#educational decrees they could never make me hate you

[saintsenara]

honestly is there a single competent teacher at Hogwarts? Any teacher I can think of with more than 10 lines of dialogue is a pedagogical disaster. Very shippable disasters though, for which I am grateful because your page has made me giggle all week.

maybe Sprout.

honestly, anon? no.

that school is a basket case and the older i get the more my sympathy for cornelius fudge increases. imagine getting the call where dumbledore says "heyyyyy... so, i hired what i thought was an ex-auror who was retired from the service because of serious ptsd, gave him no teacher training, let him perform illegal curses on children for fun, and then it turns out he was an escaped convict trying to resurrect the dark lord all along. lmao."

i'd have devoted myself to trying to discredit him too.

and so, for fun and profit, i think it's only fair for us to establish an official competency ranking of the teaching staff at hogwarts during the period 1991-1998... points on for having a basic grasp of the material, points off for anyone who nearly dies in your class.

1. wilhelmina grubbly-plank, care of magical creatures

genuinely, professor grubbly-plank is the only person we meet in all seven books who seems to be an uncomplicatedly good teacher. she's got a series of well-defined lesson plans which feature a mixture of guided and independent study and which work in a tangible way towards exams, she has clear authority in the classroom but is never unreasonable or cruel, she's demonstrably able to lead a practical class which involves wild animals which might behave dangerously or unpredictably without there ever being any concerns about student safety, she takes an active pastoral role [such as when she helps heal hedwig's injured wing, reassuring harry enormously], she's collegial [she shares her lessons plans with hagrid in goblet of fire, and she refuses to criticise his teaching to umbridge], and she's admired by all of her pupils except harry [who is nonetheless begrudgingly forced to admit that she's incredibly good at her job].

plus, her aesthetic is iconic.

=2. filius flitwick, charms; pomona sprout, herbology

in joint second place, we have these two.

both sprout and flitwick spend canon seeming to be pretty good at their jobs - they have interesting lesson plans which seem to balance theoretical and practical work well and which prepare their pupils properly for exams, their pupils like them and enjoy their lessons, they're both excellent at the pastoral side of their jobs [sprout's gentle encouragement of neville is really lovely], and they're adored by their colleagues.

they lose marks for lax classroom discipline. harry, ron, and hermione are constantly yapping away in both charms and herbology - with harry and ron frequently failing to understand what they're supposed to be learning because they were too busy have a chat.

=4. remus lupin, defence against the dark arts; septima vector, arithmancy

two teachers here who earn their placement on the list by having one pupil who considers them life-alteringly inspiring.

for lupin, this is dean thomas - whose constant state of readiness to throw hands to defend his honour is one of his greatest character traits. for vector, it's hermione.

obviously, they're both well-qualified, well-prepared, engaging, and [at least in lupin's case, but i can't see why it wouldn't also be the case for vector] well-regarded by their colleagues.

they don't rank higher because lupin loses marks for endangering his students by not disclosing his knowledge that the presumed-to-be-a-death-eater sirius has a means of entering hogwarts without detection [i understand why he does this from a characterisation point of view, but it's inexcusable from a safeguarding one] and because vector teaches an elective subject which is implied to only attract bright, engaged pupils - and therefore has an easier time in the classroom than someone trying to get a student like crabbe through their exams.

5. minerva mcgonagall, transfiguration

in comes minnie mac at number five.

unsurprisingly, her solid curriculum, excellent classroom discipline, high-regard among her colleagues and pupils, support of student extracurricular activities, and investment in helping her pupils pursue the careers they want all give her points.

she loses marks, however, for the fact that she is so casually disdainful of pupils who aren't instinctively good at her subject - which suggests that she doesn't know how to adapt her material so it can be understood by every student she teaches. like dumbledore, she seems to have an identifiable favouritism for brilliant students - who she seems to permit to get away with much more than students she considers average or dull - which probably doesn't endear her to anyone who doesn't get that treatment.

on her pastoral approach, though, i don't think that it matters too much that she's not particularly nurturing - even though she's a head of house. she seems to be good at responding to genuine distress and managing genuine crises with empathy, and the "pull yourself together" vibes she takes in response to more trivial dramas is because she's a presbyterian scotswoman.

6. severus snape, potions & defence against the dark arts

the one on this list that i imagine will be controversial...

because snape is a dick in the classroom - not denying that - but he's also, in terms of his pupils' exam performance, clearly the most successful teacher in the entire school. he can fill his newt-level classes despite only admitting those with outstanding grades, and he expects every pupil he teaches to pass owl-level potions and seems not to be disappointed. hermione reveals that he does teach the theory of potions and the discipline's wider application - harry and ron just don't listen - and that she thinks his lessons are interesting.

snape loses marks - obviously - for his general vibe, although i think he should be allowed some leeway for his dickhead behaviour since potions is clearly a subject in which not paying attention and not being able to follow instructions properly is dangerous [hence why i've been a trevor hater since day one].

i suppose he should also be allowed some leeway because it's a genre requirement for a school story to have a theatrically evil teacher. but he's not getting it - since he clearly enjoys the role so much.

7. horace slughorn, potions

marks on for encouraging independent thinking and for clearly being able to hold a classroom's attention. marks off for not learning the names of pupils he's indifferent to, getting his favourite pupils drunk, and for having no follow-up questions to "hello, sir. i'd like to commit some murders."

8. charity burbage, muggle studies

entirely because i think it's genuinely admirable - and, indeed, far more admirable than the fact that the order of the phoenix all happily keep working for the state following voldemort's takeover - that she publishes an article in the daily prophet, to which her real name is attached, explicitly refuting blood-supremacist rhetoric when she must know that a blood-supremacist government is about to come into power.

marks off because the fact that even wizards who've taken her class appear to know fuck all about muggle society means that she can't be particularly good at her job.

9. firenze, divination

marks on because his pupils love him, marks off because that's a tremendously low bar to clear given... trelawney.

him telling his classes that divination is a bullshit, made-up subject is iconic, though.

10. "alastor moody", defence against the dark arts

i think it's genuinely impressive that he manages to go from being imprisoned under the imperius curse for a decade straight into planning a full year's lesson plans [which his pupils love] and doesn't have a breakdown.

marks off because of literally everything else.

=11. all the miscellaneous teachers: aurora sinistra, astronomy; silvanus kettleburn, care of magical creatures; bathsheba babbling, ancient runes

they seem fine.

14. rolanda hooch, flying

full respect to her for managing to wangle a full-time salary out of an annual workload made up of teaching one lesson [badly] and refereeing six quidditch matches.

15. quirinus quirrell, defence against the dark arts

all the proof those of us who hate professor riddle stories need that voldemort would have been a dogshit teacher, if he can't even get his meat-puppet to inspire a room full of eager eleven-year-olds in a subject which is about the coolest ways possible to kill people.

=16. cuthbert binns, history of magic; sybill trelawney, divination

they're terrible, obviously, but the fact that they remain in their jobs despite being so clearly incompetent is entirely dumbledore's fault. are you not giving the staff performance reviews, albus? come on now.

18. dolores umbridge, defence against the dark arts

umbridge deserves to be in prison, but she did at least bother to plan out a curriculum.

=19. gilderoy lockhart, defence against the dark arts; rubeus hagrid, care of magical creatures

both victims of dumbledore's "lol this will be so funny" era of hiring practices. both deservedly regarded as completely fucking incompetent by all but one defiant brownnoser. both possessing jazzy taste in textbooks.

21. amycus carrow, defence against the dark arts

he beats his sister simply because his pupils do appear to know how to perform the unforgivable curses correctly.

22. alecto carrow, muggle studies

literally nothing positive can be said.

[justab00knerd]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷'𝓼 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻

Previous part

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Chapter Two: Professor Um-bitch Is The Worst ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

At first I thought Professor Um-bitch couldn’t do anything else that was loony, and she just had to prove me wrong. A few weeks after the initial first week of our fifth year, the madness started. I believe it happened soon after Harry had gotten detention with Professor Um-bitch. Professor McGonagall intercepted Professor Um-bitch’s way as she walked out of the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall came to confront her about how she handled how she punishes students. At first, I thought that Professor Um-bitch would just apologise or back down but no. Of course she had to just disrespect Professor McGonagall. Lord praise her for her strength she has to deal and tolerate this bitch. Not only that but somehow I’ve come to hate Flich even more than last year. Outside of the great hall, Filch hung up these posters. One wrote, “Educational Decree Number 23: Dolores Jane Umbridge has been appointed to the post of Hogwarts High Inquisitor.” Was the Ministry going mad? Not only did they send a loony, mad-woman, but they also had to give her the title of “High Inquisitor.” Not only that, it made the front page in the Daily Prophet. 

Following the days of the decree, one could say everything from there went downhill. Day after day, Professor Um-bitch continued to implement more and more crazy rules! These rules included such as forbidding the Weasley Twins from freely selling their products. Although, that never stopped them from selling them in secret and to be honest I’ve always been a fan of the twins and not just because I was friends with their younger brother. Let’s not even mention how she came to every single class and interrogated each teacher. Even poor Professor Snape came to be a victim of these interrogations! Even Professor Trelawney got verbally beaten by the “High Inquisitor” when she came into our class. A few days later after Umbridge’s questioning, a commotion occurred in the courtyard. 

As I accompanied Cho to the courtyard, well at least I tried to; students from all years and houses were walking towards the courtyard in curiosity. When I caught up to Cho she was already talking to Harry. 

“Cho! Wh-what’s going on?” Harry asked as they walked briskly together. I stood a few steps back with Hermione and Ron, listening in on their conversation.

“It’s Professor Trelawney,” Cho’s Scottish accent stood out like a sore thumb. My heart jumps at my throat. Professor Trelawney? What’s happening to Professor Trelawney?!? 

  Once we had arrived at the courtyard in front of the main entrance, I found myself watching Filch carry out bags to Professor Trelawney who stood confused outside. Following close behind Filch was that insufferable woman in pink. To make it worse she was smiling. Realisation hits me like a truck. This was Professor Um-bitch’s doing. That little… She can’t do this! Can she?

I know that many people don’t really like Professor Trelawney, after all everyone calls her crazy and well… odd. But I quite enjoy her classes, much to the dismay of Hermione. It was just something about Divination that clicked with me, I suppose. I mean not as much as Astrology or Potions, but I did enjoy her class. 

I stood next to Hermione and Harry as Professor Um-bitch made her way to our dear professor. The latter professor looked like she was distraught and on the verge of tears. Enough even to almost trip over her baggage. She takes a moment to compose herself before taking small steps closer to Um-bitch. 

“Si-sixteen years I’ve lived and taught here. Hogwarts is my home,” Her voice cracked as she spoke in a soft tone. “Yo-you can’t do this.” My heart dropped. I bit the inside of my cheek. I wanted to do something. Anything. But I waited for Um-bitch’s response. Maybe, just maybe, she could grow a heart. 

“Actually,” Her high pitched voice started before she brought up a letter. “I can.” Red covered my vision. How DARE she! I watch as Trelawney starts to cry. I took in a deep breath, before sliding past Harry. I heard Hermione call out my name, but I didn’t look back. I briskly walked to Professor Trelawney's side before stepping in front of her. 

“Ms.Quinn, what do you think you’re doing?” She giggled. Oh founders of Hogwarts, how much would I LOVE to slap that smile off her face. Maybe I should just introduce her instead with my fist?

“Well, Professor. I’m protecting what I love.” I threw a glance to Professor Trelawney whose tears were almost escaping her. “I don’t know what gave you the right to just-just kick teachers out, but I know damn well that Professor Trelawney doesn’t deserve this!” I project my voice loud and clear for not just Professor Um-bitch for all the students to hear. 

“It-it’s just unethical! Inhuman even!” I cry. I could tell she was annoyed with me,after all I saw the way her jaw ticked as she tried to keep her tight knit smiling face. Honestly, it was a misstep on her part. 

“Ms.Quinn, I assure you this is for the great good of Hogwarts. So, unless you would like detention in my office, please stand aside.” I gritted my teeth. She motioned me with her arm to stand aside, but I held my ground. I swore I could see I hit a nerve, but before she could say or do anything else, Professor McGonagall rushed out. I turned to her as she rushed to Professor Trelawney’s side and embraced her. 

“Ms.Quinn, what is going on here?” Professor McGonagall asked, I could tell her eyes weren’t on me but, instead on the person behind me. I told her blankly what had happened a few moments prior to her appearance.

“Something you would like to say dear?” Um-bitch told Professor McGonagall. Her tone was endearing as if she held the Headmaster position. I thought a quick prayer for Um-bitch hoping she lived a good life before I killed her myself. 

“Oh, there are several things I would like to say.” I took a few steps back, giving the teachers some room. Professor McGonagall patted Professor Trelawney’s head as she cried. Before Professor Um-bitch could say anything more there was a loud knock before the tall doors of Hogwarts opened presenting our Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. As long as Professor Dumbledore was here I knew that we would be safe from Um-bitch’s tyranny. 

“Professor McGonagall, might I ask you to escort Syvil back inside.” Professor Dumbledore’s voice boomed in the quiet courtyard, I smirked to myself. 

Take that Professor Um-bitch!

I bowed my head before walking back slowly leaving the Headmaster to deal with that annoying pink woman. Once far enough, I bring my head back to see Professor McGonagoll hold Professor Trelawney by the arm, bringing her back inside the walls of Hogwarts. As they pass the Headmaster, Professor Trelawney gives her thanks to Professor Dumbledore many times before leaving. 

“Dumbledore,” I groaned at the voice of Professor Umbridge. I swear, how in the world did she land herself high in the Ministry? If I want to become an Auror, I hope she will have already retired by then. “May I remind you that under the terms of Educational Decree number 23 as enacted by the Minister-”

“You have the right to dismiss my teachers, you do not, however, have the authority to banish them from the grounds. That power remains with the Headmaster.” Dumbledore fires back mid sentence. I couldn’t help a snort that slipped out, and I swore she could hear me across the yard because I felt her side eye me before bringing her attention back to the Headmaster.  Her smile widens into a smirk.

“For now.” My mind goes blank. 

For now? What does she mean for now?

Professor Dumbledore remained silent. Why was he remaining silent? Shouldn’t he say something? Anything? 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he does is turn around and yell something about studying. Studying? What the hell are we supposed to study? 

We all stood there for a moment before students started to disperse. I stand where I stood for a moment longer before clicking my tongue and turning on my heel. I hear Professor Um-bitch call me out. I was about to walk away from her but I knew better than that. I spin around to face her direction. 

“I hope to see you in my office tomorrow after class.” I give her a confused look. “Detention. Be grateful I didn’t deduct any House Points.” She giggled before turning away and walking to Lord knows where. I let out a mix of a groan and a sigh before scurrying away to the library. 

But of course it seems like the universe hated me. I had to run into Malfoy and his little gang. 

“Oh look who we have here! Little Miss Teacher's pet, now are we?” Parkinson laughed. The rest follows suit as I stand awkwardly at the side. Letting out a sigh before continuing my way towards the library. 

“Oh no you’re not!” Someone yelled from behind, it was a girl’s voice. Greengrass maybe? Well, it didn’t matter. I hear their shoes clack on the stone floor, I pick up speed running anywhere my legs take me. I hear them laugh at me as they chase me through the halls. I make a sharp turn towards the Gryffindor tower, I pray to myself that I make it to the Fat Lady before Parkinson and Greengrass catch me. 

As the Fat Lady came into sight I pushed myself to pump my legs faster. I faintly hear Parkinson yell to everyone that I was near the Gryffindor dormitories and I hear their footsteps get louder and louder indicating they are close by.

 “Mimbulus mimbletonia,” I breath out, I see the Fat Lady usher me in before shutting the entrance on the Slytherins. At first it was weird to be surrounded by red and gold tapestry, I mean after all my house colours were blue and silver. 

“Blimey Stella, what happened to you?” Ron asked as he watched me lean on the walls in order not to fall to my knees. I take in deep breaths, practically heaving. Harry and Hermione look to one another before rushing to my side and ushering me to the couch. Once I caught my breath I told them about my encounter with the Slytherins, AKA their worst enemy at school. They all stared for a moment before Ron broke the silence about how they’re just the worst. I nodded along as they bad-mouth Malfoy and his friends. I understood where they were coming from, after Malfoy has been taunting them ever since first year. But I think he wasn’t all too bad. I mean as long as he kept his pretty mouth shut. 

Soon the topic shifted to today’s events, well more specifically Professor Um-bitch. 

“We’re not learning how to defend ourselves. We’re not learning how to pass our O.W.L.s. She’s taking over the entire school.” Hermione complains as she paces back-and-forth in the common room. It was almost time for curfew and I was still held up in the Gryffindor common room instead of the Ravenclaw one. The radio in the common room projects the Minister’s voice and Harry turns the volume up to listen in. He goes on about how the disappearances are all of Sirius Black’s fault, which from what I know isn’t true. After all, even when he gave us a visit in our third year, he was far from evil. Quite the opposite really. As they zone in on what the radio says I finally stand up from my place on the couch near Ron.

“I-I should go. I’m sure that Malfoy and his lap dogs are gone by now. An-and it’s getting late,” I stutter as I rush to grab my robes off the back rest of the couch. Hermione nods before walking over to me and taking me in her arms. I jump at the contact; I suppose that I’m still a bit unused to hugs. 

“Good night Stella,” She says before letting me go. “Sleep well. We still have classes tomorrow.” 

“Night ‘mione,” I gave her a curt nod and wished Harry and Ron good night which they say in turn. As I exit the common room I check the surroundings, putting an effort to look for any green robes. Specifically, Parkinson and Greengrass’s robes. 

After Malfoy and I’s first assignment we created a partial truce. As long as I continue being his Potions partner, which to be honest was also in my best interests as Hermione wasn’t in my class so, he was my next best option. Luckily for me, he offered to be civil with me in and outside of class which I took eagerly. If I could get one less bully off my back, I’m in. 

Now that I look back on it, Malfoy never really told me off like he did to Hermione. The ones who liked making sure I knew my place were Parkinson and Greengrass as they constantly called my stuck-up know-it-all. Which in my defence is untrue. I’ll admit that I have more knowledge on topics than the average witch and wizard, but I had no confidence to one up someone. That wasn’t…really my style. Nonetheless, they still insist they ruin my day spitting rude remarks my way whenever we pass by each in the hallways. 

I briskly walk through the halls making my way towards the Astronomy tower’s direction. Even though I never was one to have many friends, even with my standing with Cho Chang, a beautiful Scottish with Asian descent and Ravenclaw’s proud seeker, no one really noticed me. Even when they did, they always just say things like, “What an attention seeker” or “She’s just another Ravenclaw know-it-all.” Which was true for some, but for me it was the opposite. I never liked the spotlight, even before Hogwarts I was never popular and I liked it that way. 

“Oh, look who finally came out of that boisterous excuse of a house.”

I stop in my tracks like a deer caught in headlights. I snap my head towards the sound of that voice. It was sophisticated. Sharp and refined even. There leaning casually on the wall was Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked…put together and proper. Maybe even like a gentleman. I pause. 

What in the world am I thinking?!?!?! Was I…was I just openly saying that Malfoy. Draco Malfoy of all people looked…NICE?!?!?!?! 

I shook my head aggressively. Thanking myself that I hadn’t spoken aloud if not I might just hurl myself into the Black Lake in embarrassment.

“Did you hear me or not, Quinn?” He said in a harsh tone. I snap out of my thoughts once more. 

“I-um-wh-what are you doing out here at this time?” I question and take a few steps away from him. I look around trying to figure out where Parkinson or even Crabbe and Goyle were hiding.

“Don’t even try looking for them. They returned back to the dormitories hours ago claiming you weren’t worth the wait.”

I gulp loudly. Even if I was grateful that Parkinson and Greengrass were gone, it still stung to know I wasn’t a good enough reason to wait to torment me. “The-then why are you still here?” I asked quietly as I shifted my gaze to his feet. Was here because he was worried—

“Had to make sure that you didn’t stay the night over there. If you did then I might have to switch seats in Potions. I wouldn’t want to be contaminated by you.” He scoffed as he pushed himself off the wall and into an upright position. I felt a tightening sensation in my chest. 

Of course he was more worried about himself than me. What was I thinking?

“Well I’m not staying over so you can go now.” I snap. My hair flicks in his direction as I walk away in anger. Of course, he was only thinking about himself. That little selfish, ignorant, arrogant, spoiled brat!! No wonder everyone called him the Slytherin Prince!

Draco’s P.O.V.

I watch as Quinn flicks her auburn hair at me in a way I have never seen before. No one has ever been sassy to me. I scowl as I watch her frame slowly get smaller and smaller before completely disappearing from view. 

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath before heading the opposite direction towards the dungeons. Before this year I never knew Stella Quinn. It was like she was never there, hiding in plain sight. And yet she has me wrapped around her pretty finger. She wasn’t even that pretty. She was just average. And yet, I always find those pretty little green eyes looking at me. Even worse, I feel glad that she looks at me. I mean who wouldn’t want to look at me. I was every student’s crush at one point. And that’s me being humble. And yet I can’t help the angry thoughts that float around.

How dare she be friends with Potter and that filthy little mudblood! How dare she give me sass after I graciously helped her! But now that I have seen her, there was one thing I was sure of. She will kneel to me one way or another. I smirked. How I will love the day she will be humiliated.

Next Part

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[onlyfreds]

I Choose You | F.W.

Title: I Choose You

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: At the end of the day, Fred is always the one Y/N chooses.

A/N: Inspired by the song “I Choose” from the movie: “Willoughby”

Stuck in my ways Like old-fashioned days But all the roads led me to you

Magic. I always thought that magic just consisted of clever tricks and didn’t really exist. I always thought that magic were just illusions used to entertain little kids. That was what I always thought, until I got my Hogwarts letter. Until I learned that magic was real. Until I hopped onto the Hogwarts express, ready to begin my journey as a witch.

All roads lead to somewhere. And this one led me to a certain 6’3 ginger who had a twin named George. This road had led me to my best friend, Fred Weasley, this road had led me to the boy I fell for, hard.

“You’re gorgeous.” That was Fred’s first words to me.

--

“Gryffindor!” The sorting hat yelled as it was placed on my head. I happily skipped towards the scarlet and gold table, where my new friends were waiting for me. “Welcome to the best house in Hogwarts.” The twins said in unison as I took a seat next to them.

Everyday was an adventure, pulling pranks and causing mischief and trouble here and there. And every day, I continued to fall in love with the older twin.

The house that you live in don't make it a home But feeling lonely don't mean you're alone People in life, they will come and they'll leave But if I had a choice I know where I would be

Ever since I started attending Hogwarts, I would spend every holiday at the Burrow. It was like a second home to me. Molly had instantly treated me like her daughter the moment I stepped foot inside the house. It even got to the point that Fred would whine that he wanted his “partner in crime” back.

Every holiday at the Burrow was special. I never felt lonely, mostly because my own family didn’t like the idea of me being a witch. But the most special holiday I had was during our third year.

I was watching the stars as snow fell slowly onto the ground.

“Enjoying the view darling?” The butterflies appeared in my stomach as I turned and saw Fred standing by the doorway.

“What’s there not to enjoy about the view?” I asked as I patted the space next to me, inviting him to sit down.

“It’s just, the whole family’s inside and your out here.” He said as he placed his arms around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him.

“But I can bet that there’s something better than that view.” He said with a sheepish grin.

I chuckled, “And what is that?”

“Look up.” He simply stated.

I diverted my gaze up to the night sky, fireworks painting the sky. Soon, it spelled out the words: I love you Y/N; Will you be my girlfriend?

I turned to Fred, who had a hopeful look in his eyes, “Be my girlfriend?” He asked.

Without hesitation, I cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. In the background, I could hear the whole Weasley household cheering.

“How’s that for an answer?” I asked as we pulled apart.

He smirked, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t get your answer. Can we try it again?”

I giggled as he pulled me in for another kiss.

Now I found the strength To make a change And look at the magic I found No matter the name

Umbridge had come and was making everyday miserable with her foolish educational decrees that she claims is for the better future of Hogwarts. A load of dragon dung if you ask me.

Harry then formed the D.A., which for me is the highlight of the school year. We were fighting for something. We were fighting for our school; we were learning to fight and defend ourselves. We were learning to fight against Voldemort.

“Expecto Patronum!” The twins said in unison, identical magpie patronuses flying out of their wands.

I thought of the day Fred asked me to be his girlfriend, the day we attended the Yule ball together, every date, every memory. I let the happiness fill me up.

“Expecto Patronum!” I casted, watching in awe as a cat flew out of my wand, running around, chasing the magpies the twins produced.

“What did you think about?” Fred asked, wrapping his arms around me.

I smiled, “You.”

The room then started to shake, Fred his arm around me protectively, the both instinctively raising our wands. The room shook again, a small hole appearing in the wall.

“Bombarda Maxima” A familiar voice said.

“It’s Umbridge.” I said, all of us started to run as the wall exploded.

The twins and I ran to one of the secret passageways that led to the common room. We were one of the first ones back, collapsing on the couch from exhaustion.

Ron came in dragging Hermione along with him. The rest of the Gryffindors started to file in. Except for one, Harry.

I finally found where I feel I belong And I know you'll be there with wide open arms

Through the lows and the highs, I will stay by your side There's no need for goodbyes, now I'm seeing the light

When the sky turns to grey and there's nothing to say At the end of the day, I choose you

“George and I are leaving tomorrow.” Fred said as he paced the dorm.

“The big escape.” I said with a small smile.

Fred looked at me, I could see the tears forming in his eyes, “I’m breaking up with you.”

I felt like someone had just stabbed a dagger into my chest, “What?”

He tried to hold back the tears but he couldn’t, “I’m breaking up with you.” He repeated as his voice cracked.

I could feel the tears making its way from my eyes, “Why?”

He sat down on the floor, “Because I am dropping out of school to follow another one of my stupid ideas. I’m dropping out of school to start a business that I have no assurance that will succeed. And if everything goes downhill, I’ll disappoint everyone, Harry, Mum, George and most especially you. Out of all the people in the world, you are the one I’d hate to disappoint the most. Then when that happens, you’ll leave me. Then I’ll be left with nothing. So, it’s better to end things now instead of ending when the pain hurts more.” He sobbed.

I pulled him into a hug, trying to wipe his tears as mine continued to fall.

“That won’t happen Fred.” I said, gently rubbing his back, “No matter what happens, I’ll stay by your side, through the lows and the highs. If the ship sinks, then I’m going down with you. Where you go, I go. Because at the end of the day Freddie, I choose you.”

He hugged me tightly, as if scared that I would evaporate any minute. “Thank you.” He muttered.

I cupped his face in my hands, “Besides, I’m coming with you.”

“What?” He asked.

I chuckled, “George and I were supposed to surprise you tomorrow. But I guess things don’t always go as planned.”

“Really? You’d rather come with us than finish your education.” He said with a small smile.

I nodded, “Yeah. It’s not like I’m learning anything with the pink toad around. Like I said Freddie, I’ll always choose you. And if I belong anywhere, it’s with you.”

Through the lows and the highs I will stay by your side There's no need for goodbyes, now I'm seeing the light When the sky turns to grey and there's nothing to say At the end of the day, I choose you

“You okay Freddie?” George asked as the three of us watched the teachers place protective enchantments on the school.

“Yeah, how about you?” Fred asked, turning to his brother.

“I’m fine.” George answered.

Fred turned to me, “How about you princess?”

“Good.” I replied.

Fred turned me to face him, “If ever I don’t make it. You should move on, okay? Fall in love again. Have a family. I’ll always be waiting for you.”

I shook my head, kissing him, “I choose you. So, it’s either we survive this together or we don’t at all.”

“But darling- “He tried to reason before I interrupted him.

��There’s no need for goodbyes, now I’m seeing the light.” I squeezed his hand, “It doesn’t matter what happens. As long as we’re together.”

--

“You’re joking Perce! You’re actually joking.” But the rest of Fred’s words fell into the background as my instincts told me that something bad would happen.

I rushed to Fred, pushing him out of the way as the wall exploded. It’s like everything had gone in slow motion.

“I love you.” I whispered into his ear, if I was going to die. Then I would want that to be my last words. If he was going to die, no, I can’t think that.

I landed on top of him, my arms wrapped around his torso, “Freddie?” I immediately said.

“Yes princess?” He answered, with his signature smirk.

I hugged him as I breathed a sigh of relief and began sobbing, “You’re alive.” I said.

He hugged me tighter, running his hand through, “Thank you for saving me.” He whispered.

I looked up and crashed our lips together, “I told you either we survive together, or we don’t at all.”

At the end of the day, I choose you

“Do you, Y/N L/N, take Fred Weasley as your lawfully wedded husband?” The minister asked.

