#we were the only witness to each others pain- back when it was too much to remember she remembered it all

[crisis-starter]

Hello!

First time touching Loop’s perspective!

I have a name for this part. It’s called Memory of Loss.

You’ll understand why a bit more later.

But for now, Loop time!

Warning for suicide mention

Mostly a suggestion, but Isabeau is also asked to perish soooo… another warning for that.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Loop couldn’t see Siffrin clearly from where they were. But they could feel their unbridled rage at another loss against the King.

To Loop, it seemed like the fighter and the housemaiden were affected by the kid’s death, but the kid had forgotten about it themselves. Trauma does that to people.

Knowing that at this point, Siffrin doesn’t bother trying to talk to Loop since the King fight is pretty routine, Loop decided to try something. They didn’t know what would happen if they did this. Would they reach their own Isabeau? Or the fighter?

They took a moment to work up the courage. They formulated the fighter in their head, and took the plunge. They spoke, “Hello. Isabeau, correct?” Loop felt the sparks of craft tingling their brain, so they cut in, “Don’t reply. I just want you to listen.”

The craft fizzled out, and Loop sighed in relief. They wanted to hide this from their stardust for a while, and having Isabeau reply would ruin it. Loop continued, “You’ve landed yourself in a time loop, hm? Well, how about you meet me at the Favor Tree the next time you’re in Dormont? Then we could talk about what we know. Since, well, I don’t want you to waste your precious energy on a simple call.”

Loop dropped the call, and waited for the King fight to finish. It was… irritating, to know that the fight against the King could’ve ended much sooner if they had only thought to teach Mirabelle about the damned shield skill. But they could never confess this. Ever. They already chose a role. They didn’t want to drop a twist so soon.

This time it was a victory. They were on the roof. Kudos to the fighter, it didn’t feel like Siffrin suspected anything. It was time to talk to the Head Housemaiden and loop back to Dormont. That’s when Loop felt a twinge of fear. It’s fair, it was muted, somewhat, because Siffrin had already been on the roof a few times. This fear however. This fear was different.

There was pain. Pain that got sharper and sharper. What… what was this… what was he…

Oh.

Oh no.

And Siffrin looped. Back to Dormont supposedly, because Isabeau was nearby, shaken. He was looking at his hands.

Immediately after witnessing a suicide. What a way to meet. They looked at Isabeau. Siffrin was going to perform the friend quests again. Loop was not too keen in seeing those, assuming Siffrin was going to start spiraling mid conversation. Plus, this could mean more time for chatting about Isabeau’s perspective. Loop stood up from their seat on the Favor Tree and called, “Oh Fighter!~”

Isabeau turned his gaze to the Favor Tree. He looked around for any other sign of life before pointing to himself. Loop beckoned him closer before sitting down on their beloved root. Isabeau sat across from Loop, confused. Maybe even a little suspicious.

Loop squinted their eyes in a smile, beginning to tease, “Oh please. Fighter, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to assume you’re the Researcher in disguise!” Isabeau was smart. He could probably see through Loop’s mask in practically no time at all. No amount of acting can hide this level of intellect from them. Isabeau looked away a little, seemingly thinking.

My oh my, was Loop finding it odd. Isabeau was usually very boisterous. So this silence was… uncharacteristic!

Loop could guess why. And they would be right.

After a minute, Isabeau stated, “I have… numerous questions.” Loop put a hand over their non existent mouth, “As expected. Fire away, Fighter!” The name made Isabeau stop. He paused.

“Before we begin… I… would not like to be called by an epithet if we’re going to see and speak to each other again.” Isabeau explained. Loop cocked their head to the side, “Very well, darling Apollo.” That caused Isabeau to get confused again, “Apo- Alright, at least it isn’t a title… I think…” Haha, Isabeau’s confusion was cute.

Stop it, Loop.

They aren’t yours, silly!

Isabeau fake coughed before asking, “What do I… hm… Do you have a name?” Loop tapped their cheek with one finger and looked off to the side, acting like they were thinking before answering, “You can call me Loop.” Isabeau muttered the name under his breath before nodding. So stern! Loop was joking before, but was the Universe playing a trick on them? Was the Researcher spying on them with the Fighter being in on it?

Isabeau readjusted the way he was sitting. That’s fair. The root was probably more Siffrin size. So he was probably a bit uncomfortable. He looked at Loop, “So… what are you? Because-“ Loop quickly interrupted, “A star!~” Isabeau’s inquisitive expression turned into a frustrated one, “No you’re not.” Loop made it a sport of finding the quickest way to irritate someone. Isa’s intellect caught up to him again! The star crossed their legs, “Then what am I?” Isabeau had to think for a moment, “I- You are… I… I may need more evidence.” Loop giggled.

“Okay, so you finally confirmed a theory by calling this a time loop. It's a time loop triggered by either freezing, dying, talking to the head housemaiden, or a moment of extreme distress. But… does it revolve around everyone, or just…” Isabeau inquired, causing Loop to clap, “Oh, Apollo, what a logical mind you have! Why don’t you test it out?” Isabeau was hesitant, “Are you asking me to… kill myself?” The star nodded, “If you’re going to come back, why not try?”

Isabeau looked unnerved. It took him a moment, but he agreed. Loop sighed, “Apollo, dearest, it’s scary. But aren’t all experiments unexpected? Only once. Give me the results, and then we will work from there.”

Isabeau looked at Loop, slightly wary. He didn’t really know what to use. How to… die. He asked, anxious, “But what do I use?” Loop thought for a moment, “The earliest way to die is getting crushed by the rock in the death corridor. The most painless is the tears, which are on basically every floor. Or, you could die in battle. Die like a hero, if you want a virtuous demise.” Isabeau was silent for a moment. The fighter readjusted to sitting a bit closer to himself. Loop continued, “It’ll hurt, but there’s some level of dignity in ‘falling on your blade’. There are sadnesses on every floor, but I doubt Stardust would ever permit you to die that way.” Isabeau added, “Or at all.” Loop nodded, “….Yes. Now you see why this might be tricky.”

Isabeau stood up from his root, saying with a small smile, “I think Sif’s gonna come back in a bit. I should get back to my spot. However, thank you for the idea, Loop. See you soon.” Loop giggled, “A genuine thanks! Gross!” The star’s expression softened, “I greatly appreciated our time together, Apollo. I’ll see you soon. Feel free to call when you’re stuck.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Well…

If you want a hint for what’s planned for part 2…

Where do you think our darling Isa would get his evidence of Loop’s identity?

I know SASASAP exists.

See you soon! :>

[caffeinatedopossum]

I actually feel bad for my sister. It must suck when the person you've hurt most is the only one who can understand you

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Making Up For Lost Time - Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Based on the following two requests:

can we get an enemies to lovers with edmund that has smut in it??

PLEASEE an edmund smut,, preferably something with a risk of getting caught? or not bb i don’t mind- but a lot of dirty talking too 🤭

It's not necessarily enemies to lovers? But I really hope you enjoy it, this is probably my favorite thing I've written thus far.

Summary: You and Edmund are definitely feeling the effects of your arranged marriage.

Warnings: Language, Smut, not proofed!

Female reader

You couldn't take much more of him, nor him you. The both of you knew why the marriage had to happen, Narnia couldn't risk another war, and Calormen was losing resources due to the Great Desert. As a compromise, Peter, Caspian, and Susan met with Prince Rabadash to secure a compromise. A truce between the kingdoms and a new way for the resources to be traded was sealed with the promise of a marriage between you and Edmund.

And neither of you was happy with it.

It didn't help that you had shared chambers either. You and Edmund had asked The High Kings and Queen about a switch in rooms but they only pushed further.

"Imagine what the people would think if the newlyweds weren't sharing a room?" So you were forced to live with him. Fall asleep next to him each night, and wake by his side every morning.

Granted, Edmund wasn't intolerable. He just wasn't tolerable either. He was a handsome man, sure, but that face also came with his quick wit and sharp tongue, two things you'd grown to loathe.

He'd challenge you, yes. But his tone of speech was never rude or condescending. But the biggest thing you hated about him, he was always so charming. So sweet. So fair.

He didn't earn the title of The Just King for nothing. But it just added fuel to the fire.

He'd always let you use the bath chambers first, and never complained or protested when you took longer baths.

He didn't pressure you to do anything on your wedding night. He simply kept to himself, offering you a smile and a "goodnight" from his side of the bed. You had been told what was to come, your mind was full of stories from other women in your life. Horror stories.

"It is ever so painful."

"Not pleasurable at all!"

"I can hardly wait until it's over!"

Needless to say, when your new husband had simply wished you a good night and went to sleep, you were surprised. The next morning you woke by his side, finding it odd that he had barely moved an inch. You were basically in the middle of the large bed, Edmund sleeping soundly on the edge, right where he was the night before. You were gone before he'd woken up.

Edmund never failed to greet you kindly, entering the room quietly just in case you had decided to take a nap. He never raised his voice to you either.

Was he snarky and sassy? Of course. But he had always treated you and your family with kindness and respect. It was insufferable. Sometimes you wished he'd just be rude so you would have a real reason to hate him, aside from the fact that he was your husband but you never seemed to communicate. You had gotten used to the fact that there would never be any sort of friendship, let alone a relationship, between you and Edmund, so you resorted to hating him.

The only time he'd gotten angry with you was when you hadn't returned to the bedroom one evening. Unbeknownst to you, he began searching frantically for you, creating quite a stir in the grand castle, only to find you asleep in the library. He cursed to himself before picking your sleeping form up in his arms and bringing you back to your room.

You woke up that morning in bed, confused at first about your location, but relaxing when you saw Edmund's sleeping form next to you.

As you rolled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom you heard his voice.

"Don't do that again." You froze, turning around. His dark eyes were on yours and he was very much not asleep.

"Do what?" He sat up, giving you a view of his very shirtless torso. You averted your eyes immediately.

"Not come back." Your confusion brought your eyes to him again. His lanky, but well-built frame, was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What?" He rose from the bed, a hand running through his dark hair. You stare at him while he walks toward you, stopping less than a foot away from you.

"You didn't come back last night. Don't do that again." He brushed your cheek with his hand, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss there too. You could feel your cheeks heating at the proximity. The last time he'd been this close to you was your wedding. He hadn't touched you since then either.

He pulled away quickly, stepping around you.

"Did you bring me back?" You turned your head to face him.

"Yes."

...

That night, there was a ball between the great nations. Narnia was the gracious host to Archenland, the Conglomeration of Nations, Ettinsmoor, and of course, Calormen.

You hadn't seen Edmund since the morning. You had been whisked away by maids to get ready for the celebration. The ball was for you and Edmund, another party after the wedding you guessed.

You were dressed in a gorgeous light blue gown with intricate white floral stitching and lace along the neckline. It was gorgeous. The long sleeves were fitted and the back laced up like a corset. Your hair had been fixed down with small braids throughout as to not disrupt the crown you'd also be adorning for the evening.

Then, you were whisked away to the celebration, the guests awaiting the arrival of the newlyweds. Edmund was waiting in the corridor, dressed in the same light blue as you, his silver crown on top of his head. He looked very handsome, more so than usual, and suddenly your thoughts were filled with images of you and Edmund dancing together, of Edmund touching you, his large hand on your waist, maybe even his lips on yours.

"M'Lady?"

You blinked, eyes meeting his. What had he just called you?

"Y-yes?"

"I said are you ready to go in?" Your cheeks heated once again and you nodded, looking away from him. He chuckled and then he laced his fingers through yours, effectively making your heart stop.

...

As soon as your introductions were over, you slipped away from Edmund's side. The thoughts kept popping up in your brain. Why did you keep thinking these thoughts? Edmund didn't want to marry you, let alone consummate the marriage, so why did your brain keep doing this? You hid yourself well by the banquet table, keeping away from the crowds.

"Queen Y/N?" You turned at the use of your title, looking at the sheer opposite of your husband. A man with blonde hair and blue eyes was staring at you with a dazzling smile. You found yourself preferring Edmund's dark hair, brown eyes, and ever-present smirk.

"Hello..."

"I am Prince Cor of Archenland. It is very nice to meet you, M'Lady."

You had to stop yourself from reacting to the name Edmund had called you only an hour before. You'd much preferred it coming from his mouth than Prince Cor. Oh now you'd done it. This poor Prince was trying to make small talk with you and now you were thinking about your husband's mouth? The blush creeping over your cheeks and shoulders was enough for you to shake yourself out of your thoughts.

"It is nice to meet you too, your Highness."

As you and Cor began to make conversation, Edmund's wondering eyes found you. His hand tightened around the goblet he'd been holding and his gaze narrowed.

"Who is that?" He hadn't even noticed he was interrupting his brother.

"Who is who?" Peter replied.

"The bloke flirting with my wife, that's who." Peter held back a laugh.

"Ed, I hardly think Prince Cor would flirt with Y/N, this is your marriage celebration after all. Besides, she wouldn't flirt with someone else so shamelessly."

Edmund wasn't even listening and was halfway across the ballroom before his brother could finish speaking.

"I really do believe that astronomy is one of the most interesting subjects one can learn about-" The Just King interrupted the blonde prince, swiftly interjecting himself into the conversation.

"Hello, My Love." Your face burned at the new name. Then he turned your face to his and kisses your cheek. You could feel your heart in your ears and you looked down, suddenly interested in the floor. "May I ask what you and Prince Cor are talking about?" The blonde man looked uncomfortable.

"We were speaking-"

"I believe I asked my wife, not you." Cor lowered his head in a nod in return, quickly and quietly exiting the conversation. If looks could kill, Prince Cor would have been dead on the ballroom floor in mere seconds from Edmund's piercing glare.

You began to slip away from your husband before his strong hand wrapped around your arm and gently tugged you back. His front was lightly pressed against your back, his head lowered so he could speak into your ear.

"And where do you think you're going?" His voice sent shivers down your spine. His hand trailed up your arm, resting where your shoulder meets your collar bone, visible from the Sabrina neckline of your dress. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

What? Were you dreaming?

"Because it's working, darling."

Edmund's hand grasps yours again and he begins to lead you out of the room, desperate to get you alone. It isn't until you are outside of the boisterous party that you speak.

"Where are we going?" Edmund stops to look around, before ushering you into a corridor adjacent to the party. "Edmund!"

"Shh!" His hand covers your mouth and he presses his front to yours, making sure you are silent and unseen as guests walk past the hall. He looks at you and almost melts at the beautiful, wide eyes looking up at him. He removes his hand from your mouth, placing it on the wall by your head. You don't even register that the other is on your waist.

You speak gently, making sure your voice is hushed.

"Edmund, why are you jealous?" Your husband takes a deep breath before glancing down the hallway. "Ed?" Your hand timidly reaches up to bring his face back to yours and his eyes widen at the contact.

"You were talking to another man. At the celebration of our wedding."

You had to stifle your shock.

"Edmund, you are my husband, you have no reason to be jealous of a prince from a neighboring kingdom." His lips quirk up a bit.

"How can I not be when you are showing more interest in anyone else but me? I am your husband and you are my wife. I should be by your side tonight." His words are so surprising and you are glad for the wall behind you, and the man in front of you, for the extra support to stand.

"I thought you would want your space."

"Why in Aslan's name would you think that?" You look at him again, taking him in completely, the way he looks in the blue fabric, his dark hair framing his face with that godforsaken crown making him look better than he had a few hours ago. "Y/N, why do you think I wouldn't want to be near you?" His eyes search yours and you blink away, far too flushed under his heavy gaze.

"You haven't ever wanted to before." The words hit him like bricks.

"What?"

The words begin to spill out before you can stop them.

"You always sleep on your side with your back to me, you are always gone when I wake up, I never see you except when you come to get ready for bed, and on our wedding night you didn't..." You push through the embarrassment. "You didn't even touch me. I know this marriage isn't what we had wanted but I thought that maybe we might have been friends-" Edmund cuts off your monologue with a kiss. Your first kiss since your wedding night.

His hand moves from the wall to your neck and the other pulls you to his body, needing to get closer to you.

Your body reacts immediately, melting into the kiss, hands resting on his waist.

It ends too soon, Edmund pulling away first, putting his hand back on the wall while he catches his breath, but the other remained on your waist.

"You think I don't want to be near you?" He stares at you with an incredulous look on his handsome face. The closeness of his face to yours is enough to make you blush, again. "Darling, I haven't..." He takes a moment to breathe, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I didn't touch you that night because I didn't want to hurt you. I'm so bloody drawn to you that I have to sleep on the opposite side of the bed turned away from you so I don't taint your virtue. I leave in the morning because-"

Your hand covers his mouth as another rowdy group of guests wanders by the corridor. You wait for them to leave before speaking again, keeping your hand plastered onto his face.

"So, you don't hate me?"

He shakes his head.

No.

"You never did?"

No.

You remove your hand from his mouth and the two of you just stare at each other. Unmoving. It feels like minutes pass before he covers your mouth with his again.

His hand returns to your neck, pulling you to him once more.

"I'm sorry I ever made you think I didn't want you. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I am the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife."

"Edmund..." The kind words hit you straight in the heart.

"And now, it seems I have something I have to make up for." His smirk appears and it sends your insides to mush.

"But Edmund I-"

"Shhhh." He smiles, his head dipping to yours. "Don't want to get caught, now do we?" He kisses you again, this one full of heat and passion, the lack of contact between you only adding fuel to the fire.,

Edmund pulls your body flush against his and groans into your mouth. You falter at the glorious sound but he is there to support you

His kisses travel down your neck to your collarbones.

"Edmund... What are you doing?"

"Making up for lost time, darling." He grins at you again. "Now be quiet." He kisses you again, his sneaky hands running down your sides to your skirt. He breaks the kiss to look down, his hands pulling the fabric up to your waist.

"Fuck." Your eyes went wide. You'd never heard Edmund use that kind of language before. His eyes lock on yours again.

He looks perfect. He's a king. Your king. Your husband.

