#Georg Queri

[yr-obedt-cicero]

What do you believe would have been the most likely outcome for both Hamilton and Laurens (separately) had their relationship been discovered at the time?

While interesting, this question is phrased extremely vaguely. And so, it all really depends under what circumstances were they discovered - because there are a variety of options or endings depending on the situation - like who found out, or how? Many first expect an immediate death sentence should any slight homosexual inclination be dedicated, but this is quite an oversimplified viewpoint in the hindsight of full historical context. So, I'll run you by a few possibilities and different situations.

Discovered through letters or an act of affection.

It was commonly known throughout Washington's family that Laurens and Hamilton were incredibly close that they were nearly inseparable. According to Hamilton, the military family thought they had a sort of “partnership”;

I have conveyed your reproof to the lads. They have considered me as the secretary of the family and fancied a partnership which did not exist. Writing or not writing to you, you know they love you and sympathise in all that concerns you.

Source — Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, [September 12, 1780]

Whatever they had imagined Hamilton discerns it. There have been some suggestions about it perhaps being speculation that Hamilton was exploiting Laurens for his wealth, [x] but would it be too farfetched to speculate they meant a romantic friendship?

A romantic friendship is/was a very close, but non-sexual relationship, between same-sex friends who often shared a degree of physical or emotional closeness. During the colonial periods of America, or even other contemporary Western societies; same-sex romantic relationships were oftentimes socially acceptable if remaining semi-righteous, such as abstaining from sexual acts, and not interfering with heterosexual marriage. @thelittlelionofvalleyforge has an amazing and more in-depth post here that you should read, as it delves into the topic a bit more. In the historical time period of communal bunking and platonic yet expressive letters, intimacy between the same sex while remaining entirely platonic was common and seen as a “licentious Greek love”. [x]

And this form of friendship wasn't uncommon in the army either. Baron Von Steuben - who Laurens and Hamilton were quite close to - was greatly fond of his Aide-de-camps while serving in Washington's army, that it is believed he was romantically inclined with two of them, Benjamin Walker and William North. The Baron met Walker his first day at Valley Forge, recalling; “If I had seen an angel from Heaven I should not have more rejoiced.” [x] And the two became quite close, as well as with North who Walker was in a relationship with. Although Benemann makes the suggestion that Walker and North could have had a romantic friendship that edged into some sexual intimacy;

At a distance of over 200 years, with only the evidence of a large but scattered and incomplete body of correspondence, it is impossible to prove the nature of the relationships which developed between North and Walker, and between von Steuben und each of the two young men. It appears that North and Walker enjoyed a romantic friendship which included sexual intimacy. North was more deeply emotionally involved in the relationship than was Walker,

Source — Benemann, William E. Male-Male Intimacy in Early America: Beyond Romantic Friendships. United Kingdom, Taylor & Francis, 2014.

While Walker and North were more romantically inclined to each other, it is often a debate about where Steuben stood in the relationship. Further on, Benemann made the claim that while Steuben was attracted to his “angel”, Walker does not appear to have been sexually interested, and says that Walker envisioned the bond as more of a mentorship or fatherly affection.

Another example of a romantic friendship between two soldiers during the Revolution was Bulkley and Newman, a scarce recount of their relationship was made by Alexander Garden - another associate of Laurens's - in the Anecdotes of the Revolutionary War in America, which he wrote. Garden describes the two's relationship as “that excited the highest interest,” and was “the singular and romantic friendship which united two of the most distinguished soldiers of the Legionary cavalry.”

Bulkley and Newman were natives of Virginia, born in the same neighbourhood, and from early infancy united by such a congeniality of sentiment, that it almost appeared as if one soul gave animation to both. Their attachment increased with their years—it strengthened with their strength. As school—fellows they were inseparable; their task was the same, and he who was first perfect in acquiring it, was unhappy till he had impressed it, with equal force, on the mind of his friend.

Source — Garden, Alexander, and Field, Thomas Warren. Anecdotes of the American Revolution: Illustrative of the Talents and Virtues of the Heroes of the Revolution, who Acted the Most Conspicuous Parts Therein. United States, Books on Demand, 1865.

They were both mortally wounded at the battle of Quinby Bridge, on July 17, 1781; “they fell on the same spot, and, with united hands, reciprocating kindness to the last, expired.” [x]

With that being said, romantic friendships were not universally accepted, and there were still cases of them being found unacceptable (In regard to subjective religion and just culture from different states or countries). Especially if to breach the priorly stated decrees, which was if they were discovered to have been carried out with sexual acts or invading a heterosexual marriage. So, why we aren't sure this is what the military family was referring to, it is possible. But even so, if Hamilton's or Laurens's letters were discovered by someone getting their hands on them (An average letter, as I'm sure there's no disguising the true intent of the speculated five words on the April 1779 letter), they could quite easily be shrugged off as platonic, or that could be the excuse they would use for themselves. There would need to be more concrete evidence for action to be taken, although it would leave an open door for disparage and rumors to spread.

Discovered through sexual intimacy.

This is where matters start to become more severe but also complicated. With the freedom the 18th century proposed with expressions of friendship - like romantic friendship and communal bunking, especially in times of war - it offered leeway to disguise any sexual involvement in their relationship, while still having relative freedom to express romantic sentiments. But this did not work for those who were caught in the act, like Anderson and Enslin. Of the 3,315 cases listed by James C. Neagles in his index of Revolutionary War courts-martial, only two can be identified as sodomy prosecutions, and neither were executions. That leads Benemann to speculate as to whether sodomy was truly an immediate death penalty resolved sin as many seem to assume, or if sodomy was truly as common in the revolution as some believe. Another argument he makes is;

or perhaps most sexual contact between men was private and consensual, and came to the attention of courts-martial only when a complaint was filed. Both the Enslin and the Anderson cases appear to be cases of sexual assault.

You can read about the Enslin case recorded by Berlin here, but to briefly cover the Anderson case he is referring to—There is a recording of John Anderson of the Maryland Line, and his court-martial, 13 April 1792, in the orderly books of General Mordecai Gist;

At the same Court held the 9th Instant, was tried—John Anderson private in the Maryland Line—For Sodomy—The Court are of oppinion, that he is guilty of an attempt, to commit Sodomy, and do sentence him to Run the Gauntlope three times thro' the Brigade—the General approves the Sentence, and orders it to take place this Evening at Roll Call.

‘To Run the Gauntlope’ refered to the corporal punishment of ‘run the gauntlet’, which means the party judged guilty is forced to run between two rows of soldiers, who strike out and attack them with sticks or other weapons.

Although the claim that the military was reluctant to punish private and consensual sexual acts between men, doesn't stand outside of Enslin's case, as there are no mentions of Anderson's case being a case of sexual assault. Notably, Enslin and Anderson were ruled two different forms of punishment with different levels of severity, as Enslin was drummed out, but Anderson merely received corporal and humiliation punishment. This could be due to rank, as Anderson was a private and Enslin was a Major, or rather that Enslin's case was an assault case. Nonetheless, it was ruled out and specified as Sodomy. Once again, @/thelittlelionofvalleyforge goes into a deeper analysis on the historical definition surrounding “attempted sodomy”, which I suggest you read. Benemann also made the suggestion that perhaps men in homosexual relationships refrained from committing sexual acts to avoid getting caught and sentenced.

But this cannot apply to either Laurens or Hamilton, as there are implications in Hamilton's and Laurens's letters that they did share moments of sexual intimacy, with Hamilton's venereal mentions of his dick; “his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c. In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I ___.” [x] And the high chance surrounding the five missing words confirming Laurens had seen his friend's dick. Or just other implications with metaphors like the depravity of a lover's touch;

But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful ___. But you have now disarmed my resentment and by a single mark of attention made up the quarrel.

Source — Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, [11 September 1779]

So, there were still chances of the two getting caught in the act which boarders on heavier severity than what was my previous point about fluttering language in letters, or simple acts of affection. But evidently, they took some precautions as to not get caught since they seemingly made it through the war with only 20th century historians speculating about their relationship. And as I said, it depends on who finds them under what circumstances. Acts of affection would be much more excusable aside from provoking a few rumors, but if someone close or who valued Hamilton and Laurens (Some of the aides, or Lafayette) caught them in the act, they would likely not speak about it so as long as the case was consensual sex. Also, there could be an unwillingness to question anything further because of their value to the army. Depending on the beliefs of the said person, it could encourage some strain, but with the lack of reported sodomy cases implies that some must have been quiet about it even if spotted. Which was another point of Benemann's;

Perhaps the military chose to treat such acts of sexual misconduct on the subjudicial level, as an internal matter not to be shared outside the confines of the unit. Unwillingness to bring shame and infamy on a unit might have motivated commanding officers to deal with homosexual transgressions in ways that skirted the usual procedures of military justice. If such conduct resulted in a court-martial, it was certainly possible to hedge and obfuscate in such a way that the official record revealed little about the true nature of the proceedings.

Similarly, to what Benemann says; “Courts could use strong but vague terms such as “filthiness,” “scandalous behavior,” In Washington's army there was a court-martial on the charge of lewdness in the barracks described as “great habits of indecency.” This leads me to believe that it may have been all likely outcome if their actions were presented to someone who was more than just a forgiving acquaintance, or brother in arms—But rather General Washington, himself. I think Washington would do as Benemann suggested, which was call it something else to lessen the severity. Because the greatest contrast from Laurens and Hamilton in comparison to those like Anderson and Enslin (Other than the latter's consent), was that their positions and necessity were in a much higher respect. If two of Washington's most valued aides were found to be committing such impropriety in his ranks, it would not only propose damage to his name and trust or reliability to govern the army, but he would lose those two most valued aides and their abilities. In an act of self-serving utility, Washington would likely sugarcoat their case as nothing more but ‘conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman’. Which was to disgrace the guilty personally or brings dishonor to the military profession affects his fitness to command the obedience of his subordinates so as to successfully complete the military mission.

Thomas McCoy of the 7th Pennsylvania Regiment was tried for repeated disorderly conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, embezzling the state's money, and other financial crimes (Found guilty of a breach of the 21st Article, 14th section of the Articles of War), he was sentenced to be discharged from service. [x] And while it's arguable that “sexual independency” would be equated with financial crimes, something similar would have likely become of them like a court martial and their discharge from the army. But if they proved more necessary to Washington, then it likely would have resulted as a suspension from the army for a year.

In the case that none of this happened, they would probably have been drummed out shamefully and never allowed to return to military lines, like Enslin. This would affect their lives severely; Hamilton would have lost the opportunity or marriage in general with Eliza as there would be no way General Schuyler would permit such a union. And it would have likely been a heavy burden throughout his life, making him a way less of an influential figure and forcing him to resort to become a merchant - despite his income preferences - since he would be desperate for wealth stability, and had the qualifications to become such anyway. Laurens would be disowned without a doubt, as much as he was his father's golden child, this would taint the family name, and Henry would have to resort to Harry as the heir.

In any case, while sodomy cases were usually unfairly ruled out, and usually meant as an example to keep your indecencies hidden to not disgrace the army—Different cases vary between results of discovery, and it was not always a straight sentence to the gallows especially during the revolution, contrary to popular belief.

TL;DR, they could have easily excused their letters as nothing more but expression and declarations of friendship, unless it was a heavily explicit one. And if they were caught in the act, a friend would have likely be disagreeing but kept quiet about it. But if it was Washington, he likely would have tried to lessen the costs and sugarcoat the situation, for his own and the army's benefit. But in the case, they were dealt with a drumming out, their lives would have been forever burdened, and many aspects would have changed. But we don't know for sure.

Hope this helps.

[aclaywrites]

14. Here’s my diary entry from that day, April 23, 1985:

I’m in love. This is so strange I can’t even think about it but I am in love. I’m in love with Amber. I want to be close to her at all times and I want to put my arms around her. I love the way she smells and the way her face looks when she’s watching something. She says she loves me but that is a love like sisters or best friends and I don’t feel that way. I am her very best friend and I do love her like that but I also LOVE her. It’s like this line from a movie about gay people [??????] this guy said “and sometimes he’ll hug me. He doesn’t think anything about it, but it’s all I can think about.” I feel the same way. I wonder if I’m gay? If I were it wouldn’t bother me, but I would like to know. It’s so strange because I’ll get this deep lust in my heart for, like, Andrew Ridgeley. And the one person whom I love more than life is Boy George. But then I’ll see someone on tv or at school (like Amber) and I’ll lust after them like a guy. And my love for Amber is close to (but not quite the same as) Boy George. Shit, this is all so confusing.

So yeah, 14. At which time I had crushes on Boy George and Dr Frank from Rocky Horror, but then I finally figured it out.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Boomerang: *complaining about how he can't get girls*

Echo: *who is doing a caper for him cause Riddler is in Arkham* Please, stop! If I wanted to hear a weird guy cry about his pathetic love life I would just call Eddie.

Query: *who ofc is doing the caper with her gf* *nods* At least his suffering is funny.

[fastandcarlos]

Hickey : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: with all eyes on him, lando can't help but wonder what everyone is captured by. but when he finds out the problem, it's much bigger than he ever could've imagined

The room seemed to fall silent as soon as Lando walked in, with several glances moving in his direction. His heart began to race as he heard sniggers come from around the room, it was something that he wasn’t used to, usually greeted with wide smiles and shakes of the hand. 

It was almost as if he’d walked into a dream, it was unlike anything that Lando had experienced before. He nervously walked to the side of the room as the drivers waited to be called out for the parade, seeking comfort from Oscar and a few of his other close friends who were stood in the corner of the room. 

“What’s going on?” Lando queried as he stood between Oscar and Carlos, his eyes drawn to the expressions on their faces and how they tried their best to not smile across at him. 

“Did you have a nice evening?” Carlos innocently asked him. 

Lando nodded in confusion as a scoff came from George who was just beside Carlos. Lando’s brows knitted together as his anxiety built, hating the feeling as if he was missing out on something amongst them all.  