I smiled, “I do.”

“And with the power invested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Fred smiled, as he pulled me closer to him.

During the reception, I couldn’t stop glancing down at the rings on our hands, it had the words I choose you engraved.

“I love you, Mrs. Weasley.” He whispered as the festivities continued.

I smiled at him, “I love you too, Mr. Weasley.”

I choose you

[mypoisonedvine]

Cake By The Ocean | frat!Chris Evans x reader

summary: fraboy au.  college parties.  beach shenanigans.  blame @ballyhoobarnes​

warnings: fingering, mention of oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, verryyy light dub con if you squint??

shitty moodboard provided by me c:

Chris was the worst thing about mixers, hands down.

Honestly, you hated everything about mixers.  Your sisters were at their most annoying, magically transforming from educated, classy women into the most desperate of ‘pick me’ girls, clinging onto any Zeta guy they could get their hands on.  What bothered you wasn’t that they flirted with the guys, it was that they dumbed themselves down to do so.  That plus an overcrowded house, shitty drinks from plastic cups, and having to clean up everybody’s mess the next day, and you really just did not want to go to another co-ed event.

But Katie M. and Katie B., the sorority president and vice president respectively, decreed in their all-knowing power that every soror must attend five night-time events a year and you had procrastinated so hard that you had to attend every single one in May to avoid getting kicked out.  The scholarships were too good to lose. 

That didn’t mean you had to mingle, though; you were happy to hide in a secluded corner and look like you were doing something important.  In this case, it was stacking and unstacking cups.  Hopefully nobody watched you long enough to notice that you weren’t actually helping set up the drink table.

But of course, he had to show up.  He had this instinct where he could sense you minding your own business and enjoying your life, and he just had to appear and annoy you.

“Hey,” Chris’ voice wafted to your ear from behind you.  You felt his hand slip onto your waist loosely.  That was all he had to say to you?  ‘Hey’?

You ignored him, mainly because you had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Bein’ cold isn’t gonna keep me away,” he informed you, leaning in closer.

“Do you have any other suggestions then?” you frowned.

His mouth was so close to your ear now that you could smell the booze on his breath.  “Been thinkin’ about you.  I know you’ve been avoiding me.  But it hasn’t made me forget.”

“Me either, sadly,” you groaned.

“I know you get wet when you think about it,” he purred.  “I betcha think about it at night, remembering how good it felt to just let go--”

You spun around and pushed him back.  “Chris, everybody makes mistakes.  Like when the Nazis invaded Russia in the winter.  Or when your mom decided to keep it after your dad put on the condom wrong.  Or, worst of all, when we got drunk and had sex over half a year ago.  It’s okay!  Accidents happen.  But it’s best to leave them--” you rested your hand on his shoulder, giving your best comforting-but-stern look-- “in the past.”

“The best mistakes are made at least twice,” Chris grinned.  “How do you think I ended up with a little sister?”

In spite of your desperate attempt not to, you cracked a smile.  At least he could take a joke.

“Go enjoy the party,” you suggested, “talk to any of the other girls-- I bet a lot of them will find your offer more appealing.”

“I don’t wanna talk to them,” he frowned, “I wanna talk to you.  You’re interesting.”

“And they’re not?”

“I would never diss your sisters,” he raised his arms, “but you’re definitely my favorite Delta.”

“You have strange taste,” you shuddered.

“That I do,” he nodded wistfully, “that I do.”

~

You were cooped up in your room, surrounded by open text books and uncapped highlighters.  A final on Monday meant you needed to prepare all weekend.  You didn’t even look up when you heard a knock on your door; you just called out that it was open so they could come in.

“Good news!” Katie B. beamed as she popped her head around the door.  “Zeta invited us to a beach party tomorrow!”

“Why do you think that’s good news for me?” you wondered, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“Uh, because away events count for two night-time events in your attendance calendar?”

Ehh, you didn’t need to study all weekend, right?

~

Hoping to get your boost on your attendance record but disinterested in actually participating in any meaningful way, you decided you were going to tan, mainly because it utilized two of your greatest talents: laying down, and doing nothing.  After a hefty layer of sunscreen was applied to whatever your bikini didn’t cover, you settled in on the little rubbery chair with your over-sized sunglasses and some bluetooth earbuds to jam with.

The sun warmed your skin until you felt so relaxed that you honestly considered falling asleep.  Thankfully your earbuds blocked out the sounds of Zeta-Delta partying down the beach, even when the volleyball game got a little rowdy.  

Sadly, you were pulled from your relaxed state when a shadow blocked your sun, and you hesitantly opened your eyes behind the dark plastic of your shades.  Squinting, you saw his tattoo first, and you knew it was Chris come to taunt you.

“You’re blockin’ my rays, Evans,” you frowned.  

He spun the volleyball in his hands, smirking playfully.  “I came over here to ask if you wanted to play.  It’s shirts vs skins.”

“Let me guess, you always play skins?” you quipped, quickly scanning his muscled torso which was so cruelly exposed.  Did he have to look so good?  Did it have to remind you of the way those muscles flexed as he was thrusting--

“Unfortunately for me, I bet you always play shirts,” he chuckled, interrupting your train of thought just in time.  “If no volleyball, how about a swim?”

You pulled out your other earbud and put them back in their case, realizing he wasn’t going away any time soon.  “Chris, tell me, what is it that makes you think I want to be anywhere near you?  Seriously, tell me, so I can stop doing it.”

“Sure, right now you’re acting pretty icy,” he explained, kneeling down in the sand beside your chair, “but I remember when you couldn’t keep your hands off me… when you got on your knees for me…”

You wanted to interrupt him but your throat was suddenly too dry, and your thighs were clenching together.

“When you begged me not to stop…” he continued, leaning closer, his hand grabbing your knee suddenly, slowly trailing up your thigh.

“Chris,” you whispered, just under your breath-- but it turned into a gasp when his arms wrapped around you and he picked you up.  “Put me down!” you yelped.

“I think you need to cool off, babe,” he grinned.  “A little water might do the trick, huh?”

Your screams of protest were lost to the wind as he started running, effortlessly carrying you to the water’s edge.

Soon, he was knee-deep and you were pulling yourself up into him as you tried to avoid the water.  “I swear to god if you drop me,” you began.

“I won’t, okay?” he assured, slowly calming down as you let your legs hesitantly reach past the water’s surface.  It was cold at first, but then it was relaxing against your heated skin.

As he set you down in the water, his arms naturally slid to your waist, and yours to his shoulders.  And then you were looking up at him and it felt way too right.

“Um, the… the water feels great,” you mumbled.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a low, husky voice, “yeah, feels amazing.”

Those words in that voice brought back some specific memories.  

He was so much taller than you that when you were doggy-paddling to stay afloat, he could still walk somewhat normally.  But you didn’t expect him to walk behind you, or wrap his arms over your torso.

“Chris?” you gasped a bit.

“Shh,” he soothed, placing a soft kiss to your ear, then your neck, “you don’t want anyone to hear you.  Then they might look over and realize what we’re doing.”

His hand moved lower, over your stomach and finally to the top of your bikini bottoms.  You shivered, biting your lip as you tried to process everything that was happening.

“Tell me you want it,” he requested, his voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  “I know you do but, I need to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” you whimpered, “please.  Touch me.”

You felt his smile against your neck as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, instantly finding and teasing your clit.  Your hips bucked a little, disturbing the water around you.  He rubbed it so softly that you would’ve thought you wouldn’t be able to feel it at all, and yet somehow it was making your entire body jolt with pleasure.  

“Calm down baby,” he chuckled, “don’t act strange or somebody will see.  And we all know how much you want everyone to know that you want nothing to do with me.”

You whimpered a little, but realized that a small group of Deltas was about to walk by in the water.

“Act natural,” Chris instructed softly, knowing that the water would obscure what you were doing, but you’d forgotten what natural even meant.

“Hey guys,” Parvati smiled, and Gia waved at the two of you.

“Hello ladies,” Chris greeted back with a nod of acknowledgement; you sheepishly smiled and waved, trying to ignore the way Chris’ fingers were moving against you.

You figured they would question why you were sitting on Chris’ lap in the water, but they were oddly accepting of it.  Maybe they were just wondering what took you two so long.

The second the girls were out of earshot, swimming further into the water, Chris started moving his fingers even faster.  

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he chuckled darkly, “getting fingered in front of your friends.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” you defended.

“I distinctly remember you begging for it,” he teased, quickly pulling you a little lower into the water so he could grope your breast.  He reached under the triangle of your bikini to get a better feel of it, tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck, Chris,” you moaned softly.

“Feels good?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “so good, fuck…”

You instinctively tried to push his hand away as your orgasm approached-- it was too much, too strong, and you weren’t sure you could take it.  He’d learned to keep going anyways, otherwise you’d never get off.  And damn if you didn’t secretly love the way that he was too strong to push away.

“Go ahead,” he purred, “let go.  Come for me, babygirl.”

You bit down on your lip as the pleasure reached its peak and crashed, your body spasming as he held you close with his free arm.  “Chris, I’m coming,” you whimpered.

“I know baby, I know,” he groaned, “keep going.”

With his fingers still rubbing firm and fast on your clit, you honestly thought you could scream.  Instead, you grabbed his arm like your life depended on it, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“Stop, stopstopstop,” you pleaded for mercy, and he granted it as his hand slipped from your bikini bottoms.  “God, you wear me out,” you sighed with exhaustion.

“That’s the goal,” he smiled.  

You moved your hips back only to feel the hard shape of his cock pressing into your thigh; you grinned.

“Well, I should probably leave you to your volleyballing,” you announced, standing up and starting to walk away.

“Wh-- I can’t play like this!” he protested, noticeably staying crouched in the water-- you knew that with what he was packing, he had no chance of hiding his boner in those tight swim trunks.  Plus, when they were wet, they would probably cling to it so tight that little would be left to the imagination… why were you salivating all of a sudden?

“Just act natural!” you encouraged him as you continued to walk towards the shore.

[deiliamedlini]

Unmasked

This is for the ball/masquerade zelink prompt by @zelink-prompts !

Summary: When Princess Zelda’s older sister is betrothed to the Prince of Faron, Zelda sets out for information about the mystery man, only to find herself in a whirlwind romance with the handsome stranger she just keeps meeting. 

Expand at your own risk. The Word Count for this is 13,563. Or read at Ao3/FFN where it’s arguably easier to read

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kingdom of Hyrule was at peace.

That in and of itself was a rare thing. So, when King Rhoam Hyrule decreed that his daughter be married to a Prince of Faron, the kingdom was surprised. Such arranged marriages were often only performed during times of war and necessity. But Hyrule was a flourishing kingdom with little need for anything. Faron was smaller, but it was by no means poor or needing of Hyrule’s aid.

Thus, the speculation began.

Was Hyrule secretly in need? Was there an upcoming war? Was something wrong with the Princess herself?

That’s how Princess Zelda found herself sitting in the gardens with her sister, hands clasped as they awaited the arrival of the Faronian Prince and his mother who acted as his escort.

“Why is Father doing this?” Zelda asked, her grip on her sister tightening, afraid. “I don’t want you to go.”

And though the Prince would be arriving at any time within a few days, the wedding was still a long time away, and he and his mother were to be guests until then so they could learn about each other through a lengthy engagement. There were matters to be decided, such as whether the Prince and Princess would live in Faron or Hyrule, whose surname they’d each take, or if they’d change them at all.

Rae, Zelda’s older sister, pulled Zelda’s hand closer, bent over her entire arm, heaving with nerves, clutching to her sister like a lifeline. “I don’t know. This is all so sudden! I’m not even sure I’m ready! What if he’s cruel? What if, and pardon the Goddess for this thought, but what if he’s hideous?”

Princess Rae Hyrule, the oldest daughter of King Rhoam, had been inseparable from her younger sister since the day Zelda had been born. Though there were a few years difference between them, and Rae was nearing her mid-twenties while Zelda had just entered them, they spent most of their days together, hooked by the arm, laughing, crying, singing, reading, gossiping, or otherwise causing some level of mischief together.

Many affectionately called them the Twin Princesses. Not only were they close, but they looked very similar. Both had golden hair, though Zelda had let hers grow down her back and favored a practical braid each day if not tying it up and out of her face completely, Rae had cut her hair neatly above her shoulders. There was some discrepancy in their face shape, and Zelda boasted the most verdant green eyes while Rae had brilliant hazel eyes. But besides that, they were nearly twins.

When a feature didn’t match, it was mirrored. Rae often complained of new worry lines that had recently begun to crease on her forehead permanently, but she often teased Zelda for the deep creases that appeared just between her sister’s eyebrows anytime she made a disgruntled face. Zelda was taller, but Rae was more graceful when they walked. Rae was more politically minded, a genius of sorts whenever she sat in on council sessions, while Zelda was a born researcher, more apt with books and theory and logic than the manipulations of court intrigue..

Zelda patted her sister’s arm and wriggled herself free. “I’ll go see what I can find in town. You’re going to be watched far more than me until they arrive.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rae laughed, but it was forced and merely for her sister’s benefit. She stood up and brushed herself off.

Rae led Zelda back into the large palace, heading up the many grand staircases until they reached their rooms, both turning left down the hall to Zelda’s rather than right, to Rae’s room.

Rae flopped onto Zelda’s bed while Zelda rummaged through the closet, grabbing a dress that she’d hidden underneath the skirts of another that she never used. She pulled both off the hanger and replaced her decoy in the closet, changing as hastily as she could.

Zelda was no stranger to escaping the castle unnoticed. In fact, she did it so often that she had a hidden stash of items hidden in a hollowed-out tree just outside of town that she used for observational field studies. Rae had accompanied her once or twice, but it was often too difficult for her to escape the notice of guards for too long. But Zelda, the second child, was under far less scrutiny and managed much easier.

She donned a hooded cloak and her worn travelling boots. She undid her neatly braided hair, done perfectly by her lady’s maids, and redid the braid herself so it wasn’t nearly as pristine.

Both headed to one of the secret emergency exits that led from the castle and out into Hyrule Field. Rae gave her sister a kiss on the cheek before closing the door, off on a mission of her own to see what her favorite servants knew of this Faronian Prince.

Zelda, on the other hand, spent a long walk through the dark tunnel ruminating about the loss of her sister. They’d always been together, they spent most of their time together… what would she do without her?

Zelda crossed Hyrule Field wishing that there was something she could do to keep her sister with her. And she ended up lost in her thoughts as she walked along the path through a deeply wooded area that she’d been through many times before.

So, when she felt something hard crash into her, knocking her to the ground, she let out a surprised scream. Her mouth was covered by a hand, her scream muffled almost immediately as they both fell to the ground, rolling into the brush on the side of the road.

Zelda struggled to free herself, trying to scream and to break from the tight arms that held her down. She was a Princess of Hyrule, and she would not be mugged by a common thief in the woods outside of town! Her legs kicked, and the stranger threw his own leg over hers to stop her squirming.

But Zelda fell helplessly still when she saw that the man who’d crashed into her wasn’t the biggest threat.

Several large moblins thudded onto the path, banging their heavy clubs against the dirt. They each let out an enraged and frustrated scream, an inhuman noise that Zelda and Rae had attempted to imitate all their lives for fun, yet never came close to even a fragment of the actual terror they produced.

The man let go of her mouth, trusting that she knew not to scream now, and leaned over her to see through the thicket. His breath was rapid in her ear. She was sure he could feel her shaking. Never had she been this close to a moblin, let alone several.

The moblins turned towards them, and Zelda subconsciously cowed back into the man. He put a hand reassuringly on her arm, using the moment to get more of himself over her, like he was ready to jump out if he needed to.

After an endless moment of searching the area, the moblins grew bored as they realized that they’d lost their prey. Their weapons dragged in the dirt, leaving a thin line trailing behind.

One more moment to be sure, and the man let go of Zelda.

As soon as she was able, Zelda scrambled to her feet, brushing off her dress and checking her knee, revealing a scrape there and one on her palm.

The man followed her. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I didn’t realize someone else was on the path.”

Zelda looked up at him. He was stunning. His blue eyes pierced through the bright daylight, and his blonde hair reflected the sun. He was neatly dressed, if a bit disheveled from their tumble. And his accent… Zelda hated to admit that she swooned at the sound of his voice. Her first impression of him, the one where he’d collided with her, had been replaced by this true first impression: an apology, saving her, and his extremely good looks.

She cursed herself for thinking such shallow thoughts, but this was out of a storybook: a handsome man crashed into her so they could hide from moblins.

“That’s alright,” Zelda said, checking herself again. “I’d rather be knocked into a bush than killed by moblins.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, noticing her hand. There was a friction burn, red and irritated, though there was no cut skin.

“No, I’m alright. You?” She looked him over more thoroughly. He had a small knife on his belt, but that was all she could see for weapons. His hand was scuffed as well, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“What made them chase you?” Zelda asked, looking down the path.

“Got in their way. I almost forgot how territorial they are. Won’t be making that mistake again,” he chuckled. He brushed himself off and glanced at his palm before extending his hand. “I’m Link.”

Zelda grinned as he spoke. “You’re Faronian, right?”

He chuckled. “What gave me away: the overused name or the accent?”

“Both, I’m afraid.” Nearly every boy in Faron was named Link out of respect for the roots of the Hero. “I’m Z—” she froze. He might be Faronian, but she looked like the princess, she sounded like she was raised on a formal education, and she was named Zelda. He might put it all together. “I’m—Sh—Hil—uh—Tetra. Sorry, I’m stuttering. I’m Tetra.”

“Tetra? Good to meet you.” He looked her over once and then stared at the tree line. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember if I apologized or if I simply asked if you were okay. But I’m sorry for crashing into you.”

“No, you apologized.”

“Right, good.” He scratched his nose and nodded. “I’m heading into town, so…”

“Oh, so am I.”

His brows perked up. “Are you? Would you like an escort? We’re headed that way, and it might be strange to just silently walk in the same direction and pretend not to notice the other.”

Zelda giggled. He was red, and clearly nervous. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.” She started to walk and soon, they both fell into step beside each other.

“Any… exciting business in town?” Link asked awkwardly.

Zelda shook her head. “I’m just going to see what gossip I can catch up on. Your Prince is meant to be coming here soon, so I was curious if anyone knew more.”

“I do. Ask away.”

“Really?” Zelda asked, a smile creeping over her face.

“Of course.”

“Great!” Zelda cleared her throat and attempted to compose herself. “Sorry, I mean thank you. Do you know when he’s going to be here?”

“Tomorrow. He left several days ago and should be in time for the ball. His caravan with the Queen is less than a day outside the city, but they’re stopped. Looks like they’re just waiting out the night.”

“What does he even look like?”

“Like most Faronians, I suppose. Blonde, blue eyes. A swordsman in his spare time. A bit quiet, though. And short.”

Zelda turned suspiciously to him. “Short? Height-wise?”

“Yes. Though, rumor has it, he’s terribly self-conscious about it.”

“That’s what the public eye will get you: self- conscious thoughts, and doubts about everything.”

Link scoffed. “You speak as if you know.”

Zelda bit her lip and held out her arms. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? That someone always being stared at and judged will feel that internally.”

He hummed, content with that answer. “That’s true.”

They walked down the long path to town. “How exactly did you attract that many moblins?” she asked after a long stretch of silence.

“They recognize one of their own,” he chuckled.

Zelda shot him a bemused look.

“Like I said, they’re territorial… I just forgot where their territory was. Crossed into it and the rest is history.”

“You’re fortunate,” she said, looking him over. Besides the scrapes from their tumble, he looked entirely unharmed. “Moblins are also very aggressive.”

“They are. We don’t have quite as many of them in Faron, so I nearly forgot.”

“I’ve been seeing quite a few people from Faron coming into Hyrule lately,” Zelda noted. “Your Prince among them.”

“And Queen.”

“Not the King?”

“No. He hasn’t been in travelling condition for a while, so he’s handling things back home.”

The walk passed quickly with them both deep in conversation with the other. It was trivial chatter, but engaging and interesting none the less. Zelda realized that she liked this stranger and wasn’t eager to be parted from him just yet.

So, when they arrived in town, she hastily offered to show him around. He accepted, and she led him through the streets that she’d familiarized herself with, keeping her hooded cloak up and her head down, though she hadn’t been in public as Princess for some time.

They ate together at her favorite hole-in-the-wall location, The Lumpy Pumpkin, and Zelda learned that Link had the appetite of a starving man. He barely chewed his food, swallowing pieces nearly whole at times.

He still had table manners, which surprised her for someone eating so aggressively as Link did. She imagined his parents must have drilled it into his brain as a child for the to stick so subconsciously.

He’d apologized, but Zelda found it almost endearing.

They’d stayed at the table long after the food had gone, just so they could speak a little longer. He told her of home, and she gushed about Hyrule. He listened while she griped about the pressures her father was putting on her and her sister, while he understood every bit of it, feeling the same from his mother.

She’d gladly paid for both their meals—especially because he’d brought the wrong amount of Faronian rupees, forgetting the conversion rate. And when she sat at the table with him, both ready to part and go their separate ways, he hesitated.

“Would you… are you doing anything… specific?”

Zelda grinned. “No, I’m not. Are you?”

A bashful look spread over his face. “I… don’t have any plans. I was just… I was coming into town and… and I didn’t…” he cleared his throat and shook his head, starting over. “Would you like to join me?”

---

“And then he said, ‘Zelda, I’m in love with you.’”

“That’s not what happened!” Rae shouted, slamming her palm on the mattress.

Zelda giggled and pulled the blanket up higher to engulf her in a cocoon.

“This isn’t fair!” Rae pouted. “You got a fairytale day, and I get some prince that I now know a whole four things about.”

And it was true; Zelda and Link had spent the whole day together.

They’d gone to several stalls, and Zelda had pointed out landmarks that he seemed unfamiliar with. He’d told her of Faron, and she’d described other areas of Hyrule to him.

At one point, they’d both found their hands interlocked, though neither knew who’d initiated it. Still, she felt indulgent, and rather than pulling away, she kept hold of him.

And when it came time to separate, the moon was already high. He offered to walk her back home, but she’d declined, needing to keep that much a secret. Besides, she was right near the cave that led to the passage back home.

It was with huge regret that she’d let go of his hand.

“Are you going to see him again?” Rae asked eagerly.

“I don’t think so. He had to head back, and I obviously have the ball today, so I couldn’t ask to meet him.”

“You should have just asked him to the ball.”

“He thinks I’m Tetra, remember?”

“Well, Tetra,” Rae teased with a sigh, “We have to get ready, unfortunately.”

Zelda pushed the thoughts of the stranger from her mind. “Today, for just a few hours, we can hide behind our anonymity. Be happy.”

“You literally went into town, crashed into an attractive stranger, and didn’t have to wear a suffocating mask for no one to recognize you. You get two days.”

Zelda stuck out her tongue and slid out from the blankets, returning to her room to get dressed.

Laid out for Zelda was a long blue ballgown, intricate with the patterning, but otherwise not indicative of her royal status. A masquerade was meant to be a guessing game, after all. Her dress showed little besides her family’s wealth, which anyone attending the celebrations tonight most likely displayed anyway.

Her mask was a full-faced porcelain abstract representation of the pale moon. There were golden designs all along it, etched into the mask itself, and forming a halo over the top. Personally, she thought it looked a little too much like the sun. She’d had hers altered so the mask was cut off by the time it reached her mouth, allowing her the ability to breathe and eat unobstructed.

She was only wearing this mask because Rae was going to wear the blood moon mask, one very similar to her own but fashioned in red like her dress, and since they were sisters, they agreed that they had to match.

Zelda’s hair was loose and in deliberate waves, which she figured would be good because of how rarely she kept her normally pin straight hair down at public events.

The ball was later in the evening. Rae and Zelda stayed together in one of the castle’s libraries, their identities known only by a few of the servants who helped them get ready. They were to be fashionably late to the party, that way no one would be able to assume that the hosts were among the first guests.

“You may enter now,” one of the ladies said, peeking her head into the library.

Rae pulled Zelda by the hand and linked their arms tightly together. “If you find someone who may be the Prince, you’ll have to let me know!”

“And if you find someone who can take my mind off Link, you let me know.”

Rae grinned and pulled her mask down. “My baby sister’s growing up.”

“Shut up.”

They could hear the music and the echo of chatter long before they reached the grand ballroom. They were led in through a casual door on the side, meant to avoid any grand entrance.

And so, they melded seamlessly into the crowd, still clutching the others’ arm to navigate without being separated. They were knocked into several times, which—while annoying—was almost refreshing. They were so used to the space that was given to them for their titles.

Zelda giggled as she took in all the incredible colors, bright and vibrant and intense. There were masks on every face, including those serving the food and drinks and entertainment. While the ballroom floor was packed and occupied, there were dancers off in the corners, there were performers in far more eccentric clothes standing in designated areas doing tricks.

Brushing past a woman in a white dress, Zelda pulled Rae to slow her down to avoid spilling the woman’s wine. She looked up and giggled harder. This was Lady Impa. Her mask went around her eyes, but hid no other part of her face. Zelda wondered how that was meant to accomplish any level of anonymity. But knowing Lady Impa, she probably wanted to be recognized, hence her choice.

Rae let go of Zelda once they were in the center of the room watching dancers spin with elegant grace. Dresses swished with the movement, almost giving off an ethereal quality to their motions as fabric seemingly moved without prompting.

The men were just as intriguing as the women, however. Lavish and outrageous colors were expected, so the typical boring, dull colors she was used to during a normal event were nowhere to be found.

Ducking, Zelda let go of Rae to avoid a rather large mask that stuck straight out like the snout of a Moblin. They giggled together before moving away.

Then, a man was in front of them, stepping backwards. And they walked straight into him.

“Oh! Forgive me!” Rae said, pushing Zelda back a bit as she grabbed the man’s arm apologetically before letting go.

He bowed his head. It had Zelda’s heart spike that they’d already been recognized, but quickly remembered that was just a typical greeting. “No, forgive me,” he said in a Hylian accent. Not the prince. “I just moved into the middle of this walkway. The fault is mine.”

Rae shook her head and went to reach for Zelda again when the man took a step forward.

“Would you be interested in an apology dance?”

Her hand froze in the air between her and Zelda. “Uh…” She glanced behind her and Zelda smiled, stepping back to give Rae some space. “Yes, a mutual apology then.”

The man held his hand out for Rae, and she took it as they walked onto the dancefloor.

Rae shot Zelda an excited smile before disappearing into the crowd of bodies.

And that’s where she stayed for three songs.

Zelda stayed on the edge of the floor, watching Rae twirl with unbridled grace as, dance after dance, a new partner replaced the last.

She felt a twinge of jealousy and embarrassment, as no one was asking her. She was so clearly alone and watching the dances. And a hit to her self-confidence had her wondering if the only reason people were ever interested in striking up a conversation with her was because she was a Princess of Hyrule.

It was that realization that had Zelda needing air.

She doubled away from the dance floor, pushing her way through the crowd. She needed privacy for a moment. She needed this stupid mask off just so she could breathe, but the ballroom was so crowded. There was no space. There was no room. There was no air.

She picked up the pace once she was out of the congested area, nearing a jog just to get away from this room of strangers.

And crashed directly into a man.

She heard him grunt, but that was all she could process before they both tumbled to the ground. She was on top of him, and a new level of embarrassment flooded her as she crawled off him, helped by a servant who’d seen the whole thing. He pulled the man to his feet as well before a wave of panicked hysteria burst from Zelda’s lips.

“I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to… are you hurt? I wasn’t paying any attention, Goddess, that’s… I’m sorry! It was so crowded in there and I need to get out and then I get over here where there’s one person, and I run into you like a stampeding herd of animals. I’m so sorr—”

“Tetra?”

Zelda froze, stopping mid-sentence. There was only one person she’d used that name with.

She was finally able to take him in: he was wearing a green and gold ensemble, an expensive one. It almost looked like it was decidedly more embellished and expensive than hers. And his mask was a green dragon, Farosh. It jutted out over his face a bit for the dragon’s nose, and it fell into a point in the back, like a tail or a pointy hat.

“Link?”

He smiled, his mouth, part of his nose, and his eyes visible under his mask. “Yes.”

Zelda gasped and took a step back. “I… why are you here?”

“Why are you?”

Zelda stuttered and pointed dumbly to the ballroom, lost for words. The stranger from yesterday. Of all the thousands of people in that room, that great, packed room with several balconies just as crowded… of all those people, she ran into the one man she’d met yesterday, and the one man she’d tried all night to forget.

Because who’d ever expect to find the perfect stranger again in this lifetime?

Not Zelda. Not here. Not on the one day everyone’s face was hidden.

“I’m… I’m at the ball.”

He chuckled and pulled her off to the side, out of someone’s way as they walked through to another room. “Yes, so am I.”

