#which is actually a maintenance door and not even powered

[letmeliedown]

it has been [0] days since this bear freaked out at a needlessly inaccessible doctor’s office

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop

Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.

Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.

They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.

Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.

The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.

It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.

Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.

Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.

Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.

He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.

He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.

"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.

"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"

Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.

"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"

Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."

"I'm sorry Charles"

"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "

Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.

This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.

No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.

Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.

Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.

But Danny didn't stop there.

Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.

People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.

Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.

Not a single staff member in sight, either.

Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.

Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.

If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.

As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.

Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.

He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.

Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '

Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.

[logansdoll]

ivy, l. howlett (4)

landing on Ellis Island, it was finally time for you to show off what you could do

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

After figuring out Magneto and his gang were headed for Ellis Island, the four of you loaded into the Blackbird on a covert mission to stop him.

So after disembarking on the faraway side of the island, and deducing that the machine was hidden in the torch, you all stormed inside in an attempt to get you to the top.

Which meant passing through the museum.

Though it wasn't long before Logan caused a ruckus.

The moment he walked through the metal detectors, an alarm began to blare, forcing everyone to freeze.

Quickly, he drew his claws, stabbing the sensor until the alarm shut off, before turning to the rest of you.

Scott flashed him a cocky smirk, but Logan just flipped him off.

Rolling your eyes, you continued on, dipping in your belt pouches and sprinkling seeds along the carpet walkway, keeping your eyes peeled.

Though Logan was thoroughly confused.

"What's that?" he asked, brow raised as he walked up next to you.

"Our backup," you answered with a knowing grin, pressing ahead to spread some more.

And, as much as he willed them not to, his eyes traveled down your back, all the way to your leather clad ass.

He was only a man, and he had to say it looked absolutely fantastic, perfectly fit for your figure and moving so tantalizingly.

Trust, if you gave him a chance, he'd rock your—

A sharp jab to his side snapped him out of his reverie, its source being a particularly displeased woman with hair whiter than winter snow.

"You're drooling," she raised a brow, almost scolding.

She didn't need the professor to know what the man was thinking, and all that could be saved for after they rescued Rogue.

Before he could respond, he caught a whiff of something.

"There's someone here," he sniffed, brows furrowed.

"Where?" Scott asked.

"I don't know.... Keep your eye open."

"Logan."

But the man paid no mind, power-walking ahead and around the column in search of the source.

Though when he came back around, there was something different about him.

Something odd.

"I know there's someone here. I just can't see 'em."

He stalked toward Scott, his claws suddenly sprouting.

'The hell...'

Suddenly, another Logan tackled the other, the two tumbling into a maintenence room.

'Okay, what the actual hell...'

You three quickly followed, Scott unsure of which one to shoot as they stood off.

"Wait!" the both shouted in unison, their voices the same.

But one suddenly slashed the chain holding the door, slamming it shut right before your eyes.

"All right, back up," Scott ordered, holding the side of his goggles.

But before he could shoot it open, a familiar frog man suddenly swung over, knocking him into another room and kicking you and Ororo to the ground.

 Using his tongue, he slammed the door to Scott shut before wrapping it around your ankle and tossing you onto a higher level, sending you crashing into a display case.

'Bastard...'

But before you could even recover, he was already scaling the wall, having stuck some sort of adhesive saliva on Ororo's mouth to distract her.

Quickly, you pulled yourself up, but his tongue smacked you right back down, before grabbing your waist and tossing you into a nearby elevator shaft.

You hit the bottom with a sickening thud, hitting your head right on the concrete and splattering blood all over the floor.

That was the last straw.

Jaw locked tight with anger, you pushed yourself off the ground, fixing your neck with a disgusting crack as small as thin vines of ivy grew around your wound, quickly closing it.

"He's done."

Taking all of your pouches off your belt, you opened them up and flipped them upside down, dumping every seed in your arsenal on the ground.

And with a flick of your hand, they all shot up into the air, carrying you along with it.

When you reached the top of the shaft, your vines began to grow all over the place, two large ones completely ripping the doors open.

Toad's eyes narrowed, confused to see a gigantic lotus flower before him.

Until it bloomed, you emerging from its receptacle.

"Don't you people ever die?" he shouted, annoyed, as the stormed over.

Big mistake.

Instantly, a vine coiled around his body, tightening as you were carried toward him.

Your plants grew without control, overtaking everything on the upper levels and even encroaching on the lower.

Though you still approached the balcony with your new friend.

"Woah, woah, woah, slow your roll, love," he began to panic, jolting with fear as even larger vines burst through the windows, the flora following you outside. 

The reality of his situation was finally sinking in.

"You can't kill me! That old man o' yours don't allow it!"

You stared at him, eyes cold and dead serious as a humongous Venus Flytrap grew at your side.

"Who said I was going to kill you?"

Terrified, his eyes turned to saucers, especially when it began to move closer.

Without hesitation, the vine binding him shifted its grip, tossing him into her jaws, which she snapped shut the moment he landed.

Of course, you really couldn't kill him, so you'd already given her precise instruction.

"You know what to do," you nodded to her, "Don't go too deep."

She gave you a wiggle of confirmation, before quickly growing toward the harbor, submerging herself and Toad underwater.

With that taken care of, your plants returned you indoors, bringing you toward the banister of the upper floor to look over, where the others seemed to be regrouping.

"You guys all right?" you asked as you descended.

Turning to you, Logan's eyes widened, surprised and quite fascinated.

He knew you could control plants, but he didn't think you'd have the whole damn jungle following you.

"She wasn't kidding..." he nodded, intrigued.

For Christ's sake, you were sitting in a huge flower like some woodland fairy.

"I took care of the toad guy," you reported, stepping out Lottie—the lotus.

"The shapeshifter's handled, too," Logan nodded, focusing back on the matter at hand.

"Prove it," Scott raised a brow, resting his fingers at the side of his goggles, ready to blast.

"You're a dick."

...

"Okay."

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the roof.

"If you ladies are done... there's a girl that needs saving."

Once you all finally made it to Lady Liberty's head, you looked around, only to find that the machine was already powering up within the flame of the torch.

"Everybody, get out of here," Logan stated, seriously.

"What is it?" Ororo asked.

"I can't move."

Suddenly, something shoved him up against the wall, pieces of metal flying from all directions to pin each and every one of you.

You, in particular, getting stuck in front of Scott.

And, of course, the man himself descending from a hole he made in the statue's head.

"Ah, my brothers. Welcome," Magneto smiled, turning to Logan, "Let's point those claws of yours in a safer direction."

Using his power, he forced Logan's fists to point toward his chest, bending some scrap metal to keep them there.

"And you," he turned to Scott, Sabretooth removing his goggles. "You'd better close your eyes."

"Storm, fry him," Scott ordered, his eyes screwed shut to keep from hurting you.

"Oh, yes. A bolt of lightening into a huge, copper conductor," Magneto agreed, sarcastically. "I thought you lived at a school."

"I've seen Senator Kelly," you blurted, hoping to divert his attention.

"So the good senator survived his fall and the swim to shore," he smiled, walking up to you. "He's become even more powerful than I could have imagined."

"He's dead," you corrected. "I saw him die. Like those people down there will die."

Knowingly, he leaned in closer.

"Are you sure that's what you saw?"

You scoffed, not even surprised by his indifference.

He didn't give two shits whether those people down there lived or died.

And he could see the realization all over your face.

"Why do none of you understand what I'm trying to do?" Magneto groaned, "Those people down there control our fate and the fate of every other mutant... Well, soon our fate will be theirs."

"Help!" Rogue cried, her voice muffled but not far away. "Please help me!"

"You're so full of shit," Logan glared, pissed. "If you were really so righteous, it'd be you in that thing."

"Help! Somebody help me!"

Magneto ignored the comment, instead floating up in the air to commence the process, leaving the rest of you to wait for the inevitable.

Although Logan didn't.

Suddenly, he let out a roar of fury, impaling himself with his own claws.

"Logan!" you exclaimed, eyes wide.

You knew he could heal, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

But his doing so destroyed his binds, dropping him to the floor.

And he played dead for a moment, waiting until Sabretooth got close enough to lift him up, before stabbing him in the gut.

Sabretooth yowled with pain, tossing Logan through the hole and out on Lady Liberty's head to fight.

Which left you to finding some sort of way to escape.

Frantically, you used your power to call out to any sort of flora you could, cursing yourself when you couldn't find anything.

That is... until you felt a tiny wiggle from the corner.

'No way...'

You thanked practically every God in heaven that some contract worker was eating David seeds on the job, because there laid a perfectly intact sunflower seed on the ground.

Quickly, you grew it larger than the average sunflower,

Sabretooth dropped back in, eyes locked on you as he slowly approached.

He caressed his gnarled claw over your cheek, staring at you intently.

"You owe me a scream."

But before he could do anything, Logan dropped down right behind him.

"Hey, bub. I'm not finished with you yet," he growled, eyes flicking to you. "(y/n)."

"Scott, when I tell you, open your eyes," you instructed.

"No!"

"Trust me."

"You dropped something," Logan smirked, tossing you Scott's goggles.

Quickly, the sunflower caught them, angling them in front of your face just right.

"Now!"

Scott opened his eyes, the beams diverted toward Sabretooth, who was blasted clear into New York harbor.

'Oh, thank, God...'

You had no idea that was going to work.

"Thanks," Scott nodded as Logan cut him down, the large leaves of the sunflower pulling you free.

"Don't mention it," Logan assured, breaking Ororo free before turning toward the torch. "We gotta get her out of there."

"Scott, can you hit it?" you asked.

He attempted to aim, but it was no use.

"The rings are moving too fast," he denied.

"Just shoot it!" Logan exclaimed.

"I'll kill her!" Scott held firm, turning to Ororo. "Storm, can you get me up there?"

"I can't control it like that. You'd fly right over the torch."

"(y/n)?"

"Not in my range."

"Then let me do it," Logan stated, turning to Scott. "If I don't make it, then at least you can still blast the damn thing."

'Shit...'

Your weren't for this plan, but it seemed like you had no choice.

"I can get you up there," you sighed, growing Susana—the sunflower—slightly larger, until she was big enough to be stood on. "But she's small. So once you get there you're on your own."

He confirmed with a nod, his eyes looking at you with something almost indecipherable before stepping onto the flower.

Quickly, you grew her stem toward the machine, going higher and higher until he was close enough to jump on top of it.

And once he did, you returned her back to her normal state, thanking her gratefully for all her hard work before turning your attention to the sky.

Where Magneto was stopping Logan from destroying the machine.

"I have a clear shot," Scott reported, powering up his beam. "I'm taking it."

"Hurry!" Ororo rushed, the wave of blinding, white radiation already close to and nearly reaching the delegates of the summit.

With a quick, precise shot, Scott knocked him away, freeing Logan and allowing him to slash the controls, instantly dissipating the radiation.

Sighing with relief, you finally allowed your shoulders to sink, running a tired hand through your hair.

He did it.

The X-men had won the day.

[libraford]

Okay so here's what's going on with the bird crimes.

On thursday I was going to Powers Park when I saw what I thought were 2 chickens hanging out in the parking lot, and a lady watching them from the fence. I thought... they could belong to the lady, but chickens aren't the kind of pet that you just let hang out loose.

I approach.

Lady: "These aren't mine."

I look closer. Its actually 2 roosters, one of which is a very small breed and is missing his tail feathers. Both of them have an injury to their backside- like its been plucked.

So we talk about what to do, I end up calling Animal Control. The actual Animal Control officer doesn't get there until noon, I get a police dispatcher. She says she can send one of the cops to grab them until the actual professional gets there.

I tell her that the roosters are being kept by the woman I met, she's coaxing them into her house.

I post about it on the facebook group in case someone knows who they belong to. The comments are full of jokes, obviously. But no leads. Eventually the big rooster gets caught by someone running a sanctuary for abandoned and abused livestock, but they're still looking for the little black one. Evidently they got out of the lady's backyard and were loose again.

I figure he's going to be a coyote snack and don't think about it for the rest of the week.

So now it is Sunday and I'm opening up the bathrooms. I'm at Summit Grove park and as I'm about to reserve the shelter for a birthday party I see...

A black pigeon.

Pigeons are not a common animal in this area- you're more likely to see house sparrows, crows, and mourning doves. So that's odd. What's more, she doesn't seem to be skittish and is definitely accustomed to humans. And she keeps trying to bite my fingers, so she associates hands with food and she's skinny as a rail so she's been abandoned for a minute.

Why does this keep happening to me? Is this the Morrigan come to teach me a lesson in pigeon form?

So I remember the number of the woman running the sanctuary and I give her a call. I tell her I've got a pigeon here that can't fly, is super hungry, and doesn't seem to have any issues biting fingers. She says she can't take her, but she can find a home for her because pigeons have specific needs. But she won't be able to get there until 12:30. We (my work partner and I) have to deal with the bird in the meantime.

We absolutely cannot take this bird with us on our route because we are in a tiny truck cab and don't have a cat carrier to put her in. So our solution is to lock her in the janitor's closet until the rep can get here.

Around 12:15, we head back to the shelter to make sure she's still there and hasn't been disturbed... and I realize that the reason I even saw her in the first place...

...was because there was supposed to be a birthday party at the shelter at noon.

The party is strongly underway and they have shoved a table against the door of the closet.

The sanctuary lady comes by and waves, we ask the party people politely to move the table slightly because we're trying to rehome a pigeon that's inside that closet.

They move the table, but not all guests see this interaction- because it looks like a bunch of maintenance people are just here to boss folks around during a little girl's birthday party and this draws a crowd.

The sanctuary rep arrives and we open the door just a little bit to let the bird out. She bobbles towards us, hoping for food, when one of the older ladies at the party exclaims:

"Does that ANIMAL just LIVE in there?!"

I mean... sure. For the past few hours, she did live in there.

"Do you have any IDEA how many DISEASES pigeons carry?"

The rep scoops the pigeon into her arms and takes her out of the shelter area to inspect her wings, feet, and back. She shows us her breastbone and explains that its been several days since the bird ate anything, which was why it was going for fingers.

Meanwhile, Aunt Ornithophobia over here: "I can't BELIEVE you would just TOUCH a BIRD like that in front of CHILDREN!"

We take the bird away to the van so the rep can thank us and explain what likely happened- which is that someone abandoned the bird when they couldn't take care of her anymore they just let her loose.

"I understand you got one of the roosters," I said.

"Yes, the big one. But the little bantam rooster is very fast- he darted into someone's backyard and I never found him again. If you see him, give me a call."

"I've been told that chickens are legal to own here, but roosters are not."

She gets an exasperated look on her face. "If you're going to allow backyard chickens, you're going to have to allow roosters. It's impossible to sex an avian chick and they don't get their dimorphic traits until they've reached the young adult stage and chick sellers don't care about whether they're a hen or a rooster. They care about the sale. We get roosters more often than egg-layers because someone sold them a male as a female and they don't want to pay the fine. I'd rather have the laws allow both, or neither. But disallowing roosters is patently stupid."

"Hm. Well. Note to self."

"Anyways, you're heroes to this little rock dove and I want you two to know that. She's going on a trip to a bird sanctuary in Toledo where she'll have lots and lots of snacks to eat that aren't fingers."

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........

[novelistrry]

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

Or

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is incredibly deceptive

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, wet dreams, praise kink, deception, etc!

