and the other around her middle. He looked down and noticed Fred had pulled out an older quidditch jersey that Claire was now wearing. George smiled to himself at the sight of her in his clothes. He liked it and thought maybe she could keep the jersey. Fred's expression went from worried to slightly smug as Madam Pomfrey walked away.

“Need anything?” Fred asked with a smirk. George brushed it off.

“Well dinner would be nice,” George said and adjusted himself so that he and Claire were cocooned together in the puffy blanket. Fred chuckled.

“You know, we can take turns cuddling her,” Fred said with a shrug.

George's head snapped up to look at Fred. “What?”

Fred laughed and rolled his eyes as he turned to leave. “You're impossible, Georgie. I'll get you something from the Great Hall.”

“Is she here? Is she okay?” George heard Cedric's voice say from the other end of the long room.

“She's stable. Mr. Weasley kindly volunteered to watch over her and keep her warm,” Madam Pomfrey said calmly. “I have her monitored and will keep her here tonight until she wakes up.”

“Can I please see her?” Cedric begged. George heard Madam Pomfrey sigh and then a pair of footsteps grew closer until Cedric and Madam Pomfrey appeared into George's vision. Cedric's eyes widened and he rushed to Claire's side.

“Has she woken up? Has she said anything?” he asked George.

George shook his head apologetically.

“She probably won't wake up for a long time,” Madam Pomfrey said. “The Black Lake is usually cold, but this time of year it's a good day when it isn't frosted over. She's lucky to be alive.”

After a moment, Cedric spoke lowly, “She was down there all day...”

George's breath was caught in his throat. The severity of what had happened to Claire had dawned on him like a tsunami. The entire time that she had been missing—from last night through most of the day—she had been petrified in the bottom of the Black Lake. Madam Pomfrey's words rang out in his mind and he instinctively pulled her closer to him.

“She could have died,” George said mostly to himself.

Cedric bit his lip. “I know... I saw her and swam as fast as I could to get her.”

“Why didn't you make sure she was okay before heading to the docks? I jumped in and got her, Cedric,” George said with a slightly accusatory tone.

“And I can never thank you enough for that. I assumed that the magic to petrify her had been done in the lake, so once she breached the surface, the spell would break, like most magic under water. I was wrong... Look, I know how you feel about her, and I want you to know that I think you're a good match for her, especially since you're willing to risk your life like that,” Cedric said.

George felt flustered. “No, I... We're just friends. She'd do the same for me.”

“Exactly. Just don't break her heart, okay?” Cedric said. George shook his head and wondered why Cedric felt the need to say this to him. Had Claire told him something? George wondered if maybe Claire... No. You're just friends, George thought purposefully.

“Alright I got some soup and mashed potatoes with a couple rolls and for dessert some cherry pie,” Fred said as he entered from the other side of the dividing curtain. Once he looked up, he saw Cedric and his face fell. “Oh, sorry... I didn't know you were here, otherwise I'd bring you some too.”

Cedric smiled and shook his head as he stood up. “That's okay. I should probably head to dinner anyway—Cho's probably worried.”

“Alright, well, see you then,” George said. “We'll let you know when she wakes up.”

“Thanks,” Cedric said with a smile and then left.

It wasn't until Fred left that evening (more like kicked out as he would have stayed all night had it not been for Pomfrey's insistence) that George felt a cramp in his side. He looked down at Claire, whose face was now only dimly lit by the small amount of blue light from the numbers above her and the moon shining through the window. She looked slightly better and her lips were only a fair shade of purple now. He placed a hand on her cheek and it was significantly warmer than a few hours ago, and for that he was grateful. Careful not to pull the blanket from her, he turned to his side and pulled her with him. With her pressed against him and his arm around her waist, he looked at her face once more before drifting to sleep.

His dreams were full of her—her laugh, her smile, her eyes, everything—and he wasn't upset by it. He enjoyed seeing her laugh at his jokes and wave at him from across the Great Hall. He imagined her in places she hadn't been in a long time like his house during the summer and Christmas, then longed for those visits to be real. In his dream, he could hold her when he wanted and moments before he woke up, his lips were locked with hers in a passionate action. His heartbeat quickened and he felt his pulse in his throat. His chest heaved to accommodate the wave of breathlessness he felt and as he traced small circles on her back, and he knew what had become of him. He couldn't deny it any longer, and no matter how hard he tried to push his feelings for her down, they would always come back tenfold. He remembered the night he found her and Fred together and he filled with jealousy and regret. He wanted that to be him. Dumbledore had mentioned that a treasure was stolen from the champions to retrieve yesterday, and George couldn't think of a better way to describe Claire to him.

George felt Claire shift next to him and rest her head on his chest. He let out a breath and pulled her closer to him. He looked out the window and noticed that dawn was approaching. The peacefulness of the morning made him smile and he looked down at Claire, who made a soft groaning sound.

“Claire?” he said with his voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

“George? What happened?” she asked in a weak voice. George smiled widely and hugged her close to him.

“I'm so glad you're okay... You were petrified for the second task. They had you at the bottom of the Black Lake... He saved you, but the spell malfunctioned and you went into hypothermia...” George said and then released her from his embrace to look at her face.

“Oh... how did you get here, then..?” Claire asked.

“I um... I jumped in to help. You weren't moving, so I went in...” George admitted sheepishly.

Claire's expression changed to slightly shocked but thankful. “Wow... Thank you, George...”

“I couldn't just let you float there and have all the fun, you know,” George said with a smirk and wink.

Claire let out a weak laugh, then asked, “What time is it?”

George bit his lip and looked around for a clock. He craned his neck and looked at the large one above their heads, then read to her, “It's about a quarter after six in the morning. Breakfast should be appearing soon, you must be starving.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah...”

George nodded and tore himself from her. “I'll go get you something to eat and send Pomfrey here to make sure you're okay...”

Claire nodded and started to sit up. George didn't want to leave her, but he knew she couldn't make the walk on her own. He hurried to Madam Pomfrey's office to find her already wide awake and making notes.

“Um, Madam Pomfrey? Claire's awake.. I'm going to go get her something to eat,” George said. She nodded and smiled at him, then headed in Claire's direction.

George made his way to the Great Hall and was among the first of the students to arrive. He didn't think he'd ever been in the Hall that early, but he didn't mind if it was for Claire. He picked out a few pasties for her as well as some oatmeal and apple juice. He brought the plate carefully back to the infirmary where he saw that the numbers had disappeared from above Claire's bed and she was sitting up completely. She smiled weakly when she saw him and he hurried to place the tray before her.

“Did you get anything?” she asked him. George nodded and held up a breakfast sandwich full of egg, bacon, and cheese.

Claire smiled and started to nibble a few pasties and drink her juice. George found himself staring at her while he ate and found that the intensity of his feelings hadn't died down. Every move she made had him swirling with intense and deep care for her. He wasn't sure he hated it, either.

~*~

In the brief month between the second and third task, Claire noticed George being much more attentive to her. She wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid something would happen to her again, but she wasn't entirely mad at it either. At every opportunity, he would give her a small touch of his hand on hers or a hug to hold her close for a moment. It was nice, and no matter how hard she tried to forget her feelings for George, she couldn't. They plagued her day and night and knowing that he didn't feel the same made her feel even worse. Cho had told her to just enjoy the time she has with George and eventually she'd find someone else, and Claire tried, but it was challenging to say the least. Especially when her mind brought her back to the morning she woke up in his clothes (that he let her keep) and he was cuddled against her. She remembered the sleepy and worried look on his face as she opened her eyes and how warm and comfortable he felt against her. It was a beautiful memory and one that she cherished.

On the day of the third task, Claire's father came to support Cedric and the three of them were beneath the bleachers waiting for Dumbledore to lead them out and greet the crowd.

“Are you feeling okay?” Claire asked Cedric.

“Nervous, but ready. I'm just glad this one doesn't put you in any danger,” he said with a slightly apologetic look. Claire shook her head.

“It's alright, Cedric. What's important is that you focus so you can make it out of this tournament,” she told him and gently patted his back.

“And win! Win, my boy, I know you can!” their father boasted emphatically. Cedric looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded.

Claire heard the fanfare begin and Dumbledore ushered the Diggorys to enter the arena. Claire and Cedric walked beside each other and Amos led them with a big wave to the crowd. He presented his son to them and reveled in their cheers. Claire smiled and followed Cedric to his spot at the entrance to the maze. Dumbledore began to speak and Amos held Cedric's arm high in the air (much to Cedric's embarrassment) when it was mentioned that Cedric held first place. Claire scanned the crowd and found Fred and George sat in the second row from the front with a space between them that she assumed was for her. She made eye contact with both of them and waved.

“Good luck, son,” Amos said with a proud smile and hugged Cedric.

“Good luck, Cedric! Be safe in there,” Claire advised. Cedric hugged her close and they separated as the cannon fired. Once Cedric entered the maze, he took off in a slightly quicker pace than walking and the trees closed around him so that he was out of sight. Claire and Amos headed back to the stands where he took his seat toward the back and Claire found Fred and George.

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” she said to them.

“Of course! Wouldn't want to wait with anyone else,” Fred teased. George nodded in agreement.

The crowd clapped and cheered as Krum entered the maze next. A few minutes later, Fleur had entered. Claire took a deep breath and sighed. There was nothing to do now but wait. She vaguely heard her father boast about how Cedric would be coming out with cup in hand in relatively short order so nobody get too comfortable.

“Impressed with your brother, he is,” Fred said.

Claire hummed and nodded. “Always has been.”

“You're just as amazing as Cedric, you know. Probably even more,” George said and gripped Claire's hand that sat in her lap. She smiled at him and Fred who agreed. She didn't make a move to pull her hand away from George's and he didn't either. She enjoyed the feeling of his fingers twiddling and playing with hers as they waited well past dusk. The three were involved in a competitive game of eye spy before red sparks were seen in the sky high above the maze. Claire's attention was drawn to the rusting of the bushes and trees as the maze rolled Fleur out onto the ground. After a beat, she stood up and dusted herself off as a few girls from Beauxbatons helped her up. She looked rough and beaten down in her jumpsuit, and Claire hoped Cedric was faring a bit better.

“Wow... she looks rough,” Fred said. George nodded. Claire didn't realize it, but she was holding George's hand a little bit tighter now. She felt him place his other hand on hers in reassurance. About a half an hour later, Viktor Krum was ejected from the maze. He appeared to be unconscious, but alive, and woke up after about five minutes. Claire bit her lip and looked for any sign of Cedric. This meant that he and Harry were the only ones left, right? Either way Hogwarts won the tournament, but who exactly would earn the title was to be determined.

“They have to be getting close,” Fred concluded. Claire nodded.

It was quiet for a while, then suddenly a whooshing sound was heard and Harry appeared with the cup in hand. Fanfare played as the crowd stood and clapped, and Claire ran to greet her brother, but as she got closer she heard Harry's sobs and Cedric was unmoving.

Dumbledore was first to get to Harry, who refused to let go of Cedric. Claire pushed past the judges, needing to see her brother. She could hear Harry's sobs, but a ringing in her ears began as her face fell upon seeing Cedric up close. His face was expressionless and his eyes that once shone in happiness were void of light and life. Claire sunk to her knees next to Cedric and she felt a wave of shock stem from her chest and throughout her body. She placed a hand gently on his chest and her eyes welled up with tears. She was barely aware of her surroundings as time had seemed to stop. She wasn't sure what had happened, but she was pulled from her trance of grief by her father's howls and cries. She looked at him for comfort and did her best to console him, but he would have none of it. He was caught up in his despair just as she was.

Claire felt a gentle hand around her shoulder and she looked to see George with a sorrowful look on his face. His brown eyes were swimming with tears that threatened to fall and he knelt down with Claire. She leaned onto him and sobbed into his chest. She wasn't one for crying in public or letting her feelings be known always, but right now she was overwhelmed with grief and didn't care. George held her close and whispered his condolences and comforting words.

The following morning, an assembly was called for the entirety of the school. The candles were dim and black curtains hung from the ceiling of the Great Hall. The teachers and students sat on the benches that faced Dumbledore, who was sitting in his own solitary chair before them behind his podium. Claire and George sat near the front and George had noticed that Claire's eyes were puffy, bloodshot, and slightly sunken in. He wondered if she had slept at all last night. He looked over to Cho, who looked only slightly better, but not by much.

After everyone had settled into the uncomfortable and somber aura of the room, Dumbledore began to speak from his chair. “Today we acknowledge a really terrible loss,” he began. “Cedric Diggory was, as you all know, exceptionally hard working, infinitely fair mind, and most importantly a fierce, fierce friend. Now I think, therefore, you have a right to know exactly how he died.” He got up from his chair and stood at the podium where he rested his hands. He spoke louder, “You see, Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

Claire inhaled sharply at the mention of You-Know-Who's name. Until now, George had no idea how Cedric had died, and he was sure that Claire didn't either. He hadn't dared ask her if she knew and he didn't want to pry, but she seemed just as surprised as he was. George reached a comforting hand out to her and she gripped his fingers in hers as Dumbledore continued to speak.

“The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this, but not to do so I think would be an insult to his memory,” Dumbledore announced. Claire looked up and then over at Harry, who was sat not far from them. George saw Harry make eye contact with her and nodded apologetically. Their silent conversation went unnoticed for the most part and Dumbledore finished his speech emphasizing what Cedric valued most: friendship and family. George couldn't think of a time that Claire wasn't crying during the speech.

When the students were dismissed, Fred and George followed Claire in her pursuit of Harry. She found him walking with Ron and Hermione in a relatively empty corridor.

“Harry?” she asked in a small but strong voice.

He turned around and his face turned from relaxed to a mix of skepticism, sorrow, and discomfort. “You're Claire, right?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, I just... I have to tell you that I don't blame you and I wanted to thank you for bringing him back. You must have gone through really awful things, and I'm just... Thank you,” Claire said with a broken voice. Harry's face relaxed once more and he nodded, then stepped forward to speak.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he said. Claire nodded in appreciation.

“Why don't you come stay with us for the summer?” Fred suggested. “For a little while anyway.”

“You mean it?” Claire asked through tears.

“Of course, darling. Don't want you to be alone and mum loves it when you visit,” George said.

Claire considered for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, I will. Thanks, guys.”

George was overjoyed that she would be staying with them over the summer. It was their first summer that they could use magic at their leisure and they were developing all sorts of prank treats and sweets. George was counting down the days until Claire came to stay with them. She wanted to be with her parents for a couple weeks after Cedric's funeral, then she would come stay with the Weasleys. Fred was excited, too, George could tell. They both made sure that Claire would have enough room with them and placed a soft mattress between their beds for her. There was only a small gap between the mattresses, but they hoped she didn't mind.

“Everything ready? She'll be here any minute now,” George asked Fred, who was packing the basket for the picnic they were taking her on.

Fred nodded. “Yep. All packed. Blanket, waters, sandwiches, crisps, strawberries, champagne, sex toys, lube...”

“FRED!” George gasped. Fred laughed maniacally.

“Only kidding. But we do have butterbeer,” Fred said with a smile.

“Her favorite,” they said in unison.

Timed perfectly, there was a knock at the door. George felt nervous. He had seen her a month and a half ago and they had been friends for their whole lives, but something about Claire staying with them for an extended period of time made him nervous and excited.

Fred opened the door and there stood Claire with her trunk in hand and a small smile on her face.

“Hi boys,” she greeted. Fred and George rushed and hugged her tight to them. After everything she had been through, George wanted to welcome her in the happiest way he could. He knew Fred felt the same and they both squeezed her for a moment, then let her go.

“Safe travels?” Fred asked. “Allow me to take your trunk.”

“Yeah, apparating is pretty intense, but I got the hang of it I think. I've still got all of me, right?” Claire asked and let Fred set her trunk inside.

“Hmm, now that you mention it, you are missing something,” George smirked at her. Claire's face fell in confusion. Both George and Fred leaned in and kissed either side of her face quickly, which sent her lips upward. George felt butterflies at the contact, but made it seem as platonic as possible.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “You cut your hair.”

George blushed. “Yeah, do you like it?”

Claire smiled and nodded. “You look very handsome.”

They helped her get settled into their room and she greeted the entire family including Hermione, who was visiting.

“Now I'm sure the boys told you that we're going to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, yes?” Molly said casually.

Fred and George looked at each other in panic, then back at Claire and Molly.

“Oh, yeah. I don't mind as long as you guys don't,” she said without skipping a beat.

“We're always happy to have you, dear,” Molly said with a smile and patted Claire's cheek. As she walked away, Claire looked at the twins with an accusatory and baffled expression.

“We forgot to tell you,” Fred said.

“But we do have a surprise for you. Are you hungry?” George asked trying to lighten the mood and maybe make up for their mistake.

Claire smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Excellent!” George said and directed her to follow them into the back yard, and then out onto a small meadow by the lake.

“It's beautiful here,” Claire commented.

George smiled. “I'm glad you like it. Now, surprise! We made you a picnic!”

Fred and George magically set up the blanket and food with a wave of their wands and the three of them sat down. George handed Claire a butterbeer and her eyes lit up.

“My favorite!” she said, excited. She opened the bottle and started to drink it with a soft smile on her face. “Thank you guys...”

They enjoyed the sunshine and their meal and George was anxious to ask her how she was doing and how her parents were, but decided against the notion until she brought it up. He did his best to try and cheer her up at any sign of sadness and made her laugh as best he could. Soon enough, the time came for them to go to bed as they had to be up relatively early in the morning to travel to the Black residence.