“Right, but why?”

“Do you think it’s a bad thing that I’m here?”

“No!” she said too hastily. “I mean, it’s unexpected, but certainly not bad.”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admitted, adjusting his mask. “I’m glad the gods proved me wrong, tonight of all nights.”

“What’s special about tonight?”

She swore she could see him raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, a ball, for one. But really, it’s more than that. Now that I’m here in Hyrule, my life is going to change, and this is my last great goodbye to my old life, I suppose.”

“Why is your life changing?”

“Well, the very act of moving here, for one,” he said simply. But he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, you were rushing off somewhere. Am I keeping you?”

“No! Not at all. I needed to get out of that crowd for a moment. I was… well, no. It’s so stupid, now that I think about it.”

“What?”

“I was just… people were dancing with my sister, and I wasn’t… I just… I don’t know. I suppose I’m used to people asking me to dance, and I sort of spiraled. These events are so easy to be consumed by.”

“Do you come here often?” he said with a crooked grin.

Zelda rolled her eyes. “Yes, actually. I… work here.” Not a lie. Princess of Hyrule was her job.

He hummed and cleared his throat. “You do?”

If Zelda didn’t know better, she’d say his voice cracked with nerves. “Yes.”

A vein in his neck bulged and he swallowed hard, quick to change the subject. “Why didn’t you just ask someone beside you to dance? I’m sure there was a partner who’d have obliged you.”

She turned to him and shook her head. “I’ve never asked someone. It’s just not something I’ve had to do.” She groaned. “That sounds so shallow of me.”

“Well, it’s the curse of frequenting a ballroom. People ask people they find attractive to dance.” His smile turned mischievous. “And while we’re on that subject, are you still eager to get away from the crowd, or would you honor me with a dance?”

Zelda was grateful for the mask covering her face, though she could feel everything heating up, and knew her neck had to be turning red if her cheeks were this flushed. “I would like that. But only if you tell me what you’re doing here as well. I told you why I’m here.”

Link offered her his arm. “Fair deal.”

She took it and they made their way back into the crowd. It was much too loud to have a normal conversation, so Zelda simply clung to Link’s arm as they pushed through the packed room, being jostled and elbowed, but their arms kept them from being separated in such a large area.

The previous song was ending, and they hurried to make it into place on the floor before the next could begin. Here, with some breathing room, it was easier to speak to one another.

“Do you know how to dance?” she asked.

And her heart skipped slightly when the music softly gathered, starting the tune to a familiar waltz, and she was answered by a wink.

He bowed to her, as every partner did, and she curtseyed back before Link moved in front of her again. His hand wrapped under her arm and rested perfectly on her back while he took her other hand in his.

Well, he knew how to stand, if nothing else.

And then they were spinning.

Zelda needed no help keeping up with this dance, as it was one she knew well, but she could feel Link’s hand on her back was tight and assured as he led her through a twirl before catching her again and resuming their easy 1, 2, 3 spinning with the entire group.

“Do I know how to dance,” he jokingly mocked into her ear when they returned together.

They stopped with the group and reversed directions, spinning fast and tight in the process. Link held her closer, and Zelda could barely breathe.

“Your hold is wrong now,” she managed to breathe out, despite how her stomach was being brutally assaulted with an onslaught of nervous butterflies desperately trying to find their way out of her.

He cocked his head, an attitude that she almost expected. “I know. I wanted you closer. Is that okay?”

She felt like she was just going to die. He was so unapologetic about his flirting, and each time he spoke, her heart beat faster than it already was. “Only if you finally answer my question.”

He nodded and Zelda spun out away from him before returning again. “I’m travelling with the Queen of Faron. Believe it or not, I am actually used to this sort of dancing as well.”

Once she was satisfied with an answer, she adjusted her hold on him so she was closer as well, their masks touching. “My surprise stems from you and I meeting while you were being chased by a hoard of moblins. That doesn’t seem much like someone travelling with a Queen. Are you a knight, then?”

He hesitated before nodding. “I am, yes.”

His hands were on her waist and he lifted her as they spun before setting her back on the dancefloor.

“You know,” he said when they were close again, “you and I are even now.”

“How so?”

“Well, I crashed into you yesterday, and you crashed into me today.”

Zelda chuckled. “True, I suppose. I am sorry, though. Did I hurt you?”

“I’ve taken far worse hits, believe me. Besides, I’m rarely graced with the run-in of a lifetime with a stranger I haven’t stopped thinking about.”

This time, they both missed their cue for a twirl, and Zelda’s grip tightened on him again. “Is that so?” He nodded and Zelda swallowed her nerves. “I feel the same. Though I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“I used a fake name.” She shrugged. “You were a stranger, and I didn’t know you. And I was afraid you might know me if I said my name.”

Link didn’t so much as blink. “I can understand that. Though, I’m Faronian, and I can’t say I know the names of anyone who works here. May I know your real name, then? After a full day and a dance together, I’d say we’re hardly strangers.”

“We most certainly are still strangers. Close strangers, but strangers nonetheless,” she said, her hand so high up on his shoulder that her fingers could play with some of the loose hairs by his neck that had fallen from his low ponytail.

He arched into her at her touch and the front of their masks were touching again. “Is this how you treat strangers?”

“Only close strangers,” Zelda laughed. “My father wanted to name me after the late Queen to honor her.”

“So… Zelda?”

She nodded and hid her face by looking away, hoping she hadn’t given away too much. She’d truly told him very few lies, if any other than her name. Everything else just took some imagination to catch her true meaning.

“Zelda then,” he whispered just as the music ended.

It took far longer than it should have to let go of each other to clap for the orchestra. There was a brief pause for new dancers to join, old ones to leave, and for partners to change.

Zelda caught a glimpse of red looking her way, and squinted to make out the mask similar to hers. Rae was pushing her way through to see what was happening.

“Excuse me,” a new male voice said. Zelda turned, and it was the man from earlier, the one that Rae left to dance with.

“Yes?”

“We met earlier, and I danced with your friend as an apology for my clumsiness. I’d like to apologize to you as well.” He held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.

Zelda glanced behind her at Link. He was looking away, pretending to be interested in something else.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently as she turned back to the man. “I was just about to ask my partner for another dance.”

Link’s attention snapped back to her in surprise.

“Would you care for another dance, Sir Knight?”

His mouth fell open and a bashful grin spread along his face, his lips telling the entire story, despite the joyful squint in his eyes. “Yes, very much so.”

Zelda took Link’s hand and turned to the man. “Thank you for the offer, and I do accept your apology, though I don’t believe I have anything to forgive. Have a goodnight, sir.”

He looked shocked by her declining him, but he nodded, bowed, and left them alone.

There was still no music yet, so Link and Zelda stayed together, waiting to hear what it would be.

Link fixed the cuff on his sleeve, needing something to fidget with. “You’re a fast learner, for someone who’s never asked someone else to dance. I’d understand if it was just to get that man away though. I‘m quite good at sneaking off a dance floor, if you need me to.”

“No; I want to dance if you want to.”

His tongue snaked out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “Yes, of course.”

“It’s bad form to dance with the same partner in a row. I’d understand if you wanted out.”

“Not at all. And that’s a stupid rule for nobles and royals who’s faces are on display and everyone is watching them. That rule is moot when we are free behind these masks of anonymity.”

Zelda giggled. “Well, you certainly go to too many of these as well, don’t you?”

“Far more than you know.”

The orchestra played a few notes, and it signaled the dance. Zelda let go of Link, letting her fingers linger in his before heading to the other side of the dance floor.

Where she was accosted by a blood red moon.

“You’re dancing with him again?”

“Rae,” Zelda hissed, her voice the lowest whisper as she held her tight. “That’s the man from yesterday! Link!”

“Oh Goddess! How? Goddess, what?” Rae looked up at him before letting go of Zelda. “Nevermind! Go! Go!”

Zelda took her place in the line just a few away from her sister. Link followed her and took his place on his side.

This time, Zelda bowed first, and then Link. This dance was far more choreographed, and it took years of practice. She waited to see if he’d back out when he realized what it was—if he realized.

But he stepped in time with the music, matching each step perfectly, watching her all the while. His blue eyes pierced into her from where he stood, and she nearly forgot to move when it was her turn.

But they met in the middle, a fancy movement of their wrist led their hands to be pressed together as they spun.

“Is the one with the identical mask the sister you were telling me about?”

Zelda cleared her throat, praying, praying that he didn’t figure her and Rae out. But plenty of people had sisters. “Yes, she is.”

He hummed. “I’ve always wanted a sibling. No matter what anyone said, my mother always said she only wanted me.”

“What did ‘anyone’ say?” Zelda asked, intrigued by his choice in words.

He tensed and they separated for a while, stuck doing a few moves with another partner before they spun back together.

“My grandparents, specifically, wanted her to have more children. I don’t know, siblings seem like fun though, so as a young boy I always asked her to casually alter her entire life just to appease me and have more, you know?”

“I’m not surprised you failed,” Zelda laughed.

“No, neither am I.”

Zelda stepped to the side and their arms were intertwined as they moved. “My sister had a whole five years without me before I cam barreling into the picture. I was a terrible baby, apparently. I cried often.”

“Speaking from experience, you seem like a very welcome disruption to one’s life, regardless of your barreling in. And knocking someone over.”

“We’re even for that!” Zelda laughed, but her cheeks heated up all the same.

And so, they spent several more songs together, chatting about anything that came to mind whenever they were close enough to hear the other. Zelda turned down several more potential partners in favor of Link.

Rae occasionally managed to make eye contact, offering excited encouragement to keep going while she accepted every dance that came her way.

Zelda, though she could have kept going, pulled Link with her when the music ended. He happily complied, holding her hand with a tight nervous energy, despite the entire time they’d just spent in each other’s arms on the dance floor.

She led him through the crowd and out into the hallway before opening the large door to an abandoned balcony.

Tilting her face into the night breeze, and lit only by the light in the hallway inside, Zelda shook her head in disbelief. “You and I found each other two days in a row in two of the most unrelated places. Do you think it was the Goddess’ plan?”

“In Faron, we have the four gods, not the Goddess, but I believe it might have been their design. A rather strange one, though. I’m on a path where you and I are unlikely to see anything further than what we’ve had for the past few days.”

Zelda knew that feeling all too well. “Yes, I fear the same can be said for me as well.”

He looked at her curiously. “Is that so?”

She smiled sadly. “What’s your secret, Link?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “If we meet again tomorrow, I swear on the gods that I will tell you my biggest secret. But tonight, I just want to be the knight wearing the mask of Farosh before that too is over. And after that spiel, I gather I can’t ask you what your secret is?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he conceded with a smile before he leaned against a pillar that blocked him from view of the door. It offered just a bit more darkness so he could look up at the stars. “The view from this castle is incredible. You can see town, the gardens, and the stars.”

Zelda joined him, leaving no room between them. Link didn’t seem to mind, and instead snaked his hand into hers.

“What’s the view from your home then?”

“Trees. The Faron Woods are just outside my window, and they’re massive. There’s no seeing the end.”

He adjusted his arm against the pillar so he was facing her instead, his hand running confusing but pleasant patterns along hers.

She turned to him, her brows scrunched, though he couldn’t see that. But her confusion disappeared when his blue eyes cast down on her lips and then back up. He leaned forward a bit and then waited.

Zelda barely managed to make her short-circuiting brain work long enough to nod.

Now, Zelda had been kissed before. She’d been kissed many times, in fact. Sometimes, it was from a presumptuous suitor. Sometimes, from the boy who worked in the kitchens she’d taken to for a time. Sometimes it was on the hand, and sometimes the cheek. Sometimes, even the lips.

So she was not unfamiliar with what to do. But Link, especially after what might have been hours on the dance floor, had her stomach in knots in ways that hadn’t been quite so powerful before.

Though they were perfect strangers who’d spent all of two days together—less even— though she felt like she’d known him forever.

He’d confessed he was hiding things from her. She said the same. She’d admitted that for a full day, he’d thought her name was something else. None of it phased the other. Perhaps it should have, but Zelda wanted this one night, and so did her, and who was she to ruin something perfectly good?

Link’s lips brushed hers, but they both immediately started to laugh as their masks bumped the other, keeping them at an odd angle that was both uncomfortable, and ill advised for a proper kiss.

“I’d kind of hoped the mask wouldn’t get in the way,” he admitted, tapping the large snout of his mask that hadn’t been a bother while dancing. But of course, now everything wanted to be in the way.

“We know what the other looks like. We can just take them off.”

Link hesitated again and turned to the door, despite them being hidden from it. “How private is this balcony?”

Zelda made a face. She hadn’t thought of someone walking in and seeing the Princess of Hyrule sticking her tongue down some strange man’s throat. She was glad he thought of it, for whatever reason.

But she was only allowed this night, and she wanted whatever she was allowed.

“We’re at a party with thousands of people all looking for a place to breathe. There’s some risk that someone will come out here.”

He nodded and took a breath before undoing the clasp behind his head and pulling his mask off, setting it on the ground. He was just as stunning as Zelda remembered from yesterday, though she wasn’t hesitant to admit that she somehow found herself more attracted after learning more about him.

She pulled hers off and set it beside his.

He took a deep breath and his eyes trailed all along her face, studying her fine features. She realized rather quickly that she was doing the same to him.

He chuckled. “I must have a line on my face from that thing. It was pressing down on me a bit.”

Zelda nodded and let the tip of her finger trace the deep indent in his skin, just under his eyes that went along the length of his face. Her nail tickled him, but he leaned into her until their foreheads were touching, finally unobstructed.

Zelda let her hand run the rest of the way down his face, trailing down his jaw, his neck, and his collarbone before sliding back up to wrap her arm over his shoulder, leaving just enough leeway so she could toy with his hair again. His eyes widened as he watched her, and Zelda realized that she could no longer see the piercing blue poking through. She could see and feel him breathing heavily, and it seemed that nervousness had taken over him, because he couldn’t move.

While, in fact, the opposite happened to Zelda.

She felt a rush of energy and bravery and kissed him.

It seemed that Link needed the push over the edge, because he recovered from his shock immediately, kissing her back with twice as much vigor.

If Zelda thought her chest was going to explode before, it’s because she’d never even imagined being outside on a balcony, her face exposed, being kissed as she’d never been before.

Her body was on fire, and not even the cool night breeze could cool her down. She was desperate, desperate for this stranger who didn’t know who she was. Desperate for this man that she’d come to like. Desperate for this feeling that she knew she’d become addicted to if she had it for too long.

They both pulled back for air before clashing again in the middle. This time, neither needed much prodding for it to go from passionate to a sloppy indulgence. It was tongues and teeth and clinging to the other just a little too hard, like letting go meant something far worse than distance. It was Link pulling away, leaving her lips cold before feeling his on her jaw and her neck over her racing pulse. It was her hand in his hair, and his gasp into her skin when she tightened her hold on him.

It was… a lot.

Zelda wasn’t one to keep track of time. She often wandered around town well past the time she knew her ladies would check on her at night. She’d been known to forget dinner and spend the time in the library. She’d once assumed it to be the wrong day, and she missed her father’s birthday, though Rae had bailed her out with a spare gift.

So for Zelda to be acutely aware of every second that passed, intent on drawing them all out as long as she could, it was a miracle. She didn’t intend to lose even a second of this time with Link before it was ripped away by the limitations of her title.

The only thing that could take her out of the moment now was—

“Zelda?” It was Rae’s voice. “You still out here? I saw—oh!”

Zelda broke away from Link’s lips and covered her mouth, as if that could hide what Rae had just clearly witnessed, and she squeaked out a sound.

Link turned his face away quickly, using Zelda almost as a shield to stay behind so as little of him showed as possible.

“Don’t worry, Link,” she said, chest heaving still as she patted him on the arm. “It’s just my sister.”

Rae bit her lip to try to fight back a smile. But she couldn’t hold her tongue. “So this is the dragon you’ve been dancing with all night?”

He finally turned to Rae and offered an embarrassed smile before holding out his hand. “Link.”

“Pleasure,” she said taking it with a firm shake, carefully avoiding her name. “Faronian accent? Is this the guy from yesterday, too?”

Zelda thought she’d been burning before, but now she was an inferno. She turned to walk away, but only crashed into Link without anywhere to go.

“You told your sister about me?” he asked smugly.

“Oh, she did,” Rae teased, knowing full well that Zelda already said this was the man from yesterday.

“Shut up!” Zelda hissed, though she felt Link’s hand reassuringly on her. He wasn’t weirded out by this embarrassing revelation, and that made Zelda feel only marginally better.

Rae’s smile faltered. “While I wholly support… whatever this is… you’re out here in the open, and father was just asking where you went. You’re lucky I saw you come this way before, and not him.”

Zelda shuddered at the thought and bent down to retrieve her and Link’s masks. He took his, but it wasn’t without regret, like their initial parting the night before.

“I should find my father. Let him know that I’m still around and see what he wants.”

“I should show my face to the Queen, lest she get the same idea to look for me.”

Zelda nodded, fiddling with her mask still. She turned to Rae. “I’ll be right inside in a second.”

Rae smirked and spun on her heel to wait in the hallway.

Which allowed Zelda and Link a final stolen moment.

Their kiss this time was soft and unhurried, but it was filled with a different kind of desperation than before. This was a goodbye, and they both knew it.

“Gods,” he whispered when they broke apart, though he didn’t move away. “I hate this.”

“Didn’t seem that way,” Zelda joked.

He shook his head, unable to find amusement. “Perhaps we can meet out here one more time before the night is up?”

“I’d like that.” She kissed him quickly once more and forced herself to don her mask once again. “After the second bell?”

“Has the first already rung?” he asked with a chuckle.

The bells signaled a break for the orchestra, and left a replacement in their wake to provide background music. The first was the start of their break. The second signaled their return, when more people were back on the dance floor again.

“No, unfortunately, I don’t believe I heard it.”

“Damn,” he muttered, running his hand along the exposed part of her face before nodding. “Second bell then.”

“Okay,” she grinned before regretfully letting go of his hand as she made her way back into the hallway to Rae. She glanced behind her, and saw him leaning against the pillar, watching her with a smile before she left.

“Goddess, tell me everything!” Rae hissed, locking Zelda in place beside her with a looped arm.

Zelda recounted some of the night as they walked, such as Link’s presence with the Faronian royals, but she stopped as soon as they stood in front of their father.

“Where have you been?” he asked Zelda. “Come with me, both of you.”

Zelda glanced at Rae, but she shrugged, unsure what was going on.

Their father led them into the library that they’d been waiting in earlier, and he sat down. They followed suit, though they still didn’t know why. But they knew their father: no amount of prompting would have him speaking if he didn’t want to.

Zelda was no longer with Link, and once again, time blurred. She listened carefully for the bells, and when she heard the first one, she began to panic. She had plenty of time, but even the thought of missing her final meeting with Link had her on edge.

But someone entered the library. “They are ready, Majesty.”

“Good.”

“Who?” Rae asked.

And to their blessings, he responded. “The Queen and the Prince of Faron. We’ve decided to move up the official announcement of your engagement to tonight while we have everyone here.”

“What?” Rae balked, grabbing for Zelda’s hand. Her grip was a vice, and she shook like a leaf.

“Yes, she and I decided. We’re making the announcement now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, so you wouldn’t have too much time to get worked up. Keep your mask on for now.”

“Then people will know who we are,” Zelda said, hesitating.

“They’d know from your dresses as well. You’re the royal family of Hyrule. Sometimes, you have to make a sacrifice for the family or for the kingdom.”

“Oh Goddess,” Rae choked out, holding Zelda for dear life as she struggled to stand, nerves and fear washing over her in waves.

“I’ve got you,” Zelda whispered, holding her sister tighter still, though some of that was nerves of her own. Link was about to find out her lie. And she’d really wished he didn’t have to find out this way. Their secret meeting couldn’t happen now. People would swarm her for another dance, or follow her for a conversation. Her guards would have to be on her more closely. This announcement turned a fairytale into a nightmare.

“Compose yourself. We’re going out there.” The King wore a mask of a Red Lion, one that obscured his entire face, yet somehow didn’t disguise him in the slightest.

Rae took deep breaths and pulled Zelda close before they made their way out into the hall to wait for the signal to move onto a short balcony overlooking the ballroom that was in such a place that it commanded attention when there were people on it.

Finally, the signal was given and the three of them stepped up into the light, standing at the railing so their hands were hidden, and Rae could hold Zelda as tightly as she wanted with no one noticing.

Their father held up his hand and the music stopped, and the room quieted.

“My people, I would like to first take this opportunity to thank you for coming here tonight for this masquerade celebration. And I do not seek to keep you from it for long. But as many of you already know, Princess Rae of Hyrule is set to marry the Prince of Faron. And today, they have arrived. We will begin a new era with our two kingdoms connected through their upcoming marriage as we celebrate this continued time of peace and prosperity!”

Rae tried not to look sick, but the thudding echo of heels on stairs had her turning to watch as the Queen of Faron ascended the back steps. She wore a deep, forest green gown and a Lizafols mask.

Rae and Zelda held their breaths. Because Rae’s fiancée was close behind.

And slowly, he came into view. He wore a…

Farosh.

A green and gold outfit.

Piercing blue eyes.

This time, it was Zelda who clung to Rae, both wide eyed in horror, both in pain from how hard they were gripping each other.

“Oh Goddess,” Zelda said, nearly throwing up as she did.

“Oh no,” Rae hissed, pulling her sister closer.

And the Prince stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the twin moon masks staring back at him.

“Oh gods…” he breathed, stopping in his tracks as his eyes met Zelda’s.

“Link, come on,” his mother whispered, urging him forward to stand beside her. Tentatively, he managed.

The King shook the Queen’s hand, and they turned out to the applauding crowd below. Both took off their masks, and signaled for their children to do the same.

Zelda’s hand shook as she pulled off her mask, praying, begging that the Prince just had the same exact intricate mask and outfit as Link.

Goddess, all the signs were there. In the same way that she kept slipping with the hints about her identity, he’d been doing the same, and she hadn’t even considered the possibility long enough to notice.

But taking off the mask revealed the blonde hair that she’d just had her hands in, the blue eyes that she’d just been staring into for the past few days, staring right back at her.

His mouth was hanging open, and he shook his head slightly, though she couldn’t reason out his meaning. Perhaps there was no meaning. Perhaps he was just in as much shock as she was.

“Link?”

“Rae.”

Both monarchs called their children up to the center.

If there was one thing that had been drilled into each of their minds since their very birth, it was that they needed to show no emotion, and to hold it in as much as possible. So, without charm or grace, without fear or anxiety, they wore a new mask of stone as they approached the other.

Link bowed stiffly, and Rae curtseyed. They took each other’s hand in solidarity for the sake of the crowd. Rae would later say that both their hands were covered in sweat, and that they could barely touch the other without an awkward mix of sticking and slipping right out of the other’s grasp.

“Please, continue to enjoy the celebrations! And may peace live in Hyrule forever.”

The moment the King gave the signal, Rae let go of Link and ran over to Zelda, pulling her from the balcony.

But there was someone on their tail.

“Zelda, I didn’t know!”

She stopped and closed her eyes before turning to him.

“That doesn’t make this any better, Link. Your Highness.”

Link’s eyes narrowed. “And you, Your Majesty. I never asked for a betrothal. I never asked for any of this. Not that your sister doesn’t seem like a fantastic person,” he added, giving her an apologetic look.

“No offense taken,” Rae said. “Let me talk to Father, Zelda. You’re a Princess as well. Perhaps you can take my place in this arrangement.”

“Marriage?” Zelda said, running her hands through her hair. “While yes, I most assuredly have developed feelings for this man in the past two days, I would hardly say I would like to drag him with me to an altar!”

“It’s a long engagement. Let me talk to him.” Rae tried to smile at Link, but it was forced. “I can’t marry you knowing my sister’s feelings.”

Link couldn’t find the words to speak. But he watched Rae turn to her father and his mother as they descended the stairs together.

“Father,” she said quickly. “I cannot marry Link.”

The King rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

“No, no, the circumstances have changed. Could Zelda not take my place?”

“No,” he said bluntly, looking between his children. “What’s going on? What are you trying to pull?”

But it wasn’t Rae who answered.

Link’s mother narrowed her eyes on her son. “This is where you came yesterday, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said quickly. His eyes flashed to Zelda.

Everyone was quiet, trying to carefully phrase their words so no one was in undue trouble.

“I snuck out yesterday,” Zelda admitted, the silence crushing until one of them said something.

“As did I,” Link said. “We ran into each other, literally, and spent the day together.”

The Queen scoffed. “Is that all? You don’t want to marry Princess Rae because you spent one day running through the markets with Princess Zelda? Link, your position requires sacrifice. Your feelings are one of those sacrifices.”

That was familiar.

“Today as well,” Zelda added, taking a step closer to Link.

“Two days?” the King laughed. “You’re a child still, Zelda. One day you will learn to prioritize. Today is not that day. Link will marry Rae, they will learn to love each other, and these past few days with Link will fade from both your memories. I can even find you a suitor to speed along the process.”

“No!” she gasped in panic.

“This is settled, everyone. If we change it, we look like fools. Now, Rae, Link, get out there and share a dance. There’s no negotiating. The second bell is about to ring. Go.”

Link reached out and grabbed Zelda’s hand, his mouth open to speak. Not a second later, his mother walked between them and broke his hold. “Go, Link.”

Zelda felt a hand on her shoulder as everyone sulked out of the room.

“I have always told you to guard your heart carefully. This is why, Zelda.” Her father pulled her close for a hug, but she couldn’t bring herself to return it. “I wish neither of you had to do this, but you’re royals. I made the sacrifice. Your mother, too. We all did.”

“I don’t feel well. I’d like to go to my room.”

His grasp on her shoulder tightened. “We will watch their dance together, and then you may go. But you need to see. This is inevitable.”

“Please, don’t make me.”

“Come.”

Zelda felt dizzy as she watched Rae and Link, and it was not the same kind that she’d felt while she was up there spinning with him. And while they clearly knew each step—another blatantly obvious sign that Zelda should have picked up on—they were simply going through the motions. Zelda smirked ruefully. They were doing a good job of making others feel uncomfortable watching their forced moment, if nothing else.

The moment the dance was over, Zelda pulled herself free of her father and left the ballroom, hurrying upstairs to her chambers.

Slamming the door and throwing the mask to the ground, Zelda peeled the dress off of her and kicked her shoes off her feet and into a wall before crawling under the blanket and letting herself feel her frustrated tears.

If she hadn’t snuck out yesterday… if she hadn’t crashed into Link today… none of this would be happening. Rae and Link would have met as true strangers, and Zelda wouldn’t feel anything.

The knock at her door made her wish she’d locked it before crashing into her bed, because when Rae pushed the door open, Zelda didn’t want to talk.

Rae took in the shoes across the room, the dress fanned out on the floor, the discarded mask. She took off her own and set it on the desk before crawling into the bed behind Zelda, pushing her own red dress out of the way.

“We’ll figure something out.”

Zelda shook her head, resolving herself to watching Link with her sister every day for the rest of their lives.

“Zelda, please.”

“I can’t. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Rae said, getting up. “You know where to find me.”

After a long time alone with her thoughts, Zelda slid out of bed and glanced out at the night sky. It was past midnight.

With renewed energy, she cleaned her room, setting the dress aside for her ladies in the morning with the shoes nearly beside the chair and set her mask on it. Then, she dressed in something simple: some pants and a loose shirt. She slid into far more comfortable flat shoes and made for the gardens.

But before she knew it, she’d taken a wrong turn and her feet unwittingly brought her to the guest wing instead.

She’d known which rooms were designated for the Prince and for the Queen and for their staff. She’d helped pick them out with Rae. So it didn’t surprise Zelda to find herself in front of Link’s room. What did surprise her was finding her hand raised, ready to knock.

“Stupid,” she muttered, lowering her hand.

And the door opened.

Zelda stared at Link in surprise, wondering if she had accidently knocked without realizing it.

“Zelda?” he gasped in surprise. “Are you alright?”

She looked at him. He was dressed in more casual clothes as well, shoes on, ready to leave for somewhere.

“I was headed to the garden and… I don’t know… I ended up coming here instead.”

“I was headed to the garden as well.”

She suddenly didn’t want to go. “Do you have a moment before you do?” she asked, making it clear that she was no longer going.

“Yes, of course,” he said, stepping aside.

She walked into his room as if she’d never been inside. Something about him being in there had changed the way the room felt. His own things were hung over a room dividing panel, his bags opened and his clothes scattered around, likely him looking for something to wear outside in a hurry. His crown neatly on a dresser.

“Sorry,” he said hastily, throwing his things back into the bag. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

Zelda took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you about Rae. Things she’ll never tell you herself.”

“Zelda, don’t.”