“Y/N’s here this weekend, isn’t she?” Oscar asked. Lando nodded, knowing that Oscar already knew the answer. “We can tell you guys haven’t seen each other for a while.” 

It didn’t take long before a couple of the other drivers joined their group, not wanting to miss out. There were a few exchanged glances amongst them all, but Lando just couldn’t piece together what they were all trying to say to each other as their eyes silently spoke.  

“Did you happen to have a look in the mirror before you left your hotel room this morning? Or did Y/N say anything to you?” Alex asked, shaking his head across at Lando. 

“She was still asleep, and I was running late.” 

No one could quite believe how oblivious Lando was as he shrugged. It had grabbed everyone’s attention as soon as he entered the room, and had probably delighted the cameras as soon as Lando entered the paddock that morning.  

“Can someone just tell me what I’m missing please?” Lando asked of them all. 

Whilst some of them continued their laughter, Charles pulled his phone out of his back pocket and opened up his camera. Lando immediately panicked when he saw what Charles was doing, brushing over his face. Little did he know though, it wasn’t something that could just be brushed off. 

“Just so you know, I said to the others that we should tell you,” Charles defended before he went to turn his phone around, at least trying to offer Lando one supportive friend. 

“Tell me what? Just tell me what’s the matter.” 

A sigh came from Charles as he turned his phone around. Lando studied himself carefully in it, but couldn’t spot anything, nothing that usually wasn’t out of the ordinary.  

“Can you really not see the issue?” Oscar asked, struggling to hold back his laughter. 

As Lando shook his head, Carlos walked over to him and pulled down the side of his hoodie. Watching on as the material moved, Lando’s eyes soon went wide. 

“Now can you see what the problem is?” Carlos sighed at him, tapping his finger just below him. “Now do you see why you’re the centre of attention this morning?” 

His heart began to race as he moved closer towards the phone, noticing just how dark the mark on his neck was. His eyes shut, knowing that there was nothing that he could do about it, dreading to think what had already happened before he even noticed too. 

“I’ve got a hickey,” Lando muttered underneath his breath. 

No one quite knew where to look as Lando looked around in panic. It was beyond anything that Lando could’ve ever imagined, almost like the things that nightmares are made of, especially when you get as much attention as he does. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He nervously asked, but no one seemed to have the answer, it was a situation that none of the drivers had ever found themselves in before. 

There was one driver though who had a bit of an idea. “What about if you paint yourself purple for the race today, that way it’ll blend in and no one will ever know?” 

“Daniel, sometimes I really just want to knock you out.” 

Whilst Lando looked unimpressed, Daniel’s suggestion earnt a chorus of laughs from many of the other drivers. Whilst some couldn’t hold back their giggles, luckily for Lando, he had a couple who could sympathise. 

“There’s got to be some merch somewhere that’ll hide your neck,” Alex suggested, throwing his arm over Lando’s shoulders. “If that fails, just pretend you’ve got a nasty stomach bug and ask to go home.” 

“I’m just going to have to own it now, I bet there’s headlines everywhere, aren’t there?” Lando asked, the silence around the room telling him everything that he needed to know. 

Of all of the boys, George cleared his throat. “I promise that the headlines aren’t as terrible as you probably think they are Lando.” 

Lando nodded, it still didn’t make him feel any better. Especially for you. You were just a few minutes from arriving at the paddock and he knew exactly what sort of questions would be sent your way upon your arrival. 

Like the media, a few of the boys couldn’t help but think about Y/N too. “Have you got matching marks or something?” Daniel quizzed, unable to stop himself messing with Lando, just like Lando had done with him many times. “Are you just letting everyone know you’re together this weekend.” 

“You can tease me all you want, but none of you are to say anything to Y/N,” Lando quickly warned them all, “she’s going to be embarrassed enough about this as it is when she gets here.” 

“I never had Y/N down for this type of person.” 

“Daniel!” Lando groaned, elbowing him in the side. “I’m being serious, if anyone says anything to Y/N then I can guarantee you right now that I know all of your weaknesses and I will happily expose you all for them.” 

It was funny watching Lando be serious, but when it came to you, they all knew just how much he meant it. He would back you all the way and defend you no matter what had happened. 

“At least we all know you and Y/N are happy together,” Carlos grinned as he tried to lighten the mood again. “Let’s worry more about covering this mess up for now seeing as we’ve got a race to get to soon.” 

“You’re all enjoying this too much,” Lando scolded, displeased by the smirks on many of his closest friends around him. “Some of you really need to get yourselves girlfriends.” 

As Lando went to walk off with Carlos, Charles quickly stopped him. Before Lando could protest, Charles used his phone to take a photo of Lando and keep it as a memory. 

“Just for the future,” he innocently smiled as Lando hit against his arm. “I think this is an important day that we might all want to remember one day.” 

“I’ve never hated a group of people more in my life,” Lando sighed as Charles slotted his phone away. “At least there’s one person who wants to help me out.” 

“I’ve got no sympathy,” Oscar shrugged, seemingly the spokesperson of the group. “You should’ve known what you were doing back at your hotel last night.” 

Lando’s eyes rolled at Oscar’s scolding, “do you think if I knew this was going to happen I would have let Y/N do this to me?” He quizzed, pointing at the mark. 

“Knowing you, yes,” Oscar couldn’t help but laugh, “anything to get a little bit of attention, we all know what you’re like with your relationship.” 

“I honestly hate you all.” 

“But at least we all know Y/N loves you though!” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[d4yl1ghts]

Anything King George! If the reader can help him calm after a bad episode after their marriage, honestly anything king George I’d love, I absolutely love your writing!

episode

king george iii x wife, fem!reader

summary: you help george calm down after he has an episode

warnings: mental health episodes, argument

A/N- ik this is so short

-

You stumbled around the palace after waking in the middle of the night and seeing an empty space beside you. There were often lonely mornings when you would awake alone but now that you knew he was gone, you had to catch him doing whatever he was doing.

As you hid with the shadows of the walls, you heard something in the distance. You couldn’t quite tell what the noise was and so you cautiously crawled over to the room where it was coming from. On closer inspection, it sounded like groans- George? You couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure…

Slowly, you reached out for the brass doorknob and turned to twist it but it made a sudden bang. Shit, you thought to yourself as you hurriedly moved to the side, but not quick enough as Reynolds rushed out and bowed his head once he saw you. “Your Majesty.”

“Reynolds, what is going on? Are those the noises of my dear husband?”, you questioned worriedly. He hesitated uncertainly before deciding on: “I suppose so, your Majesty.”

“What is going on?”, you settled on asking, despite the ounces of queries in your mind. “Well, I believe it to be best if you head back to your chambers.”, Reynolds replied. “I would like to go back to my chambers with my husband.”, you stated stubbornly. “Okay…”, he responded with a tone of unsureness. He carefully widened the door so you could enter.

As you walked in, you were speechless at the sight before you. George was writhing in pain due to a said doctor prodding and poking him. “George.”, you greeted as he turned to look at me. “Get out!”, he yelled. You noticed his hands were shaking, as they do when he enters his episodes. You knew he had them so you didn’t understand why he was screaming at you to leave.

“George.”, you muttered as you made my way towards him. “Please, get out.”, he whispered. “You cannot see me like this.”, he added. He gazed at you before his eyes grew glossy and distant. “Venus, Venus, Venus…”, he mumbled continuously as he held his head in his hands. You gently pried his hands off of his head and held his hand in yours tenderly.

He stared into your eyes as his attention was drawn back onto you. His eyes lost their distant look. Gradually, you noticed that as you held his hand, the shaking seemed to stop. “George, why are you doing this? Going through all of this pain?”, you questioned calmly. “I am a mad man. My dear wife does not deserve that.”, he responded. He turned to play with his hands. You placed your hand under his chin to make sure he listened to your next words.

“I love you just how you are, George. I do not and will not have you experiencing suffering just because you believe that I deserve better.”, you caressed his cheek softly. He sat there silently as he hugged his head into the crevice of your neck.

[pangur-and-grim]

something I’ve learned from querying: everything has a million subcategories, and it is crucial to actually learn then.

like when I first started, I thought an agent listing ‘speculative fiction’ in their interests was enough to give me a shot! but now it’s like ok. but does that actually mean fantasy (as opposed to science fiction or surrealism)? and if it does, is it constrained to one of the following:

high fantasy

low fantasy

grounded fantasy 

magical realism

etc.

and if fate is smiling on me and it is high fantasy, what sort do they like? because mine starts as a medieval George R R Martin clone before morphing into a post-apocalyptic sci fi, so they have to simultaneously be alright with a) cliched shit and b) experimental weird shit.

and say everything aligns, and that genre works for them - even then, they often accept it only in one or two age categories. there’s mg, ya, na (middle grade, young adult, new adult) and adult. mine is adult, which is a huge strike against it given the genre. 

AND THEN! AND THEN! say everything else is perfect. they love high fantasy with elves and unicorns, they want it for adults, they’re cool with genre bending, but in their profile is a phrase I’ve learned to dread: “HEA (which stands for happily every after) required”. I love my little book, but it is dark and full of terrible people.

and then I also have to hope that they’re into queer romance, on top of everything else! it’s a hard process.

currently I have 45 queries sent, 15 rejections, and 30 unknowns, and I think a good portion of those rejections are because I didn’t initially understand that ‘accepts speculative fiction’ shouldn’t be taken literally.

[forthetwins]

fred weasley — serious spells and silly surprises.

amidst the enchanting chaos, there was one constant that fred could always rely on — the steadfast seriousness of you.

fred weasely has seen you laughing once. that was when he and george had put their names in the goblet of fire — as it got backfired and turned them into old men.

as george followed fred's gaze, he couldn't help but notice his brother's dazed expression. it was clear that fred was captivated by something — or rather, someone — across the yard. with a knowing grin, george sidled up to fred and nudged him playfully.

"lost in thoughts, freddie?"

"admiring the view, georgie,"

george chuckles at his twin's response, "aren't you tired of the same view. i mean — the view might look better closer,"

"this is different, mate,"

"care to spill?"

fred glanced at george, his expression shifting from playful to contemplative. "have you ever seen her like that before? it's like she's a different person when she's with her friends."

"well...she seems to be happy," george starts, "look, she's laughing an' gigglin'"

"that's the point, georgie," fred says, "she never laughs or giggles or smiles,"

"oh,"

"yeah,"

"so? what's on your mind now?" george questions.

"there's nothing on my mind,"

"spill or else i've to find out myself,"

"...alright alright, i'll spill,"

fred weasley, also known as someone with zero shame, found no difficulties in approaching you. after the transfiguration class, as you were packing your things, he approached beside you.

"hey," he says, to which you reply with a confused hum. he asks you about your next class, tries making some conversation before he could start something rubbish.

"wanna hear a joke?" he doesnt wait for your response. and with a flourish, fred launched into his best joke, his delivery smooth and confident. as he reached the punchline, he watched your expression intently, waiting for a reaction.

but everything backfires with a simple guesture of yours — in confusion, you tilt your head with query written all over your face. (that expression fred found so so soooo cute, he wished to pinch your cheeks gosh.)

"y/n," one of your friend calls, "we've got potions now. c'mon,'

with a last glance at fred, you swung over your bag over your shoulders as you joined your friends to potion.

fred weasley, also known as someone with zero shame(2). found no difficulties in reaching up to you. he bombarded you with both funny and unfunny jokes, played pranks on draco and filch — to which your response still stayed underwhelming.

as you and ginny walked towards hogsmeade, hand in hand, enjoying the crisp autumn air and the anticipation of a day filled with adventure, you both couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching you two.

turning slightly, you and ginny noticed the mischievous grins of the weasley twins as they caught up to you, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone path.

"hey there, y/n," george greeted with a grin, while fred flashed you a charming smile.

ginny raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "what's going on? why do you two look like you're up to something?"

george smoothly says, "oh, professor mcgonagall was looking for you, ginny. said it was urgent,"

ginny's eyes widened in surprise. "really? i wonder what it could be about," she questions sarcastically.

without missing a beat, george took ginny's arm and began leading her away, leaving fred standing beside you with a sheepish grin.

"so?" fred beginnings.

"hmn?"

"where were you and ginny up to?"

"butterbeers," you respond.

"great. let's go,"

despite fred's relentless attempts to make you laugh earlier in the day, you found yourself intrigued by his persistent charm.

as you entered the cozy warmth of the pub, the scent of butterbeer and the sound of lively chatter enveloped you, adding to the magical ambiance of the day.

finding a secluded corner table, you and fred settled in, the comfortable silence between you tinged with an unspoken understanding.

but before fred could launch into another round of jokes or anecdotes, you found yourself unable to ignore the nagging feeling that something was off.

"fred,"

"yes?"

"why are you acting so weird lately?"

finally.

fred sighs. that shame finally gets to him as he admits why. why he was acting this way — because how you seemed to be laughing with your friends.

to which you get stunned as you stare sheepishly at him. "fred,"

"hm?"

"my friends used the rictusempra charm on me,"

(the tickling charm — rictusempra — also known as the rictusempra charm, is a spell that causes a victim to buckle with laughter.)

"oh,"

"yeah..."

sighing again, fred slumps back. grabbing his butter beer to a take a big sip. then, to his surprise, fred hears a chuckle, then a lingering laughter.

he looks up at you, seeing you cover your mouth as you laugh. he asks "what?"

"the foam of the butterbeer above your lips looks like you've got a mustache like—" you say in between your laughs, "—like an old man," you struggle to speak with all the laughter coming out of you, "—reminds me of when you and george had put your names in the goblet of fire ahaha!"

as fred realizes that he had successfully made you laugh, a sense of triumph washes over him. it dawns on him that he had accomplished his mission, breaking through the barrier of your seriousness.

"are old people funny to you?" he asks.