“I usually go for a stroll before bed, so...” Claire said hesitantly.

“I'll go with you, no worries,” George volunteered immediately. George saw Fred smiling out of the corner of his eye. Claire's face softened and she smiled appreciatively.

“Thank you... I found it helps with... well,” Claire said and shrugged. George didn't press her and nodded in understanding. They walked out of the house and George led her to the pathway around the lake that they had. They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Claire spoke up.

“Thank you for having me this summer. It's not been easy at home,” she said. His heart fell hearing this. George nodded and gave her a gentle look to hide his growing concern.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked her.

“It's just... Dad never really paid much attention to me, and now that Ced's gone... It's silly, I just feel sometimes like I'm unwanted and like I'm not cared about,” Claire confessed as they walked. George's heart nearly broke hearing that.

“Well I care very deeply for you,” George said without thinking. He didn't make any attempt to clarify what he had meant and decided to let Claire interpret it how she needed to. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing one of his siblings, so he needed to be extra gentle with her. Claire looked up at him with wide and glassy eyes.

“I care about you too, George. You're my best friend,” she said. George's panic subsided and was replaced with a the icy sting of rejection. She didn't mean it, of course, it's very easy to misinterpret caring about someone, and that's exactly what Claire had done. George wanted to correct her and confess everything he'd been feeling, but after careful consideration, he decided against it. After all... how could she feel the same?

~*~

The arrival at Hogwarts for her seventh year made Claire extremely uncomfortable. The last time she had been at the school, everyone was giving her looks of pity and it made her feel unpleasant to say the least.

“It's alright, we're here with you,” George said with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, we'll even pose as Ravenclaws. Dye our hair brown and be the Yelsaw twins,” Fred said with a laugh.

Claire laughed and shook her head. “No, it's okay. Thank you, though.” She made her way with the twins to the Great Hall and sat next to Cho, who looked happy to see her. They had only shared a few letters over the summer, and the last time they were face to face was at Cedric's funeral.

“Hi, Cho, how are you?” Claire asked. Cho opened her arms for a hug and Claire accepted with a smile.

“I'm okay. Hard being here, but we'll manage. Good summer otherwise. You?” she said with a sigh.

“As good as it could have been,” Claire said. “Spent the last half with Fred and George and you know how they are: always making jokes, so...”

“Are you and George...?” Cho asked expectantly with a sly and slightly suggestive smile.

Claire shook her head. “Just friends...”

Cho nodded and then turned to watch the sorting ceremony. Claire thought about George (as she often did) and her heart sank. Over the summer they had both been alone several times and Claire wanted to scream at him how much she felt for him, but she held back when she remembered Cho's advice that she'd find someone different after George's rejection of her. She and the twins shared almost all of their classes, so at least she wasn't alone the whole time. That became especially helpful when Defense Against the Dark Arts came about and Umbridge started talking about Cedric.

“Now children, it has come to my attention that the rumor floating about the school is that a certain defeated dark wizard is once again lurking in the shadows and is responsible for the tragic death of Miss Diggory's brother. This is a severely misguided lie,” she said in a sickeningly sweet and high-pitched voice. Claire's blood boiled. She knew the truth—Harry's eyes were enough to tell her the horrors he had seen that night and his regret for Cedric's death.

“How do you suppose my brother died, then? If you have answers, I'd love to hear them,” Claire said holding back tears.

“Claire, no,” Fred whispered. Umbridge took a deep breath and ignored her question, then went about sending the books to each student's desk. Claire scoffed and shook her head.

“This is bullshit,” the three of them whispered in unison. Claire stifled a laugh under her breath.

By the day of the first Quidditch match was upon them, Umbridge had already sunk her stupid heels into the curriculum. It was annoying and boring to learn defense against the dark arts this year, but Claire had always enjoyed seeing Fred and George play quidditch, so she looked forward to this afternoon. She went to every one of their practices and matches and cheered for them even if they were playing against Ravenclaw. This match was against Slytherin and it was an especially complex game. In the end, Harry caught the snitch after a face-off with Draco. Claire ran down to congratulate the twins as she always did along with other close friends and significant others of the team and she found them both sweaty and joyful.

“Congratulations!” she cheered and hugged Fred first.

“Thank you, petal,” Fred said and wrapped an arm around her briefly.

“Our little good luck charm you are,” George said and hugged her for slightly longer with both arms secured around her waist. The mood was quickly soured by Draco Malfoy's derogatory words that Claire could hear from a few feet away.

“Although you probably don't remember what your mum's house smelled like so even the Weasley's hovel—” Draco began, but was interrupted by a few Quidditch team members holding Fred back from wailing on Draco. George started to charge the blonde and Claire could only hold him back so much. George angry was not something Claire saw often, but when she did it was never a pretty sight. Claire and Harry did their best to hold George back, but as Draco continued to insult him, George became impossible to contain and Harry was even persuaded into beating the Slytherin seeker to a bloody pulp. Draco didn't fight back much—coward, Claire thought—but managed to get a few good hits in, mostly on George, who was much more aggressive than Harry was.

“Fuck you, Draco! You and your whole bigoted family can kiss my ass and die in a hellfire,” George roared. “Keep my family's name out of your shit mouth, asshole!”

“Impedimento!” Claire heard Madam Hooch bellow above the bone-crunching punches and kicks Harry and George delivered onto Draco.

George and Harry flew backward and Claire came to their side. George's lip was swollen and bleeding and Claire could tell a bruise to his jaw and eye were forming. He stood up from the blast with his jaw clenched and Fred managed to get away from Angelina's hold to stand next to Claire.

“All of you to your Head of House's offices! NOW!” Hooch ordered sternly.

Claire waited patiently outside McGonagall's office with Fred for Harry and George to emerge. Claire was worried about George's head injuries more than anything. He had detention before, many times. After a few more minutes, the door opened and out came George and Harry looking dissatisfied, but calmer.

“Well?” Fred asked.

“Detention tomorrow night with her,” Harry mumbled. “Both of us.”

“Well it's better than expulsion,” Claire said. George nodded and looked up to display a growing purple bruise around his left eye. She reached her hand up and gently placed her fingers on his jaw. He leaned into her touch slightly and his face softened.

“Yeah, it just sucks that Malfoy's probably getting off with nothing when he's been spewing this shit for ages,” George said. Claire nodded.

The first few months of the year were tough, but Fred and George made life a bit more bearable for Claire. She was often the test subject for flavors of sweets as she refused to be made ill and George told her he wouldn't allow it anyway. He'd become very protective of her, and Claire would be lying if she said it didn't make her feel special. When word got to Claire about a meeting to discuss a real Defense Against the Dark Arts class, she let Cho in on the secret.

“Thursday at The Hog's Head. Three o'clock. Don't tell anyone you don't trust,” Claire said to her. Cho smiled and nodded with excitement.

That Thursday, Fred, George, and Claire headed to The Hog's Head on a cold day. She quickly realized why this was the meeting place: it was cold and damp and completely empty. The room soon filled with students from all four houses, but mostly Gryffindors were entering the bare pub. Once the clock showed five past three, Hermione stood up to speak.

“Harry could tell us more about how Diggory got killed,” a Gryffindor boy said from next to where Ginny sat. Claire could sense George's frustration and he gripped her hand nd was ready to stand up to confront the boy when Harry stood instead.

“I'm not going to talk about Cedric, so if that's why you're here, you might as well clear out now,” Harry said insistently with a small look toward Claire.

“Is it true you can produce a Patronus Charm?” Claire asked loud enough for the room to hear, remembering a rumor she had heard in her fifth year. She wanted the subject off of her dead brother, but also wanted tot ell Harry that she believed in him and wanted to learn from him, not just reminisce about what was probably a highly traumatic night for him—Claire knew it was for her at least.

Ron sent her a small smile and George's hand squeezed hers gently.

“Yes,” Hermione spoke up. “I've seen it.”

“Blimey, Harry! I didn't know you could do that,” Dean Thomas spoke up from the other side of the room. Neville then spoke about the Basilisk Harry slayed in his second year to save Ginny, and Ron chimed in saying Harry fended off hundreds of Dementors. Hermione closed out the discussion with another confirmation that Harry fought Voldemort in the flesh, which sent a jolt through Claire. She could only imagine how Cedric must have been feeling. She never asked Harry what his last words were or what exactly happened, and she probably never would. She must have spaced out during Harry's speech because she was soon pulled from her seat with the help of George's hand and stood in a line to sign up to be a part of what Harry was affectionately calling Dumbledore's Army. Claire didn't understand why Harry looked up to Dumbledore so much. He was a great wizard, sure... but his manipulative behavior toward Harry made her question the Headmaster's motives.

“Over the next few days, we should each try to find a place to practice, alright?” Harry said to the small group that had stayed with Harry.

“On it. See you later, Harry!” Fred said as he, George, and Claire went to test more product.

“Hey, Claire...” Harry called after her. Claire was surprised and looked at him.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Can I have a word with you..?” he asked. Claire felt George and Fred inch closer to her. Harry paid them no mind, though.

“Um, sure. Is everything okay?” she asked him. He swallowed hard.

“I-I know I said I wasn't going to talk about Cedric, but if you ever do... I think you'd be the only person I'll talk about it with. You've got a right to know what happened to your brother,” Harry said with a look of sincerity.

Claire was touched by the notion and opportunity that Harry extended to her. She nodded at him and smiled faintly. “Whenever you're okay telling me, of course I want to know.”

Harry looked slightly relieved and then his face turned more serious. “He was braver than I could have ever been. He was ready to fight, but never got the chance... Voldemort was quick, I don't even think Cedric knew what was happening. And when our wands—mine and Voldemort's—connected, Cedric asked me to bring his body back to you, specifically. He said 'take my body back to Claire and tell her I love her'.”

Claire felt her tears begin again and she heard the sorrow in Harry's voice. She put and hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Thank you, Harry.”

~*~

George was awoken in a start by Professor McGonagall. He was dreaming peacefully about an afternoon over the summer he had with Claire and was very displeased to be woken up. He knew something must have been terribly wrong, however.

“George, Fred, wake up. Your father's been attacked. You and your siblings will be going to St. Mungo's by portkey,” she instructed. George's adrenaline rushed through him and he and Fred shared a frantic look. They grabbed their robes and hurried with McGonagall towards Gryffindor commonrrom where Ginny was waiting anxiously.

“What about Claire? She's just as much his child as we are,” Fred said as they headed down the stairs out of the boy's dormitory.

“I took the liberty of having Professor Flitwick alert Miss Diggory. She will be joining you in the Headmaster's office,” McGonagall said.

“Thank goodness,” Ginny sighed and the four of them hurried along the corridors. Fred and George shared a worried look as they entered the extravagant office. George noticed Harry and Ginny share a small look and as much as George wanted to smirk, he was preoccupied with worrying about his dad and looking for Claire's face. He found it sat in a large armchair across the room. She and Ron were already in the office and appeared to be listening to Dumbledore, who appeared to have just been speaking to them. George didn't think he'll ever get used to how Claire looked after just sleeping. He remembered the first night she spent at the Burrow and how soft she looked under the covers in the bed next to his. He probably spent a solid five minutes just looking at her before he pulled himself away to get ready. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had seen her wake up after she had been frozen nearly to death. Even after waking up, she had looked exhausted. Today she looked worried, but still held a slight tender restfulness about her that made his stomach flip.

“Good, you're all here. This way,” Dumbledore said. He ushered them all to gather around an old and tattered top hat. George stood next to Claire, whose eyes still appeared puffy from sleep and she wore George's old quidditch sweatshirt that he had allowed her to keep. He smiled to himself and they all took a hand on the portkey. After a bit of dizzying travel, they landed in front of St. Mungo's hospital. They were greeted by a nurse with her hair pulled up in a tight and neat bun.

“You must be the Weasleys. Your mother is already inside. Follow me,” she said in a sweet but stern voice. They followed her into the building and up several floors, then turned toward one that said “Intensive Care” and George's stomach dropped. His dad must have been hurt badly to need intensive care... He felt Claire's hand grip his and he looked to her as they walked. She offered a reassuring smile and he was grateful for the contact.

“My babies,” George's mum gushed as they all entered the empty waiting room. She gave each of them a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“How's dad?” Fred asked.

She shrugged with a teary expression. “No news yet, but he'll be glad you're all here.”

“What happened?” Claire asked. George slipped his hand back into hers, which she accepted and gripped onto him gently.

“A snake, they think...” Molly responded.

Ron looked slightly uncomfortable and spoke up once the nurse had left, “Harry had a dream... It was You-Know-Who's snake... Sounded brutal,” Ron said.

George's grip tightened on Claire and she stepped closer to him. The group fell silent and Molly nodded, then took a seat.

“Do you need anything, mum? Water, food?” Fred asked.

“I'm fine, dear... Good thing Harry thought to tell someone,” she said. George and Claire took a seat across from her with their hands still joined. Fred sat on the other side of Claire, who offered her hand to him and he took it with a small smile. George felt a twinge of jealously, but noted that Claire's holing of his hand was different than how she held Fred's. He felt a bit better when he noticed that Claire's fingers were locked with George's but not with Fred's. He thought the gesture more intimate with him, but still wanted to pull Fred's touch away.

It was probably close to an hour before they were allowed to see Arthur. They filed in one by one and saw him heavily bandaged and looking worse for wear. George's heart beat faster and he was grateful to Harry for alerting to possible danger. He was sure Harry may have felt silly being worried over a dream, but he was grateful.

“How are you feeling, dad?” Ginny asked with a soft voice. George, Claire and Fred stood off to the side with hands still joined.

“Much better now... the doctor said that there wasn't any venom, so that's good,” Arthur said.

“Just big teeth, then,” Fred mused. Arthur smiled and nodded at his son.

“I'm glad you're all here,” he said and smiled. “I'm alright, though. Don't want you guys away from Hogwarts for too long.”

George nodded and they each took turns giving Arthur a hug. He watched Claire give his dad a tender embrace and he saw Arthur whisper something to her. She nodded and all but Molly left the room. George felt the rest of the night go by in a blur. He was utterly exhausted the following morning and he noticed that Fred, Claire, Ron, Harry, and Ginny seemed to be equally as tired. This was only the beginning, though, and the danger of what they were going to have to face loomed above them all. George couldn't help but become even more protective of Claire after that. The threat of someone he loves being torn from him was mounting and he practiced hard in each DA meeting to do his best to prevent that from happening.

~*~

The next time George saw his father, it was Christmas Day. He, his siblings, Harry, Hermione, and Claire had all gathered at Grimmauld Place for the holiday along with the other Order members. Arthur looked better, but still horribly bruised and still had a few staples on various cuts. After dinner, George overheard a discussion Harry and Remus were having by the fireplace, about Snape's involvement in the Order. George tended to agree with Harry, but decided to not get involved, but instead give Claire her Christmas present. He wanted to give it to her when they were alone, just the two of them, because what he had chosen for her was extremely sentimental. He knew her year had been harder than most and it killed him to watch her face the picture of Cedric every day in the Room of Requirement's mirror. He hadn't even told Fred about his plan to give her such a heartfelt present, which was rare.

“Claire?” George said as he approached her. She was sat in a small alcove in the windowsill on the landing between the first and second floors. There was no one else in sight, and George seized the opportunity.

Claire looked up from her book and smiled. “Hi, George.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. Claire smiled and shook her head, then beckoned him to sit next to her. The sill was spacious enough for both of them, so he sat down next to her and pulled out a small red wrapped box.

“What might that be?” she asked him.

George's cheeks heated up. “It's a present. Your present. From me.”

Claire looked at him in awe and slight shock. “You already got me something, Georgie...” she said gesturing to the book she was reading.

George nodded, but handed the package to her anyway. “I know, I know... That was from both me and Fred... This one's from just me, though.”

“You didn't have to do that, George. That's so sweet,” she said and began to unwrap the paper.

“Nonsense. I wanted to, dove,” he said in a soft voice. Inside the wrapping was a small box and George's heart quickened as she got closer to revealing what he had gotten for her. She flipped open the box and her mouth dropped open. She looked up at George in shock.

“George, this is... this is too much,” she said and shook her head. George smiled knowing that she would say that. He shook his head.

“Open it,” he said. She looked at him quizzically and then pulled out the small heart-shaped silver pendant. The design was simple and delicate with a small diamond in the center, and the locket opened up to reveal a picture of the two of them. It was a picture Fred had insisted on taking during their picnic over the summer, and George was glad he did.

Claire's eyes welled up at seeing the two of them laugh up at the camera inside the locket. She looked up at George as she held it in her hands. George gestured for her to hand him the locket and she gingerly passed it to him. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair to the side to allow him to see better, then he gently placed the necklace around her neck and clasped it in the back. Once he rested it back against her skin, she turned to him with a grateful expression. Their faces were much closer now, and neither of them made a move away.

“Do you like it?” he asked lowly.

“I'll never take it off... I feel bad, I don't have anything to give you...” she said.

George chuckled and shook his head. “You give me everything.”