Word Count: 15k+ with the prologue, 12k without.

Prologue (A/N: only read this if you have not read the blurb, if you’ve already read the blurb you can scroll down to where part one “The Ruse” starts)

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor. 

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season. 

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality. 

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him. 

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little. 

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down. 

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn. 

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return. 

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jumpscare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of). 

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival. 

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deepsea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey. 

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers. To no avail, she didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it in little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?” 

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

I. The Ruse

Y/N had told Dorothea she was feeling too ill to attend the breakfast table that morning. Albeit, the truth of the matter was that she was shaken by her dreams poisoned by Harry— maybe they were good dreams about his lips, his fingers, the way he caressed her cheek, but the fact that it was Harry doing those things to her was enough to deduce it was a nightmare. A terrible, terrible nightmare.

“Should I fetch you some tea?” Dorothea pressed her hand to Y/N’s forehead, feeling for a fever, but when the skin under her hands was cool rather than clammy, Dorothea raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“No, no,” Y/N swung the covers over her, revealing her nightgown. Stiffly, she planted her feet on the wooden planks beneath the bed as she made a show of stretching, “Don’t fuss over me. I’m already feeling much better, Dorothea.”

“Better enough to attend breakfast?” Dorothea questioned her, the brow still raised in suspicion, and Y/N knows she should just tell Dorothea the truth but it was her stubborn nature that prevented her from letting Dorothea know about her encounter with the Prince yesterday. 

“I believe it’s late anyway,” Y/N reasoned, “I will fetch something when the dining hall has been cleared out.”

Dorothea only shook her head in disappointment, but Y/N pretended not to notice. 

______________

In an effort to maintain his dignity, Harry had to stop looking at the chestnut oak double doors separating the dining hall from the rest of the castle. Each time a servant opened the door to replenish something on the table, Harry’s head snapped over, hoping it would be Y/N that walked through the doors just so he could see her again. 

It was agonizing, honestly. She was sweeter than droplets of nectar. Bees were probably drawn to her, knowing her personality was as sweet as the honey they produced, attracting to her like the pollen they longed to search for. 

That, precisely, is why she aggravated Harry so much. From the time Harry was born, it was engraved in his brain that he was a ruler; he was honorable, decisive, and empathetic. All the qualities that made up a leader, and he knew it, too. Though, he was self-aware enough to know where he was lacking, and he was lacking (probably) the most important quality a leader can have—compassion and the ability to connect. 

For Y/N, that was something that came so naturally. She could connect with just about anyone. The princess blended in with the common folk so... Seamlessly, it was absolutely infuriating. Harry had tried, plenty of times, to blend in, to connect with his people and his royal household but he could never achieve it the way Y/N did. She was a real princess, and it made him feel like a fraud. 

Years had passed with him learning about how to rule, the best way, the honorable way. For Y/N, it seemed that she was born with the knowledge, never having to lift a finger or read a book. 

So it pleased him, angering her to the point of outbursts. In her court, she was polite, loved, and deemed the absolute most charismatic one can be. When she was just about shaking with rage, foul words dripping from her lips, that is when Harry was content— when she looked less like a statue, the perfect creation this court has formed her to be, and more like a human. More like him. 

That is when the irritation he felt toward her stopped festering, just for a moment in time. 

And he knew he was absolutely terrible for it, absolutely atrocious, but he wanted to corrupt her. Ruin the molding she was fit into. 

Sounds of fingers fiddling on the doorknob caused him to look up, and when a servant walked in with another tray of warm bread and fresh butter, his eyes averted to his plate to avoid the teasing that was about to come from the King’s Hand— or well, Prince’s Hand, really, since he wouldn’t truly be the King’s Hand until Harry’s coronation.

But he was too late, and the words were already coming out of Niall’s mouth, “If you’re going to keep glancing up every time someone walks in, wishing her to walk through those doors, then why don’t you just go seek her out?”

“I don’t wish for her to walk through those doors, Niall,” Harry’s jaw tensed as he spoke, the inclination that he was waiting for her making him somewhat irate, “I am merely observing, isn’t that important? To be aware of one’s surroundings?”

“Yes,” Niall sucked in his teeth, moving his gaze from the angle of Harry’s jaw back to his plate of food, “Indeed it is.”

Harry spread butter on a fresh piece of bread, ignoring Niall’s comment, and when Niall realized Harry wasn’t going to say anything else, he continued to poke the bear. “Why didn’t you marry Duchess Violet when you had the opportunity? Why push the wedding? So you could come here? See her?”

A hiss left Harry’s mouth before answering in a hushed voice, low enough that the people around them could not hear. “Why so many questions, Niall?”

“I’m trying to understand,” he shrugged his shoulders, the level of his voice now matching Harry’s.

“I pushed the wedding because I did not want to marry the Duchess, Niall. Simple as that. I came here because my parents are convinced that Princess Y/N and I will form an attachment if I spend enough time with her. That is what they want after all.”

“Then what?” Niall’s questioning was causing sweat to bead on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t want to think of the then what factor.

“I suppose when I return home, the arrangement between the Duchess and I will initiate once more.” Harry cocked his head over to Niall, dropping the piece of bread on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What is your game here this summer, Prince?” Niall asked, locking eyes with Harry’s whose eyes were the same pigment as a field of green clovers populating in the crisp months of Spring, mischief dancing in his irises.

Slowly and carefully he gave Niall the essence of his plan, “I will convince the Princess to form an alliance with me— A facade, if you will. We will put on a show, and before our attachment is sealed with a ring, she will say she can no longer do it. And I will be so heartbroken, to the nation’s knowledge, that they will not pester me about marrying. I do not need to marry. I will not need to marry.”

“And will you be heartbroken, Prince?” This seemed to be Niall’s only concern.

“No,” Harry paused and then added on, “I do not believe so.”

“And what if she does not agree to a facade?” 

“Then I will charm her. Seduce her.” This was all Harry was willing to say on the matter as he pushed his chair up.

______________

Y/N, to her credit, was full of secrets.

Every now and again, she would poke her head out, scan the corridor, then jump back into her bedchamber when she heard the sound of heels clicking against the flooring. 

And she’s never felt quite so childish before. Usually, when Harry came for the summer, Y/N didn’t go out of her way to avoid him, but after their interaction in the study she didn’t think she was ready to face him yet. 

If Y/N was honest with herself, two years ago when she first met the prince, she was quite smitten. And maybe it was the fact that he was engaged to someone else. .. Someone Y/N didn’t know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t bother to tell her, or write to her family that got her so worked up. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that someone wormed their way into his icy chest and planted a seed of fire that caused him to want them.

She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she fancied Harry more than she let on. The only person in the entire castle that knew just how deep her feelings for Harry ran was Dorothea, though the words had never left Y/N’s lips and they might not ever. 

Rage has simmered in her gut, boiling over into her fingertips that flowed against the page where she etched words onto a canvas that conveyed her grievances with Harry. The memory of her sitting there, rage-writing a letter she never intended to send, and Harry snatching it out of her hands and reading aloud sent a churn in her stomach, the humiliation of the moment festering inside her once more. 

The true reason she had been avoiding him, at last. She was utterly embarrassed by the entire ordeal. All he had to do was read in between the lines, and all of her feelings were on display. Harry having that letter was a different kind of vulnerability. 

So she snuck out to the stables, where her good friend Brad worked as the stable boy. Y/N and Brad shared a secret the people did not know, it was kept between the two of them, and she liked Brad for the fact he has known her secret for about four years and has not told a soul has made her like them all the more. 

Boots trudged in the muddy grass as she made her way out to the stables, where Brad tended to her horses (and the other horses, of course). Birds cooed in the sky, the sing-song noises filling her ears and putting her at peace for the first time since yesterday. 

When she had finally made it to the big barn, nearly a quarter mile away from the actual castle, Brad was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, she lurked around, craning her head around corners and scouting him out. 

Right as she was about to call out his name, because it was very unlikely for him to not be here, she rounded one more corner and saw him nestled next to the Prince— next to Harry. 

She almost audibly groaned when she saw him standing there, invading her space. Where she liked to go to clear her head, but before a noise could escape her lips, she realized if she slowly backed out of the hall then she might escape the pair before either of them saw her.

As she slowly tried to back out of the hall encompassed by horse stables, the two rather close together, both snapped their heads in her direction. Two sets of eyes locked with hers, her mouth watering as her stomach turns nervously when Harry’s green gaze of disapproval scans her up and down.

“Y/N?” Brad asked, projecting his tone down the length of the hall so she could hear him clearly, “What are you doing all the way down there?”

“Nothing!” Her tone projected as well, matching Brad’s. “I was thinking I could see Freya, but I see you’re busy.”

“Why don’t you come closer, Princess? So we don’t have to shout too loud.” Harry said, and Y/N knew the look upon his face. Whenever he was about to do something devious, a smirk would spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the game he was about to partake in.

And Y/N doesn’t know why she listened to him, why she didn’t just turn away, but before she could tell herself to stop, she was walking toward the both of them. Each step felt shameful, her eyes averting from Harry’s and to Brad. She couldn’t stand the way Harry looked at her, like she was a toy, like he could burn holes through her soul if he really wanted to.

She shifted her body to angle more toward Brad, not completely cutting Harry out of the circle they were now standing in, but angling herself enough to show that her body language was more open to Brad than she was to Harry.

“Isn’t this one Freya?” Harry pointed to the stall directly across from them. There stood her light gray horse, mane and tail braided perfectly. 

Actually, if someone saw Y/N and Freya standing side by side, they would simply know Freya was meant for Y/N by the way she holds herself; strong, with a gentle demeanor radiating off her. The only problem is that people would never see Freya and Y/N side by side, because Y/N (as much as she loved Freya) was too afraid to take her out of her stall. In Y/N’s kingdom, it was inevitable that every young prince or princess had to ride, because at their coronation one of the requirements was to ride in on their horse. The issue wasn’t that Y/N didn’t know how to ride. She did. The issue was that Y/N wouldn’t because of an accident that happened three years ago, leaving Y/N scared to ever get on the back of a horse, or to even walk around with her lead rope in hand. Nobody knew, except Brad, that Y/N hadn’t been on the back of her horse since the accident, it was a secret the two of them kept together.

“Yes,” Y/N turned to him, just slightly, “That is her.”

“Go on, then,” Harry motioned toward her, “We don’t mind if you take her out.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, glancing at Brad to see if he could help her worm her way out of this situation. He has helped her before, when her parents would find her in the stable and ask if she wanted to go on a ride with them. Brad would say something like, Princess Y/N just put Freya back, they went on a lengthy ride earlier and Freya is resting now. It made Y/N feel selfish to know how much trouble Brad could get in for lying, but she was too much of a coward to tell anyone her fears.

Brad interjected, just not with what she hoped for, “Y/N doesn’t ride.”

Confusion contorted Y/N’s features as he outed her secret to the one person she didn’t want to know an inkling about her. “Brad!”

Brad’s eyes widened slightly, his brows raising as he replied, “I’m sorry, Y/N! I thought it was okay for him to know? It’s not as if he lives in the palace.”

Harry stepped closer, putting a pin in the conversation Brad and Y/N were beginning to have right in front of him, “Why doesn’t she ride?”

Brad waited, momentarily, for Y/N to respond but when her lips stayed sealed, withholding the information from Harry he decided to come clean for her. “Y/N has panic attacks when she gets too close to horses. Nobody knows.”

At least he didn’t tell Harry why horses made her panic.

“Yet you come out here anyway?”

Heedfully, she took in a deep breath and began to collect her thoughts which seemed to be swimming everywhere. These past two days, she had never felt so exposed, so bare in front of him. First with the letter, and now with Brad’s indiscretion to Y/N’s secret. “As you may already know, horse riding is big in our culture, so I come out here to keep up appearances. And, I do love my Freya.”

“You’re a fraud, then? A liar?” Harry sucked in a breath, that grin teetering on amusement— a fine line between pure and utter cruelty. 

“If that’s what you will call it,” Y/N tried not to let the emotions welling inside show on her face, remaining neutral and stoic was the best way to ignore Harry. She, too, could sink her claws in him and tear him apart by simply ignoring him. “I must be going.”

Swiftly, she turned, paying no mind to Freya and blocking out the snickering coming from Harry as she walked out of the barn. Her boots trudged in the mud once more, and the frustration brewing inside was threatening to spill over, though she would not allow it to until she was alone in the privacy of her own room. 

The palace was in plain sight, she only needed to walk a straight narrow path before she could take a side door to the main corridor and scurry off to her room (hopefully avoiding many of the household staff on the way). It was unfair, but she wanted to yell at Brad for offering Harry such private information. Should she blame him, though? He’s been keeping her secret for nearly three years, lying for her, and obviously he didn’t know that Harry had brutish tendencies— especially when it came to her. In fact, she thought back to it. The way the two of them were standing, how Harry was shifting closer to Brad with each word. If Y/N didn’t know better, Harry was trying to turn Brad into putty in his hands which honestly might have been more of an issue than him knowing her secret panic attacks she would have in the privacy of Freya’s stall. Was Harry interested in Brad, trying to charm him with his good looks and that personality that oozed sweetness? Y/N may have never seen that side of him, but amongst the chambermaids he was quite the sweet-talker.

“Y/N,” a low, gruff voice called from behind her. When she tried to pick up the pace, she only heard the shuffling of Harry’s boots behind her go faster. 

It wasn’t like she would be able to escape him, if he truly wanted to pester her he would find her in her bedchamber. It was better to have a discussion with him out in the open instead of him tainting her bedchamber with his attitude. 

“What?” She turned on her heels and snapped her head toward him, the tone of her voice laced with anger.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you,” he took a few steps closer so they were only an arms distance from each other. He wanted his next words to be just barely above a whisper.

“Then speak,” Y/N pursed her lips together, crossing her arms so that she could shield herself against him in some way. Clearly, crossing her arms wasn’t actually going to protect her from him, but in a way, it felt like a mental shield, keeping him out of her head and far away.

“It has been two days of me gracing you with my company, and within those two days, I have obtained a letter I’m convinced you would not like to fall into the wrong hands, and I have discovered you have been deceiving many people and getting the stable boy to lie for you,” Harry’s pointer finger traced under her chin, noting the shiver that ran down her back as she stepped away from his touch, “Now, if you do not want that letter circulating throughout the palace, and if you do not want everyone to know you are a fraud, then you will offer me something I need.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Harry was blackmailing her? She had always taken him for possessing a certain cruelty about him, but never thought he would stoop low to the point where blackmail (quite literally when she takes the letter into consideration) would be hanging over her head like a bundle of mistletoe. 

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stepping backward as her arms tightened around herself once more. 

“What is your answer, Y/N?” He spoke with such an airy indifference that she almost couldn’t tell if he was playing a very humorless joke on her.

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice in the matter!” She barked back, and that flicker of anger displayed on her face and in her tone of voice made his lips curve up into a cursed smile, so she tried to cool herself down and remain stoic— just as unbothered as he seemed to be.

“I am giving you a choice, darling,” Harry said, the word rolling off his tongue like the pet name was second nature to him, “One option is unfavorable, though. For you, at the very least.”

It was written across his face; either answer she gave him was a win for him. This was a situation where she was going to lose, a situation where the upper hand was in his court and he was playing the game with no mercy. If she said yes, she was indebted to him, owing him a favor. And if she said no, the shame of her actions would not only reflect on her, but her family as well. 