"no, just you,"

with a satisfied grin, he leans back in his chair smiling as he looks at you, feeling a newfound sense of accomplishment.

...

"professor mcgonagall didn't call me."

[dear-ao3]

hi :] quick little query: can i make george russell (f1) have written the delaware post in my fanfic pls and thank you with strawberries on top? 🥰🥰🥰🥰💞💞💞💞

you know i really cant think of a more fitting person to have written the Delaware post tbh. but like. has he just written the post or does he also run this blog? is he me????

but im more fascinated by 1. the fact that you had to clarify who george russell was to me and 2. why on Earth is this a Plot Point in a Fanfiction

[writersblockedx]

Potions for Pranks

Pairing - George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary - Fred and George are practising one of their latest potions on Y/n. They suddenly realise their wrong doings when Y/n begins to forget her memories. Warnings - None I don't think Words - 1.8K

Masterlist

Y/n's memory was beginning to blur. Just specks, small pieces that she couldn't help as they slowly started to slip away.

To begin with, the girl had been blissfully unaware. She, along with Angelina, Lee and the twins, were seated at the great hall for breakfast. Something which had seemed as usual as normal. Until George had slipped some concoction into Y/n's drink without her noticing. The Wealsey boy had been under the belief it was his and Fred's newest potions: kissing concoction. Alas, he had gotten the bottles mixed up.

"So, Y/n?" Hummed George mischievously as he leaned closer to his girlfriend. "Feel anything...I don't know...strong?"

Her brows knotted and she slid away from the boy slightly, "I've got no idea what you're talking about." She answered, confused already, yet unaware as to how her memory was beginning to crack.

Fred, the only other one in on the prank, had started giggling, leading to the other's starting to catch on. "Maybe you've got an urge to do something." George wiggled his eyebrows, but at that point, as Y/n stared back at him, she noted such memory was started to fade away.

Panic settled in and she addressed the rest of the group: "What have you done?" Her tone was blunt and pierced through the air.

Everyone caught on. Something wasn't right. This wasn't some mindless prank the twins had pulled, but something that had become daunting to her. Angelina leaned forward slightly over the table and reached out her hand. "Y/n? What is it?" She queried.

The girl could only shake her head, soon finding herself lost in the place she felt safest. "I don't-" She glanced to George as his pupils filled with worry. "I don't know." Her head snapped back to Angelina. "I can't remember."

They each shared looks. All of which were troublesome. Fred finally piped up, sheepishly asking his brother, "George, which bottle did you pick up?"

George hadn't torn his eyes from Y/n until that moment. "There was more than one?" That's when they all realised they were well and truly fucked.

"Yeah. There was the kissing potion and the- erm- the forgetfulness potions."

His words thudded against the air. There was no need for George to answer the question. They all knew. And, in the sum of three words, Angelina conveyed all their emotions, "You absolute morons."

Fred raised his hands in surrender, "Don't blame me!" Then he pointed this finger to his brother, "George was the one who picked the wrong bottle up."

The other twin rolled his eyes, commenting, "Very mature." Before turning to face Y/n who was still sat at complete loss, trying to grasp onto the memories which were slowly fading away. His eyes softened as his palms reached up to cup the sides of her face. "Hey, you're alright." Though, that he couldn't be sure of yet.

"Why do you even have a forgetfulness postion?" Questioned Lee, his curious tone gliding through the unsettling atmosphere.

"Testing some things out." Fred shrugged as his gaze snapped back to Y/n who hadn't dared to look away from George. "We're trying to make a short-term forgetfulness. You know, get away with a bit more stuff." He rambled on as he came to realise how bad this may turn out for them.

"And that," Angelina pointed to Y/n's cup, "Isn't the one for short-term memory?"

Fred shook his head.

"How do you feel?" George asked through a whisper, but in the group's silence, they all heard it. And they were all eagerly awaiting her answer, eagerly awaiting to find out how much memory their friend had lost.

Her pupils shot between the different people in front of her. The people she was closest to. The people who probably took up the majority of her memories. But, as she looked around, she just saw faces. Faces of which she was struggling to identify. "I don't- I can't-" She stuttered. The only thing which felt known was the red-head's hands on her cheeks. They were gentle and comforting as her body found them familiar, while her brain found them foreign. "I can't remember."

The pure panic in her pupils pushed a silence. Their friend now staring at them like they were ghosts. "It's like I know myself, but I can't, I can't place names to faces." She explained through a trembling tone.

"It's okay." Eased George as he took his hand in hers, hoping to soothe her concern. Then he turned his head and addressed the rest of the group, "Right? We can figure something out?" There was still panic woven throughout George's tone and it was louder than his words.

Lee scoffed, "Pretty sure this is above anything we can fix." At least he were being realistic. Though, his realism had only bought him a kick in the shin from the boy across from him. "Ouch!" He winced but was silenced none the less.

Angelina looked down the table in the Great Hall before leaning in as if her words were about to be dangerous. "You know, if we can't fix this, then that means..." She glanced between the boys who weren't seeming to catch on.

"That means? It means what?" Inquired Fred with knitted brows.

The girl huffed and let on, "We're going to have to go to Snape."

They seemed to dread that more than having a friend who didn't quite remember them. "Snape?" Y/n reiterated in curiosity. "That is?" They found it surprising how easily it had been to forget such a distinguished man. Then again, they supposed it showed the intensity of the potion they had accidentally slipped into Y/n's drink.

"Someone you'll wish you could forget." Replied Lee with the raise of his brows; wishing now that he had been the one to take the burden of the potion.

"Surely there's someone else." George thought. "I mean, anyone else. You know how many points he'll deduct?"

Angelina scowled, "And that's more important than getting your girlfriend's memories back, is it?"

"I'm just saying maybe there's a professor a bit nicer, who may be able to fix this just as well."

"He's potions master, George, there's no one better than him." No one liked the idea, but Angelina was right and there was no point in arguing. "Come on," She urged as she slipped from her seat and everyone else followed.

Y/n stuck close to George, their hands still perfectly interlocked. "Where are we going?" She asked him as they followed behind the others.

He glanced to her as they continued out of the Great Hall, "To someone who can get your memories back." He informed her.

She nodded her head but still seemed uncertain of the idea. "Right." She muttered before looking to him through confused eyes, "And, remind me again, your name is?"

A slight smile hooked at his lips, "George." He told her.

The group wandered around the hallways. For once, they were dismissive. For once, they were aiming to combat any attention as they hid their most recent prank: Y/n. Luckily, most students still lingered in the Great Hall and they were able to get to potions class without many glances their way.

But their real troubles would only begin when they knocked against the door. Angelina looked back at George, who seemed sewed too the forgetful girl. "You ready?" She questioned and the red-head nodded.

Angelina raised her hand and let her knuckles knock gently against the wood. They waited a moment or two before the door swung open and Snape ducked his head out. He glared at each of them, stopping on Angelina. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but erm-" She looked to Y/n and then back to the professor. "We need some help."

The man narrowed his eyes and, for a moment, George could have sworn he was about to decline his help. But, alas, he opened the door fully, "Come in." He instructed as the group fumbled into potions class. "What is it this time?"

And so, Angelina started to explain. She explained everything. Snape listened all the way through and didn't make any comment until the girl stopped. He then huffed and through the trembling silence, looked to the twins and said, "I'm half inclined to leave her as is for a few hours, hopefully teach you a lesson you're both obviously lacking." The two bit their tongues. "Instead, I'm sure a deduction of ten house points will be sufficient."

George sent Angelina a stare which could only read: I told you so. "Do you have the potion?" Snaped queried.

"Yeah." Answered George before rummaging through his robe pockets and pulling out the small bottle and handing it over.

Snape's gaze dragged over to the girl who resembled a deer caught in the headlights. "Take a seat please, Miss Y/l/n." He told her, but she didn't seem to make any move. Well, that was until George prompted her. Snape kept quiet and unscrewed the potion, sniffing it to search for it's ingredients. "And I wonder, what were you doing with such a potion?"

The twins looked to one another, shared in their expression, before addressing Snape. "Revision, sir." Fred answered.

Snape chose not to comment before taking the potion and beginning to gather what he needed for a remedy. He put it all together, mixed it and then returned and passed the concoction to Y/n. She looked up with doe-eyes, curiously holding the potion she wasn't sure of. "Drink it, Y/n." George encouraged with the nod of his head.

She glanced between him and the drink. She wasn't sure, but for some reason, she found that the boy in front of her was one to be trusted. So she followed his instruction and swallowed it all.

They all nervously anticipated if it were to work or not. They probably should have had trust in their professor, but Snape wasn't the most trustworthy. A moment passed and Y/n showed no sign of returning to her usual self. So George offered his hand to her, "Y/n? How do you feel?" He questioned.

She looked up slowly. She wore an expression that the boy struggled to depict. It seemed relieved, yet there were speckles of irritation written into her pupils. Slowly, she stood from the stool and fully faced George. Before he could even realise what was going on, he was getting gently hit in the chest by the girl, followed by her mutterings, "You idiot, George Weasley! You stupidity amazes me sometimes!" She went on before he caught her fists and a grin spread across his lips.

He quipped his head, "How I've missed you."

[yr-obedt-cicero]

Hello! Sorry for the long ask, but I'm a college student on a budget but enjoy reading about the revolution.

I saw your post about where to find free books, but is there any actual free books that you would recommend? Thank you!

Of course! Just remember to support the author's in some fashion.

John Laurens and the American Revolution, by Gregory D. Massey

The Army correspondence of Colonel John Laurens in the years 1777-8

The Life of Henry Laurens: With a Sketch of the Life of Lieutenant-Colonel John Laurens, by David Duncan Wallace

The Peasant Prince: Thaddeus Kosciuszko and the Age of Revolution, by Alex Storozynski

The intimate life of Alexander Hamilton, by Allan McLane Hamilton

George Washington's First War: His Early Military Adventures, by David Clary

The writings of Thomas Jefferson

1776, by David McCullough

John Adams, by David McCullough

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (8/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out! I've been experimenting using my iPad + keyboard to edit which messed up my coordination on my laptop, if that's any excuse. It's just been hard to edit in this little rut where I can't bear to read what I write, but stick around, things are going to get exciting after this...

(GIF credits to @alicent-targaryen; I have so much trouble properly crediting when the GIF isn't the first in the set, ahh).

CHAPTER 8: Foolishly thinking things would slow down after Charlie moved in with you, you find that you're dead wrong. In fact, he finds a new way to integrate into your life: by attending the highly-anticipated book club meeting your mother had invited you to. But as you watch women flock to him like bees to honey, you find another problem to deal with, one that involves your heart. (6.6k words)

CHAPTER 8: TEA TIME (YOU'RE SO VAIN)

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner, they'd be your partner...

“(Y/N)! Congratulations on the new place—”

“It’s every bit as beautiful as Bill described to us—”

“Perfect for a new couple, truly—”

Fred and George strode through the ajar door while talking amongst themselves as if they were walking into their own place. They displayed absolutely no respect for your sacred space. However, you felt no need to stop them from where you were in the kitchen—you were expecting them on this lovely Friday afternoon. After all, you’d invited them.

George cradled a large, wrapped box. He was strong but you could tell it was heavy by the slight strain in his arms. Fred, conversely, easily held a bottle of wine adorned with a ribbon on the neck.

“Thought we’d bring some housewarming gifts,” George said, setting his present on the counter.

“Had to guess most of it, as you and Charlie didn’t have a registry of any sorts,” Fred quipped, a smug look on his face, proud of his insinuation of you being married.

“Very funny.” You rolled your eyes. “When are you going to give that up? You seem to be the only ones who know the truth, but refuse to acknowledge it.”

You should’ve expected their answer that was given in unison: “Never.” 

“I do appreciate the gifts,” you said earnestly. Underneath their teasing tones, Fred and George were still your greatest friends, and you were appreciative of their generosity.

You laid two palms on the box George had set on your kitchen island. “What’s this?” 

“Open it up and see,” offered George. 

Delicately, you began to unwrap the gift, plucking the tape off and careful not to rip the paper. 

“Save us the anticipation and just rip it open, will you?” Fred suggested, finishing off his remark with an animalistic shake of his head, like he was a lion tearing his prey’s flesh. The prey being your present.

“I’ve been conditioned not to do that,” you explained with a gentle sigh, recalling all your mother’s scoldings when you used to tear into presents as a child. When you set the edges of the wrapping paper down, you beamed at what was in the box. “An espresso machine! Really, Georgie?”

George nodded proudly. “Figured you’d need your coffee first thing in the morning.”

You enveloped him in a warm hug. “Oh, you know me so well.”

George rolled up his sleeves. “I‘ll get it set up,” he offered.

“And I’ve procured some wine for when you need a sleeping aid,” Fred added.

“Thank you,” you responded. “ Now I’ll have my morning and nights covered.”

Fred placed a hand on your shoulder and gently guided you away. “Let’s see Charlie’s room.”

You stiffened. How many times and to how many people were you going to have to explain this one? “It’s not his room.”

“Then what is it?” Fred queried innocently.

“It’s a guest bedroom.”

“We can debate the semantics of the love lair”—Fred had to suppress a laugh when your face contorted menacingly, and even George tried to stifle his laugh—“ but for now, give me and Georgie a tour of the this lovely place, will you?”

When the two jests had finally left after dinner, you closed the door and leaned against it. Fred and George’s footsteps faded with each passing second. You drew a deep breath. After the initial onslaught of visitors, being alone felt splendid. 

You lit a candle and began drawing a bath when you returned to the bathroom. Stripped away were the comforts of Dobby’s aid and you were left alone to your devices. You were off to a good start and you were going to prove you could manage just fine. You submerged yourself in the hot water to wash the grime and the weight of workweek away. 