Claire's face softened and dropped in slight shock when she realized what George possibly meant when he said that. George's cheeks turned pink and hot. His heart was pounding with their unspoken words and they got closer, both feeling the undeniable pull toward each other. George gently placed a hand on her cheek and smoothed the skin with his thumb. His gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips that he desperately wanted to feel on his. He felt Claire start to lean in slowly and he copied her speed not wanting to push too much. He could feel his heart beating in his ears as his eyes fluttered shut and his lips landed on Claire's gently. George's heart soared and he felt like fireworks had been set aflame in his chest. George's hand reached up and he held her cheek gingerly as their lips moved together. Her lips molded against his perfectly and in that action George knew that they were made for each other. Their kiss was short and left George wanting more, but he hadn't expressed his feelings for her precisely so he couldn't be sure she felt the same. After all, she had kissed Fred before. Claire's face looked flustered and she looked like she was maybe about to apologize, but George never wanted her to apologize for kissing him.

“There you two are! Dessert is just about ready, and Mum's got crackers for all of us!” Ron said from the bottom of the stairs just as George was going to tell Claire exactly how he felt without the need for her to infer: an action he had been craving for an excessively long time. George let out a short breath of mild irritation.

“You absolute moron,” Fred scolded their younger brother from behind him as the pair of them walked toward the kitchen. Claire laughed nervously and pulled away from George while tucking a stubborn piece of hair behind her ear. George mimicked her laughter and internally cursed Ron for ruining their moment. After trying a few more times to move the strand of hair, George reached his hand out and moved it for her gently.

Claire looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

George smiled and then heard the crack of the toys and cheers from the kitchen. He licked his lips and smiled at her apologetically.

“We should head in,” Claire said and started to get up.

“Yeah... yeah, we should,” George said and stood up with her.

~*~

“Fantastic, Ginny!” Harry applauded as the room erupted in various enchantments. Ginny had made a full-bodied patronus in the shape of a horse. It pranced around her protectively. Claire watched in awe and then thought of the happiest memory she could think of. She remembered going to a muggle theme park in her youth and did exactly as Harry instructed.

“Expecto patronum!” Claire said and out from her wand flew silver ribbons, but no patronus.

“The happiest memory you can think of. It has to be the happiest because just happy won't be enough,” Harry instructed. “You can even make it up, if it evokes a strong enough feeling, it will work.”

Claire nodded and she took a deep breath. She glanced across the way to see Fred and George grinning happily with their identical bird patronuses. Claire became acutely aware of the metal locket that had been around her neck since Christmas. She thought about that day and how she and George had kissed and didn't let any doubts stop her. She remembered how she felt opening the locket and seeing the image of her and George smiling and laughing with his arm around her, and the feeling of his lips on hers. They hadn't spoken of the kiss since it happened, and it almost felt like a dream, but she didn't care. Even if George meant the kiss in a totally platonic way, it was a memory that Claire cherished.

“Expecto patronum,” she said. In almost an instant, a silver dolphin shot out of her wand and swam around her in happiness. She smiled at it and it danced in the air above her.

“Incredible, Claire!” she heard George say as he approached her. The dolphin dissipated and George lifted her up around her waist and spun her slightly.

Claire laughed and hugged him back, “George, put me down!”

Their laughter was broken by a loud thumping from the entrance to the Room of Requirement. The room fell silent and the patronuses disappeared. Another thump and the room shook. Nigel, a small Gryffindor, went to investigate. Harry quickly pulled him away, and then the wall exploded inward. The group scattered across the room and Claire felt George pull her to the wall and cover her with his body. Once the dust settled, in marched Umbridge followed by a few Slytherins wearing Inquisitor Squad badges.

“You could have killed someone, are you joking?!” Claire yelled at the teacher, whose face was almost as pink as her blouse.

“Detention! All of you! Tomorrow evening from five to seven in the Great Hall! Potter, I knew you were behind this, come with me now!” she shrieked through the room.

The room emptied quickly and Claire, Fred, and George all headed toward the corridors leading to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tower. Claire was enraged. She wanted to hex Umbridge with any number of spells that she'd learned and kick her a fw times for good measure.

“It's just detention, Claire. Fred and I have had it loads of times, it's no big deal,” George said in a calming manner. Claire sensed that he could feel her rage welling up.

“It's not just detention, George! She's ruining the school! She and her bureaucratic bimbos at the ministry have to stick their noses in everything and deny the truth! It's infuriating! They aren't helping, they're actively hurting people this way and they're too proud to admit it! Cedric died for NOTHING! And the worst part is that dad doesn't even care about me. Every letter is all about how honorable and fantastic Cedric was an how much he misses him,” Claire screamed at him, then sunk to her knees in tears. “He didn't even notice I wasn't there for Christmas.”

“Oh, Claire...” George said in a small voice.

She couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so helpless, and it had been a long time since she'd had a good cry. Fred and George sat down with her on either side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into one of them and felt the other move with her. She looked up and saw George's kind eyes and concerned expression and his arms were holding her close.

“He didn't die for nothing, love. Harry's alive, and the Order's eventually going to put their faith in him. He'll be avenged, my dear. I know it hurts now, but... It'll be okay,” he said.

“Yeah, and in the meantime we're here. And we care about you a great deal. Hell, you're practically the Weasley triplet! I know this past year's been so hard on you, but don't ever think that Cedric's death was inconsequential or that you aren't loved,” Fred added. After a moment, Claire's tears stopped and she nodded.

“Thanks, guys,” she said. She felt them both give her a kiss on each cheek briefly, but her focus was on George's lips and the tingling sensation his kiss had left.

~*~

The following day, Fred, George, Claire, and the rest of Dumbledore's Army met in the Great Hall at exactly five o'clock. Word had gotten out that Umbridge would be taking over the school as of today because Dumbledore was being investigated. George feared the worst for the school now that she was going to be in charge of it.

“You will all write lines. Exactly what is on the board. 'I shall not disobey.' Begin,” Umbridge instructed in a disgustingly chipper voice. George picked up the provided quill and rolled his eyes as he began writing. It wasn't until he was about four lines in that his hand started to sting. He looked to see what was causing the pain and his eyes went wide. There, in his own handwriting, were the words 'I shall not disobey' carved into his skin. He looked over to Claire and saw her rub her hand in pain and George filled with anger. He was going to get Umbridge for this. Thoughts ranged from puking pastilles to stabbings as the two hours wore on. By the end of it, he figured out an incredible plan. Not only would he be getting back at her, he would be leaving Hogwarts. He and Fred were ready to start their business in Diagon Alley, so there wasn't anything keeping them there. His hand was nearly numb at the end of the two hours. The students stood up and not a word was said amongst them as they exited the Hall. George waited for Fred and they walked out together and met Claire outside the hall, who looked like she was about to burst.

“Let me see, darling,” George asked and Claire held out her bloodied hand to him. George inspected it and his heart swelled. “Come on, let's clean us all up.”

They all went into the abandoned bathroom that Myrtle haunted and washed their hands. The three of them were just about the only ones that used the bathroom, and George briefly wondered how Myrtle would feel about having the bathroom entirely to herself again.

“I've got a plan,” George said with a smile.

“A plan?” Claire asked as she dried her hand and held pressure on the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Fred looked at his brother. “For what?”

“We're getting out of here, and we're getting revenge at the same time,” George said. “Think about it: we're all done here. Nothing is keeping us. Fred, we've already got the shop picked out, we just have to set it up. And Claire, your magical creature knowledge will be a huge asset for the puffs. Come on, think about it,” George pleaded. Claire and Fred shared a look, then looked back at George.

“Well, I'm in,” Fred said.

“I never thought about what I'd do after Hogwarts. May as well jump in with you two,” Claire joked and George was overjoyed.

~*~

“You're staying here, I'm not having it,” George said to Claire.

“No, I'm going and you can deal,” she argued back.

“I need you here, okay?” he said.

“Why? What good am I here?” Claire protested. They've had this conversation before, but tonight was the real deal. They were moving Harry tonight and George agreed to take polyjuice potion and impersonate Harry for the flight from the Dursley's house to the Burrow. Claire wanted to go as well to help the team out, but George would absolutely not let her. It was too dangerous and he couldn't risk losing her.

“You're SAFE here, that's what matters,” George said and gripped her shoulders and peered into her eyes. He looked into her eyes and saw unwavering determination. “I need you safe, okay? I can't keep you safe when you're flying in the sky.”

Claire looked at him and they made eye contact for a long moment. George's frantic expression and desperate tone in his voice were accented by his hand softly resting on the side of Claire's face with his thumb resting on her jaw.

“George, I'm going. I need you safe, too,” Claire decided. George shook his head in frustration.

“PLEASE stay here... For my sanity, please,” George begged.

“My own sanity is at stake if I don't go with you. I can help,” she said and followed George downstairs where the rest of the moving party was.

“George, let's go,” Bill's voice said. “You'll both be fine, and we could use the extra hands.”

Claire smirked, satisfied with her victory and George looked downright angry with his brother. They mounted their brooms and sped off. Just as George was about to turn away, she gently held his face and planted a deep kiss to his cheek, just beside the corner of his lips. George looked back at her with a dazed expression that still held a bit of frustration, but he ceded and mounted his broom with Lupin nonetheless.

The sky battle was chaos. Curses, counters, jinxes, and stuns were flying everywhere. Claire did her best to stay above the group to fend off attackers from above, but she was soon forced into the thick of it. She lost count of how many flashes of green and red she dodged, and made sure that she defended herself. She sent a few Death Eaters plummeting from the sky, but didn't have time to deal with her emotional repercussions; it was a battle after all.

“Apparate!” she heard Lupin scream. The Death Eaters' actions became erratic and without another word, she apparated back to the Burrow. She appeared to have been the first to arrive and rushed inside to make sure.

“Ginny!” she said as she entered and saw the younger girl sitting on the long and expansive couch they had.

She smiled when she saw Claire and ran to hug her. Claire was surprised, but hugged her back.

A few minutes later, a loud crash and splash was heard from outside. Ginny sprinted to the door and flung it open. Claire followed closely behind her as they raced out the door to see who had arrived.

“Harry!” Ginny said with a sigh of relief. She and Harry met partway to the Burrow's door and shared a few words that Claire didn't hear. She was searching the skies for any sign of Fred and George. She let Hagrid and Molly pass her and head into the house when a loud pop was heard from a few feet away from Harry and Ginny.

Lupin had just arrived and he was helping someone to walk. As the polyjuice potion wore off and they grew closer, Claire saw George's nearly unconscious face with blood dripping from the left side of his head. Her adrenaline kicked in and she made way for George to be placed on the couch Ginny had been occupying. She ran to the bathroom and grabbed any sort of bandage material she could then rushed back out to see George sprawled out on the couch. His legs dangled limply on the cushions with one partly off and touching the floor. His left side was up and his ear appeared to be hemorrhaging blood. Claire did her best to quiet the panic that was growing in her and rushed to his side next to Fred.

“Saint-like... I'm holy. Get it, Fred?” George said weakly.

“Of all the ear-related humor in the world and you go with 'I'm holy'... Pathetic,” Fred joked.

“Reckon I'm still better looking than you,” George teased. Claire knelt down next to Fred, who looked happy to see her, and started cleaning George's ear.

“Claire...” George said breathlessly. He gently placed a hand on her cheek as she cleaned the fresh and dried blood from his ear with a relieved smile. Once she was sure the ear had stopped bleeding actively, she cleaned the dried and darkened blood from his hand gently.

“Mad-Eye's dead,” Bill said as he entered the room. George's face fell and Claire bit back tears and focused on George's bandages. She wasn't sure when or how it had happened, but suddenly she was the only one in the room with George as she bandaged his ear. She noticed his expression become sadder the longer she worked.

“You okay?” she asked him warily.

He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “I'm alive.”

Claire let out a breath and nodded, then finished his bandage in silence. She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't meet them or she'd start to cry. She removed her hands from his face, and George examined her features with furrowed brows and his gaze landed on a spot above her eyes. He lifted his hand and gently touched the spot his eyes had found. Claire winced when she felt a sharp stinging and burning sensation. George immediately withdrew his hand and shook his head.

“I knew you shouldn't have come. Why didn't you stay here?!” he said appearing to be enraged.

“Do you know how many spells I deflected up there so that Ron and Hermione wouldn't be hit by them?! That's why,” Claire shot back. “Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not angry, I'm frustrated,” George grumbled. “I lost an ear tonight, and Moody, the finest auror of the age, died. Do you know how easily that could have been you?!”

“Of course I do! I'm lucky it wasn't and I'm glad you only lost an ear rather than your life,” Claire responded with tears in her eyes and finally met his. “You didn't answer me, though: why are you frustrated?”

“Because you didn't stay safe! Because I couldn't keep you from coming on this venture, which doesn't bode well for the next one and I need you to stay safe. It's maddening how worried I was for you up there, Claire!” George said.

“Why does that matter?! You went!” Claire retorted and gestured to him briefly.

“Because I'm in love with you! I know you don't feel that way about me, but that's why I need you safe and out of harm's way, okay?! I'm ridiculously and hopelessly in love with you!” George confessed as he advanced toward her and gripped her shoulders with their eyes locked together.

Claire was silent for a moment as she took in George's confession. George's face looked on the verge of tears and he went to walk out of the room. Claire quickly reached out and gripped his hand to keep him from leaving and he looked down at her with a pained expression.

“You're everything to me,” she whispered. George's eyes met hers and the distance between them was quickly closed when Claire leaned up and kissed him feverishly. She felt this kiss much different from the last that they'd shared in that their lips were completely merged together as George's hand snaked around her waist. His other hand landed on her jaw, then moved to cup the back of her head and he pressed further into her. Claire felt slightly dizzy, so she broke away from George's mouth to catch her breath. He remained close to her and their foreheads rested against each other.

“We never did talk about that last time,” George said with a grin.

“I suppose we probably should now that it's happened twice,” Claire suggested.

“It's simple: I love you. I did then, and I do now,” George said after a deep breath.

Claire's heart jumped and she smiled with red hot cheeks. She could barely speak, but managed to whisper out, “I love you.”

George's jaw clenched and unclenched, then his face softened into a smile. He leaned in once more and their lips melted together gently but purposefully. Claire pressed herself against George and he pulled her close so there was nearly no space between them. Claire's heart swelled in her chest and she let go of any inhibition about her feelings for George. All this time, he had felt the same for her and her biggest fear was that he didn't. George's lips parted slightly and Claire felt the wetness of his tongue graze her lips to beg for more. She obliged and as their kiss deepened, George's grip on her became impossibly close and strong.

“Will you have me? Tonight, and always?” he asked in a breathless whisper when they finally broke their lips apart. “I have to know before we...”

“Yes,” was all Claire could say. She felt like she was flying in the best way possible as they let their passions act for them. She had only seen George shirtless a few times, mostly in the summer when they went swimming and once when he had just woken up and they crossed paths in the hallway at Grimmauld Place, but Claire's stomach knotted and she felt herself biting her lip and burning to touch his bare chest. He smiled and placed her hand over his chest and she felt his quick and strong heartbeat.

George made quick work of undressing them both, but still took the time to admire Claire. She felt vulnerable under his gaze, but once his lips were on her, the anxiety was replaced with security and bliss. He kissed all down her chest, and left a few red and purple spots on her stomach and breasts. His hands moved over her skin with grace and tenderness as though if he squeezed too hard she'd shatter below him. Claire's lips found his once again and she went to gently press him down against the couch, but George switched their position and her back was against the cushions.

“George, you're hurt...” Claire protested. George shook his head.

“I don't care,” he said and kissed her neck and nipped at her earlobe playfully. Claire uncontrollably let out a small whine and gripped onto George with her nails in his back.

“Oh...” he moaned from his throat and gently sunk his teeth into her shoulder. A shock went through Claire and she repeated her action. George let out a sound Claire had only heard from animals and he looked at her with a mischievous smile and a dark look in his eye with lust-blown pupils.

“My love, you're heading down a dangerous path,” he warned and leaned down to smirk against her ear. Claire smiled and shrugged.

“Maybe I want to,” she said into his. She felt him smile against her and he spread her legs and seated himself between them. Claire bit her lip and George slid himself into her after a nod from both of them. Claire felt him stretch her out and her head fell back in pleasure.

“George,” she gasped with a dry throat. She felt him completely sheath himself within her and he let out short pants as they settled for a moment.

“Fuck,” George swore under his breath and began to pulse himself in and out of her. Claire's hands found George's neck and she pulled him down to meet her mouth with his. Their kiss was rough and passionate and Claire met his thrusts with her own. Her fingers snaked along his neck and knotted in his short hair. Instinctively, she gripped hard and tugged. George's reaction was one she hadn't expected. He moaned out into her mouth and copied her actions and grabbed a fistful of Claire's hair. With a sharp tug, Claire's neck was exposed to him completely and her back was arched, which sent her body mostly limp with pleasure. She moaned out and she could feel George smirk against the skin of her chest.

“I tried to warn you, darling,” he said. Claire couldn't speak as George's tongue laved over the skin of her breasts, then down her stomach. He slipped out of her, which caused Claire to whine in protest, but his lips then found their spot between her legs. Claire looked down at him and did her best to keep her thigh from hitting his fresh wound. George hungrily dove into her and Claire could feel herself starting to come undone. His tongue danced over her clitoris expertly as if this were the thousandth time he'd done this on her.

“George, please don't stop,” Claire begged. George continued and soon Claire's vision went blurry and her release took over her. She shook and moaned his name as if her life depended on it. George's lips left her for a moment and was replaced with vigorous thrusting in and out of her. He leaned his chest against hers and kissed her. She could taste herself on him for a moment, but his lips then moved to whisper praises and calls of her name. Suddenly, he pulled out of her and his seed spilled into his shirt that he had grabbed.