“Tell me what you need,” an exasperated sigh she didn’t mean to let out, falling from her lips.

“Agree first.” Harry was a politician first, a prince second, and a human being last.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Do you believe I haven’t learned to never agree to something binding without knowing the stipulations first, Prince?”

“And do you think I would present my vulnerabilities to you without an answer first? I tell you, you don’t agree with the clause, and now you know what I need. Why should I do that?” His reasoning was valid to her, though she would never admit to it.

“Then my answer is no,” Y/N began turning on her heels to walk away; get as far away as she possibly could, but she stopped in her tracks when he caught up behind her, hooking his fingers around her waist and pressing his front against her back.

Incredibly cool and collected, he pressed his lips against her ears before he spoke, causing a chill to rip down her spine and a tightening coil in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made your choice, then. Tonight in the dining hall, while we are in the middle of dinner with the most important people, I will stand and tell everyone of your fraudulent activities. In fact, I might even embellish it— explain how you’ve been keeping the stable boy so quiet with your mouth. Do you know what that means, princess? I will tell them how you’ve squandered his innocence, and when the shame is rising from here,” Harry’s fingers trailed from her hip to her stomach, and then all the way up to the apple of her cheeks, “To here… That is when I will twist the knife, and begin reading your finest letter aloud. And when you are crying, I will not stop.”

Y/N turned back around, stepping away from him to get distance before spitting out, “You are cruel, Harry. So, very, cruel.”

“You are flattering me,” he quirked an eyebrow, and she so badly wanted to connect her fist to that stupid smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Y/N nodded her head, refusing to give him any more leverage, “I will help you.”

“Great, then I will court you for the entire summer, and just before it is time for me to propose to you… You will come up with some excuse to break it off, and I will pretend I am utterly heartbroken and need time to heal.” 

Y/N was shocked his ruse was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. She thought maybe he would be requesting her to break into the general’s office and steal classified military documents, or something absolutely absurd and dangerous. But a courtship under false pretenses was… Dishonorable, but not a crime.

“That’s it?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he was beginning to feel frustrated, and Y/N could tell by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. “I do not want to marry the Dutchess, and I fear if I do not place a ring on your finger, that is my destiny. However, if you end our courtship and I feign heartbreak, how could anyone tell me I need to marry when I lost the love of my life.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

“And—” Y/N began to ask another question before Harry interrupted her.

“That is all the information I will give you on the topic.”

“Fine,” she, herself, was done with the conversation anyway. There were much better things for her to do than scheme with Harry, “Now if you would leave me be, I would like some space from you.”

“Take what you need, because after dinner we will be attached at the hip once we announce our courtship.”

This might be the death of Y/N.

______________

Pretending to be under the weather was not going to cut it this evening, Y/N knew she couldn’t get out of another meal with her family, Harry’s, and the other important people that made it to the dining hall list without a stern talking to from Dorothea. 

On top of that, she knew that Harry was going to announce their courtship, and he probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of announcing it without her there. Actually, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. Who knows what he would say?

With thoughts racing through her head, and the click of her ballet flats on the mosaic tile, she made her way down the corridor until she was standing just outside of the tall oak doors. As soon as they opened, she would find her seat, and her fate for the summer would be sealed.

“Looking nervous, darling.” Harry spoke from behind her, creeping up on her for the third time since he’s been here. Rolling her eyes was beginning to become a natural reaction at this point. 

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N hissed out, barely taking her eyes from the door as he walked up behind her so he was nearly touching her backside as his fingers reached for the knob and turned it slowly. 

It was quiet when her eyes locked with her mother and father’s eyes, and when she slid her gaze over to Harry’s parents, she couldn’t help but feel shame that ticked in her lower stomach. It was one thing to be deceptive to her own parents; it was another to be deceptive to someone else’s. This was definitely something she was going to bring up to Harry later. 

Dorothea was sitting beside Y/N’s mother, and when she noticed her, Dorothea offered an approving smile and a small glance toward Harry’s direction. On multiple occasions, Dorothea had tried to convince Y/N that Harry was not that horrible as she knew him since he was a young boy, but Y/N would gawk and scoff and exclaim with exasperation: Why are you taking his side? Now, Dorothea had believed Harry finally charmed Y/N just enough to weasel his way into her heart, but little did Dorothea know, it was quite the opposite. 

Dinner was going by smoothly. Every now and again, Harry would make some small talk with Y/N, and as soon as the pair began speaking softly under their breath, the entire table would stop talking to hear what the two of them were conversing about. It was making Y/N rather anxious to have so much attention thrown in her general direction, but she supposed if she were in their shoes, she would be just as curious.

Before the meal came to a close, Harry tapped a shiny piece of silverware against his glass, gaining everyone’s attention. Though, Y/N wanted to tell him if he wanted all eyes on him, all he would have to do is look at her, whisper her name, and the chattering amongst the table would cease so everyone could hone in on their private conversation. “Everyone, I wanted to announce mine and precious Y/N’s courtships. After two long summers of denying our tension amongst one another, we decided it was in everyone’s best interest if we gave our compatibility a shot.”

A couple people clapped, and Y/N tried so hard to repress the eyeroll and the scoff that wanted to surface so badly. Dorothea shot a wink in her direction, so Y/N offered a small smile because a grimace would lead to questioning from her later, and lying to Dorothea was not something she felt too good about. Y/N had already deceived her once today by feigning illness, and twice with Harry’s speech of their courtship, but she did not want to have a separate conversation with Dorothea that contained the weight of her lies.

As soon as dinner ended, Y/N found herself rushing from the dining hall, nausea filling her gut as bile threatened to creep up her throat. In a few turns, she was down the corridor, and finally, she was on the terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. Stars illuminated the sky, the moon brightening the path she was walking down, and she should have known better to think she would get just one moment alone (or one moment where Harry was not creeping up behind her).

“Y/N, I want to talk,” Harry whispered, although the words may have been hushed, but they were on the louder side like a… Hushed shout?

“I’m not sure I would like to talk right now,” Y/N replied back, kicking scattered rocks out of the path they were taking that led to the gardens on the right side of the palace.

“I promise I will leave you alone for the night after this,” Harry sounded sincere, “I just want to work out the logistics with you.”

“The logistics with me?” Y/N scoffed, pivoting on her heels and throwing her hands up in exasperation. The tone of her voice was laced with venom, and the scrunch of her nose which led all the way up to her eyebrows, giving her the look of an angry kitten was enough to tell Harry she was quite upset with the ordeal, “You mean, you would like to speak of your deception?”

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

“Maybe you’re not,” he looked her up and down, the sinister glare in his eyes making her want to recoil into herself, “But you want to.”

Y/N did not deny her attraction to the stable boy, though, she had never fantasized of him in such salacious ways, and that little flicker of emotion that ran across her features was something Harry picked up on immediately. 

“Would it break your little heart, Princess?” Harry took a step closer, the vein on his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw harder, “If I let your stable boy lay in my bed?”

Y/N gasped. She had never heard someone be so… Vulgar. 

The response she was looking for swam through her head but she couldn’t quite locate it as she filed through the crevices of her brain. How could she answer that? To her luck, Harry was on his heels and walking toward the direction of the stables so she didn’t have to respond to him. He muttered out the grumpiest, “I’ll find you later,” and Y/N’s heart sank as she realized Harry was trying to find Brad to either bed him, or tell Brad about her embarrassing little crush. Y/N had never felt so exposed in her own territory. 

______________

“This is never going to work, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, kicking off his riding boots and pacing his way back and forth in Niall’s personal cabin. Niall was the Prince’s Hand, his second in command, but he needed his space. When they would come for the summer, Niall would occupy the cottage on the outskirts of the palace, the only way to get there was by horseback, which is part of the reason he felt so comfortable being open with Niall. There was no possible way the princess would be strolling down the corridor and overhear him chatting with Niall when they were so far away, and the only way she could get there was by horseback, which he knew she wouldn’t do.

“What do you mean?” Niall looked over at him, pouring a glass of sparkling wine that was located on the bar top near the kitchenette. Harry noted that Niall was pouring two glasses, one for Harry and one for himself.

“She’s too stubborn.” Harry sighed out, taking the glass from Niall as he reached his hand out, then plummeted into one of the cushion filled chairs in the corner of the room. “She won’t be able to go through with it.”

“And you have leverage over her, do you not? I thought that was why you were so sure of your plan?” Niall pressed the frosted glass to his lips, then tipped his head back.

Harry followed suit, tipping his head back after pressing the cool glass to his lip. The slight carbonation of the alcohol, and the burn of the alcohol itself singed the back of his throat before he shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. “I do have leverage as I told you about. I fear if she backs out, I would never be able to put her through that, though.”

“It was my understanding that you didn’t care and you do not like her. If that is the case, then what is the issue, Prince?” Niall questioned.

“I do not care about her and I do not like her, but what would it say about me if I grasped that leverage and exposed her so openly like that…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he brought the glass back to his lips once more.

“So you do not care about her, and you do not like her, but you care about what others would think if you humiliated her so publicly?” Niall was beginning to understand.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

Niall didn’t like giving Harry advice like this, but he was loyal to Harry first and always. When he began fitting the puzzle pieces together of the dynamic between Harry and Y/N, before he could even process his own thought process he blurted, “If you think she is too stubborn, then change that. Have you thought that maybe the reason she is so stubborn around you is because of the fact you are so mean to her. Stop being so cruel. Be a gentleman, make her like you. Hell, make her even love you, and at the end of the summer, if you still do not believe you are the type of man to marry, then begin corresponding with the Duchess again, forcing Y/N to break it off with you. You told her it was all a ruse, then so be it. However, that does not mean you have to make her life a living hell. You can charm her, make her fall for you, and when you invite the Duchess to the ball at the end of the summer, Y/N will have no other choice than to call it off.”

Harry paused, sitting upright in the chair rather than slouching over, “So you are saying to charm her still, even though she’s already agreed to the facade with me?”

“Precisely,” Niall pushed the guilty feeling down.

“And at the end of the summer when I want her to call it off, let her find me entangled with Duchess Violet?” Harry was the one asking questions now.

“Yes,” Niall let out a small breath.

“Smart man,” was all Harry said, and that was the end of the conversation as Harry slipped his boots on, bolted out the door, mounted his horse, and rode back to the main palace so he could talk to Y/N.

______________

Y/N was still in the garden, ruminating over the argument she just had with Harry. How could someone be so handsome, resembling a person who was probably carved by the most delicate angels themselves, have such a crude mouth and an evil demeanor? If Harry was a little bit nicer, she thinks he would be the easiest person to fall in love with.

“Y/N?” Harry whispered, and when she turned around to look at him, he noted the way the light from the moon reflected off the top of his curly brown hair, where it hit the highs of his cheekbones, and she noted the delicacy in his sea moss green eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to argue, Prince.” She remained grounded, her feet planted into the soil. Her cheeks were still wet from the tears spilled over after Harry left her feeling silly, and even though the streaks remained on her cheeks, there were no more droplets forming in her eyes.

He stepped closer, so close that his body was almost pressed against the front of hers. She noted the way his hand lingered by her hip, wanting badly to close the gap between them by positioning his hand behind her and pulling her close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She was strong, she was going to be tough.

“I feel terrible, Y/N,” the sincerity in his eyes was enough to send a ripple of shock through her. Honestly, the sincerity he felt was enough to send a ripple of shock through him. It was true, he did feel terrible. He never meant to make her cry.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, beginning to turn away from him, but he caught her with his hand around her hip, then closed the gap between them so there was no space between the pair.

“It’s not,” he disagreed, “I… I want to be your friend, Y/N.”

“My friend?” She was so fucking confused.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, creeping his free hand under her chin and forcing her to look up and directly at him. “I do not want to be the only person benefiting from this deception.”

“Okay,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me teach you how to feel comfortable on a horse again. I can give you lessons.” He decided showing her how to be confident atop a horse would be something she would benefit from. She wouldn’t have to feel confined to the palace anymore or lie to the people around her.

“So you can belittle me in our lessons?” Y/N asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, Y/N. No more of that, I can assure you.” He sounded so sincere, he was convincing himself. Maybe the truth was that arguing with her, getting under her skin, and picking her apart was exhausting and he didn’t like feeling like the worst version of himself around her. He was so confused. So confused. He hated this perfect princess exterior she put on, but he disliked being an asshole more.

“You really want to help me?” She could hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he dropped his hand from her chin and her hip, taking a step away from her, “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the stables.”

With that, he turned away and found his way back to his bedchambers. Harry really needed to decompress.

______________

The next morning, Harry found her in the stables. She had gotten there before him and was waiting by Freya’s stall. Brad wasn’t there quite yet. It was so early, the sun was just starting to poke through the horizon. 

Colors of red, pink, and gold reflected from his skin as he approached her, and Y/N noted that the colors peaking from the horizon were almost as beautiful as him. While the sun rise was beautiful, it was not nearly as beautiful as him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, walking up to where she leaned against Freya’s stall.

“I’m ready,” she explained.

They had spent hours talking about how to form a bond with a horse, how to treat a horse, and where not to stand when around a horse. They talked about how to saddle a horse up, how to put the bit in a horse’s mouth without injuring yourself or the animal you need to be taking care of. Harry was actually a very good teacher. He wasn’t pushing her out of her comfort zone, he wasn’t belittling her for the things she was taught when she was younger but forgot how to maneuver. Harry even brought up what Brad had said about her having panic attacks when she was too close to horses, and told her that if she was feeling anxious to let him know, they could find a spot where she felt safe. Overall, working with him wasn’t too bad.

Y/N tried not to talk about the incident that made her so fearful of horses to begin with, and as much as Harry wanted to know why she was so afraid of them, he didn’t want to push and pry. He knew what it was like when people pushed their way into your personal space, and it was his biggest pet peeve, so he wasn’t going to subject her to something he hated deep in his bones.

Brad was surprised the first day when he came in, and saw Y/N, with shaky hands, petting on Freya. Freya seemed to enjoy it, and Harry stabilized her shaky arm as she reached in the window of the stall and pet her, whispering small encouragements in her ear. He was standing directly behind her, the front of his body pressed to her back as she reached in.

“Good girl,” Harry said, his fingers clutched around her elbow to combat the shakiness in her arm.

“She is a rather good girl,” Y/N said, touching the softness on Freya’s nose.

“No,” Harry laughed out, his fingers still gently holding her elbow steady, “I was talking about you. You’re being a very good girl.”

Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but chose to say nothing, and much to her good luck, Brad had finally showed up for the day, amazed at how Harry stood there with Y/N and held her from behind as she touched Freya.

“Wow,” Brad said, dropping some of the grain he was holding into the stall next to Freya’s, “You’re doing very well, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t think she could handle all the compliments, so she redirected the attention to Harry, “It’s all him. He's a great teacher.”

“I bet he is,” Brad shot a look toward Harry, a smirk forming on the edges of both their mouths. It made Y/N wonder if they actually had some sort of relationship like Harry hinted at the night he told her he was going to bed Brad in order to spite her. “I just hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Nightmares?” Harry’s grip around her elbow tightened, pulling her arm out of Freya’s stall and letting Y/N’s arm fall to her side. “What does he mean?”