“She’s a beautiful person. Everything about her is good, but she’s mischievous. She helped me sneak out the other day, so she likes that sort of thing.”

“Zelda… please…”

“And she’s stubborn. She can hold a grudge when she wants to. But there’s a really simple way around that if you don’t want to stay mad at her. Just give her a gift. Any thoughtful gift, and she’s over it almost immediately. She would never say she likes receiving presents, but she does.”

“Stop, Zelda.”

“You should get her a flower. She loves flowers, especially amaranth. The purple are her favorite. That’s not the flower I’d pick, but it’s her favorite.”

“What’s yours?”

Zelda stopped. “My… what?”

“Favorite flower? You said that’s not the flower you’d pick. What would you pick?”

“I’m not telling you that,” she said, starting to pace.

“A daisy? Violets? Saffina? Maybe you’re a nightshade person. Lillies? Sunflowers?”

“Silent princesses,” she snapped, spinning on him. She rolled her eyes at his smug expression. “Don’t look at me like that. Just get my sister some flowers tomorrow.”

“You came here to tell me that?”

Zelda’s throat tightened. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure my sister has the best life she can. And if that means telling you the things she loves, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“You’re not going to fight this, then?”

Zelda sniffled once, hoping Link didn’t catch it. “I love my sister more than anything. She’s the world to me. And I’ll choose her over myself every time. Her happiness is what’s important to me now. Do you know where to find amaranths?”

“I do.”

“Good, so then you’ll want to—”

“Please,” he said, finally grabbing her. “Stop.”

Zelda sniffled again and turned to him, sagging in defeat.

“We can work on them. Your father, my mother, we can.”

“My father will never agree. He doesn’t change his mind. Whether that’s pride or stubbornness, I don’t know. But he will not change his mind on this just because we ask. He’ll double down harder. He made me watch you two dance. He’ll do worse until this is not a topic of discussion anymore.” Finally, a tear fell. “You were perfect, you know?”

With slow, deliberate movements, Link went to take her arm, then her other, then slowly pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. “So were you.”

Gesturing vaguely to his window, Zelda chuckled before she returned his embrace, tightly holding on. “You told me you’d tell me all your secrets if we ran into each other ‘tomorrow’. It’s tomorrow and I think I know them all. You’re a man of your word, Link.”

“I have plenty still to share,” he whispered before pulling away. “Come to Faron with me. My father might be able to help us.”

“No,” she said, cupping the back of his neck. “No, my sister needs this. She’s oldest, it has to be her.”

“She won’t be happy with someone who is constantly thinking about her sister.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t her sister?”

“I wouldn’t have to know that you’re right there. I would have thought about you. I would have wished she was you. But she wouldn’t know that. It wouldn’t have been fair to her, but she’d never know, and I’d do my best to be sure of that. But Rae already knows, and she will always know. And you and I will always know. And everyone will know.”

Zelda shook her head. “Get her flowers. She’ll forget.”

“Zelda, please.”

She sat down on the bed, bouncing until she’d stopped and covered her face with her hands. “I’ve known you for two days. Why is this difficult?”

“Because it moved fast, and we fell hard.” When Zelda looked up at him, he shrugged. “You’re not the only one who felt it, Zelda. If you’d given me one more day, I juat might have been in love.”

They both chuckled, though it was laced with bitterness.

“Tell me something,” Zelda said, patting the spot beside her. “Anything.”

“Hrmm,” he hummed, turning closer to her. “I didn’t lie when I said I was a knight. Technically, I’m the commander of the army. I trained as a child, and my father prematurely passed the role to me when he got sick. So, I am a knight. And a good one at that.”

“Humble too,” she laughed.

She stayed all night, sitting on his bed against her better judgement, telling just as many stories as they had that first day together. This time, they weren’t laced with secrets. When talking about where he lived, he didn’t hesitate to say castle. When she mentioned her hobbies, she didn’t dance around how her hobbies affected the image of the crown.

And when the light from the window reached their faces, causing Zelda to blink awake, she realized she’d stayed all night against her better judgement. She was curled into him, and his face was pressed into her hair. One of his arms was under his pillow, and the other was draped over her. She was grateful for the weather, because neither was under a blanket.

She stretched out, and Link rolled off of her, yawning. He glanced at the window. “The servants will be here soon.”

Then he sat straight up, so fast it frightened Zelda.

Link looked between Zelda and the window. “The servants will be here soon. You have to go.”

In her room, the servants arriving to straighten her room and help her get ready for the day was simply another way to tell time. It meant it was seven in the morning, and the unfortunate time that they deemed she start her day. But here, it meant that she’d be caught.

Zelda looked around. She had lightly kicked her shoes off at some point and found them just under the bed. Sliding them on, she turned back to Link. She didn’t want to leave him. Not really.

Not at all.

“This was so bad,” she muttered, realizing her resolve to let things be was breaking.

“I know. We’ll figure it all out later. I promise.”

Zelda groaned at the thought that she’d have to see him again… every day. This would be a chronic pain in her chest, and she just needed to get used to it now.

She nodded and peeked her head through the door before scurrying back to her room.

She was there long enough to duck under the blankets when her door opened again.

“My Lady?” one of the servants asked. “My Lady, there’s a problem. Wake up.”

Zelda shot up. “What?”

Less than ten minutes later, everyone was gathered in the sitting room, Link and his mother included. Everyone except Rae. The King read the letter aloud for the sixth time. It was short and to the point, and very Rae.

Father, if you’re reading this, then I am gone. I left in the night with my lady, and I do not plan to return until you publicly reverse my place with Zelda, as we spoke of last night. This is a small favor that you will not grant. She is a Princess of Hyrule. There is no need for this. I know that forcing your hand is the least honorable option, but I love my sister more than I fear the repercussions of my actions. You will not find me, as I don’t even know where we’re going. And if you want me to return, you know what to do.

Love, Rae.

“Stubborn girl,” the King muttered, crumbling the letter once again before unfolding it and smoothing it out. And he spun to Zelda, who sat far from Link. “What is this coup?”

“Coup?” Zelda repeated, confused. “I had nothing to do with this. My sister just left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye! I’m upset! I want her back!”

“Where would she go?”

“Nowhere! She’s lucky she got out of the palace with how many people watch her constantly.”

“Link, darling,” the Queen said, touching her son’s arm to get his attention. “Lead your knights to find your betrothed. Bring her back safely.”

Link glanced at Zelda. “Where should I start? I don’t know Hyrule.”

“She doesn’t want to be found. I don’t know where to start.”

In truth, she had an idea. And it was only when everyone had been dismissed that Zelda snuck away and ducked into a hidden room in the attics of the castle and saw Rae with her most trusted Lady both nose-first in a book.

“That didn’t take you long at all,” Rae scoffed, impressed.

Zelda sat down beside her. “It was a good guess. You don’t know Hyrule well enough, but you know this castle.”

“And you know me.”

“All a circle.”

“Don’t you dare tell Father,” Rae said, threatening Zelda with the book in her hand. “I am staying here until he breaks. You know I’m safe. Just let this happen. I’ve got your back.”

“This is all so crazy.”

“I know. Of the two of us, I thought I’d be the one to find love at first sight. Not you. You’re so… practical.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Zelda muttered.

“It’s called ‘falling in love’, not ‘instantaneously in love’, Zelda. It’s a process, and you’ve already started it with him. Not me.”

Zelda rolled her eyes.

Rae nudged Zelda. “Where were you last night? I went to say goodbye.”

Burying her head in her lap, Zelda groaned. “I didn’t mean to! I went to encourage him to be with you, and then we were talking, and then I fell asleep.”

“Process.”

Zelda kicked at Rae’s leg. “He’s going out to look for you, you know.”

“Give it a few days. Our father will crack, okay?”

“You’re going to be in so much trouble. I can’t wait.”

“Shut up.”

And as the days passed, the King grew more worried, more nervous. He paced, he snapped, he commanded every soldier to go out and find his daughter.

Zelda spent some time with Rae, sharing how Link was suspicious of Zelda. He knew she was hiding something. And Rae’s eyebrows wriggled and dared Zelda to tell him, to see where he really stood in the scheme of it all.

And while Link had spent most of his days out riding, looking for Rae, he spent nights in the sitting rooms with Zelda. Neither wanted to take the risk of falling asleep or being caught, especially not now, but he’d figured Zelda out well enough to know something was odd about her perky demeanor most nights.

When she told him where Rae was, he sagged in relief.

“I thought you were in denial or something. You were so calm. You need a more convincing expression if this is going to work.”

A week passed, and Zelda had perfected the art of crying on command. Often, she let the waterworks flow at any mention of Rae’s name. But she had the feeling that her father was too upset to notice or care if she’d begun to spend more time with Link in public. Occasionally, it was under the guise of him comforting her.

But Zelda also had the feeling that his mother, who had no sentimental attachment to Rae, was seeing through their ruse far more than her father was.

A week and a half had him practically bedridden with grief in the belief that she’d been killed and would never be found.

Zelda passed a note along to her father from Rae, dropping it for a servant to find. It made its way to her father, assuring her of her safety and her resolve to stay hidden.

And it was then that he gave in.

When the announcement had been made, Rae returned to her father with a smug smile on her face. And he’d been so overjoyed to see her that he hadn’t remembered to indefinitely confine her to her room until several hours after her return.

That night, Zelda knocked on Rae’s door, Link in tow. Rae answered surprised, but not entirely. Her eyes lingered on their joined hands.

“I wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done,” he said.

“We make sacrifices in this family,” Rae chuckled.

Zelda let go of Link to hug her sister. “You know, if this hadn’t worked, Link and I only got closer while you were gone.”

“Because you found me ten minutes after I ran away! You knew I was safe, so you didn’t mind flirting with him!”

“I was not!”

“You were,” Link laughed. “You gave yourself away to me.”

“Because you already know me fairly well. You know I love my sister.”

And soon, plans were made for Link and Zelda’s wedding. They were allowed a long engagement, but once the planning had been done, Link’s mother went back to Faron while Link stayed behind.

Zelda and Rae snuck out still, though it was aided by Link often. He was especially good at causing distractions.

After a year in Hyrule, Link knew the palace well, and he knew the kingdom as well. But Zelda was the younger Princess, and heir to nothing. It meant that they’d be moving to Faron. When the day came, halfway through their engagement, there were no tears, as Rae made the trip with them for a stay.

Link had been quite right: trees. Faron was full of trees.

He spent the first week alternating between giving them tours of his home, which was considerably smaller than the palace in Hyrule, and his favorite places in Faron. Sometimes, Rae tagged along, but she often opted to give them some privacy.

When the day came that her stay was over and she was to return to Hyrule, there most assuredly were tears. Zelda cried well into the night, realizing that for the first time in her whole life, she was away from her sister, her family, the people she’d grown up around.

Link had pulled her from bed that night, dragging her with him to a secret passage that led out of the castle and into town, much like the ones she knew back home had.

She kissed Link under the stars and beneath the trees. And that was when she realized that she might just have someone who was becoming her family as well.

Their moment was cut short by the rustling in the bushes of the forest, and they hurried back inside. It marked the first night that Zelda almost entirely stopped sleeping in her own room.

A few months later, Zelda was sitting with the Queen for one of her lessons about Faron when Link came in. “I’m sorry to intrude,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “I got you a surprise, and it’s just arrived.”

He held out his hand for Zelda, and she eagerly took it.

Thankfully. Because if she didn’t have it, she might have fallen over when Rae was standing in the middle of the room, arms wide and excited.

This happened from time to time over the next year. She and Link made trips to Hyrule, and Rae made trips to Faron.

This happened until the day of the wedding, two years after they’d met.

There were to be two ceremonies: one in Hyrule, and one in Faron. For the Hylian ceremony, they were married in the great ballroom, and danced until the sun rose. Then, when they’d returned, they had their masks brought out and hung the floral archway that they stood under in a more private, legally binding ceremony that offered her citizenship of Faron so she could officially rule with Link one day.

And that night, they lazed in bed, reliving the day they met, and the ball they anguished over.

“I got you a few things as well,” Link said, kissing her as he sat up. “First is in the other room.”

“It’s not my sister, right?” she joked, looking at what she was wearing. Link’s shirt wasn’t quite what she thought her sister would want to see her in.

“No. You’re good.”

She laughed and skirted past the armor and sword she’d gotten Link. Armor that he’d been drooling over for weeks and a sword that he hadn’t stopped talking about having for months. Something about it being blue had him all excited, and the wings on the hilt had him practically crying with joy.

Which was how Zelda felt when she saw a potted flower, a Silent Princess.

Link came up behind her. “Like it?”

“It’s beautiful, but you know it’ll die here.”

“Not this one. It has been fine for a few weeks. I wanted to make sure.” He led her closer and pointed to a small green sprout. “And another is on it’s way.”

“How?” Zelda gasped, her hand hovering over the perfect petals.

“It’s one of my secrets you still have to uncover.” He grinned and it earned him a playful backhand on the shoulder. “And the other gift is a promise. More than our vows, obviously. But I spoke to Rae, and she’s going to give us a new wing in the palace so we can stay longer. And there’s an open invitation. We don’t need to send word ahead. Not that that was ever an issue before, but still.”

“You go through a lot of effort for me, Link.”

“Well, I love you, so…”

She grinned. “I know you would rather be here, and you give up a lot of time so I can go back. Thank you.”

“You’re Princess Zelda of Hyrule and Faron. You should go home often still.”

Zelda pulled Link to her, kissing him softly. “I am home. Here.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. “I’m glad I crashed into you.”

“And I’m glad I knocked you over the next day.”

“I’m glad your sister didn’t listen to you.”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should go back to Hyrule,” she joked.

He grabbed her waist. “But Zelda, you might be a Princess, but you’re my Queen.”

“Oh, Goddess,” she snorted pushing him away as she laughed. “Get away from me, Link.”

“No.”

“Yes, get away. That was so bad I can’t even be near you.”

He grabbed her again, leading her back into the other room before kissing her again. She melted into it before remembering that she was trying to win something.

“There’s no living with you, Link,” she laughed before giving up and just kissing him back.

But this time, he pulled away. “I’m also glad you didn’t listen to yourself two years ago.”

“Because I can’t live without you and vice versa?”

Link rolled his eyes. “You say that with such conviction.”

Zelda laughed, pulling him down with her onto the bed.

Zelda was never good at keeping track of time. So for Zelda to be acutely aware of every second that passed, intent on drawing them all out as long as she could, it was a miracle. She didn’t intend to lose even a second of this time with Link, even knowing that now, they had forever.

[thebluestbluewords]

9 for the OTP questions? Choose any ship you’d like!

Thank you nonnie! Sorry for taking almost a week to get to this, hope you enjoy :)

Number 9-- Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

(There are two not-fics below-- rotten four as is my brand, and mal/audrey)

There’s two ways I could go with this:

either THIS is the Maldry rivals-to-friends-to-lovers fic, where Mal is a dashing pirate who is young and rebellious and was kicked off of her ship by her mother, who wants her to attend the young lady's academy on the mainland and educate herself in the ways of “proper” society so that they can infiltrate the rich ships better and get the reputation as the gentlewoman pirates that they deserve. Of course, in this fic Mal meets Audrey along the way, and hates her immediately. Seriously, this girl likes PINK and PRINCESSES but also NOT PRINCESSES because she is NOT INTO GIRLS and it’s INFURIATING.

“Mal,” says Evie, who is Mal’s best friend from the pirate ship who is actually delighted to be attending the princess academy and is learning new ways to hide knives in her fancy dresses every day “Babe.”

“Fuck off,” says Mal, who has known Evie since they were six and had a falling-out so dramatic that they sailed on separate ships next to each other for four years afterwards.

“You’re so gay for her.” says Evie, who is already hooking up with Mal in their free time because it’s easy and comfortable and they both enjoy it well enough. “I know that look, Mal Bertha.”

“There’s no look,” says Mal, sulking.

“Just ask her out with all of your dashing pirate charm.” Evie says. She has not stopped applying her lipgloss throughout this conversation, and it’s not as distracting as it should be for either girl.

So Mal goes out and picks up a new pair of boots with less bloodstains than her old ones, and rents a boat (renting is like stealing, except it’s only for a while. It’s practically borrowing, really, except for how Evie has drilling it into Mal’s mind after a few too many incidents with lost books that BORROWING happens when you’ve ASKED FIRST) and decides to turn on the full pirate charm

Audrey is not impressed, and does not break up with her boyfriend, Chad Charming, over this attempt at wooing. She is a princess, and in NO HECKING WAY did she sign up to be….harassed!! By a pirate no less!! Everyone knows who her mother really is, no matter if she’s here under an “education decree” from the “crown prince” for the “children” of the exiled *former* smuggler’s community by the coast.

….Mal steals a boat, and tries again. Only this time with kidnapping.

Audrey is impressed with the dedication, if nothing else. She may not like a pirate, but she can appreciate a girl who will dedicate at least six hours of her life to plotting and stealing a whole finishing vessel from the coast. And cook her a lobster dinner on it.

Mal is delighted by this turn of events. Evie is thrilled that she finally has time without her best friend where she can FINALLY decorate their room the way she wants. Audrey is reluctant at first, but eventually comes around to the idea of dating a bad girl.

….and also there’s a bit where Mal gets dumped in the water and Audrey, despite Not Signing Up For This Bull Crap, has to jump in and save her. From about two feet of water. Because Audrey was being a reasonable person and taking her shirt off so that she could get the full benefits of the sun. Make that vitamin D.

Mal is so gay that she walked off the side of the boat when it happened.

The OTHER answer is that it’s a rotten ot4 story, and Mal is an evil princess who gets sent away to live on a pirate ship for a year by her mother, who wants her to become more evil and also learn some leadership skills. The other three are the pirates who are supposed to teach her their wicked ways of stealing and drinking and cruelty.

Unfortunately for Maleficent’s plans, the shipping journey doesn’t go exactly according to plan.

Mal does not fall overboard this time, but what DOES happen is that the OTHER wicked princess on board the ship is too perfect for words, and when it’s revealed that actually, Evie is the famous pirate princesa espelho and NOT another wicked boarding school member, Mal has a full blown gay crisis.

“Well YEAH,” says Jay, who is also dating essentially pirate royalty. “She’s like, basically the coolest person you’ll ever meet, aside from me. What, did you think she was one of us regular wicked school brats?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Mal tells her pillow, which she is burying her face in during said Gay Crisis. “She’s too good to be true.”

“Nah.” Jay says, mouth full of ye olde cheetos or something. “She’s pretty lame sometimes. You should ask her about what her room looked like when she first got her own ship. All dark and gloomy.”

“WHAT” shrieks Mal, who has been working on changing her bunk to the darkest, deepest corner since she first arrived. “She THREW OUT a room that was dark AND gloomy in favor of what?”

“Better lighting for her makeup tutorials, mostly.” Jay says, not paying attention anymore. “I think she might also have a full journalism setup there too. She won’t tell me anymore, not after what happened with the caustic tar.

Mal is horrifically curious about the caustic tar now. “What was it made from,do you know?” she asks, because she’s still working on how to cohabitate with other people peacefully despite growing up running around an evil academy since she was a child.

“Nothing important,” says Jay casually, throwing a ball at the ceiling.. “She had some boards replaced, scrubbed off all the skin on her palms fixing the parts of the door she didn’t want to replace, and then made a very cool liquid version of the tar for spraying on fabric to get natural wear and tear patterns on new garments.

“Sick.” Mal says, and before she can make any other comments:

“There was the matter of the handprints though,” Jay say, still extremely fake-casually. .”they were weird, you know, because Evie had them on her back for weeks, with the tar and all, and they were definitely dainty. Almost like some girl kissed her around the neck while there was still tar on her hands.”

Mal throws a shoe at him, knocking both the ball and the boy out of the way, and shoves past to find Evie.

Because the roles are already a mess for this (I am very small and very tired place just roll with it as I am not editing this before I post) Mal runs into exactly the pirate royalty she doesn’t want to see.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” asks Carlos, who is basically a tiny perfect decoy in this world. His mother had a monopoly on the exotics trade for a good few years when he was a child, and would tie him to the mast and make him cry for mercy as a way of luring other ships hoping to rescue a nobleman’s child closer. It worked disturbingly well, and now at sixteen, Carlos is both a pirate elite and terrified of falling into the water.

Mal pushes past, because she is as always a little bit of an asshole, and goes off to find her OWN pirate princess to date. She doesn’t need any stupid boys who just look at her like she’s dumb when she doesn’t know an anchor form a bowline. She doesn’t need to know. She’s going to be managing her own crew eventually, and they’ll do all of the heavy lifting aspects of it all. Mal is simply going to chill out and wait for the princess to come to her.

Of course, because this is a pirate story, this is when another ship sees the school experience boat, and decides that the best experience for the young baddies to have is explosions. Lots of them.

First hand, even.

The pirates (Evie and Jay and Carlos included) get to stations.

Mal, confused and distressed by this turn of events, is about halfway from transforming her whole shit and dealing with the dragon claw marks later, decides to wait in the hold. She is not getting paid for this experience, and it’s so beyond her ability to control what other ships do, mom.

Mal might have a few mommy issues in addition to the princess issues. A balance there.

“Fuck” Mal says, instead of dictating a letter to her mother like she should when entering a potentially life-threatening situation. “Now I’m never going to be able to talk to her.”

Mal does not die, Evie does not die, neither of them actually manage to steal anything in this story except for each other’s hearts, and then they talk at length about their feelings and how they should become a mean fighting team.

The next pirate raid (intentional), they’re ready. They’ve practiced all of their cool two-person moves together, and they’re ready for this.

Two minutes into the battle, Jay gets taken by the unwitting second team and disappears. Mal, predictably, flips her shit when this happens.

Aaaaand now it is late and I’ve written up enough of a piece of a fic I won’t write for this hour. Hope you enjoyed one or both of these ideas, nonny.

(the second one ends with Evie and Carlos dragging Mal along on an adventure to get Jay back, where Mal learns how not to be useless on a ship anymore and she and Evie bond as people and they keep Carlos and Mal in turns from having a nervous breakdown as they get their boyfriend/BFF back and then they all realize that ACTUALLY they work best as a foursome and do that)

[undefined5posts]

Credit: Jordan J. Lloyd

I've been trying to dive deeper into politics, discover the genuine roots of our society, the origins of our beliefs, and the consequences of our economic system. It's a big, long, wide journey and through multiple sources such as articles, images, videos and multiple social media platforms, I've been trying to educate myself more on important subjects.

Communism, capitalism, libertarian, conservative, the left, the right, the history, the impact. It is scary to commit to everything because once you start, you simply cannot stop, once you start waking up your conscience about the horrible reality, the lies, the truths, you cannot put it back to sleep. You can't just ignore prejudice, especially when you're extremely conscious of it's omnipresence. I have continually tried to build my own opinions all while actively creating bullet point arguments in my mind because I just know that at some point I will have to defend my thinking, and I want to do it right.

Now, I am so far from being enlightened, I am a beginner and an amateur in all of those themes, but I am trying, which is the only way to start and grow.

So to tell you about my beliefs, I am a militant human rights activist, I believe in equal opportunities regardless of gender identity, sex, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race and disability. This is a fact, not a belief, but the system was obviously not built to protect all people, its wasn't created to serve everyone equally but to grant a privilege to some and harm others. The current state of the world is not a slip, an accident or a misfunction of our brilliant system but a testament of it operating remarkably well. I believe that equity leads to equality, and I believe that we cannot "fix" methodologies that were immorally created with absolutely no honor whatsoever. I believe in reproductive rights, in legal, safe abortions for anybody who needs one. I believe in the decriminalization of marijuana. I believe that the death penalty is a despicable punition that should be banned as soon as possible. I believe in defunding the police and the military. I believe that it is a shame that I even have to talk about police brutality, I don't want to have to say that it is one of the most horrible things our world has originated, I feel extremely dense when I do because it seems like the most obvious certitude and I refuse to believe that this is a controversial statement. I believe that everything I have just stated, along with many more, isn't anything grand but the bare minimum, the bar is low, and yet, we still have the fight for basic human decency.

Humanity has become an option. We have normalized supporting people that represent everything wrong in this world under the name of tolerance. The left has never claimed to be tolerant towards hateful beings, We have never accepted homophobia, transphobia, racism, ableism and sexism. We cannot, for exemple, accept nazis, as too much tolerance inevitably leads to intolerance. This picture explains it perfectly:

I consider myself a communist/ socialist. The two terms still confuse me a little, some say they are the same, some say they differ quite a bit. What I know is that socialism is the transitional period between capitalism and communism. At the end of the day, the final result and goal is a stateless, moneyless and clasless society that will provide to each his need.

Our capitalistic society has brainwashed us way more than you may think. It is the root of so many of our issues, the underground demon of our problems. Every idea, thought, belief, and misconception of ours were all affected by our current economic system. It has sold us the billionnaire dream which is one of the most toxic things capitalism has offered. We have looked up to billionaires for way too long, why are they so idolized? Most of them come from high upper class families that can easily afford to invest in their inventions and creations. After starting up their companies and occasionnaly stealing other's people ideas to ultimately get undeserved merit, they then can start to properly exploit their hardworking employees's labour. And for unlimited hours and a minimum wage which probably won't even suffice you to survive, you will have to either pick up more shifts or a second or even third job, especially if you have a family to support. All while the CEO barely does any of the work and gets all the praise and money. So no, they don't all come from really poor families and have built everything for nothing.

The worst thing is that we've been so gaslit and brainwashed that we're proud of our own exploitation, we are wired to think that to be successful we have to suffer, work 10 jobs we all hate, constantly pick up extra hours, have 2 hours of sleep, have no free time to do anything we love, waste our entire youth, be depressed our entire adulthood, to finally have a few pennies to spend when we're eighty. We so strongly believe that this is the only right way to be successful that I don't think many of us have dared to question it's authority, and even if we do, we quickly accept that this a truth, a fact we cannot change and this is just the way things are.

We have capitalized water, food, land, forests, oceans, space, and everything in betweeen. Money is social construct and we have deliberately let it take over our lives. To think about the wasted opportunities and the misery that we have to endure so others can enjoy life truly angers me.

Also, communism is not an ideology that has every actually taken place. Despite what they say, there was never actually a communist country. However, every nation that has attempted a socialist system, for exemple Burkina Faso, has thrived. But of course, once capitalist countries noticed that, they decided to murder it's leader. So in conclusion, the only reason socialism failed is because of capitalism and it's interventions.

"As President (1983-1987), Sankara initiated economic reforms that shifted his country away from dependence on foreign aid and reduced the privileges of government officials; he cut salaries, including his own, decreed that there would be no more flying in first class or driving Mercedes as standard issue vehicles for Ministers and other government workers. He led a modest lifestyle and did not personally amass material wealth. President Sankara encouraged self-sufficiency, including the use of local resources to build clinics, schools and other needed infrastructure. [...] President Sankara promoted land reform, childhood vaccination, tree planting, communal school building, and nation-wide literacy campaigns. He was committed to gender equity and women’s rights and was the first African leader to publicly recognize the AIDS pandemic as a threat to African countries. Although Sankara became somewhat more authoritarian during his Presidency, his ideas, and the possibility that they could spread, were viewed by many as posing the greatest threat. President Sankara was assassinated during a coup led by a French-backed politician, Blaise Compaoré, in October 1987. Compaoré served as the President of Burkina Faso from October 1987 through October 2014, when he himself was overthrown."

Via:https://africandevelopmentsuccesses.wordpress.com/2015/02/28/success-story-from-burkina-faso-thomas-sankaras-legacy/

I have been reading and watching some amazing human rights activists, notably Angela Davis, Malcolm X and James Baldwin. The people that were villainized, labeled as violent and radical, when every single word that came out of their mouhs were pure facts. They are probably some of the most eloquent people I have had the pleasure of hearing. Every sentence, every argument, every single detail made so much sense and opened my mind to so many new realizations. This is the perfect exemple of how the media tarnishes the reputation of wise black women and men. I would strongly advise you to research more about them.

"Socialism & communism are demonized in the west to the point of erasing influential individuals' socialist advocacy. Heres a short list of people you may not have known were socialists/ communists:

MLK

Albert Einstein

Nelson Mandela

Frida Kahlo

Tupac Shakur

Mark Twain

Malcom X

Oscar Wilde

Bertrand Russell

Hellen Keller

Pablo Picasso

George Orwell

Shia LaBeouf

John Lennon

Woody Guthrie

Socialism & communism are not dirty words. Some of the most brilliant minds of our history were socialists and communists. Embrace it." Via @sleepisocialist on twitter

So what else can I say, capitalism has ruined our society and the way we act and think. I know a lot of people refuse to support communism because they think it's too much of a perfect ideal utopian world for it to ever actually exist. And to that I say, first of all, so you agree, it is a wonderful theory, and second of all, a world without racism, sexism, homophobia or any kind or discrimination could also be perceived as "too ideal to actually exist", but does that mean I'm giving up on talking, educating myself and others, protesting and trying to build a better future? Absolutely not. This is the objective, it would be so dumb to think that we just couldn't achieve that so let's not even try.