"Are you ok with this?" You nod yes multiple times, making him smirk yet again, and then you gasp at the contact of his fingers against your womanhood. Your hands grip his shoulders for support, his muscles tensing at the fact that you are touching him. That he is touching you. His fingers find no resistance due to the effects of his words and his ego grows. You bury your face into his shirt when his fingers slip into you. Though foreign, it is an immensely pleasurable feeling and you can't help but want more.

Then he begins to move them. You push further into him to silence your mouth, the feeling far too wonderful to not have a vocal effect.

But then his thumb brushes on something that makes you let out a loud moan. Your face flushes in embarrassment.

"Do you want everyone to know that I'm defiling you in the hallway?"

Oh dear, you're afraid his words combined with whatever he is doing with his fingers are going to kill you.

He repeats the same action but kisses you once more, your moans muffled.

Edmund can tell you are getting close, you've begun to shake, you're gasping into his mouth, and you are practically rutting into his hand. He makes the conscious decision to break the kiss to suck on your neck, covering your mouth with his free hand to silence any escaping sounds. Then, his thumb presses up again and his fingers hook inside of you and you convulse around him.

He is in awe of how gorgeous you are and what he'd just done.

As you catch your breath, your trembling hands find the waistband of his trousers and gently begin unbuttoning them, eager for more. His eyes avert to what you're doing and he curses again. You falter.

"Do-do you want me to stop?" His head shakes back and forth.

"I think I'd die if you did, love."

Edmund begins kissing your neck once again while you free him from the confinement of his tight pants and you gasp. He laughs into your neck, sending goosebumps throughout your entire body.

"Don't get shy on me now, darling. You wanted this, right?" You nod and feel him smile into your skin.

He makes quick work of your undergarments, tossing them to the side, lining himself up with your lower half.

He halts and you look into his eyes, body shaking in need and anticipation for what you had been so scared of on your wedding night.

With your eyes on his, he pushes into you, stopping when you push against him.

"Are you alright?" His voice is next to your ear.

"Just one second." Edmund waits, trying to distract himself from the way your body is clenching around him. Your small voice brings him back to reality. "Edmund."

"Yes?" You notice the rasp in his voice, the strain in his muscles. To ease him, you follow your instincts and roll your hips against his and his hands grip your hips in response, stifling the moan wanting to leave his throat.

"Fuck. Y/N. You can't do that." It's your turn to smirk. You do it again and he presses your body back into the wall. The soft grip on your hips tightens and his eyes meet yours, blown with lust. Then, they narrow at the smirk on your lips. "Oh, so you think that's funny do you?" He begins to slide out of you and your eyes roll backwards. Then he slams back in.

The moan that escapes your lips sets a fire in him and his hand claps back over your mouth.

"How many times do I need to tell you to be quiet?" He begins to move his hips again, the feeling ten times more wonderful than just his fingers. "Is this what you wanted?" You can barely comprehend his hushed words. "Is that why you were flirting with him? To make me jealous so I'd finally touch you?" His free hand worms its way back to the apex of your thighs, finding that place that made you squirm in no time. "You're lucky I love you." You don't even register his words as you come undone.

Edmund follows behind, pushing into you one last time before falling into you. His breathing is labored and the two of you don't speak while you catch your breath.

"Edmund!" Your heads snap toward the sound of Peter yelling his name.

"Dammnit!" He quickly makes himself presentable and you follow suit, making sure your hair isn't wild and your skirts are back in place. He takes your hand, smiling at you, before leading you back out of the hallway.

"Edmund!" Peter's back was to you.

"Peter, stop yelling, I'm right here!" The High King turns around, a glare present on his face.

"Your guests are wondering where the two of you have been! You disappeared thirty minutes ago! Get back inside, now."

Edmund doesn't reply to his bother, opting for an eye roll instead. Then he turns to you offering you a bow.

"Shall we get back to the celebration, my queen?" You giggle.

"Let's."

...

Peter may have overreacted just a bit because the only people wondering where the two of you had gone was him.

Edmund pulled you to the ballroom floor, his arms draped around your waist. You settled yours around his shoulders with a smile. The rest of the party seemed to disappear as he bent down to place a soft kiss against your lips.

You rest your head against his shoulder and whisper into his ear.

"I love you too."

AHHHHH! Y'all I'm really proud of this and hope you enjoy it. :)

[piningforstan]

Memories

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You’re relieved to see your husband alive, but you have yet to learn at what cost.

Pairings: Stan Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: memory loss, it’s a bittersweet fic (let me know if there’s anything else)

A/N: I could honestly stay in this story forever. I hope you enjoy! (If you don’t think the small attempts bits of humor are funny, just do me a favor and pretend like they are)

Life moved on, of course, even though it felt like yours had ended. The town needed rebuilding. Newspapers and media outlets needed to be dealt with — Ford recommended telling reporters that there had been a series of animal attacks. But most townsfolk just wanted to forget. The lasting effects of the memory gun meant they preferred to just pretend like nothing happened.

You busied yourself however you could, clearing fallen brush and trees, reuniting families, making do with whatever food you could find and cooking for anyone who hungered.

And when you weren’t focused on resurrecting the infrastructure of Gravity Falls, you focused on doing it for your family. Dipper had withdrawn inside himself. Mabel practically resided in Sweater Town. And Ford largely made himself scarce as he puzzled out ideas for getting Stan’s memory back. So you invited Dipper to join you for nonsensical errands and you laughed your way through Mabel’s favorite movies and you always made sure that Ford had something to eat.

You had time for everyone, it seemed, but Stan.

He floated along the edges of your day to day life, suspended in a state of limbo — wanting to participate but not knowing whether his presence would be tolerable or not. And you didn’t want to provoke his already weakened mental state so you let him be, an observer to a family that he had been the nucleus of.

“Oh, uh, mornin’.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular when Stan shuffled in, donned in his boxers and wife beater. It ached to see him how you had so many other mornings. Perhaps that’s why you avoided him; to do so was easier than confronting this pain.

“Stan. Good morning.” You sat up a little straighter. “Coffee is made already.”

He grumbled his thanks. You noticed that he grabbed his favorite mug, one Soos bought him that stated WORLD’S GREATEST FARTER, without thinking. There were small, fleeting moments like this that made you believe that he might regain his memory. But they often slipped away, just like Stan clearing his throat and saying, “So, uh, we’re married?”

“Yes,” you said, inhaling sharply. “Thirty years.”

Stan wrapped one large hand around the mug. He let out a whistle as he reclined back on the counter. “No offense sweetheart, but that doesn’t speak highly of your intelligence.”

You can’t help it. You croaked out a laugh. “No, no it doesn’t.”

“How’d I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Keep ya around for thirty years.” He gestured in your general direction, veritably flustered. “I don’t need to ‘member much about myself to know you’re too good for me.”

“Well, you could be very convincing,” you supplied after a moment of consideration.

Stan scoffed. “Bullshit. What’s the real reason?”

You eyed him, then said in a resigned voice, “A wife can’t testify in court against her husband.”

A beat of silence ensued, followed by the loudest belly laugh of anyone you’ve ever known. Stan clutched at his chest, coffee spilling over his mug and onto the floor. He all but wheezed out, “I knew it!“

“It was my idea, actually,” you said, smiling fondly at the memory, “we had only gone out a few times when it happened. You wanted to make a run for it. Even though we hadn’t known each other long I already knew that I didn’t want to go a day without you. So we got hitched at the courthouse and the case was dismissed on account that I was the only eye witness.”

You were surprised to discover that relaying the story brought you more comfort than sadness. It fanned the dying ember of hope inside you.

Stan processed this information. “What was the crime? Must’ve been bad.”

“If I told you ‘stealing my heart’ would you believe me?”

“I’d believe you’re a shitty liar.”

Stan pestered you for an answer but you staunchly refused to give it to him, if only to prolong the conversation even more. Eventually you lapsed into a comfortable silence, but after thirty years of marriage, you knew that Stan hadn’t given up, rather reconsidered his angle. It wouldn’t be the end of that conversation.

Only the dredges of your coffee remained but you sipped it every now and then, taking the time to study Stan when you didn’t think he noticed.

Did he realize that he remembered more than he thought? Like the mug, for instance. The way he stood. How he moved around the kitchen. How much did the memory gun erase? You read once that memories consisted of just the last time you remembered something — a great portion of your life would pass without recollection. But the feelings stayed the same. You might not remember specific moments of your mother being kind to you, but when you looked at her your chest swelled with affection for her.

Was that how Stan felt now? Wading through residual feelings and sentiments without the memories to attach them to?

“Listen, uh.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I know this is weird ‘tween us. But I-I hope we can be friends. Still. If you want.”

Hopefully your expression did not betray the stab of pain in your heart. “I’d like that.”

Apparently, rebuilding your friendship with your husband meant him “Stan-napping” you.

“If it’s Stan-napping wouldn’t that mean you’re the one being —”

He flapped his hand. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”

You grinned and slid into the front seat of El Diablo like normal. Gum wrappers scattered the ground at your feet, along with a lighter and several cassette tapes. You inserted one, faint rock music playing from the radio. A laugh escaped you. “Remember when —”

You stopped. Stan smiled sadly.

“It’s a’right. Promise. Tell me anyway.”

And so you did, retelling the story as best as you could in detail. Stan listened intently as he drove, interjecting his own comments and questions, laughing at all of the parts you knew he would. The tape had played on repeat during a week that you spent running a con in Arizona. An unsuccessful one at that.

“You really did all that w’me? Now I really don’t trust the likes of ya.” Stan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door with his elbow out the side.

“In my defense, I was always more of a reluctant volunteer.” You focused on the trees flying past, silhouetting Stan’s handsome features and his easy smile. “But I would follow you anywhere.”

It’s an embarrassing admission.

You stumbled over your words, but Stan was quick to cover for you. “So I didn’t need to Stan-nap you?”

“No, but I’m still glad you did.”

“And to think, all of the work I put into it.” Stan feigned clutching his chest in indignation.

You snickered. “By all of the work do you mean withholding caffeine from me until I agreed? That was more of a hindrance than anything. I would’ve said yes much faster with coffee.”

“Noted. Anything else I should know?”

“I can also be persuaded with chocolate.”

Stan mock-glared at you. Whenever he spoke, he used his hands in big gestures, emphasizing whatever point he was making. “Wait, wait, wait. Chocolate? What happened to followin’ me anywhere?”

“I’m just saying it helps,” you told him.

For the duration of the ride you regaled him with whatever tale that came to mind. Eventually the trees thinned out and the lake came into view, water shimmering. An outcropping of cliffs hugged one side of the lake, extending an almost natural awning over the small hut Stan parked in front of. Picnic tables dotted the sparsely grassy area and families darted in and out from between them, children laughing with sticky faces and parents chasing after them waving napkins.

“Ice cream?” You climbed out of the car, the door swinging shut behind you.

Stan watched the children with soft fondness, making faces at them as they passed. Together you walked down the worn path to the counter manned by a pimpled teenager.

“Ford said I should do things I used to like to try and jog my memory,” Stan said. He peered at the menu — 107 flavors! it boasted — instead of meeting your curious gaze. “He, uh, told me we used to come here.”

“We did.” Your throat felt thick.

He had kissed you for the first time on that picnic table over there, when dusk had settled and fireflies lit up the night around you. You had been sitting on the table with Stan slotted between your legs. His mouth was cold from the ice cream but soft and sweet tasting, dancing across your tongue. You never cared for mint before that day.

When it was your turn to order, Stan persisted that you deserved a senior discount. The teenager caved, leading you to roll your eyes as Stan put his change in the tip jar only to draw out more than he put in. He took the first taste of his mint, double-scooped cone and winked at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you said with a laugh.

“He made it too easy,” Stan replied. “Sucker.”

You sat down at one of the empty tables. No one approached you but they cast glances in your direction, undoubtedly interested in the hero of Gravity Falls. If Stan noticed he didn’t say, challenging you instead to an ice cream eating contest until one of succumbed to brain freeze.

Stan had a voracious appetite, as did you, and you won out in the end. Stan, as a result, had to jump into the lake with his clothes on.

“Wait, before you go.” You couldn’t hide your amusement as you leaned up on your tiptoes and wiped ice cream from the corner of Stan’s mouth. Your thumb lingered. Recognition flashed in Stan’s eyes, then disappeared as soon as it appeared. Had you imagined it? “Um, there.”

“Thanks, kid.”

A moment passed between you, the span of a few heartbeats, before Stan braced himself. He yelled, “TELL MY STORY!” before racing off towards the shoreline of the lake. You doubled over with laughter as his youthful sprint soon turned into a hobble, the wind carrying Stan’s curses back to you. He collapsed on the sand mere inches from the lake.

Concern worried the edges of your mind. You called out to him, “Stan? Stan!”

No response.

You smiled sheepishly at the townsfolk observing the whole situation, then trotted after Stan. Upon inspection he was still breathing, one hand draped on his chest. The sand crunched underfoot as you stood over him. “Did you die?”

“Maybe.” He cracked open an eye. “Does that make you an angel?”

Your worry vanished. Staring up at the sky, you searched the clouds for an answer about why you still put up with this old man. “No use flattering me. This doesn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a hand, would ya?”

You reached down for his hand, but instead of meeting yours it clasped around your wrist, pulling you down on top of him. You cried out in surprise. The water lapped at the pebbled beach, soaking through your clothes as Stan caged you with his body and rolled you both into it.

You shrieked in protest. Entrapped in his arms, he hauled you out into knee-deep water. It was no use trying to fight against him, though you gave your best effort. He could’ve held you like that all day and you knew that when you twisted to face him, it was only because he let you.

Somehow you winded up with your hands on his chest, his shirt plastered to his skin and revealing a glimpse of the body beneath. The moment reminded you of how young Stan made you feel, still blushing over him. He never treated you as if you were old or frail and you might as well have been in your late twenties again, when you first met, not a crease or wrinkle in sight.

Stan cleared his throat and the spell broke.

You removed your hands and stepped back, already missing the warmth of his proximity. In an attempt to ease the tension, you quipped, “I won’t forget this, Stanley Pines.”

Stan’s mouth twitched into a smile, eyes soft. “Neither will I.”

Stan assured you that evening that the outing had roused a memory, but you knew that he just wanted to console you. It didn’t matter. You were determined to recreate as many memories as possible, some alone, others including Dipper and Mabel. Great fun was had by all but you could tell, sneaking glances at Stan whenever he looked away, that it wasn’t registering.

Dipper and Mabel’s last days in Gravity Falls were swiftly approaching. It was a general consensus in the Pines household to pretend that this was not happening.

“You know, you could go with them.”

Admittedly, while watching Stan entertain Dipper and Mabel with an outlandish story, you forgot Ford was sitting beside you. The sinking sun created an orange glow over everything, glinting in Ford’s glasses as he waited for your answer.

“Who?” You asked, distracted.

“The kids.” Ford made a flippant gesture towards them. “Back to Piedmont.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t given any thought about it. It was, after all, never your plan to leave Gravity Falls. Was Ford trying to get rid of you?

Ford continued, “Just…I see the way you look at Stan. I know it hurts that he doesn’t remember.”

“It does.” You grew a sudden interest in the fray of your jeans. For the kids you put on a brave face, recreating memories with enthusiasm, but in truth, each one that failed was a stake through your confidence in Stan's memory.

“My theory might be incorrect. Or just an outlier in Stan’s case,” Ford added with afterthought, never the one to admit failure. Unlike you. “It doesn’t seem he will ever recover his memories.”

“We can’t give up, though,” you said, voice wavering with emotion.

Ford’s jaw feathered. So much of him reflected Stan down to the last detail, but with an air of superiority that Stan lacked. “Stan told you about Stan-o-War.”

A statement. Not a question.

“Yes.” Irritation raised under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

“I want to take him out. On a boat. Explore the world like we promised each other.”

“What boat?”

“I have one,” Ford vaguely promised.

“What about The Shack?”

“We can leave it to Soos. Assuming that you go with the twins.”

“Why would I do that?”

A lull happened in the conversation as Dipper and Mabel exploded in uproarious laughter at something Stan said. You suspected Ford was gathering his words. “I’m afraid that if we carry on as we have, the stress on Stan’s mind will break it completely. We need to face the music.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” you gritted back.

Ford heaved a sigh. “I’m not suggesting that you do. I don’t think you ever would. But we have to do what’s best for Stan.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed up, his shadow falling over you as he stood. “Just think about it.”

And think about it you did. A lot.

You still hadn’t come to a decision a week before the twins left. Ford informed you that he planned to surprise Stan after they left, leaving you with the decision of staying with Soos or going with Dipper and Mabel. Could you just…up and leave?

Reportedly, their parents were looking for help; from what you understood, a divorce lingered on the horizon. It brought comfort to you to think about caring for them during a tumultuous time. Not to mention you couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing them every day — but to gain it at the risk of losing Stan?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Stan strode into the room, dapper in his Mister Mystery suit. Your cheeks heated. Too many times you had been caught this week lost in your thoughts. “Oh, I —”

“No, seriously. I need a penny.”

You opened the register. He proceeded to take said coin and spin some elaborate tale to a group of tourists about how it had been crafted from a rare alien metal. Stan sold it for “only ten dollars” after pretending to meditate on the offer, chuckling as the unsuspecting tourist walked away.

He tapped the money into his sleeve. “Okay, but really, what’s eatin’ at ya?”

“I’m just sad about the kids leaving,” you told him after a pause, which wasn’t a complete lie. Unable to bear the flicker of sadness across his face, you panicked, racking your brain for something else. “We should…throw a going away party for them.”

A party? That was the last thing you needed to concern yourself with. But Stan had already latched onto the idea.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. We could promote the Shack, invite their friends, exorbitantly mark-up entry tickets.”

Stan listed each idea on his fingers. Although you regretted suggesting it, it filled you with warmth to see him invigorated by the notion of a party. You couldn’t steal that away from him now.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you that Stan was an expert party planner considering he was the life of one wherever he went. He got to work assigning roles and soon after you were hiring a caterer (Greasy Sue’s), a DJ (Soos, who insisted you call him despite being in the same room), and security (the man you only knew as “the one with the tattoos”).