George helped Claire get dressed and they walked hand-in-hand up to Fred and George's room in the Burrow. They hadn't stayed there since Christmas with all three of them sharing a flat above the shop, but it was nice to spend time in a familiar setting. Claire noticed Fred fast asleep in his bed and while all three mattresses were nearly touching, George must not have thought Claire's bed was close enough. In a swift move, he pushed his mattress into hers and pulled her down to cuddle with him. George laid on his back and Claire put her head on his chest and the blankets wrapped around them snugly.

“I love you,” George told Claire as she let her eyes flutter closed against him.

She hummed in response and pulled herself closer to him before falling asleep.

~*~

George woke up the following morning and found his arms and legs tangled around Claire's sleeping form. His heart jumped and his skin tingled at the memory of the sex they'd had last night. They didn't define their relationship last night, but George figured he could do that t a later time. They were in the throes of their passion last night and George held the memory safe in a mental treasure chest.

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked. He was already standing and half-naked, getting ready for the day.

“I'm excellent,” George said and smiled down at Claire.

“Did you two have fun last night?” Fred asked suggestively and winked. George's face got hot and he kissed Claire's head.

“That is private,” George responded. Fred scoffed.

“About time,” Fred said. “Better start planning your wedding soon.”

George carefully got up and rolled his eyes. As he stood up, he noticed the bloody bandage on the side of his head had shifted in the night and now laid on the pillow he used. Fred grimaced at the wound.

“Ouch...” Fred commented. “Does it hurt?”

George shrugged. “A little... I'll bandage it. Anyone else up yet?”

“Mum, but I think she's been too focused on breakfast to wake anyone else up,” Fred said and buttoned his vest.

“I'm awake,” Claire said from behind George. His heart skipped a beat and he turned to see her sitting up slowly. He smiled and walked over to her side.

“Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?” George asked.

“Yeah, really well,” she said and rubbed her eyes.

“Big surprise,” Fred muttered, and George threw a pillow at him.

Before long, George found himself dressed for the wedding with Claire bandaging his ear once more in the bathroom. They were mostly silent until George found the courage to ask her the question that had been burning inside him all morning.

“Do you regret it?” he asked her once she had finished.

Claire raised a brow at him. “The bandage?”

“No.. no... last night. With me,” George clarified with a blush.

Claire's cheeks turned pink. “Um... no.. not at all. Do you...?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact, I wouldn't mind if we did that more regularly,” George said and cupped her hands in his. “Exclusively...”

Claire held his hands softly and smiled up at him. George's eyes met her and he felt like he could fly without a broom when she nodded her head. He felt like kissing her. He often felt like kissing her, but restrained himself, but now he didn't. He cupped her cheek and kissed her lips gently. He was thrilled to bits to be hers and to know that she's his.

“Ahem,” he heard a familiar throat clear. They broke away and saw Ron standing in the hallway. George's face got hot and he could see a small blush on Claire's cheeks. They exited the bathroom and before George had a moment to think, he was thrust into various tasks to help get the wedding and reception area ready for guests to arrive. He snuck glances and longing gazes and Claire all day, but it wasn't until the first dance of the evening that he could get alone time with her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked her with an outstretched hand. Claire smiled and took the floor with him. He smoothed his hand around her waist and then intertwined their fingers and held their hands to his chest. He wanted her close to him, as close as she'd let him get.

“Hm, reminds me of the Yule Ball,” Claire said after a few moments of swaying to the slow music.

George chuckled. “I suppose I should have asked you to that one.”

“I would have said yes,” Claire said. George tried not to think too hard about how foolish he had been and all the time they could have had together. Instead, he remembered that she had agreed to be his and only his and smiled.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I love you,” Claire echoed.

George smiled and leaned down, then planted his lips on hers in a sweet and passionate kiss.

#george weasley x oc

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dannyphannypack · 5 years ago

Text

DP/PJO Crossover

Hello losers and welcome back to Taylor Writes A Teaser and Later Deletes the Entire Thing Because She Decides She Doesn’t Like it but She Wants to Put the Teaser Somewhere Else Where Her Grimy Little Hands Can’t Reach it so the Teaser Isn’t Lost Forever to Time! The Series. Today I’ve got a prologue for my upcoming fic, The Phantom Recollection. Enjoy!

“Woah.”

Daniel Fenton, newly fifteen, stood outside the Washington Square Park in lower Manhattan with a cardboard box overflowing with weaponry. He stood in front of the park’s Roman triumphal arch, where two statues of George Washington stared down at him. Behind the president on either side were two other people Danny didn’t recognize.

Jasmine, Danny’s older sister by two years, came up behind him toting another cardboard box labelled ‘Samples.’ She nodded toward the eastern pier. “That’s George Washington as Commander-in-Chief, Accompanied by Fame and Valor.” Jazz recited the words as if reading straight out of a textbook. “And the other one is George Washington as President, Accompanied by Wisdom and Justice.”

“Ah, yes,” Danny said as he adjusted his box. Guns were heavy. “My four favorite people: Fame, Valor, Wisdom, and Justice. Love those guys.”

Jazz nudged him with her shoulder and continued through the arch, where a crowd of people were gathered around a large fountain with jets that spewed water 45 feet into the air. A few adults sat around the fountain with their feet in the water and kids ran across the surface in swimsuits and trunks. Danny watched as one kid walked a little too close to the fountain and got pummeled by falling water.

The perimeter of Washington Square was decorated in booths. While one half of the square was shaded by the surrounding trees, the other half was enduring the hot July sun. Some people had been smart enough to bring canopy tents. Others were already baking.

“There,” Jazz said, pointing. A single empty fold-up table on the other side of the square sat in the sun with a sign that read, “RESERVED — Fentons.” Danny used a hand to shade his eyes in an attempt to get a better look at it.

“I told you that you should’ve brought sunglasses,” Jazz said. Danny figured she was rolling her eyes underneath her own pair of aviators.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny huffed. “Let’s just go before I drop this Fenton-Tech all over the ground.”

A big guy in a bright orange neoprene HAZMAT suit ran into Danny from behind, almost making him fall over. Jack Fenton carried seven stacked cardboard boxes. “Whoops!” he shouted. “Didn’t see you there!”

Danny figured he couldn’t see anyone, anywhere, but a similarly-dressed woman in a bright blue suit came up behind him and urged him along. “Jack, I told you that we could just take a second trip.”

Beside Danny, Jazz hunched her shoulders like she thought she could hide in a turtle shell. “If anyone asks, I’m not related.”

Danny’s parents were … quirky, to say the least. Danny rarely saw them without their suits in public, and Danny even less so with his mom’s hood and red-tinted goggles. Underneath was a chin-length bob of red hair and deep blue eyes, almost purple in color. She was nothing compared to his dad, though, who was easily six feet seven and built like an MMA fighter (minus the rippling muscles). Huge. Stocky. Shaped vaguely like a box. He was difficult to miss. Even behind the boxes, people that walked past were giving him strange looks. Danny figured that was bad, since they were at a ghost convention.

“Not any ghost convention!” His dad had exclaimed, barely a week ago. “The Haunted America Conference in Alton, Illinois!”

“It’s not in Alton anymore, Jack,” His mom had sighed like they’d been over this three times already. “They had to move it due to popular demand.”

“Where is it, then?” Danny asked.

His mom had beamed. “Oh, Danny, you’re going to love this: New York City!”

And that’s how they’d ended up in America’s most populated city, carrying ghost weapons across a supposedly haunted park in the middle of July. Danny was pretty good at telling where ghosts were and where they weren’t, and there definitely wasn’t anybody here. The land had once been used as a mass burial ground during the yellow fever, but the spirits had all moved on since. If Danny had died during the yellow fever, he wouldn’t have stuck around either. Children running playfully over his unmarked corpse? No thanks.

Danny set his box at the foot of the table. His dad was trying to bend down without spilling the contents of his seven boxes everywhere, and his mom was fussing over him. “Don’t worry, Maddie, I got it!” his dad said, and he set the boxes on the pavement a little too roughly. The bottom box made a noise like breaking glass and crumpled underneath the weight. Ectoplasm began oozing out the sides.

“I’ve got the other samples,” Jazz drawled, setting down the box. “If you need me I’ll be by the fountain pretending that I don’t exist.” She shouldered her backpack and walked away.

“I’m just gonna go, uh, walk around,” Danny said.

His mom opened her mouth like she meant to tell him to stay there and help set up the booth, but she replaced the expression with a hesitant smile. “Go have fun. Be back by noon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Danny knew how much his mother liked physical reassurance, so he stood on his tip-toes and pecked her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled. “Love you, too.”

Danny turned and started heading around the square, glancing at people’s ghostly booths without actually getting close enough to warrant a conversation. He didn’t get a chance to walk very far, though. While passing a section of the square that branched off into a sidewalk, an old lady in a black hood grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aside. Despite the temperature (and the outfit choice), her skin felt cold. Danny forced himself to remain calm. Not a ghost, he told himself. Still, the woman set him on edge. When she opened her mouth, she sounded like she was hissing. Between gasping breaths, she said,

“Three shall find the child of death

Who loses his mind with one gasping breath

The son of the sea god must attend

To repay the kindness of a forgotten friend

See that his memories are safely returned

Or the reign of the King will be overturned.”

Danny blinked and she was gone, melting into the shadows of a big elm tree. “Wait!” he shouted, but the old woman had disappeared.

A wild animal growled nearby, but it came from all sides and echoed like Danny was in a cave.

He shivered. Get it together, Fenton. You’re losing it, man.

Thinking about how characters in movies splashed their faces with cold water when they were upset, he turned and walked down the sidewalk in search of a restroom.

Jazz sat on the steps of the fountain. With her laptop balanced in her lap, she reached into her backpack and removed a flash drive from her key ring of flash drives. This one was marked by a little cartoon ghost painted in neon green nail polish. She inserted it and opened up the folder. More folders stared back at her. Ghost Psychology, Ghost Physiology, Ghost Physics, Ghost Theories, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. Jazz pursed her lips. Maybe she should take the ‘Ghost’ out of all her folder titles. The nail polish ghost on her flash drive already told her what it was.

“Hey,” someone said from behind her, and she jumped. Pulling her computer screen down, Jazz turned and looked up at the girl who had spoken.

She might have been a bit younger than Danny, though Jazz couldn’t tell exactly. She had long, curly red hair and dozens of freckles that decorated her nose like tiny paint splatters. Her eyes were so green they practically glowed in the light of the sun, swirling with mirth and curiosity. She was wearing red running shorts and a white t-shirt, so she looked like she had just finished a jog. Jazz supposed that she might have; this was a park, not a year-round ghost convention.

“Hi,” Jazz replied, pushing up her sunglasses so that they rested on her head. She visibly relaxed.

The girl chuckled and sat down beside her. She began taking off her sneakers and socks. “Surprised to see a fellow redhead at the Haunted America Conference.”

Jazz looked up and observed the crowd. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before, but the people wandering about the square were a sea of black clothes and colorfully-dyed hair.

Jazz snorted and reopened her laptop. “That’s why you came over here?”

“No. I happened to see your computer screen.” She leaned in close for a better look. “Ghost Psychology, huh?”

Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know it seems weird—”

“No, I love it!” The girl said. “Everybody else here is all, ‘Palmistry, Chakra, Tarot Readings.’ You’re asking the real questions. What do ghosts think about? That’s what I’m interested in.”

If anybody else had said that, Jazz would have assumed they were being condescending. This girl, though … she could tell that she was just curious. “You believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting her feet in the water and kicking them back and forth a bit. “Why not? Had this weird experience at the Hoover Dam last month. Not a ghost, I think, but—” she cut herself off and bit her lip, like she was trying to stop herself from retelling it. She raised her hand for Jazz to shake. “My name’s Rachel. Rachel Dare.”

Jazz shook it politely. “Jazz Fenton.”

“Fenton, huh?” Rachel looked like that name sounded familiar but she didn’t want to say anything about it.

“Yeah, I know,” Jazz said, preparing herself for the obligatory ‘I’m a Fenton’ speech. “Parents are Maddie and Jack Fenton, ghost hunters extraordinaire. Last year they saved Amity Park from being annihilated by the Ghost King, yadda yadda.

“They did what?” Rachel squeaked, but she sounded more amused than shocked. “Ghost King?”

Jazz mentally berated herself. Without thinking, she’d started spewing the information that everybody back in her home state wanted to know. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in New York, hundreds of miles away. Stupid.

Rachel must have saw Jazz wince, because she switched gears. “So, ghost hunters,” she said. “Your folks got a TV show?”

Jazz took a second to process the change in topic. She blinked once. Twice. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“What?” Rachel yelled over Jazz’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Jazz giggled but calmed down. “Sorry. My parents having a TV show … I can’t imagine.”

“What do they do then?” she asked. “Ghost Tours?”

“Ghost—?” Jazz cleared her throat to keep herself from laughing again. “No, no, no, Rachel, you’ve got my family all wrong. Think, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “They shoot ghosts? How does that work?”

Jazz jabbed a finger behind her, where her parents had started on the box of weaponry. Her mom set the Fenton Bazooka down. Like anybody was gonna buy that.

Rachel gulped. “So I’m hoping you’re the ‘ask questions, shoot later’ one.”

Jazz nodded mutely and opened her Ghost Psychology folder. At the top was a folder labelled ‘Danny Phantom,’ but she scrolled past it to the general information. “My parents think that ghosts are inherently evil and have no thoughts of their own. They’re just a bad copy of their old human consciousness, wanting to get revenge on humans because they’re jealous that we’re alive or something. But they’re so much more than that. They have these—these ghostly obsessions.” She opened a Word document and began scrolling. “But they’re not evil obsessions. Sure, when they die, they can be like, ‘I’m going to make them pay.’ But usually it’s more of a gray area. Like, ‘I’m going to watch after my family,’ or ‘I’m never going to stop writing.’ What my parents don’t understand is that they’re not unary; they can think about other things. They aren’t limited to one state of mind.”

Rachel looked surprised at the sudden lecture, but she adjusted quickly. “Who is Skulker?”

“Oh.” Jazz paused and bit her lip. “He’s—he’s not the best.”

“What’s his obsession?”

“Hunting,” Jazz said, though she didn’t sound as excited as she had before.

“I’m guessing he’s not hunting for deer,” Rachel said, watching Jazz’s reaction. “Okay. Then … who is Danny Phantom? Why’s he got a folder to himself?”

Jazz’s eyes widened.

“Right. Another touchy subject.”

“No,” Jazz said, shaking her head. “No, he’s … he’s good. Great, even. I think he’s obsessed with protecting people.”

“Well, that’d good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Jazz exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, it’s really good.”

Rachel stared at her. “But … something’s wrong?”

Jazz exhaled slowly through her nose, considering what she should and should not say. “He’s just a little … too protective, I guess. Never thinks about himself. Always rushes in when he could get hurt.”

“Ghosts can get hurt?” Rachel asked.

“This one can.”

Rachel could tell that Jazz didn’t want to talk about it, but she was curious. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, “What’s he like?”

Jazz smiled. “Oh, he’s great. Always saving the day. You know, everybody thanks my parents for the Ghost King thing, but it was really him. Our entire city was transported to a different dimension called the Ghost Zone. It’s where all ghosts live. The Ghost King had just woken up. People doubted his power. He was going to kill us all to set an example. Let everybody know that he was in charge.”

Jazz took a deep breath. “And then … well, Phantom couldn’t stand for that. He was already upset because … someone else got hurt. So he went up there by himself and beat him. He could’ve died.” Her eyes widened. “Well, not died, but he could’ve gotten hurt.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the fountain and watching the water splash against the surface. Some little kids ran by them, laughing. Rachel said, “You like this guy a lot, huh?”

That seemed to break Jazz out of her stupor. Her cheeks turned red. “Not romantically!” she shouted. “I care about him like a little brother. Not—” She put her face in her hands.

Rachel laughed and stood, shaking the water off her bare feet. “I’ve got to get going before my dad comes home for his lunch break and finds out that I’ve left the house. It was nice meeting you, Jazz.” She pointed at the laptop. “You keep that ghost science thing up. You never know. You might end up publishing it and becoming famous.”

“Your shoes,” Jazz said, grabbing the sneakers and holding them up to her. Her socks had been stuffed into the toes.

“Oh! Right.” She took them but didn’t bother putting them on; instead, she started walking up the steps and back into the square, barefoot. “And you keep that Phantom kid from doing anything stupid!” She added.

Jazz laughed. “I’ll try!” she shouted back.

Just like that, Rachel Dare was gone.

In hindsight, Danny should’ve known that he’d never get a break. Weird stuff had been happening to him since last year like clockwork. August: get ghost powers. September: fight ghosts. November: find out that a creepy old man has ghost powers, too. December: fight ghosts. On and on and on until now, watching people stumble through the gates of a sandy dog park behind the restroom he’d found. An old lady shuffled past him, screaming bloody murder. “Rabid dog!”

Danny turned back towards the dog park. That thing was no dog. Snarling angrily at a park ranger was a full-grown lion, 500 pounds at least. It snorted a small plume of red-orange fire. Danny blanched. Yeah, so maybe it wasn’t a lion.

Danny was still trying to process its more … interesting parts. From its back sprouted a black ram’s head, with big, curly ebony horns and a sneer almost as nasty as the lion’s. It, too, huffed, but only smoke came from its mouth. Thank god. Danny didn’t know if he could handle two fire-breathing heads.

Then there was the matter of the tail. The golden fur grew in patches before tapering off into tough yellow and orange snake-skin. At the tail’s end was a full, honest-to-god python. As he watched, the snake looked up at Danny and flicked its tongue.