When you were clean and dry, you slipped into a silk nightgown, the one with thin straps that hung over your shoulders and whose hem just covered your thighs. It was by far the comfiest because of how little material there was. You walked into the kitchen to fetch yourself a glass of water but not without admiring your space shrouded in moonlight first. The only thing keeping you from touching a blanket of stars were your windows. The flowers you’d received from the move-in were still in full bloom, the steel from George’s espresso machine gleamed, and your couch was plush and cozy. 

It was lovely and inviting. You didn’t regret moving out at all, no matter how difficult the circumstances were initially.

“So this is what freedom feels like,” you hummed. You loved the feeling of wearing and doing anything you wanted—you were the master of the house. 

You then ambled back to your bedroom. You set the glass down and walked over to the window to appreciate another view of the city—something you didn’t get back at home. Your eyes found the dome structure of King’s Cross station immediately. Hues of yellow and magenta surrounded the space to guide passengers and it stuck out like a sore thumb in the silence of the night.

You shut your curtains and crawled into bed.  You wondered how Charlie was doing, if his train was timely and if the ride was comfortable. As you fell asleep, you hoped the answer was ‘yes, it was.’

You didn’t know what time it was when a light roused you. Your mind was still clouded with sleep and you had just the slightest bit of consciousness. A weak beam of light seeped out from below the bathroom door. You heard the running of the tap and the bristling of a toothbrush on teeth. 

When the bathroom light flickered off, a new one flickered on. This one was more faint, further from you. 

“Wow.” 

That was all you heard before the second light shut off. You were far too deep in sleep to inquire about what you were seeing or hearing. Probably ghosts of Charlie floating about, taunting you and luring you into wicked, unthinkable dreams. 

When you fully roused in the morning, you rubbed your eyes. The feeling of complete rest tingled pleasantly in your body. You walked over to the window where blackout curtains shielded you from the sunlight. You swung them open and let the light filter in, illuminating every crevice of your new bedroom. You walked into your washroom to brush your teeth, wash your face, and to tame your hair. 

Remembering that George had generously gifted you an espresso machine, you hurried out of your room to get a sip of that sweet substance. 

The first thing you saw when you exited your bedroom was a black topcoat hanging from the rack. Below it, mounted by the wall, was a pair of slightly scuffed leather boots. Fred and George left with all their belongings, so the coat and shoes couldn’t have been theirs. Your heart skipped a beat and fear consumed your body: there was an intruder in the house. 

The most rational thing to do would be to bolt out the front door and to call security for help and enlist someone more qualified to dispose of the intruder. But pride got the best of you, and you decided you weren’t a damsel in distress who needed saving anymore. It could’ve been Fred or George coming back to play an elaborate prank on you. And when you fell for it, they’d never let you live it down. And the concierge would never let in an unauthorized visitor, so yes, obviously, there was nothing to worry about. 

The only issue was that your wand was in the living room, shredding any chance of self -defence. Instead, you grabbed a metal shoe horn and tiptoed quietly down the hall to the kitchen where you could hear sounds of someone being there: a barstool squeaking, the kettle steaming, and some humming. The bass notes of a man’s voice wasn’t clicking in your memory. Now, you were starting to doubt it was Fred or George.

It was too late to retreat. “Get back!” you yelled with ferocity. You hated to admit, but you’d squeezed your eyes shut so you were waving a shoe horn aimlessly. How you passed Defence Against the Dark Arts was a mystery indeed.

When you heard nothing, and felt no signs of you being murdered, you opened your eyes.

This was no thief or intruder.

It was Charlie.

He playfully threw up both his arms in surrender, teabag in one hand, and pretended to fall backwards, tailbone digging into the kitchen counter. 

You set down your weapon. “What are you doing here?”

He flicked the tag off his tea bag with his thumb, then let out a low whistle. “I think the question you mean to ask is, what are you wearing?”

Charlie’s question echoed in your head as embarrassment stirred up inside you. What were you wearing, exactly?

You looked down for the answer: a thin-strapped silk dress that barely covered your shoulders and thighs. Well, all that while brandishing your favourite accessory: the shoe horn.

“Is that how you win your duels? By distracting your opponent?” he asked. 

You were so infatuated and caught up with the idea of independence that you had forgotten that Charlie had a key and that he was staying over. Combined with the adrenaline of thinking that there was someone in the house, you might as well have had amnesia. His presence did corroborate with the lights and voices you heard last night. Oh shit, come to think of it, he did warn you he was coming over before he departed on Wednesday, but in the mess of things like his and Bill’s untimely appearance and Alicia’s fervent teasing, you’d forgotten.

“This is just what I sleep in!” You were in a right state. Panicked, you tried to make fun of him. Maybe he would lose some of that unbreakable composure. “Don’t you sleep in the same thing? If the rumours are true, that is.”

Charlie chuckled lowly, his laughter rising in volume. “Are you seriously asking me what I sleep in?” he responded. “(Y/N), your mind is a literal cesspool.”

You didn’t want to give off the impression of being embarrassed, so you walked on into the kitchen like nothing happened. “I think I know the answer, based on your deflection,” you mumbled as you settled in the spot beside him. “You can sleep in whatever you like, Charlie, I won’t judge you.”

“I was going to say I often wear much less,” he added in a husky half-whisper by your earlobe.

Oh.

You hand squeezed the metal handle of the espresso portafilter. The coffee wasn’t going to be the only thing steaming in here. You didn’t dare turn your head. You could imagine the handsome smirk at the things he was making you think: Charlie and his naked torso covered in a sheen of sweat, languidly moving under the covers, each hard ridge of muscle skimming the sheets… “Well, that’s just dandy for you, isn’t it?”

“Do I detect a trace of sarcasm?” Charlie pouted, looking down at you. He gave you a nudge. “Need I remind you that you asked me first?”

You kept your mouth shut and fiddled with the top of the espresso grinder instead. It didn’t come off easily, so you tried to pry it off with your nail. When it felt like the grinder was going to take off your nail instead, you gave up.

“Have you made coffee before?” Charlie questioned. His larger hand enveloped the top and twisted it off with ease. 

You seethed silently. 

Charlie continued, unbothered by your lack of response: “I was thinking we could grab breakfast first and discuss how to use the espresso machine after.”

Charlie’s offer was sounding pretty scrumptious. You needed a jolt of caffeine stat if you were going to make it through the rest of the day. 

“Fine,” you conceded quickly, shutting the machine off. “Lead the way.”

“Are you going to get changed first?” Charlie snickered. “It’s a bit nippy for that little number, isn’t it?”

You grabbed the shoehorn from the island. “If you aren’t careful, this shoehorn will meet your head.”

His mouth twisted in a way that made your heart flutter. “Whoa, you’re pretty intimidating for someone so small.”

Beautiful, crooked words.

“I’m really not just saying it for show,” you warned. 

Charlie stepped back, face full of feigned fear. “I’ll believe it.”

You huffed and turned around.

“When I see it,” he added quickly.

You nearly stomped back to your room to change.

“So, if I am staying over Friday night, I’d like to keep some eggs in the fridge and bread in the pantry, at the very least. I get pretty peckish right after I wake up.”

Charlie was explaining his terms and conditions to you on the way back from the cafe where you enjoyed a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. You were grateful you kept your attire simple—a white shirt over some flowy culottes and a trench coat—because you would’ve felt ridiculous setting foot into a homey family establishment dressed otherwise. Charlie even had a long chat with the owners, a married couple in their late sixties who’d insisted on your meal being on the house. 

After breakfast, you’d forgiven him for his teasing and stopped by the grocers to pick up some pantry staples. Charlie cradled a paper bag in one arm and looped a bag of tangerines around the other. Despite all this grocery juggling, he held the door for you as you made your way to the lift and continued to talk about his favourite topic: breakfast.

“Of course you can,” you replied.

“I appreciate you being alright with it. After all, there’s a decent amount of space in your fridge. Do you even cook?”

You reddened. “I only moved in two days ago. I haven’t had the time to—”

“Hm.” He cocked his head as the lift ascended. “Not much of an excuse given the rest of the space looks so furnished.”

“Fred and George came over for dinner last night with takeaway,” you retorted.

Charlie made a strangled noise. “I wasn’t invited?”

“You were at Hogwarts,” you reminded him.

He laughed. “It’s the thought that counts. The notion of me being invited. I thought you Malfoys were all about keeping up appearances.”

“You seem to know very little, Charlie,” you said as you opened the door, “about Malfoys.”

“You’re killing me today, (Y/N),” he said. He set his paper bag down and began organising his purchases on the island. “I didn’t take you to be so mean.”

You froze midway through taking off your trench coat. “I am not mean.”

He placed a carton of eggs in the icebox. “So, so, mean.”

You opened your mouth to say something but your words caught in your throat. You decided not to entangle yourself in the web that was Charlie’s teasing though it felt nice that he was so concentrated on you, and that he kept the conversation going. You sauntered over to the bookshelf instead and plucked out one of Madame Millicent’s books. You turned to the page you’d bookmarked, knee-deep in learning how to knead the most buttery and flaky pie crust. It would’ve been a really mundane topic, but this Millicent woman used such vivid descriptors that you could practically taste the decadence in your mouth. 

“What’s this?” Charlie asked, walking towards the sectional.

“Something I’m reading for a book club.” Oh, shit. You really had to get going on those Madame Millicent books. The date for the afternoon tea was fast approaching and each second brought you closer to a due date of less than a week. 

“Hm.” Charlie plucked a book out from beside the empty space, flipped to a random page, and began reading aloud. “Create a vacuum around his appendage. Use your tongue to stroke the tip of him. This is his most sensitive region. Make sure to gently lap any juices. Remember to engage in eye contact with him. Your eyes will be his undoing.” Charlie looked up. “Did you know that, (Y/N)? You may be on your knees or writhing under him, but you are the temptress with control, he is your subordinate.

You blanked out and blinked at Charlie. “What?”

“Is this what you’re discussing at your book club?” Charlie asked, handing you the book. His fingers touched the header. “Oral sex in flowery prose?”

You frowned. “You made that up.”

“I didn’t, but I’m flattered you think I write so well.”

You grabbed the book from him and looked to where he had been narrating from. To your horror, these were the exact words he’d read, except the addition of your name when he tried to get your attention. “I didn’t know it was about… this. It was supposed to be about female empowerment.” You looked at the book you were initially reading, confusion splayed all over your face. “Or at least her first title was?”

You skimmed your fingers over the textured spine where ‘Madame Millicent: Pleasing the Patriarchy’ was deeply embroidered. Well, this radiated a completely different persona than ‘Madame Millicent: Maître de la Maison.”

“Of course you didn’t, Miss Malfoy,” Charlie said with a snicker. “Wait until your father hears about what you’re reading now that you live all alone.”

You scoffed. “Actually, my mother was the one who recommended it.”

Charlie cleared his throat very audibly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with him.

Charlie shook his head. “Not the fair maiden, Narcissa Malfoy. She would never muddle her name with such sacrilegious affairs.” He stopped when a new train of thought struck him. “But that’d give our mothers a mutual topic to talk about, if they ever met.”

You eyed him curiously. Was he implying the saintly Molly Weasley indulged in erotica? Feeling awkward, you continued to talk about the book club.

“Well, Charlie,” you started, about to shatter his misconceptions about your mother.  “My mother is part of the book club that Madame Millicent is speaking at next week. She’s invited me as well, hence why I’m reading her titles. And you’ll find that lonely housewives adore books like these.”

“Seriously?” Charlie’s eyes lit up delightfully. “You get to meet the temptress in person?” he asked excitedly. “Can I come, too?”

“Why would you want to do that?” You snapped your book shut. “There won’t be a single man there.”

“Why, (Y/N), because I’m extremely well-read. And I care deeply for female empowerment, especially in the brazen manner Madame Millicent portrays it.”

You cocked your head and narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. “Really?” You shook the book he was holding. “Or just this title in particular?”

He eyed you curiously, a smirk spreading across his face. “I’ll have all these titles finished by next week.”

“You shouldn’t overestimate your ability to read through all this, it’s quite a bit.”

“Oh, I know my limits,” Charlie affirmed. “I’ll see you at this afternoon tea.”

“You really read through it all?” you asked Charlie, voice thick with doubt, as you walked on the cobblestone entrance. 

Tea was to be hosted this afternoon at a venue your mother had written to you about. It was such a lovely place, green and whimsical, and its dreamy appearance befit its claim as a popular wedding destination. Evergreen shrubs, touched with the slightest amount of morning dew and rain, lined the path you and Charlie were taking. It had rained earlier this morning when the both of you were getting dressed in your apartment. 

“(Y/N),” Charlie started. “We read all day yesterday. All day. You didn’t even let me take a washroom break.”

That was true. He’d gotten back from Hogwarts late Friday evening, slipped into his room, and woke up before you to work the espresso machine for the two of you. Then, you got right to it. You had both claimed the opposite ends of the sectional and read through the rest of the titles in preparation for today. Charlie seemed content to spend his Saturday with you, and you were elated when he nestled into the couch and made no plans to leave. He did head back late Saturday evening to the Burrow, but came back this morning to dress for the event. 

You had Charlie for a full weekend, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought of it.

“I had to oversee you reading the other two titles,” you teased. “Seeing you were so affixed on Pleasing on Patriarch.”

”It’s what I know best. I’m sure Millicent and I will have colourful discussions on it.”

You were received by a dapper little house elf in a bowtie at the front door who guided you through the hallway inside the mansion, then helped you down the back down some stone steps, before leading you into the gardens. It didn’t seem sensible or at all seasonable for afternoon tea to be hosted outside this time of year, but a warming spell that arced across the pavilion kept the women at the round table warm. The trees were blazing with hues of red and orange, nearly ready to shrivel and die as soon as the temperature dipped any further. At least they provided some colour in contrast to the dull, grey skies. 

“How are you feeling? Cold?” Charlie asked. He fiddled with the collar of your tweed cardigan that you’d layered over a long dress.