The more you inquired, the more people wanted to participate. It opened your eyes to how much the Pines family impacted the town over the last few months. It was heartening, to say the least.

And by the time the party started, everyone in Gravity Falls was either attending it or volunteering at it. Everywhere you looked there was someone you knew, someone there to celebrate the people you loved most.

“You think they were surprised?” Stan’s booming voice floated over the music.

Strobe lights flashed overhead, casting him in an array of colors as he parted the crowd to your side. Dressed in dark slacks and a deep v-necked shirt, gold chain nestled in a patch of chest hair, Stan cut a perfect image of himself in the ‘70s. And although the outfit invoked memories of a younger man, you found this older one much more preferable.

“Definitely,” you replied.

Stan leaned down. “What?”

“I said definitely!” The music blared, pulsing through the whole building like a living thing. It didn’t help that Mabel and her friends had acquired full access to the speakers that Wendy’s dad lugged in earlier.

“What?” Stan wrapped one hand around your waist and pulled you in, putting your mouth dangerously close to his ear.

Heat flooded you. You yelled, “Let’s go outside!”

“Lead the way!”

To your pleasure and mortification, Stan removed his hand from your waist just enough to rest on your lower back, steering you through the crowd of partygoers. The cool night air was a balm to your heated skin as you stepped onto the porch.

Stan strayed from you long enough to shoo away two people kissing passionately on the couch — Blurbs and Durland— before patting the spot next to him for you to sit down.

“Are we old or is that music too loud?” Stan asked. He fished a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

You were entranced by the smoke curling from the end, the fixture of the cigar resting against his bottom lip. You swallowed and uncrossed your legs, then recrossed them.

“All that matters is that the party is a success,” you said.

Stan chuckled. “Heh, it is, isn’t it? Little twerps didn’t know what hit ’em.”

A small eternity passed in which you hunted desperately for something else to say. Stretched out above you on an inky canvas, the stars shone, rendering you small and insignificant. You stared up at them as exhaustion claimed you. You were so tired of thinking, of inventing conversation, so you said the one thing you knew to be irrefutable.

“You’re a good man, Stanley.”

He guffawed. “Don’t let anyone hear ya say that.”

“It’s true.” Since that day at the lake you had been careful not to touch him, but now you put your hand on his knee. “You’re a good man. What happened doesn’t change that. Your memories do not amount to your character.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and you could tell he was fighting a swell of emotion. “I wish I could do better. Everyone has these…expectations of me. I dunno how to live up to them. I want to be that person.”

“You are that person, without even thinking about it. You’re still passionate about your family. And you’re clever and brave.”

“I’m, uh, not complain’ or nothin’ but I can see the disappointment in your eyes. And-And not just you. Everyone.” He took a drag from the cigar, chest expanding with an inhaled breath. Stan blew the smoke out slowly. “I’m a stranger in my own life, ya know?”

Ford’s words, his expression grim, emerged: We have to do what’s best for Stan.

Tears sprang to your eyes but you willed them away, swallowing until your throat no longer felt quite as thick. It wasn’t fair to push Stan to be someone he couldn’t remember by clinging to a past that only you knew.

Maybe Ford was right.

Maybe the best thing for Stan was to shed the weight of these expectations and carve out a new existence for himself. He would be thrilled to explore the world with his brother — who might as well have just been introduced to him considering the time they spent apart.

There was no room for you in this new life. You knew he could never look at you without thinking about his shortcomings, even if they existed only in his mind. You were standing on one side of a chasm, yelling at him; Stan on the other side, but he was too far away to hear you.

“Well that got depressing.” Stan stubbed out the cigar, ash crumbling. He stood and held his hand out to you, eerily reminiscent of how Ford had last week. “C’mon, dance w’me.”

He looked nervous to ask you this, which dumbfounded you — you would do whatever he asked. The quiet observation made you smile.

You took his hand and allowed him to pull you back inside, a sense of bittersweet finality settling over you as you did.

The party prevailed. People were drunk on the cheap beer and good company, cheeks reddened, smiles wide. When Soos played a string of throwback songs, Stan animatedly swung you around the dance floor, surprisingly graceful for his age and size. Every touch and graze seared through you, and Stan’s gaze lingered on you in a way that heated your core and stole your breath, his dark eyes glinting with customary mirth.

A particularly enthusiastic move spun you nearly into the beverage table. You stumbled but Stan was upon you in a moment, catching you and steadying you with his hands on your waist.

“You okay?” He inspected you from head to toe, then chuckled. “Heh. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

One moment you were like that — brimming with happiness, entangled, chests pressed together — and the next Stan had pinned you to the wall, the darkened corner lending plenty of privacy to his wandering touch and fervent kisses. You kissed him back with similar urgency.

There was no part of him that you hadn’t mapped at one point or another, though it felt jarringly now like new territory, the same broad shoulders and thick arms but somehow different.

And you wanted to explore all of it.

With your teeth you tugged at his bottom lip, teasing open his mouth in order to get a better taste. Stan, pliant and obedient under your lead, sighed in pleasure. Nothing you did sated the need inside you to consume him, devour all that he offered so that you could never miss it again.

Stan had just moved his hand from your ass down along the curve of your lower thigh to lift your leg up around his waist — hardly an appropriate position for a Grauntie, you thought vaguely— when you were interrupted with unmistakable cheering. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

Stan ensured to cover your body with his own as he whirled on Tyler in a move of unexpected gentlemanliness. The next words out of his mouth? Not so much.

Stan rasped, “I swear to God if you don’t get outta my sight right now I’m gonna rip out your eyes and sew them on whatever horrible affront to nature I have in my shop. Now scram.”

Tyler paused. He breathed out a small, “Get ’em” then turned tail and fled.

You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Pervert,” Stan grumbled.

“Can you blame him?”

“Nah. I’d watch us, too.” Stan grinned then, renewed in his delight. He gestured with his chin towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The music, muffled by distance, sounded like an erratic heartbeat from the living room chair where Stan pulled you on top of him. You both laughed as your knees protested against the maneuver, Stan carefully guiding your legs to rest on either side of him. He kissed you at once. It was as if there had been no interruption from before, his hands in your hair and your fingers clumsily working the buttons of his shirt.

Stan shifted to accommodate the subsequent unbuckling of his gaudy belt, taking the opportunity to also unburden you from your top. Your entire being seemed to warm as he admired this new development, gaze drifting lazily, drinking in his fill. Stan always made you feel desirable. Even after your skin freckled and your breasts no longer held their perkiness.

Smiling with the ease of a contented man, Stan reached out and brushed a thumb under your collar. “How’d ya get this?”

You froze. You didn’t have to look to know what he was talking about — a tiny, heart-shaped scar.

The obvious shift in attitude made him recoil. His features spasmed with regret.

“I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

Your chest tightened. You whispered, “Yes.”

“Damnit.” He breathed your name. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to say anything —”

The rest of his apology fell on deaf ears. You awkwardly climbed off his lap and collected your shirt. The shag carpet nearly swallowed your bare feet, having kicked off your shoes sometime after crossing the threshold into the house. Stan sat motionless, watching you. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you quietly said.

Stan’s fingers flexed, an effort not to reach out to you again. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It…it’s okay.” You felt, somehow, as if you were both shrinking and expanding. The words you managed to eke out next sounded hollow. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a good idea.” For the second time that night, tears burned your eyes. Stan, upon noticing, leapt out of the chair but you stepped out of his reach, wrapping your arms around you.

Stan deflated. Actually deflated, shoulders curving into his usual rounded posture. “What’s going on? Listen, I shouldn’t have said —”

“It’s not that,” you interrupted.

But wasn’t?

Not exclusively, you corrected. It was a whole jumbled, tangled mess of things. We need to do what’s best for Stan.

You couldn’t do this to him. To yourself. Couldn’t cycle through these moments of normality that inevitably tainted themselves. Like oil in water, you couldn’t separate one from the other. You had been delusional to think that you could defy that basic logic.

You would do anything for love, wouldn’t you?

Didn’t that include letting it go?

“I can’t do this, Stanley,” you told him. You were floating above yourself, presiding over the conversation in incorporeal form. “I-I can’t move out of the past. And I want to move forward, I do. But it’s impossible, and I can’t have both. I can’t.”

Tears flowed steadily down your face now.

Stan moved to console you but must’ve thought better of it. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to go to Piedmont. With the twins.”

“What? What about us?”

“There is no us anymore, Stan.”

His throat bobbed uncertainly. “I know that it’s not like before but I…I’ve really enjoyed our time together. We could make this work.”

You shook your head. Sobs racked you, great shuddering, choking cries.

Stan stepped tentatively forward. “I dunno what to say.” His mouth worked as he searched for his next words. “We’ve made so many new memories together. Ain’t that enough?”

Was this really happening? You couldn't believe that it had come to this, all of those years. You didn't have any words for the emotions wholly encompassing you. 

“Look, kid, I —” Stan’s brows twisted up in grief, in regret and confusion, “— I wish you would stay. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you again.”

The pleading tone of his voice proved exactly why you needed to leave. Realistically you could never have him this way, and you would only hurt him because of it. Stan deserved more than a constant reminder of the consequences of his heroic deed.

You turned from him. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

Your name from his mouth sounded like the prayer of a man desperate for salvation. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Heart heavier than it had ever been before, vision blurred, that’s exactly what you did.

As anticipated, the next day brought an onslaught of tears and goodbyes. You traipsed the halls of the Mystery Shack alone, ghosting your fingers over the chipped paneling and peeling paint. You were married to the old house as much as you were to Stan. Deep down you knew that you would return, but it didn’t make the goodbye any less difficult.

You avoided Stan at every possible turn. Only when you all piled into the car with your luggage did you force yourself to acknowledge him, fatigue creasing his face. You wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But this would be good for him — no more sorrow, no more pain. After the bus departed, Ford would surprise him with the boat and he would start a new life.

The walk from El Diablo to the bus station seemed to stretch on forever. You held Mabel’s hand while Dipper pushed ahead, feigning bravery, though last night you heard him crying softly in his room. So much had transpired over the summer, and now the days of adventure and laughter were over.

“I made these for you,” Mabel said. She handed Stan and Ford a pink sweater each, the former putting it on immediately and glaring at his brother to do the same. “I’m gonna miss my Grunkles.”

Ford smiled wistfully. “We’ll miss you too, kiddo.”

“C’mere, sweetie.” Stan brought Mabel in for a hug. It didn’t elude you that he used the endearment he chose before the memory wipe.

You felt as if your chest might burst from all of your suppressed, cresting emotions. Dipper bid his goodbyes next. The bus rumbled to the station then, kicking up dust, and the four of you fell into a tightened embrace.

You pulled away last. Stan regarded you with large, reproachful eyes as you kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Stanley. We’ll see each other again.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked jarred by the interaction, a faint blush burning his cheeks.

Ford dipped his chin in your direction, a silent acknowledgment between you. Your lower lip trembled. But, as you turned to Dipper and Mabel, you summoned your most convincing smile and led them to the bus. Stan and Ford ensured that the driver allowed Waddles on the bus, who squealed his delight at entry. The duo, Stan outfitted in his brass knuckles and Ford with his gun, watched over your departure like two handsome, vengeful guardian angels.

Your bus seat creaked as you settled down into it, Dipper and Mabel on either side of you.

“To Piedmont,” you said.

“To Piedmont,” Dipper echoed. His grim smile had you reaching out to hug him again.

Mabel sadly waved Waddles’ hoof out the window. You couldn’t bear to look out it, staring straight ahead until the bus gained traction on the gravel road and the bus station — and your heart, your home — shrank in the distance.

For a long time the only sound was the bus chugging along and the only other rider, a snoring old man. You weren’t sure what the twins were thinking. Perhaps they were recounting their many adventures just as you were, Stan starring in most of yours.

No. No Stan. You needed to be brave.

You tried valiantly to raise morale. “We had so many great memories this summer. Fishing, swimming, being with Wendy and Soos and —”

“Grunkle Stan!”

You nodded somberly, adding, “And Grunkle Stan.”

“No! Look!” Mabel clambered in the seat, stabbing her finger at the window. Both you and Dipper righted in order to peer around her sweatered form. Sure enough, there was Stan, running to keep up with the bus and waving his hands.

“Wait! Stop!” He yelled, panting. “Stop the bus!”

“We have to stop the bus. He wants to tell us something,” Mabel said, eyes wide with urgency.

You eyed Stan, stumbling over rocks and roots, knowing that he wouldn’t last much longer. You signaled for the bus driver to stop; after the Waddles incident, he was only too willing to obey. The bus sputtered to a halt and the three of you piled off, Mabel and Dipper darting out in front to meet Stan’s breathless approach.

“Stan, what are you doing?” You shielded your face, blinking into the sun.

Stan doubled over, hands on his knees. He signaled that he needed a minute. You stood, smiling sheepishly at the bus driver, who looked less than impressed to be waiting. You started, “Stan —”

“I remember!” His face absolutely beamed. “I remember. I remember it all.” Stan grabbed Mabel’s shoulders. “You eat glitter when you think no one is looking. You told me once that you invented invisible ice cream but couldn’t find it when it fell on the floor.”

It was Dipper’s turn next for this onslaught of information, brimming out of Stan like an overflowing sink. “You! At the beginning of the summer you thought Mabel’s pet rock was an alien tryin’ to blend in. You were freakin’ out because it kept movin’.” Stan burst into laughter. “But it was just ME!”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel and Dipper leapt to embrace him. He hugged them tighter than you had ever seen before.

He remembered? He remembered?

“Don’t think I forgot about ya.” Stan released the twins, crossing the space between you in only two strides. “I’m sorry, doll, ‘bout everythin’.” His large hands cupped either side of your face, gaze roaming over you with renewed wonder. “Everything is so clear now.”

Your lip wobbled. “You remember?”

“Yes I remember you beautiful, crazy woman!” Stan laughed and suddenly he was wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off your feet, spinning you in a circle. “I remember! I remember!”

You put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself. “Stan! Stan! Are you sure?” You couldn’t let yourself hope again if it wasn’t true, fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

He set you down again, grinning like a child. “Like hell I’m sure. When…When Bill went in my mind, I ��member thinkin’ that I could never lose you. None of you. I suppose I was s’scared of it that I repressed it deep enough to protect the memories. Then when you got on that bus, when I thought I lost you for real, it all came rushing back.”

“Really?” Tears strained your voice.

“Really.” Stan’s features softened. “I understand now why you fought so hard to get these memories back.”

A sound of strangled, delirious joy burst from you and you threw yourself against him, arms encircling around his neck. Stan’s mouth hovered near your ear, lips brushing the outer shell of it. “I love ya, doll. Even-Even when I didn’t remember why, I loved ya.”

“I love you, too,” you sighed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it.” Stan retracted enough to study you, curious and awed all in one. “You can’t get rid o’me that easily.”

“I-I really thought…” you shook your head, unable to get the words out. You just held him tighter.

“I know. I know, doll.”

You didn’t need to speak to understand each other, to know what the other one was thinking. When he held you now, he held you with thirty years of memories, a bind stronger than even the ring on your finger.

Mabel broke the embrace, tugging on Stan’s shirt. “What happens now?”

In the distance, Dipper and Ford were chasing Waddles. Stan observed this, then took a long look at you before turning to his niece. He waved off the bus driver, saying, “You ever been on a boat before, kid?”

A/N 2.0: In my head, they all get to go on their adventures together and reader homeschools Dipper and Mabel and they’re a big, happy family.

There’s little nods to the Swooning Over Stans dating game by @gfdatingsim and By Steps and Inches by @funkingrunkles . Memories is kind of my love letter to both stories that I enjoyed so much. (So if you read this, thank you💕)

[hellodarling1357]

Flames and Embers - Cassian x Vanserra!Reader (slow burn)

Summary: As Beron's sixth child, and only daughter, you had spent your whole life being overlooked and under utilitised. It wasn't until Amarantha's reign that your talents were truly recognised for what they were - too bad you were forced to make a bargain to keep them secret

A/N: Hi! This started out as a request I received the other week but then turned into something completely different and so far from the original request that it’s now getting it’s own multi-part story

This will eventually become a Cassian x Reader fic with a bit of angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, and all the other fun tropes we know and love!

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3k

Being the only daughter of the Autumn Court’s High Lord, alongside having seven brothers to compete with, you had been overlooked for most of your life which was just fine by you.

You had used the cover of being just a female in an archaic court to your advantage and took the time to observe and learn whatever you could. After being forced to witness how your brothers treated Lucien, you had always tried to have his back, which only went so far when any show of defiance from you was met with a beating. When Lucien had been forced out of your home, you had been heartbroken it had come to it but also happy that your youngest brother could finally become his own person and escape the cruelty that had followed him around his whole life.

Eris had always tried to keep an eye on you. He wouldn’t give up the façade in front of the others, however, he would find the time whenever he could to take you out riding into a long-forgotten part of the woods where he would teach you how to fight. The day you landed him on his ass had been one of his proudest moments, but that didn’t stop him from upping the pressure, forcing you to become stronger and more tactful in each step. Knowing that you could easily take on the rest of your brothers is what kept you from lashing out at their comments and actions towards you; with Lucien gone, you had become their next punching bag to which your father turned a blind eye.

Then Amarantha showed up and everything was turned on its head.

It was in no way a pleasant 50 years, however, you managed to stay out of harm’s way, no doubt at the hands of Eris' doing, and managed to avoid most of the horrors that occurred. However, once the human girl, Feyre, had arrived, you made yourself more present in the ongoings of Amarantha’s court, unable to leave the girl fully alone and fending for herself. Your need to help her was further spurred on upon realising that Lucien appeared to be her friend.