Y/N turned around, and threw a scowl in Brad’s direction. Her back pressed against the stall door as she let a sheepish smile appear on her face when she turned all her attention toward Harry. “I used to have nightmares about the incident.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a hardline, a serious look glossed in his eyes. “If you start having nightmares again, tell me. Please.”

“I will.”

______________

Y/N didn’t know what to do about the dreams she was having regarding Harry. It seemed that every single night her dreams of Harry were becoming more and more graphic. The first night she dreamt of him was the first night he was in the palace, and she dreamt of what his lips felt like on hers. 

The second time she dreamt of him, she dreamt of the ways his hands felt around her body, and ever since then she had been having that same dream of him, over and over again. He would start by kissing her neck and touching her all over, calling her sweet names, and making her cry out in pleasure.

Every morning she woke up feeling debauched, and when she would meet Harry at the stables in the morning, she tried her best to not let the emotion flood her face. Sometimes she was scared that he could just look at her and know she was having inappropriate dreams about him.

A week had passed of her spending time with Harry. She learned about his favorite food, what he loved about his own kingdom, and even found out that the Marigold flower was native to his kingdom. 

“You kind of remind me of a Marigold.” Harry said softly.

“Why is that?” She looked over at him, as he began putting the bit on Freya. Y/N wasn’t ready to ride yet, but today she was going to walk Freya along the property with Harry to get used to her holding the lead rope in her hand.

“They’re bright and beautiful,” Harry buckled the bit, pulling the lead rope through as he spoke to Y/N, “A lot like you.”

“I think we’ve come a long way,” Y/N noted, grabbing the lead rope with shaky fingers when Harry handed it to her.

When Harry realized that her fingers were shaking and her eyes were nervously glancing around, he grabbed the lead rope back from her and began walking Freya out of the barn and toward a trail nearby, “I’ll walk her for now. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

They walked together, talking about the most random things and getting to know each other. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t like Harry at first. Fine, he was slightly annoying, and when she thought about how she was technically still being blackmailed it made her a little furious, but when he was being so pleasant and lovely, she tried not to think of those things. 

On top of all that, how could she say she still disliked him when she was dreaming of him every single night?

“Why don’t you try holding the lead rope as we walk, and I’ll hold your hand over it?” He suggested, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail. As much as he liked walking Freya, he did want Y/N to make some progress. 

“I think I can do that,” Y/N agreed, grabbing the rope in her hand and locking it securely between her fingers. Her hand wasn’t on the rope for even two seconds before Harry threw his hand around hers and gave her a look that she knew said I’m here for you. 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as his hand enveloped hers and his eyes brought comfort to her hammering heart. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined how his lips would taste— probably sickeningly sweet. She thought of the way he might moan against her, like he did in her dream. The vibrations flooding through her, feeling like pure ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

______________

Y/N thought back to the first night Harry had been to the palace. That night, she had a dream of Harry pressing his lips against hers. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she dreamt about him at night, and as the days passed, the more graphic they got. 

Today wasn’t the first time she had woken up with a puddle between her legs due to a steamy dream she had about Harry, though, it was the first time she had reached her climax in her sleep and she couldn’t help the shame that picked away inside her.

Quickly, she cleaned herself off and began putting on her riding clothes to meet Harry in the stables. 

______________

This morning, Y/N could barely look Harry in the eye, and he wondered why that was. They had been working together for a little over two weeks now, and she was growing much more comfortable with him each day. Actually, it was rather frustrating for him to find out that he somewhat enjoyed spending time with her. She was kind of funny, a little sweet, and overall, easy to teach. 

“Will you tell me why you can’t look at me today?” Harry grinned at her, and noted the way she dropped her gaze from his eyes back down to her hands, an emotion he couldn’t quite place lingering on her features. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled out, still refusing to meet his eyes. This might actually drive him crazy.

“Tell me, darling,” Harry reached for the water that was sitting atop Freya’s stall door, and began taking a few sips, his eyes still locked on Y/N, waiting for her to explain. Sooner or later, she would tell him. She was quite bad at keeping secrets.

“Did you actually take Brad to bed?” Y/N still didn’t look up at him.

Harry choked on his water; that was the last thing he expected Y/N to say to him. “Why do you think that?”

“You told me you were going to take him to bed the night you told me you wanted to be my friend,” Y/N recalled.

“I did say that,” Harry hummed out, placing the water back atop the door of the horse stall before moving toward her, “No, I did not take him to bed.”

“Do you want to… You know? Do you like him in that way?” Y/N was trying to avoid certain words, too shy to actually say what she was thinking, and the shyness in her tone was enough to make Harry’s knees almost buckle.

“I think he’s handsome, Y/N, but I would not hurt your feelings like that,” Harry explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you only like him, then? That is why you would not marry the Duchess?” Y/N had so many questions rifling through her mind, she didn’t know where to begin.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face, “I have a preference for both, Y/N. I do find men attractive, but I find women attractive too.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N nodded her head, “I’m sorry I was just thinking of that night and how maybe you and Brad—”

“That’s so naughty, Y/N.” He took a couple steps toward her, reminding her of the night he told her he would teach her how to ride. There was only a small gap between them, the front of his chest pressed to the front of her chest, but this time, there was a wooden wall behind her and if he only took one more small step, she would be pressed against the wooden wall in the barn and the front of Harry’s bodice. She was so depraved.

Harry’s voice was full of teasing, but Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she thought he was chastising her, “I’m sorry, Harry! Not like that!”

“Darling, I’m only teasing you,” Harry’s grin was contagious, Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her lips, “Now won’t you tell me a secret? I’ve given you one of mine.”

Y/N didn’t even think about it before blurting out, “I wish I knew what it was like to be kissed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his hand pressed against the wooden wall, trapping Y/N between his body and the wall (still offering her a way out from the position on his left). All he needed to do was bend down and connect his lips to hers and she would know what it’s like, but he would never do it without asking first. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like that,” she breathed.

So, he would give her what she wanted. In the matter of seconds, his knee was positioned in between her legs, almost touching her center. His head had swooped down so his lips were just a few centimeters from her own, and his eyes were full of peer lust. Without much thought, he pressed his lips against her gentle ones, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her to open up for him and let him in. Though, Y/N didn’t understand the cue, and Harry understood that since this is her first time being kissed, she wouldn’t know the trick of sliding your tongue against someone’s bottom lip and what that was asking for.

Gently, he brought his lips to her chin and pulled down ever so slightly, parting her lips and allowing access to her mouth. It was the most pleasant noise he had ever heard, the moan that vibrated into his mouth and warmed his muscles. The blood was flowing to his cheeks, his heart rate quickening and pumping the blood through his body, and straight to his cock. Honestly, if they didn’t stop kissing, he might actually come in his pants, so he pulled away, leaving her breathless and hot.

“How was that?” He asked.

“I think I liked it a lot,” she panted out, pressing her legs together and Harry knew the signs of that all too well, but decided not to comment on it.

“We can do it again sometime.” He shrugged, removing his hand from the wall and taking a few steps back.

“O-okay.” She muttered.

Y/N was feeling things she had never known were possible.

______________

Harry’s lips were pressed against her neck, his hands wandering to the waistband of her underwear before looping his fingers around the elastic and pulling them down her legs. Before she even had time to process what was going on, he was gently laying her against the bed, but they weren’t in her room… No, she didn’t know where they were, and for a moment she was dissecting the bedchamber and all its decor until Harry’s thumb found its way to her clit and one of his fingers sunk into her, rubbing against the button that had her back arching off of the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming erratic with each stroke. “Please, Harry. Please…”

In this scenario, she didn’t feel ashamed for calling out his name, for begging for his fingers. Harry had positioned himself so that he was on top of her, one hand holding him up so that he good get a good look at her face (in this scenario, he liked to watch the way her nose scrunched when she hit her climax) while his hand worked her clit and flicked against her g-spot. 

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” he leaned down, his lips pressed against her lips as he spoke, “I’m going to get you there.”

She couldn’t help it, she needed him so badly. When he pulled his fingers out and inserted another, expanding the space inside her, she arched her back off the bed and bucked her hips into his hand begging for more friction than he was supplying her with.

“Don’t be greedy, love.” He found a different position so he could use one hand to pin her hips to the bed, and the other one to tease her with his fingers. “You need help orgasming, darling?”

“Harry, I need help!”

“Y/N!” Harry shook her shoulders, causing her whole body to shake as her eyes opened to reveal a panicked Harry peering down at her.

It took a moment for her to understand what was going on, but when she looked at her surroundings which were dimly lit by candles, Y/N realized that she was in her bedchamber, and no longer in the bedchamber in her dream, and Harry had pulled the chair sitting in the corner of her room to the side of her bed.

A dream. It was just another dream. And it took a moment before she realized that Harry was here, waking her from her dream frantically.

“Harry,” she breathed out, and though he heard the breathiness in her tone as a sigh of relief, for Y/N she was coming down from the orgasm she just had in her sleep. In front of Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, you were having a nightmare. You’ve been screaming my name,” he tucked a strand of hair that was coated in sweat behind her ear, and she noted the softness in his voice, a guilty feeling ripping through her.

Actually, his voice wasn’t the only thing soft about him. Harry was still sporting sleepwear, white linen pajama pants and a matching button top. His curls which were normally assorted and crisp looking flopped against his forehead, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he stroked his thumb against her head whispering sweet nicknames he had never called her before, but what she really couldn’t stand was the guilt and worry flooding those cloverfield eyes of his.

“I—” she went to explain that she wasn’t having a nightmare, but before she had a chance to get the words out, he was telling her what happened.

“They came and got me. Dorothea told me this is the fifth consecutive night you’ve been screaming my name, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the lessons weren’t working, and they were putting you in such a bad place. I didn’t want this for you, baby,” Harry continued to stroke his thumb against her head, this time lowering his hand so that his thumb was stroking along her lips which wasn’t helping the sticky wetness pooling in her panties and the ache in her lower belly.

Y/N, filled with shame at the guilt in his eyes and the crude dreams she’s been having, tried to find her voice, “Wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“What do you mean, darling? You were screaming my name, asking for help?” 

In response, Y/N only pulled the edge of her blanket closer to her chest, tucking herself away from him.

It took Harry only two seconds to understand, “Oh?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head and inching away from the touch of his fingers.

“No!” He exclaimed, hooking his fingers around her arm as she tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, “Don’t be sorry. There is no need for that, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and expected him to get up and leave her to her own devices.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I just didn’t take you for a beggar, darling girl.”

It could have been the nickname, the same one dream Harry had given her as he brought her to her climax or the fact that he was calling her a beggar but she couldn’t help the heat that flooded through her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his, “Stop!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, and Y/N noted the way his fingers that were once tracing circled over her cheeks and then rubbing against her lips were now touching and grasping at her arm, like he had to be in constant contact with her. “You should never be embarrassed of what your body naturally desires.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scooted closer to him, back to where she was before she began inching away, “You’ve never been embarrassed.”

“I have. The first time I ever let someone touch me, I reached my orgasm in my trousers,” he began, offering her a questioning glance to ask if this is okay? When she nodded, letting him know he could climb into her bed, probably against her better judgment, he stood from the chair and put his knee on the bed. Before she knew it, he was putting his knee over her, straddling her momentarily, then found his way to the other side of her bed, so that they were laying side-by-side. Y/N couldn’t help the way heat filled her cheeks, tearing at the tiny tendrils of muscle throughout her body and igniting a fire from deep within her abdomen. How could she think straight when she was dripping with need, her body begging for some sort of release. 

Harry continued what he was saying once he was in a comfortable position next to her, but Y/N had trouble listening to his words when the only thing she could focus on was regulating her breaths, “That was pretty embarrassing. The second time I was embarrassed was the first time I met you, and you were standing there looking so beautiful and perfect, I tripped over my words. The third time I felt embarrassed was when I read your letter in the office and you expressed that my actions were not that of a gentleman, and you were right.”

She didn’t know what to say, only that she was burning with desire and needed him as close to her as possible. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’ve got me all soft tonight. I was under the impression you were having nightmares because you were too nervous to tell me you didn’t want to continue with lessons. I am cruel, Y/N, you have always been right about that, but I am not a monster,” his words were honest and true, something he would probably regret tomorrow, “Believe it or not, I never wanted to give you nightmares.”

“You haven’t given me nightmares,” Y/N was used to feeling shame around Harry, even though she could cover it quickly by hurling a snarky comment toward him.

“You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that your dreams about me are nothing but good… I would like to rectify the situation for you.”

“Rectify the situation?” Y/N was beginning to feel even more confused than when she woke up in her bedchamber with Harry’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, waking her from her vivid dream.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning his body so he was laying directly parallel to her, “Would you like me to take care of you?”

“I… I would like that,” her fingers held the quilt tighter to her chest, not quite sure if this was going to be a mean joke to toy with her and then laugh about it later.

“Do you trust me?” His eyebrow raised, knowing her answer without her even needing to speak the words.

“Not… particularly,” her breathing was becoming more rapid as the conversation took such a sultry turn.

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you feel good, darling.” He tried to reason with her, and as much as he wanted to run his hands over her sides and touch her all over, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not while he was trying to gain her trust.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly, barely audible.

“I know,” he agreed, “We are going to take it slow. You are safe with me.”

And Y/N didn’t know if it was the look in eyes, or if it was because of the fact he rushed to her bedchamber when someone woke him up from his peaceful slumber to come comfort her from her “bad dream,” but in this moment, she really felt as though she could trust him. On top of that, he knew her biggest fear, and never let her feel uncomfortable when he was teaching her how to ride, so why shouldn’t she trust him?

“I feel safe,” she told him and expressed her limits, “I trust you. No mean words, Harry.”

“No, baby, only praise for how well you’re doing.” 

Those three little words, the innocence in her eyes, and the way she clung to her blanket for a security measure could have sent Harry into a downward spiral. He tried to compose himself, tried to contain himself, because he knew he had to take it slow with her. He propped himself up so that he could loop his hands around where she clutched her blanket so tightly. “Have to relax, darling.”

She took in a few deep breaths, just how he taught her when she was trying something new, and her body released the tension as she made eye contact with him. Something about Harry was so contradictory. How could he make her feel so guarded and upset, but also make her feel so safe in her most vulnerable moments. As her grip loosened from the blanket, he asked if it was okay for him to remove it, to expose her body only dressed in her white nightgown. When she murmured a small yes, he peeled the blanket from her body. Cool air encompassed her, and she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been under the blanket.

Y/N used her elbows to prop herself up, leaning back against the pillows, giving herself a full view as she sat up right, and Harry took this moment to lean back, so his upper body was still parallel to hers, but he still had enough room to use his fingers to work her to the brink of her orgasm. Fortunately for her, he was reading the situation thoroughly, checking for the signs that she wasn’t ready and verbally communicating with her to make sure she was feeling okay.

“How are you feeling, love?” Small touches is what he started with, using the arm that he wasn’t propped up on to trace heart shapes (though, Y/N couldn’t tell what shape he was making) with his forefinger around the bare skin of her hip.

“Feeling good,” her words were breathy, making his cock twitch in his pants, “I’m ready for you.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, his eyes glancing between both of her eyes as he spoke, “We’re going to take it very slow. I’m gonna teach you about pleasure, darling, with my fingers. How does that sound?”

“With your fingers?” She hated how demure it sounded, how underprepared and unknowledgeable the words sounded coming from her.