You perked quickly at his concern for you and the brush of his finger near your neck. His touch was the only thing that was shiver-inducing. “I feel fine. What about you?”

”I’m at the perfect temperature,” he said as he adjusted his suit. He was wearing an outfit a touch toned down from when you had dinner with your parents. While you liked his bedhead and the mess of curls that he usually sported, you had to admit that he was unusually beautiful when he tamed his hair. It drew attention to the sharp juts of his jaw and cheekbones that were usually hidden.

The two of you continued down the steps and the further you got, the more the stunning set up came into view. A round table was constructed in the centre of the gardens. A tablecloth decorated in rich autumn hues—deep red and gold—draped over it. The centrepiece which consisted of candles, pumpkins, and a leafy wreath snaked around the middle.

“Charlie!”

You both looked up.

This voice did not belong to your mother. It didn’t belong to anyone you were particularly familiar with.

But when a grey-haired woman stood up, you could pinpoint exactly who’d called.

“Mrs. Cromwell!” Charlie responded first.

“Cecile!” she yelled in cheery correction, still a ways away from the base of the steps. She lifted herself from the chair, gloved hands by her side to help with her balance, and ambled as quickly as her old age would take her to where you and Charlie were standing. Charlie, not wanting an elderly lady to walk unsteadily to him, ran over and you followed. Cecile gracefully extended her arm as if pulling him over. Time had softened her bones and compressed some cartilage, and she seemed very, very small next to Charlie. “Remember me?”

“How could I forget?” Charlie chuckled, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Cecile giggled at his show of chivalry. 

As the twosome continued their conversation, you caught your mother beckoning you over with a glance. You left Charlie and Cecile and shuffled over.

“Why did you bring him?” Narcissa whispered, pulling you in by the arm. “I thought I made the invitation exclusive to you.”

“I informed you in a letter, mother,” you rebutted. 

“And I responded saying there were no extra seats at this function. It is extremely exclusive, (Y/N).” Narcissa’s tone was sharp and stern. “Charlie absolutely cannot be accommodated.”

“Okay,” you said. “Then I’ll leave.”

”You are not leaving,” Narcissa insisted in a harsh whisper. “Madame Millicent is expecting you.”

You looked back up to where Mrs. Cromwell was leading Charlie back to the round table, a funny sight indeed seeing that Charlie had no issues ambulating, but Mrs. Cromwell was roleplaying a nurse supporting an elderly patient at St Mungos.

“Mrs. Cromwell certainly seems to want him here,” you muttered through your teeth. “She’d happily let him take her place.”

Narcissa let out a long, hopeless sigh, and her hands lifted to rub at her temples. “I kindly ask you to ask him to leave.”

”But—”

“Good afternoon, ladies,” a voice called out from the back of the house. Twelve heads spun around to the lady standing at the top of the steps. She was short, slightly stocky in nature, and cloaked in beautiful deep purple robes. Her greying hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head. Her features were foxy and homely, and if you didn’t have the context that you did as to who she was, you’d never have guessed she was Madame Millicent. 

Her house elf scrambled in front of her. “Ladies,”—he glanced at Charlie—“and gentleman, may I present to you, Madame Millicent?”

Everyone at the table stood up as Millicent proceeded down the same steps you and Charlie had just taken.  

“Who do we have here?” Millicent called out, fixated on Charlie whose arm now permanently belonged to Mrs. Cromwell.

”Charlie Weasley, madame.”

”Weasley?” she questioned with a quirk of a well-groomed eyebrow. “Now, where have I heard that before?”

Your breath caught.

Narcissa gave you a pointed look and shook her head slowly. If Madame Millicent hated the Weasleys a fraction of the amount your parents did, you’d truly come to regret inviting Charlie.

”Now I know why that sounds so familiar!” Millicent exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together with glee. “Molly Weasley. Is that your mother?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes.”

”Such a small world we live in, don’t we?” Millicent continued. “She came to my last book signing and we had a chat about my recipes that lasted over an hour. Such a lovely woman, so lovely. I reckon I’ll be looking to her for advice on homemaking for my next book. A powerful woman, too, raised seven kids, if I remember correctly, and put them all through school.” She looked up Charlie up and down. “She forgot to mention how handsome her son was.” 

“Handsome? Wait until you see my older brother,” Charlie said, brushing off a compliment for the first time you’d witnessed.

Charlie’s comment certainly piqued Mrs. Cromwell’s interest. She looked up at him with an inquisitive look while Millicent did a quick assessment of the available seats and frowned.

“Well, that just won’t do,” Millicent tutted. “Gibbly, fetch me another seat for Mr. Weasley. He can be seated right next by me.”

Gibbly, Millicent’s house elf, dashed back inside the house to retrieve a chair. You and Narcissa just looked on with astounded expressions (like mother, like daughter). Neither of you expected Millicent would be so taken by Charlie. 

“You could’ve given me that honour, Millie,” Mrs. Cromwell huffed with a displeased expression. “I wouldn’t mind sitting next to him.” When Millicent just smiled, you relaxed. It must’ve been an old joke between friends, you reckoned. 

After Charlie was seated, tea had made its rounds. You stirred your earl grey with trepidation, knowing your mother was looking on, ensuring you were following good tea etiquette. You’d stirred for close to two minutes, preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse of Charlie. You were seated left of Narcissa, so six seats from Charlie which was six seats too far and at a very odd angle. 

“I want to get to know the unfamiliar faces in this room. Would you mind introducing yourself, love?” Millicent was staring at you.

You set your spoon down. “I’m (Y/N) Malfoy,” you said. “I’m Narcissa’s daughter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“Of course, I should’ve known,” Millicent said with a smile. “I can see your mother in you, but you take after your father so well.” 

You almost retched. 

Then, she turned to Charlie. “And what brings you here today, Charlie? I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.”

“Actually, (Y/N) was the reason I came today.”

Millicent leaned in. “Really?”

“Her interest in your writing rubbed off on me,” Charlie explained. “I was thrilled to have the opportunity to meet you in person. Take it as you will, but I was quite literally on my knees to be here today.”

You squinted. Was that… a patch of red spreading on Millicent’s cheeks?

“Well,” Millicent chirped happily. “Let’s start our discussions then.”

The first part of the discussion focussed on her first two titles, Maître de La Maison and Tips for the Domesticated Witch. Women around the table praised her recipes and how the results were always a hit with all their guests at functions they hosted. You nibbled quietly at a cucumber sandwich as the conversation droned on, having nothing of substance to offer. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed very interested, and even asked questions: “Millicent, precisely, how important is the bain-marie method for a perfect cheesecake?”

“Now,” Millicent said suddenly with a clap. “Let’s move on to what I know you ladies are really here for.”

A wave of giggles chorused through the pavilion. You looked to your mother for solidarity, but she remained tight-lipped and looked displeased. Well, there was only one last book left to discuss…

“I wish I could’ve attended an earlier session, but I was touring Northern Europe for the release of Pleasing the Patriarchy all summer. I’m delighted to be back in England to discuss my latest bestseller with you.”

“And I wish Chuck was still here to witness all my learnings through that book,” Mrs. Cromwell added in a serious tone. “You couldn’t have finished that book any earlier, Millie?” Her quip earned a round of subdued laughs. 

“Well, as I say to every woman, it’s never too late,” Millicent assured. “I reckon a steady dose of intercourse will keep all of us healthy and young on all accounts.”

”Trust me, I know,” Mrs. Cromwell said. “But I find men my age are so selfish and well-worn in their ways. I’m from a cursed generation where a woman’s pleasure was always secondary to her husband’s.”

“And it’s so awful,” Millicent agreed. “But you’re a crafty woman, Cecile. You must know a way around such a dated practice.”

Mrs. Cromwell made a face like the answer was obvious. “Of course, I only entertain the younger men now.”

An unabashed chorus of laughter erupted from the table this time. Mrs. Cromwell sent a wrinkled wink at Charlie, who smiled back. 

“Speaking of younger men,” Madame Millicent changed the topic and looked to Charlie, “It’s fate that we have one of those here today. What do you think of the advice laid out in my latest release?”

“You’re still talking about Pleasing the Patriarchy, correct?” Charlie repeated.

“Yes.” Millicent nodded. “I’ve consulted a fair share of men as preliminary research, but I’m curious as to what you think of it, the feasibility and authenticity of the tips, that is, if you could comment on both.”

“Well,” Charlie started, leaning back in his seat, “I reckon your advice is fabulous, very feasible. You’ve really captured the steps precisely. Put it in better words than I ever could.”

“Hm.” Millicent seemed mighty proud of herself. “And have you been able to integrate these tips in the bedroom?”

“Ah,” Charlie stalled, his breath catching in his throat in another historical first. What happened to the ever-so-confident Charlie Weasley you’ve come to know? He cast you a quick glance. You imagined his hesitation was due to the fact that your mother was right beside you, and he was being lightly coerced to talk about his sex life despite keeping things as vague as possible until this point. The only people in the room who knew about you and Charlie were your mother and Mrs. Cromwell; you weren’t certain Millicent or the twelve others had connected the dots.  

If Narcissa weren’t here, he might’ve been more adventurous in his answer. He shifted his attention back to Millicent in a flash; the untrained eye wouldn’t have sensed any hesitation. “Of course. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for self-improvement.”

“How considerate of you,” Mrs. Cromwell added with a dreamy, longing sigh. 

“Very much so,” solidified Millicent.

“Millicent, what do we do if our husbands are so consumed in their work at the Ministry that they won’t even pay us the time of day when they get home?” a younger woman in her thirties, draped in a dark teal shawl, piped up. Her seat-mate nodded in agreement. “I don’t even have the opportunity to practise anything I read. I’m so terribly frustrated, Millicent.”

“Sadly, that’s not out of the ordinary,” Millicent consoled, sympathy written on her face. “Has he always been so detached, Anna?”

“Ever since we’ve started living together, it’s as if the passion has faded.”

Millicent nodded. “Through my research, there are a number of things that decimate passion in the bedroom: children, work, and moving in together. When you move in together, you sacrifice the feelings of excitement and mystery that fuelled the passion and intimacy at the beginning of your relationship. We tend to absorb our roles as homemaker or a mother and less of a sexual partner.”

Anna sighed.

“Charlie, do you live alone?” Millicent queried. 

“I live with (Y/N),” Charlie answered without missing a beat. “Most days, anyways.”

Millicent’s mouth rounded. Mrs. Cromwell leaned in suspiciously at this revelation. Likely, her head was whirring around the fact that you spent time with Charlie in the bedroom. 

“And if you’re comfortable sharing,” Millicent asked in such a delicate but firm manner that you know she’d definitely prodded like this before, “what fluctuations in your physical relationship have you experienced since moving in?”

“I reckon everything’s stayed the same,” Charlie mused, his eyes brooding in deep thought, “or honestly, at an increased frequency.”

Both you and your mother immediately turned as red as the sugar-glazed strawberries on the tart on the serving tray. Your mother coughed, the insinuation that Charlie had punched into the conversation—that you and him had sex—interfering with her ability to masticate. You buried your head down to evade curious glances and looked down at the table cloth. Wow, has crocheting always yielded such beautiful results?

Millicent leaned her face into the palms of her hand. “Why do you think that is?”

“Well, as you said, we shouldn’t forget our roles as partners. And with a partner so beautiful, it’s not hard.”

You were mortified. You thought about asking Gibbly to help you dig a hole into the ground so you could block out all the chatter about your fictitious sex life.

“Well, my love,” Millicent redirected her attention to Anna, “here’s what I think you can do to bring back the spark in the bedroom….”

An hour later, afternoon tea was nearing an end. Gibbly cleared out the trays and teacups as you followed the other woman on the trail back into the manor. Charlie stood back with Mrs. Cromwell by a gate. This old woman and her spindly claws just weren’t going to let go of him! Your eyes followed his body as he leaned down, almost on his knees to listen to what she was whispering to his ear, a corner of his mouth pulled up in handsome amusement. 

‘She’s probably inviting him to her bed!’ you thought. 

“(Y/N),” Narcissa called, gently pulling at your arm. “Let’s go somewhere private to have a chat.”

“Sure,” you responded, walking with your mother northward but eyes still on Charlie southward. 

As you walked, you felt a sharp tug on your heart when Anna skipped over, teal dress grazing the grass, to join in on Charlie and Mrs. Cromwell’s conversation. Charlie’s smile was as friendly as ever as he chatted with a married woman who’d loudly and publicly announced she was lonely—practically a mating call if you’d ever heard one. He couldn’t be so deaf or stupid to ignore that, could he? 

You felt forgotten even though Charlie made such a grand display of you being his partner.

You almost tripped over a divot in the ground, but you couldn’t stop staring at what was unfolding behind you. It reminded you of his chummy conversation with Mallory at the bar, him never brushing off Mrs. Cromwell’s forward advances, Millicent praising his looks and asking him invasive questions, and now Anna giggling at him. If he could be so forthcoming with all these random women in front of you, how many of them was he charming behind your back? All while crawling his way to sharing the same apartment as you?

But it didn’t matter, did it? Your chest felt heavy at the realization that he wasn’t doing anything immoral or wrong. If you were together, you’d be well within your rights to be suspicious. Factually, you were the one who tangled him in this ruse, and the only credit you could give yourself was that it got a little more complicated and spindly than you could handle. So, you forced yourself to swallow the apprehension about the women in Charlie’s life the best you could. 

Narcissa led you over to a more secluded part of the garden where only the trees could hear your conversation. And you were going to be glad for it. 

“Is it true?” Narcissa prodded.

“What’s true?”

“What Charlie said?”

“He said a lot of things,” you reminded her. “But yes, mother, the bain-marie method will yield a better-tasting cheesecake.” 

“No,”—Narcissa shook her head—“about your sexual activity.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed in a whisper. You leaned out to make sure Charlie hadn’t come any closer. “I’d prefer if we discussed it later, or never at all, especially as it was already dissected in front of everyone.”