Lucien. The thought that your brother, the one who had managed to escape the past 50 years of torment, was now here as well had you feeling as though you had somehow let him down, even though it was completely out of your control. You hadn’t been present the first time Tamlin had sent Lucien to seek out Amarantha, the time when she had so viciously carved out his eye that even some of your brothers seemed somewhat affronted. However, you were there now. You had watched on in horror as Lucien defended Feyre, and then the 20 lashes Tamlin was forced to give after he helped with the first task…

Once Lucien had been allowed to retreat to his room, you had spent the next hour finding out as much as you could about Amarantha's plans for Feyre and your brother. With healing supplies in hand, you ventured into the sprawling court to where you had been told Lucien resided. With a quiet knock on his door, you entered the room and felt your heart break at the shaken, broken form of your brother. Despite the clear pain he was in, he had leapt off the bed at the sight of you and was quick to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Y/N,” He had exclaimed, carefully surveying you for any signs of injury. “Are you alright? What’s happened? Cauldron, I’ve missed you.” Then he was pulling you into another hug that left you in tears.

When was the last time you had seen him? It had been decades.

“I’m fine,” You brushed him off and made him sit so you could assess his injuries. “You look like you’ve seen better days.” He made a non-committal sound in response, taking in a deep breath at the sting of the healing balm you helped spread across his back. You pushed onto your heels, assessing the damage and your makeshift attempt of bandaging the wounds.

“What can I do?” You asked, feeling just as helpless as you did when growing up.

“Check in on Feyre. Please. I can’t…I can’t do anything, not now. And whatever game Tamlin is playing, he won’t go see her. Please. She’s all alone.” You hesitated for a moment but found yourself nodding.

“Of course. Of course I’ll go and see her.” You lowered your voice, not trusting that anywhere in this place was truly safe. “Does she truly love him?” If she did, then you all had a chance of getting out.

“She does.” Lucien answered, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Anything else, let me know, alright? I’ll go and check on her.” You gave your brother a final hug and then slipped from the room, making your way towards the dungeons.

*****

“Feyre?” You whispered into the darkness, the guards were in the middle of their rotation, so you had few valuable minutes to slip in and out undetected, the limited healing supplies and food you managed to take with you were clutched tightly into the folds of your dress.

An incoherent groan sounded from further down the dark, cage-lined corridor. You hurried over, halting in your steps when you saw her sitting against the wall still covered in blood and mud, a pained expression on her weary face.

“Feyre? I’m Y/N. I’m Lucien’s sister, he asked me to check on you, see how you were holding up.” You tried to stay optimistic but the wound on her arms was nothing that you could fix. Maybe before Amarantha stifled everyone’s magic you would stand a chance, but not now when all you could offer were some clean rags, a bit of water and a scrap of bread.

You knelt on the floor in front of her cell, unable to get in without your magic or access to the key.

“I know it hurts, but are you able to move a bit closer, I can’t help you from here.” You cringed as you watched Feyre grit her teeth, slowly moving across the floor, pain evident on her face.

“Y/N?” She asked in a strained voice, you nodded with a small smile, passing her the bread which she quickly bit into. “Lucien told me about you. Said that you were here.”

“I don’t have long, here, give me your arm I’ll do my best to clean it but there’s not much else I can do. At least not right now.” You wiped away the blood and muck that lingered from the first task, trying not to grimace as you took in the severity of the wound. The sound of movement spurred you on, quickly ushering her to drink the water and finish the bread so you could leave before getting caught.

“I’ll try to get back here soon, okay?” Feyre was already making her way back towards the rear wall where she slumped against it. You were almost out when a small voice called out.

“Y/N? Thank you.”

*****

Managing to obtain some of the healing balm that you had used on Lucien's injuries, you kept to the shadows as you made your way back down to the dungeons.

You had been keeping an ear out for what Amarantha’s plans were for the girl; if she planned on healing her before the next task or leaving her in the dark cell to fend for herself. Either way, you couldn’t be too obvious in your efforts to help, lest you get caught and wind up dead for the blatant disregard of Amarantha's orders.

The sound of voices had you slowing in your steps as you overhead the back end of a conversation. Someone was in Feyre’s cell with her.

“Oh, that’s wonderfully gruesome.” You recognised that voice, but surely it wasn’t…

Feyre swore at the male, earning her a chuckle as he taunted, “Such words from a lady.”

You edged closer to the cell, unsure what your next move would be from here but still unwilling to leave her to fend for herself against Rhysand.

“Get out,” Feyre’s voice was frail as she tried to show her strength against the High Lord.

“Don’t you want me to heal your arm? Or is that what Y/N Vanserra is here to do? I know you’re there, Y/N.” His voice called out to you now.

Shit.

You approached the cell; it was too late to turn back. Your best chance was to play along with his games, there was not point in running, not when he knew you were there and that it clearly wasn’t your first visit.

“Hmm, wiping away the grime was a valiant effort, and what’s this you have?” The healing balm disappeared from your grasp, reappearing moments later in Rhysand’s hand. “Well, that’s not going to do much against the infection and broken bones.”

Rhysand turned back to face Feyre, “But how about a trade? I’ll heal your arm in exchange for you. Two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.” You desperately shook your head, trying to tell her he couldn’t be trusted.

“No.”

“No? Really?”

“Get out.”

“You’d turn down my offer – and for what? A fool’s chance that this healing balm will work? Or are you holding out for your friend – for Lucien, correct? After all, he healed you before, didn’t he? Then convinced his dear sister Y/N to come down to tend to you after the first trial.”

Now Rhysand turned to face you, giving you a look that had you thinking he could see your every thought, which, you remembered with dread, he probably could. You had never been taught how exactly mental shields worked but you did your best to block him out. It clearly wasn’t enough judging from the chuckle and assessing look he gave you before facing Feyre again.

“The way I see things Feyre, you have two options. The first, and the smartest, would be to accept my offer.” Your eyes widened in anticipation as Feyre spat at his feet, but Rhysand continued pacing the length of the cell.

“The second option – and the one only a fool would take – would be for you to refuse my offer and place your life, and thus Tamlin’s, in the hands of chance.”

Rhysand had stopped pacing, staring hard at Feyre who had turned white as a sheet and looked as thought she may pass out at any moment.

“Let’s say I walk out of here. Perhaps this healing balm will work,” He tossed it back to you, desperate in your attempt to grab it before it could shatter to the floor. “Perhaps Lucien will come to your aid and offer his magic. Or perhaps he won’t come at all. Between you and me, he’s been keeping a low profile after his rather embarrassing outburst at your trial. Amarantha’s not exactly pleased with him. Tamlin even broke his delightful brooding to beg for him to be spared – such a noble warrior, your High Lord. She listened, of course – but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

Feyre started shaking, eyes darting up to you in confirmation and what looked like betrayal. You hadn’t told her about the lashes.

“Although, from what I heard, the punishment wasn’t overly effective seeing that the wounds somehow healed over within a few hours without the assistance of magic. You would almost think that something like that healing balm you've got there, Y/N, was used despite Amarantha’s order that there was to be no assistance provided.” Rhysand tutted as he turned to you with a smile that made your stomach coil but said no more on the matter.

“So, Feyre, it’s really a question of how much you’re willing to risk it. I don’t need to invade your thoughts to know that you’re wondering if that fever of yours is the first sign of infection. I already know that you’ve slowly been realising that you’re dying.” There was a beat of silence in which Feyre stared back at him with such hatred, you felt your pulse quicken at the thought that it may be too late to help.

“Well?”

“Go. To. Hell.”

Before you could react, Rhysand lashed out and twisted Feyre’s arm, her scream echoing throughout the cell as she thrashed against him. But he kept his grip, twisting the bone a final time before releasing her arm as she half sobbed and panted through the pain.

“This is the last time I’ll extend my assistance. Once I leave this cell, my offer is dead.” Feyre spat at him again but remained silent.

With a disappointed sigh, Rhysand began to ripple with darkness. You weren’t sure what to think; you couldn’t trust him but if Feyre really was dying and this was her only chance of survival…

“Wait.”

The darkness around the High Lord vanished, solidly appearing again with a grin as he faced Feyre.

“Yes?”

“Just two weeks?”

“Just two weeks. Two teensy, tiny weeks with me every month is all I ask.” He was kneeling in front of her now as he purred out his terms. As if suddenly aware of how much time you had already spent down here, your senses picked up, listening closely for any sounds of the returning guards, but there was nothing.

A surge of magic had you turning to face the cell just as Rhysand grabbed Feyre’s arm. She let out a scream before fainting, head falling against the wall.

“What did you do?” You yelled, banging on the bars of the cell in a futile attempt to get in.

“Exactly what we bargained for. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, Vanserra.” Before you could process his words, Feyre was suddenly sitting up, with the blood and mud completely gone you could do nothing but watch as some colour finally returned to her cheeks. Letting out a sign you offered her a small smile, at least he had kept his word and healed her arm. The remainder of the bargain was something to think about later when you all got out of this mess. If you all got out of this mess.

“What have you done to me?” Only then did you notice the black swirls that covered her skin and the large eye tattooed in the centre of her palm.

“It’s custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh.”

“Make it go away.”

“You humans truly are grateful creatures, aren’t you?” Rhysand stood back up, darkness wafting around him again. “I think I’ll wait to tell Tamlin about our little bargain. I do wonder if he will be as appreciative as you are. Rest up, Feyre.” And then he was gone in a shadow of night.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” You knelt on the floor outside the cage, surveying her for any signs of potential harm caused by Rhysand, but she just looked tired, troubled.

“I’m fine. My arm is fine. I just feel stupid, he didn’t do that to help me, he did it to hurt Tamlin.”

You let out a sigh, “We’ll deal with that later, alright? At least you’re not about to die, so we will take that as a win.” Standing back up you surveyed her again; she was so young and had already faced so much more than most of the fae here. “I’ve been here too long, I need to go before the guards return. But, Feyre, I’ll be back. I promise.”

*****

You slipped out of the dungeons and hurried down the corridor, quickly ducking behind a corner at the sound of the guards returning.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You jumped at his voice, heart hammering in your chest as you turned to face Rhysand where he casually leant against the wall, picking at his jacket as he surveyed you with mild interest.

“I was starting to wonder about what you had been getting up to after all these years here. We never see you at any of our Lady’s…festivities.”

“I must have missed the invite.” You tried to step around him. You had gone this long without piquing the interest of any of Amarantha’s cronies, managing to stay relatively to yourself, and you’d be damned if you were forced to show your face now.

“Interesting,” His violet eyes continued to assess you. “You know, it doesn’t surprise me really. I remember back when we were just children, playing court whilst forced to join in on the formalities. You always managed to remain in the shadows, yet even back then, you somehow knew everything and got away with so much.”

You stared back, eyes narrowing as you waited for him to continue. He clearly had some angle he was getting at.

“Yes. Those particular skills may be useful to me one day. And while I’m in such a giving mood, how about a bargain of our own? You be my eyes and ears,” You scoffed, already shaking your head as you attempted to walk away again. “And in return, I’ll keep your role in all of this quiet. You wouldn’t want Amarantha to know that it was you who helped Lucien, and now Feyre, would you? After all, I’m sure she would be pleased to be reminded of your presence in her court.”

Glaring at him, you knew he had you cornered. The satisfied smirk that played on his face told you that he knew as well.

With a reluctant sigh you stretched out your hand which he firmly grasped.

“Fine.”

“Lovely.”

You refused to break eye contact with the High Lord as you felt his magic encase your upper arm and shoulder, no doubt leaving a similarly intricate pattern to the one now splayed across Feyre’s arm.

You looked down to see if there was any visible evidence of the bargain, but it was completely covered by your dress. Good. At least that would stop any questions from being asked.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N.” And then he was gone in another shadow of darkness.

[actual-changeling]

We don't talk enough about the fact that RIGHT after Memento Mori we get an episode where a woman's fiance is killed and she loves him so much she literally brings (a version of) him back to life.

He died shortly before their wedding, and in the end she performs the ceremony with him and then releases his "soul" and mourns him. Scully and Mulder witness most of it.

I already mentioned the parallels to DeadAlive at some point:

But when you compare Kaddish to Memento Mori the similarities are practically screaming at you. The title itself refers to a Jewish prayer of mourning and fits perfectly.

Not only is the colour scheme the same just reversed, the actions and their positioning mirror each other too. Add to that the fact that these are Jewish traditions and thus by extension Mulder's traditions and you have a vortex of pain.

The woman's father even says that she tried to bring him back with her love—but he's merely a husk, a dead man walking. I think you could say that Scully is already a dead woman walking at this point, though by Redux it's quite literal. They both know that, they both were forced to confront it at the hospital, they are both aware that there's a timer looming above them as it ticks and ticks.

Mulder and Arial cannot accept reality, so they fight it with their beliefs. Belief in the truth, in God and her traditions, it all comes down to a matter of faith.

Here are some comparisons of what I consider to be the most important shots/parallels.

My favourite part, however, is the ending.

Scully shows up and helps Mulder back on his feet (he got knocked down by said semi-revived now-husband) and then asks him about what's happening.

Saying Goodbye.

We get a wonderful shot of Mulder's face as he says it, and oh look it's familiar devastation and grief! From the moment he learns about her diagnosis, Mulder is both preemptively grieving her and simultaneously refusing to accept any of it. No matter how far he tries to run from it, he'd never run from Scully and thus cannot escape her equally inescapable death sentence.

Arial had to accept the death of Isaac and Mulder has to accept Scully's fate.

Without wanting to, Mulder is already beginning to say goodbye and preparing himself for the loss he knows will destroy him. Everything Mulder does, from looking for a cure to celebrating her birthday because it might be her last, is his personal song of mourning—his prayer directed at everyone and no one.

He invented wishing her back to life and did it over and over again, however many times it takes; he needs her more than he needs to breathe.

[mentally-a-slut]

Three Days (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader) (SMUT)

Anddddd here we are! Part two of 'Staring Problem'! This can be read as a stand alone, but if you want a suggestive lead up, then go read part one! I tried my best with this one, but I haven't written explicit smut like this in a long time, so go easy on me! Writing this also reminded me that I loathe writing in second person, so from here on out I think I'll either do first or third. I won't bore you with details here, but I'll put up a separate post updating y'all on some stuff. Anyway, enjoy, and please leave feedback! Silent readers are appreciated but leaving comments helps me get motivated to continue! Even just a one word comment or an emoji helps! - Azi >:)

Summary: Arthur's been gone on a job for three days, which isn't a new development. However, a new development in your relationship just before he left leave you wanting. But fear not, as your troubles will be soon solved!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected PinV sex, smut, oral (f receiving), overall filth, reader is female, unedited (sorry), probably OOC Arthur but we're here for dick not character analysis!

You had always hated when Arthur went away on jobs, but ever since he left you hanging, your distaste for his long absences had grown.

You hadn't seen the man in three days, only getting a parting kiss and a heavy, heated promise as a farewell. The first day he was gone, you were mostly in awe of what had happened, wistfully going about your day and daydreaming of things to come.

The second day left you a little frustrated, the ache for him only growing with his absence. The other girls had noticed too, only making you more irritable as they teased you relentlessly for your obvious attitude change.

The third day was when you started to get worried. He'd been gone on longer jobs than this before, but you still couldn't help the nervous bouncing of your leg as you sat across from Tilly, trying to busy yourself with patching up some clothes.

"I'm sure he's fine. He's been gone much longer than this before."

Your lips contorted into a line, eyebrows knitted as you shook off the pain of the needle piercing the soft pad of your thumb. "I know. Just miss him, I guess."

Tilly just smiled and let you work in silence alongside her.

Arthur had gone to rob some stagecoach close to Emerald Ranch, along with Javier and Micah. You trusted Javier to help bring him back safely, but the addition of Micah made you nervous. He had a reputation of losing his cool and endangering the lives of everyone in a five mile radius.

Abigail had been very helpful the last couple of days. She understood every minor shift in your demeanor in the time he was gone. John was no stranger to long jobs, so Abigail knew exactly how it felt to sit idle while the men were out in danger.

John tried to be helpful, saying things about how Arthur had been bled half to death before and still made it back alive, but that only made things worse. You appreciated the effort, though.

It was getting close to evening now, the light of the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. You tried not to feel disappointed, knowing that if they were on the way back, they would likely stop and make camp for another night before arriving. Riding at night was never good unless they were on the way to a job. Riding back during the day was safer, and helped them keep an eye out for any witnesses or general hinderances along the way.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to your lonely bedroll for the night, the sound of rumbling hooves shook the ground under your feet.

You whipped your head around to see three healthy horses slowing to a walk near the hitch posts, each one carrying an upright, unharmed figure. You silently cursed the fact that Micah had made it back alive, but figured it was too much to hope that you'd get Arthur back and get rid of Micah in one day.

You didn't care what it looked like to the others, throwing all cares out as you rushed over to greet the man that had been haunting your thoughts for the last three days. He was just finishing up tying his big black shire to the post, taking the weight off his horse for the night, when you tackled him into a hug.

He stumbled slightly, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist as he snaked an arm around yours to steady himself. His breath tickled the top of your head as he chuckled. "Miss me?"

You scoffed and pulled your head from his chest, still gripping the sides of his jacket as you looked up at him. "You were gone three days!"

He smiled down at you and pulled you back against him, settling his other hand to cradle your head against his chest. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

All of a sudden, he withdrew, his eyes landing on the man a few feet away that was tending to his horse. "Javier!"

He turned. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"Tell Dutch me and my lady are goin' on a little vacation for a while, will ya?"

Javier nodded with a smirk, and you shrieked as Arthur lifted you onto his horse without warning. He followed shortly after, kicking his horse into a fast walk as a few wolf whistles resounded from camp.

You held onto his waist tightly as he sped up. "Where are we goin'?"

"Just into town."

"What are we gonna do there so late at night?"

You felt more than heard his responding chuckle. "Get a room."

"Oh. Oh."