“Yes. With my fingers first,” he trailed his fingers from her hip, to her lower abdomen until he was over the cotton of her panties, feeling the wetness seep through, “You’re so wet, it feels like you’ve already reached your pinnacle. Did you?”

Sheepishly, she nodded. Though she may not know what it felt like when she was awake, she knew the signs when she woke up from a dream about him. Typically, she was as wet as she is now, a sticky feeling between her legs. “In my sleep.”

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling her panties to the side, but not taking them completely off in an effort to make her not feel so exposed. First, he used his thumb to touch her clit, using small circular motions at a very steady pace. When her breathing picked up once more, and small guttural moans fell from her lips in encouragement for him, he picked up the pace. Harry couldn’t help it, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his lips against her own as he continued to rub in circular motions. Her back arched from the bed, his lips still on hers as he swallowed the noises she was making against him, and her mind was spinning with absolute desire. Pure bliss is what she felt, her flesh hot with each touch as he continued to work her most sensitive spot while his lips moved against hers. She didn’t know she could feel this… Good. In her dreams she was a sweaty, whiny, mess, but in this experience. In this very, very real experience, she couldn’t hold back the whines or the way her back kept arching into his touch. It was a complete parallel to the way she felt in her dreams, the way dream Harry took care of her and the way real Harry was taking care of her now was so similar.

____

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion; he loved the way he was making her come undone beneath his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit, he slipped his middle finger in, the cool gold of his rings making her gasp against his mouth, and he took this moment to slick his tongue over her bottom lip and find his way into her mouth. Her mouth was warm, tasting of sweet fruit and honey… She was everything he could ever desire, and he hated the way he crumpled beneath her. She made him feel so out of control, but in this very moment, he had all the power. For a second, he removed his lips, staring down at her with her eyes shut. Her ribcage flared with each breath, her chest heaved as small whimpers tumbled from her lips with his name somewhere in the mix.

As soon as he found that spot inside of her, the spot he knew could make a woman buckle at the knees, she was finding her release and rocking against her hand. Normally, he would tell his partner to stop riding his hand to control the situation, to make them so pent up with frustration and desire that they could barely stand it. He loved to see tears form in his partner's eyes due to overstimulation and pure desire, but this time around, he just wanted her to feel good and comfortable as she reached her climax. This was a vulnerable moment for her, and he didn’t want her to remember it by looking back and thinking about how he wouldn’t let her cum… No, she was being such a good girl for him, rocking against him with such a politeness as she whimpered small pleases and thank you’s that he didn’t want to reprimand her for feeling what she was feeling. In fact, he decided she needed a good reminder.

“You’re being such a good girl, Y/N. So good for me,” as soon as those words filled her ears, her walls began pulsing around his fingers and he knew she was about to reach the brink of the universe, so he continued to encourage her, “Let it out, baby.”

“T-thank you,” she said, clutching the sheets in her hands as her back arched from the bed, and she clenched once more around his fingers, drenching his hand, his wrist, and the end of his pajama sleeves. 

“So polite, darling,” Harry noted as her hips thrusted up once more, riding out her orgasm on his hand. Once she was completely fucked out against his hand, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to maintain eye contact with him, and when Harry brough his hands coated in her arousal to his mouth and licked them clean, another wave of arousal shot down her spine.

“Is it your turn?” She asked him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Not tonight, darling,” his hands found their way to the quilt, covering her up with the blanket so she wouldn’t get cold after she fell asleep. Normally, he would clean his partner up before allowing them to get cozy in bed, but the thought of making her get out of bed and wash up felt too evil as she could barely keep her eyes open.

“When?” She muttered, eyes still closed, “I want to.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Y/N.” He lifted himself off the bed, and she mumbled a small okay as he walked out of the room.

Harry was so fucked.

[vodika-vibes]

Throwing this thought at you like a paper airplane after I saw the corri dating pole, admittedly the first clone I felt in love with was Rys right off the bat from episode one. The smooth personality and tattoos got me like a bear trap immediately, then there was the hair and the color scheme and the way he was just toteing around a heavy ass rocket launcher the whole episode. I was also 16 when I first watched that episode and I do not digress, he’s still fine af. Uhg, he’s just so cute.

We Belong Together

Summary: You have your eyes set on a boy. And not just any boy, but Rys, a member of the Guard. A surprise power outage from an even more surprise storm gives you a chance.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Rys x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1805

Warnings: None

A/N: I had so many ideas for this, but this is the one that I eventually settled on. I hope you like it!

“You’re staring.”

You don’t pull your gaze away from Rys, even when your friend elbows you roughly. “I’m not staring. I’m…admiring.”

“Yeah. Which translates to staring.” 

You finally pull your gaze away from Rys and glare at your friend, “He’s gorgeous and I love him.”

“Girl, you don’t even know him. Maybe he’s a prick.”

“He’s not.”

“Why, because your imagination says so?”

You huff and fold your arms over your chest, “Because he’s nothing but polite when I talk to him.”

“Oh, so you’ve talked to him before?”

At that, your face burns, “I…well…”

“Ah, he comes to you for tech support.” Your friend has a slightly smug smile on her face, and you pout at her and look away.

“It’s…a start.”

“Oh, yes. Everyone knows that all of the greatest love stories start when one part doesn’t even know that the other one exists.” She teases, and then she drapes an arm over your shoulder and hugs you lightly, “Maybe you should set your sights on someone who actually knows you exist.”

You shoot her a dirty look.

“You know…like that nice man at the shipping store?”

“You mean the one that smells like rotting meat?”

“Well—”

“Thanks but no thanks,” You scrunch up your nose at the thought, “I’m done with lunch and heading back to my office, you?”

“Mm, I have an extended lunch today since I’m staying late this evening. I’ll see you later, though.” She turns back to her lunch and you shake your head, though you push out of your seat and throw your trash away before you slip out of the cafeteria and head towards the stairs that will take you to your office.

You could take the lift, probably, but the last thing you want is to end up on the lift with some snooty senators.

They always say the same things, “Is that your natural hair color?” No. Humans aren’t born with rainbow hair. “Are those tattoos permanent?” Yes, tattoos generally are. “Are those face piercings religious?” No, they just look pretty.

Honestly, with few exceptions, the Senators are so annoying.

You head down the four flights of stairs and then push open the door leading to your level, and you have to side-step a group of senator aides who seem to think that they own the Senate building, before you key in the code to your office door and head back into your office.

“I’m back!” You call to the office, but there’s no response. There never is.

You work alone, after all.

An almost silent sigh falls from your lips, and you reach over to flip the lights on, only for a light in the back of your office to flicker, and go out.

A second, louder, sigh falls from your lips.

“You should work for the senate,” You mutter under your breath, mocking your old guidance counselor, “They need an IT person, and it’s high paying. Just like you require.” You climb onto a spare desk and pop the lid off the light, and scowl at the dead bulb, “I might be high-paid, but this place sucks.”

You are, after all, required to do your own maintenance.

About fifteen minutes later, the door to your office slides open. You don’t look away from where you’re, carefully, trying to maneuver the light into place. “I’ll be right with you.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then heavy steps, “Do you need any help?” The voice is familiar in the way that all of the clones' voices are familiar, and you spare him a glance over your shoulder.

It’s Rys.

For a moment you just blink at him in bewilderment, and then you shake your head, “Ah, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’m almost done.” You slide the new bulb into place, secure it there, and let out a triumphant noise as the light comes back on. “There! Perfect!”

You swiftly pop the covering back into place, and then climb off the table so you’re standing in front of Rys, “Sorry about that! How can I help you?”

He stares at you for a moment, and then offers you his datapad, “It stopped working.”

You take the small device and open your mouth to ask what happened, exactly, though you’re cut off by a low, deep, rumble from outside the building. And then there’s a loud crack that makes you jump, and the entire room goes dark.

The room remains dark for about thirty seconds before the backup generators kick on and the room is lit by eerie red lights.

“Well, that’s not ideal,” You murmur as you move to your desk and set the datapad in your hand on the edge.

“No, it’s not.” You turn to look at Rys, who’s frowning at his comm, “The Commander says to shelter in place until they figure out why the power is out.” He moves to an open chair and drops into it, kicking his feet up on an empty desk.

Well, you’re not going to complain about being stuck in a room with the man you’ve been crushing on for months, so you drop into your chair as well, and then dig around your desk to pull out a deck of cards, “Wanna play?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Two hours later, the senate building is still running on emergency generators, and you and Rys have long since moved away from Sabbac to just chatting with each other.

He’s removed the top part of his armor and is sitting on the floor next to you, taking turns throwing the cards across the room into a box.

“So, I have to ask,” Rys says after a moment, “How does someone like you end up working here, of all places?”

“Someone like me?” You repeat with a laugh.

“You definitely don’t look like you should work at the senate,” He points out, as he lightly tugs on a strand of your hair.

“That’s fair,” You agree, “I was encouraged to apply here after college, they hired me sight unseen.” You shrug, “And I’m good enough that they look the other way when it comes to the dye and piercings.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

You glance at him, but he’s not looking at you, “Well, me too. I wouldn’t like to be jobless.”

He glances at you, and his smile is one you’ve never seen aimed at you before, “I just meant that you add some color to a pretty dreary place. Plus, I can always pick you out of a crowd.”

“Why would you need to pick me out of a crowd?” You ask, genuinely confused.

He throws another card into the box and you frown at the box, wondering if you should move it further away, “No reason,” Rys replies quickly, “And if my brothers ever tell you anything different you need to know that they’re all horrible liars.”

You laugh and lean against the wall, “Okay, so what would they tell me?”

He still won’t look at you, “They’d probably say something along the lines of me having a crush on you.”

You blink at him, having not expected those words to come out of his mouth, “But, since your brothers are liars,” You say slowly, “It’s not true.” You fold your arms, “Huh, that’s a shame.”

His head snaps towards you fast enough that you genuinely worry about his neck, “What’s a shame?”

“Oh, well,” You shrug, almost nonchalantly, “If you did have a thing for me, we could have tried seeing how we were together, but since you’re not—” You shrug again, and then place your hands on the ground to propel yourself to your feet to collect the cards from the floor and the box.

You don’t manage to get to your feet.

Rys’ hand wraps around your wrist and he tugs you so that you topple over onto his lap, and then his lips are against yours. You adjust yourself so that you’re straddling one of his thighs, and your arms snake around his neck so you’re able to play with the hair at the base of his neck, as you kiss him back, just as enthusiastically. 

For someone who, you assume, has never kissed anyone before, Rys is a really good kisser. Or, maybe, all of the people you’ve ever kissed before have just been really bad.

Either way, he’s a very enthusiastic kisser, angling his head so he’s able to deepen the kiss without forcing you to stretch, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips, and then against your own.

And the kiss only breaks when the lights overhead flicker back on.

His hand moves to your cheek, and he has a very small, very smug, grin playing on his lips as he adjusts you so that he can press his forehead against yours. 

“You’re really good at that,” You say, slightly breathlessly.

His smile becomes even more smug, “I must be a natural then.”

“Must be,” You agree, leaning in so you can brush your lips against his, and he tilts his head back slightly so he can catch your lips in a proper kiss, only to have to stop when his comm chimes.

There’s a glimmer of annoyance on his handsome face, but he grabs his comm and reads the message on it. And then his head thumps back against the wall.

“Time to go back to work?” You ask, sympathetic, even as your fingers move to the tattoo on his jaw and you trace the shape lightly. 

His gaze lingers on your face for a moment, “Unfortunately. If I don’t go, the Commander will come and look for me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” You joke lightly, already moving to get off of him, though his hands tightly grip your hip, as though he’s not ready to let you go.

You grin at him, kiss him quickly, and then slip off his lap. “You know,” You muse thoughtfully as he gets to his feet and starts pulling his armor back on, “There’s a nice little restaurant not far from my place, delivery or pick up only.”

“That right?”

“Mm, they have really nice food,” You continue, “If you wanted to come around to my place after work?”

His fingers fumble on the latch to his armor, and his gaze locks with yours as a wide grin crosses his face, “It’d take an act of god to keep me away.”

You grin right back at him, “It’s a date then.”

Rys finishes strapping on his armor, and then lightly taps your chin with two fingers, “I can’t wait.” He drops a kiss on your cheek, and then he’s gone, back to work.

And you’re left to try not to erupt into elated giggles as excitement wells inside you.

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

@imabeautifulbutterfly @n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

[bekolxeram]

I know we've been manifesting S8 Air Ops since that photo of a hangar was posted by a member of the scouting team. And I know the other side has been mocking us for being delusional when other bts photos of an aircraft came out. So here I am, taking my shipper's goggles off, and diving into the aviation side of things. I have to admit, it left me with more questions than answers.

They already have a hangar for Air Ops in S7, they don't need another one

No. The 911!Air Ops we see in S7 is the Helinet hangar at Van Nuys Airport. Helinet is a company that rents and operates helicopters for news stations, film crews, medivac service or regular charter flights. You can compare images from 7x02 and 7x03 with Google Street Views of the Helinet Hangar.

You can also see N67TV and N29HD here.

Helinet is where ABC usually rents its news helicopters from, so it's cheaper and more convenient to film a couple scenes there when helicopters are needed. It can't be used for regular filming though, because Helinet has a business to run, and when a helicopter takes off, it's so noisy that you can't even hear each other talking, let alone shooting a scene. (I recommend watching the whole video, if you're interested in accuracy when it comes to writing fics.)

It's a plane related emergency so it must be related to Tommy

Also no. Again, I've written a piece about how Tommy was not the air tanker pilot in 2x14 before, and if he was not qualified for that, he's not qualified to fly an airliner either. It's not impossible that he flies a small turboprop aircraft like a Cessna 172, but he would never have the time to get certified as a commercial airliner pilot while working as an active firefighter since 2005.

And this is a prop for an Airbus airliner.

It's actually pretty easy to tell an Airbus aircraft from a Boeing one, as the shape of the rear cockpit windows is pretty different between the two. It's just a matter of which Airbus model it is. I believe it's a narrow body single aisle aircraft from the A320 family.

Wide body Airbus aircrafts, like this A300, have their side cockpit windows more tapered to the top. It also applies to other Airbus twin aisle aircrafts, like the A330 and the A340.

On the A320 though, the side windows are flat on the top.

So it's a pretty safe bet that the aircraft we see in that bts photo is one from the A320 family. I can't pinpoint which one it exactly is, because again, I can just see a tiny section of the cockpit, not the rest of the aircraft.

So the hangar must be for the airplane then?

The hangar itself is a former Air National Guard maintenance hangar at Ontario International Airport (ONT/KONT). It's especially used for filming. There are bigger hangars at the same airport for filming, but this one looks the best on camera.

They don't need a hangar for scenes inside of the plane, they have cockpit and cabin mock-ups at the studio for them.

You can clearly see the cabin door right here from recent bts footage. It looks just like a training facility for flight attendants.

They only film on location if they want shots of the entire aircraft from the outside. Like in 1x04, the scenes of Athena responding to an alleged unruly passenger were filmed in a set. The plane crash rescue parts of the episode though, were filmed in an actual retired 757 in a tub of water.

(Lone Star worked with this exact company for 3x08. Though, that plane was a 737 I believe.)