“I understand,” she said. “It’s a difficult topic, but I regret not sitting you down when you were younger, I truly do, (Y/N). It was a failure on my part. I had your father talk to Draco about these matters, but I need to make sure you’re taking care of your reproductive health before something unwanted happens.

“Of course I am!” you promised. “You needn’t worry about it.” Because we aren’t in a relationship. We aren’t having sex.

You wanted out of here. This conversation and the charades that followed didn’t feel exciting anymore. It now felt empty and wrong. It was a chore, trying to keep in line with what Charlie had announced, and you were certain he didn’t put a single care behind his words to you. 

“Well, it would give me peace of mind if you made an appointment with our Healer. There are many options for contraception nowadays, much more than when I was a young witch.”

“Contra—”

“It doesn’t have to be at the first appointment, but Healer Tousignant will go over your options and you should take some time to decide what works best for you. I promise, she is excellent at what she does. And I won’t ask anything of it afterwards.”

You skimmed through all the options in your head. If you refused Narcissa’s offer, you’d be subject to more questions about your sexual health, and who knows what inopportune place she’d choose to talk about it next? In front of your cousins during Christmas in Switzerland? In the middle of Diagon Alley? At dinner where Draco and your father would be present?

If you just accepted the appointment, you could conceal the fact you weren’t in Charlie’s bed (despite a naughty crevice of your brain that controlled your dreams hoping you were). 

A dull pain interlaced with the beat of your heart at the possibility of that person not being you. Reality told you it wasn’t going to be. It could be Mallory, Mrs. Cromwell, Millicent, Anna— 

“Fine,” you agreed with a forced smile. “Tell me when, and I’ll be there.”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!)

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

ONE OF THESE

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!reader Summary: George talks about 'one of these' Warnings: mention of the war, marriage, George's lost ear

you admired as the newly wedded couple danced their first dance

you smiled as Bill twirled Fleur around, staring at her with love

in the corner of your eye, you noticed a tall ginger step beside you, clapping along with the crowd to the music

as people began to go onto the dance floor to dance along, he leaned down to talk to you

"wanna dance?"

you looked up at him and noticed his hand outreached for you to take

you beamed as you took his hand "sure"

he took you to the dance floor and placed his hands on your hips

you lifted your arms up and rested them over his shoulders as he swayed you both to the music.

after a while of silence between the two of you, he decided to speak up

"your dress is nice"

you smiled in amusement "4 other women are wearing the same dress?"

the bridesmaid dress was a washed out type of purple-blue that matched with all the other maids.

"yeah but you look the prettiest in it" he winked

you giggled and shook your head

silence fell between you once again and his grip on your hips had all so gently tightened, barely noticable

he had been your groomsmen pair, the one you walked down the aisle with, but he was also one of your closest friends

but tonight, you didn't really feel like his friend, you're not sure what it was, but there was an awkward tension between the two of you, everything seemed a bit different.

"it's a real great wedding, yeah?" he cleared his thoat

"yeah, shame of the timing and all though, but yeah" you nodded, looking up at him, examining the bandage that wrapped around his head, covering up his 'ear' that had been blown off the night prior.

"hm, I think it's a good time, you never know what will happen" he shrugged

you considered the idea and tilted your head "good point, but then what happens if the war actually does break out and something happens to one of them? no that i think it will but-"

"-death do them part" he cut you off

you made eye contact with George when he stated that

"so, do you want one of these?" he asked curiously

"one of what?" you frowned

"weddings" he said simply

of course you did, ever since you were a little girl you had envisioned a massive wedding with the man of your dreams.

however, years later, you now doubted the existence of this dream man

"obviously, but, you know, you need to meet 'the one' first, and i'm not finding him anytime soon" you looked in the distance, at other couples dancing around you, including bill and fleur

they looked perfect for each other, they are perfect for each other

"who says you haven't already?" George insinuated

"I know I haven't" you rolled your eyes "what about you? do you want one of these?" you chuckled, teasing his wording

"of course i want to get married, but I'm afraid my future wife wouldn't want me" he smiled sadly, changing up the dancing as the song changed

"of please" you rolled your eyes "who wouldn't want you, George? you'd make a great husband, she, wherever she may be, is lucky"

he gazed down at you and smiled gently, looking at you softly

"you think so?" he questioned

"yeah" you whispered

"sorry? what was that? i can't exactly hear hear you over the music and my one ear" he lightly chuckled

you weren't there last night with him when it happened, but you were at the burrow, waiting for everyone to come home

and when you saw him come home, you almost passed out from the look of him, unconscious with blood all over him

however, you had fought the urge to throw up and ended up taking care of him.

"right, sorry" you knotted your eyebrows together, remebering the sight of him on the couch, barely awake

"so, 'the one' ay?" he queried

"what about it?" you smiled before accidentally stepped on him shoes and letting out a mumbled sorry

"do you reckon these two are each others 'the one'?" he motioned over to the newly wedded couple

"if they weren't, i don't think they'd be here now" you sighed, watching them dance happily

"well, they met when they were near our age, reckon you'll meet yours soon?" he smirked

you stepped on his shoe again and giggled

"what's the point? the war is soon, not really the time to find love" you gulped at the mention of the war, it was an understatement to say you were scared of what was nearing, but at the end of the day, it was happening no matter what, so there's no point in being terrified of your future, because it's your future.

"i think it's the perfect time, perfect time to show and tell someone you love them" he tilted his head at your comment

"oh yeah? so you're looking for your one?" you raised your eyebrows

"no need to look, i've already found them" he said simply

"oh yeah? why aren't you with her then?" you teased with a smirk

"she's not looking for love right now" he sighed

"what a shame..for you. what is she doing if she's not with you then?" you wondered as you accidentally stepped on him again

"mostly stepping on someone's shoes" he laughed lowly

"her and me both" you shook your head, obliviously

as the song changed, he took a hand off your hip and took one of your hands off hi shoulder, holding it out to the side

"yeah, that and being a bit clueless"

"clueless about what?" you looked up at him

"clueless about my feelings about her, clearly" he clicked his tongue

you licked your dry lips in thought "well maybe she does know but she hasn't said anything cause she's not looking for love right now"

he only shook his head in response before silence fell between you both once again

"no, she has no idea, even though everyone else we know tells me it's obvious" he started again hastily

"do you think she wants to know?" you questioned

"i don't know, do you think she would?" he asked back as he slowed his dancing

"well you said it yourself, you might not be able to tell her later on, so why wait? give her the love while you can" you encouraged him with a smile, feeling a tightness swell up in your stomach

"so you think i should tell her she's the one for me?" he looked into your eyes

"i do" you confirmed

"well, might wanna buckle up for this news, love" he took a deep breath

you frowned, trying to figure out what he meant by that

"i wanna have one of these with you" he motioned to the whole wedding "you're the one for me, love. i know that, 100 percent, you're my one, you are 'the one' for me, i know it"

you stopped dancing and let go of his hand, making him let go too, wondering if he messed up

"what?" you blinked

"i love you, you're the one for me and i've known that for years" he smiled sadly

"and it took you a war to admit that?" you blushed

"you never know what what will happen, i'd rather admit my feelings and something happen than never admit them and not be able to"

"if this were anyone else, i wouldn't be saying this...but i want one of these" you motioned to the wedding "with you too"

"well, i'll make sure we get one" he winked

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

i don't know how i feel about this one

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hey I was wondering if you could write a little something about being on tour with George and Max like how max has Andrew with him no worries if not love your writing x

oh, imagine all the mischief they'd get up to... :'))

george loves it.

he loves waking up and seeing yn in the crew bunk opposite him on the tour bus, wearing an oversized t-shirt from their merch collection, curled up underneath the blanket she'd brought to add to her home comforts on the bus. he loves cosying up with her on the sofa in the made-up living space area, munching on snacks that they would buy from the service stations they stop at on the way to each location, as they watch the world go by on their travels to the next tour location. he loves getting to stay up late with her after each show is finished, talking nonsense and having the bus to themselves as max has his snooze in the bedroom at the end. there's just something relaxing, for him, that helps him wind down after each show with her being right beside him.

she's there during the meet and greets, too.

usually sat in the background or loitering by the set on the stage as she watches the two of them hug or take gifts from those who had brought them something special, and she listens as they say hello to everyone who had paid for tickets to see them before each of the shows. and, every so often, someone would recognise yn and they'd come over and say hello to her and include her in their conversations which she absolutely adores. (and sometimes, they bring gifts just for her and she doesn't know whether to cry on the spot or hug them or do both - which george loves to see happen and he's always standing behind with a massive grin on his face as he watches her interact with his fans).

her and max would be chaos.

they'd constantly 'bicker' over george and during the london show, she would make an appearance on stage with a 'query that she needs help with' and it would simply be about how there's some guy who won't leave her boyfriend alone - much like andrew did at the recent london show at the weekend.

"tonight, we thought we'd welcome a few special guests who have a few issues of their own that we most definitely are qualified to help with," george introduces the next, and final, segment of the london show and it's the time when the audience understands why the two arthur's and herself had been announced as guests for the show, "so, without further ado, can we please welcome onto the stage... our very first guest and my very lovely girlfriend, yn!"

she's met with cheers and blinding lights shining upon her as she steps from behind the wings of the stage and makes herself known to those in the audience. her cheeks heating up, already sweating from the stage lights that were intensely lighting her up, and her legs were like jelly as she with the phone in her hand.

"i'm actually really thankful you guys chose my query," she says into the microphone once the cheers had subsided, "i think it's getting worse and i was in desperate need of some answers."

"and how may we help you, dear yn?"

"you see, my boyfriend is currently on tour with his podcast co-host and i'm pretty certain said co-host has a thing for said boyfriend," she says playfully and max feigns shock, holding his hand to his chest with his mouth gaped open, "he's very forward with advances."

"how forward?" max asks.

"well, i'm currently visiting my boyfriend and there's been times when i come back from the toilet and said co-host is in my place beside him. he likes to cuddle with him a lot, too, which makes me feel very jealous," yn frowns playfully and her brows furrow dramatically and it makes the audience laugh loudly, "i was hoping for some alone time since it's been a while since i've seen him but, i'm scared i'm being replaced unwillingly."

"have you tried anything to stop this?" george asks, trying his best to hold back the laughter that was building up within him, "maybe, we should get our own bus?"

"or, you know, you should just consider the option of a throuple?"

shepherd's bush fills with cheers and claps and george just shakes his head at how max encourages the crowd to go louder with over-the-top hand movements to increase the volume. and yn can't help but giggle as george rolls his eyes.

"a throuple?"

"i'm sure said co-host is happy to share," max looks over at george as george's eyes are trained on yn, smirks on both of their lips, "i mean, if you're happy to share, that is."

"i don't know," yn pretends to think about it, tapping her chin with her finger before she placed both of her hands on her hips, "my boyfriend is very handsome, you see, so i really understand why he's in such demand by this co-host."

"maybe said boyfriend has eyes for his girlfriend and only her?" she hears george say into his microphone as the audience cheers at her previous statement, "have you asked him that? you're very beautiful so maybe he doesn't see what's happening because he's distracted by how you are? maybe he just loves you so much that he can't see what's happening?"

max pretends to gag and yn snickers softly at his actions.

"i don't think my boyfriend would like to hear you say that, george clarke," yn teases and george stands from his seat, walking around the desk he was sat at to stand beside her, "you know what, i think i'm just being silly because the co-host is so gay. unless-"

"nope," george shakes his head and stands beside her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as the crowd coos and cheers at what they were witnessing. and away from the microphone, he whispers, "i love you. nothing to worry about," into her ear and it's enough for her to melt under him.

"give it up for yn, ladies and gents," max grins widely and gives her a theatrical applaud himself, standing up to give her a hug, "i feel so accomplished tonight, we've helped so many people."

and when the show finishes, like she does every night, she joins them as they do a mini meet-and-greet with those who were waiting by the stage door in hopes of seeing them after the show. and she happily takes photos with those who asked her and has conversations with those who ask her questions and want to talk to her opposed to max and george.

it's always fun and the two weeks she spends on tour is something she speaks about for ages.

mini tiktok vlogs on her days spent with them, instagram q&a's about what she got up to and what her favourite night was, posting tweets during the shows as little updates for those that never got tickets. it's like a two week holiday for her and she has the best time. xx

[stray-kaz]

A Personal Experiment : a George Karim x f!reader oneshot

The Gist of This: The one where George knows more than he's letting on about how you feel about him.

This fic is 18 and up. You are responsible for your content intake. You have been forewarned. Characters in this are 18+.

George first noticed it when you were standing at the kitchen bench, effectively blocking him from the overhead cabinet and the glass he wanted. Instead of asking you to move, he just reached up over your head, your nose in the centre of his chest as he stretched upward, his body pressing yours back into the bench. And when he stepped away again, desired glass in hand, and glanced down at your face, he saw dilated pupils and a shade to your skin he had never seen before.

“Sorry, babe” he said, testing.

His quiet, husky voice sent a visible shiver down your spine and he tucked that information away for later. Then you mumbled something about being cold and dashed out of the room, George watching with raised eyebrows and a faint smirk.

“What was that about?” Lockwood asked, glancing over his shoulder as you brushed past him in the hall.

“She fancies me” George announced, pride in every angle.

Lockwood’s eyebrows shot up.

“She does? How can you tell?” he asked, surprised.

George patted him on the shoulder, still smiling.

“Physiology doesn’t lie” he answered. “I hardly touched her and she reacted.”

He sailed out of the kitchen, whistling, forgotten glass still in one hand.

The second time, you were barely awake, so he wasn’t sure it would have mattered who it was, but you arrived home from a case after midnight and collapsed on the couch beside him, immediately keeling over with your head on his lap. Lucy followed, eyeing you with interest.