The excitement that tingled through your body was electric, buzzing the whole ride there.

~~~~~~

You would have flustered at the knowing look on the hotel receptionist's face if you had been at all aware of anything but Arthur.

Arthur thanked the man before leading you up the stairs to the room, his large hand gripping yours the whole way there. You expected him to jump straight into action the second the door closed behind you, but instead his strong arms pulled you into a hug.

His arms encircled you and pressed you against him as he nestled his face into your neck. The vibration of his words against your neck sent sparks through your body straight to your core. "Thought about you the whole time."

You sighed into him, holding onto his as if he would disintegrate upon letting go. He only pulled back to gently tilt your chin up, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips.

The kiss was so soft, so filled with emotion, his fingers brushing lovingly across your cheek as your lips molded together. You were the one to lean into it, chapped lips parting and teeth nipping lightly at him.

The responding noise from him fueled your desire more, the desperate groan making your whole body ache for his touch. His hands moved from your waist to your hips, fingers bunching up in the fabric of your shirt as he fought your tongue with his.

When his rough fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist, you whined into the kiss, arching into him. He chuckled against your lips, brushing his hands even further up your shirt and coming to a stop just under your tits.

You broke the kiss just for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, discarding it wildly behind you. You yelped as he lifted you and spun you around, walking you backwards towards the bed. You tugged him down on top of you, slipping a hand under his shirt to feel to ripples of muscle on his chest and stomach.

"Arthur," you whined, tugging at his shirt. He got the hint, discarding his shirt before meeting your lips again. His kiss was rougher this time, wet and messy as he took in the feeling of your body against his. You brought your legs up to circle around his waist, and you whimpered when he pressed his hips forward against yours, his hardened cock straining against his pants.

You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly. He squeezed your hips in response, kissing down your neck and nipping at the skin on your chest.

His hands snaked around your back, undoing your bra without even pausing. He broke the kiss only when he pulled the straps down, revealing your chest to the open air. Your first instinct was to cover yourself, but he didn't even give you the chance.

You didn't have the brain capacity to be embarrassed at the sound that came out of you when he took a nipple into his mouth, gripping the other with his large hand. He groaned against you, his erection brushing against you. He was growing harder by the second, the mere sight of you arousing him intensely.

His unoccupied hand stroked down your stomach, slipping two fingers in the waistband of your pants. You nodded and begged desperately, writhing against him. "Please! Please, Arthur..."

He moved his lips to your other nipple, quickly unbuttoning your pants and ridding you of both them and your panties in one movement. His lips separated from your chest as he moved up to you, staring into your eyes with intense lust. "I'm gonna get you ready, baby, that okay?"

Your heart swelled with emotion, only intensifying your desire. Even when he was desperate with lust, he looks at you with such caring, always making sure your okay. "Yes, yes, please!"

He smiled at you before kissing you sweetly, slowly kissing down your body. You whined as his hot breath brushed your core, your head tilting up to look at him between your legs.

His eyes glittered with amusement as they met yours, a teasing finger brushing your inner thigh. It was so close to where you needed it, but so far. "You're a tease."

He chuckled, "Can't help it when you look so pretty beggin' for me."

You threw your head back and groaned, half in frustration and half in arousal. Your noise quickly shifted to a whine when he suddenly slid a finger across you folds, head fuzzy with pleasure. "So wet already. All for me, sweetheart?"

You groaned and nodded, hips shifting towards him in an attempt to get him to do it again. "Ah, use your words."

Your words were half whimpered. "Yes! All for you, only for you, please!"

"Good girl."

He swiped his finger through your folds again, this time teasing his fingertip around your aching entrance. You bucked against him when his thumb brushed against your clit, breathing coming out in short, whiny sighs. "Please."

"Whatever you say, baby."

You moaned as a finger slid into you, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. Before you could complain at the lose of stimulation when he removed his thumb, his lips connected and sucked harshly. Your moans were surely loud enough to be heard, but the pleasure that wracked your body was so overwhelming you couldn't bring yourself to care.

His finger slowly moved in and out, brushing against your sensitive walls as his tongue assaulted your clit. You tangled a hand in his hair, tugging harder than you intended. He groaned against you, making a jolt of pleasure shoot through you.

The stretch of another finger was added, making you cry out. It wasn't enough to be painful, just enough to make you stretch around him so deliciously. He pulled his lips off of you and looked down at you, eyes hungrily watching as your cunt swallowed up his fingers. You looked down at him, lips parted with pleasure as he worked his fingers inside you. "More."

He glanced up at you with a smirk, slipping in a third finger. It sent a small jolt of discomfort through you, but it was quickly overwhelmed with pleasure as the third finger pressed against the most sensitive parts of your walls. "Oh, fuck, Arthur!"

"Feel good, huh?"

"Yes! Please, please, I'm gonna cum!"

He sped up, his fingers pumping in and out of your relentlessly. He leaned back in to swirl his tongue against your clit, which made you walls start spasming around him. Your thighs tensed, threatening to close around him, but he pulled back and held your legs open.

"Go on, baby, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum."

You couldn't form any words as his fingertips curled inside you and prodded against you in a way that made you see stars. His encouraging words only pushed you closer and closer.

"Good girl, doin' so good for me." You moaned and clenched around his fingers, muscles spasming as the dam broke. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you came, short, whiny moans escaping your lips as he fingered you through it.

With a gentle kiss against your clit that made you twitch, he pulled his fingers out of you and rose to look at you. You forced your eyes open, smiling breathlessly up at him. "You okay?"

You couldn't help but laugh, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. "More than okay. That was amazing."

He smiled and kissed you again, slow and loving. You knew you could tell him you were done for the night and he would agree in a heartbeat, not even caring about his own unresolved desires. But his sweet kiss only fueled another spark, already tingling through your body. His moaned against your lips as you arched against him, legs moving to wrap around his waist and pull him against you.

He pulled away with a raised eyebrow. "You're a needy one, aren't you?"

"Only for you."

You pulled him back down, kissing him roughly and pressing your hands all over his bare skin. His hips bucked forward when you tugged at his waistband, his desperation shining through even when he tried to stifle it.

You pushed him back, catching him off guard and shoving him onto the bed. He chuckled and shifted further back, letting you swing your leg across his hips and straddle him. You leaned down to kiss down his neck, smiling at the soft murmurs of content as you nipped at his collarbone.

You reached between the two of you, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down. He helped you and kicked them the rest of the way off, leaving him in only his boxers. You stared down at the bulge that strained against the white fabric, a wet spot of pre cum soaking a part of it. You looked down at him with a proud smile. "I do that to you?"

His hands slid up your thighs and caressed you hips. "You do so much to me. More than you could ever imagine."

You leaned down to kiss him, pouring all your emotions of admiration and lust into it. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing as he groaned against your lips. Your hips pressed down against his. sending a shock of pleasure through you as your clit brushed against his clothed bulge.

He would have been content to kiss you like that forever, but you were growing more and more desperate with each touch. You slid your fingers into his boxers without breaking the kiss, gently stroking his cock. His reaction spurred you on, and you pushed his boxer down to release him.

You marveled at his size as he helped you discard his underwear, leaving him fully bare underneath you. He was thick, and longer than anyone else you'd ever had. Your hand continued to slowly stroke up and down his shaft, thumb smearing the beads of precum around him. You were transfixed on him, lost in the feeling of his soft skin against your palm.

"Fuck, baby, as pretty as you look doin' that, I don't wanna cum just yet."

You slowed your movements to a stop and looked up at him with a soft smile. The admiration you felt for the man beneath you was overwhelming, and you didn't know if you could ever truly explain to him how much he meant to you.

You slowly moved to kiss him again, soft and sweet. You let your hips relax against his, smirking as his hips shifted under you to gain friction. You moved your hips against his shaft, your cunt dragging against him. You continued grinding on him, breathing growing heavier as the tip of his cock teased at your entrance with each movement.

After a few more seconds of torturing him, you lifted your hips and gripped his cock, prodding him against you entrance. Before you moved, you pulled away from his kiss, sitting up and placing a hand on his chest for balance. He groaned as he looked up at you, poised above his cock, cunt dripping with anticipation.

Emotion shone in his eyes, gaze still so loving even when clouded with lust. With a sigh, you lowered yourself slightly, taking his tip inside. You knew it was going to be a stretch, so you had to restrain yourself and take it slow.

He groaned at the sight of your cunt swallowing him, even just the tip of him. You held his gaze as you lowered another two inches, fingers gripping his chest at the slight stretch. Soon, his hands gripped your hips tightly as he helped you sink down all the way, clit brushing against him as you were finally fully seated against his pelvis.

Your eyes were dark with lust, cunt clenching around his cock as you adjusted. His eyes flickered over you, rapidly moving between your joined bodies, your heaving chest, and your face. "So perfect. Take me so well."

His words spurred you to move, lifting your hips slightly and moaning sweetly as you sank back down. The pain of the stretch had completely disappeared, replaced with a blinding pleasure. You rolled your hips a few more times before rising further, speeding up.

His hands held your hips tightly, his thighs tensing as he tried to hold himself back. "Fuck, sweetheart, look at you. Swallowing me up like that."

His words only increased your desire, your hips rising and falling faster, legs lifting you further off his cock. His moaned as he stuttered out praises, hands tightening on your hips as you rose fully off him and slammed back down again. Your pace increased, his length filling you up perfectly and brushing against the sensitive spots within you.

You struggled to hold yourself as you got closer and closer, pace faltering. You whined, every breath coming out as a soft moan. "You're doin' so good baby, want me to take over?"

You managed a messy nod, and his hips immediately rose up to meet yours, hands moving your hips up and down on him. You threw your head back as your cunt spasmed, orgasm coming down hard and fast. "I'm- fuck! Gonna cum!"

"Go 'head baby, I've got you."

With his words, you moaned with your release, his cock still pounding into you as you rode it out. Your senses were fuzzy, everything covered in a blanket of pleasure. You didn't even realize he had flipped you over, your head against the soft pillow. As your vision cleared, you looked up at him, blissful smile on your face.

"You did so good, honey, think you can gimme another?"

You nodded blearily, spreading your legs further as he continued thrusting into at a ruthless pace. You were building up to another one fast, barely even recovered from your previous one. His hand rested against your throat, grounding you but not squeezing. "So gorgeous, my pretty girl. Look so good stuffed full of my cock."

You moaned pathetically, hands going up to hold his face and grip his hair. "You feel so good, Arthur, I- I love how you make me feel."

He groaned in response, slamming into your cunt even faster. "So tight for me, gonna make me cum. Where d'ya want me?" He struggled to get the question out, his voice stammering through moans.

"Inside. Fill me up, Arthur."

His hand tightened around your throat for a moment at your words, and he moaned loudly. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me."

His movements grew sloppier, fingers pressing against your throat as he pressed his lips to yours in a messy kiss. With a few more thrusts, your own orgasm came to a head, only slightly preceding his.

His groaned against your lips and your walls clenched around him, his cum painting your insides as you milked him. He fucked you through it, kiss growing softer as he slowed to a stop. He stilled inside you, pulling back to look in your eyes.

You looked back at him, lips curled into a soft smile as he rested his forehead against yours. He pulled out carefully, planting a sweet kiss on your lips to distract you from any discomfort.

He shifted to lay next to you, turning his head to look at you. "You okay?"

You smiled and looked at him. "With you? Always."

[theemporium]

hii!! saw u asking for requests and i haven’t been able to get this idea out of my head! poly!marauders with a s/o that’s like really good looking so wherever they go people look at her and they get all pouty and whiny until barty, evan and reg all come up to her and kiss her cheek and are like “we still on for tonight?” AND THE MARAUDERS AFE LIKE ???? WYM🤨🤨😤😤 and she’s like “oh! we’re having a sleepover!” and they’re like, “well now we’re joining” but she says no so they sneak into the slytherin dorms to see her and the skittles smoking weed and just laying around and they basically just hang out with them even though they’re jealous 😭🤭🤣

thank you for requesting!🖤

.

It was comically ironic how bad your boys were at sharing. 

Not with each other, of course. They had no problem sharing with each other, whether it meant alternating whose bed you slept in or who chose the date night for the week. Funnily enough, the topic of sharing and the odd nature of your relationship was never something the boys ever struggled with. In a sense, their friendship was only brought close together through it all. 

But sharing you with others? That was a whole different story. 

Despite as much as it displeased them, you were a social butterfly. You liked to reach out and make friends. The house or class status never mattered to you—people were people and that’s how you treated them. 

It didn’t help that your smile was warm and comforting, or the fact that the majority of the school student body had heart eyes for you. It was never an issue before because the boys knew you were theirs, they knew they snatched you when nobody else could. 

That security in the relationship quickly spiralled out of control with your growing, buddying friendship with the Slytherin boys. 

It started off as sitting next to Barty during one of your classes. A harmless seating plan that sat you next to the boy who seemed a bit grouchy—no pun intended towards his name. A friendship blossomed, which extended towards the small group Barty kept close to him and before you knew it, you found yourself having a little membership too. 

The boys weren’t amused. Not at all. You had dealt with their fits of jealousy here and there, but this was beyond that—this reached levels of pettiness you had never witnessed before. 

“This is ridiculous,” you stated, biting back your giggles as you watched your three boys shuffle into the room without a bother in the world. 

“I can’t imagine what you’d call ridiculous,” Sirius dismissed as he settled on the bed behind you, leaning over the edge to press a kiss to the top of your head. “We just wanted to hang out with our girl.” 

You leaned your head back, shooting the boy a look. “I told you I was having a sleepover tonight.”

“You didn’t tell us who,” Sirius countered. 

“Does it matter?” you asked. 

“I believe my brother is jealous,” Regulus commented, sitting across from you with a joint between his fingers that had been passed around the group before the boys arrived. 

“You are jealous?” you asked, your eyes filtering over each of the boys. 

“It’s hardly jealousy,” Sirius scoffed. 

“We just missed you,” James stated. 

“You saw me less than two hours ago,” you retorted. 

Remus shrugged. “I don’t see why we can’t join.”

You shook your head, though your amusement was clear. “You lot are a pain in my ass.” 

“We love you too, baby,” Sirius grinned as he leaned down, this time pressing a kiss to your lips. You could feel his smile grow when his brother let out a disgusted noise. 

“You’re going to scare away my friends,” you murmured with a playful pout. 

“Good,” James said as he shuffled over to you, happily laying his head down on your lap and grinning up at you. “Means we get to keep you to ourselves.” 

“Jealous bastards,” you huffed out a laugh. 

“Your jealous bastards, sweetheart,” Remus murmured with a hint of a smirk, unashamed in his words. 

Regulus blanched. “You guys can’t stay if you’re gonna try snogging her the whole night.” 

Sirius only grinned. “Shut up, Reggie, or we will try shagging her instead.”

.

[modernsuperhero]

Tbh as much as i love seablings i like the idea that lizzie's death has nothing to do with jimmy's curse more. Lizzie's death was her own. If we want to talk about jimmy's curse, instead of lizzie's tragedy, then let's talk about how it was broken on accident.

Consider this: every game has been the same except this one. Certain "curses" are attached to certain people - Jimmy the canary, Skizz the boogey, etc. But not this time - or, well.

Last game was the first time, according to martyn's canon, that two players were so damaged from the watchers' overfeeding on their significant traumas (pearl witnessing scott's suicide, cleo's own traumatic death) that the listeners were able to intervene and temporarily swap their souls out with, ofc, lizzie and gem, to give them reprieve to recover.

I like the perspective that instead of there being one death loop that restarts over and over, there are multiple happening all the time. They overlap. The watchers are of course constantly feeding - and perhaps this is why the members of each loop vary slightly over time. Adding ingredients, removing others, as time wears on. Lizzie was not actively in a loop during limited life - but that does not mean she hasn't been in death games in the meantime. Perhaps even gem has, too, though i believe possessing cleo was her first time.

Also last season, grian was yanked out of his body by the watchers, attempting to remove him from stunting the growth of their anguish farm (making it a game instead of a saw trap, as @stalarys so aptly put it). But he managed to keep his claws in the game, even going so far as to break beyond the literal borders of the game - "we're already dead," as he said, leading the nosy neighbors beyond the veil - because grian is nothing in any universe if not stubborn in the face of authority.

We know from last season that the games are already unstable. The listeners' influence is growing, and grian is proving to be more and more of a problem. (He definitely doesn't know about the listeners' existence, but he's likely unaware of how he may be helping them, and they him.)

Jimmy is not dead first. But he dies so soon after - the second body to fall.

The game, the watchers, the farm - it course corrects when things go wrong.

Grian, who has broken the rules this season not once but thrice - allowing an exception for scar to reroll, even allowing breaking of his own rule on helmets (for both scar and mumbo), and falsely rolling a success last session, is given a chaotic impossible task. (Grian tends to doom his allies - curse or simply bad choices, he is teamed with etho, and their rerolls are entwined. They seem personal, don't they? Etho ran from grian's wither once before. Grian died leading out a warden.) He succeeds, on one heart despite everything, only to be slain on top of the button itself.

He's stuck in spectator. Isn't that perfect? The game, HIS game, GLITCHED. His grip on his in-game body, the part of him he wedged into the mechanics of this death loop, slipped. He regained it, sure, but now he is forced to course correct: he comes back green when he should be yellow.

And grian has just seen the price of breaking too many rules. Jimmy's funeral was too soon. He switches back to yellow, rerolls for his deserved prizes at the cost of his own chances of victory.

(Because victory, while still a goal, is not the point. The point is to break the game.)

(Last season, tango watched one of his closest and most common allies sacrifice himself for his team. This season, he allies with him again. It's ironic that they're giving away their hearts to others - similar to giving away their time. Maybe skizz's death impacted tango too harshly. Maybe his pain fed a bit too much.)

(This is the first season since skizz, an angel, died so full of divine bloodlust that it manifested as the boogey curse, that he has been here and his curse has not. Two curses now, tentatively broken.)

(Martyn feeds the watchers more when he is an unguided hand, wandering and hurting, so ren has not been in this particular loop for a while now. He is available to replace tango, just for a bit, just like how gem and lizzie replaced cleo and pearl.)

Last season, the games finally started to break.

This season, we get to see the cracks.

(The watchers are more obvious this season. The keeper's symbol, grian's lack of achievement entering the end... They're grappling for control as it is slowly but surely dragged away from them.)

[centipede-gutzz]

📸 CONFESSIONS [DANNY JOHNSON X GN READER]

A/N: this feels like it should be a fic but i don't wanna write so it's "headcanons" instead. i need this man.

WARNINGS: blood, slight violence, make out sessions.

TYPE: headcanons, gn reader, romantic

Grass and dirt cover your backside as you're forcibly pushed to the ground. Sparks fly from the generator you were just working on, stuttering and smoking.

It was almost finished too. You look up to glare at the looming shadow on top of you. The Entity's choice of the killer for today was Ghostface himself, just perfect. You try to pry away from him but it's no use now, with your arms being pinned above your head to keep you from struggling.

"Oh, no no no! Can't have you scattering off again, now can we," Danny chuckles out while wagging his finger. God if you were able to move, you would punch this asshole so hard he would be out of commission for weeks.

He seems to notice your scowl and raises his knife to your throat, inches away from slicing. "Look how helpless you are. It pairs real nice with your pretty face," he says with a teasing tone of voice. You call him out, a smug grin plastered on your face as you point out the effects you must have on him. He must be head over heels for you if you're still alive and not on that dreaded hook.

Your taunting works as he grips his knife in anger. If only that mask was off, perhaps he was all flushed. Seems like your guess was correct.

"You're going to regret saying that, you little shit".

☆- as much as he doesn't want to admit it out loud, he really is obsessed with you.

☆- you're the only survivor with both bark and bite, always coming back with remarks and teases. it drives him mad.

☆- danny tries so hard to push back the giddiness he feels when he sees you during matches.

☆- seems like the type to subconsciously go for everyone else and save you for last so both of you are with each other for longer (which he does).

☆- always likes to take pictures of you whether you notice or not. when you're working on a generator, helping your teammates, or simply just sitting at the survivor camp laughing and smiling at your friends. likes to string them up on the walls of his cabin to admire your wonderful looks.

☆- he can't tell whether it's some weird obsession or genuine love. he doesn't have much experience with those types of feelings so it's not the easiest to pinpoint. you guys are just going to be stuck in this little cat and mouse game if neither of you make a move.

☆- danny grows on you as time passes by. while you don't show your interest in the same way he does, you just like to play along with his games. he loves a challenge, so you'll give him one.

☆- despite witnessing how shocked and flustered he gets whenever you say something back to him, you can't help but question if he truly feels the same way. you'd think he would've made a move by now.

☆- it starts to get to you. you're tired of running around in circles and having your thoughts plagued with questions and wonders about what he feels, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

☆- during one of the many matches you had against ghostface, you were the final one left. desperately trying to listen for that glorious low drone of the open hatch.

☆- you clutch your bleeding sides, palms stained red. an attempt to unhook dwight let to you being attacked by danny (he blows you a kiss right after).

☆- the hatch is in your sights now, exhaling a breath of relief as you make a run for your exit. before you can reach it, a knife is dug into your shoulder.

☆- you cry out as you stumble onto the floor, danny's laughter ringing in your ears. you hit the ground in frustration as you hiss in pain.

☆- he lowers himself to look you in the eyes all the while taunting you, reaching in his pocket to pull out his camera for another picture.

☆- perhaps it's time to throw your thoughts out the window, you think to yourself as you pull him down to kiss the mouth part of his mask. you hear him make a noise of surprise as he drops his camera and jumps off you.

☆- for once in his life, danny is at a loss for words. he brings a gloved hand to his mask, breath heavy and heart racing. he was so caught off-guard that he didn't notice you crawl into the hatch, ending the match while he stands there dazed.

☆- when you spawn back at camp, the others congratulate you for making it out on your own. a couple of them ask you how you managed get out, yet you can only mumble out that it was pure luck, hoping they don't see your flushed face.

☆- danny is no different of course. he immediately makes a beeline to his cabin to think about everything that happened, the kiss replaying in his head over and over. he falls to his knees and glances up at your photos, wondering how this moment ever came to be.

☆- it's complete radio silence from then on. you haven't gone against him for about a week and you didn't even catch him stalking the survivor camp like he usually does.

☆- you start to wonder if you went to far, guilt creeping up on your mind. maybe he didn't see you that way. this whole situation made you seem out of it and unmotivated, your fellow survivors questioning your state of mind.

☆- you decide to stay on the outskirts of the camp one night. the others are making idle chat around the fire while waiting for the next match to finish. you kick a pebble as you stare at the grassy earth, lost in your thoughts.

☆- suddenly, hands cover your mouth and eyes as you get dragged into the forest. you thrash around violently and swear into the hand to let you go but the perpetrator's grip never falters.

☆- soon enough, you're being dragged into a cabin in the depths of the woods. you get dropped to the floor, the wood creaking below your weight. quickly raising to your feet, you yell various profanities and questions at the kidnapper before stopping to see danny standing in front of you.

☆- his mask is nowhere to be seen, yet his face still remains hidden underneath his hood. fist are balled to his sides as you feel his eyes gaze into your own. you think it's time to apologize for what you did.

☆- before you could even muster a word, his lips are on yours. they're chapped but you can't bring yourself to care as arms wrap around your shoulders, pushing you against the wall. you stumble a bit at first but quickly return the kiss with the same desperation.

☆- tongues dance together sinfully as you both make up for lost time, hands grasping whatever they could find. you don't know how long it's been going on for, constantly taking breaks to catch your breath before kissing him again. but god, something deep in your mind begs it for it to never stop.

☆- the air is too hot for your liking as you pull away (holding back a chuckle in reaction to danny's whine at the loss of contact). even when you're this close to him, his face is never shown. you would ask to see, but perhaps that's for a later time when you gain more trust.

☆- he looks at you, eyes filled with hunger and adoration. you try your hardest not to look away in embarrassment, and instead stare back with lidded eyes.

☆- "i think i'm in love with you." danny finally breaks the silence in the air. you raise an eyebrow as if to ask "you think?"

☆- danny grumbles and turns his gaze to the side. "give me a break, things never got this out of hand." you're confused about what he meant but quickly realized he meant love in general. it makes sense to you, seeing his stalking habits and actual murdering sprees.

☆- yeah, you could say that he's into you.

☆- you give him a warm smile, affirming him that you plan to help him through the roller-coaster of love. he rests his head on the crook of your neck in silent thanks as you feel the smile against your skin.

[ratboyy-withtheexistentialdread]

Nevermore Chapter 97

Spoilers ahead, lads. Skedaddle if you don't fast pass. EDIT I guess I’ve said too much in this post and need to pull it back a little. So imma gonna edit it so it doesn’t say too much about this chapter.

Alright, first my reaction cause HOLY HELL those last few panels really got me like

I really had to put my phone down and talk myself through them. Now, lets talk about what I gained from this chapter and the infamous Annabel Lee. I've noticed, at least in the comment section, the fandom really doesn't care for Annabel's character and its difficult to know where the animosity has come from. Tumblr obviously loves her but us heathens support women's rights and wrongs (Don't we gents?) Many call her a sociopath or what’s happens in the last few panels. Annabel is indeed ruthless, calculating and stone cold but she obviously cares. She cares for Lenore above everything. It can be easy to see this as obsession as we really haven't seen her care about much else or even herself. But one comment on the Webtoon brought up a very valid point which I've also picked up on.

Annabel and Lenore in life were very isolated and broken people when they met one another. Annabel, broken and then rebuilt into a prim and proper lady. Lenore, broken physically and mentally and closed off from the world.

Meeting each other saved them. They were no longer alone. There was an understanding between them at least that we know of.

Their differences though is what divides them in death.

Annabel played games, and masked her true self around her father and family connections. She now makes games of situations to retain what little control she had in life over a society she knew she could never break the rules of. A Game that was always rigged against her.

Lenore rebelled against society. She fled the estate to escape a suitor, was bound to the attic and ostracized by her family, she then faked her death and posed as man to court Annabel, the one person who cared for her.

Lenore wants to break the rules of the deans Death Game. Annabel wants to follow them.

It’s all they’ve ever known.

Before it was only them that mattered. Now Lenore has so much more to fight for and Annabel still only has Lenore. Both are right in their own way of playing the game but it pains the other to witness.

Annabel, I’m sure is aware that the Deans are not all they seem to be and won’t simply allow the students to turn the tables on them if they played how Lenore wants to.

And playing Annabel’s way means the callous death of many many people that do deserve another chance at life.

Now. I do have to agree with Annabel in the sense that Lenore forgets

This is a Death Game

Right now the “villainous” characters show their true face with pride and the “hero’s” are charming and true but as we get down to the wire, it’s going to get grey. There are no good or bad at the end of these games, only survival.

Could Annabel show some restraint and more tact when speaking strategy and making plans with Lenore? Absolutely. She’s little too giddy about sweeping some pieces off the board.

Lenore also needs to stop being so naive. She saw first hand what exactly the Deans are capable of in Dreamland, it put the fear of god in her.

In fairness to both characters though they and we are still missing big pieces of what happened between them and what their causes of death were. Which could hold big aspects of their characterization.

Maybe Lenore was originally very callous about others. In life, aside from Theo and Annabel, we’ve never really seen her interact with others. Perhaps this is the Lenore Annabel speaks of.

Anyway, I’m rambling. In conclusion, I’m a bit disappointed in Nevermores comment section. I enjoy Annabel’s character although some parts do worry me a bit but I have hope Red and Flynn have plans to curve this to a satisfying reason and conclusion.

That cliffhanger, boy howdy, what the fuck is Lenore gonna do…

[updownlately]

every time you walk into the room (i’m speechless)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 1.9k | inspo: speechless by dan + shay | a/n: another req let's go! this one's been in the ask box for minute and it finally made it past the outline stage! twas a fun one to write! s/o to this anon for the req! i hope i did it justice! this is the outfit inspo for leah btw!