I can't think of any disastrous scenario happening in a maintenance hangar, where the aircraft is powered off with only maintenance staff present, no passengers or crew. Well, there have been cases of planes crashing into a hangar, but even then I don't see the need for the 118 to be there. Every major airport has at least one fire station on site with dedicated foam and crash units. In fact, there is a fire station right next to this hangar IRL.

Another problem, although I'm not sure because I don't have the actual measurements, is that the celling of the hangar looks quite low. (Refer to page 44 of this document) It was originally built in 1955 to house fighter jets. The F-102, the type of aircraft operated there in the 60s and 70s, has a total height of 6.5 meters. The tail of an A320 on the other hand can reach 11.76 m from the ground. (The shortest variant of the A320 family is actually even taller, 12.51 m.) So there could be some tail bumping action if you try to tow an A320 into this hangar.

So Air Ops is still a possibility?

Yes. This hangar is quite a bit larger than the Helinet hangar, but still not as big as the actual Air Ops facility. A helicopter is obviously much smaller than a passenger airliner that can seat over 180, you can easily fit multiple helicopters in there with plenty of space left for other set props. But the problem is, they don't have enough helicopters.

They have that one replica of N211FN that they used to film the search and rescue in 7x03, that's it. All the other helicopters you see on screen, including the real N211FN that actually flies, belong to Helinet. Sure, they can get some more fake helicopters that are empty inside just for looks, but I don't see the need to spend so much extra money just to show Tommy's place of work unless it's related to some major plot points. For now, I don't see how that would fit into the story.

There is also the possibility that the hangar has nothing to do with anything aviation related. I mean, they've filmed countless ads, music videos and movies, including Ford vs Ferrari there. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe that's why that crew member eventually got the green light to confirm the hangar is indeed for 9-1-1, it tells us absolutely nothing.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Could you do A, C, I, G, K, L, and P for EJ in the fluff alphabet? It would make me reallyyyy happy :3

Fluff Alphabet w/ EJ!!

ive been waiting for someone to do EJ you dont understand!!! i saw this earlier but the power went out when i finally had time to sit down and get to writing </3 my apologies as for other stuff/for everyone else, requests are still open, and the fluff alphabet will be open indefinitely!!

ATTRACTION- Honestly I think you gotta be a real catch to end up as Jacks partner, considering his entire hermit thing... I personally think that he separates himself from society after he becomes Eyeless Jack via a funky cult sacrifice thing... which he was kinda pretty much unwillingly roped into. I think he would want someone who's capable of taking care of themselves, and perhaps someone whos smart. maybe even lower maintenance. its not that he doesnt want to treat you as you deserve, its that sometimes he cant given he sometimes legitimately goes feral (though this is only really due to him pushing off his needs, blood frenzy type deal for when he pushes off eating people, can get real ugly). understanding as well, he needs someone whos willing to be understanding of his position and current predicament and know that eventually jack is going to fully not. be there anymore one day (possible angst idea? ooo?) but also even before the whole, demon thing, jack wasnt the most cheery or social and things definitely havent changed

CUDDLING- hes really cold so thats good for hot nights! not good for cold ones though </3 but hey maybe you guys are somewhere where its perpetually hot. as for the actual act of cuddling, he prefers to be the big spoon. likes sleeping closer to the door, kinda makes a barrier of himself for you in case someone were to come in. which is unlikely since if this were his place, its literally a cabin in the woods in bumfuck nowhere, but the point still stands. only engages if youre asleep or ask for it. if youre the one holding him, he kinda. freezes still and doesnt dare move. poor dude, hes so scared hes going to bite you or something

GIFT GIVING- since he lives in the woods and doesnt have a job he cant exactly go out and give you gifts. he also isnt fond of taking belongings from victims, since he already takes pieces of their bodies. coughs. anyways, i think hes more of an act of service person (will talk more about that in L)

INJURY- youre in luck, he had plans to be a doctor, thats what he was going to college for! plus i think he had a little fixation on medical stuff in general growing up. little hc that his other choice was to be a microbilogist. idk, i can see it. but i dont think it needs to be said that neither became reality. but he does know how to treat some injuries and illnesses! so youre both in luck! but how does he react, emotionally? honestly, as long as youre not bleeding while hes in his frenzied state hes more than willing to help you... although its more so because he doesnt want the scent to trigger anything in him... he cares about you, i promise! its just that ultimately its better he doesnt go feral on you- now if he was the one injured hes already patching himself up... oh but imagine convincing him to let you clean up a wound he got while trying to do his thing.... ouuuugh... let the man be vulnerable, let him be taken care of... ueueue... anyways- yeah

KISSES- he doesnt wear his mask when hes at your place or his cabin- in fact he only really wears it when hes 'hunting' or 'prowling', so!! loves kissing your cheek. will absolutely refuse to kiss you if hes just ate, though, let him wash his face and brush his teeth first. and change his clothes. he likes being kissed anywhere; forehead, mouth, cheeks, hands, ect ect ect. now in terms of frequency i dont think he likes it too often, but that may be some internalized thing about no longer being worthy of love or something but hey who am i to say (loudly winks)

LOVE LANGUAGE- as previously mentioned, acts of service is how jack shows his appreciation and love for you. need something done? hes on it! need to do some chores but dont feel like it? you dont even need to ask! stuff like that, hell, even if something doesnt need to be done he will probably tinker at it and try to make it better if its an appliance or something that can be upgraded to be more efficient and effective. when it comes to receiving he likes words of affirmation, this man has been through hell and hes still going through it, so reassuring him that you still love him even though hes changing makes things a little less scary

PET NAMES- he likes calling you babe and baby. he likes being called hon! doesnt really do petnames, he finds saying someones name intimate enough... which honestly i kinda agree with, i kinda hate how utilized it is in romantic media. just two characters loving each other, sharing a moment, and one softly utters the others name in a sweet tone. GUH!!!! anyway

[fizziepopangel]

Husk Headcanons (Cat Tendencies Edition)

Husk makes biscuits in his sleep or when he’s falling asleep. And yes, Angel does have countless videos of the hell cat doing this when he’s too exhausted to notice the man pointing the camera at him.

He can move as stealthily as any other cat and often uses this fact to sneak up on Angel and scare the hell out of him most of the time. He did this to Charlie once, but ended up making her cry when he scared her. He felt like the biggest asshole in the entirety of hell and he offered to wear a bell after that incident for no other reason than to make sure Charlie would always hear him coming. Although Charlie declined his offer, Husk does try to make some kind of sound to let Charlie when he’s coming so he doesn’t accidentally scare her.

Despite disliking his cat attributes, Husk is actually very well groomed most of the time. He takes regular showers and baths because the hot water helps with the joint pain he suffers, he also uses a lot of deshedding conditioner to combat the ungodly amount of shedding he does, and detangle his fur. On top of that, he also grooms the way most cats do to the extent he can, but he finds it embarrassing so it only happens in the comfort and privacy of his own room when he’s sure the door is locked.

On the subject of grooming, it’s a known fact that the man who practices sleight of hand also has extremely good grooming practices for his paws. Angel can attest to the fact that the low maintenance appearance of the man is in fact not as low maintenance as it may seem since he’s seen Husk’s vast collection of self care products that range from creams for the pads of his paws to special nail filing board to keep his claws at a manageable length.

He does chase the red dot. Angel keeps a laser pointer on hand just to bust out the red dot at random moments for his own entertainment. Husk has tried everything to resist the urge, but the chase for the red dot continues. It pisses him off to no end.

The reason Husk let his hair grow out so shaggy despite his former well-groomed appearance is because his contract with Alastor meant he lost the souls he owned, including the soul he basically staffed as a groomer for himself. Niffty offered to cut his hair for him once, but despite his comment about only needing the hair on his head trimmed, he somehow ended up with the whiskers on the left side of his face cut nearly in half. It didn’t bother him at first, but he quickly learned the importance of whiskers to a cat. After that incident, he has opted to just let his hair grow as it is and he still shudders whenever he sees Niffty with scissors.

Purring. So much purring. 

In terms of vocalizations, Husk also growls, hisses, and meows. Most of these sounds are involuntary… The hissing and growling doesn’t bug him too much, but the meowing and purring he occasionally feels self conscious and embarrassed about.

Husk is guilty of allogrooming. This mainly happens with Angel Dust when the two are having more domestic moments in their relationship so sometimes the spider demon finds himself being groomed while they cuddle.... Husk also really enjoys being groomed, especially when he's not feeling well since it makes him feel loved.

Similarly, Husk sometimes absentmindedly grooms himself when he zones out, to even licks at his paws as a way to self soothe when he’s overly stressed. Alastor hates the habit, but Charlie, Angel, and Sir Pentious find it pretty cute.

Husk actually suffers from arthritis throughout his spine, which actually affects his tail too which can drastically affect his mobility and his balance.

When he first sold his soul to Alastor, there was a bit of a power struggle issue before Husk was able to fall in line where the radio demon wanted him, Alastor would often walk him on his chain as if it were a leash, referring to Husk only as his pet. To make this more demeaning, Alastor even went as far as to buy him scratching posts and cat toys….. As much as he hated it being a show for the man, Husk did end up keeping the cat toys he enjoyed playing with in his room in a box under his bed, and he does have a scratching post in his room as well. He would never let Alastor know that though.

Like most cats, the bartending demon is lactose intolerant…. violently lactose intolerant.

Alastor has a cat muzzle for the drunkard because, while Husk isn’t normally a mean drunk, he has threatened to bite the radio demon multiple times, and on one occasion, the boozed up cat actually did it. Alastor still has the scar from the incident and keeps the muzzle on hand just in case now.

He does occasionally have the cat urge to just knock things off tables and counters. He has broken multiple mugs and glasses and such. He tries to control it but sometimes he just can’t so he spends a lot of time sweeping up broken glass. Vaggie has an order in for some nice reusable plastic cups and mugs for the bar.She knows it probably won’t stop Husk from knocking over cups, but she figured it would at least be safer since they’d be less likely to break.

[spectrechosts]

Engine Maintenance

What if spaceships were powered by fucking machines? This is a viable technology probably.

Kim drags her torrented romances onto her second monitor, and clicks on the angry red call notification buzzing at her.

"Cap'n." She says, still side-eyeing her show.

"We aren't going fast enough." Says the Captain, leaving her to infer her request.

Kim sighs and alt-tabs to the readouts she's actually supposed to be keeping an eye on.

"She's outputting at 7.3, I don't know how much faster you want." She says, tabbing away just as quickly.

"She's pushed 8 before."

"Not without crashing. You want us dead in the water for a .7 increase?"

"Replacement's already out of bed, and I know how logarithmic scales work. Wring what you can out of her and next shift will come in for the swap. Go." The Captain says, and hangs up on her.

Kim sighs and pauses her show, shunting it off to the terminal in her room before inspecting the engine readouts again. The machine says that it can push output up to 7.6 points by overloading the core, but-

Sexual energy reactors are finicky at the best of times. Even after billions of credits poured into R&D to make some of the most efficient fucking machines known to man, even after the years of training cores go through, there are a lot of variables.

Kim cleans herself up in the mirror. Fusses her hair into sexy unkempt mechanic as opposed to regular unkempt mechanic. Undoes her jumpsuit's zipper enough to show off the goods in a low cut tank top.

The reactors are finely tuned to the cores, monitoring suites doing thousands of checks a second to adjust to their needs. They're ruthlessly efficient, kept at maximum settings; They shut off, if the core can't take anymore, but if you don't surpass what it says their maximum is they'll keep the core right below that limit for their entire eight hour shift. They can even weigh the boost from letting them orgasm against how much it'll need to slow down afterwards to prevent a shutdown.

And then of course there's the overload sequence. Punch in the override and it'll just squeeze all the power it can out of the core, massive computer banks dedicating all their power to calculating the most efficient way to make them cum their brains out, ability to continue going afterwards be damned.

She lazily types in the code, confirms it, and sets it on a slight delay.

There are limits, though. The profound depravity of ships that run on sex power meant that the tech faced a lot of pushback. One result of which is that they can't legally be rigged up with direct brain links. The documentation still insists that they're the absolute best thing for harvesting sexual energy (you know, until they want to sell you the next model), but there's anecdotal, completely unfounded evidence that when working with a core that didn't sign up because they're hot for the unyielding perfection of cold, sleek metal, silly things like a real human connection can bump output by a good 0.5 points.

She keys in the door code, and enters the reactor chamber.

"Warning. External stimuli can interfere with reactor output." Warns an artificial voice, that Kim silences via the built-in terminal. She punches in a few more commands, and the sensory helmet attached to Riley hisses and detaches.

"Whuh?" She mumbles, disoriented.

"Hey babygirl." Kim says, as the overload sequence starts. "Are you ready to be good for me?"

Riley's eyes go wide as the machine changes gears; blunt silicone-capped vibrator wands, electrodes, grasping robotic arms- all ramping up to an irresistible intensity.

"WAit, wait I can't, I'll crash, I'll craaaA-" She whines, bucking against her restraints into the thrumming wand.

"Good." Kim says, in the dismissive, clinical way she knows will drive her wild. "I'm going to wring you out for everything you're worth, babygirl."

Riley lets out a loud, sharp moan, her legs shaking. The machine is very very good at what it does. She's already ticked over to 7.4, there's only a few short moments for Kim to weave her way into the tangle of wires and arms, to grip her cheeks and kiss her neck and growl "Don't cum until I give you permission."

Yellow warning notifications for unexpected behavior begin popping up on the various monitors decorating the engine room, because the reactor didn't tell her not to cum so why isn't she, try harder I guess. Riley squeals, her voice rising in pitch as it becomes harder and harder for her to try and fight her impending climax, until Kim shoves her fingers into her mouth to silence her.

"Do you want the whole crew to hear what a slut you are?" She asks, and she feels the ship lurch forward as Riley's control slips and she's brought to her messy, violent peak.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kim sees power output hitting 8.2 points.

How's that for fast enough?

It stays there for a good few seconds, until the overstimulation is too much and output plummets; all the monitors flash red warnings and the machinery winds down and disengages, releasing a shaking Riley into her arms.

"S-Sorry Mistress, I'm sorry-" She babbles as Kim strokes her hair.

"No, you did so good! My good girl."

"I disobeyed. I-I didn't have permission."

"It's okay, it was a lot." Kim murmurs. "You liked the thing about everyone hearing what a slut you are?"

Riley shivers.

"So much, holy shit."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Riley takes a few panting breaths nuzzled into Kim's chest before peeking at the readout screens.

"Eight-point-two???" She asks, stunned. "What the fuck are we trying to do?"

"Cap'n got notified her new model kit came in, wants to pick it up ASAP."

"Fuck me."

"Mhm." Kim agrees. "Be glad you're not on second shift, we're a ways out yet."

"God. Carry me out of here before she tries to put me back in."

[coldgoldlazarus]

I just realized something potentially hilarious in Metroid Prime. Probably not intentional, but it would make a certain amount of sense...

So we know a few things:

1. We know the Space Pirates were the ones to install a lot of the doors between rooms on Tallon IV, given some of the logs about their difficulties with native wildlife getting around them. Presumably not all of them, given that would raise questions about how they never found some of the Artifacts, but any differences between theirs and the Chozo originals are negligable. It's even entirely possible they just copied those door designs from the ruins and spread them around everywhere else on the planet? Idk.

2. The pirates have doors with energy shielding corresponding to all four of the beams Samus uses in the game, despite some of those beams themselves also being stuff the Chozo stored away for Samus to find, and the Pirates never had direct contact with those.