“Go on, George” she whispered. “She doesn’t bite.”

George scowled at her and then pressed a hand onto your head, gently stroking your hair. When you nuzzled sleepily closer, he looked up at Lucy, scandalised. His knee started to bounce and he bit his bottom lip as he willed his body not to respond. Lucy looked back at him, trying not to laugh.

“I can help you take her to bed if you like?” she suggested.

George nodded frantically and Lucy bit back a grin. She bent and wrapped her arms around your legs and waited for George to secure your upper body before slowly backing towards the doorway. They carried you slowly and carefully up the stairs to the attic room you shared with Lucy, your head lolling against George’s shoulder. Your bed was messy, unmade, making it easy for them to lay you down on it and pull the covers up.

Lucy left quickly, not ready to sleep yet, but as George made to leave, you rolled to your side and snatched at his hand, untidily twining your fingers together with his. He stared down at his hand locked in yours, painted nails vivid against his skin.

“Georgie...” you sighed. “I want...”

But he didn’t get to find out what you wanted because you slipped away from him again. So he gently freed his fingers and tucked your arm under the covers so that you were warm, then he turned out the light and left you to sleep.

In the morning, you remembered nothing.

You had forgotten to buy new washing up gloves, so you were forced to suffer through washing the dishes in soapy water with bare hands. You grimaced as leftover food brushed over your skin, and then George waltzed into the kitchen and over to you.

“Didn’t remember gloves?” he queried, peeking over your shoulder.

“Nope” you muttered, instantly hyper aware of his closeness.

You could smell him, too, as he leaned into your back and hooked his chin onto your shoulder. Books and spice. You inhaled quietly in spite of yourself, but he heard, pressing his grin against your cheek as he kissed you there and the air in your throat stopped moving.

“Need some help?” he asked.

You gave a tiny nod and felt him plaster himself against your back, reach around and shove his hands into the water, quickly finding yours. Your hands stilled as he started to slide soapy water over your fingers, up and down to each knuckle and back up to the fingertip, swirling his fingertips around each pad. Your knees buckled and it was only George’s weight dragging you up against the sink keeping you upright.

Your hands shook under his ministrations, he brushed his lips against the edge of your ear and short circuited your brain.

“You all right there, babe?” he murmured, still playing with your fingers. “You’ve gone awfully quiet and you’ve stopped cleaning.”

He swore he heard you whimper softly, but before he could press his advantage, Lockwood strolled into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“Lunch on its way, George?” he sang out, not at all noticing the tension in the room.

“Hmm” George replied noncommittally.

He released your hands, wiped his off on a tea towel and steadied you, palms smoothing over your hips and waist, before he stepped away to begin the lunch preparation. 

And you stood trembling against the bench, head low as you struggled to take back the composure George had taken from you.

He caught you during a hunt. You had just lashed a Visitor to pieces with a length of chain and then lost your balance, tripping into him, your cheek colliding with his chest. When you straightened, he had one arm around you, his other hand gripping the torch. The glow illuminated your face just enough for him to see your eyes, dark with fear and adrenaline, widen even further. His gaze jumped to the pulse beating rapidly under your jaw and then to your lips as they parted slightly, your own eyes suddenly fixed on his mouth.

“You’re staring, babe” he told you, arching his eyebrows.

You returned to yourself, blood boiling, and rolled your eyes, giving him a brisk shove.

“In your dreams, Karim” you muttered.

His dark eyes glinted in the yellow torchlight.

“Or in yours” he shot back.

You had nothing to say to that, and he wondered if maybe he was right about that, too.

“You have got to stop teasing her” Lucy announced one morning as she sat down hard next to George.

“Why? Her responses are gorgeous” he replied absently, turning a page.

“She has started talking about you in her sleep” Lucy snapped.

That got his attention. He looked over the top of the book with wide eyes.

“She has? What has she been saying?”

“She mumbles about your hair and your eyes, your hands. She is besotted. Do something about it” Lucy told him, sighing heavily.

George looked down at his hands, at the semi permanent ink stains on the pads of his fingers from thousands of books and newspapers.

“My hands?” he murmured, then glanced back at the page he’d been reading. “Actually, that makes sense.”

Lucy ducked over to see the cover and her eyebrows rose sharply.

“That’s hers!” she accused. “You stole one of her books!”

George shrugged.

“Actually, I’ve stolen several” he admitted. 

Lucy plucked the book out of his hands, ignoring the flat-abbed, muscle bound man on the cover and flipping through to a random page about halfway through. She read a few sentences and her eyes widened. George grinned at her.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Lucy snorted.

“You’re a quiet one” she reminded him.

His grin became devious.

“I know.”

He took the book back from her and closed it, sliding it underneath a couch cushion.

“What are you doing with her books anyway?”

He shrugged.

“Research, reconnaissance. I want to know what makes her tick.”

Lucy arched one eyebrow.

“And then what?” she asked him.

George mimicked an explosion with his hands.

“Tick, tick, boom...”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you walked out of the shower and George was lounging against the wall, waiting for you. You frowned and tugged the top of the towel higher over your chest.

“Darn it, George!” you complained. “What is with you lately?”

His eyes dipped down behind his glasses to where some of your cleavage was still visible. When they rose back to lock on yours, your breath caught at the sight of his burning want. He was usually so collected and kept his feelings in check, but now he looked hungry, dark brown eyes deep black.

“I’ve been studying you” he said quietly. “Or, more correctly, your reactions to me. You talk about me in your sleep. You like me, don’t you?”

You just stared at him, heat crawling up your face and heart hammering.

“The whole time, you knew?” you managed to utter, eventually.

He shrugged lightly and took a step closer to you.

“Not the whole time, no” he admitted. “But I’m a fast learner.”

“How?” you asked, not sure if you could bear the answer.

“Physiology.”

“Your point?”

He smiled a little and your fingers itched with the desire to touch him.

“You respond to me in a million little ways” he explained. “Dilated pupils, flushed skin, respiratory increase, pulse increase. You look at my mouth a lot. I nicked some of your, ah, secret novels, to try and figure out what you like. They helped.”

Your face felt like it was on fire and you didn’t know whether to kiss him or slap him. While you were deliberating, George moved closer to you again, felt the warmth radiating from you, heat left over from your shower, and something more.

“Would you tell me you want me?” he asked softly. “Please say it.”

A soft, needy sound left you only seconds before the words did, suddenly obedient, and then George was on you, his fingers clutching at the sides of the towel, your hands trapped between you, still holding the top of the towel in place, his kiss gentle but insistent, just like the rest of him.

His hands travelled up your back, smearing droplets of water over your skin and pressing into your shoulder blades.

“Where are Lockwood and Lucy?” you gasped breathlessly, your nose bumping his.

“Out. Hunting a wraith. They’ll be gone ages. We’ve got time.”

“Time to do what?”

He trailed his fingertips along the edge of your towel and down your arm, to the hands wedged in between your chests.

“Whatever you want.”

You met his dark eyes with a shy look, read the naked desire and curiosity in his gaze. Slowly, taking a deep breath in, you loosened your grip on the towel until it fell to the floor, leaving you shivering and exposed. George’s eyes widened behind his glasses and he took a single step backwards so he could see you better, his hand still gripping tightly to one of yours, a tether from him to you.

His gaze swept from your face to your breasts, pausing as his breath quickened and his pulse thrummed, down your soft stomach, and dragged to the curls between your upper thighs. They clenched tightly together as he watched and then raised his eyes to yours once more.

“So pretty” he said quietly. “You have no idea...”

You closed your eyes and your lips trembled.

“Hey. Open your eyes, look at me?”

You opened them and he kissed you, taking you by surprise, eyes wide, but your eyelids soon melted shut and the tension left your shoulders, the rigid way you held yourself as George eased himself against you. He pressed his hips gently into yours and felt you shudder, felt your empty hand come up to lock in his hair. A surprise feeling twisted in his stomach and he moaned quietly. You pulled on purpose, a test, and felt your naked back hit the wall, a throaty growl vibrating against your mouth.

You breathed out harshly through your nose, lungs burning for air, but desperate to hold onto him. You untangled your other hand from his and fisted it in the front of his bright plaid shirt, felt his heart hammering. Then George broke the kiss, smiling contentedly when you chased his mouth, and lowered it to your neck, one hand stroking warmly down the line of your throat. You keened and arched into his palm, felt his fingers tighten and release, your eyes rolling.

“Who would have thought?” he whispered against your neck. “You hate being told what to do in daylight hours, but you really want to be dominated when it’s dark.”

You hummed wordlessly and your hips jumped when his hand settled on your stomach and lingered. You weren’t sure whether you wanted him to move it up or down, but instead, George moved his hand to the small of your back and pushed, sending you stumbling further into him, your sensitive breasts brushing the smooth fabric of the t-shirt he wore beneath the plaid. The light touch dragged a whimper out of you and you tightened the grip of both your fists.

“Careful, babe” George said softly in your ear. “You’re about to rip my shirt.”

You pulled back and stared up at him, fingers flexing.

“Then why don’t you take it off?” you demanded. “I want to feel you, too.”

He shook his head and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“No” he said firmly, making your knees weak. “Tonight I’m not taking anything off until you can’t take any more and you have to touch me or die. If you say yes, tonight is my experiment. I want to know what makes you scream with pleasure. Okay?”

Your mouth opened slightly as you gazed at him, eyes wide with shock and heat unspooling in your belly, making your thighs close tight on a sudden pulse of desire.

George stroked your cheek.

“All right, love?” he murmured. “Yes?”

You didn’t think, you just acted.

“Yes.”

George took your hand again and started to back up in the direction of his bedroom, devouring you with his eyes as you followed him without question. Part of you wanted to take it back, not being allowed to touch him, but a bigger part of you was more desperate to let him have his way until you were raw and begging, to find out if he could do that to you.

Walking into George’s room, you discovered that his bed was free of books and paper, and all his pens were scattered on his desk. The bed was made with fresh sheets and the covers were pulled right back to make room for you. You glanced at him and he nodded.

“Go ahead. Lie down.”

You settled down on your back, stretched out, all of a sudden self conscious. You started to cross your legs, but George caught the movement and put a hand on your calf, shifting it back over as he slowly shook his head.

“Don’t do that” he said softly. “Please.”

You nodded and sighed out quietly as George lay down on his side next to you, fully dressed including socks. He gazed down the length of you from a different angle and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out loud at the sight.

“So, how long have you liked me for?” he asked idly, the fingertips of one hand sliding slowly from your throat to the valley between your breasts; he gently grazed the underside of one with his knuckles and you gasped a little before replying.

“Since I started here” you admitted.

“A year? That’s a long time to go without telling me. I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You laughed breathlessly and then whimpered as he thumbed a nipple, pinched it gently between thumb and forefinger. He watched your expressions shift as he did so, and your lower body shift restlessly on his bed.

His bed.

In spite of his evidence to the contrary, he still couldn’t quite believe that he had you all laid out for him, not a stitch on and longing for him. If it wasn’t for his phenomenal patience, he would be seriously worried about how long he could hold out for without knowing what it was like to have your hands on him.

“George?”

He came back to earth, and you, at the sound of his name, soft and pleading on your tongue.

“Yes?”

“Touch me. Please. You’ve been teasing me for weeks.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You glanced away from his face, chewing on your lower lip.

“Anywhere.”

George tilted your head back towards him with two fingers under your chin.

“I know what it sounds like when you lie” he told you, his husky voice gone rough with need. “Where?”

He barely heard your whispered response over the blood roaring in his ears.

“Between my legs.”

He walked his fingers down your abdomen, swirling a soft circle around your belly button, before dipping lower, questing. Your legs opened on instinct and George let out a quiet huff of approval as he reached right where you wanted him. He brushed the bundle of nerves crying out to be touched, but it wasn’t where his attention was; instead, he ran his fingertips through the trace of slick already evident. Your hips bucked and you mewled, throwing one arm over your eyes. George peered up at you, eyes black and bottomless.

“Does that feel good?” he murmured, his voice a low thrum.

“Mmhm!”

He grinned, dipped his head down and pressed a bruising kiss just above your navel. As he pulled away, one finger flicked the taut nub and you squirmed, lifting your hips off the bed slightly. George’s eyes brightened and he repeated the motion, finding a blinding rhythm that had you alternately panting hard and muffling screams of pleasure in the arm you now had pressed over your open mouth.

And he was still fully clothed, which infuriated you no end. He let up a little and you looked down at him, your gaze travelling to the strain in his jeans. You tried to sit up and reach for him, but he gently slapped your hand away and shook his head.

“Quit that” he instructed. “We had a deal. If you’re struggling, just lie back and think of England.”

“I will be doing no such thing...oh, yes, Georgie” you groaned, as he dragged two fingers up through your heat and back to your clit.

He continued merciless treatment until you were writhing on his bed, fighting against the screams building in your throat. You were breathing heat, gasping for air that didn’t burn, almost ready to give in and beg for him to be inside you.

And then George leaned up on one elbow and pulled your arm away from your face, allowing him to see your agonised features and you to see his blown out pupils, his wrist shaking slightly from effort.

“Don’t hide from me” he said hoarsely. “Let it go, love. Let me hear you. There’s no one else here. It’s just me listening.”

You blinked at him, dazed and trembling, and he rubbed at you again, watching your face intently.

Oh, to hell with it.

You let go of the tension, as he had asked for, and screamed, whimpered and collapsed into his mattress, quivering.

George crawled over your body and kissed you fiercely, sliding his hand over your throat again, ever so gently. He knelt between your legs and a second later, looked down in surprise when he felt you rubbing up against him, struggling for more friction now he’d left you to cool down. He returned to your searching mouth, kissing you open mouthed and glorious. You wriggled and moaned under him, wishing he would take some of his damn clothes off.

He shifted around slightly, his lips nudging yours as he found a new position, and you were quick to figure out why as one finger slid into you, and you moaned into his mouth, rutting down onto the sweet intrusion. 