I want to talk more in detail about communism, theory, human rights, etc... but I don't want to make this post any longer. I will however be posting more about it soon enough.

I know this is a little different than what I usually post, but I want to speak, tell you all my own opinions, I don't want to just repost activism related stuff. I'll continue to do that, but not exclusively. I know it won't get as many interactions as my other posts, but this is what I needed at some point in my life, and if I could make understanding some basic informations easier to some people, it'll already be a great accomplishment.

Thank you for reading.

[sherrybaby14]

Eternity

This is my entry for Darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s challenge.  Congrats lady!

Prompt:  “Shh, it’s okay. It’ll only hurt a little.”  And I combined it with this request:  I absolutely loved your Sannr Ast series😍😍 I can picture a dark! Steve/ Bucky/ Tony in a medieval AU where you are forced to be the new queen and they want to consummate their marriage but she doesn't want to 😏💕💕

Warnings:  Dub-con, smut, angst, virgin reader

Summary: Princess AU. Your life gets turned upside down after a royal decree.  

Pairings:  Steve x reader, Bucky x reader (not a cheating fic).

A/N:  I might have some wrong medieval terminology, please don’t shoot me. Also..because of passage of time your age changes through out the story, which might make it a bit off putting at first.  

The bump of the road made you fold your arms and stick your tongue out.

“That’s not how a lady behaves.” Your nursemaid glared at you.  “We’re almost there.  Aren’t you excited to meet your future husband?”  

“No.” You looked out the window, longing to escape to the forest and climb the trees, maybe find a lake.  “I am never getting married.”

“Do not be ridiculous.  Your father has secured a wonderful match for you.”  She sighed. “This arrangement will allow the two of you to learn about one another long before the wedding bells.”  

“I don’t care.  I won’t like him. He will not like me.”  You slouched in the seat.  “I have no desire for a husband.”  

“He is best friends with the Prince.  You will attend court, lavish parties, eat fine foods. Your life is set.”  

You ignored your maid as the castle came into view.  It looked more like a prison than a palace.  Maybe the boy would hate you as much as you hated him. Hate was a strong word. Maybe the two of you could have been friends, but knowing he was your fiancé made the situation too peculiar.  

“Straighten your dress.” The nurse leaned forward and started poking at your hair, fluffing and changing the style.  “You want to make a good first impression.”  

“Do I?”  Even as you asked the question you did as you were told and smoothed out your skirt.  “We’ve been on the road for over a week.  We look traveled and weary.”  

“It will be a short introduction, then we will retire to your rooms, possibly sleep.”  The nurse smiled.  

“I’m to stay the entire summer?  What if it is awful? Can’t we leave? I want to go home.” You felt tears form at the corner of your eyes. “I’m too young. I don’t want a husband.”  

“This is the first of many summers.”  Your nurse tucked a hair behind your ear.  “Eventually, when you wed, this will be your home year round. Now smile.”

The carriage came to a stop.   The dread in your stomach went into overdrive.  You knew the greeting, the formal line of receiving, the proper behavior.  As the footman opened the door and offered his hand your reluctance came forward.  

“I am certain the young man is as nervous as you are dear.”  Your maid took your hand and moved it to the foot man’s. “Let’s not delay any further.”  

You rose from the carriage, feeling out of sorts, as if your brain was not in control of your body.  There was the line of people to greet you.  You scanned them and stopped upon a boy with dark hair and bright eyes.  That was him.  

Your heart fluttered at his good looks, but before you could stare you moved to the next and your jaw dropped at the blonde next to him. It was Prince Steven, you recognized the portraits.  Your betrothed really was the Prince’s best friend.  

When your feet hit the ground, the Prince snickered and nudged James Barnes forward.  He scowled as he walked up to meet you.  

“You are a little girl.”  His eyes looked you up and down.  “Is this a joke?”

He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than you and you scoffed at the suggestion.  

“I am thirteen years old.” You clenched your fists. “Hardly a child.”  

“Do I really have to spend all summer with her?”  James turned to look at his parents.

You saw the anger on their faces, but noticed the grin the Prince wore.  As far as introductions went this was the opposite of what you were expecting, but were relieved.  Manners didn’t seem to matter here.

“James!” His mother chastised him.  “Remember what we discussed.”  

“Lady Y/L/N, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.  Welcome to our kingdom.”  He didn’t hide the sneer in his voice.  

“Master Barnes, I am not pleased to make your acquaintance.  I do not want to marry you and I hope to spend my summer avoiding you at all costs.”  You held your chin high.

“Y/N.”  Your nurse gasped.  “Please excuse us.  It has been a long journey. I believe the lady is tired.”  

“Of course.”  Lady Barnes gave a sad smile. “Let us show you to your rooms.”  

As your trunks were unloaded you followed with a new goal for the summer: make yourself scarce or scary.  If he objected enough maybe you could get out of this arrangement after all.

~~ You were giddy when your estate came into view.  Home after a terrible long summer.   You stuck your head out the window and waved to your parents.  Too eager for the carriage to stop you flung open the door and jumped out.

“Stop!” Your nurse cried out, but it was too late.  

You ran to your parents and through yourself into their arms.  

“How was it?  We missed you dear.”  Your mother held you tight.

“It was terrible.”  Your nurse was right behind you, breathing heavily. “They spent the entire summer bickering at each other, if they even spent any time together at all.  I swear she forgot all of her lessons on decorum.”  

“What was the Prince like?”  Your little sister chimed in.  

“Quiet.”  You pulled away from the hug.  “What the Nurse said was right.  It is not a good match.”

“If you spent the summer fighting, sounds like a perfect match.” Your father laughed and shook his head. “Time will tell.”  

You scowled, but your sister grabbed your hand and tugged you inside.  And you were eager to hear how her months had been.   ~~

The next summer was worse.  They forced you to spend time together.  

“I bet you don’t know how to shoot one of these.”  James pulled out an arrow and aimed for the bullseye.  “Too busy reading or learning cross-stitch.”  

He fired the arrow, barely making it on to the target.  Prince Steve seemed to be the only exception to your private time, as he was always glued to James’ side, rarely speaking.  

You rolled your eyes and took the bow, lining up an arrow.  

“My father has no sons.”  You let the quiver go, unsurprised when it hit the center.  “He insists on a well rounded education.”  

Steve started to laugh as James’ face fell.  

“I would offer to teach you, but I do not think your brain is capable of handling the lesson.”  You dropped the bow. “I suppose that is enough for today.”  

You walked off the yard, head held high, dreading the next time they forced the two of you together.  

~~

Summer number three was more entertaining.  You had made a friend with one of the guards and each night awaited your little chats. It made your forced time with James easier, since you had something to look forward to.  

“How is your boyfriend?” James asked as he walked into the library.  

“Excuse me?” You lowered your book.  

“You shouldn’t be flirting like that.”  He sat down next to you.  

“Are you jealous?” Your eyes went wide.  

“No.” He sneered, but a smile crept on your face.  “What are you reading?”

“You care?”  You knew he was sent here, not by choice.  

“No.” He relaxed his features. “But if we have to spend time together, may as well make it interesting.  Tell me the story?”  

Prince Steve stepped forward and began scanning the walls, looking for a book and ignoring you.   You wondered why he wasn’t courting his own future princess.  

“Alright.”  You started filling James in, there were worse ways to pass the time.  

~~

Summer number four came and your flirting friend disappeared from the castle.  You weren’t as upset as you thought.  

It was more of the same, only now you were old enough to attend some of the nighttime events.  

“May I have this dance?” James offered you his hand.  

The looks from his parents told you it was an order, but he did look handsome in his dress and you placed your hand in his as he led you to the dance floor.  

“You look lovely.”  He glanced at the floor as he spoke.  

“That sounded genuine.”  You were shocked.  “Where is the snarl afterward?”  

“No snarl.”  James looked up at you.  “I mean it.  You look lovely Lady.”  

A smile crept on your face as he spun you around. He was handsome.  Something in your stomach fluttered, and for the first time, it wasn’t a feeling of dread.  

~~

The fifth summer you were almost excited when you arrived.  James stepped forward from the receiving line and took your hand.  

“Welcome Lady Y/L/N.” He placed a small kiss. “I am happy for your safe travels.”  

“The long journey is worth the destination.” You smiled.  

The forced spending time together stopped.  You found yourself seeking out James’ company.  He was always with the Prince, who continued his indifference toward you.  But the three of you took walks, went for rides on the horses, even took turns choosing books to read together.  It was more fun than you’d imagined.  

The final night of your stay was another ball.  You’d spent the summer dancing away in James’ arms and tonight you were sad it was the last time.  When the song stopped he did not drop your hand, instead he led you out to the balcony to look at the castle grounds.  

“I will miss you.”  He leaned over the railing. “May I write to you?”

“I would like that.”  You gave a coy smile, trying hard to fight the instinct to babble away to him.  “And I will miss you too.”  

“Next summer, its our wedding.”  There was a nervousness to his voice. “Does that please you?”  

“I suppose.” You bit back the urge to tell him you were thrilled with the prospect.  

“It pleases me.” He stood straight up and turnt toward you.  “Very much.”  

You thought you were going to melt.  Then his hand reached out and tucked a lock of your hair back, his fingertips dragging across your skin.  His heavenly blue eyes focused on yours as his face dipped down.  

Your first kiss.  You’d wanted this all summer.  Your lips began to pucker, eager to feel his touch them.  He was moments away when a loud crunching sound made both of your necks turn.  

Prince Steve stood at the doorway.  His face was red with embarrassment.  

“Apologies.”  He spun on his heel and walked inside.  

You looked back at James, but he kept his eyes on his friend.  

“I should go see what that was about.” He moved to follow, leaving you alone on the balcony.

You were bitter over the lack of lips, but also tingly at the thought of what was to come.  One year from now you would be a married woman, with the love of your life. ~~

The letters were poetic and beautiful.  You spent the entire trip reading them over and over, focusing on the last line of the latest one:  

I love you.

It was so simple, but so intoxicating.  James loved you and you were about to become Lady Barnes.  You could not wait to start your life.  

“Are we there yet?” Your sister yawned.  

This trip was different.  This was your wedding.  There would be no end to your stay and your entire family came along.  

“Yes.”  You smiled as the castle came into view, sticking your head out the window.  

“Stop that.”  Your mother touched your thigh.  “We all now how eager you are, but you must behave like a lady.”  

“Three days.”  You leaned back in your seat.  “Three days.  It feels like an eternity.”  

“After you will have eternity together.”  Your mother smiled. “You can wait three days.”  

When your carriage came to a stop you waited for the footman, wishing you could throw the rules out the window and dive out, running into James’ arms.  

The door opened and a hand was offered.  Your mother went first and it seemed like she was taking her time. Such a contrast to that first summer six years ago.  

It was your turn and you were grinning so large your face hurt.  When you stepped out you scanned the receiving line and your smile began to fade.  Where was James?  

“Oh my.” Your mother bowed. “Your majesties.”  

It dawned on you who was there.  The king, the queen, and Prince Steve.  Why would the royal family be here to greet you?  You expected Steve at the wedding, but didn’t think his parents would attend.  

“Please stand.”  The king stepped forward.  “May I have a word with you Lord?”  

“Of course.”  Your father went to meet the king and your mother followed with the queen.  

You looked at Steve with shock as he came forward.  

“What is happening?  Where is James?”  You feared the worst. “Is he sick or injured?  His letters mentioned nothing.”  

“I don’t know.”  Steve shrugged.  “I was told to come meet you and that my parents were attending.  I expected him to arrive as well. I saw him last night and all was well.”  

“Do you suppose he changed his mind about me? Is the engagement off?”  You walked next to Steve.  

“You’re wonderful Lady.”  Steve offered you his arm.  “He would be a fool to do so.”  

Your brain wracked with worry and fear you didn’t speak as Steve led you to your room.  Where was James?

~~

You paced, knowing exactly where James’ quarters were.  Should you go there and pound on his door?  It would scandalous, but you were to be married in three days.  Those would become your quarters as well then.  

The waiting was killing you.  You went to the door ready to storm the halls, but it opened before you got to the handle.   Your parents walked in, beaming.  

“What has happened?  Where is James? Is he alright?”  Your fear contrasted their glee.  

“The most wonderful situation.”  Your mother took your hands as your father placed his on your shoulder.  

“Has the wedding been moved up?”  Maybe that’s why he wasn’t there. He was busy preparing.

“Yes.  Tomorrow.”  Your mother wiped a tear.  “But that is not the most glorious part.”  

“Tell me.”  Your patience was running out.  

“You’re to become the queen.”  Your father squeezed your shoulder.  “A match I never would have dreamed of.”  

“Queen?” You dropped your mother’s hand and stepped out of your father’s touch.  “Was there a royal decree?  Is James now a prince?”  

“James is no longer the groom.” Your father’s smile did not falter.  “You have made quite an impression the past few summers and the king and queen believe you will make the perfect daughter-in-law.”  

“What?”  All feeling from your body dropped.  “Steve?  I’m to marry Steve?”  

Images of your time together flashed before your eyes, the way he was so quiet, lurking in the background.  His eyes on you as your danced with James, the crunch that broke your kiss.  

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t love him.  I want James.”  

The joy on your father’s face turned to anger.  Your mother put a hand on his chest.  

“I am sure what she means is that the news is stunning, but she is thrilled with the development.”  Your mother calmed your father.  “What a way to honor your family and your kingdom.  A crown.  You will be a fine queen.”  

“Does Steve know?”  You thought back to your earlier conversation with him.

“Already so informal.”  Your father’s smile returned.  “What a match.”  

Your mother began discussing changes to the wedding and the dress that was being delivered, but you zoned out wondering two things:  how could this be happening and where was James?

~~

You were under strict orders not to leave your room until it was time for the wedding.  There would be no speaking to Steve or finding James.  In order to appease your parents, you agreed, but when bedtime approached and sleep never came you rolled out of bed and made your way into the halls.  

Familiar enough to not need a light to guide you while you crept to James’ rooms.  When you arrived you debated on knocking, but didn’t want to risk drawing attention.  

When you pushed open the door you noticed a lit fire.  James rose from his seat, his hair longer and blue eyes illuminated by the flames.  Your heart felt like it was drawn towards him, tugging at your chest.  

“James!”  All your fears fell away when you rushed to him, throwing you arms around his neck.  “They say I’m to marry Steve.  I don’t understand.  It’s all happening so fast and I’ve missed you. And I love you.”  

He smiled at you, but there was pity on his face.  He reached behind and grabbed your wrists pulling them off and in front of his chest.  

“You shouldn’t be here.”  He shook his head.  “You have a big day tomorrow.”  

“You don’t care?”  This was not the response you were expecting.  “But you’re my betrothed, I love you.”

“A part of me will always love you too.” He let go of your hands. “You’re to be queen.  I am happy for you, and for Steve.”  

“I don’t want the crown. I want you.” You pressed your hands to his chest. “Let’s run away.  Steal horses and flee. We can live a simple life.”  

“I am getting my own castle in the south.” James smiled at you. “I will be the leader of the region. I’ve been made a duke.”

You studied his face, unsure how he could be serious.  Your hands on his chest felt foolish as you took a step back.  

“This is for the best.”  James gave a half smile. “Return to your room and get some sleep.  There is no finer person fit for the crown.  I will see you at the wedding. I am sure you will look lovely.”  

Your world was spinning out of control.  Tears on the verge of breaking through.  You would not let him see you cry.  You turned away and went for the door, heaving yourself into the hallway before a sob broke loose.  How could this be happening?

When you turned to your room you hit something hard and bounced back, almost hitting the floor when strong arms grabbed you.  You were found out of your room, but you didn’t care.  Whatever punishment coming could not be worse than the broken heart you were feeling.  

“Y/N?”  Steve’s voice brought you no comfort.  “What are you doing here?”  

“Did you know?”  You tried to hide the shake in your voice.  

“No.”  Steve’s hands steadied you. “I was a surprised as you were.  I came here to talk to James, try and find a solution.”  

“He doesn’t love me.”  You let the sob come out and fell forward.  “It was all a lie.”  

“That’s not true.”  Steve touched your back as you sobbed against his chest. “That would make him a fool.”

“I was supposed to marry him.  My entire life, I don’t understand.”  You cried into Steve.  “We have to stop this.  I can’t be with you.  I don’t love you.”  

“We will figure out a way.”  Steve continued to comfort you.  “I promise.”  

The tension in your shoulders rolled out.   Steve was on the same page as you, at least that was a relief.  

“How?”  You wiped your eyes and looked up.  “The wedding is tomorrow.”  

“And we will wed.”  Steve wiped a tear away.  “Worry about the rest later.”  

“Promise?”  At least part of your broken heart had some stability.  

“Let’s get you back to bed.”  Steve put his arm around your shoulder.  “Everything will work out.  I promise.”  

You believed him.  All James needed was time.  Steve seemed to respect your decision.  You would go through the wedding for appearances and find a way to sneak off with James.  The life you dreamt of was still possible.  

~~

In the morning your nerves were in over drive to the point you couldn’t focus on anything.  The maids came and dressed you, doing you hair and make up as well.   The black and silver gown your father paid for was disregarded as the Royals provided you with a red and blue one, the color of their own house over that of the Barnes.  

“You look so beautiful.”  Your mother brought her hand to her mouth as her eyes welled.  

You hadn’t thought much about appearances, but when you were spun to see the mirror the image staring back at you was that of a stranger.  Perfect complexion, perfect hair, and the gown accentuated your body like it was made for you, of course it was made for you.  

Go through with the wedding for appearances.  Then Steve would find a way to help you out of this.  He promised.  You shut your eyes and repeated the thought in your head, over and over.  

A knock came on the door, snapping you back to reality.

“It’s time.”  Your mother grabbed your hand and gave one final squeeze.  

Your father was on the other side, offering you his arm.  He beamed at you and guilt set in.  He shouldn’t be so proud.  Once the night was over you were going to bring shame on your entire family.  James was worth it.  

The walk through the palace was silent.  Every soul was in the main chapel for your wedding.  You neared the doors and felt a shiver run through you.  This was all for show.  You reminded yourself of that as the doors pulled open.  

Everyone rose, their eyes on you.  Some gasped at the sight.  It was undeserved attention.   Your eyes scanned the crowd, but stopped at the top of the alter.  There was Steven, you had seem him in finery, but never like this.  

You had never paid much attention to his looks, always distracted by James, but there was no doubt he was equal in attractiveness if not more so.  You shook away the thought.  What did it matter?  James was your love.  

As you walked down the aisle you tried to focus on Steve, knowing that scanning the crowd would draw suspicion and also terrified that one look at James would break your spirit.  He said he was here.  Was he smiling?  Happy for you?  Was there no love left in his heart?  Tears started to form.  

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”  Steve kissed your cheek and shook hands with your father.  “I am a lucky man.”

His word choice was odd, but you assumed it was for the benefit of your father.  Before you had time to ponder it, the ceremony began.  It was one ritual after the next, repeating words in a language you did not understand.  

At one point your hands were bound together, another a beautiful diamond crown placed on your head.  The officiant continued with his strange words and you repeated them.   Finally he went to prepare something and you whispered to Steve:

“What did I just say?”  You gave him a stolen glance.

“That you bound your soul to mine for all eternity.”  His eyes narrowed on you with a flash of possession.  

It made a small whimper escape your throat, but before you could follow up the officiant returned.  

“From this day forward you are one.  The Prince and Princess Rogers, until the day you are King and Queen Rogers.”  He put a hand on both your shoulders and spun you to face one another. “Seal this union.”  

Steve put his hands on your waist and pulled you tight to him.  His head dropped and he kissed you with a fever.  His lips hard on your own as he urged you to part.  This was your first and you didn’t know how to respond, so you followed his lead as his tongue slid into your mouth.

The congregation roared with applause and Steve’s kiss departed.  He pulled away and looked at you with a devilish grin.  You didn’t think you’d ever seen this level of emotion on his face before.   He grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss before turning and waving.  

The stun of his actions wore off as you saw the joy in the crowd.  Your heart broke a little more that this was all a show.  They seemed to like you, but you would never be their Queen.

~~

Right away the festivities started.  People arriving to give you gifts, dancing, eating, and drinking.  Your eyes always searching for James, but never seeing him.  Steve was too busy receiving congratulations to have a real conversation with you.  He did ask if you were alright and remind you to smile several times, but this was not the place to discuss your plans.  

You were lost in the whirl of it all.  The colors, the joy.  A stark contrast to your own nerves and worries.  A deep thought had taken hold over the disappoint you were about to bring.

“Congratulations to the happy couple.” The voice shook you.

“James.”  You started to stand, but Steve held your hand.  

“Thank you, Duke Barnes.”  Steve smiled.  “When will you be leaving us for your new home?”

“In the morning.” James smiled. “I will be back to visit in a year.  Maybe there will be a niece or nephew to play with by then?”

James playfully punched at Steve, who stood from the chair and gave his friend a giant hug.

“I will miss you.”  Steve pulled away.  

Both of them looked at each other with sheer joy.  Did James already know of the plan?  Were you to sneak away with him?  It was confusing, this attitude.  

“Now that you have a wife, I don’t think you will have time to miss me.”  James dropped the embrace. “And you, what a lovely Queen the kingdom will have.”  

“Thank you…” You looked between the two of them, unsure if this was a ruse.  

“The evening is about to come to an end.” James looked back to Steve. “I suppose for the two of you it’s only getting started.”  

“You always were a boar.” Steve nudged James.

“Better a boar than a bore.” He winked.  “I wish nothing but the best for both of you.  Congratulations.”  

James shook Steve’s hand and gave you a bow.  The tears started to form again.  You bit back every urge to throw yourself at him, tell him how much you loved him, how you needed him, how you would be following soon.   He must have known that.  It was the only explanation.  

“Breathe my love.” Steve leaned over and grabbed your chin, turning your attention to him.  “Breathe.”

“What was that?”  Why was he calling you his love?  “You promised. That you would help me get back to James?”  

“No.”Steve slid his hand down your cheek.  “I promised that we would find a way.  For you to love me.”  

Your eyes went wide with horror as you replayed the situation in your head.  It went further back, all the days you spent with them, the way Steve’s eyes were on you, always lurking, never talking.  Never leaving you alone with James.

“You set this up.  You tricked me.”  What were the words.  Bound your soul to his for all eternity.  “Why?”  

“Because I love you.”  Steve’s brow furrowed.  “Because I loved you since the moment you stepped out of that wagon.”

“But I love James.”  You thought about the letters. “And he loves me too.”

“Oh, you are so innocent my Love.”  Steve caressed your cheek.  “James loves anyone that can stand on two legs. You would struggle to find a woman, and some men, in attendance he hasn’t spent time between their thighs.”  

A lump in your throat formed.

“You’re lying.”  You blinked away the tears. “We belong together.”

“Me on the other hand, I’ve had a tryst or two, but only when I am imaging your face.”  A hunger came over him as he took you in.  “I worship you.  I would die for you.  Give you a kingdom.  If my parent’s wouldn’t have agreed to the union I would have denounced my thrown and ran away with you.”

“But I don’t want to run away with you.”  You started to shake. “I never had.”

The pressure of his hand on your face increased as his blue eyes grew darker.

“I wouldn’t have asked permission.”  His pupils grew larger. “Don’t for a second think you ever had a life with another.  I would have taken you, shown you how to love me.  All the months you returned to your home, to you know the agony is caused me?  Now we will never be apart.”

“I…I…,” you didn’t get the words out before a bell started to ring.  

“Thank you all for the wonderful gifts, attention, and pleasure of your company.” The King rose. “Please stay until the wine goes dry, but I fear my son and his beautiful wife do not have that privilege.”

A sound of ooooos came from the crowd.  Before you knew what was happening your chair was hoisted into the air.  A roaring applause came as Steve’s was as well.

“Wait…STOP…” Nobody could hear you over the applause as the group of men carrying your seats moved to exit.  

You thought about how you’d jumped out of the carriage after your first summer, eager to be back with your family.  You wanted to jump out now, run to them for safety.  But then you looked down and noticed one of the people holding Steve’s chair.  James.

There was nothing but pure joy on his face.  He was happy for you.  Truly.  Were you fooled?  Was his love false?  How could he have loved you and take you to bed for another?  Steve was telling the truth.  It was all a lie.  Your heart broke all over again.

~~

Everything was happening too fast for your brain to comprehend.  To make matters worse, when you were dropped off in Steve’s suite the room was breath-taking.  Gigantic, decorated in bright blues and deep reds.  The bed was larger than you thought possible.  

“I know you’re scared Princess.”  Steve was in front of you, he started to take off his jacket.  “But we are man and wife.  You will learn to love me.  That I did promise.”  

You were still focusing on James’ betrayal.  It wasn’t until you looked up to see Steve peel off his shirt you realized you had other things to worry about.  You spun to look away, but the image of his torso was glued to your mind.  

“Please.  I can’t.  Too much has happened.” You wrapped your hand around your mid section and braced yourself against a love seat.  “Not tonight.”  

Steve approached you, his hands went to the bindings on your gown.  They started to loosen and you held yourself tighter.  

“I’ve never been kissed before today…I couldn’t…please…if you love me you will wait.”  The tears started to fall.  

“That fact brings me more joy than you could comprehend.”  Steve pushed your dress down, leaving your shoulders bare.  “All mine.  For all eternity.”  

You sniffled as his lips met your bare back.  If you dropped your arm you would be nude for him.

“Please no.” The beg came out like a squeak.  “This is not right.  I am not ready.”  

His mouth vanished, but before you felt any relief he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest as he went to the bed.  You knew the tradition and saw the white sheets exposed.  

“I’ve felt enough pain the last two days.  My heart cannot handle any more.”  You tried to wiggle out of his arms, but he was too strong.  

“Shhhh…it’s okay. It’ll only hurt a little.”  Steve sat down on the bed, still cradling you.  “I promise, once the pain subsides I will bring you much pleasure.”  

“If you really love me, you won’t do this.”  You looked up at him with glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks.  

“It is because I love you that I must.”  He kissed your forehead.  “If I don’t consummate, they will take you away from me.  And nobody will take you from me.  Ever.”

His eyes flashed with evil lust again as his words worked their way through your body.  You had to stop this.  

“I don’t love you.”  You shook your head.

“Then let me teach you.”  His head dipped.

You quaked as his lips met yours and he laid you down, spinning his body so it was on top of you.  In a moment of confusion you moved your arms to his chest and he lifted himself, pulling down your gown.  

A yelp left your mouth, stifled by his as he pulled the garment down, leaving the two of you naked against each other.  

You tried to squirm back, but he moved with you, peeling the dress even further.  The room felt like water and you were drowning in him as his tongue moved against yours, his cock pressed against your sex.

His mouth moved away and you twisted your head to the side, trapped below him.  

“I don’t want this.”  It was the truth.  

Then you felt a sensation like no other as his hand moved between your legs, fingers gliding up your sex.  Steve held them in front of your face.  You noticed the glistening slick.

“Your body does.”  His lips kissed your neck, biting and pulling at your skin.  “No one is every going to love you as much as I do.”  

He moved his hand back between your body and you felt another piece of his body coat itself in your juices.  

“Let me love you.”  He stopped, his cock at your entrance.  

You braced yourself for the pain, but it didn’t come as his body stilled.  You opened your eyes and looked up at him.  Worry was plastered all over his face.  

“Please?  Can I love you?”  All of his features were alive.  

You felt yourself crumple underneath him. You wanted to scream no, shove him off, but the look on his face, the patience.   You had no response.  His hand came up and he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking the digit before moving it between you.  

“What are you…”. You didn’t get the question out before your body was met with pleasure.

He found some spot and pressed his thumb to it.  Your back had arched and a moan left you as he rubbed, sending a strange sensation through you.

“Stop…” It came out like a whimper.

“Shhhh Princess.  Let me love you.  Please?”  His mouth was on your neck again.  

Whatever Steve was doing your chest started to heave.  He was igniting something inside of you, something you’d only dreamt of.  You stopped biting back the moans and let them come forward, almost forgetting that his shaft was close to spearing your innocence.  

Your hands went from fisting the sheets to squeezing his arms as he worked you, stroking and rubbing.  Putting pressure in circles.  

“Please…” it came out as a whisper.  

“What was that?” Steve raised his head. “Say it again?”

“Please.”  Your body had taken complete control.  