~~~

You loved your girlfriend, you really did, but sometimes moments like these really tested your patience. She sometimes really tested your patience.

“Leah, love, for the sake of football, any chance that we could head out before the world cup starts?” You shouted up the stairs, hoping the other girl could hear you clearly. 

The two of you had been invited out with the team, just a nice little get together to celebrate the end of the season before everyone parted ways to prepare with their individual national teams. It wasn’t much really, just a dinner that had the possibility of migrating to a bar or club, but nothing outwardly crazy.

You and Leah had started getting ready a while ago, you getting dressed much earlier due to Leah wanting to kick you out of your shared closet and room, something about a surprise and a kiss promising she wouldn’t be too long distracting you from complaining.

So here you were, sitting at your kitchen island for the past forty-ish minutes or so, resignedly waiting for the blonde to finally come down. Some time between the doom-scroll of Instagram and then TikTok, your mind had been severely sidetracked, the sweet aroma of your girlfriend’s favourite perfume floating down the stairs, overwhelming your sense in the best way possible, and for a while you hadn’t minded how long she was taking. 

Now though? A little under half-an-hour away from the designated time for the dinner, you were beginning to worry whether you’d make it on time, well aware that London traffic and parking would be a pain to navigate.

Getting no response from earlier, you tried once more, leniency wearing thin. 

Hand running across your face in a vain effort to relax, careful not to mess up your hair, you called out a bit gentler this time. “Leah we gotta leave soon otherwise we’re gonna be late!” 

This time you got lucky, the frenzied voice of the defender carrying through the hallway and down the stairs.

“I’ll be down in five! Almost done, I swear…just got my hair left!”

Quietly groaning to yourself, you threw your head back, aware that five minutes weren’t going to be just five minutes.

“I heard that!”

“And yet you didn’t hear my first call! Love you too babe!”

Shaking your head and taking a deep breath, you fiddled with your keys in front of you, getting antsy with every minute that passed. 

All you really wanted to do was see your girlfriend dressed up, admire her, and head out to enjoy your night with your teammates turned friends, something you were immensely excited for and therefore eager to attend to. All this waiting wasn’t doing you any good, the restlessness taking up home in your bones, jitteriness becoming ever present.

It seemed that luck was on your side though, when only about seven minutes later you could hear the defender approaching the top of the stairs. Murmuring a quiet thanks into the air, you rose from your seat, heading to the landing, hoping to usher Leah to the car quickly and head out.

Approaching the bottom steps though, you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks, the sight that awaited you when the blonde walked down the stairs making you glad you waited.

Your mouth falling agape, adoration pouring in your veins, you couldn’t help but stare.

“I-…Leah…baby…” You tried, words not seeming to fall past your lips, at least none that would do justice to just how beautiful she looked standing there ahead of you. 

Blinking, mind short-circuiting, you stood there stunned, speechless.

Leah wasn’t going to lie, she had expected this reaction from you, with the number of times she had already witnessed it in the past. Yet, each time it didn’t fail to cause her to blush gently, your love for her always surprising her, making her appreciate you just a little more.  

Head ducking down, biting back a smile, Leah’s soft voice wrapped around you. “What do you think? Worth the wait?”

“Uh-“ Swallowing hard, you tried to regain your bearings, praying for your internal gay panic to stop for long enough to allow you to form at least one coherent sentence. Letting your eyes trace over her stunning form, you tried once again.

“Shit.”

“That bad?” Leah couldn’t help but tease you, aware that you meant it in awe, yet not willing to pass the opportunity to annoy you.

“Leah…okay fuck. Shit. Fucking hell.” You threw your head back, eyes closing at your nervousness at seeing your girl dressed up. 

You could feel the blonde’s eyebrows raise in amusement at your words, not needing to look at her to feel her smiling, yet you did, bringing your gaze back down, not wanting it to leave her for even a second.

“What happened to being late for dinner?”

“Babe…” you whined. “You absolutely cannot be asking me that after you come down looking like that!” Finally finding your ability to talk, you continued. “Literally not at all fair. Not one bit. Did you even think about me? Or the other girls? How, tell me how are we supposed to stay focused on dinner when you look so gorgeous?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you eagerly stepped forward to close the gap between you two. Opening and closing your mouth a few times again, you searched for better words to express how you were feeling.

“My god…”

“Yes I’m real, and yeah, I don’t know how you managed to pull me either to be honest.”

Head shaking in amusement, you reached out to the blue-eyed angel. “You’re so cocky y’know, out here thinking you can read my mind.”

“Am I wrong?” The cheeky reply not taking more than a second to slip past Leah’s lips.

“You know you aren’t. It makes it so much worse.” Grinning you let your eyes trace over her outfit for the umpteenth time. 

You weren’t sure how Leah managed to make everything she wore look so amazing, but she did, especially the suits that she wore, like she was now. There was just something about the way that the cropped blouse and tan suit had you in awe, her wavy hair and makeup complimenting it ever so perfectly, the world’s most elegant model, here in your arms. 

Taking a deep breath in, your eyes widened once the realisation that she was yours hit you again. “Seriously though…no words. I’d tell you you look beautiful but I don’t think that even begins to cover it.”

Your words had Leah blushing even harder, ocean eyes shyly meeting yours. 

“I’m so serious babe. I know I say it every time but you genuinely blow me away with how lovely you look. Out here leaving me at a loss for words really.”

Stepping back just a tad bit, you raised your intertwined hands above your head, wrist turning enough to wordlessly tell Leah to spin around slowly. 

“God I’m gonna marry you one day…” The words slipped out of your mouth, heart speaking faster than your mind could comprehend.

Leah stopped in her tracks at your words, slowly finishing her turn before looking at you intently. “You mean that?”

This time it was your turn to blush, cursing yourself for being so lovesick. 

Seeing the truly concerned look in the midfielder’s eyes though, you decided to double down.

Shrugging, pulling Leah closer by her waist, you eased her mind. 

“Yeah. You've had me wrapped around your little finger since the day we met. Still have me in a daze most days. In fact, you said it yourself, I genuinely can’t believe I managed to get you and so I’d be honoured to love you for as long as I can, forever hopefully.”

The look that she gave you at your words had your heart bursting in joy. Eyes shining with love, a gentle smile on her face, Leah looked at you like you were her whole world (because you were- she didn’t know what she’d do if she lost you).

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise. And you know we can’t break those.” 

Interlocking your pinkies, you brought your joined hands up to your lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of her hand before dropping it down.

Becoming aware that you had already spent long enough in your apartment and not enough on the streets though, (not that you would ever mind spending time with Leah) you decided to suggest finally heading out, only having ten minutes to make the twenty minute trip now. 

Tugging Leah closer to you, you placed a kiss on her lips before stepping back and giving her another once over and then a playful wink.

“As much as I'd love to stay here with you, Katie and Beth would absolutely kill us if we skipped out on tonight. So, before we get any more late, shall we head out pretty girl?”

Nodding and letting you lead the way, Leah followed you out the door, smiling to herself at your actions. She knew you were extremely punctual, not one to ever be late if it was in your control. Yet, in moments like these, you’d always make the time to appreciate her, to love her, and she couldn’t adore you more for it if she tried. 

It wasn't a secret how much the pair of you loved each other, endless teasing from all your friends (and sometimes family) adequate proof of that. Yet in stolen seconds like these, where it felt like you two were the only ones in the world, in the cozy bubble of your love, nothing ever felt greater, nothing ever felt more important. Not to you and most definitely not to Leah.

The English captain knew that she'd spend forever with you if she could, the idea of loving you, of marrying you having always been a question of 'when' rather than 'if'.

So if on the drive there, she silently planned your guys’ wedding in her head, you didn’t have to know. And if she spent a good chunk of that planning thinking about what wedding outfit would best leave you speechless, more than she had ever made you thus far, you most definitely didn’t have to know. After all, while her beauty left you tongue-tied, your love for her, all of her, left her at a loss for words, nothing but warmth coursing in her veins, a permanent blush on her cheeks.

And when you both arrived indisputably late, nearly half an hour past the designated time, and the teasing from your teammates was directed at you, you couldn’t help but shrug, declaring your love for her and ignoring the impending comments of 'whipped' headed your way.