This was a ghost. It had to be a ghost, right? Sure, it didn’t glow like a ghost … and it didn’t float like a ghost … and it didn’t set off his ghost-sense like a ghost … but what else could it be? An animal experiment escapee from the Central Park Zoo? Danny seriously doubted that.

The park ranger pressed his back against the fence, which was a little too high for him to jump, and made a high-pitched whimpering sound. Danny shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Whatever it was, he had to get rid of it.

Danny glanced nervously at the security cameras attached to the public restroom and nestled between the trees. Okay. He had to get rid of it, but without ghost powers. How?

Looking around for anything he could use, Danny settled on rock and tossed it twice into the air to test its weight. Deciding that it would work, he shouted, “Hey, Alex the Lion!” and threw it as hard as he could. It hit the creature in the back of the head.

That got its attention. Turning away from the ranger, the lion growled and set the floor around the gate on fire. Danny surveyed the fence. He wondered if he could jump it or if he’d seriously have to run through flames to get inside. Danny didn’t like heat. It wasn’t his thing. If he channeled a little flight into the jump, would it be too noticeable?

He didn’t have to think about it for very long, though. A boy and a girl, apparently unconcerned with the security cameras, catapulted over the fence on the other side and somersaulted into a standing position, one holding a dagger and the other holding an entire sword.

A sword. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.

The girl kicked the guy in the back of the knee, causing him to fall. She pushed him toward the lion. “Mmm, look, yummy demigod!”

“Annabeth!” The guy spluttered, standing. Just in the nick of time, too. Their entrance had caught the creature’s attention. It lunged forward. The kid jumped out of the way.

Danny raised his eyebrows. The girl, Annabeth, had her wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jean shorts and a hazard orange t-shirt similar to Danny’s dad’s suit. The guy was wearing the same shirt, though he had a pair of black basketball shorts on instead. Together, they shared a matching gray streak of hair. He wondered if they’d dyed it together.

In the other corner, the park ranger fainted.

With nothing but sand and rocks to fuel it, the flames around the gate died, allowing Danny to walk in like a normal person. Unlike the other two, he’d rather not high-jump a fence with security cameras watching. Even in New York he needed to keep up appearances.

The creature rushed toward Annabeth and its snake head-of-a-tail wrapped around her arm, squeezing until she dropped her dagger with a pained yelp. She looked down at it and kicked it in the general direction of the other guy.

Okay, my turn, Danny thought. He grabbed another rock (this one sharper, yay!), stepped through the gate, and threw it. It cut a long gash through the ram’s cheek. The lion turned to face him.

Both of the strangers looked surprised to see him there, like they hadn’t noticed a fifteen-year-old kid standing by the front gates. Honestly, Danny was surprised that he was still there, too. He had seriously considered running away when he saw them jump the fence. He had thought, Great! Back to my vacation, but his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.

Annabeth recovered quickly. With the lion-goat-snake-thing distracted, she ripped her arm free of the snake’s grip and tumbled away.

The lion head roared, shooting fire across the park at Danny. He rolled out of the way and stood, bouncing on his toes. What he would give to be able to fly right now.

The other guy stared at him.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“Your pants are on fire.”

Danny looked down. Sure enough, the hem of his jeans hadn’t been as lucky as the rest of him. Patting it out, he shouted, “Dude!”

And then the lion was on top of him.

Now, Danny had been in some pretty sticky situations. The lion had his arms pinned on either side of his head. Danny couldn’t help but flash back to another time, when a ghost panther had been on top of him in the same fashion. It wasn’t the same, but still. Two giant cats pinning him to the ground in a year? That was sad.

On one side of him was Annabeth, on the other, the guy. Annabeth pointed frantically to his right. His eyes flicked in the direction she was indicating. Ah, yes, the dagger! He’d never be able to grab it with the creature’s full attention on him, though.

“Percy,” Annabeth said in a harsh whisper. He didn’t seem to notice. With a stomp, Annabeth ground out, “Per-see!” and nodded her head toward the dagger. He opened his mouth like, Ah, hyped himself up by jumping up and down, and started running top speed with his sword held high above his head, screaming.

The lion gnashed its teeth like it was annoyed. The goat head bleated angrily. The snake hissed. In one swift motion, the creature lifted one of its massive paws and hit Percy across the stomach. He flew backward into the metal fence.

Fortunately for Danny, that was all the time he needed. With one arm free, he reached for the dagger, got a hold of it, and pushed it into the lion’s chest. He cringed, bracing himself for the five hundred pounds of lion-goat-snake-thing that was about to die on top of him. Instead, it began raining sand.

Danny opened his eyes, sat up, and immediately began gagging. “It got in my mouth!” he yelled, though it sounded more like, “It got in me mouf!”

Percy, who had been thrown into the fence and didn’t look much better than Danny, had the audacity to start laughing. Danny turned and glared at him, using his hands to brush lion-goat-snake dust off his tongue. He only succeeded in adding more sand from the ground to his mouth.

Annabeth held out her hand for Danny and helped him to stand. Percy cleared his throat, like, Hey, aren’t you gonna help me up, too? but Annabeth just looked Danny up and down with a puzzled expression. Her eyes were gray like a storm cloud. “Who are you?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

Danny was still spitting sand and monster dust all over the ground. “Danny,” he said between gagging. “Bleh.”

“First time?” Percy quipped, helping himself up by leaning heavily on the fence behind him. He winced and held his stomach.

“I’m Annabeth,” Annabeth said. She gestured flippantly at her friend. “That’s Percy. I’ve never seen you before. Where did you come from?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows, thoroughly confused. “You ever meet a tourist?”

Annabeth continued to stare at him. Shaking her head, she asked, “Where’s your parent?”

“Uh, parents? And they’re at Washington Square.”

“You have a stepparent?” Percy blurted.

“What?”

Percy changed gears. “You’re adopted?”

“What? No!”

Percy’s eyes widened. He muttered, “You’re like Rachel?”

“Who?” Danny and Annabeth asked in unison. For once he wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“Look,” Danny said, brushing himself off. “This has been super fun, but I’ve got a ghost convention to get back to.” He turned on his heel and started stalking out of the dog park. What was up with them assuming he didn’t have parents? And people thought he was nuts.

“Wait!” Percy shouted. Danny paused mid-step. “Thank you.”

Danny considered that. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero in human form. It was dangerous. Even now, he was running through scenes in his head of these two stealing the security footage and putting him on YouTube or something. Highly unlikely, but anxiety twisted that in his head and made him more and more uncomfortable. He turned back around. “Look … don’t tell anybody about this, yeah?” Then, to disguise his nervousness, he said, “My parents would flip if they found out lion-goat-snake hybrids existed.”

“Chimera,” Annabeth said.

“Bless you,” said Percy.

“What? No! Percy, you of all people should know this. The Chimera is a Greek monster. Bellerophon shot it with the help of Pegasus. Do you listen to anything we tell you in camp?”

Percy shrugged noncommittally.

Annabeth fumed. “I—”

“You could come with us, you know,” Percy said, cutting Annabeth off. “To camp, I mean.”

Danny pretended like he was considering the offer. “Hmm, a camp with a Greek mythology class? No thanks.”

“It’s not a myth,” Percy said, rushing to get what he wanted to say out before Danny lost interest and left. “The Greek gods, I mean. They’re real. We could really use someone like you.”

Danny considered this. Right, so … crazy. They were crazy. If the Greek gods existed, why would there be a Ghost Zone? Didn’t spirits go to the Underworld in Greek mythology or something? But then again … what else could that lion-goat-snake thing be? It definitely wasn’t a ghost.

Danny shook his head. He had enough things to worry about. This was crossing into the Too Weird category. Turning, he said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta go throw rocks at some other monsters. See you around.”

He walked out the gates and down the sidewalk towards Washington Square, thinking, I could really go for a sandwich right now.

623 notes · View notes

butterflies-dragons · 5 years ago

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Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

A great deal has already been said about how similar Sansa Stark and Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen are. Here some sources:

Sansa Stark and "Good Queen" Alysanne Targaryen parallels

open thread #1: alysansa

Good Queen Alysanne translates to Good Queen D@ny??

Don't you think that Alysanne has more similarities with Arya than Sansa?

Tidbits from Fire and Blood

More tidbits from Fire and Blood

An Idyll where love conquers all

Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil

Doug Wheatley, we need an explanation!

can I copy your homework?

Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate

is nourishing

What are you doing George?

Jonquil Darke “the Scarlet Shadow” & Joffrey Dogget “the Red Dog of the Hills”

There is a certain irony in people rejecting any Sansa/Alysanne connection

There’s plenty Sansa and Alysanne parallels and some situations may actually repeat themselves

so sansa and good queen alysanne am i the only that sees it?

What are some parallels/similarities between Sansa and Good Queen Alysanne? Are there any?

More Sansa = Alysanne

Queen Alysanne has a knight named Jonquil and meets Lord Commander Lothor at the wall

Sansa & Alysanne portraits

Queen Alysanne and her cousin King Jaehaerys

Queen Alysanne/Sansa Stark parallel

Why is it so significant the parallel between Queen Alysanne and Sansa?

Queens

Now I will give you my contribution on the matter, mostly based on what I found in my recent first re-reading of Fire & Blood.

MERCY

Five of Maegor’s Seven yet survived. Two of those, Ser Olyver Bracken and Ser Raymund Mallery, had played a part in the late king’s fall by turning their cloaks and going over to Jaehaerys, but the boy king observed rightly that in doing so they had broken their vows to defend the king’s life with their own. “I will have no oathbreakers at my court,” he proclaimed. All five Kingsguard were therefore sentenced to death…but at the urging of Princess Alysanne, it was agreed that they might be spared if they would exchange their white cloaks for black by joining the Night’s Watch. Four of the five accepted this clemency and departed for the Wall; along with Ser Olyver and Ser Raymund, the turncloaks, went Ser Jon Tollett and Ser Symond Crayne.

—Fire & Blood

This passage reminds me of Sansa asking mercy for her father Ned and saving Dontos’ life by denying him the mercy of a quick death:

The king! Sansa blinked back her tears. Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her gallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she went to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain he'd listen. He had to listen, he loved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the Free Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked.

"No, my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or … or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise …"

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

JOFFREY & THE HOUND

In Fire & Blood we meet a character named Ser Joffrey Doggett, also known as the Red Dog of the Hills. He was a knight from House Doggett, a noble house from the westerlands, vassals of House Lannister.

During the reign of Maegor I Targaryen, Ser Joffrey Doggett was a member of the Lannisport chapter of the Warrior's Sons, an order of Westerosi knights sworn to the Faith of the Seven.

Ser Joffrey Doggett’s family was burned by the fires of Balerion:

Then Maegor himself took wing, flying Balerion to the westerlands, where he burned the castles of the Broomes, the Falwells, the Lorches, and the other “pious lords” who had defied his summons. Lastly he descended upon the seat of House Doggett, reducing it to ash. The fires claimed the lives of Ser Joffrey’s father, mother, and young sister, along with their sworn swords, serving men, and chattel.

—Fire & Blood

The day of his coronation, Jaehaerys I Targaryen appointed Ser Joffrey Doggett a member of the Kingsguard:

“I rose against your uncle just as you did,” replied the Red Dog of the Hills, defiant.

“You did,” Jaehaerys allowed, “and you fought bravely, no man can deny. The Warrior’s Sons are no more and your vows to them are at an end, but your service need not be. I have a place for you.” And with these words, the young king shocked the court by offering Ser Joffrey a place by his side as a knight of the Kingsguard. A hush fell then, Grand Maester Benifer tells us, and when the Red Dog drew his longsword there were some who feared he might be about to attack the king with it…but instead the knight went to one knee, bowed his head, and laid his blade at Jaehaerys’s feet. It is said that there were tears upon his cheeks.

—Fire & Blood

Much later, Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Queen Alysanne on her dragon Silverwing:

Even for a dragon, the flight from King’s Landing to Oldtown is a long one. The king and queen stopped twice along the way, once at Bitterbridge and once at Highgarden, resting overnight and taking counsel with their lords. The lords of the council had insisted that they take some protection at the very least. Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Alysanne, and the Scarlet Shadow, Jonquil Darke, with Jaehaerys, so as to balance the weight each dragon carried.

—Fire & Blood

So here we have a character from the westernlands, vassal of the Lannisters, named Joffrey but also known as a red dog, whose family was burned by dragonfire and later became a member of the Kingsguard of Jaehaerys and also protected Queen Alysanne. Ser Joffrey Doggett sounds like a combination of Joffrey Lannister and his sworn sword and later Kingsguard Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Both characters closely connected with Sansa Stark.

This is not the first time that GRRM did something like this. In the tale “The Hedge Knight”, part of his book “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms”, GRRM has surrounded the fair maid of the Ashford Tourney, a girl of 13 years old, with a lot of characters that remind us of Sansa’s suitors and other men somehow interested in her.

And this is not the only time that GRRM did it in Fire & Blood either. Queen Alysanne is surrounded by a lot of characters that remind us of ASOIAF characters that surround Sansa Stark.

APPEARANCE

Before Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as an old woman at the end of Jaehaerys I reign:

GOOD QUEEN ALYSANNE

Alysanne was the queen, consort, and sister of King Jaehaerys I, the Old King, and like him she lived a long life. Since you pictured him as an old man at the end of his reign, I figure it would be most appropriate to do her the same way, rather than as the young woman she was when Jaehaerys first ascended the Iron Throne.

You might consider Alysanne as the Eleanor of Aquitaine of Westeros, and model her on Katharine Hepburn's portrayal of Eleanor in the film THE LION IN WINTER. Tall and straight, unbowed by time, she had high cheekbones, clear blue eyes. Age left crow's feet around her eyes and laugh lines about her mouth, but her face never lost its strength. She was a fine archer and hunter in her youth, and loved to fly atop her dragon to all the distant parts of the realm. Alysanne was slim of waist and small of breast, with a long neck, a fair complexion, a high forehead. In old age her hair turned white as snow. She wore it in a bun, pulled back and pinned behind her hear.

Her relationship with King Jaehaerys was always very close. She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand, and often wore a slimmer, more feminine version of his crown at court. Beloved by the common people of Westeros, she loved them in return, and was renowned for her charities.

[Source]

Here is Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine in the film THE LION IN WINTER:

Katharine Hepburn‘s was 1.72 m.

After Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as a girl of 13 years old:

Though she had only recently turned thirteen, the young princess rose to the challenge brilliantly, all agreed. For seven days and seven nights, she broke her fast with one group of highborn ladies, dined with a second, supped with a third. She showed them the wonders of the Red Keep, sailed with them on Blackwater Bay, and rode with them about the city.

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” She was little, this was true; slim and slight of frame, Alysanne was oft described as pretty but seldom as beautiful, though she was born of a house renowned for beauty. Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls. No man ever questioned her wits.

(...)

“My little flower,” was how the queen described her. Like Alysanne herself, Daella was small—on her toes, she stood five feet two inches—and there was a childish aspect to her that led everyone who met her to think she was younger than her age. Unlike Alysanne, she was delicate as well, in ways the queen had never been.

—Fire & Blood

5.2 feet = 1.58 m.

Queen Alysanne’s “semi canon” description matched with Sansa’s a lot. But, from the “semi canon” source to the canon source (Fire & Blood), Queen Alysanne changed from tall (1.72 m) to small (1.58 m). She kept two features that are very similar to Sansa though:

Not purple eyes but BLUE EYES

Not silver hair but HONEY-COLORED CURLS

And these two features are very close to the main features of House Tully: Blue Eyes and Auburn Hair.

You can google “honey colored hair” and see by yourselves that honey colored is closer to auburn than silver. There are also metas about the matter out there, you can check them out too.

There is not no mention of high cheekbones in Fire & Blood, but the illustrator of the book, Doug Wheatley, definitely gave Queen Alysanne high cheekbones and a very close resemble to Sophie Turner, the actress that played Sansa Stark in the Series:

This could be a coincidence of course. This is what GRRM has said about book illustrations while promoting Fire & Blood:

Q: You have a very distinct idea of what the characters look like in your own head, because readers will always take their own?

GRRM: I do have ideas of what the characters look like in my own head but I’m perfectly willing to let the artist do different interpretations… You know, let different artists present their different interpretations of it, I’m fine with that. It’s not photography, so I love the idea of, you know, letting people use their own creativity within limits of course, but I love some of the works, many of the works I’ve bought original is hanging on, you know, on my own walls so…

In conversation: George R. R. Martin with John Hodgman FULL EVENT

Drawing Queen Alysanne with a close resemble to Sophie Turner was within the limits, it seems.

I’m not saying Queen Alysanne and Sansa are identical twins, they don’t have to be, but they share significant physical features. They have differences as well, Alysanne is slim with small breast while Sansa is curvy with a big bosom.

Queen Alysanne and Sansa also share these traits:

Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

This Alysanne’s description matches almost bit by bit these Sansa’s descriptions (including the contrast between Alysanne/Aerea and Sansa/Arya):

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.

"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. I think she must be dead too." When she said that, it felt as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest.

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Tyrion let them have their byplay; it was all for his benefit, he knew. Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. He felt as though he was back on the bridge of boats, the deck shifting beneath his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

INTELLIGENCE

Fire & Blood remarks Alysanne’s intelligence a lot, she was an avid reader and she could have been a Maester of the Citadel:

No man ever questioned her wits.

Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain, Septon Barth would say of her…for that wise man esteemed her even more than her husband, whom he served for so long. That was far in the future, however; in 49 AC, Alysanne was but a girl of thirteen years, yet all the chronicles agree that she made a powerful impression on those who met her.

(...)

It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband).

(...)

“If I had not become queen, I might have liked to be a maester,” she told the Conclave. “I read, I write, I think, I am not afraid of ravens…or a bit of blood. There are other highborn girls who feel the same. Why not admit them to your Citadel? If they cannot keep up, send them home, the way you send home boys who are not clever enough. If you would give the girls a chance, you might be surprised by how many forge a chain.”

(...)

For three days she lost herself in the Citadel’s great library, emerging only to attend lectures on the Valyrian dragon wars, leechcraft, and the gods of the Summer Isles.

(...)

Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa shares Alysanne’s love for reading:

The queen took Sansa's hand in both of hers. "Child, do you know your lettersSansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Jeyne Poole and all her things were gone when Ser Mandon Moore returned Sansa to the high tower of Maegor's Holdfast. No more weeping, she thought gratefully. Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she'd built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

“Do you read well, Alayne?"

"Septa Mordane was good enough to say so."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Here is Arya listing all of Sansa’s artistic talents:

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Arya is also here to tell us that Sansa is good at Heraldry:

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

—A Clash of Kings - Arya VII

Sansa understands songs sung in High Valyrian:

"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.

"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully.

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

Then the heralds summoned another singer; Collio Quaynis of Tyrosh, who had a vermilion beard and an accent as ludicrous as Symon had promised. Collio began with his version of "The Dance of the Dragons," which was more properly a song for two singers, male and female. Tyrion suffered through it with a double helping of honey-ginger partridge and several cups of wine. A haunting ballad of two dying lovers amidst the Doom of Valyria might have pleased the hall more if Collio had not sung it in High Valyrian, which most of the guests could not speak.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. Dungeon walls were thick enough to swallow songs and screams alike. But the sky cells had a wall of empty air, so every chord the dead man played flew free to echo off the stony shoulders of the Giant's Lance. And the songs he chose . . . He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

But, apparently, Sansa is bad with numbers...

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Something changed then, because Alayne Stone is doing pretty well as de facto Lady of the Eyrie...

I can continue but this would be too long, so it’s better if I leave you this great post about Sansa’s intelligence: Sansa Smart

And here is GRRM himself talking about Sansa’s wits:

Up to now Sansa has been a piece, that other people have moved around the board, to achieve her own goals, using her, discarding her, using her for a different purpose: You know, you’re going to marry Joffrey. No, you’re going to marry Loras. You’re going to marry Tyrion. She is beginning to at least try to understand how she can play the Game of Thrones and be not a piece, but a player. With her own goals, and moving other pieces around. And she’s not a warrior like Robb, Jon Snow. She’s not even a wild child like Arya. She can’t fight with swords, axes. She can’t raise armies. But she has her wits! Same as Littlefinger has.

—Game of Thrones Season 4: Episode #8 - A Different Purpose (HBO)

UNDERDOGS

Queen Alysanne Targaryen and Sansa Stark are two examples of “underdogs”:

No one paid attention to Alysanne until she was a maid of thirteen and was left in charge to entertain and charm lords and ladies at court. She grew up in the shadow of her older siblings, she was never expected to be Queen:

(...)

We know very little about the childhood of Alysanne Targaryen; as the fifthborn child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, and a female, observers at court found her of less interest than her older siblings who stood higher in the line of succession. From what little has come down to us, Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

The same way as Alysanne was described as “unremarkable”, Sansa Stark is often described as “stupid”:

That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think Ser Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

"Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

"Everyone wants to be loved." "I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," said Cersei.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

"He will," Sansa lied. "He is very . . . very comely."

"You said that. You know, child, some say that you are as big a fool as Butterbumps here, and I am starting to believe them.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

"Some books. I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories, but those are stupid."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

Sansa as Alysanne was not “remarkable” among her siblings, who often called her stupid, specially Bran and Arya, and was never expected to be the Heir of Winterfell or the Stark at Winterfell. She is the underdog...

... And GRRM just loves underdogs:

Chris Long: Do you watch sports through that lens (characters developed all the time, unsung heroes/archnemesis of everybody/misunderstood as villains/some heroes are villains in disguise), with your writing background, and your penchant for creating characters, do you look at the characters in sports?

GRRM: I do. You know, I think America loves the underdog, and we don’t like, except if it happens to be your dynasty, we tend not to like dynasties, you know?

—George RR Martin in The Fish Bowl with Chris Long

WEDDED BUT NOT BEDDED

Alysanne and Sansa flowered and wedded at a similar age. But both remained maidens:

The princess was three-and-ten years of age, and had recently celebrated her first flowering, so it was thought desirable to see her wed as soon as possible.

(...)

A modest feast followed the ceremony, and many toasts were drunk to the health of the boy king and his new queen. Afterward Jaehaerys and Alysanne retired to the bedchamber where Aegon the Conqueror had once slept beside his sister Rhaenys, but in view of the bride’s youth there was no bedding ceremony, and the marriage was not consummated.

—Fire & Blood

“How old are you, Sansa?” asked Tyrion, after a moment.

“Thirteen,” she said, “when the moon turns.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

Also Alysanne’s determination to marry his King brother Jaehaerys against her own mother's wishes, sounds pretty much like Sansa's stubbornness to marry Joffrey against Ned's orders.

Sansa, in an act of defiance, ran to Cersei and tells her of her father's plans, pleading that she might be allowed to stay and marry Joffrey.

"How well I know that, child," Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. "Why else should you have come to me and told me of your father's plan to send you away from us, if not for love?"

"It was for love," Sansa said in a rush. "Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell." She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn't loved Joffrey as much as she did. "He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn't listen." The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay in King's Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor's Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside. "Please," she finished, "you have to let me marry Joffrey, I'll be ever so good a wife to him, you'll see. I'll be a queen just like you, I promise."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Alysanne ran to Jaehaerys himself and they both elope to Dragonstone:

No record survives of what Alysanne Targaryen said or thought when first she learned that she was to be wed to a youth ten years her senior, whom she scarcely knew and (if rumor can be believed) did not like. We know only what she did. Another girl might have wept or raged or run pleading to her mother. In many a sad song, maidens forced to wed against their will throw themselves from tall towers to their deaths. Princess Alysanne did none of these things. Instead she went directly to Jaehaerys.

The young king was as displeased as his sister at the news. “They will be making wedding plans for me as well, I do not doubt,” he deduced at once. Like his sister, Jaehaerys did not waste time with reproaches, recriminations, or appeals. Instead he acted. Summoning his Kingsguard, he instructed them to sail at once for Dragonstone, where he would meet them shortly. “You have sworn me your swords and your obedience,” he reminded his Seven. “Remember those vows, and speak no word of my departure.”

That night, under cover of darkness, King Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne mounted their dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, and departed the Red Keep for the ancient Targaryen citadel below the Dragonmont. Reportedly the first words the young king spoke upon landing were, “I have need of a septon.”

—Fire & Blood

Curiously enough Alysanne’s first betrothed was Orryn Baratheon, just like Sansa’s first betrothed was Joffrey Baratheon.

LIKE IN THE SONGS

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloping and first wedding had all the element’s of a fairy tale, like the songs Sansa loves to read:

The Kingsguards as witnesses

The Kingsguard arrived from King’s Landing by galley a few days later. The following morning, as the sun rose, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, took to wife his sister Alysanne in the great yard at Dragonstone, before the eyes of gods and men and dragons. Septon Oswyck performed the marriage rites; though the old man’s voice was thin and tremulous, no part of the ceremony was neglected. The seven knights of the Kingsguard stood witness to the union, their white cloaks snapping in the wind.

—Fire & Blood

The Kingsguards fighting against the men that tried to separate the couple

From that day to this, the tale has been a favorite of lovesick maidens and their squires throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and many a bard has sung of the valor of the Kingsguard, seven men in white cloaks who faced down half a hundred.

—Fire & Blood

This eloping, secret wedding and the Kingsguars involvement reminds me a lot of Lyanna’s “abduction” by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards “protecting” Lyanna in the Tower of Joy...

A romance unequaled since the days of Florian and Jonquil

“That is how the singers tell the tale, certainly; the swift and sudden marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil, to hear them sing of it. And in songs, as ever, love conquers all. ”

—Fire & Blood

Florian and Jonquil love story is Sansa’s favorite.

We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us

“As you command, Mother.” King Jaehaerys pulled his sister closer and put his arm around her. “But do not think that you shall unmake this marriage. We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us.” “Never,” his bride affirmed. “Send me to the ends of the earth and wed me to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste, Silverwing will always bring me back to Jaehaerys.” And with that she raised herself onto her toes and lifted her face to the king, and he kissed her full upon the lips whilst all looked on.”

—Fire & Blood

An endless honeymoon

“It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband), praying beside Septon Oswyck. They flew together as well, all around the Dragonmont and oft as far as Driftmark.”

—Fire & Blood

A maid observing her love while training

Every morning Jaehaerys trained with them in the castle yard, shouting at them to come at him harder, to press him, harry him, and attack him in every way they knew. From sunrise till noon he worked with them, honing his skills with sword and spear and mace and axe whilst his new queen looked on.”

(…)

“Jaehaerys was oft brusied and bloody by evening, to Alysanne’s distress, but his prowess improved so markedly”

—Fire & Blood

Jaehaerys training with more than one man at the same time reminds me of Garlan Tyrell and Jon Snow because they do the same:

On the edge of the yard, a lone knight with a pair of golden roses on his shield was holding off three foes. Even as they watched, he caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. "Is that your brother?" Sansa asked.

"It is, my lady," said Ser Loras. "Garlan often trains against three men, or even four. In battle it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

"He must be very brave."

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

“When Iron Emmett spied him, he raised a hand and combat ceased. “Lord Commander. How may we serve you?”

“With your three best.”

Emmett grinned. “Arron. Emrick. Jace.” . . .

“Which one do you want first?” asked Arron.

“All three of you. At once.”

“Three on one?” Jace was incredulous. “That wouldn’t be fair.” He was one of Conwy’s latest bunch, a cobbler’s son from Fair Isle. Maybe that explained it.

“True. Come here.”

When he did, Jon’s blade slammed him alongside his head, knocking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye the boy had a boot on his chest and a swordpoint at his throat. “War is never fair,” Jon told him. “It’s two on one now, and you’re dead.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

An Idyll

“Queen Alysanne, for her part, was in no haste to return to court. “Here I have you to myself, day and night,” she told Jaehaerys. “When we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you.” For her, these days on Dragonstone were an idyll. “Many years from now when we are old and grey, we shall look back upon these days and smile, remembering how happy we were.”

—Fire & Blood

Sansa Stark is sighing somewhere...

QUEENS

I found this very interesting detail in Fire & Blood: The Three Queens

In 50 AC, the realm of Westeros found itself blessed with one king, a Hand, and three queens, as in King Maegor’s day…but whereas Maegor’s queens had been consorts, subservient to his will, living and dying at his whim, each of the queens of the half-century was a power in her own right.

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West.

—Fire & Blood

This passage obviously makes me think in The Three Queens mentioned by Littlefinger in a conversation with Sansa in A Feast for Crows:

“You would not believe half of what is happening in King’s Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.”

“Three queens?” She did not understand.

Nor did Petyr choose to explain. Instead, he smiled and said, “I have brought my sweet girl back a gift.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Thanks to this passage of Fire & Blood about The Three Queens:

Queen Alyssa, Queen Regent, widow of Aenys

Queen Alysanne, Queen Consort, wife of Jaehaerys (but still a maid)

Queen Rhaena, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned (& Maegor)

We can make the following association with these three ASOIAF characters in a similar position:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but No Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

But Fire & Blood has a little surprise in a footnote:

Footnote:

*1.- It should be noted, lest we be charged with omission, that there was a fourth queen in Westeros in 50 AC. The twice-widowed Queen Elinor of House Costayne, who had found King Maegor dead upon the Iron Throne, had departed King’s Landing after Jaehaerys’s ascent. Dressed in the robes of a penitent and accompanied only by a handmaid and one leal man-at-arms, she made her way to the Eyrie in the Vale of Arryn to visit the eldest of her three sons by Ser Theo Bolling, and thence to Highgarden in the Reach, where her second son had been fostered to Lord Tyrell. Once satisfied of their well-being, the former queen reclaimed her youngest boy and repaired to her father’s seat at Three Towers in the Reach, where she declared she would live quietly for the remainder of her life. Fate, and King Jaehaerys, had other plans for her, as we shall relate later. Suffice it to say that Queen Elinor played no role in the events of 50 AC.

—Fire & Blood

The fourth queen was Elinor Costayne, widow, mother of three living sons and one stillborn of Maegor.

So we can make this final association:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but Not Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

Elinor/Daenerys = Widows, Mothers of three living sons: 3 Bolling sons/Drogo-Rhaegal-Viseryon & one twisted and malformed stillborn (unnamed/Rhaego)

Take note how Alysanne is described as “a younger queen” and “maid of thirteen”, because this could be a hint that Sansa Stark is the younger and more beautiful queen of Maggy The Frog prophecy.

FLORIAN & JONQUIL

Sansa Stark’s favorite love story is the Tale of Florian and Jonquil, and Alysanne Targaryen is heavily associate with that story as well.

As mentioned earlier, Alysanne’s own love story is compared to Florian and Jonquil:

—Fire & Blood

The Maidenpool incident

Alysanne suffered an attempt of murder perpetuated by three women at Maidenpool:

The town of Maidenpool was far famed for the sweetwater pool where legend had it that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing during the Age of Heroes. Like thousands of other women before her, Queen Alysanne wished to bathe in Jonquil’s pool, whose waters were said to have amazing healing properties. The lords of Maidenpool had erected a great stone bathhouse around the pool many centuries before, and given it over to an order of holy sisters. No men were allowed to enter the premises, so when the queen slipped into the sacred waters, she was attended only by her ladies-in-waiting, maids, and septas (Edyth and Lyra, who had served beside Septa Ysabel as novices, had both recently sworn their vows to become septas, consecrated in the Faith and devoted to the queen).

The goodness of the little queen, the silence of the Starry Sept, and the exhortations of the Seven Speakers had won over most of the Faithful for Jaehaerys and his Alysanne…but there are always some who will not be moved, and amongst the sisters who tended Jonquil’s Pool were three such women, whose hearts were hard with hate. They told one another that their holy waters would be polluted forever were the queen allowed to bathe in them whilst carrying the king’s “abomination” in her belly. Queen Alysanne had only slipped out of her clothing when they fell upon her with daggers they had concealed within their robes.

Blessedly, the attackers were no warriors, and they had not taken the courage of the queen’s companions into account. Naked and vulnerable, the Wise Women did not hesitate, but stepped between the attackers and their lady. Septa Edyth was slashed across the face, Prudence Celtigar stabbed through the shoulder, whilst Rosamund Ball took a dagger in the belly that, three days later, proved to be the death of her, but none of the murderous blades touched the queen. The shouts and screams of the struggle brought Alysanne’s protectors running, for Ser Joffrey Doggett and Ser Gyles Morrigen had been guarding the entrance to the bathhouse, never dreaming that the danger lurked within.

The Kingsguard made short work of the attackers, slaying two out of hand whilst keeping the third alive for questioning. When encouraged, she revealed that half a dozen others of their order had helped plan the attack, whilst lacking the courage to wield a blade. Lord Mooton hanged the guilty, and might have hanged the innocent as well, save for Queen Alysanne’s intervention.

—Fire & Blood

I find this incident a metaphor of that famous Littlefinger line: "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." Maidenpool was a place where a great love story occurred but for Alysanne was also the place where other women tried to murder her. She was pregnant of her first child during the attack and later she gave birth a premature baby, Aegon. He died three days after birth. Alysanne blamed her son’s death on the women who attacked her at Maidenpool. Had she been allowed to bathe in the healing waters of Jonquil’s Pool, she would say, Prince Aegon would have lived.

The same ‘disillusionment’ happened when Jaime and Brienne arrived at Maidenpool in ASOIAF and found the pool full of corpses:

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime III

But this awful incident was the cause for Alysanne to take a female knight to protect her. A knight with a very singular name: Jonquil Darke.

FEMALE KNIGHT

Jonquil Darke

With hundreds of knights eager to compete for the honor of serving in the Kingsguard, the combats lasted seven full days. Several of the more colorful competitors became favorites of the smallfolk, who cheered them raucously each time they fought. One such was the Drunken Knight, Ser Willam Stafford, a short, stout, big-bellied man who always appeared so intoxicated that it was a wonder he could stand, let alone fight. The commons named him “the Keg o’ Ale,” and sang “Hail, Hail, Keg o’ Ale” whenever he took the field. Another favorite of the commons was the Bard of Flea Bottom, Tom the Strummer, who mocked his foes with ribald songs before each bout. The slender mystery knight known only as the Serpent in Scarlet also had a great following; when finally defeated and unmasked, “he” proved to be a woman, Jonquil Darke, a bastard daughter of the Lord of Duskendale.

In the end, none of these would earn a white cloak.

—Fire & Blood

Jonquil reminds me a lot of Brienne of Tarth, the True Knight of ASOIAF. Both female knights that competed for a place in the Kingsguard. Jonquil didn’t make it, but Brienne got a place in Renly’s Rainbow Guard.