A shriek and shake left you as he pushed inside, his thumb distracting you from the stretch and burn his cock caused.  You tried to twist your body away, feeling like you couldn’t handle his love.  You didn’t know if you meant mentally or physically. Probably both.  

“I can’t.”  You went for his shoulders and dug your nails in.  “It hurts.”

Steve pushed down harder with his thumb and your legs relaxed as you squeaked, coming undone for him.  

“Shhhh.”  He pushed forward more, sliding through your resistance.  

He came to a settle and his thumb disappeared.   He flexed his body down and you realized his pelvis had taken it’s place.  

“You’ve done so well.”  He peppered your shoulder with kisses. “I’m all the way inside.”  

That was it.  Your virginity was over.   Bound to him for eternity.

“You’ve ruined me.”  You didn’t pull away, but rocked your body against his, wanting the friction back.

“You ruined me the moment we met.”  He kissed your lips.  “It’s only fair I return the favor.”  

He ground his body against yours, making you ache for more of him.  Then he started pulling out, you whined when his body left yours and purred when it returned.  Who were you?  What was this?  Did you care?  

“For all eternity.”  Steve grunted with his thrusts. “An endless lifetime together.”  

Your mind was gone, your brain fogged over.  You reached up and grabbed his chin.  

“I promise.”  You lifted your head as you rocked your hips.  “Eternity.”  

Steve let out an animalistic noise and stopped holding back.  The burn subsided with need and you kissed him with instinct, not training.  The pressure in your core went to overload, unable to handle the way he filled and touched you.  

Was it him?  Was it always him?  Tears stung your eyes for different reasons as you worked together.  A loud moan left your mouth as your toes curled, euphoria spreading through your entire being.  A feeling you never knew possible.  

Your vision blackened and your body convulsed.  What was this magic?  Was he more than a prince?  Soon he stilled inside of you, causing a strange vibration.  He was laying his seed, truly owning you.  

Instead of fighting back or resisting you welcomed it.

Once he left your body consciousness had vanished.  It felt like you were floating as he rolled you away, your eyes fluttering to see the blood and fluid on the sheets he was required to hang outside the room.  

This was your life.    Your strange Prince, who would love you until the end of time.  

[bylagunabay]

THE ANTICHRIST BY VEN. FULTON J. SHEEN

Ven. Fulton Sheen delivers his prophetic sermon on the Antichrist, the Signs of our Times, the Apocalypse, the coming Chastisement, and exhorts Christians to call on our Blessed Mother and St. Michael for protection.

TRANSCRIPT

God Love You! I want these to be my first words of greeting to you as they will be the concluding words on each broadcast. “God Love You” means God is love; God love you; and you ought to love God in return.

 Why is it that so few realize the seriousness of our present crisis? Partly because men do not want to believe their own times are wicked, partly because it involves too much self-accusation and principally because they have no standards outside of themselves to measure their times. Only those who live by faith really know what is happening in the world.

 Well may Our Savior say to us what He said to the Sadducees and Pharisees in His time: “When it is evening, you say: It will be fair weather, for the sky is red. And in the morning: Today there will be a storm, for the sky is red and lowering. You know then how to discern the face of the sky: and can you not know the signs of the times?”.

 Do we know the signs of our times? They point to two inescapable truths, the first of which is that we have come to the end of the post – Renaissance Chapter of history which made man the measure of all things.

The three basic dogmas of the modern world are dissolving before our very eyes.

 First, we are witnessing the liquidation of the economic man, or the assumption that man who is a highly developed animal has no other function in life than to produce and acquire wealth, and then like the cattle in the pastures, be filled with years and die.

 Secondly, we are witnessing the liquidation of the idea of the natural goodness of man who has no need of a God to give Him rights, or a Redeemer to salvage him from guilt, because progress is automatic thanks science, education, and evolution, which will one day make man a kind of a god. We are witnessing also the liquidation of rationalism, or the idea that the purpose of human reason is not to discover the meaning and goal of life, namely the salvation of a soul, but to devise new technical advances to make on this earth a city of man to displace the city of God.

 We are witnessing also the liquidation of rationalism, or the idea that the purpose of human reason is not to discover the meaning and goal of life, namely the salvation of a soul, but to devise new technical advances to make on this earth a city of man to displace the city of God. It may very well be that Historical Liberalism of our modern generation is only a transitional era in history between a civilization which once was Christian and one which will be definitely anti-Christian.

 The second great truth to which the signs of the times portend is that we are definitely at the end of a nonreligious era of civilization, by that I mean one which regarded religion as an addendum to life, a pious extra, a morale-builder for the individual but of no social relevance, and God is a silent partner whose name was used by the firm to give respectability but who had nothing to say about how the business should be run.

 In the new era into which we are entering is what might be called the religious phase of human history. Do not misunderstand me; by religious we do not mean that men will turn to God, but rather that the indifference to the absolute which characterized the liberal phase of civilization will be succeeded by a passion for an absolute.

 From now on the struggle will be not for the colonies and national rights, but for the souls of men. The battle lines are being clearly drawn and the basic issues are no longer in doubt. From now on men will divide themselves into two religions understood again as surrender to an absolute. The conflict of the future is between an absolute who is the God-Man and an absolute which is the man-god; between the God Who became man and the man who makes himself god; between brothers in Christ and comrades in anti-Christ.

 But, the anti-Christ will not be so called, otherwise he would have no followers. He will wear no red tights, nor vomit sulphur, nor carry a spear nor wave an arrowed tail as the Mephistopheles in Faust. Nowhere in Sacred Scripture do we find warrant for the popular myth of the devil as a buffoon who is dressed like the first “red.” Rather, is he described as a fallen angel, as “the Prince of this world” whose business it is to tell us that there is no other world. His logic is simple: if there is no heaven there is no hell; if there is no hell, there is no sin; if there is no sin, there is no judge, and if there is no judgement then evil is good and good is evil.

 But above all these descriptions, Our Lord tells us that he will be so much like Himself, that he would deceive even the elect – and certainly no devil we have ever seen in picture books could deceive the elect.

 How will he come in this new age to win followers to his religion?

— He will come disguised as the Great Humanitarian;

— He will talk peace, prosperity and plenty not as means to lead us to God, but as ends in themselves.

— He will write books on the new idea of God to suit the way people live; induce faith in astrology so as to make not the will but the stars responsible for our sins;

— He will explain guilt away psychologically as repressed sex, make men shrink in shame if their fellowmen say they are not broadminded and liberal;

— He will identify tolerance with indifference to right and wrong;

— He will foster more divorces under the disguise that another partner is “vital”;

— He will increase love for love and decrease love for person;

— He will invoke religion to destroy religion;

— He will even speak of Christ and say that he was the greatest man who ever lived; his mission he will say will be to liberate men from the servitude of superstition and Fascism: which he will never define.

 But, in the midst of all his seeming love for humanity and his glib talk of freedom and equality, he will have one great secret which he will tell to no one; He will not believe in God. Because his religion will be brotherhood without the fatherhood of God, he will deceive even the elect.

 He will set up a counter Church which will be the ape of the Church because, he the devil, is the ape of God. It will be the mystical body of the anti-Christ that will in all externals resemble the church as the mystical body of Christ.

 In desperate need for God, he will induce modern man in his loneliness and frustration to hunger more and more for membership in his community that will give man enlargement of purpose without any need of personal amendment and without the admission of personal guilt.

 These are days in which the devil has been given a particularly long rope. For we must never forget that Our Lord said to Judas and his band: “This is your hour.” God has His day, but evil has its hour when the shepherd shall be struck and the sheep dispersed.

 Has the Church made the preparations for just such a dark night in the decree of the Holy Father outlining the conditions on which a Papal Election may now be held outside of the city of Rome? Men who know history have seen these dark days coming. As far back as 1842, 105 years ago, Heine the German poet wrote: “Communism, though little discussed now and loitering in hidden garrets on miserable straw pallets, is the dark hero destined for a great, if temporary, role in the modern tragedy…Wild, gloomy times are roaring toward us, and the prophet wishing to write a new apocalypse would have to invent entirely new beasts – beasts so terrible that St. John’s older animals would be like gentle doves and cupids in comparison. The gods are veiling their faces in pity on the children of men, their long-time charges. The future smells of Russian leather, blood, godlessness, and many whippings.

 And, I should advise our grandchildren to be born with very thick skins on their backs. That in 1842.

 Well indeed may we be warned. For the first time in history our age has witnessed the persecution of the Old Testament by the Nazis and the persecution of the New Testament by the Communists.

 Anyone who has anything to do with God is hated today, whether his vocation was to announce His Divine Son, Jesus Christ, as did the Jew, or to follow Him as the Christian. Because the signs of our times point to a struggle between absolutes we may expect the future to be a time of trial for two reasons: Firstly, to stop disintegration. Godlessness would go on, and on, and on if there were no catastrophes.

 What death is to an individual, that catastrophe is to an evil civilization: the interruption life and for the civilization the interruption of its Godlessness. Why did God station an angel with a flaming sword at the Garden of Paradise after the Fall, if it was not to prevent our first parents from entering again and eating of the Tree of Life, which, if they ate they would have immortalized their guilt.

 And, God will not allow unrighteousness to become eternal. He permits revolution disintegration, chaos, to come as reminders that our thinking has been wrong, our dreams have been unholy. Moral truth is vindicated by the ruin that follows when it has been repudiated. The chaos of our times is the strongest negative argument that could ever be advanced for Christianity. Catastrophe reveals the evil is self-defeating and that we cannot turn from God as we have without hurting ourselves.

 The second reason why a crisis must come is in order to prevent a false identification of the Church and the world. Our Lord intended that those who were His followers should be dierent in spirit from those who were not. But, this line of demarcation has been blotted out. Instead of black and white, there is only a blur.

 Mediocrity and compromise characterize the lives of many Christians. They read the same novels as modern pagans, educate their children in the same godless way, listen to the same commentators who have no other standard than judging today by yesterday, and tomorrow by today, allow pagan practices to creep into family life, such as divorce and remarriage; there are not wanting, so-called Catholic labor leaders recommending Communists for Congress, or Catholic writers who accept presidencies in Communist front organizations to instill totalitarian ideas into movies.

 There’s no longer the conflict and opposition which ought to characterize us. We are influencing the world less than the world influences us. There is no apartness. We who were sent out to establish a center of health have caught the disease, and therefore have lost the power to heal. And, since the gold is mixed with an alloy, the entirety must be thrust into the furnace that the dross may be burned away.

 The value of the trial will be to set us apart. Evil catastrophe must come to reject us, to despise us, to hate us, to persecute us, and then, then we shall we define our loyalties, aim our fidelity and state on whose side we stand. Our quantity indeed will decrease, but our quality will increase. It is not for the Church that we fear, but for the world. We tremble not that God may be dethroned but that barbarism may reign.

 And three practical suggestions then for the times as Christians realize that a moment of crisis is not a time of despair, but of opportunity. We were born in crisis, in defeat – the Crucifixion. And, once we recognize that we are under Divine Wrath, we become eligible for Divine Mercy. The very disciplines of God create hope. The thief on the right came to God by a crucifixion.

 And secondly Catholics ought to stir up their Faith, hang a crucifix in their home, remind them that they have a cross to carry; gather your family together every night to recite the rosary; go to daily Mass; make the Holy Hour daily in the Presence of our Eucharistic Lord and particularly in parishes where pastors are conscious of the world’s need and therefore conduct services of reparation.

 And, finally, Jews, Protestants, Catholics, Americans, all of us, must realize that the world is summoning us to heroic efforts at spiritualization. It is not a unity of religion we plead for that is impossible when purchased at the cost of the unity of truth, but a unity of religious people, wherein each marches separately according to the light of his conscience, but strikes together for the moral betterment of the world.

 The forces of evil are united; the forces of good are divided. We may not be able to meet in the same pew – would to God we did – but we can meet on our knees. You may be sure that no sordid compromises nor carrying of waters on both shoulders will see you through. Those who have the faith had better keep in the state of grace and those who have neither had better find out what they mean, for in the coming age there will be only one way to stop your trembling knees, and that will be to get down on them and pray.

Pray to Michael, Michael the Prince of the morning, who conquered Lucifer who would make himself a god. When the world once cracked because of a sneer in heaven, he rose up and dragged down from the seven heavens the pride that would look down on the Most High.

 And, pray too, pray to Our Lady, and say to her “It was to thee who was given the power to crush the head of the serpent who lied to men that they would be like unto gods. And mayest thou who didst find Christ when He was lost for three days, find Him again for our world who has lost Him. Give to the senile incontinence of our verbiage the Word. And as thou didst form the Word in thy womb, form Him in our own hearts. Lady of the Blue of Heaven, in these dark days light our lamps. Give back to us the Light of the World that a Light may Shine even in these days of darkness.

God love you.

Ven. Archbishop Fulton J Sheen, 1948

[sswwimagine]

Expecto Patronum || Fred Weasley

Original Post: on ssimagines

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word Count: 2791

Summary: You need some help from a friend

Warnings: spoilers I guess?

Request:   Hi! Could you write a Fred Weasley imagine? Something fluffy? Like teaching the reader a spell? Thanks love! XOXO

Note: Not house specific. Reader is golden trio age and takes place during Order of the Phoenix. Also I had to do some research to figure out Fred’s patronus, but there isn’t actually a real answer. J.K. Rowling never specified on Pottermore, in books, in movies, or in any interview. There is something that says Fred’s was a hyena and George’s was a coyote, but it has no sources to back up this claim. The only thing about the twins and patronuses is after Fred’s death George could no longer cast a patronus. That being said it’s my headcanon that Fred’s patronus is a fox. I just think it fits him and it’s funny

This is obviously already been posted, but since I started my smaller blogs, I wanted all my work for each fandom in one place. Instead of just reblogging everything I figured that I would repost it. 

Request/Taglist

Masterlist

The meeting for Dumbledore’s Army had just wrapped for the day, and it was time to head back to your dorms. This week’s lesson was on the Patronus charm. You were having a hard time casting it, but that wasn’t your fault.  It was an advanced spell. You didn’t understand how Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Harry could produce them already. Well, Harry had years of practice, so that one wasn’t that big of a surprise. 

It was actually the second week that you’ve had to work on the Patronus charm, but you still haven’t been able to produce more than a few wisps. That was the case for most people actually. Today though, more and more people in Dumbledore’s Army were able to produce a Patronus leaving you one of the only one’s who hadn’t along with Neville and a girl a year younger than you whose name you couldn’t remember. 

You collected your bag from against the wall where you had dumped it at the beginning of the meeting. You had lost track of time in the library studying for your O.W.L.S. when you realized you only had a few minutes to rush down to the Room of Requirement. It left you with no time to go back to your dorm to drop of your stuff. 

The room had nearly all cleared out when you were making your exit. You kept your head down and walked alone back to your houses common room. From somewhere behind you, two sets footsteps approached you. Thinking nothing of it, you kept your pace and moved closer to the wall so that they’d be able to pass. 

“Y/N,” a voice said from beside you startling you out of your skin. It wouldn’t surprise you if you had actually caught some air.

Turning your head, you were met with the sight of your close friends, Fred and George. You had been close with the twins since your first year when they bewitched snowballs to hit Quirrell’s turban. You had been so fascinated by it that you asked them how to teach you. You’ve been friends since.  

They were both giving their trademark mischievous smiles. The three of you were taking up most the hallway, but no one was coming either way at the moment, so it wasn’t a big deal.

“What can I help you with, boys?” you asked.

Those smiles always meant one thing: the boys wanted something from you. Usually, it was helping them find someone to try a new product of theirs and on rare occasions, actually trying out their new product yourself. Last year, you were often their guinea pig for new sweets, but after a bad batch of canary creams landed you in the hospital wing for a week, you told them you weren’t going to go anywhere near their products that case any physical change to your body in any way. 

“Not something you can do for us,” George started.

“Something we can do for you,” Fred continued. 

You furrowed your eyebrows at the statement. Now you were positive that they wanted something from you, but what. Looking them up and down, you found that they weren’t carrying anything. Whatever it was that they wanted under this guise of helping you must not be something physical. 

“And what is it that you think that you can do for me?” You said. 

It seemed that their smiles only grew as you said those words. You felt like you should be worried, but when you looked at Fred, your worries eased. He looked less mischievous and happier. Your initial assessment of their emotions you just assumed that they were both giving you the same trouble makers smile, but only George had the smile on his face.

“We noticed you struggling today,” Fred said. Though the words could have seemed harsh, his tone was made them seem hopeful.

“So, we were thinking that since Freddie here could also use a bit more practice,” George continued for his brother wrapping an arm around his shoulder. 

“That maybe we could practice together,” Fred finished. You looked between the twins again. It still felt like there was some sort of catch. Neither of the twins let on if there was one with their postures or facial expressions though. Other than George’s still mischievous smirk, the offer seemed genuine. 

“I could never ask that of you two,” you said. “Business is finally starting to pick up, and I can’t let you guys take time away just for some stupid extra practice.” “Oh, but you wouldn’t be taking both of us,” George said. “Just Freddie here. I’ll keep up with orders while the two of you get some extra practice.”

Fred just nodded. The twins had put effort in to make this work for you. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t appreciative, but you were also still hesitant. It wasn’t just that you would be taking Fred away from their growing business that worried you. There was this small factor of having a small crush on the older of the two twins. 

You realized how you felt last year. You went to the Yule ball with George. He knew that you really wanted to go, but hadn’t been asked by anyone yet. He took it upon himself to ask you, and the two of you went as friends. You had a blast joking around with George.

During when of the slow dances, Fred asked if you’d like to dance with him while George danced with Fred’s date, Angelica. Of course, you said yes. At one point, Fred leaned in and whispered in your ear that you looked gorgeous in your outfit. The way he said it: so delicately and sweetly. You knew that he meant it, and from then on you just couldn’t seem to kick this nagging crush on the Fred Weasley. 

“I don’t know,” you said, every ounce of hesitation present in your voice. “I would feel bad about taking you away from all your orders and working on new products.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Y/N,” George pipped up. “You’d be doing all of us a favor. It gives me some time away from his bad ideas and gives you both a bit more practice. Everyone wins.”

Fred looked insulted at his twin. George let out a laugh, and the interaction between the two of them caused you to laugh. Fred eventually joined in the laughter.

“Okay, where exactly are we going to practice?” you said after the laughter died down. You looked at Fred expectantly. The look on his face was just evidence that he hadn’t thought about that. 

“Easy,” George said taking the lead again. “You two will meet up in the room of requirement tomorrow before DA.”

George shrugged haphazardly like it was the obvious answer. 

“Yes of course,” Fred chimed in with a confident nod as if he had the idea in the first place. “That works for you, yes?”

“Yes, I can do that,” you said. 

You were planning on spending the afternoon in the library studying again, but you could really use the practice, and there wasn’t really another time that would work. All the educational decrees Umbridge has, well, decreed have limited just about everything but studying, so you could be put it off until later. Practice was more important and harder to find time for.

You gave Fred a toothy smile. He returned it, but didn’t say anything. The two of you just stood there smiling at each other not realizing that time was passing. George cleared his throat snapping both of you out of the smilefest that was happening between you. 

“Fred and I have somewhere to be,” George said as he turned to leave.

“Oh yeah,” Fred said in realization. “I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N.”

Fred took off to catch up to his twin who was only a few paces ahead. You watched them go happily. You were after getting extra practice tomorrow. That practice being with Fred was just a plus. 

“Okay, I will see you tomorrow,” you said calling after them as they turned the corner of the corridor. You stood staring down the corridor lost in thought. Daydreams of tomorrow floated around in our head. 

“Y/N, I thought you were gone by now,” Harry said behind you. Once again you were startled. What was with you today? It seemed like just about anyone could sneak up on you. 

“Oh, I was on my way back to my dormitory, but I got a bit sidetracked,” you said waving Harry off a bit. 

“In that case, maybe I can walk a ways with you,” he said with a smile.

“Sure, Harry, just remember to keep eight inches,” you said jokingly.

“Oh, of course,” Harry said laughing. “I would hate to break any of Umbridge’s glorious decrees.”

“We could never do that,” you said joining him as the two of you walked side by side down the corridor. 

~~~~~

You had just finished your last class of the day. You were swift to go back to drop your stuff off in your dorm before rushing to the room of requirement. The whole day you were on the edge of your seat excited. The extra practice would be a godsend, and the fact that Fred is the one you were practicing with was a major bonus. 

You’d never have imagined you would have a moment with just Fred. You loved George; he was your best friend, but being with just Fred, you didn’t know because it had never really happened before. 

You walked the hall where the door was known to appear watching the stone work as it magically revealed itself. You thought back to the first time you saw it happen. It had you awestruck the way the door seemed to grow and twist into existence in a place there was nothing.  Now, after going there so often, it felt like nothing. You were a little saddened that magic was losing some of its awe to you. 

When the large door settled into existence, you threw it open and rushed in expecting to find the room empty, but Fred stood by the fire place watching the flame. He was startled by the sound of the door opening and wiped around to see you standing just inside trying to close the door softly as not to disturb things further. 

You scanned the room. Aside from Fred who was making his way to you now, there was a bag in one corner and a mirror in the other. Other than that, the room was nearly bare. 

“What’s with the bag?” You asked. “You could’ve dropped it off before you got here. I wouldn’t have minded if you were a little late.”

“Oh, that’s just supplies,” Fred said as he took long strides across the room to reach you. He had a large smile on his face that was so pure and happy. You returned it with your own wide version. 

“I was not sure you were going to make it,” Fred said jokingly. 

“And why would I not make it?” You matched his tone.

“I do not know, but you are here now,” he paused like he was waiting for something before he cleared his throat and continued, “Shall we get started?”

Happily, you gave him a nod before the two of you got started.

~~~~~

You had been casting the same spell over and over again for half an hour now. Though the wisp that poured from your wand had started to become more recognizable, you had made little progress beyond that. You were growing more frustrated with every attempt. DA would start in ten minutes and you wanted to have this down by then. 

“I don’t think that I am going to get this.” You heaved out a long sigh and threw yourself to the ground next to the wall. Maybe it was less of throwing and more like just falling back on to your bum on the ground while leaning against the wall. 

Your head was starting to hurt. Magic was draining especially patronuses. You heard Fred take a heavy breath. He moved to grab something from his bag. He came back to you with a chocolate bar in hand and sat down on the ground next to you. After a bit of a struggle with the wrapper around the bar, Fred broke off a piece and handed it to you before he broke one off for himself. You nibbled a bit off the edge of your piece and let out a small moan.

“Dang, that’s good,” you said while Fred laughed. “Why’d you bring this again?” “Harry told me that we might need it.” Fred’s laughing had settled leaving the two of you in silence. You admired Fred as he took a small it of his piece of chocolate.

“Fred, thank you,” you said softly.

“What for?” he said matching your tone as he turned to look at you. 

“For practicing with me. Even though you have this down and totally don’t need practice.” You sighed and leaned your head on to his shoulder. 

Fred took another bite of his chocolate. With his free hand, he laced his fingers in yours. You turned to look at him which meant awkwardly craning your neck up to see him. Your face was really close to his. 

He looked down at you. His lips were so close to yours and drew your eyes to them. You quickly shifted your gaze when you realized what that might look like to him. He was just looking down at you with this look that you’d seen before, but could never decipher. Now being so close you were pretty sure you knew what it meant.

You moved your lips to hover just over his. He closed his eyes and you did too.

“Can I kiss you?” your words floated out of your mouth like the blue wisp of light flowed out of your wand. 

“Please,” his voice was barely audible even in with the close proximity in the nearly empty room. 

You gently moved your lips to touch his. The kiss was short and gentle. 

When the two of you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. The two of you sat there a moment before you heard the door of the room open startling the both of you from your position. You had jumped to your feet and pulled Fred along with you. 

Through the doors were a small group of Ravenclaw girls (which included Cho and Padme) followed by Harry and Ron who were talking heatedly about something while Hermione trailed behind them, and then came George who made eye contact with Fred and just shrugged. 

Padme waved you over to the girls. You gave Fred a small sweet smile before you turned and walked away. He returned your smile just as George came to his side.

Padme and Cho were asked you about your Christmas plans to which you told them you were going home to visit your grandmother. More people came in slowly. When the majority of the regular attenders were there Harry explained that today there was no specific spell we would be learning, but he would just be helping those who needed on spells they were rusty on. 

Padme insisted that you join her and Cho who were working on their patronuses. You were glad to have even more practice, but you longed to join Fred and George on the other side of the room. You watched as Fred cast his Patronus. The beautiful fox formed from the end of his wand. George cast the spell as well. An identical fox came from his wand as well and started to play with Fred’s. You smiled at the two foxes as they faded away.

“Expecto Patronum,” you said softly not expecting anything to come from it, but to your surprise the wisp started to take form. A [your patronus] poured out of your wand. You let a small squeal of delight escape your lips as you watched the animal. As it faded away, you saw Fred come running up to you with a wicked smile on his face. 

“You did it!” He took you in his arms and pulled you close. You hugged him back. When you pulled away from him you felt his lips come in contact with yours. You were shocked when you pulled away from him, but you shock it off as you looked behind him to see George throw you a thumbs up. You rolled your eyes as Harry came over to congratulate you on finally getting the advanced spell. 

Fred’s hand wrapped around yours tightly. A smile plastered your face.

[golden-deer-dear]

The Weight of a Name, Claude x Byleth AU Fic, Chapter 2

Summary: One decision can change the course of nations. When King Mahtab brought home a baby from Fódlan, he gave his own son someone to stand at his side. Byleth grows up side by side with Claude, surviving the hardship of Almyra together. For each, they are the other’s only friend.

Notes: Hey, look guys! I actually worked on my NaNo project!

Edits:  I took out the terms 'half-breed' that Keveh originally used to insult Claude. It was pointed out that these terms, even in a negative light were not exactly appropriate. This story will be dealing with the racism that Claude faced in his childhood, and I will be doing my best to deal with the topic sensitively, but if I ever write something that does not, then please let me know so I can fix it. I am doing my best, but I won't pretend I don't have more I need to learn/become aware of. My apologizes to anyone I offended.

Warnings for this chapter: violence against a child.

1162 Read on AO3.

The Weight of a Name 1167

Claude hated his cousin. 

No, that word was not strong enough. He loathed the older boy. His legs ached as he ran, weaving in and out of the market stalls as he tried to lose the small gang chasing him. Usually such a task was no issue for him. He could dodge through the crowd without issue, putting the throng of people between him and his pursuers. Today, it seemed, he was not so lucky. 

He heard the shouts behind him, alerting him that the other children were closing in. Claude feinted to the right, dodging behind a basket of figs before circling back around, hoping to end up behind his pursuers and lose them by going in the opposite direction. 

His hopes were dashed when a shadow stepped in his way. Claude ran head first into the bulky body, unable to change the direction of his momentum before he realized what was happening. Keveh grabbed onto the collar of his shirt before Claude could fall backwards. Claude twisted in Keveh’s grip, trying to yank himself free, but Keveh just held on tighter, lifting Claude’s shirt so that he was forced to stand on tiptoe or be choked by the cloth.

“You can’t keep using the same tricks and think you’ll get away with it, coward,” Keveh taunted, triumph ringing in his tone. 

Claude called him a rather nasty name in return, trying to twist out of his shirt so he could escape. His shirt was an acceptable sacrifice at this point. 

“Now, that’s just rude. We’re going to have to teach you some manners, you pathetic little weakling.” Keveh dragged Claude along, still holding him too high for Claude to get much traction on the ground. Keveh’s goons closed in around them, cutting off both Claude’s escape and hiding him from the sight of anyone who might interfere. 

Claude cursed again, a word no five year old should know, let alone say, as Keveh threw him to the ground. The marketplace had given way to an alley. Keveh was not very creative in his beatings. 

Claude saw the first punch coming, and ducked low, causing Keveh’s fist to impact with the stone wall behind Claude. Keveh cursed, his face twisted with spite and fury as he looked down at his younger cousin. Keveh was only four years older than Claude, but he had already proven himself capable of enacting terrible acts in the name of justice. According to him, Claude’s entire existence was an affront to the kingdom.

Two of the other boys, from noble families who had grown much too close to Claude’s uncle in the past years for his father’s liking, boxed him in. With nowhere to go, Keveh’s next punch landed squarely across Claude’s jaw. 

Claude went down hard, curling into a ball as the three boys began to kick at his face and stomach. One landed a particular vicious kick against his kidneys. Claude cried out, unable to hide the pain that raced through his body. The boys above him just laughed.

And then Claude heard something unexpected. A boy and a girl stood guard at the entrance to the alley, preventing anyone from interfering with Claude’s beating. It was all typical for this type of event. But they both cried out, one in pain, the other in surprise. 