3. Either in response to the fall of Zebes, or during the actual events of the game in response to Samus showing up, they developed the four Beam troopers for her to fight, who make their debut when she gets to the Mines. As people have poked fun at plenty before, the beam troopers boil down to color-coded enemies who still all fire the same yellow bolts. They can only be attacked with the specific beam they correspond to, but there's a distinct gameplay/narrative split where their actual firepower is concerned.

But here's my crack theory - what if it isn't a contradiction at all?

Okay, so here's the scenario. Samus makes landfall on Tallon IV, right around the same time as the Frigate Orpheon crashes from orbit. (Which is itself amusing as a non-event one would think should be more noticeable, but whatever lol) The pirates are shitting their pants, because this is the same woman who took out their Zebes base and associated leaders, and now she's come for them as well.

So the local command goes to Science Team, and tasks them with reverse-engineering Samus's recorded aresenal ASAP, before she reaches the mines and wipes out their operation. They don't have anything to reverse-engineer from, but Command makes it clear saying no isn't an option. Cue the decidedly unsuccessful Morph Ball experiments.

Samus kicks Flaghraa's ass and takes the geothermal station in Magmoor. Command is sweating a little bit now, pushes Science Team to move on to something else. Why not her beams? Best defense is a good offense, after all. Thankfully for a bit Samus seems preoccupied with ping-ponging back and forth between Phendrana Drifts and the Overworld, so they're trying to recreate her beams from grainy security footage from Zebes, but without any actual physical devices to work with, it's just not going anywhere. Best they can come up with is a loose appoximation of her basic Power Beam.

Then Samus sweeps through their labs in Phendrana and takes down the Project Titan they hadn't been able to tame, and it's only a matter of time before she hits the mines, now. Command is breathing down Science Team's necks, demanding those Beam recreations now. They can't deliver, and the recent execution of the Power Dynamo Maintenance guys is hanging over their heads.

So, one bright soul gets the idea, what if they at least make it harder for Samus to kill their soldiers? They can take the technology for the door shielding, which they do know how it works, and integrate it into armor? Everyone wears that, Samus has only one of four ways to do anything to them, and if it's randomized from Pirate to Pirate, they have a shot at fighting back successfully while she's adjusting. So that's what they do.

Unfortunately, Command asked for troopers with her beams, not troopers with selective immunity to her beams, so they still have to pitch this concept as the expected Beam Troopers. They at least use the Power Beam lookalike they'd whipped up, and basically gaslight Command, like "sure they look and fire the same, but they're totally distinct in their effects, see? This target has scorch marks, while this one has electrical burns, it's totally legit!"

And thankfully it works, and the Beam Trooper armor and weaponry gets hastily mass-produced. (For a given value of 'mass' anyway.) The grunts assembling them don't have the context to question why the guns are all the same. Also, since part of the concept's selling point is psychological warfare of Samus seeing them using her weapons, the armor sets all get color-coded appropriately, thus undermining any real chance at confusing her. The problem is exacerbated when Command has the beam troopers group up by type to patrol, instead of one of each per team.

And that's how we end up with the so-called "beam troopers" as the Space Pirate bureucracy and overinflated expectations once again shoots themselves in the foot. And then Samus arrives at the mines and wrecks shop.

[lhs3020b]

Morlock Revisionism - The Time Machine, HG Wells

Yes, it's a books post. Haven't had one of these for a while, have we?

By random chance, I happened to find myself re-reading Wells's "The Time Machine" last night. I enjoyed re-visiting it. It's a story that's stood up surprisingly well, considering a) its age and b) its de facto (if not quite de jure) status as the trope-creator for the time travel story.

First off, one interesting aspect is that it does not bother with the modern trope of the time paradox, really, at all. The Time Traveller never considers whether his own actions may affect the future that he discovers in the year 802, 701 (or, indeed, the later ones that he encounters further into the narrative).

As a scientific note, it's worth commenting that the astronomy in the story is deeply dated - the story was written before the discovery of nuclear fusion, so the implicit framework is that the Sun is powered through Kelvin-Helmholtz contraction. It's not. The Sun of 30 million years hence would not display the dramatic changes that the Time Traveller observes. (Also the "large and red" Sun of 30 Million AD should have roasted the Time Traveller to death, as luminosity increases with the surface area of a star. That future shouldn't be frozen, it should be burning!)

One aspect of the narrative that stands out is that the Time Traveller - actually by his own admission! - may be an unreliable narrator. He specifically-notes that his initial theory about the world of 802,701 AD was disproven by events there, and there may be an implication that he's wrong about other conclusions too.

Could he be wrong … about the Morlocks? Are they actually the monsters the narrative paints them as? Let's have a look at what evidence we possess.

First off, most of what we know about the world of 802,701 AD is canonically-speculative in nature. Weena and the Eloi seem to know little-to-nothing about their history and origins. In his time in the deep future, the Traveller finds no interpretable written records. Even his sojourn at the museum offers only a few clues - and as we'll discuss later, some of them may actually conflict with his interpretations. (The presence of the matches and the camphor, in particular, is a bit suspect.)

The Time Traveller is a human being like the rest of us, and he comes from a particular cultural context, namely late-Victorian England. It would be naive to assume that none of this had had an effect on his world-view or how he interprets what he sees. And some of his conclusions … well, they did read to me a bit like what a very stereotypical moustache-twirling Nineteenth Century imperialist might settle on, you know?

Notably, the Traveller severely under-estimates the intelligence of the Morlocks. See the events near the end of the story, where they leave the doors to the sphinx-structure open and the Time Machine itself on display, clearly intending to bait him in. They're able to determine what he's looking for, where he will go to look for it and are able to impute his likely actions. And they're right about all of it. The only reason their plan failed was that they apparently didn't understand the Time Machine's user interface (if they'd noticed the slots for the missing levers…) The Morlocks apparently also have at least some control over the world's remaining machinery, they're presumably the source of what manufactured goods the Eloi have and it's also implied that whatever maintenance occurs aboveground is done by them.

Whatever else they may be, the Morlocks aren't idiots.

Contrast this to the Eloi, who bathe in a dangerous body of water, post no watches at night and make no effort to save one of their own (Weena) when she gets swept away by a stray current! The Eloi also apparently make no effort to maintain the "big houses" in which they reside. They seem to have no writing or material culture, and not even that much in the way of speech; the Traveller specifically-notes the limited character of their language. Their faculties clearly are the more restricted. (It's worth noting that even the Time Traveller himself concedes this point.)

Are the Morlocks the monsters that the Time Traveller sees them as? The narrative clearly wants you to follow his conclusions … but, I do find myself wondering about that. I mean, by his own admission, some of his deductions were false. Could other conclusions be false too, or incomplete?

Let's consider the evidence, or at least the evidence that we have.

First off, the proposed Eloi-phagy. Do we really see an unambiguous depiction of this in the narrative? The closest we get to it is what the Traveller thinks he sees in the Morlock tunnels … except it's only a brief glimpse, while a single match flares, seen from a distance, and even he doesn't sound absolutely-sure of what he thought he saw. He's also in a distressed, confused and distracted state of mind at the time, will not have helped with making clear and factual observations. Did he actually see a butchered Eloi, or could it have been some other animal? For all we know, he just blundered into a Morlock operating theatre while in the middle of surgery! Everything about that would be consistent with the evidence in the text!

It's also worth noting that the Traveller is openly-biased against the Morlocks. He describes them in language which, let's be blunt about it, would be considered unambiguously-racist if applied to a modern human population. He takes one look at the Morlocks and decides they just must be bad 'uns, and everything else seems to flow from that assertion.

(Also, well, "Victorians making wild accusations of cannibalism" is a thing with an extensive and dark history, you know?)

Lastly, the "Eloi as lunch, dinner and elevenses" hypothesis has a bit of an ecological issue. There are far too many Morlocks and not remotely enough Eloi. Eloi are slow to mature, small in stature and lacking in substantial muscle mass. They're just not good cattle. If Weena's accident in the stream is any guide, they're also prone to randomly-dying in very stupid accidents, which could only make farming them even harder. It just doesn't make sense for the Morlocks to be eating them, unless Eloi steak is perhaps a rare delicacy that they consume in small amounts every other year, or something.

As to the Morlock's supposed hostility, well, did they ever actually do anything that bad? They steal the Time Machine, though you could argue that perhaps its owner shouldn't have simply left it lying around. (What a litter bug!) Then the Traveller himself climbs down into their territory without seeking invitation - by our standards, he's literally a tresspasser, so it's probably no wonder the Morlocks were alarmed! And honestly, a lot of their behaviour toward him could be interpreted as more "curious" than "hostile".

Next there's his use of the matches. The Morlocks are clearly harmed by it - the light hurts their eyes, and the fire apparently scares them. (As well it should - if you live in an enclosed underground tunnel, fire is bad news!) From their point of view, he's a weird, gangling, threatening invader from the surface world who suddenly appeared one day, and whose intent is entirely unknown. He shows no concern for their territory and is cavalier in his use of fire. Viewed in that light it's unsurprising that the Morlocks would be uneasy around him!

(On a small side-note, one thing I've wondered about is whether Morlock vision is actually now in the infrared. Their tunnels appear a little too dark even for very sensitive eyes - they're not dim, they're pitch-black! - and the effects of the matches and the later wildfires seem a bit too much even for sensitive eyes. On the other hand, if the Morlocks had evolved to see heat, they wouldn't need artificial lighting - your body would be self-luminous! you are your own reading lamp! -, and it would explain why the matches were so debillitating.)

The Time Traveller also makes no attempt to communicate with the Morlocks, despite their canonically-clear higher level of intelligence. He views them as nothing except a monstrous enemy. It's a very, well, Victorian sort of attitude, isn't it? Of course there's nothing that the moustache-twirling imperialist could ever learn from the lowly and degenerate natives!

There are two further pieces of evidence for the "Morlocks are evil" hypothesis. One is the lack of sick or elderly Eloi. But here the narrative contradicts itself somewhat, as the Traveller also believes that the future world is largely free of pestilence. If dangerous microorganisms had been eradicated, then of course there are not many sick Eloi! As to the lack of elderly ones, well, Weena's river misadventure may offer some clues. The Eloi apparently have little in the way of self-preservation instincts, so one does wonder what the accidental death-rate for them is. It could be high. Perhaps he doesn't see any elderly Eloi because they don't usually make it to a recognisable senescent state, but through accident and misadventure rather than via Morlock celebrity chefs.

The other item of evidence is the Eloi's collective fear of night, and moonless nights in particular. The narrative suggests - though, never actually clearly shows us - that these are the times when Morlocks go small-game hunting. They're apparently able to get in and out of the "big houses" without ever waking up the Eloi and apparently reliably know where to find the Eloi. (Not wanting to victim-blame here, obviously, but the Eloi could consider maybe posting some sentries, and perhaps varying where they sleep … I mean, they're not short of half-abandoned buildings, right?)

But are the Morlocks necessarily the source of the Eloi's fear of the dark? Could it be something else, like perhaps their tendency to have dumb accidents, or randomly getting lost? (Case-in-point re: the latter, on the final night Weena apparently ran off on her own at some point, which is less-than-clever.) As for Weena's unease around the wells, you do have to wonder how many Eloi have managed to have a a "tripped and fell" moment while playing a bit too close to the lip of the well. Weena is actually implied to be one of the smarter Eloi - she shows some curiosity toward the Traveller, and is seemingly willing to consider visiting parts of the outside world - and even she does questionably-smart things like leaning right over the lip of the well while the Traveller climbs down. I mean, this is sounding like the opening-lines of an official report into a bad accident, isn't it?

I will allow that the Morlocks certainly should have paid more attention to health-and-safety in the design of their access-wells, which honestly do seem to basically be death-traps. However, some of this can be ascribed to negligence and laziness rather than actual malice-aforethoughht-level capital-E evil.

The Time Traveller posits that the Eloi and Morlocks emerged from a socio-economic divergence within the original human population, one that eventually became so extreme that it resulted in an actual speciation event. Essentially, the upper and lower classes ended up not merely socially-isolated from each other, but genetically-isolated too. I believe this conclusion more than I believe the Morlock cannibalism allegations, but I still have some problems with it.

1) To produce an actual speciation event, the separation of the social classes would have to persist for an enormous length of time - presumably, at least a few thousand years - and would also have to have been enforced more rigorously than even the most extreme real-world caste system. Is it really plausible that a system like this could have remained stable for the required timescales? That there were no cross-caste romances or "accidental" pregnancies, ever? That all genetic mixing across social boundaries came to a hard, permanent stop? (Contrast this with the real-world behaviour of some Victorian "gentlemen" toward their servants, and, well … yeaaaaah. Eeeek.)

2) Would the economic system implied by all of the above even have been stable in the first place? Can you really erect a non-prous, binary wall between "producers" and "consumers"? In the real world, the two groups are also made up of exactly the same people. (Consider - you have a job, but you also buy stuff. Both are you.) Were there really never any movements for social reform, no civil rights legislation, no uprisings, civil wars, general strikes or any of the other social chaos that usually overwhelm any proposed social planning? The proposed binary divergence of society implies deliberate central organisation dwarfing anything even the Soviet Union attempted, and it's notable that Soviet central planning was ultimately a failure.

The proposed social divide would have been so extreme that I can't see how it could be maintained without a deliberate and organised program of violent enforcement by a strong State, rather than the kind of emergent phenomenon that the Time Traveller seems to think it was. (The only thing the Traveller sees that might - might! - be evidence for this would be the extensive displays of weapons he found while at the ruined museum.)

3) Also, where does agriculture fit into this schema? Agricultural labour is usually considered low social status, but as plants need sunlight, by definition it has to occur aboveground. Is there an aboveground population of farmer-descended Morlocks out there somewhere? In fairness I suppose there could be - the Time Traveller only visits a small area based around what's no longer outer London, after all. (The "modern" Eloi population appears to subsist on edible plants, which are apparently abundant and near-universal in their surroundings. It's suggested that the origins of these plants were artificial, at some point in the past. While these have presumably supplanted agriculture by the year 802,701, nonetheless there must have been a time when they didn't exist, so they don't get us away from the "Morlock workers in the fields" problem.)

4) There is some implication in the text, actually, that the speciation event may have been more recent than the Time Traveller thinks. Consider all the fossil buildings he finds in the area surrounding his arrival-point. The Eloi clearly didn't build them, and given the Morlocks' troubles with daylight, it seems doubtful that they did either. However, someone must have erected these structures, and it can't have been that long ago - most of them still have their roofs! Even allowing for possible super-advanced future construction techniques, I can't see them as being more than a few thousand years old at absolute most, not hundreds of thousands of years. Honestly, they're probably even younger than that. (Significantly, when the Traveller visits the ruined museum, there seems to be an implication that it was restocked not too long ago. When he finds the camphor and the matches, even he notes the oddity that they are still usable!)

So in summary, while the Time Traveller's account of the year 802,701 is entertaining, I don't think I believe his social biology. And actually, this is one of the strengths of this novel - while it suggests a surface-level narrative, it actually is surprisingly open to alternate readings. Who knows, perhaps this was even what Wells intended (he does, after all, take some pains to remind us that the Time Traveller was not right about everything).