“Wow” George mumbled, quick kissing the corner of your mouth. “You’re really wet, babe.”

You groaned at him in response.

“Feels...good...” you managed to pant.

“How about this?” George asked, curious, as he added a second finger. “Does this feel good, too?”

You dug your hands into his hair and licked into his mouth, dragged your teeth over his bottom lip. He moaned back and sped up the thrust of his fingers, his thumb bullying your clit all over again, until you almost blacked out and fell away from his mouth, chest heaving for air.

When you finally managed to open your eyes, you saw George staring at you with a wide grin.

“What?” you asked blearily.

“I’ve made you come twice. Wanna make it three times?” he asked.

“Huh?” you muttered, and then realised with some shock where he was headed. “Georgie?”

“Yes?”

He wrapped his fingers around your ankles and carefully pushed your legs up and back before settling at the foot of the bed in front of you. 

“I’ve never had...this done before” you told him, anxiety rising.

He nodded slowly, then nipped a kiss on the skin of your inner thigh.

“Then let me be first?” he asked.

And only.

You blew out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding, and nodded.

“Okay.”

You smiled when he took off his glasses and set them aside, but the smile was wiped when he dragged the flat of his tongue over your entrance and up to your clit. You closed your eyes as he took his time working out what made you feel good and what bordered on too much. He used his lips and tongue to drive you sky high, eventually bringing his fingers back and sucking gently, then harder, on your clit.

You realised after a few seconds of delirious pleasure that the bed was moving and you opened your eyes to see George grinding into the mattress as you struggled to keep your own hips still, occasionally failing and letting them rise to his face.

He looked up at you from between your legs then, and the picture of him alone was almost enough to send you off the deep end again. His black curls were mussed and dishevelled from your hands dragging through them earlier, his eyes were wide and dark, slightly unfocused like he was drunk, and his mouth was slick with mixed saliva and your arousal.

George blinked at you, taking in your kiss swollen lips, midnight eyes and flushed cheeks. 

“Georgie?” you whimpered, stretching out your hands toward him.

He put his glasses back on and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, waiting.

“Please” you said, and he linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “If you don’t let me touch you right now, I will die of disappointment.”

He bit his lip and stood up, letting go of your hand to shrug out of his plaid and let it drop. Your gaze greedily traced over the lean muscles in his arms, hidden under light brown skin you could kiss for days. Then, as he lifted his t-shirt to expose a flat stomach and a fine trail of dark hair that dipped into his jeans, you sat up and surged forward, catching him by surprise as you pressed a kiss above his belly button, what he had recently done to you. His stomach muscles tightened and then relaxed again and he threw the t-shirt onto the carpet.

George didn’t have time to ask if you liked what you saw before you had pulled him down on the bed and were kissing every inch of his smooth skin you could find. He moaned and gasped as your tongue emerged to taste him, your teeth soon after as you sucked a bruise onto his hip. And he groaned loudly when you straddled him and leaned down to kiss him properly again, your breasts pressing against his chest.

You stopped kissing him after a few minutes and sat back, framing his face with your hands.

“George” you said, a little out of breath. “I have had your fingers and I have had your tongue. I want what’s left. I need it.”

To emphasise your point, you rocked down onto him and felt him push back involuntarily. Something hungry flashed in his eyes and a thrill bolted through you.

“Well, you had better get off me then.”

You scrambled off him and flopped on your back, legs spread wide. He watched you watching him toe off his socks and then shove his jeans down, revealing bright orange and white plaid boxers just begging to be removed. You saw a faint blush rouge his cheeks as he pushed them down his legs and kicked them away. You bit your lip at the sight of him and reached up, pulling at his hands until he climbed back onto his bed and settled in the cradle of your body, pressing silky and hot against your warmth. He rocked his hips a little and you mewled a little as just the blunt tip of him pushed into you. You glimpsed the sudden worry in his eyes and pushed your hands back into his hair, tugging slightly.

“I’m on the pill” you said softly. “Have been since I was sixteen. You have nothing to worry about.”

Relief flooded his features and he pushed all the way in, desperate moans pulled from behind his clenched teeth as you grabbed at his shoulders, his forearms, anything to hold him, keep him close.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are like this?” George panted. “You’re blushing and needy and...oh, my good girl...I can feel you pulling me in.”

You kissed him then, messy and hot, lifting your hips off the bed to meet him, thrust for thrust.

You had fallen hard in love with him months ago, but tonight’s “experiment” had solidified it for you: you were never going anywhere without George Casper Karim.

He reached down to hook your legs around his waist and tilted your pelvis up towards his, hitting a place inside you never before touched.

“George, don’t stop. Please, don’t you dare stop!”

His darkened eyes were wild behind his glasses, his strong hands gripping your thighs and holding them apart for him.

“That feel good, yeah?” he gasped out, sweat dripping off the ends of his curly hair.

You nodded vigourously and dragged him down to your mouth again.

All the build up, the weeks of teasing, this evening’s sultry torture had led to this, and he was wild, moaning and panting above you, his body gilded by the lamplight.

You understood the moment he began to come undone. He kissed you with a bruising mouth, each press of his lips and teeth in time with his movement inside you. And then you felt him shudder and shake, felt his jaw go slack as he pressed his cheek to yours. His hips slammed into you a few more times and then he went still, releasing your thighs as he spilled inside you.

You urged George down onto you, cradling him with your body and carding your fingers through his dark, damp hair.

After a long while, he raised his head to shyly meet your eyes.

“Was that all right?” he asked quietly.

You kissed him, lingering to feel the touch of his mouth.

“George Casper Karim, I will beg for you every day of my life if that is what I receive in return.”

A blush painted his skin again and you kissed his nose.

He was quiet for a while, his face pressed in the crook of your shoulder. Then he suddenly drew back and looked down at you, a sober expression in his eyes.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asked.

You frowned slightly.

“That is an odd question to ask while you’re still buried inside me, George.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He eased out and lay down beside you, drawing an obscure pattern on the soft skin of your stomach.

“Well?” he prompted quietly.

You shuffled onto your side and cuddled into him, throwing one leg over his hip.

“I have” you murmured, speaking to his collarbone. “My boyfriend. He died on a case, a few months before I came here.”

George wrapped his arms around you and trailed his fingers up and down your spine.

“I’m sorry” he mumbled.

“But if it helps, I’m still falling in love with you, Georgie. I have been since I arrived. You’re all I want now, I promise” you said honestly.

He tipped your chin up and kissed you soundly.

“I’m falling in love with you, too” he whispered against your lips.

You smiled, and fell.

[emeritusemeritus]

A token of appreciation [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: A token of appreciation.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Timeline: Set in the future- after Deathly Hallows. No mentions of the war or Voldy and Fred lives (as he should).

Summary: It’s Father’s Day in the muggle world, and Fred needs a gift.

Warnings: None? Established relationship. Fred and y/n don’t want kids right now.

"If it's Father's Day, then why are you trying to find y/n a present?" Ron grumbles, following Fred around the small little boutique on Diagon Alley as he looks at little trinkets that might be a suitable gift.

"Shut up Ronald," Fred mumbles in reply, picking up a little handmade ring that caught his eye on a little display case inside the new shop in Diagon Alley. It was a little blue and pink butterfly ring that had a prism of colour within it, like a marbled effect with a simple silver band. It was simple but pretty, and exactly what he was looking for. 

Ever since Hermione had popped by the shop earlier that day to say bye to Ron before going to visit her parent's and had disclosed that it was Father's Day in the muggle world, Fred had been on a mission.

"My princess," Fred says as he walks into the flat above the shop with Ron trailing behind him once again. You and George were lounging around in the living room, each seated on different sofas as you zoned out to an awful muggle show that was playing in the background after you had closed the shop for the night. He kisses your head from behind before appearing at your side with his hand outstretched, a little wrapped gift inside his palm. You frowned briefly at him, unsure of why he would be giving you a gift when you saw his eyes flash with a wickedness and then a wink, alerting you to what you had forgotten.

"Why thank you my love," you smiled, taking the box from his hand. He jumped onto the sofa next to you and eagerly watched as you pulled open the wrapping that the woman in the shop had so painstakingly perfected.

"Oh it's beautiful! Thank you Freddie," you gasped, seeing the little ring. You leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss of appreciation, feeling his arms snaking around you so that he could pull you closer to him on the couch, almost ending up in his lap.

"I don't get it?" Ron says, still frowning as he plops himself down onto the other sofa next to George, completely clueless. "If it's Father's Day, why do you get a gift?"

"It's a gift of appreciation," Fred says, offering nothing else as he turns his attention back to you as you slip the ring onto the fourth finger on your right hand, smiling as it fit perfectly. Fred presses his lips to your hair and kisses your head once again, snuggling into you, completely unfazed by his two brothers sat in the same room.

"For what?" Ron asks, close to giving up.

"For not making him a father yet," you giggle, finally explaining Ron's queries. George laughs and looks away, back at the TV as Fred smirks wickedly, immensely pleased with himself.

"You pair are so bloody strange," Ron murmurs, looking away towards the TV and frowning once again.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/14/2024

googled "sample bon mot" in a fit of desperation, considered asking chatgpt to generate me some for 0.2 seconds before the visceral BLEUGH reaction plus remembered that every query is like pouring a 16oz water bottle out on the ground, and figured this series of events would be a better intro than anything else i could come up with

listening

miya folick's Pet Body was off last week's spotify rec playlist. i had liked some individual songs by miya folick (singer/songwriter/alt/indie/dance/electronica) but now i gotta really dive into her discography-- this particular very peppy and upbeat song with dire lyrics is really clicking with me lately as my body overreacts to texas pollen and engages in other known misbehaviors.

the chorus, my god

Proper care and feeding for my pet body

and this verse

I'm just a brain with a pet body Out for a walk until I croak I'm just an ordinary subject In an ordinary book

as my mother used to say, i'm real fuckin sick and tired of being sick and tired!!!

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reading

ough i need to vacuum. i picked up Mrs Vargas and the Dead Naturalist by Kathleen Alcalá for a dollar last summer bc 0) killer title 1) it was a dollar 2) cool cover 3) autographed 4) endorsed by le guin.

kind of fascinating as an object: weird little lesbian (?) boutique press that's still around, idk ive ever seen a notice about steps they took to ensure the longevity of the physical book before?

i find myself bouncing off latin and south american magical realism a lot bc i am not in those authors’ intended audiences/i do not have the background to fully appreciate them. i have a bachelors of science. and that’s fine bc that’s the point! this is one of the very few times post-college where i caught myself thinking “man i gotta find a class to take about this”.

even if i do not understand the wider cultural context or the real-life figures she obliquely references in many of these short stories (i am convinced the bird-voiced singer is based on a real singer), i do appreciate alcalá’s craft: true short stories, she makes her point and then ends it. the twist in Reading the Road specifically— woof that’s gonna stick with me for a bit. a perfect little o henry twist of the knife. i wanted so badly to link this specific short story but apparently nobody has used it to teach anything and the book itself is not widely available/on the internet archive/etc. u will have to find this story of a roadside fortune teller (who is current on all her business permits) and one day's fortune telling, by yourself perhaps through your library

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watching

the prisoner, the seventeen episode british sixties tv cult classic. let's yoink the description from wikipedia.

The Prisoner is a British television series created by Patrick McGoohan, with possible contributions from George Markstein.[2] McGoohan portrays Number Six, an unnamed British intelligence agent who is abducted and imprisoned in a mysterious coastal village after resigning from his position.[3] The allegorical plotlines of the series contain elements of science fiction, psychological drama, and spy fiction.

number six shares a lot of traits with my cat philip marlowe, as they are both hell fucking bent on escaping and all attempts to restrain them just sort of train them to be better at the next attempt? as one might expect from a heavily allegorical sixties show, kind of heavy emotional going so im watching an episode every day or two.

why am i watching this? it's free on my library streaming service (and tubi), and i don't have a lot going on. i love one-season cancelled shows, i love Dad Media, unfortunately i was a navy brat and i do love some cloak and dagger shit. i LOOOOVE a fucked up little town and bureaucracy-as-cudgel. i actually came across this when i wishlisted the game We Happy Few back in 2018, another entry in the "creepy little british towns" genre. have yet to play it

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playing

the cosmology and general backstory of genshin is convoluted as hell (The Gods are real and live in the sky, but some lowercase-g gods are also rulers of the seven nations in-game) but they have been foreshadowing a grand showdown since the very beginning of the game. one player character cannot de- or re-stablize so many regions and engage in so many power struggles without someone taking notice.

i did NOT, however, expect one of the regional god-rulers (purple) to start planning for this divine war in a side cutscene in a seasonal event. a seasonal event around rock n roll rhythm games. absolutely devastated i missed the pink fox lady's rerun right after i had to give my work laptop back and before i got the PC fixed. this game will not run on my iphone 12 for love or money

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making

bit of a depression hovel situation going on. we are slowly rolling that back tho. finally met my landlord during the HVAC replacement debacle, he said that he bought this apartment in 2009, lived here for ten years, and then his parents lived here for a couple years. i am the first non-family tenant, i think. all of the appliances and fixtures are from 2009. i think the fridge will be the next to go. ANYWAY. i asked him what the deal was with the lack of bathroom vents and HE said when he had an air conditioner put in in 2009 the HVAC guy then assured him he only needed the HVAC vents and closed up the actual vents. which is a load of shit. i am not really excited to live here for another year but i really super can't afford to move and finding an apartment in houston the first time was such a goddamn nightmare. i cannot do three years tho. hopefully something will have changed by august 2025.

i have also, through a special cashback bonus reward on my credit card, a sale, a gift card, and cashing in more cashback money, acquired a cat tree for philip. modeled here by mackie bc we did room swapping again as i was writing this. i cannot be bothered to install curtain tiebacks or properly fold anything, as you can see below