The legs stopped kicking him, letting Claude see that the boy was lying on the ground. He watched as the girl quickly joined him, another girl, maybe two or three years older than himself, standing over them. Despite her obvious young age, she looked like vengeance personified. Her face was blank as she approached the three boys that, until a moment ago, had been beating on Claude’s small frame. There was a training sword in her hand, blunted but still dangerous in the right hands. And it seemed hers were the right ones. 

“This doesn’t concern you,” Keveh said, trying to keep his tone light. It didn’t work. The annoyance he felt at being interrupted was clear, and the avenging angel tilted her head, eyes narrowing at his words. She did not say anything as she took another step toward them.

The boy closest to her stepped forward, but she dodged, letting him fly past her. Keveh and the last boy started forward, but Claude grabbed onto Keveh’s ankle, sinking his teeth into his cousin’s leg. Keveh cried out and cursed, thrown off balance long enough for Claude to get to his feet again. He punched Keveh’s diaphragm, just like Nader had shown him. Keveh cursed again, Claude’s punches not yet strong enough to take down the older boy. 

Keveh was on top of him, hands clawing at Claude’s neck and face. All pretense of the charming manipulator was gone, and what loomed above Claude was a monster in human form. Claude kicked and punched blindly, having no idea where his hits landed, only focusing on trying to get Keveh off of him.

Hands grasped around Claude’s throat, Keveh’s lips splitting into a grin that would haunt Claude’s nightmares for years to come. He looked demonic in that moment, as he began to choke the life out of the younger boy.

And then he simply wasn’t there. Claude scrambled back, seeing Keveh in a heap on the opposite side of the alley. The girl stood between them, her training sword still pointed in Keveh’s direction. “Leave,” she ordered. The word was so final, a tone Claude had only ever heard from his mother and father when they issued a decree, that there was no room for argument. 

Keveh and his friends slowly got to their feet, picking up the boy at the entrance who was clearly unconscious. “This isn’t over,” Keveh growled, although Claude couldn’t tell if he was speaking to him or the girl protecting him.

“Get a line that makes you sound less like a villain,” Claude snapped back.

Keveh’s eyes flashed, and for a moment it looked like he might charge the woman to try and reach Claude again, but when she raised her sword a fraction higher, Keveh backed off. He gathered his friends and left to nurse his wounds, no doubt in Claude’s mind that he was already planning some sort of revenge for his humiliation. 

“I would have been fine,” Claude said, looking down at his shoes. “But thank you, all the same.”

The girl turned to him and blinked, the malice disappearing from her ocean blue eyes. It was as if she was almost surprised to see Claude standing there behind her. “You would not have been,” she pointed out matter of factly.

“Do you not know who I am?” Claude demanded, both curious and hurt. “I’m the prince! I’m supposed to fight my own battles. I shouldn’t have to rely on anyone in a fight!”

The angel tilted her head to the side, and for a brief moment what looked like confusion flickered in her eyes. “Who told you that?”

“My father,” Claude answered, going back to staring at his shoes.

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Claude’s head snapped back up, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. Had she just called the king stupid? “What?” Claude responded with, which he immediately mentally kicked himself for as it made him sound rather unintelligent. 

“If you’re the prince, that means your father is the king, correct?” At Claude’s nod the girl continued. “The king has an army to fight his wars. He has guards to protect him. Sure, he’s a great warrior, but he doesn’t fight every battle by himself.”

Claude had never thought about it like that before. That did make sense, but his parents had always told him that Claude would need to fight his own battles if he hoped to become strong enough to hold the throne.

“There were five of them, and only one of you,” the girl pointed out. “And all of them were bigger than you. It’s possible you could have taken out one of two of them, but there’s no way you could take on all of them.” Claude opened his mouth to defend himself, but the girl cut him off. “I’m not insulting you, I’m stating a fact.”

“But you took them all on!” Claude protested.

“Yes, but I am also older and bigger than you. I’ve had a few more years of training than you. And I assure you, I have a better trainer than any of those thugs,” she explained calmly. She sounded so much more mature than she looked, but then many noble children did given their high degree of education. Claude himself was already expected to be developing his own political skills, which included speaking eloquently. “Stay alive for a few more years, and you should be able to take them on your own.”

“I doubt I have a few years, not if the look on Keveh’s face was anything to go by.” Claude kicked at the dirt, silently cursing that he was so much smaller than his cousin. If only he was born a few years earlier, then he Keveh would be on even footing. 

The girl studied him, and Claude felt as if she was unfolding his entire soul to study. It sent a shiver up his spine. “You’ll just have to find a way to survive then.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, Claude flinching at the weight on an already forming bruise. “Come on,” she said, gentler this time, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

And without question, Claude followed. She walked through the marketplace with confidence, her eyes sweeping from side to side looking for any danger. Claude wanted to do that. He wanted to hold his head high and walk knowing that he could handle any danger that threatened him. He stood in awe of the angel that had saved him, studying her every motion, desperate to learn how she held herself without fear.

/

“Seems like you’re lucky Byleth found you, kid,” Nader said.

Claude hissed as his trainer dabbed at a cut on his arm with a cotton swab coated in something foul smelling. It stung, but apparently that was how one knew it was working. “I didn’t realize she was your ward.”

“Yep!” Nader said, pride in his voice as he beamed at Claude. “And as soon as I think you’re ready, you’ll train with her too.”

Claude’s eyes widened. “I’m going to have to fight her!” He was both terrified, because he had seen what Byleth could do, and eager to test himself against her so that he could one day stand side by side with her. The quicker he learned, the sooner he would be able to do to Keveh what Byleth had done today.

Nader let loose a deep belly laugh, wiping a tear from his eye before he went back to bandaging Claude’s injuries. “Someday, but only when I say you’re ready. Byleth’s not someone you want to take on too early.”

“But I can learn from her!”

“Someday,” Nader repeated. “Until then, you learn from me.”

Claude studied his instructor for a brief second before nodding his acceptance. He had a renewed determination to learn. Sure, he wanted to protect himself from Keveh and those who hated him because of who his mother was, but now he had something to fight for besides survival. 

He would prove himself to Nader. And after that, he’d prove himself to Byleth. He would grow strong enough to watch her back in a fight. That was how he was going to pay her back for saving him.

/

“I think our little prince might have a crush,” Nader all but sang as he slid into a chair beside his sister. Naima’s face creased in worry, cutting short Nader’s laughter. “What? It’s cute.”

It’s dangerous, Naima signed. He is already hated because his mother is from Fódlan. What do you think will happen if he marries a woman from Fódlan as well?

“It’s a bit soon to be talking about marriage,” Nader countered. “It’ll probably blow over long before they come of age.”

Naima did not look convinced.

“They’re children!”

And yet you are the one who brought up the topic of crushes.

Nader threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine! I won’t mention it again!”

Naima sighed soundlessly, fingers ideally playing with the embroidery piece she had been working on before Nader interrupted her. If.... she began, her fingers spelling out her words uncertainly. If Mahtab thinks Byleth is influencing the prince, he may force you to get rid of her.

Nader’s face softened, understanding his sister’s reticence. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Naima shot him another sharp look, her face hardening as she signed, her movements board line aggressive. He would. If Byleth threatened his throne, he wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of her. It’s the entire reason she is here.

“She’s here as a protection to the throne,” Nader countered.

And that could easily change! Naima stood, throwing her embroidery to the side as she began to pace the room. I realize he is your friend, but the throne has changed him. Her motions were frantic as she paced, Nader missing a few words when she turned, but able to piece together her meaning. He has had to do terrible things to protect the throne, and Byleth was the start of all that. I fear for her everyday. If someone were to find out what Mahtab did-

Naima cut herself off, turning to face Nader. There were tears on her cheeks as she sank to her knees before her brother. Do not let him take her from me, Naima begged. Whatever happens, don’t let him take my daughter from me.

Nader took Naima’s hands in his own. They were so small within his own. Sometimes he forgot how delicate she was, and how harsh Almyra had treated her. “I won’t, Naima. No one will take Byleth from you. I swear it.”

Naima sighed heavily, her whole body relaxing. Thank you, Nader.

He only hoped it was a promise he could keep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kids are fucking hard to write guys. I can't wait for these two to grow up.

[internaljiujitsu]

Negrito: Race In The Latino Community

I had lots of nicknames growing up. Bolita (little ball) when I was a toddler because I was round. Jun (short for Junior), because I share a name with my dad. But the monikers I heard most from my mom and extended family were Negro (black), Negrito (little black) or Negrolo (black something or other). Notice a pattern?

As the darkest person in my Puerto Rican family, that’s how my loved ones would address me. It’s a common practice in Latino cultures. Identifying someone by their color, frowned upon in politically correct, modern society, has morphed into a term of endearment among racially diverse Latinos. Or so it seems.

Despite the wide range of hues within Latino culture that would suggest an evolved view of skin color, these societies are just as racist as any dusty mid western town full of red cap wearing “Americans.”

When a black South African, Zonzibini Tunzi, beat out Ms. Puerto Rico for the ridiculous Ms. Universe crown, the supervisor for the Island’s Education Department called the winner, “La prima de Shaka Zulu.” It means Shaka Zulu’s cousin. You know, the legendary African military leader.

In case you were wondering, there is no relation.

In 1937, Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo had forty thousand Hatitian migrants massacred to “whiten” the population of the Caribbean nation. Sixty years later, every Dominican in the world hailed the dark skinned Sammy Sosa as one of their own when he chased Babe Ruth’s legendary home run record.

And now — twenty years after that — Sammy Sosa is white.

In the eighties, my friends and family referred to African American people as “Morenos” (Dark Skinned) or “Cocolos” (a term originating with a dark skin group of people in The Dominican Republic.) We were all living in the same impoverished, dilapidated neighborhood together, but never felt the same. There was always an us against them attitude. We often felt as if we needed to fight for respect within our own neighborhood while buying into media perceptions of what it meant to be black and brown. And what we saw around us everyday did little to give us faith in ourselves or our darker brethren.

But I could blend in anywhere — while feeling comfortable nowhere. I belonged to a light skinned (except for me and my dad) Puerto Rican family growing up in a black neighborhood but I found myself relating more to white culture. While the Cosby Show was number one, I watched Family Ties. While kids were listening to Chuck D or KRS 1, I was head banging to Guns and Roses. I hated baggy clothes, preferring tight jeans and t-shirts. But I didn’t feel like I was rebelling - I just liked what I liked, and got plenty of shit for it.

To me, the Cosby show was bullshit. That’s not how it was for the black and brown people I knew. It was fantasy. Family Ties I had seen play out before my own eyes at white friends’ homes with cookie cutter lives that seemed perfect (spoiler alert: they weren’t). I wanted what they had so badly — peace of mind and enthusiasm for the future — and I wasn’t finding it where I lived.

I also hated my brother at the time (who I love to death) and wanted to be the opposite of him. He was a thug who always gave my parents headaches. He set a terrible example for his little brother while constantly asserting the fact that he was six years older and wiser. Once I stopped idolizing him, I detested everything he stood for. He has long since proven me and the old neighborhood wrong.

It took me years to become as secure as I am, but even now I get shit from people in my life. I’ve embraced my heritage and have ensured that my five year old daughter does the same. But when my parents hear my daughter speak proper Spanish without a Puerto Rican accent, they make fun of us. She’s been attending a Spanish speaking school since she was two. Her mother and I have attempted to be consistent with the dialect we use with her. That means she actually rolls her r’s and doesn’t sound like she’s gonna hock a loogie when she says “carro” or “perro.” My family thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

But it’s not just family. In a recent conversion with an old friend who had just retired from the police department, he called me an “Oreo.” Black on the outside and white on the inside. This guy is in his fifties. I chuckled when he said it, but haven’t returned his calls since.

The thing is, I know he was just fucking around. He himself is of mixed race and sounds like an Irish American with a Brooklyn accent, but looks Japanese. But there is something about police perception of dark skin people, how we are supposed to sound, that bugged me about what he said.

There’s too much chuckling that goes on. Too much nodding. A former close friend of mine, who is half Puerto Rican and married to a dark skinned Dominican woman, once complained that a guy he knew had “niggered up” his car ( because he added shiny rims, window tint and other bells and whistles). It wasn’t the first time I heard him use the word. Each time it turned my stomach. I didn’t get it — I was his friend. Both me and his wife would have been denied access to white bathrooms and water fountains. Just because we did not identify with black culture didn’t mean we wouldn’t be exposed to the same bigotry and hatred. What the fuck? It was too much for me to overlook. We haven’t spoken in years.

There was an ugly song I remember from the old neighborhood back in the day. There were two versions:

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the black don’t win, we all jump in.”

Or,

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the white don’t win, we all jump in.”

Which one you sang depended on who you were with. Which “us” against which “them?”

I remember, as a teenager, going to the Sunset Park pool in Brooklyn with a bunch of Latino boys. On the way home, there was a group of black kids walking ahead of us. The group I was with, only one of whom was my close friend, started taunting them. They hurled racial epitaphs and threats at the black kids for being in their neighborhood. I was silent and utterly confused.

As a kid, it was actually my one close white friend, Jesse, who was the least racist kid I knew. He might have been the most genuine friend I ever had. I stopped returning his calls because I didn’t trust his friendship. Not because of anything he did — My negative view of myself kept me from believing that he really wanted to be my friend. Why would he? He was from a great family that lived in a beautiful house and valued the things that mattered to me but weren’t for me.

When I hung out with Jesse’s friends, the chip on my shoulder was always ready to bash someone over the head. At a party in some kid’s basement, someone spilled a drink. The host, an Italian kid that I didn’t know, asked me to help clean it up. I told him to go fuck himself. Then he asked me, “What are you?”

The party ended when I dragged him down a staircase and started beating him down before being pulled off and barely escaping the awaiting mob. I am my brother’s brother, after all.

So even though I felt like a Martian in my own neighborhood and knew I wanted better, I didn’t think I belonged on the other side either. I was stuck in this bizarre place where the only role models I had were Roberto Clemente, Eric Estrada and Slater. I never knew anyone else successful that looked like me. At the same time it seemed everyone around me was determined to make sure I never forgot where I belonged.

When I was twelve years old, I refused to attend my zone school because it had a reputation for being the worst in the city. It wasn’t my parents that refused, it was me. I told my mom and dad I would not go to junior high unless they transferred me. What if I hadn’t done that?

As it turns out, the school I ended up going to (because my dad used a friend’s address) was in a good part of town and was the best public education I ever experienced. The work was so advanced that I went from being one of the smartest kids in class to struggling. I actually had to study — something I never had to do much of and found excruciatingly boring. At that new school, I felt like the bad boy. The outcast. The kid that didn’t quite belong and couldn’t keep up.

My grades suffered that year, and when I transferred to a another school, I wasn’t placed in the gifted program for the first time in my scholastic career. I petitioned the principal and pleaded my case, explaining the difficult circumstances of the previous year and promising that I would shine in his “7SP“ class, which got to skip the eight grade and go straight to “9SP” in the fall. Like when I refused to go to that war zone of a school, I once again stood up for my own education. I was thirteen years old.

The work that year was far easier than what I had learned at the other school. I breezed through. The kind of disparity that existed between the two public middle schools I attended is indicative of the subpar education that children of color receive within what is supposed to be one school system. Kids in bad schools aren’t exposed to the same world that their crosstown rivals are and are ill prepared for the reality that awaits — be it a college admissions exam or the job market. Those who do not take it upon themselves to find opportunities for advancement can’t rely on working parents with little time or education to advocate for them. They are left with shitty choices and no one to champion their cause.

The scourge of poverty and racism is further sullied by the structural hierarchy of “shade” in communities of color. In the Autobiography of Frederick Douglass, the trailblazing abolitionist and former slave writes of the preferential treatment lighter slaves received, even among the others in bondage. Proximity to whiteness, then and now, is proximity to power and privilege.

In the late 1700’s, Spain instituted the process of gracias al sacar. Mixed race people could purchase a decree that converted them to white. One such royal decree granted to Cuban Manuel Baez in 1760 says that it erased “the defect that you suffer from birth and leave you able and capable as if you did not have it.” Ain’t that some shit.

Alice Walker coined the term “colorism” in her book, “In Search of Our Mother’s Garden”. She describes “prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on color.” Research has shown that skin tone affects the outcome of job interviews, court cases and elections. This is not a secret among people of color. They grow up believing that the whiter they look, the easier they’ll have it.

How does that make a kid feel who wants so badly to get ahead in life but has the mirror, the media and the world outside his window saying he doesn’t stand a chance? As if even after you do all the work and get to the finish line, the tape will be pulled back another few feet each time you stretch to get across. The life you want will be just out of reach, no matter how long or how fast you run.

There has been a delusion among some that because we’ve had a black president, hip hope rules the world and the Rock is the world’s biggest movie star, racism doesn’t exist anymore. There are people of color in positions of power and prestige, but they are few and far between. There just hasn’t been enough time for all the seeds of opportunity that were only planted a generation or two or three ago to compete with those who have seemingly inherited an eternity of racial privilege. Just because so many people fought for and finally earned some basic human rights doesn’t mean the playing field has been leveled.

The destruction of the long standing racial hierarchy is a challenging ongoing project that the world must decide to address together. The perpetuation of negative stereotypes of black and brown people is not only meant to strike fear in every suburban household, but to reinforce in the mind of the oppressed their role in society. Centuries of subjugation have purposefully convinced young men and women of color that they are born with an inherent disadvantage. Then, once their will to fight was clear, the oppressors barked that those they once lorded over should be grateful to simply be out of their chains.

It is up to people of color, whether African American, Latino, West Indian, or any other subdivision of “black” that may exist, to burn down the old models. The carefully calculated lie that “whiteness” is more attractive, desirable or indicative of ability must be deleted from our main frame. We must believe we are just as capable, because we obviously are. We must know that we have the opportunities, even if we have to work harder for them. And we cannot fight among ourselves, to the delight of those that would sooner see us dead, in jail or all together erased from the annals of history.

With dog whistles long having been discarded in favor of bull horns, the paper thin veil has been lifted from our union. In a country already in pieces, further division because of infighting is not something people of color, no matter their shade, can afford.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings August 02, 2020

Psalm 93

Psalm 93

The Majesty of God’s Rule

1 The Lord is king, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed, he is girded with strength. He has established the world; it shall never be moved; 2 your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting.

3 The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. 4 More majestic than the thunders of mighty waters, more majestic than the waves[a] of the sea, majestic on high is the Lord!

5 Your decrees are very sure; holiness befits your house, O Lord, forevermore.

Footnotes:

Psalm 93:4 Cn: Heb majestic are the waves

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 96

Psalm 96

Praise to God Who Comes in Judgment

1 O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. 2 Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. 3 Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples. 4 For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; he is to be revered above all gods. 5 For all the gods of the peoples are idols, but the Lord made the heavens. 6 Honor and majesty are before him; strength and beauty are in his sanctuary.

7 Ascribe to the Lord, O families of the peoples, ascribe to the Lord glory and strength. 8 Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name; bring an offering, and come into his courts. 9 Worship the Lord in holy splendor; tremble before him, all the earth.

10 Say among the nations, “The Lord is king! The world is firmly established; it shall never be moved. He will judge the peoples with equity.” 11 Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; let the sea roar, and all that fills it; 12 let the field exult, and everything in it. Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy 13 before the Lord; for he is coming, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with his truth.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 34

Psalm 34

Praise for Deliverance from Trouble

Of David, when he feigned madness before Abimelech, so that he drove him out, and he went away.

1 I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. 2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad. 3 O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.

4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. 5 Look to him, and be radiant; so your[a] faces shall never be ashamed. 6 This poor soul cried, and was heard by the Lord, and was saved from every trouble. 7 The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them. 8 O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him. 9 O fear the Lord, you his holy ones, for those who fear him have no want. 10 The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

11 Come, O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. 12 Which of you desires life, and covets many days to enjoy good? 13 Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. 14 Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.

15 The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their cry. 16 The face of the Lord is against evildoers, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. 17 When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears, and rescues them from all their troubles. 18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord rescues them from them all. 20 He keeps all their bones; not one of them will be broken. 21 Evil brings death to the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be condemned. 22 The Lord redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.

Footnotes:

Psalm 34:5 Gk Syr Jerome: Heb their

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Judges 6:1-24

The Midianite Oppression

6 The Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, and the Lord gave them into the hand of Midian seven years. 2 The hand of Midian prevailed over Israel; and because of Midian the Israelites provided for themselves hiding places in the mountains, caves and strongholds. 3 For whenever the Israelites put in seed, the Midianites and the Amalekites and the people of the east would come up against them. 4 They would encamp against them and destroy the produce of the land, as far as the neighborhood of Gaza, and leave no sustenance in Israel, and no sheep or ox or donkey. 5 For they and their livestock would come up, and they would even bring their tents, as thick as locusts; neither they nor their camels could be counted; so they wasted the land as they came in. 6 Thus Israel was greatly impoverished because of Midian; and the Israelites cried out to the Lord for help.

7 When the Israelites cried to the Lord on account of the Midianites, 8 the Lord sent a prophet to the Israelites; and he said to them, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: I led you up from Egypt, and brought you out of the house of slavery; 9 and I delivered you from the hand of the Egyptians, and from the hand of all who oppressed you, and drove them out before you, and gave you their land; 10 and I said to you, ‘I am the Lord your God; you shall not pay reverence to the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you live.’ But you have not given heed to my voice.”

The Call of Gideon

11 Now the angel of the Lord came and sat under the oak at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, as his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine press, to hide it from the Midianites. 12 The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said to him, “The Lord is with you, you mighty warrior.” 13 Gideon answered him, “But sir, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our ancestors recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the Lord has cast us off, and given us into the hand of Midian.” 14 Then the Lord turned to him and said, “Go in this might of yours and deliver Israel from the hand of Midian; I hereby commission you.” 15 He responded, “But sir, how can I deliver Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.” 16 The Lord said to him, “But I will be with you, and you shall strike down the Midianites, every one of them.” 17 Then he said to him, “If now I have found favor with you, then show me a sign that it is you who speak with me. 18 Do not depart from here until I come to you, and bring out my present, and set it before you.” And he said, “I will stay until you return.”

19 So Gideon went into his house and prepared a kid, and unleavened cakes from an ephah of flour; the meat he put in a basket, and the broth he put in a pot, and brought them to him under the oak and presented them. 20 The angel of God said to him, “Take the meat and the unleavened cakes, and put them on this rock, and pour out the broth.” And he did so. 21 Then the angel of the Lord reached out the tip of the staff that was in his hand, and touched the meat and the unleavened cakes; and fire sprang up from the rock and consumed the meat and the unleavened cakes; and the angel of the Lord vanished from his sight. 22 Then Gideon perceived that it was the angel of the Lord; and Gideon said, “Help me, Lord God! For I have seen the angel of the Lord face to face.” 23 But the Lord said to him, “Peace be to you; do not fear, you shall not die.” 24 Then Gideon built an altar there to the Lord, and called it, The Lord is peace. To this day it still stands at Ophrah, which belongs to the Abiezrites.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

2 Corinthians 9:6-15

6 The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. 7 Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. 8 And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work. 9 As it is written,

“He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor; his righteousness[a] endures forever.”

10 He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness.[b] 11 You will be enriched in every way for your great generosity, which will produce thanksgiving to God through us; 12 for the rendering of this ministry not only supplies the needs of the saints but also overflows with many thanksgivings to God. 13 Through the testing of this ministry you glorify God by your obedience to the confession of the gospel of Christ and by the generosity of your sharing with them and with all others, 14 while they long for you and pray for you because of the surpassing grace of God that he has given you. 15 Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!

Footnotes:

2 Corinthians 9:9 Or benevolence

2 Corinthians 9:10 Or benevolence

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Mark 3:20-30

20 and the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. 21 When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” 22 And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” 23 And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? 24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. 27 But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.

28 “Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29 but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— 30 for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Pact - Chapter 1

Sam Winchester, Gothic AU

A/N: This idea was a long time coming. My first true AU, so please be gentle. This will be a slow burn, multi-chapter fic. A HUGE thank you to one of my besties @kazosa for continuing to remind me of this idea we had been planning for a long time now and for suggesting I finally start it. Hope you enjoy!!

Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots a secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon. 

Eventual Pairing: Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Other Players: John Winchester, Crowley, Rowena, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore (deceased)

Warnings: None, yet.

Words: 4K

Everything Tags:

@sorenmarie87​ //  @lefthologramdeer​ // @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle​ // @his-paradox​// @letsby​

SUPERNATURAL TAGS:

@wings-of-a-raven​ // @kazosa​ // @negans-wife​ // @grace-for-sale​ // @geeksareunique​ // @tiquismiquis​ // @mrsbarnes-rogers​  // @teller258316​ // @spnhollis​ // @sweet-things-4-life​ // @hobby27​ // @sweetlythoughtfulbird​ // @theoriginalvicki​ // @dreamchester67​ // @xxwarhawk​ // @babykalika2001​ // @superwhovianfangirl81​ // @toobusynerdfighting​ // @missihart23​  // @hyphymanatee​ // @idreamofplaid​ // @thewinchesterchronicles​  // @wayward-gypsy​  // @closetspngirl​ // @fatestemptress​ // @rebelminxy​  // @22sarah08​ // @witch-of-letters​ // @cole-winchester​ // @rainflowermoon​ // @adoptdontshoppets​ // @foreverwayward​ // @waywardvalkyrie​// @fandomoniumflurry​ // @gnrfanfic​ // @blackcherrywhiskey​ // @jessieray98​  // @lyoly​  // @a--1--1--3 // @31shadesofbrown // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare

The caretaker shoveled the last bit of dirt on her grave. It wasn’t until Samuel heard the last grain drop, did his wounded hip finally give out and he fell to his knees. Silent tears punished his cheeks with a relentless assault of grief for his lost love. There was no stone for her yet, the mason promised it would be complete in a matter of days. Until then, the Winchester Prince laid a garland of her favorite wildflowers atop the mound of damp, dark soil that marked her final resting place.

All the mourners had since left, for which he was eternally grateful. He needed time alone, to say goodbye to Jessica. Sam wanted to remember how soft her blonde curls felt, like locks of silk as they trailed between his fingers; how blue her eyes could be, and just how her smile had become the sun in his sky.

From above, a clap of thunder shook the ground and warned of the storm’s arrival that had been threatening all day. Samuel Winchester did not care. He refused to leave until he remembered every bit of her—her melodious voice, the way she laughed, but mostly, the way she kissed him. No one would ever be able to kiss him the way Jessica had. She was an angel that walked the Earth, and for a short time, he was blessed enough to love her.

Until Crowley took her away for good.

Now, he’d never see her face again. Never touch her or smell her skin. He would be alone for eternity, until he took his last breath and could be reunited with her in the afterlife. No one could ever capture his heart again; for now, it was just as black as the eyes of the demon who took her life.

A guttural scream wanted to burst from his mouth, but from the depths of his soul he found the restraint to shove it back down.

“Save it,” he mumbled to himself, “you’re going to need it.”

As the rain started to fall, Sam used his cane that lay beside him to boost himself back up to his feet. He closed his eyes, turned his face up to the clouds and let their showers cleanse him of the dirt and despair that had enveloped him. When he looked back down at the wildflowers, his long hair hung wet around his face. He closed his eyes and the last, happy image, he held of Jessica lingered behind them.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. His cheek dimpled, something she loved so much about him.

“For you, my love,” he whispered. “One last smile for you. I am going to leave you at peace. I have things to do and when they’re done, if I’m lucky enough, I will get to see you in Heaven. Then we will never be separated again.”

His voice cracked, and he stifled the tears that once again threated to fall. Leaving his despair, along with the wildflowers, he turned and hobbled his way back towards his father’s estate. Sam had many plans to make and no time to spare in making them.

  The MacLeod Castle sat high above the jagged cliffs and raging sea. It was a fitting place for a ruler such as Crowley and his dark reputation. No one could ever really recount as to when he came to power, it was a debate that raged in all the local taverns for many years, and still there was never a definitive answer.

Crowley always just, was. He was a presence that the people in the Kingdom of Lawrence just accepted, for fear of what repercussions would come if they didn’t. It was more rumor and inuendoes about the horrors that took place in his dungeons, but it was always a story told by word of mouth, never a real, first-hand account. That didn’t stop the mysterious figure from playing the type. Crowley reveled in the way people moved aside when he came down into town, and even bowed their heads slightly in respect. Ask them, ‘respect for what?’, and none would be able to answer. They just knew that it was how you behaved when the Red King graced the streets of Lawrence.

Just on the other side of the river, lands were ruled by the Winchesters, and their long line of peacekeepers. King Henry had been beloved for the wisdom and protection he offered those living under his rule, and when he died, the throne was taken by his only son, John, at a very young age. John Winchester was a different kind of King all together. He ran the lands and governed the people with a bit of an iron fist. Keeping the peace and defending the sacred lands they farmed was, in his eyes, of utmost importance. When his wife bore him two sons, he tried to raise them in his own image and mindset. Defenders of the land before anything else; even themselves.