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 11: Icicle

Word Count: 2204 Rating: General Summary: An innocent icicle causes Din to reminisce on a moment he shared with Grogu on the Razor Crest shortly after rescuing The Child from the Imps on Nevarro. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: This one was a little bit different but I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it. This all stemmed from the tiny shot of Din doing some maintenance on the Razor Crest that you can see briefly in Ch4.

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

Travelling through hyperspace alone in the Razor Crest between jobs had once been a solitary experience for Din Djarin. But now that there was a child with him, the Mandalorian did not have the same privacy that he had once relished. The only time that Din got any privacy and time to himself was when The Child was sleeping. Only then, when its wide eyelids closed over its brown eyes as it snored softly from the confines of its pram, was Din truly alone. But tonight, for some reason, the creature did not want to sleep. Instead, as Din stood there attempting to coerce it into sleeping, it was staring at him from its pram, despite Din asking it numerous times to go to sleep.

Now that Din found himself alone with the curious green child that he had risked so much for, his reputation, his future and even his life… he found that he was entirely out of his depth. Actually taking care of this child was something he had been ill-equipped for. It had been far from Din's mind when he had powered down the Razor Crest and stormed towards the Imperial stronghold on Nevarro. How could something so small, with its wide, unrelenting gaze, terrify him like this? The Child was so helpless, so innocent – hadn’t that been the reason Din had broken into The Client’s base and wiped out so many Stormtroopers? But it was that very same innocence that was the cause for Din’s anguish now. Din felt as though The Child could sense the darkness within him, as though his brown eyes were burrowing right into the deepest crevices of his soul in a way that no one ever had before.

Din knew that something profound had shifted within him when he had encountered The Child on Arvala-7. That his life, whether he liked it or not, had been permanently changed that day. If Din had never taken that particular job, he would still be that lone bounty hunter, traversing the galaxy in a desperate attempt to run from his past. But he was not; that was no longer his reality. Instead, he was standing in the hull of the Razor Crest, begging with this disobedient child to please get some rest. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of begging from Din, who felt like he might collapse from exhaustion, The Child used its enormous ears to listen. It shut its wide brown eyes and settled down in its crib. Din sighed deeply in relief and clambered onto his bunk, shutting the door behind him. He stripped down to his flightsuit but kept his helmet on, before he settled between the blankets to finally get some sleep of his own.

The wails of The Child brought Din out of the peaceful slumber he had fallen into. It was still dark in The Crest, although that gave no indication of the time of day since they were currently travelling through hyperspace. Din checked his chronometer, hardly any time had passed since the two had gone to sleep. Din groaned, it was the first proper rest he had felt comfortable to take in the several days since the skirmish on Nevarro. He slammed his fist against the control pad and opened the door which separated his bunk from the rest of the ship.

When Din shuffled off the bunk, the first thing that was apparent was the biting cold that had suddenly descended across the Razor Crest while the two had been asleep. But concerns for what had caused the sudden drop in temperature paled into comparison for the concern he felt for The Child. Din strode across the floor to the crib, where the muffled howls of the kid were emanating from.

As Din went to open the pram, he was bemused that it was not opening, despite him holding down the controls. It was then that Din noticed that there was ice in the gap where the two halves of the pram’s lid closed. Whatever had happened out here had caused the pram to freeze shut. Din momentarily panicked, how was he going to get the kid out? But fortunately he remembered the vast array of weapons and equipment that were available to him.

“Just hold on, I’ll get you out,” Din said as he walked back to his bunk to retrieve his vambrace that contained a flamethrower.

Din hurriedly placed his arm in the vambrace and positioned his arm well above the pram before he activated the flame. For a few sickening seconds there was absolute silence and Din feared The Child had come to harm. He held his breath as he feared the worst, but then the wails that had caused him such discomfort only a few moments prior were suddenly a soothing, comforting sound. Thankfully, the heat from the fire had melted the ice without harming The Child. Din was able to open the pram and found that The Child was staring up at him, tears still in his eyes as his little teeth chattered. 

“Sorry about that, little guy,” Din soothed as he hoisted the creature from its frozen pram, the term of endearment falling from his lips without any conscious thought. “I’ve got you now.”

The Child had mercifully stopped wailing now. Din held him close as he padded around the ship, checking to see what the problem was. Din huffed as he noticed the icicles that had begun to form throughout the ship, attached to anywhere there was moisture. He finally made it to the control panel of the Razor Crest and the news was not positive. It would not be a quick fix and Din would have to wait until the Razor Crest reached its destination, a backwater skughole called Sorgan, to begin proper maintenance. 

“Looks like the temperature controls malfunctioned,” Din sighed in frustration. “I’ll have to repair them when we land. Until then, things might be a little chilly.”

Despite how much the prospect of being close to The Child terrified him, Din knew that he could not in good conscience leave the helpless little creature outside to freeze in the harsh conditions. So, reluctantly, Din allowed The Child to enter his bunk and conserve the little warmth that remained in the tiny room. He placed The Child in its pram, but did not close it in case it froze again. Din tried not to look at the wide-eyed creature with its piercing brown eyes, as The Mandalorian settled into his bunk to resume the sleep that he had been so rudely awakened from by its wailing.

Din was exhausted and felt his lids closing, heavy with weariness. The Mandalorian was almost asleep before the harsh sound started up again. The Child wailed inconsolably. Din sat up, rolling his eyes at the intrusion into his peace. Things would be so much easier if he was still alone. But Din couldn't help but be concerned for his unlikely companion. He noticed, his heart constricting despite his tinted visor and the lack of light, how pale The Child’s skin seemed, its little teeth were chattering once again.

Din was momentarily paralysed as the terrifying realisation that he would have to care for this little creature came back to him. The little guy was clearly freezing, having failed to warm up after his ordeal in the frozen pram. Din looked at him sympathetically as he grabbed the little one underneath his tiny arms and brought him close despite how jarring his cries were. Din leaned back on the bunk and held The Child to his chest before he brought the blankets over the two of them. Din sighed gratefully as it seemed that the action had worked to stop The Child’s wails.

Din shut his eyes again, hoping that he would finally get the chance to rest. For a few blissful moments, it seemed as though that would be the case. But then the piercing noises commenced again. Din’s eyes flew open behind his helmet at the terrible racket. Din was at a loss for what to do, there was no way to fix the temperature controls again before they reached their destination. He sighed, staring at the ceiling and the icicles that had formed on the ceiling above them, wondering how in the galaxy he was ever going to be adequate enough to care for this tiny, helpless creature. 

He had almost given up, his brain exhausting every option before him. But then, a possible solution came to him. It was a ridiculous idea, a last resort. It was something that Din doubted would even work. The memory suddenly came flooding back to Din, despite the years that had passed, one that had not even crossed his mind for all that time. He recalled something that parents of foundlings would do with their babies at the covert. After Din had been taken in by the Mandalorians, the observant little boy soon noticed how the warriors were so devoted to their young, despite their intimidating appearance. Now, Din would allow those memories from past Mandalorians to guide him. It would bring him closer than he had ever intended to get to The Child, but the conditions necessitated it. 

So, before he thought deeply enough to scare him off the action, Din hurriedly unbuttoned his flightsuit with trembling fingers. Then, he picked the tiny life form up from its position on his abdomen and gingerly placed The Child upon his bare chest. Din winced at the contact, The Child was freezing and its skin had a bizarre, leathery texture. Plus, it was still wailing and Din could feel the small wet droplets from its eyes leaking onto his chest. Din sighed and wondered, was he doing this wrong? He looked down at the scene before him, feeling utterly lost. But then Din remembered a final step he could take, a last throw of the dice.

Din buttoned up his flightsuit around the little guy’s body, keeping him cocooned between the material of his flightsuit and within the warmth of Din’s chest. It seemed to do the trick, as The Child’s wailing instantly ceased. Din exhaled in relief. Perhaps he wasn’t as terrible at this as he believed. It was the first real problem he had encountered since rescuing The Child; he had successfully weathered it and found a solution.

As Din Djarin lay there on the Razor Crest that night, staring up at the icicles that had formed above his bunk with The Child nestled on his chest, he found his heart beginning to warm towards the little guy, despite the temperature of the freezing cold ship. 

“Din?” You called to him, confused why your favourite Mandalorian was so transfixed by the sight of an icicle outside the cabin. Since you had been distracted by locking the door to the cabin where you were staying before you headed out for a walk, Grogu in your arms, Din had scarcely moved an inch. He stood there, brown eyes wide with an emotion you could not quite place as he stared at the icicles hanging from the eaves at the edge of the cabin. “Din, are you alright?”

Din snapped out of whatever trance he was in instantly. “I'm fine, cyare,” Din replied, clearly a little flustered as he turned to look at you. He swallowed deeply before exhaling, clearly releasing some tension deep inside of him. “I just haven’t seen them since… nevermind…” Din shook his head as he trailed off.

You were concerned, but he said he was alright so you wouldn’t push it deeper. Din walked towards you and wordlessly took Grogu from your arms, cuddling the little boy – who was wrapped up against the elements in his new red coat – close to his chest. His sudden need to hold Grogu was a sweet moment, but your heart ached as you noticed the way Din suddenly looked overcome with emotion.

“Shall we go for this walk, then?” Din questioned, attempting to give you a reassuring smile but it did not quite reach his eyes. He was clearly not keen to elaborate on the reason he had just taken Grogu from you and was suddenly so protective of the little guy.

You just nodded in response, knowing that whatever was going on in Din’s head was something that you could worry about later. You were here on this beautiful planet, and you did not want to spoil a nice afternoon together by pressing him to share a memory that he was clearly not ready to share with you just yet.

So you watched his back, frowning slightly, as he began to walk away from you. You were still confused why such a simple icy feature had clearly moved him so deeply. You were sure you were missing something, somewhere. Perhaps you would ask Din later about the reasons an innocent icicle had apparently stirred such deep emotions within him. Maybe then he would be ready to talk. But for now, you turned your back on the cabin and headed out for your walk, following your complex, multi-layered Mandalorian, still curious about why Din had seemed so moved by a simple icicle. 

[novelistrry]

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

Or

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is insufferable.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, tension, etc.

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: This is an ongoing blurb. I do write full fics, but this blurb will have multiple parts and be posted in between fics (I am shooting for about 8-10 depending on the word count of each blurb).

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor. 

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season. 

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality. 

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him. 

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little. 

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down. 

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn. 

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return. 

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jump scare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of). 

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival. 

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deep sea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey. 

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers to no avail. She didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it to little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?” 

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

[kurayami-no-ko]

Story about Sannan’s sword

Notes: I was provided the original Japanese version by @kumoriyami-xiuzhen. It is honestly my favorite short story about Sannan out of all the three I have translated so far, so, please enjoy.

Sekishin Okimitsu by a person from Banshuu

January, Bunkyuu 3 (1863)

Everyone in Shiekan, which was headed by Kondou Isami, had decided that they would go to Tokyo and join the Roshigumi. They only had a short time until they had to leave to Tokyo so the days of everyone were busy with announcing the separation to acquaintances and arranging their personal baggage. During that time, there was only one person that still remained in an unpeopled Shiekan during the evening. That was Sannan Keisuke.

Sannan first visited Shiekan three years ago, during Manen 1 (1860). Back then, when Kondou Isami received the certificate of mastery of Tensai Rishinryuu and became the young teacher of Shiekan, the dojo was a small one and besides, Hijikata Toshizo, Okita Souji, Inoue Genzaburou, only has a small number of disciples. Sannan as a disciple of the Onoha Ittoryuu fought with Kondou in a battle between schools and lost, and as he was impressed by the strength of the Tensai Rishinryuu, he joined the school. Since then, he had lodged in Shiekan and in a short time, started to study the art of Tensai Rishinryuu. Soon as Kondou’s right hand man, he was entrusted with going to teach in the Tama region.

Sannan was sitting alone in the dojo of Shiekan, properly going through the maintainance his beloved sword.

The first step of this maintenance was to start with cleaning all the oil coating the blade so that it would not rust. Firstly, he used wiping paper to clean up all the oil on the blade. When that process failed to remove all the old oil, he put power on the blade and then wiped again with a wiping paper. He properly wiped from the base of the metal collar to the tip and kept on repeating it so finally the old oil sticking on the blade was cleanly removed.

Then, he carefully checked for any rust or chip on the naked blade and then very thoroughly coated the blade with clove oil. Because the oil coating this blade had deteriorated, he had to maintain the sword by replacing the oil multiple times throughout a year.

For this work, Sannan had to slowly replaced the oil on his sword.

“Huh? The only person left is Sannan-san?”

From the door of the dojo, the unique voice of Okita sounded out.

“That’s right. It is because Nagakura and the other guys went out for drinking; Kondou-san and Hijikata-kun and Inoue-san went out to Tama for some greetings…though I heard that Okita-kun also came along.”

“No, I have no part in that kind of greeting.”

“Is that so? Okita-kun also has family, right? Is that okay?”

“If I show up, my elder sister will definitely oppose, so I think it is better for me not to go. In other terms, because I don’t have any one to greet, I came back alone.  Because I am taking care of the dojo, I think that it is better that I greet Sannan-san and pack my baggage.”

So according to what he said, Okita went to the dojo and reached Sannan’s side. In response to Okita, Sannan gave him a slightly lonely smile and answered.

“What a coincidence, actually, I also do not have any acquaintance to greet.”

Looking at Sannan’s face, Okita’s interested eyes glittered.

“Is that so… Even though I cannot see that, if Sannan-san say so, it must be the case. So, how is your preparation for going to Kyo going?”

“The baggage that I am bringing along is only this sword. Because of that, as the maintenance was done, I am already done with the preparation.”

Moving his gaze to the sword lying on the tatami mat in front of Sannan, Okita became interested and looked at the sword.

“Sekishin Okimitsu…was the name, right? Not a famous name, isn’t it? Do you have any emotional attachment to it?”

“This sword… is unique, I brought it from my hometown, Sendai, where I was born. This sword was passed down in my family for generations and when I received this sword, I was told to hold this sword and hit with a true heart (Sekishin means true heart). Certainly, don’t you think that is a suitable path?”

“I do not understand what true heart means for Sannan-san but… Being able to kill your opponent and keep your own life is enough, isn’t it?”

“Haha… That answer is very characteristic of Okita-kun.”

“Is that so… Well, it is fine. So, I also should do the maintenance for my sword. I will bring it here so please just keep on staying in the dojo like this.”

While shrugging his shoulder, Okita also turned his back on Sannan and quickly left the dojo.

In a dojo resounded with those footsteps, Sannan thought.

About abandoning his house in Sendai, leaving his clan to travel alone.

Back then, his only baggage was also Sekishin Okimitsu.

After that, while joining a dojo and living in Edo… This sword was also his only constant companion.

Sannan said gently to his beloved sword lying on top of the tatami.

“From Sendai to Edo… And now, this time is going to be Kyo. We are going to be together once more. Please help me.”

Before long, the dusk was thickening, and the dojo became darker. Sannan shook off his sentiments and slowly stood up; because Okita would be coming back, he needed to start preparing to put on the light.

Notes: I checked a source from the internet. The link is here: https://www.touken-world.jp/tips/72533/

So, the historical Sannan Keisuke broke his sword during the same incident that Hakuouki Sannan lost the use of his left arm. This means that Hakuouki Sannan probably lost the use of his left arm and his most prized possession in the same day. That is quite sad to think about.