After the Maidenpool incident, Alysanne chose Jonquil Darke to be her sworn shield:

“I need a protector of mine own,” she told His Grace. “Your Seven are leal men and valiant, but they are men, and there are places men cannot go.” The king could not disagree. A raven flew to Duskendale that very night, commanding the new Lord Darklyn to send to court his bastard half-sister, Jonquil Darke, who had thrilled the smallfolk during the War for the White Cloaks as the mystery knight known as the Serpent in Scarlet. Still in scarlet, she arrived at King’s Landing a few days later, and gladly accepted appointment as the queen’s own sworn shield. In time, she would be known about the realm as the Scarlet Shadow, so closely did she guard her lady.

—Fire & Blood

At this point in ASOIAF, Briene of Tarth is in a quest to find Sansa Stark to fulfill the promises that Jaime Lannister and her did to Catelyn Stark:

“Hear me out, Brienne. Both of us swore oaths concerning Sansa Stark. Cersei means to see that the girl is found and killed, wherever she has gone to ground . . .”

Brienne’s homely face twisted in fury. “If you believe that I would harm my lady’s daughter for a sword, you—”

“Just listen,” he snapped, angered by her assumption. “I want you to find Sansa first, and get her somewhere safe. How else are the two of us going to make good our stupid vows to your precious dead Lady Catelyn?”

The wench blinked. “I . . . I thought . . .”

“I know what you thought.” Suddenly Jaime was sick of the sight of her. She bleats like a bloody sheep. “When Ned Stark died, his greatsword was given to the King’s Justice,” he told her. “But my father felt that such a fine blade was wasted on a mere headsman. He gave Ser Ilyn a new sword, and had Ice melted down and reforged. There was enough metal for two new blades. You’re holding one. So you’ll be defending Ned Stark’s daughter with Ned Stark’s own steel, if that makes any difference to you.”

“Ser, I . . . I owe you an apolo . . .”

He cut her off. “Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. There’s a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. Chase after Steelshanks, search for Sansa, or ride home to your isle of sapphires, it’s naught to me. I don’t want to look at you anymore.”

“Jaime . . .”

“Kingslayer,” he reminded her. “Best use that sword to clean the wax out of your ears, wench. We’re done.”

Stubbornly, she persisted. “Joffrey was your . . .”

“My king. Leave it at that.”

“You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?”

Because Joff was no more to me than a squirt of seed in Cersei’s cunt. And because he deserved to die. “I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” Jaime smiled thinly. “Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?”

Her big hand wrapped tight around Oathkeeper. “I will. And I will find the girl and keep her safe. For her lady mother’s sake. And for yours.” She bowed stiffly, whirled, and went.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX

See? Jonquil Darke was Alysanne’s sworn shield as Brienne of Tarh is Sansa’s sworn sword. A sword made of Ice, literally.

Later, when Alysanne visited the North for the first time, she met another ��female knight”, a wildling girl:

Manderly also staged a small tourney in the queen’s honor, to show the prowess of his knights. One of the fighters (though no knight) was revealed to be a woman, a wildling girl who had been captured by rangers north of the Wall and given to one of Lord Manderly’s household knights to foster. Delighted by the girl’s daring, Alysanne summoned her own sworn shield, Jonquil Darke, and the wildling and the Scarlet Shadow dueled spear against sword whilst the northmen roared in approval.

—Fire & Blood

It would be no surprise if Sansa meets another female knight or warrior during her return to the North, a wildling spearwife, or a Mormont woman, or her wild faceless assassin sister Arya Stark.

To finish with Jonquil Darke, take note that her name and surname are also references to Dontos Hollard, another character that acted as Sansa’s knight. Sansa called Dontos “Her Florian” and House Hollard was once sworn to House Darklyn of Duskendale, that are related to House Darke.

Also take a look at this color refrences:

Jonquil Darke was also known as the Serpent in Scarlet and the Scarlet Shadow.

Ser Joffrey Doggett was also known as the Red Dog of the Hills.

Ser Dontos Hollard was also called Dontos the Red.

Only Brienne of Tarth breaks this pattern, because she was called Brienne the Blue, during his days as member of Renly’s Rainbow Guard. Wanna know who was the Red in Renly’s Rainbow Guard? It was Ser Robar Royce, son of Yhon Bronze Royce and brother of Waymar Royce, Sansa’s first crush.

But my point with all this Red/Scarlet colored references is that red is a color hugely associated with Sansa Stark, because of the red of her hair and the red of the weirwood tree.

THE VISENYA AND THE RHAENYS

During a discussion between King Jaehaerys I and his older sister Rhaena, these words were exchanged:

“And Silverwing?” asked Rhaena. “Our sister—”

“—had no part in this. I will not put her at risk.”

The Queen in the East smiled then. “She is Rhaenys, and I am Visenya. I have never thought otherwise.”

—Fire & Blood

Rhaena compared Jaehaerys with Aegon the Conqueror, herself with Queen Visenya and Alysanne with Queen Rhaenys.

This is part of a dichotomy that GRRM work with a lot: the Lady Woman Vs the Warrior Woman. A pattern that started with the Stark Sisters, and is replicated a lot in Fire & Blood with several Targaryen Sisters. Here some examples:

Visenya and Rhaenys

Rhaena and Alysanne

Aerea and Rhaella

Baela and Rhaena

Rhaena was not exactly like Visenya and Alysanne was not exactly Rhaenys, but Rhaenys and Alysanne certainly shared a lot of similarities:

Rhaenys

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister [Visenya] was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores.”

(...)

Queen Rhaenys was a great patron to the bards and singers of the Seven Kingdoms, showering gold and gifts on those who pleased her. Though Queen Visenya thought her sister frivolous, there was a wisdom in this that went beyond a simple love of music. For the singers of the realm, in their eagerness to win the favor of the queen, composed many a song in praise of House Targaryen and King Aegon, and then went forth and sang those songs in every keep and castle and village green from the Dornish Marches to the Wall. Thus was the Conquest made glorious to the simple people, whilst Aegon the Dragon himself became a hero king.

Queen Rhaenys also took a great interest in the smallfolk, and had a special love for women and children. Once, when she was holding court in the Aegonfort, a man was brought before her for beating his wife to death. The woman’s brothers wanted him punished, but the husband argued that he was within his lawful rights, since he had found his wife abed with another man. The right of a husband to chastise an erring wife was well established throughout the Seven Kingdoms (save in Dorne). The husband further pointed out that the rod he had used to beat his wife was no thicker than his thumb, and even produced the rod in evidence. When the queen asked him how many times he had struck his wife, however, the husband could not answer, but the dead woman’s brothers insisted there had been a hundred blows.

Queen Rhaenys consulted with her maesters and septons, then rendered her decision. An adulterous wife gave offense to the Seven, who had created women to be faithful and obedient to their husbands, and therefore must be chastised. As god has but seven faces, however, the punishment should consist of only six blows (for the seventh blow would be for the Stranger, and the Stranger is the face of death). Thus the first six blows the man had struck had been lawful…but the remaining ninety-four had been an offense against gods and men, and must be punished in kind. From that day forth, the “rule of six” became a part of the common law, along with the “rule of thumb.” (The husband was taken to the foot of the Hill of Rhaenys, where he was given ninety-four blows by the dead woman’s brothers, using rods of lawful size.)

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne

Queen Alysanne looked back on the short-lived glories of her father’s court fondly, however, and made it her purpose to make the Red Keep glitter as it never had before, buying tapestries and carpets from Free Cities and commissioning murals, statuary, and tilework to decorate the castle’s halls and chambers. At her command, men from the City Watch combed Flea Bottom until they found Tom the Strummer, whose mocking songs had amused king and commons alike during the War for the White Cloaks. Alysanne made him the court singer, the first of many who would hold that office in the decades to come. She brought in a harpist from Oldtown, a company of mummers from Braavos, dancers from Lys, and gave the Red Keep its first fool, a fat man called the Goodwife who dressed as a woman and was never seen without his wooden “children,” a pair of cleverly carved puppets who said ribald, shocking things.

(...)

The king’s first progress was meant to be a modest one, commencing with the crownlands north of King’s Landing and proceeding only as far as the Vale of Arryn. Jaehaerys wanted Alysanne with him, but as Her Grace was with child, he was concerned that their journeys not be too taxing. They began with Stokeworth and Rosby, then moved north along the coast to Duskendale. There, whilst the king viewed Lord Darklyn’s boatyards and enjoyed an afternoon of fishing, the queen held the first of her women’s courts, which were to become an important part of every royal progress to come. Only women and girls were welcome at these audiences; highborn or low, they were encouraged to come forward and share their fears, concerns, and hopes with the young queen.

(...)

Men oft speak today of Queen Alysanne’s laws, but this usage is sloppy and incorrect. Her Grace had no power to enact laws, issue decrees, make proclamations, or pass sentences. It is a mistake to speak of her as we might speak of the Conqueror’s queens, Rhaenys and Visenya. The young queen did, however, wield enormous influence over King Jaehaerys, and when she spoke, he listened…as he did upon their return from the Vale of Arryn.

It was the plight of widows throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the women’s courts had made Alysanne aware of. In times of peace especially, it was not uncommon for a man to outlive the wife of his youth, for young men most oft perish upon the battlefield, young women in the birthing bed. Be they of noble birth or humble, men left bereft suchwise would oft after a time take second wives, whose presence in the household was resented by the children of the first wife. Where no bonds of affection existed, upon the man’s own death his heirs could and did expel the widow from the home, reducing her to penury; in the case of lords, the heirs might simply strip away the widow’s prerogatives, incomes, and servants, reducing her to little more than a boarder.

To rectify these ills, King Jaehaerys in 52 AC promulgated the Widow’s Law, reaffirming the right of the eldest son (or eldest daughter, where there was no son) to inherit, but requiring said heirs to maintain surviving widows in the same condition they had enjoyed before their husband’s death. A lord’s widow, be she a second, third, or later wife, could no longer be driven from his castle, nor deprived of her servants, clothing, and income. The same law, however, also forbade men from disinheriting their children by a first wife in order to bestow their lands, seat, or property upon a later wife or her own children.

(...)

Alysanne remained in the Red Keep, presiding over council meetings in the king’s absence, and holding audience from a velvet seat at the base of the Iron Throne.

(...)

“I see no honor in any of this. I knew such things happened hundreds of years ago, I confess it, but I never dreamed that the custom endured so strongly to this day. Mayhaps I did not want to know. I closed my eyes, but that poor girl in Mole’s Town opened them. The right of the first night! Your Grace, my lords, it is time we put an end to this. I beg you.”

(...)

And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see, we can easily associate Sansa Stark with these shared similarities between Queen Rhaenys and Queen Alysanne.

SINGERS AND KNIGHTS

Queen Alysanne was fond of singers and gallant knights, just like Sansa:

Three of the brothers had been singers before taking the black, and they took turns playing for Her Grace at night, regaling her with ballads, war songs, and bawdy barracks tunes.

—Fire & Blood

Ser Simon Dondarrion

Though his castle was small and modest compared to the great halls of the realm, Lord Dondarrion was a splendid host and his son Simon played the high harp as well as he jousted, and entertained the royal couple by night with sad songs of star-crossed lovers and the fall of kings. So taken with him was the queen that the party lingered longer at Blackhaven than they had intended.

(...)

But the champion’s laurels went to the gallant and handsome Ser Simon Dondarrion of Blackhaven, who won the love of the commons and queen alike when he crowned Princess Daenerys as his queen of love and beauty.

—Fire & Blood

A young and handsome noble man that played the high harp as well as he jousted sounds like Sansa Stark’s ideal man.

Also, the name Simon and the surname Dondarrion are very subtle references of Jon Snow, an idea that I’m developing in an unfinished meta.

Ser Ryam Redwyne

Queen Alysanne knew in person to the famous knight Ser Ryam Redwyne:

It was a time for celebration and celebrate they did, with a tourney at King’s Landing on the anniversary of the king’s coronation. Princess Daenerys and the Princes Aemon and Baelon shared the royal box with their mother and father, and reveled in the cheers of the crowd. On the field, the highlight of the competition was the brilliance of Ser Ryam Redwyne, the youngest son of Lord Manfryd Redwyne of the Arbor, Jaehaerys’s lord admiral and master of ships. In successive tilts, Ser Ryam unhorsed Ronnal Baratheon, Arthor Oakheart, Simon Dondarrion, Harys Hogg (Harry the Ham, to the commons), and two Kingsguard knights, Lorence Roxton and Lucamore Strong. When the young gallant trotted up to the royal box and crowned Good Queen Alysanne as his queen of love and beauty, the commons roared their approval.

—Fire & Blood

Later, Ser Ryam Redwyne served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Viserys I Targaryen.

In Sansa’s case, while having a nightmare of the riot of King's Landing, Sansa wished to be saved by Ser Ryam Redwyne Florian the Fool, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but none appear:

That night Sansa dreamed of the riot again. The mob surged around her, shrieking, a maddened beast with a thousand faces. Everywhere she turned she saw faces twisted into monstrous inhuman masks. She wept and told them she had never done them hurt, yet they dragged her from her horse all the same. "No," she cried, "no, please, don't, don't," but no one paid her any heed. She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

The only man that effectively, but unbeknownst for her, had fulfilled Sansa’s wishes for a hero, was Jon Snow:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

“You are refusing to obey my order?” “You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering. […] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—” […] “—and hang him,” Jon finished. […] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.” […] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.” “Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …” No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended. “Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

WATER AND BREAD FOR THE SMALLFOLK

Alysanne procured clean water for the people of Kingslanding:

Queen Alysanne served each of them a tankard of river water at the next council meeting, and dared them to drink of it. The water went undrunk, but the wells and pipes were soon approved. Construction would require more than a dozen years, but in the end “the queen’s fountains” provided clean water for Kingslanders for many generations to come.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa made Joffrey gave some money to a poor woman with a death baby:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag. The coin bounced off the child and rolled away, under the legs of the gold cloaks and into the crowd, where a dozen men began to fight for it. The mother never once blinked. Her skinny arms were trembling from the dead weight of her son.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

But the people was hungry and wanted bread:

From both sides of the street, the crowd surged against the spear shafts while the gold cloaks struggled to hold the line. Stones and dung and fouler things whistled overhead. “Feed us!” a woman shrieked. “Bread!” boomed a man behind her. “We want bread, bastard!”

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

Bread that Sansa would have given them, If she had it:

Tyrion called to her. “Are you hurt, Lady Sansa?” Blood was trickling down Sansa’s brow from a deep gash on her scalp. “They . . . they were throwing things . . . rocks and filth, eggs . . . I tried to tell them, I had no bread to give them”.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

In the Show they translated this Sansa’s line of dialogue to this one: “I would have given them bread if I had it.”

Sansa, like Queen Alysanne, knew that love was a surer route to people’s loyalty than fear:

“The night’s first traitors,” the queen said, “but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.” As they left, she turned to Sansa. “Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

"I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

THE NORTH

Did you know that in the ASOIAF Books, Queen Alysanne is mostly mentioned in Stark POVs? Yes, she is. Queen Alysanne is mentioned by Jon, Bran, Catelyn and Sansa. You can also count Samwell Tarly in this list, because he is now a Black Brother of the Night’s Watch and Jon’s best friend.

Jon, Bran and Samwell mention Good Queen Alysanne’s visit to the North and the Wall.

In Catelyn’s and Sansa’s case, they heard singers singing the song “Alysanne”, that according to Sansa is a sad song.

Winterfell

In Winterfell Good Queen Alysanne met Lord Alaric Stark. A man that reminds me a lot of Stannis Baratheon:

Alaric Stark

Alaric Stark was best left in Winterfell; a stubborn man by all reports, stern and hard-handed and unforgiving, he would make for an uncomfortable presence at the council table.

(...)

Lord Alaric had a flinty reputation; a hard man, people said, stern and unforgiving, tight-fisted almost to the point of being niggardly, humorless, joyless, cold. Even Theomore Manderly, who was his bannerman, had not disagreed; Stark was well respected in the North, he said, but not loved. Lord Manderly’s fool had put it elsewise. “Methinks Lord Alaric has not moved his bowels since he was twelve.”

(...)

Her reception at Winterfell did nothing to disabuse the queen’s fears as to what she might expect from House Stark. Even before dismounting to bend the knee, Lord Alaric looked askance at Her Grace’s clothing and said, “I hope you brought something warmer than that.” He then proceeded to declare that he did not want her dragon inside his walls. “I’ve not seen Harrenhal, but I know what happened there.” Her knights and ladies he would receive when they got here, “and the king too, if he can find the way,” but they should not overstay their welcome. “This is the North, and winter is coming. We cannot feed a thousand men for long.” When the queen assured him that only a tenth that number would be coming, Lord Alaric grunted and said, “That’s good. Fewer would be even better.” As had been feared, he was plainly unhappy that King Jaehaerys had not deigned to accompany her, and confessed to being uncertain how to entertain a queen. “If you are expecting balls and masques and dances, you have come to the wrong place.”

—Fire & Blood

Stannis Baratheon

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

—A Game of Thrones - Bran II

"Oh, a shred, surely," Littlefinger replied negligently. "Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He'll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he'll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won't love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter's head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm's End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard XIII

A king's first duty is to defend the realm, and Mance attacked it. His Grace is not like to forget that. My father used to say that Stannis Baratheon was a just man. No one has ever said he was forgiving."