“Leah looking at me dressed like that? There’s my weakness. She can take as much time as she needs to get ready. Hell, I made us late in fact. Really though, anything she says tonight, I agree with,” you joked, adoration and mirth filling your eyes.

It really was safe to say that it wasn't a secret how much you two loved each other, especially when all it took was her walking into the room for you to fall in love all over again.

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night Mor was Hurt

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst, mentions of blood/injuries/assault.

summary: Azriel finds an injured Mor that brings forth many realizations. Realizations that he has been avoiding for a time now.

A/N: We are two more imagines away from the end! I'm so excited to get started on Azriel & Valeria's love story! <3 for those that may be new here, this is an imagine among my collection that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here.

**

The training grounds echoed with the sound of grunts and the shuffling feet as Cassian and Azriel circled each other. Their movements were not as precise or graceful as usual, marred by their roaring hangover. Yet Cassian had insisted they still train.

“You’re getting sloppy, Az.” Cassian said, easily dodging Azriel’s punch. He had left little opportunity or time to protest on training when he forced Azriel awake. The image of Azriel holding Valeria, someone he saw as his own little sister, in such an intimate way brought a sense of unease. It was a feeling fueled by the protectiveness he harbored for her.  “Anything on your mind recently?”

“You mean besides this raging hangover?” Azriel spat back, squinting as the sun’s rays blazed over them.

“Perhaps, I should specify. Anyone on your mind recently?”

Their hands moved, parrying and throwing punches. The hits were calculated, the strength held back. Cassian chose to cut to the chase, finally voicing his suspicions and concerns over something that had been gnawing at him for a while now.

“What’s going on with you and Valeria?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Cassian snapped. He found an opening and landed a punch to Azriel’s shoulders, no longer holding his strength back and sending Azriel faltering backwards. “You two were cuddling.”

“You were cuddling me.”

“Oh and I’m sure it was me spooning you that gave you a raging hard on.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Azriel finally said with a defensive glare.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t understand because Rhysand is like a brother to us and she is his little sister. Our little s–”

“She may be like a sister to you.” Azriel cut in sharply. The icy rage he carried with him, one only Rhysand had witnessed before, dared to surface. “But not to me.”

Cassian glared right back at him. “She’s off limits.”

“Why? Is it because I’m a bastard?”

Cassian flinched. The weight of the word was heavy, one that burdened his own shoulders too often. It hurt him to think that Azriel would think so lowly of him, to call him out cruelly over something he had no control over, especially when Cassian was in the same position.

Azriel’s gaze hardened at the silence that fell, daring him to say what lingered unspoken in the air. He needed to hear it, to shatter the illusion he had desperately and delicately crafted for himself.

“You know I would never use that word against you like that but it’s an unfortunate title we must carry.” Cassian’s gaze had softened. “She is not only Rhysand’s sister but the daughter of a High Lord. She’s already suffered through so much and I don’t see this ending well for you, for her. So whatever it is that you two have, it needs to stop. Now.”

“I don’t think I can.” Azriel’s voice was pained, his face held an expression Cassian could not read.

“Don’t tell me you two have already…”

Azriel’s silence was an answer. 

Cassian dropped his fists, using one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose instead as he felt bile rise in his throat. He had been angry at first. Despite not sharing the same blood, he loved Valeria like his own sister. And Azriel, he was his best friend, the closest thing to a brother he could ever have. He was torn. He wanted to be happy for Azriel. If it were anyone else, Cassian would’ve cheered him, would’ve annoyed him for more details.

Azriel could have anyone–anyone but her.

 “This is more than physical attraction,” Azriel was desperately protesting because if anyone would listen and be willing to understand, it was Cassian.  “When she hurts, I hurt. When she’s happy, I’m happy. I need to be with her all the time. I-I can’t control it.”

Cassian would never say it outloud but he hated the thought that surfaced onto his mind. His mother, born of low status, faced rejection after she became pregnant while his father had received no backlash. The same cruel fate had befallen upon Azriel’s mother. Why would Azriel and Valeria be any different? If anything, since their roles were reversed, it’d be worse and he could not let any harm come to Valeria or Azriel.

 If the High Lord found out that his one and only daughter was no longer a virgin, no longer a pure bride…Cassian shuddered at the thought.

“Learn to control it.” Cassian’s cut through the air, his cold voice returning. “Before things get worse, before you fall in love.”

Azriel found himself stumbling back until the back of his knees hit the bench. He sank onto it as Cassian walked away. It’s already too late, he wanted to say. Everything he felt for Valeria had already turned into love. But he could not find his voice.

Cassian turned to leave, but before he moved on, he paused. “Count your stars lucky that it is me who caught you this morning and not Rhysand.”

**

Weeks later…

Valeria sighed deeply.

“Stop moving.” Her mother chided with a tsk.

“Is this really necessary, mother?” Valeria asked, her voice almost a whine as her mother continued to fuss with the fabric.

“Absolutely, my little star.” Lady Yvaine replied, eyes twinkling with excitement and admiration over her work. “Every stitch is a wish, every fold a dream. This dress has to be perfect.”

Valeria turned her head over her shoulder to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She was draped in a smooth white satin, a rough silhouette of a wedding dress. Her mother’s keen eyes were delicately placing a layer of glittery tulle, a celestial veil to adorn the gown with a twinkling brilliance, much like starlight on a clear night sky, over the satin fabric.

“I’m not even getting married,” Valeria grumbled as she turned back around.

Her mother, who was knelt before her, pinning the tulle fabric down looked up at her. “You never know when a charming suitor may come by. I want my daughter to be ready.”

Valeria knew there was no winning with her mother so she bit her lip to keep herself from retorting. She couldn’t ignore the nervous fluttering in her stomach at the mere thought of marriage. In a world where females rarely had a say in their unions, the looming specter of her father’s choice stirred unease within her. A selfish and innocent desire whispered in her heart, wanting to marry for love, a prospect already coming into mind…

The intricate ink wrapped around her ring finger pricked her skin, reminding her of Rhysand’s promise to her. That she would marry someone who could make her happy, make her laugh. Someone who loved her as much as she loved them. Someone who smelled good. It was a foolish promise for him to make but they were kids when the bargain had been struck. She wondered if it was a promise he would be able to keep or if they would discover the consequences of when a Night Court bargain is broken. 

“I already made your husband’s suit so that it may match perfectly with your dress.”

Lady Yvaine’s voice pulled Valeria out of her thoughts. Valeria’s eyebrows knitted together, a ghost of a smile on her face at her mother’s enthusiasm. “How is that even possible? We don’t even know who it will be, their measurements, if they’ll even want to wear it.”

Her mother placed her hands on Valeria’s hips, using her body to help her rise. She smiled lovingly at her daughter, caressing her cheek. “I just know,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

The blood drained from Valeria’s face. “Is there something I should know? Has father–”

Lady Yvaine’s laughter interrupted Valeria. “Don’t fret, my dear. Nothing has been said so far.”

Valeria shifted as she fell deep into thought. Memories of the fear and worry she had felt when she learned of Mor’s arranged marriage flooded back and then her mind drifted to a conversation she had with her mother years ago. She knew her mother’s marriage to her father was not based on love. It was based on their mating bond, their fates intertwined and destined together by the Mother. And there was one question she hadn’t dared to ask back then…

Lady Yvaine frowned, mirroring Valeria’s expression. She could sense her daughter’s unease. “What troubles you, my dear?”

“How did you know he was your mate?” Her voice was merely a whisper.

“The bond snapped for us at the same time. It’s an indescribable feeling but when our eyes found each other, I felt like the world stood still. I couldn’t look away and in that moment, all I knew was that I needed him. I knew he felt it too when he killed my uncle, who had been seconds away from clipping my wings.”

“But you don’t love him.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Lady Yvaine gently cradled Valeria’s cheeks in her hands, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. “But I love what he gave me.”

“A mating bond is rare in itself, even more so for love to be involved as well.”

Valeria wanted to ask more but a knock on her mother’s door had them both turning their heads. “Come in,” her mother’s voice beckoned and the door opened, revealing Rhysand.

He smiled as he entered, his eyes widening when he took in the sight of Valeria. The ink entangled around his left wrist pricked at his skin. “Is there something I should know?”

“Just mother being eager to send me off in her finest.” Valeria replied, turning to her mother with a pleading look in her eyes. Her mother rolled her eyes but gave her a light tap on her shoulder. “She already made your future wife's wedding dress. A whole wardrobe, in fact.”

Valeria made her way to the privacy screen in her mother’s room, keen to take off her future wedding dress.

“That’s insane.” She heard Rhysand chuckle as she changed back into her usual attire, a soft linen blouse and trousers to allow her to move freely, something that would be very much needed when she snuck off for her Valkyrie training later. “How do you even know if it’ll fit them?”

“She just knows.”

“I just know.”

Valeria and her mother said in unison as Valeria stepped out from the privacy screen. Her fingers worked her hair into a fishtail braid. 

Lady Yvaine grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “Mother always knows best.”

“What are you doing here? Weren’t you visiting Mor?”

“I was but I couldn’t find her.” Rhysand replied as he helped their mother put away her needle and threads. “So then I thought why not go enjoy a nice lunch in Velaris with my beautiful mother and annoying little sister?”

Valeria gave him a vulgar gesture when their mother wasn’t looking. He stuck his tongue out at her in response. Their faces were stoic when their mother’s gaze flickered between the two.

But then Rhysand’s expression changed, contorting into one of pure bewilderment. His nostrils flared and body tensed. His mouth set into a hard line and then he was scowling. His eyes were distant but burning with rage.

“What is it?”

And when she heard it, she immediately recognized the voice that was frantically calling out her name, calling out her brother’s name. It was Azriel’s. Her eyes widened and then the three of them were running.

They found Azriel in the foyer of the Moonstone palace and Valeria felt her heart drop at the sight of the injured female in his arms. It was Mor.

 Her blonde hair was disheveled and tangled with autumn leaves and branches. Her face was marred with dirt and scratches. Her skin was bare and exposed, revealing bruises and gashes but her stomach was the most terrifying sight. There were nails embedded to her skin, blood trickling down, as they held up a note.

Valeria didn’t bother to read the note as she rushed up to Azriel. Tears stung her eyes as she reached out toward Mor’s neck, a sliver of relief flooding through her at the pulse. She was alive.

“We need to get her to the infirmary.” Lady Yvaine stated. “I’ll call for Madja.”

Valeria’s touch lingered on Mor, her other hand reaching out for Azriel. She winnowed them into the palace’s infirmary, knowing Rhysand would follow. Azriel placed her gently on a bed and Valeria was quick to cover her with a sheet. She wanted to take the note nailed onto her stomach off but she could smell the faebane and she feared making the injury worse if she did so.

She glanced between Azriel and Rhysand, sensing that they were still communicating in their minds. “What happened?”

“Get Cassian.” Rhysand was ordering Azriel.

“Are you sure–”

“Get. Cassian.” Rhysand seethed, his fists clenching at his sides until his knuckles turned white. “I want him to see.”

Azriel turned to Mor, not wanting to leave his friend’s side while injured. She had been unconscious when he found her. He had been patrolling around Autumn Court’s borders per his High Lord’s request when his shadows alerted him of an injured female in the forest. He then shifted his gaze to Valeria and she gave him a reassuring nod, an unspoken promise that she would take care of Mor.

Azriel disappeared into his shadows and Valeria looked at her hurt friend, her own heart aching. “Mor,” she called out softly, her fingers gently wiping at the caked tears on her friend’s face, but the blonde did not stir, not even when Valeria’s own tears accidentally fell onto her face.

“Rhys, you have to tell me what happened, who did this.”

 “Eris broke off the engagement and her family punished her. Her brothers did this to her and then they dumped her in Autumn.”

“Why would Eris break off the engagement?”

Valeria lifted her head, watching as Rhysand’s gaze darkened. The anger was not directed at her but at someone behind her. “Cassian.” He snarled. “Look at what you did.”

Valeria turned around. Azriel and Cassian stood behind her, a couple of feet away from her and Mor. Azriel’s face was stoic and unreadable but there was an icy rage within his hazel eyes. Cassian was frozen in pure horror as his eyes landed on the unconscious and bleeding female. He barely had enough time to react before Rhysand was lunging forward.

Rhysand pinned Cassian to the floor, shadows and darkness madly swirling around him. He gripped Cassian’s leathers to bring him up and then slammed him back down to the floor. 

Rhysand’s hands wrapped themselves around Cassian’s throat. “You knew the consequences but you couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you?”

“Rhys.” Azriel reached out to pull Rhysand off of Cassian but was met with the wrath of Rhysand’s darkness.

“It wasn’t like that.” Cassian croaked out, his eyes pleading with him to hear him out. “Please–”

“Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Valeria caught the sight of Mor stirring in bed, her face contorting in pain. 

“Enough!” Valeria exclaimed sharply, silver tendrils of moonlight escaping from her fingertips. They darted toward Rhysand, shattering his cloud of darkness and forcing him apart from Cassian.

Rhysand slammed into the floor, the silver tendrils wrapping around his wrists and anchoring him to the ground. Cassian was gasping for air and Azriel rushed to his hide, helping him to his feet. Rhysand’s gaze widened in disbelief as it landed on his sister. He knew she had powers but he had never seen them so violently on display and never had anyone been able to overcome his own.

Valeria was glowing, her powers trickling from her hands and threatening to lash out again. “I don’t care what happened but there will be no more injuries. Enough harm has been done.”

The door to the infirmary opened, her mother and Madja rushing in.

Valeria’s eyes were cold and demanding as they burned into her brother’s. His lips curled into a deep frown. She had never looked at him that way before. 

“Val–”

“Leave.”

**

Days had passed and Valeria spent them at Mor’s side. She seldom left, only to shower, change or eat, but even then, she always made sure there was someone with Mor. Sometimes, it would be her mother, Rhysand or Azriel. She was reluctant to let Cassian watch over her, worried over what could transpire if Rhysand and Cassian bumped into each other, but she made sure to keep her friend up to date with Mor’s status.

It was on the eighth day that Mor finally woke. Her body was slowly healing. She had confessed everything to Valeria, on how Valeria’s words the night they went to Rita’s inspired her. She knew the consequences of her actions but she would much rather face those than live a life where she was forced to remain by Eris’s side. It wasn’t just Cassian she had spent the night with but Tanwyn as well and she had made Valeria promise that she would leave that detail out if anyone asked.

As Valeria held her crying cousin close, she couldn’t help the tears that fell from her own eyes. “I need to talk to him.” Mor whispered. “Cassian needs to know that I don’t blame him for this.”

Valeria nodded. “I’ll go get him for you.”

**

Valeria had given Cassian and Mor privacy. She froze when she felt her brother’s presence. “Rhys.”

The two hadn’t spoken much over the past couple of days. Valeria knew that Rhysand’s actions had been spurred by his protectiveness over Mor but she did not concur with the way he had attacked Cassian. Rhysand had apologized to her and to Mor but he knew it was Cassian who needed to hear it. Guilt flickered in his violet eyes.

“I need to talk to him.” 

“After.”

She felt the cool caress of his shadows before she saw him. They slivered up her arms, coaxing her head to turn toward their master. She hadn’t spoken to Azriel much either. She was relieved that he was here, her body yearning to be close to him but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The way Rhysand had reacted to Cassian and Mor struck a sense of fear in her and Azriel, always attune to her, could feel it too.

When Cassian slipped out from the infirmary, she felt herself tense up. There was a reassuring tug, tempting her gaze to Azriel again just as his shadows had done. He would be present and willing to intervene if things got heated again. It was only after she felt another tug that she allowed herself to return to Mor, sending a wary glance to each of them.

**

Rhysand’s head hung low as they all sat in one of the living spaces of the palace. Azriel and Cassian had refused to sit in case they had to spring into action. Cassian leant against one of the pillars while Azriel stood in between them both. His shadows were curled against his ear, keeping him alert on every movement and breath. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Rhysand said. He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes brimming with tears. “Mor is like a sister to me and seeing her hurt–” he grimaced as the image resurfaced “--I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I was just so angry but you didn't deserve that. She explained everything to me. I just wish you would’ve come to me first. We could’ve planned something, I–I could’ve protected her.”

Cassian mirrored Rhysand’s sullen expression. This was the first time they had fought over a serious matter and gone days without speaking. “I’m sorry too.” 

The two exchanged a teary look and before they knew it, they were hugging and forcing Azriel to join.

When they pulled away, Rhysand dragged a hand down his face, his features betraying his exhaustion from the previous days. He looked at his two closest friends, his brothers. “We can’t keep secrets like this from each other.” He sighed. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Azriel’s shadows stopped their whispering and froze as their master’s wings twitched. This was his chance to tell Rhysand–to come out clean. Perhaps, Rhysand would be understanding, he would find a way to help him and Valeria. But it was Cassian’s gaze he met first and he moved his head in a subtle manner. Don’t. 

“Alright then,” Rhysand broke the silence. He tapped Cassian and Azriel on the shoulder in a farewell gesture. “I need to go speak to my father over Mor’s new living arrangements. She’ll be staying with Valeria and my mother from now on.”

**

Shadows danced around them, enveloping them in a cloud of darkness and keeping their exchanged words a secret.

“I fucked up.” Cassian said with a frown, his wings sagging to the floor. While Mor and Rhysand had forgiven him, he couldn't forgive himself. He knew that Mor would face great punishment for losing her virginity to him but he would've never imagined it'd result in something as terrible and cruel as this. “Didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Azriel answered dryly. “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“It’s different.” Cassian was quick to reply.

Azriel glared, remembering their conversation from weeks ago, when Cassian had warned him to stay away from Valeria, reminding them of the consequences that laid ahead of them if they continued to be together. And then Cassian had gone and done something similar with Mor and it was only Mor who had to face the brutal consequence of their actions alone. This is exactly what Cassian had warned him about so how was it any different?

“It’s not.”

“I don’t love Mor and it was a one time thing only. You, on the other hand…” Cassian’s voice trailed off. 