The first time the Winchesters had a confrontation with Crowley and the demons known as the ‘Minions of MacLeod’, the Winchesters were able to stave them off. For a good chunk of years, Crowley had made it his mission to take the fertile lands, piece by piece. But the Winchesters, for all their superior weaponry and intelligence, were able to fend them off every time. Eventually, Crowley grew tired of losing and a tentative peace fell between the two kingdoms.

The people of Lawrence feared that one day, Crowley and his Minions would once again storm the gates of the Winchester’s Castle. If that happened, the defenders would have to burn the lands to the ground to purify them of Crowley’s plague, subsequently destroying what made them so valuable in the first place. The magic that lived in the lands was highly coveted, this was no secret. The secret was in how to obtain them, and people feared when Crowley figured that out, the War to end all Wars would come and wipe them all out.

  Growing up in this place had been different, but for the most part, your life was fine. The castle your father settled into when you were younger had been your playground; his minions, your playthings. Learning to work with herbs and forest elementals, you were able to keep yourself amused by concocting a variety of potions and spells that would be tested on the people Crowley kept in service. Nothing painful or devastating by any means but adding a love potion to the soup at dinner made for an entertaining and educational evening.

Crowley was hardly ever around. Your father made sure, however, that you were watched over and the figurative leash around your neck was short. Teachers and craftsmen were brought into to teach you what Crowley deemed important for you to know, and when he discovered your penchant for spells, he summoned his own mother to come and teach you the ways of her craft.

A centuries old witch, Rowena MacLeod looked not a day older than her own son. You knew that magic ran deep within your veins, on your mother’s side as well, but you were never told much about her. Over the years, Rowena would come and go, and you always enjoyed her stay for however long it lasted. She became a reluctant confidant, and by the time you were a grown woman, you felt comfortable disclosing feelings you were having about leaving the castle to explore what lived beyond its walls.

Rowena would always warn you against it, explaining how you needed to adhere to Crowley’s rules and stay safe.

“The abilities you have, my dear, will be sought-after by many. Going out beyond the walls of this place is only askin’ for trouble,” she’d say, then pinch your chin between her small fingers. “Be sure to heed me, love. You don’ want to be going against your father now. But I shall have a word with him when he returns, see if I can’t get him to loosen the reigns a bit.”

True to her word, Rowena pulled Crowley aside, and pleaded a case for you to spread your wings beyond his control. There were a lot of raised voice that night reverberating through the castle walls, none of which sounded promising for you. Being an adult should mean you could come and go as you pleased, but Crowley had refused your request every time. The arguing that radiated from his chambers didn’t give you much hope that Rowena was going to have more luck.

The knock at your bedroom door came well into the night. You had been in bed for hours but sleep never did come. Pulling your robe tight around your waist, you opened the door enough to see Crowley standing just beyond it.

“May I?” he asked with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

“Of course,” you replied flatly and opened the door further.

“Did I wake you, pet?”

“No, and please don’t call me that. I hate it.”

“As you wish. I guess you can assume why I’m here. I imagine you heard your grandmother and I discussing you.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to where you had been laying in bed. “She hates being called that.”

“I’m aware. Why do you think I do it?” he smirked and clasped his hands behind his back as he slowly explored your room.

“You’re a delight, you know that?”

“So, I’ve been told. Look, (Y/N) I know that being kept here has made you bitter and cold towards me. Though I have my reasons for keeping you close, I suppose that maybe I’ve been a trifle bit unfair. I’m willing to discuss terms of a deal that will give you some freedom, maybe satisfy your need to leave the grounds and explore what’s out there in this small, sad little world.”

“Boy, you make that sound enticing,” you groaned as you delicately crawled onto the bed and drew your knees up into your chest.

“Would you rather I lie?”

“You always lie. Its who you are,” you scoffed and averted your gaze. Normally that would earn you a glare of intense anger from him. This time, he simply waved you off.

“You’re just angry right now, but if you hear me out, it may vastly improve your mood, pet.”

“Father. Please, stop.”

“Daughter, please listen. Because I offer this once and only once.”

“Fine, what are your terms?”

“Your freedom…” he mused, holding out his hands as though he was weighing your options for you.

“For?”

“One, very small, favor.”

“Please don’t make me drag it out of you,” you moaned, already feeling tired from the conversation.

“I need you to marry the youngest Lord Winchester.”

“You, what?!” you exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. “I will do no such thing!”

“If you want out of this castle, or even this room, you will. Do you know why I’ve kept you so sheltered all these years? Hmm?”

You subtly shook your head, almost fearing the answer he was finally willing to give.

“Its because I knew this day would come. You were going to be the key to everything. You and the overbearingly tall muppet are going to wed and produce an heir for both families to fawn over. Then, you and our linage will have just as much right to their lands, as they do. I won’t have to try and steal them, they won’t burn them to the ground. It’s a win-win, really.”

“I doubt His Highness Winchester will agree. Father, you’ve tried and failed far too many times, the Winchesters will never trust you to—” You froze as the expression contorted on Crowley’s face. Your stomach bottomed out at the realization that he knew that the Winchesters would indeed agree, because they already had.

“John Winchester sent a messenger this morning. He’s agreed to allow you to marry his youngest son. Apparently, he’s not found a new wife since his fiancé died last year. Imagine that giant, just shuffling around that enormous castle all alone with his little cane, no one to talk to but his servants. Poor, muppet,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re cruel,” you glared.

“I am. It’s a gift.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you walked towards the solitary window in your chambers. Leaning against the ledge of stone, you looked out over the sea and watched the moon’s glow dance on the waves that were crashing on the cliffs below. You briefly wondered how many times you had imagined stealing a boat and just setting sail to a brand-new place, leaving Crowley and his wretched castle behind. That view had granted you many a day dreams in your life, and now here was a chance at maybe bringing some of them to fruition. All you had to do….

“I would live there? If I said yes, I could live there and be away from you?” you turned your head sharply to gauge his reaction, venom dripping from your words. There was a moment where you thought he may have been hurt, and that internally made you smile.

“Yes, you’d live there. That was part of Winchester’s conditions.”

“And what do you get out of this? Other than, hopefully, a grandchild that you will most likely ruin and that will inherent the Winchester’s lands. I can’t imagine any of them agreeing to it for solely that reason.”

Crowley sat on the edge of the trunk that lived at the foot of your bed. He leaned back on his elbows, resting against the footboard and crossed one leg over the other. Turning his hands up and shrugging he sighed. “That, my dearest daughter, is not your concern.”

“But it is. How do I know I am walking into a safe environment? Yes, there is a nervous peace between you and John Winchester, but how can I be certain that I won’t be hung immediately once I walk inside? They don’t have a reputation of kindness towards witches.”

“Is that what you are, now? Taking after grammy, I see,” he chuckled darkly.

“Better her than you,” you spat, glaring at his smug expression. “I may be your daughter, but I will never be anything like you.”

“Aw, come now, darling. You are more like me than you will ever know,” he replied absently, while examining his cuticles.

Crowley finally sat up from his place on the chest and sauntered over to the window. “I know you’re not thrilled that you were born of these loins,” he paused at your disgusted expression and stifled a grin, “however, you are of my blood. No matter how much of your mother was left in you, the part of you that I contributed to making, will always rise to the top.” He took your cheek gently by his palm and lifted your eyes to his face. “YOU will always me my daughter, love me or hate me, you will always be a MacLeod; even when you’re being bedded by a Winchester. Remember that, my pet. Remember it.”

The glare of his eyes flashed red, instilling you with a quick streak of fear. You’d only seem him enact this trick a few times in your life, and it always unnerved you to no end. Realizing that going along with his plans was the only way to get what you wanted as well, you closed your eyes in resignation.

“Yes, father. I will.”

“Is that a yes to the deal? Will you marry Samuel?”

“Yes, I will marry Lord Winchester.”

  “I will do NO such thing!” Samuel raged, slamming his fist against the hardwood dining table.

On the other end, John Winchester sat in his high-backed chair, the scowl nearly permanent on his face. He exhaled deeply, trying to maintain some composure in the face of his very angry son.

Sam pushed back from the table, leaving his cane resting against it and limped with a stalking anger towards John.

“How dare you even ask me to do something like that!”

“Son, if you’ll just hear me out—”

“I’ve heard what you had to say, and I can’t believe you would honestly suggest something so vile! First of all, to marry anyone else would be a disgrace to Jessica’s memory! Then, to have it be a Minion of MacLeod! It’s finally happened, you’ve lost your mind.”

Towering over his father, John sat up straighter in the chair and gazed up at his youngest son.

“Samuel, I am sorry for your loss, I am, but at some point, you need to move on and accept that you have a responsibility to this family. You chose not to go and fight on the battlefields against the purgatory creatures, like your brother did. I agreed to let you stay here and help rule this Kingdom. But with that came certain responsibilities. One of which—”

“Yeah, I know, an heir. You and your damned blood line,” he mumbled and turned to head back to his seat. When he finally reached it, he slumped down and pushed his plate far from his face. Reaching for the silver goblet, he slugged back the remainder of his wine and immediately filled it.

“Its important, son. More important than many things. After me, you are set to rule should Dean not return from the war. After you, there needs to be someone. These lands cannot fall out of the hands of our family. What we defend here is too important. Your mother died defending them and I’ll be damned if I let them fall into the wrong hands.”

“And including the MacLeod’s is a good move? You might as well just hand Crowley the match and step back to watch them burn.”

“No,” he said, pushing back from the table, standing up to his full height. A knuckled fist slammed to the table, rattling the china plates and glass decanters, “that’s where you’re wrong. Crowley wants these lands because he understands how pure and fertile, they truly are. There’s no other place in the realm where the land is as rich as it is here. After the Great Angel War, everything was tarnished. But not Lawrence. The magic here kept it void of the blackness that seems to infest everywhere else.”

Sam had heard all these stories before. It was far before his time, and even John’s, but Henry was alive to have seen the world how it had been before the angels reigned hellfire down on Earth.

“Sam,” John paused, trying to find the right words to convince his son that his plan was the only way for a successful future. Too much was riding on his compliance. “Crowley needs them to fuel his magic. If this marriage is successful, we save Lawrence from another attack, and it gets that old demon off our backs. Then, we can get from them what we need.”

Sam sighed. “And what would that be?”

“An Army.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, a deep furrow of concerned resting between his brows. He slowly sat forward in his chair, his mouth hovering open in shock.

“You want the Minions. Those… creatures,” the word spat from his mouth as if it were poison, “For an army. Why? To what end?”

“End the War in Purgatory and bring your brother home. To strength our numbers and our men. Less and less of the people are pledging to fight for our causes. We need to reinforce—”

“No! We don’t!” Sam stood once again from his chair. This time grabbing the cane he needed more frequently than ever before. “You claim to be a peace keeper, but really, you’re power hungry. You’re no better than Crowley! You want revenge for mom, and I can relate to that. I want nothing more to find who killed Jessica and make them suffer. But even I wouldn’t put an entire Kingdom in jeopardy to do it. Not because I couldn’t, but because she wouldn’t want me too.”

John stood silently, not agreeing or denying what Sam claimed to be true. He simply exhaled and steadied his quaking anger.

“This is not the conversation that needs having at the moment, Samuel!” John roared, his deep echo bouncing across the stone walls of the cavernous room. “The only conversation that we should be having, is deciding when and where you will marry (Y/N) MacLeod. That, my son, is your priority, not dictating to me how to maintain and run my kingdom.”

John stood up straighter, pushing his shoulders back and taking several deep breaths, to calm the tension that ran through him. “If I could send you off to the battlefield, Samuel. I would. But clearly, that isn’t your place anymore.” John’s eyes glanced down at Sam’s hobbled hip briefly, before meeting his son’s gaze again. “You’re going to help this family protect the lands, and anything good and pure left in this realm. If that means marrying the enemy, then so be it.”

Sam stood quietly, internalizing everything his father was laying on him. He hated John for making him do this, and even more for what he had planned in partnership with Crowley. Deep down though, he knew that he would go along with it, and maybe, if he was lucky, everything could still work out in his favor.

“I’ll do what you ask, I won’t fight you on it. But rest assured of one thing. All that was left good and pure in this world, died with Jessica. If you think for one second that me doing this supports your plans in any way, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Sam took a final few steps closer to his father. For the first time Sam noticed the lines and age in his father’s face, how the streaks of gray ran rampant through his once jet black hair. The weariness in John Winchester’s eyes was not lost on his son, either.

Sam snickered. “One day, you’ll be gone, and I will be the one to rule in Lawrence. The first thing I am going to do is erase anything that reminds me of you and the terrible decisions you made while in power. But rest assured, old man, I’ll be sure that when the drunks down in the taverns sing songs written about you, they’ll say how you nearly ruined one entire Kingdom because you were too much of a coward to say no to a demon.”

Satisfaction danced in his eyes as John once against straightened his back, trying to stand taller against his son. Sam turned on his heel and began walking towards the corridor. Just before he left, he turned back to John. “The wedding will happen in our hidden chapel the night after next. I won’t have anyone in the town see this farce take place. So, it should only be you, Crowley, the girl and the Maester. Tell Robert I want him to bless the union--.”

“First, only a day’s notice isn’t much time. Besides, Robert isn’t yours to use, Samuel. He’s my Maester—”

“He’s the Winchester’s family Maester. As you so often tell me, I am a Winchester, am I not?” Sam turned back and went down the corridor. Before he disappeared into the depths of his family’s castle, he called back, “night after next, or not at all!”

Despite the deal he just made, which made him feel dirty and soiled, Sam smiled to himself. The idea of marrying Crowley’s daughter made his blood run cold, but if it helped in his own mission of revenge, he would bare it for as long as he had to. Not revealing his hand to his father, John unknowingly gave him just what he needed to make a strong move against Crowley. Sam knew by then, with complete certainty, that it was MacLeod himself responsible for Jessica’s death. Getting close to Crowley, however, wasn’t going to be easy. Without his brother around to help him, Sam needed to find another way.

Marrying the demon’s daughter, was just the diversion he needed.

SPN tags are open if you want to be added!

[writerkenna]

The Lights of Stars and the Glitter in Your Eyes Chapter 5

GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN

KENNA'S BACK, and she's really sorry she has been gone for so long and she hopes her readers will still care about this story after like a month gap.

Seriously y'all I'm sorry. I just really lost motivation for this and I didn't want to publish something bad so I just wanted to wait until I felt like I could publish something I liked.

I'm . . . mostly happy with this. Enjoy!

Thor was on his back with eyes fuzzed up on the metal ceiling arching over head for an unreasonably long time. The realization of his love for Bruce was a shock to his system, maybe literally, he thought he might have sparked right at the moment the image of Bruce filled up his head and heart.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a wave of laughter stir up in his stomach and catapult out of him. He was in love. Bruce, with his too gentle fingertips poised and prepared, had reached into Thor and took a careful hold of his heart. He laughed again in two bursts, clutching his gut, still aching from Valkyrie’s slam to it. It had been too long since he had been in real, warm, hearty love. Thor had forgotten how rapturously joyful it was.

“Um, you getting up any time soon?” Valkyrie asked. Thor righted himself into a sitting position and shook out his shoulders. He gave Valkyrie his doopiest grin.

“I’m in love with Bruce,” Thor repeated. It was good to feel it on his tongue, Bruce’s name flexing across his lips and pricking a blush on his cheeks.

“Yeah, well. That’s nice.” Valkyrie stared at him from above, tone tight and unrevealing, but Thor could tell, with the edging up of her lips, that he was infecting her with his bubbling over smile.

“I-how did I not know sooner? Bruce is . . . he is the most tremendous mortal I’ve ever known. Did-has he told you about his work on black holes? It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.”

The words were coming out without consideration, thoughts grabbing others and growing and sprouting bigger as they left Thor’s mouth.

“Does that mean you’re going to talk to him again?”

“Oh, I-”

Thor’s shoulders slumped and, like a wisp of air as he exhaled, the giddy fever he had been absorbed in phased out of him. Thor might have loved Bruce without complications in the sanctity of his head and the fog of this gym, but outside of these spaces, he had ignored Bruce for four days straight. Thor had slipped up and soiled their potential love before its start, betrayal ingrained in its roots the moment Thor had buckled to Hulk’s whims.

He didn’t think Valkyrie should know this.

“Ah, yes,” he replied, after a long gap in his own head, “I . . . I’ll be wooing him from now on.”

Valkyrie pushed a laugh out her nose and shook her head. Thor doubted himself just as much as she did. He couldn’t imagine pulling his old moves on Bruce, his demure and toying seduction, his waxing poetic to the point of meaninglessness, his flexing and fawning till his subject of affection was swooning into the crevices of the muscles of his arms. It never would have worked anyway, but especially not after Thor had fumbled so poorly. His methods had been foiled and his plan was fraught with flaws.

“Or, well, I don’t know, maybe not wooing, but I’ll talk to him,” Thor mumbled.

“You are a ridiculous king. Are you aware of that?” Valkyrie leaned in towards Thor, eyes squinted in a bit of a challenge, an invitation for another bout. Thor tried to take it as a distraction, but Bruce and Hulk and feelings for both were all formidable forces on his thoughts.

He excused himself away to his quarters to Valkyrie’s disgruntlement, and when Bruce was not there, decided to extend the avoidance for a bit longer, at least enough for a shower to settle himself.

Bruce, when Thor found him and when Thor felt mentally organized enough to handle conversation with him, was in the middle of a debate with the newly elected leader of his treasury. Thor appreciated Bruce’s dedication to his mostly undefined chancellor position even when Thor himself was being sort of an ass.

“Malfjor, Bruce,” Thor greeted with a nod to each. Malfjor was the one old, tried and true staple of the old Asgardian government in his parliament. He was huffy and red on the tip of his nose, which was his state often, a firm holdover of Odin’s rule.

“This Midgardian is telling me you’re moving my funding for the historical upkeep of ancient buildings to education?” Malfjor asked like the very notion of defunding was an atrocity. Thor’s eyes gave a momentary slip to Bruce, whose fingers were clutching onto one another as his face rattled between contained indignancy and a growing regret. Thor gave him a flick of the side of his lip turned away from Malfjor and Bruce’s lips spread into dimples, his shoulders releasing from around his ears.

“Well, yes, my chancellor is very well informed. The funding will be moved,” Thor said. He was mimicking Odin’s voice, or rather, what he remembered the voice sounding like when he was a boy and every political speech or decree made Odin look even more like the god he was. He let the tone move in to his shoulders and chest, puffing like a lion to his pride. Malfjor, easy to master, took the bait and settled just enough.

“I . . . if you think that best, King,” he grinded out of his teeth. Thor steadied his eyes onto him as the final step in his king performance.

“I do. I have the utmost confidence in Dr. Banner.” Thor smirked that bit out and, in the corner of his vision, he could see Bruce’s eyes go soft and happy, lids looking so comfortably heavy. Malfjor ruffled with a sigh and pushed off from both of them without so much as a goodbye.

“That was pretty fun, actually,” Thor said to Bruce under a twitching grin and heavy blush. Malfjor had lorded over him for so long as a quasi uncle who had been as distant and frigid to children as Odin was. It was cathartically cleansing, as were Bruce’s eye crinkles. “

Yeah, um,” Bruce, though still fuzzy in his eyes, had begun to chew up his lip. Thor frowned, “so, ah, you haven’t been talking to me, and that’s pretty weird.”

Thor’s cheeks went even warmer and he issued a laugh that stunk of guilt.

“Yeah, ah-”

“You know, the only people I know on this ship are you, Val, and Loki. And Loki and I sort of hate each other, so, it really sucks for me if we’re not talking.”

“I know,” Thor sighed. The pit of his stomach was empty and wanting looking at Bruce and, despite himself, he decided he could allow himself this, “I’ve been under stress and thinking poorly. I . . . it won’t . . .”

Thor halted. It had been immeasurably easier to talk to Bruce before Thor had realized the interconnection between the brewing of heat that cropped up in the middle of his chest and the batting of Bruce’s deep black lashes. He gulped in and composed himself as well as he could.

“Let’s go back to the room,” Thor said, catching the double entendre soon after he did. He hadn’t the time yet for deep consideration of Bruce in sexual terms, but giving it only a moment’s thought, well, he did want that, to grab Bruce’s hand in his own, rush them into the secret sanctuary of their room, and show Bruce exactly what a god can make him feel like, with masterful fingers on skin and confessions and secrets and primal needs whispered into his ear. Though, since Thor was still deep in the trenches of his Hulk/Bruce related guilt and couldn’t really think how he’d manage to present a request like that, those ideas would have to wait.

“Okay, sure. We are, like, three movies behind on our watch list, which I will not stand for,” Bruce breezed a laugh and Thor echoed too quickly and too loud, halfway to a yelp. Bruce pulled his face back as wrinkles folded between his brows, “Are all gods this odd, by the way, or is it a you thing? Cause, as an interested human, I’d like to know.”

Thor shrugged and his lips went lopsided. He pressed out a fit of giggles that resembled something like a schoolboy on drugs. He snapped his mouth shut after they were released, sucking in his lips to contain anymore ridiculously pathetic emissions, and walked chest forward to the room with a bemused Bruce trailing behind.

They put on a film Bruce told Thor was called Dazed and Confused. Thor was grateful for the noise and distraction and took it readily as a chance to figure out how he was supposed to continue on talking to Bruce without his mouth launching open and confessing all the small and large details of his heart. The movie was one of Thor’s more favorited, it turned out. The exploits of the wild cast stirred in him memories of the far too long gone warrior feasts after battle and holiday festivals that Thor adored and longed for again, though, this film contained a few less dead goats and sword fights than he was used too.

As one of the teachers in the movie harped on some freshman boys, Thor set out a deck of Asgardian cards, both desperate to occupy his hands and mind and determined to teach Bruce how to play this game properly.

“Here,” he muttered, issuing out a hand of seven cards to Bruce, “I’ll make a skilled cardsman out of you yet.”

Bruce snarked a chuckle and sent an ‘okay’ back Thor’s way. He flipped a card with an ethereal woman wrapped in leaves and branches down onto the metal floor between them. Thor groaned, mostly in jest as he found Bruce’s lack of skill sort of sweet, a reminder of his great amount of humanness, and handed the card back to Bruce.

“Very bad play.”

“What? Why?” Bruce brought the card up close to his eyes, as if the woman’s painted visage would tell him where he failed, “I needed to get rid of that card.”

“Yes, but you've given me the perfect chance to wipe my hand and win. Come on now, strategy, Bruce!” Thor’s hands clamped onto Bruce’s shoulders and rustled them as a sort of call to action, though, as Thor landed fully onto the firm ground of Bruce’s slumped shoulders and his palms tingled as they were flooded with energy, it came to his mind that it might have been too close to his Bruce related revelation to have physical touch. He yanked away as Bruce jolted.

“Ah, fuck, I just-”

“Sorry,” Thor grimaced.

“Control yourself, man,” Bruce chuckled, tossing his side against Thor’s. Thor beamed, which he promptly hid behind his cards.

“Well, play your card, then.” Thor’s voice was rigid, contained. He was overdoing it, he knew, but his body was lighting up and he could hardly hold back waves of extreme and likely terrifying love. Bruce slammed down a card, better this time, made Thor pause and consider his move, and Thor bristled with pride.

The movie thummed on in front of them. Thor’s eyebrows scrunched together as Slater lit up a rolled bit of paper.

“What is that? That Slater is doing?”

“Uh, smoking weed?” Bruce said. He put down three cards in one go. Thor grunted, good move. He stalled. Bruce grinned, lips tucked in on each other like a child with a toy. Thor really liked that, liked that too much.

“What’s that?” Thor asked. Bruce guffawed and Thor felt mildly insulted. Bruce stopped.

“Oh, yeah, you probably don’t have it on Asgard. It’s, um . . . do you know, like, drugs or medicinal herbs, something like that?”

Thor nodded. Herbs were fairly commonly used in both medical and recreational situations on Asgard. Earth shouldn’t differ too much. It clicked, then, and, given the rest of the movie, made sense.

“Oh, so sort of a . . .” Thor gestured out with a hand, a wave motion, and spacey expression, “perception altering, then?”

“Ahh, yeah, perception altering indeed,” Bruce mumbled with a grin on his breath.

“Do you use it?” Thor asked. Bruce’s eyes darted to the screen, red fluttering across his cheeks. Thor’s mouth shot into a smile on its own accord and he tucked it down as Bruce went more twitchy.

“Y-yeah, I do. More often since Hulk came into my life, cause, uh, the . . . weed helps, with the anxiety and anger and stuff,” he stopped himself and Thor gave him a moment as he worried his fingers at the back of his neck, “Is that, like, okay? I don’t know what the sort of, um, culture around recreational drugs is, or if you even have them, I-”

“No,” Thor cut him off, smiling. Many a late night had been spent in his youth with Asgard’s own take on ‘recreational’ drugs, “It’s fairly common on my world, too. Perhaps, when we land back on earth, you and I could partake in this weed together?” A breeze of a giggle simmered out of the corner of Bruce’s mouth and he nodded against his chest.

“Yeah, if you want.”

Thor’s cool burst at even the vaguest concept of sharing another experience with Bruce. He wanted weed if Bruce wanted it. He wanted to comprehend the intricacies of supernova death spirals and watch all the movies on Bruce’s list just so they could make another and find out the secrets that only he could know. All that Bruce was, Thor determined he would discover.

“So, when we land, you guys are going to see if you can find land in Norway, right?” Bruce asked. Thor frowned. Earth, which was coupled inseparably with the true weight of ruling and a wave of changes to follow, was something Thor was trying to place as far in the back of his mind as possible. Not to mention, Bruce following him to Norway didn’t seem to have much of a chance.

“Yes, we should draft a proposal for the Norwegian government soon. And you? Where will you go?” Bruce shrugged, eyes drifting back over to the screen, and Thor used the moment to wince his eyes shut. Bruce would probably go back to New York, secluded in his lab until he could forget Sakaar without the reminder of Thor. Maybe, if Thor was lucky, or unlucky he supposed, someone would try to blow up the world again and they would be forced into a reunion.

“I . . . dunno, I-maybe just back with Tony, if he’ll let me. I-I’m not sure where honestly. I don’t know if I have anywhere to go.” Thor’s brows shot up and then, as they fell, a well of sympathy filled in his chest.

“But, what about Romanoff? You and her were . . . lovers, yes? Maybe you could live with her. If she lives somewhere, I’m not sure.” Natasha hadn’t entered Thor’s head for a long time, but that was not to say Thor had forgotten her, especially not then. Midgardians were so hung up on relationships, on commitment and the who’s with who and men or women. A drip of anxiety tracked it’s way down his throat, chances dwindling.

“Oh.” Bruce slumped down against the bed, hand rubbing against his temple. Thor’s chest thumped. Oh faen, what if Bruce loved her?

“You two were together, right?” Thor tortured himself further.

“Well, ah . . . sort of? I-I don’t, we were something, yeah. But, it’s been two years. I’ve been gone. I . . . Nat’s moved on, I’m sure,” Bruce mumbled, going sickly around his eyes, “I can’t live with her, no.”

“Sorry,” Thor said, with a cautious dip of his shoulder to Bruce. Bruce leaned in a little to it. Thor sighed. His leg scooted over to Bruce’s, thighs pressed together.

“We were never serious. I thought maybe, just for a little bit, that we could have something and we were, like, gonna run away together, which was so dumb, but . . . I don’t think it was real. It was more like play dating or something.”

Thor nodded. Bruce’s head fell heavy onto Thor’s shoulder. Thor didn’t say a word, too tricky of a balance to test.

“Can . . . can I just come with you to Norway? I think I could be a really good political help and there’s a lab there where-”

“Yes!” It jumped out of Thor as an electric flush touched at the back of his neck. He laughed, catching the outburst and quieting himself, “You should come, that’s wonderful.”

“Okay, I’ll-awesome, I’ll come.”

Thor thought, if he could read auras, his would be reaching across the whole room. Briefly, Thor almost went for a kiss, because Bruce’s eyes were under folded lids scrunched into warm creases of irises and his full cheeks were resting under them. Thor stopped, though, on the edge of starting. Kissing then seemed ill-timed, too rushed, too rash.

As Bruce turned his eyes from Thor to his feet, a half grin on his face, Thor realized, with a start, that he hadn’t seen Hulk today. No pounding heads, no green tinted temples. Thor took it as a sign. He had to, he needed to actually, because Thor couldn’t do another four days without Bruce.

Let the wooing begin.

If you comment, I'll dm you my favorite recipe for meatballs (they are dope y'all and I also have a vegetarian version)