—A Feast for Crows - Samwell I

"A boy he may be, my lord, but … King Robert was well loved, and most men still accept that Tommen is his son. The more they see of Lord Stannis the less they love him, and fewer still are fond of Lady Melisandre with her fires and this grim red god of hers. They complain."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

At this point in ASOIAF, Stannis is in the North trying to take Winterfell from the Boltons. And as Queen Alysanne melted all the ice of Lord Alaric Stark, I think Sansa could do the same with Stannis Baratheon. Sansa would easily befriend Princess Shireen as well:

Even a lord as stern and flinty as Alaric Stark found himself helpless before Queen Alysanne’s stubborn charm.

(...)

The longer the queen stayed, the more Lord Alaric warmed to her, and in time Alysanne came to realize that not everything that was said of him was true. He was careful with his coin, but not niggardly; he was not humorless at all, though his humor had an edge to it, sharp as a knife; his sons and daughter and the people of Winterfell seemed to love him well enough. Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library. He even deigned to approach Silverwing, though warily. The women of Winterfell were taken by the queen’s charms as well, once they grew to know her; Her Grace became particularly close with Lord Alaric’s daughter, Alarra.

—Fire & Blood

Night’s Watch

Alysanne then decided to visit the Night’s Watch:

In the North, Queen Alysanne grew restless with waiting, and decided to take her leave of Winterfell for a time and visit the men of the Night’s Watch at Castle Black.

—Fire & Blood

Once at Castle Black she met the Lord Commander:

Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Lothor Burley, assembled eight hundred of his finest men to receive her. That night the black brothers feasted the queen on mammoth meat, washed down with mead and stout.

—Fire & Blood

Lothor Burley sounds pretty much like Lothor Brune, another of Sansa’s protector.

Curiously enough, Queen Alysanne had this exchange with Lord Commander Burley:

Burley was apologetic for the quality of the food and drink presented to the queen, and the rudeness of the accommodations at Castle Black. “We do what we can, Your Grace,” the Lord Commander explained, “but our beds are hard, our halls are cold, and our food—”

“—is nourishing,” the queen finished. “And that is all that I require. It will please me to eat as you do.”

—Fire & Blood

This exchange is very similar to the one between Sansa Stark and “Lord Commander” Edd Tollet during Season 6 of the Show:

Edd Tollet: Sorry about the food. It’s not what we’re known for.

Sansa Stark: That’s alright. There are more important things.

From Snowgate to Queensgate

Queen Alysanne left her mark in the Night’s Watch forever:

Above all else, a queen must know how to listen,” Alysanne Targaryen often said. At Castle Black, she proved those words. She listened, she heard, and she won the eternal devotion of the men of the Night’s Watch by her actions. She understood the need for a castle between Snowgate and Icemark, she told Lord Burley, but the Nightfort was crumbling, overlarge, and surely ruinous to heat. The Watch should abandon it, she said, and build a smaller castle farther to the east. Lord Burley could not disagree…but the Night’s Watch lacked the coin to build new castles, he said. Alysanne had anticipated that objection. She would pay for the castle herself, she told the Lord Commander, and pledged her jewels to cover the cost. “I have a good many jewels,” she said.

It would take eight years to raise the new castle, which would bear the name of Deep Lake. Outside its main hall, a statue of Alysanne Targaryen stands to this very day. The Nightfort was abandoned even before Deep Lake was completed, as the queen had wished. Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate.

—Fire & Blood

This is an action that Sansa could easily replicate as Queen in the North. House Stark was always a friend of the Night’s Watch. And as Queen in the North Sansa would probably have statues to honor her all along the North.

Also the “Snow” gate becoming the “Queen” gate gives me a lot of Jon and Sansa romantic vibes.

A New Gift

Queen Alysanne proposed a New Gift:

Lord Stark and King Jaehaerys would never be fast friends; the shade of Walton Stark remained between them to the end. It was only through Queen Alysanne’s good offices that they ever found accord. The queen had visited Brandon’s Gift, the lands south of the Wall that Brandon the Builder had granted to the Watch for their support and sustenance. “It is not enough,” she told the king. “The soil is thin and stony, the hills unpopulated. The Watch lacks for coin, and when winter comes they will lack for food as well.” The answer she proposed was a New Gift, a further strip of land south of Brandon’s Gift.

The notion did not please Lord Alaric; though a strong friend to the Night’s Watch, he knew that the lords who presently held the lands in question would object to them being given away without their leave. “I have no doubt that you can persuade them, Lord Alaric,” the queen said. And finally, charmed by her as ever, Alaric Stark agreed that, aye, he could. And so it came to pass that the size of the Gift was doubled with a stroke.

—Fire & Blood

Jon remembers Ned Stark’s wishes for the New Gift:

Your brothers will not like it, no more than your father's lords, but I mean to allow the wildlings through the Wall . . . those who will swear me their fealty, pledge to keep the king's peace and the king's laws, and take the Lord of Light as their god. Even the giants, if those great knees of theirs can bend. I will settle them on the Gift, once I have wrested it away from your new Lord Commander. When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe." He looked at Jon. "Would you agree?"

"My father dreamed of resettling the Gift," Jon admitted. "He and my uncle Benjen used to talk of it." He never thought of settling it with wildlings, though . . . but he never rode with wildlings, either. He did not fool himself; the free folk would make for unruly subjects and dangerous neighbors. Yet when he weighed Ygritte's red hair against the cold blue eyes of the wights, the choice was easy. "I agree."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

This is something Sansa would do as Queen in the North, to fulfill Ned’s wishes, either with the wildlings or northern people, or both.

Also, take note how Jon is always choosing the redhead girl over a threat to the realm and humanity... After all, Jon is the shield that guards the realms of men.

The Wall and Beyond

Finally, to finish the North section, we have that Queen Alysanne’s reaction to the Wall and the lands beyond, is very similar to the reaction Jon Snow imagines Sansa would have to that sight:

Her first sight of the Wall from above took Alysanne’s breath away, Her Grace would later tell the king.

—Fire & Blood

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

And this passage about Alysanne ride atop the Wall from Snowgate to the Nightfort and the descending to the ruinous castle, reminds me a lot of Sansa’s descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon:

Lord Commander Burley himself took the queen into the haunted forest (with a hundred rangers riding escort). When Alysanne expressed the wish to see some of the other forts along the Wall, the First Ranger Benton Glover led her west atop the Wall, past Snowgate to the Nightfort, where they made their descent and spent the night. The ride, the queen decided, was as breathtaking a journey as she had ever experienced, “as exhilarating as it was cold, though the wind up there blows so strongly that I feared it was about to sweep us off the Wall.” The Nightfort itself she found grim and sinister. “It is so huge the men seem dwarfed by it, like mice in a ruined hall,” she told Jaehaerys, “and there is a darkness there…a taste in the air…I was so glad to leave that place.”

—Fire & Blood

"Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghostwolf, big as mountains.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

I HOPE MY HUSBAND FALLS OFF HIS HORSE

This is just a funny parallel:

What do those “highborn ladies do whilst their lords are out deflowering maidens? Do they sew? Sing? Pray? Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.”

—Fire & Blood

Those lords Alysanne was referring to sounds very much like Harry the Heir:

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Sassy Queens!

A FEMALE RULER

A ruler needs a good head and a true heart. A cock is not essential. —Alysanne Targaryen

Queen Alysanne wanted a female Targaryen ruler. She really wanted it. She tried. She failed.

This is a bit hypocrite tho... Since Alyssa, Jaehaerys and Alysanne herself wronged Rhaena and her claim to the throne, but still...

You could argue Jaehaerys and Alysanne ruled together, but despite the great influence and counsel of Queen Alysanne, she was not the ruler. Jaehaerys was. Alysanne was only the Queen consort.

Alysanne wished for her daughter Daenerys to be Queen, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he chose his son Aemon:

“She is so clever, she will be reading to me before long,” she told the king. “She is going to be a great queen, I know it.”

(...)

Jaehaerys loved all three children fiercely, but from the moment Aemon was born, the king began to speak of him as his heir, to Queen Alysanne’s displeasure. “Daenerys is older,” she would remind His Grace. “She is first in line; she should be queen.” The king would never disagree, except to say, “She shall be queen, when she and Aemon marry. They will rule together, just as we have.” But Benifer could see that the king’s words did not entirely please the queen, as he noted in his letters.

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne also wished for her granddaughter Rhaenys to be Queen, she was the only child of the heir to the throne, Prince Aemon, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he named Prince Baelon, Aemon’s younger brother, the Prince of Dragonstone:

Baelon, a seasoned knight of thirty-five, was better suited for rule than the eighteen-year-old Princess Rhaenys or her unborn babe (who might or might not be a boy, whereas Prince Baelon had already sired two healthy sons, Viserys and Daemon). The love of the commons for Baelon the Brave was also cited.

(...)

The most prominent dissenter was Good Queen Alysanne, who had helped her husband rule the Seven Kingdoms for many years, and now saw her son’s daughter being passed over because of her sex. “A ruler needs a good head and a true heart,” she famously told the king. “A cock is not essential.”

(...)

The queen died of a wasting illness in 100 AC, at the age of four-and-sixty, still insisting that her granddaughter Rhaenys and her children had been unfairly cheated of their rights.

Sansa Stark has a lot of Queen foreshadowing and imagery around her and she could be the one female ruler to defeat patriarchy in ASOIAF.

SARA SNOW

Let me tell you about a northern girl, the mysterious bastard girl from Winterfell, a wolf girl called Sara Snow:

But we turn to Mushroom to find the tales other chronicles omit, nor does he fail us now. His account introduces a young maiden, or “wolf girl” as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on.

This makes for a charming story, to be sure, but as with many of Mushroom’s fables, it seems to partake more of a fool’s fevered imaginings than of historical truth. Jacaerys Velaryon had been betrothed to his cousin Baela since he was four and she was two, and from all we know of his character, it seems most unlikely that he would break such a solemn agreement to protect the uncertain virtue of some half-wild, unwashed northern bastard. If indeed there ever lived a Sara Snow, and if indeed the Prince of Dragonstone perchanced to dally with her, that is no more than other princes have done in the past, and will do on the morrow, but to talk of marriage is preposterous.

(Mushroom also claims that Vermax left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell, which is equally absurd. Whilst it is true that determining the sex of a living dragon is a nigh on impossible task, no other source mentions Vermax producing so much as a single egg, so it must be assumed that he was male. Septon Barth’s speculation that the dragons change sex at need, being “as mutable as flame,” is too ludicrous to consider.)

This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling. Like many such pacts, it was to be sealed with a marriage. Lord Cregan’s son, Rickon, was a year old. Prince Jacaerys was as yet unmarried and childless, but it was assumed that he would sire children of his own once his mother sat the Iron Throne. Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

—Fire & Blood

How is Sara Snow connected with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark?

At this point in ASOIAF, Sansa Stark is under the disguise of Alayne Stone, a bastard girl, like Sara Snow. Both young maidens, and both were called wolf girls:

The green knight laughed again. "Barristan the Old, you mean. Don't flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already." He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

And regarding Queen Alysanne, Sara Snow is linked with her through their husbands.

According to Mushroom, Sara Snow married a Targaryen Prince in secret. And who was this Targaryen Prince? It was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the older son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was a Targaryen Prince with brown hair (Like Jon Snow). He was probable a bastard (Like Jon Snow) son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Harwin Strong, called Breakbones.

Curiously enough, Jacaerys Velaryon supposed father, Laenor Velaryon wanted to name him Joffrey (Like Sansa’s first betrothed Joffrey Baratheon, also a bastard).

Jacaerys is a traditional Velaryon name. House Velaryon is of Valyrian descent, and its members often have Valyrian features, such as silver hair, purple eyes, and pale skin. But as I said before, Jacaerys had brown hair, like Jon Snow.

Also, Jacaerys sounds like the Velaryon version of Jaehaerys. The short for Jacaerys was Jace.

Sara Snow and Jacaerys Velaryon married in secret like Alysanne and Jaehaerys.

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloped because their mother planned to marry Alysanne with Orryn Baratheon (This is also parallel with Rhaegar and Lyanna).

Jacaerys Velaryon was already betrothed with his cousin Baela Targaryen. Jacaerys Velaryon broke that vow to marry Sara Snow in secret.

These two couples Sara Snow & Jacaerys Velaryon and Alysanne and Jaehaerys Targaryen are two similar versions of Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen Prince with a Stark maiden or, in Alysanne case, a maiden that reminds us of a Stark one. All three secret marriages that broke a previous betrothal.

Curiously enough, Cregan Stark (Sara Snow’s brother) and Jacaerys Velaryon signed “the Pact of Ice and Fire”, a pact sealed with a marriage, a marriage between the Stark Heir (Cregan’s son) with a Velaryon/Targaryen Princess (Jacaerys’ daughter).

Under the terms of the pact, Jacaerys’ firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

That pact never happened because Jacaerys Velaryon died childless.

Mushroom said that Vermax (Jacaerys’ dragon) left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell. This could have meant that Sara Snow (Jacaerys’ wife) was already pregnant with Jacaerys’ first child and if that child were a girl, she must have married her cousin Rickon Stark. But that never happened.

What did happen was that Jon Snow, the son of a Targaryen Prince with a Stark Maiden, was raised at Winterfell, next to his cousin Sansa Stark, older daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, with whom he can fulfill the “the Pact of Ice and Fire”.

Rhaegar himself probably tried to fulfill “the Pact of Ice and Fire” with Lyanna Stark. And Jon Snow would be the fruit of that fulfillment, a son of Ice and Fire.

Here you can read more about Jace & Sara.

ALYSANNE “BLACK ALY” BLACKWOOD

Alysanne Blackwood, also known as Black Aly, is not very similar to Queen Alysanne or Sansa Stark. She was a woman more like Arya Stark. In summary: Not a Lady.

But Alysanne Blackwood became the second wife of Lord Cregan Stark, wich made her Lady Stark, Lady Alysanne Stark.

RICKON STARK

Lord Cregan Stark had a son with his first wife Arra Norrey, a boy named Rickon Stark. And little Rickon sang for the new Lady Stark:

The wedding itself was said to be splendid, however; Black Aly and her wolf pledged their troth before the heart tree in Winterfell’s icy godswood. At the feast afterward, four-year-old Rickon, Lord Cregan’s son by his first wife, sang a song for his new stepmother.

—Fire & Blood

This will probably never happen, but imagine our little Rickon Stark singing for his sister-mother Sansa Stark... But our beloved Rickon is a wild wolf pup so he would probably howl instead of sing, after all:

“The Starks know no music but the howling of wolves.” —A Game of Thrones - Catelyn V

SANSARA TARLY

If you thought that all this similar/linked names are just a coincidence, that Sara Snow has nothing to do with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark, now let me tell you about “more coincidences”, let me tell you about Sansara Tarly.

In Fire & Blood, during the searching for King Aegon III second wife, we meet a character named Sansara Tarly:

Perhaps the boldest letter came from the irrepressible Lady Samantha of Oldtown, who declared that her sister Sansara (of House Tarly) “is spirited and strong, and has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel” whilst her good-sister Bethany (of House Hightower) was “very beautiful, with smooth soft skin and lustrous hair and the sweetest manner,” though also “lazy and somewhat stupid, truth be told, though some men seem to like that in a wife.” She concluded by suggesting that perhaps King Aegon should marry both of them, “one to rule beside him, as Queen Alysanne did King Jaehaerys, and one to bed and breed.”

—Fire & Blood

Sansara is literally a combination of Sansa and Sara.

Sansara is from House Tarly, and our beloved Samwell Tarly is, what I call, a Male!Sansa:

Yes, it’s just amazing how similar Sansa Stark and Samwell Tarly are. They have a lot of common interests and they sure would be the best of friends:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

And during a few passages in the ASOIAF Books you can read how Samwell prays to the Mother: “Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy.”, just like Sansa.

It is said that Sansara Tarly “has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel”. This is a direct connection to Queen Alysanne, another book lover that could have been a Maester of the Citadel; and also to Samwell Tarly who is actually studying at the Citadel to become a Maester (Thanks to Jon Snow). Another book lover? Yes, Sansa Stark.

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

What an interesting chain of names George, all of them connected, so subtle of you:

SANSA’S bastard name is ALAYNE

ALAYNE can be formed removing a letter S and one letter N from ALYSANNE

SARA was called WOLF GIRL like SANSA

SARA is a bastard like ALAYNE

SARA married in secret with JACAERYS just like ALYSANNE married in secret with JAEHAERYS (Also JACAERYS = JAEHAERYS)

ALYSANNE “Black Aly” Blackwood married Lord Cregan Stark and became LADY STARK, LADY ALYSANNE STARK

SANSARA is a combination of SANSA and SARA

SANSARA is from House Tarly, like Samwell Tarly who is a Male!Sansa

SANSARA is as cultured and well read as ALYSANNE (Also like Samwell and Sansa)

GRRM chooses the names of his characters very carefully. For example, here is what he has said about the Stark Sisters’ Names:

The names Arya and Sansa are meant to represent the polar opposites of their characters, Arya being a hard sounding name, Sansa a softer more pretty name, etc. [Source]

After all of this, if GRRM decides to name a next character of the ASOIAF Universe: ‘ALYSANSA’, I would not be surprised.

I rest my case.

#Sansa Stark #is this jonsa?#jonsa #Alayne Stone #Alysanne Targaryen #Good Queen Alysanne #Sara Snow #Sansara Tarly #Alysanne Blackwood #Jacaerys Velaryon #Jaehaerys Targaryen #King Jaehaerys I Targaryen #Cregan Stark #AlySansa

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