Azriel braced himself for Cassian’s expected harshness, anticipating an insult. He was not prepared for the sting of the words that followed:

“Let this be a reminder to us, as cruel as it is, that in this world, you and I are no different than the females in Prythian in some aspect. We are not free to want things. We are not free to love who we want. We are not deemed worthy."

As Cassian took a step back, Azriel’s shadows fell. They returned to their master, sensing his hurt and snaked around his limbs. They wrapped him in their loving embrace, offering the comfort they had provided for many years. 

Not deemed worthy. The words had sliced through him like a blade, shattering the fragile illusion he had painstakingly built around himself. It was an illusion he clung to desperately, hoping that Valeria could one day be his–that he would one day be worthy of her smile, her heart.

Falling in love with her had been effortless, inevitable almost. But he was no lord, bore no high status. He was a bastard and the realization of his unworthiness cut deep– a painful acknowledgement that she, the High Lord’s daughter, was beyond reach. His reach. 

He would forever be hers but she would never be his–could never be his. A love forbidden, an unattainable dream.

**

tag list:  @justrepostandlove , @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

A/N: this part was hard to write for me because Cassian did the one thing he warned Azriel about so I tried my best to convey both of their feelings. What happened between Mor and Cass was consensual and Mor was aware of what could happen still no excuse for what her family did to her, broke my heart when I read that part in the book while Azriel and Valeria are in their own little bubble, choosing to ignore the consequences. So while they essentially did the same thing, their intentions were different.

There is a small glimpse into how Rhysand will react once he finds out about Az and Val. I also wanted to include/mention her powers. I'll dive deeper into them in her storyline but she has powers related to the moon, which is why I'm always comparing them lol. Hope y'all still enjoyed this part!

[nyankochan]

A Mother’s Love II

Malleus x fem!reader (platonic)

Summary

As a kid, Malleus had no parental figure outside of his grandmother. When at times she was too busy as queen, he found comfort in the embrace of one of his Royal guards, who happened to be Lilia’s lover.

TW: mentions of violence, miscarriage, depression

Part 1: here

word count: 2.5K

You hum a nameless tune whilst you help Malleus get ready for the day. You button up his shirt, taking careful consideration to not wrinkle the fabric. You slip a black sock on each foot and hook a pair of suspenders to his shorts. Malleus watches, being unusually quiet, as your dainty fingers delicately tie his bow tie around his neck.

“(Name)?”

“Yes, my prince?”

“What is that song you’re humming?”

You offer a smile. Some of Malleus’s black locs fall over his face, which you carefully slick back out his vision. You straighten the bow, pulling the entire outfit together in a cute, yet poised outfit for the heir of Briar Valley.

“Hm, it’s a song I heard so long ago that I forgot the words to it,” you say. “I can only remember the tune, but it was very special to me.”

“If it was so special to you, then why did you forget it?” Malleus asked innocently.

“I’m old my dear prince,” you chuckle. “Sometimes, we adults become forgetful as we age.”

“Oh…” Malleus pouts. You tilt your head in confusion, concerned by his sudden mood switch. “Does that mean, you’ll one day forget about me too?”

“My prince…” You kneel back down to his height and take his small hands into your own. You caress his palm with your thumb, a small yet comforting gesture. “There’s nothing in this world that could make me forget about you. You’re that special to me.”

“You won’t forget me even as you grow older?” Malleus asked hopefully.

“Not even after the day I die. I promise you that, Malleus.”

Malleus hugs you. The sudden force almost threw you off balance. Once steady, you reciprocate the gesture. His grip tightens, refusing to let go. For a while, you hold him, providing the warmth and security he needed.

Malleus never knew his parents. You vaguely remember them yourself, so you weren’t much help in educating him on them. Not like it really mattered to him. He had his grandmother, whom he adored. But with how busy Her Majesty was as queen, she couldn’t always spend time with him in the way she wanted. The next closest maternal figure he had was you, and Lilia could be considered a paternal model. Between the two of you, you practically raised Malleus. You witnessed his first steps. Comforted him during each nightmare, and even taught him bits of magic.

No matter how old you got, Malleus would always have a soft spot in your heart for he was the child you and Lilia could never have.

•••

Some years ago

For centuries, the fae and human race clashed. The two races had difficulties coexisting due to the imbalance of power. The fae, naturally gifted with magic, taught their skills to the weaker humans. As humans strengthened, they turned on their allies, and war broke out the battle for dominance.

Malleus’s grandmother, Her Majesty Queen Malefica attempted to forge peace between the two races, but it was a tedious process that often resulted in more fighting than compromise. You and Lilia were top commanders in the army, and often witnessed firsthand the treacherous outcomes of failed negotiations. Fighting between fae and human. Magic used carelessly that caused more destruction thad good. The loss of lives, some of your closest comrades, and others, innocent bystanders. The worst of them all: yours and Lilia’s unborn child.

“Lady Y/n? Can you hear me? Lady Y/n!”

You awake with a start. Gasps for air quickly turned into a pained wince. You recognize the medical wing by its ancient supplies and alcoholic scent. However, everything is hazy. And your body feels like it’s on fire, particularly in the abdomen region.

“My lady, are you all right?” The doctor asked. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four?” You say confused. You grip your head feeling the headache coming on. “What happened?”

The doctor frowned, looking almost guilty. “Im sorry my lady but-“

Your heart sank. It started to return to you. The skirmish between Briar Valley and the Land of Heroes. They surprisingly had stronger mages and warriors than your troops anticipated. While you had more numbers, you were slowly forced to retreat when one of the mages used illegal transformation magic. Briar Valley’s Queen had a unique magic that allowed her to turn into a dragon. This mage used a phony knockoff spell that not only killed him and several of his comrades but many of your allies.

You remembered trying to save one of the younger cadets. In the process you were wounded. Your defense spell was overpowered but the enemy mage’s temporarily boosted magic. The flame attack burned through the skin and seared the lining of your stomach and parts of your uterus.

“I’m sorry to tell you this Lady Y/n, but you were six weeks along. Your uterus was so badly damaged in the attack that there was nothing I could do magic wise to save your child. I’m so sorry.”

You heart stopped in that moment.

You were pregnant?

With Lilia’s child?

You didn’t know. If you had did you never would’ve foolishly took to the battle field. Tears prickled your eyes and you felt yourself begin to hyperventilate. The heart monitor started beeping.

“Lady Y/n? Please calm yourself!” But the doctor’s words fell on deaf ears.

You were pregnant. You and Lilia were gonna be parents. And now that future was stripped away from you both for good.

•••

“(Name)?” Malleus calls, tugging on your sleeve. You snap back into reality becoming aware of your surroundings. The concerned prince stares at you, green eyes wide with worry.

“I’m sorry my prince, I seemed to have zone out,” you chuckled. “Shall we go get breakfast?”

“Can we get ice cream?” He asks hopefully. Your eye twitches, buy your do your best to hide your irritation. You swear, you regret the day Lilia got him hooked on it.

“Maybe later,” you say with a soft smile. “How about some pancakes?”

Luckily, the young child’s eyes sparkle nonetheless. “Yay! Pancakes!” He raises his arms to be picked up, which you do without a second thought.

As you walk down the long halls to the kitchen, the prince excitedly babbles, talking about all the things he wanted to do with you for the day, including taking a walk through the gardens, visiting the gargoyle statues by the palace entrance, and wanting to go to the town. You just smile and nod along, not quite sure how to fulfill all his requests in a singular day. After all, you had other responsibilities to handle that you usually took care of when Malleus went down for a nap, one being filling out some of the military reports.

You weren’t as active in the military as you used to be. But, you supposed the fighting spirit never died and you wanted to help out the best you could despite what happened in the best. You never stepped foot on the actual field since then, but you will still train recruits from time to time and it was best you handled any paperwork instead of leaving it to Lilia. He didn’t have your patience to fill out several page reports, and if Her Majesty wanted anything to be legible, let alone done, it was best to let you handle the tedious tasks.

Once in the kitchen, you begin gathering the ingredients to begin breakfast. Usually, Malleus wanders off but today, he was insistent on helping you. Which you didn’t mind.

“Ok, just add a cup of flour into that bowl,” you instruct. Malleus nodded. He holds the measuring cup with two hands, intently focusing on the bowl. He tilts the cup over, but the flour was packed into the cup and didn’t come out right away. Malleus wore a confused look and tapped the bottom a little too hard. The flour falls out in a clump, kicking up a cloud of white dust that covers his face. He blinked a few times in confusion.

You snicker, trying to bite back your laughter. Malleus pouts and looks to be on the verge of tears. “Now now, no need for the waterworks,” you say, taking a wet towel to wipe his face. “What’s baking without a little mess?”

“You’re not mad?” Malleus whimpers, rubbing his eyes.

“Mad? Least you got majority in the bowl!” You scoff. “Lilia couldn’t even do that even if I did it for him.”

You loved your husband. You really did. But cooking, baking or anything really involving being in the kitchen was just not his forte. He had no affinity for it at all. It made you wonder how in the hell did he survive centuries on his own before you two got together. Lilia couldn’t even make a scrambled egg properly. Last time he did, it was simultaneously burnt and purple.

“Lilia really can’t cook, huh?” Malleus said in between giggles.

“Not even a little, so it’s my job to make sure you don’t end up like him.” You ruffle Malleus’s hair before picking up a whisk and giving it to him. “Come now. You only grow if you learn from your mistakes.”

It took longer than usual, but you and Malleus finished the batter. You were patient with the boy, letting him take his time measuring out ingredients and only guiding him slightly when it came to storing things in. You only took back over when it came to using the stove, because he was still a little too young to work with the heated device.

In the end, he was quite proud of himself when the finished product came out a crisp golden brown.

“It’s so good! Do you think grandma would like some?” Malleus asked as he shoveled more food into his mouth. You smile softly.

“I’m sure Her Majesty would greatly appreciate your sentiment.”

You two were enjoying each other’s presence and the calmness of the morning. The skyline was an ombré of oranges. Your tea had finally cooled off enough for it to not burn your tongue. Although Malleus was now sticky from syrup, he nearly cleaned his plate with no complaints.

That calmness was soon interrupted by a frantic servant running into the dining room.

“Lady (name)! Lady (name)!”

Her sudden entrance startled you and you spilt a bit of tea on to your shirt. “Dear, what’s the commotion so early in the day?” You ask, trying to wipe the stain.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but Lord Vanrouge returned in a frantic haste. He told me he needed your presence immediately!”

Your heart skipped a quick beat. “I apologize, but please watch the prince for me!” Without a second thought you teleported away.

Malleus stared, mouth slightly agape, at your now empty seat. Tears began to pool in his green eyes. “(Name)….”

•••

You soon arrive at your destination: the infirmary. You and Lilia had a special link that you both created once you were finally married. The link allowed you both to transport to the other in an instant regardless of where they were. It took a lot of magic to enact the seal and couldn’t be broken. You quite literally threatened Lilia with his life to don’t do anything to betray your trust in the relationship. The bond was about as sacred as the wedding band on your finger.

Never mind that.

Your current concern was your husband that was pacing the room while a few doctors scrambled around the room.

“Lilia!”

Lilia perked up at your call. He quickly rushed to you and grabbed your hands. “Dearie, thank goodness you’re here!”

“Whatever is the matter?” You brush Lilia’s bangs out of his face. He looked clearly distressed and their was a bit of blood trickling down his temple from an open wound. “You’re hurt!”

“Never mind me. Come here-“

He led you urgently too where the doctors were gathered: a small bassinet where a small infant lay. The baby had pale skin that was clearly flushed red with fever. They also had silvery white hair and the clothes were by no means suitable for a child that small. They were dirty, ripped and exposed open abrasions that who knew how old they were. You gasp.

“Oh my god, Lilia! You stole a child?!”

“No! What do you take me for?!” Lilia exclaimed. “I found this little one alone in an abandoned cabin on my excursion. He was in bad shape, but I don’t know much about caring for a human child. With your medical knowledge and experience, I figured you were the best to call.”

You trace a finger around the baby’s ears which you notice were not pointed like fae’s. The baby cringed and then began to wail. You take the stethoscope from the doctor and then look to your husband.

“Let me see what I can do.”

Lilia placed a kiss on your temple. “Thank you, dearie.”

After a thorough check up as well as treating the baby’s injuries, you thankfully found nothing too serious. He had early symptoms of pneumonia that were luckily caught soon enough to begin some treatment. Other than that, the baby just had signs of exhaustion and hunger.

Once you had the child bathed, you had Lilia bring some of Malleus’s old baby clothes that didn’t fit anymore. You swaddled the infant tightly and held him close against your chest protectively. He was a heavy sleeper, only briefly opening his eyes periodically to showcase a stunning set of violet irises.

“Do you think this child’s parents are looking for him?” You ask Lilia, who sits on a nearby chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’m not sure. There wasn’t anyone for miles. I think the poor fella’s been abandoned.”

Your heart aches. You wonder who would be so heartless to leave a baby, let alone a child, by themselves to get sick and possibly die. It angered you and at the same time, made you extremely sad.

“Lilia,” you begin. “If it’s alright with you and Her Majesty, I’d like to keep the child for the time being.”

Lilia looks to you with surprise. “(Name)-“

“He has no where else to go,” you interrupt. “Please? I couldn’t bare to send him off to someone who may not provide him with the same love and care I know we can.”

Lilia remains silent, pondering what you said. After a few tense moments he finally signs. “Alright.”

You smile. You place an endearing kiss on Lilia’s forehead. The baby wakes. He doesn’t cry. Just stares absentmindedly at his surroundings. His violet eyes then meet yours. Somehow, he wiggles a hand out of the swaddle. You extend your pinky, which he grabs tightly with a small fist.

“What should we call him?” You ask.

Lilia peers over your shoulder. He then smiles. “How about Silver?”

[biwitchenergyz]

A House of Blood and Fire

Chapter Three: The Warning

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"Perhaps we can talk?" You whisper in the quiet of the empty library. The soft, warm light of the metal chandelier casts a gentle orange glow on Aemond's pale face, creating an eerie atmosphere. He keeps his distance since releasing you from his embrace, yet his body is still turned to you, a clear sign of his reluctance to let you go. Silence follows, but you cannot stand to let it linger. As you move to clear your throat, the silence is broken.

"Talk? What could we possibly talk about." Aemond's voice may very well haunt your dreams tonight. His deep, velvety voice sends shivers down your spine. You struggle to discern the emotions he stirs within you – your closest guess would be hatred. "We haven't seen each other in many years. I am sure there are many things we could discuss," you venture, the words hanging in the air. Aemond remains silent momentarily before humming softly as he turns away; his silver-gold hair catches the light. He is walking away from you, and the mere implication that he can treat you with so little respect is infuriating.

"Aemond-"you start, only to be abruptly cut off as he snaps, "Stay away from my brother." His words echo through the extensive library, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on you. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you respond with a snicker, "Which brother, my prince? Or did you forget you had two?" Your attempt at humor sounds more cruel than humorous, and as Aemond remains motionless, an uncomfortable stillness settles between you.

"Aegon always changes when you're here. In the past, when you would ward under our mother, he rarely visited the brothels, and he did not indulge in his cups as much as he does now. Every time you leave, he grows sullen, and his vices become more frequent.” Aemond’s lip curls in disgust, but he continues, “ This past year has been an improvement for him, but with you here…when you leave again, his condition will deteriorate. Save him that pain. Stay away."

A pang of heartache washes over you, opening old wounds that fester and sour. It's undeniable that Aegon fared better when you were with him. You two were thick as thieves, but your actions caused a rift that may never mend. The memory of him in the stands earlier was already tormenting you. When you close your eyes, you can still see his pouty lips whispering your name like a fervent prayer. Aemond is right; you should stay away from Aegon, but know you cannot.

"What of you?" you ask, your voice steady and confident. Aemond's interest is piqued, and though you barely notice, he turns slightly toward you. "Must I avoid you too?" Saageal’s soft meow answers you; standing in the doorway, your beloved companion has managed to escape as he always does, regardless of what castle you reside in. The sleek black cat gracefully prances to Aemond, affectionately rubbing his face against the silent man's calf. After gentle nudges from the large feline, Aemond leans down to tenderly brush Saageal's back, eliciting a chorus of contented purrs that resonates throughout the room. As a kid, Aemond was the only one of his siblings to be comfortable around your pet. Your mother always told you that Saageal was special.

"Just like you, this kitty has two very different parents. A strong alley cat for a father and a cunning Shadowcat mother." Saera would whisper as she combed your silver-gold hair, letting the water from your curls drip onto the luxurious Dornish carpet, not caring if it was ruined. Saageal was undoubtedly the most treasured gift your mother ever gave you, and it filled your heart with warmth to witness your favorite companions also develop a deep affection for him.

Aemond recoils, pulling his hand away as if Saageal is made of flames. "You know what happened that night, as well as I do. You took my sister from me." There is a heavyweight in the air, suffocating any chance of explanation. You know that revealing the truth would only cause more pain, so you choose silence. He would not understand. Any admission of guilt would hurt him; nothing is left to say. Aemond's gaze pleads with you, hoping for honesty and genuine compassion, but all he receives in return is your stony silence. You feel a mix of anger, guilt, and sorrow towards Aemond, a man who was once a friend but is now a reminder of your biggest secret.

"Helaena loved you. She loved you, and you drove her away." He does not say anything else; The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken anguish. Aemond takes one final glance at you before departing and leaving you alone in the deserted library; book still clutched in your hand.

• • • • • • •

You can't help but mull over Aemond’s words, even though it infuriates you. As two castle maids help you prepare for dinner, you find yourself imagining Aemond in chains. Perhaps you would take his tongue if given the chance. You are completely astonished by the audacity he has to blame Helaena’s disappearance on you and claim that you drove her away; it is a stab to your already wounded heart. The two handmaids exchange occasional glances, and finally, one asks with concern, "Are you feeling well, princess?" This maiden is around your age but far more timid and soft-spoken.

"Apologies. I am perfectly well. Remind me of your name?" You speak gently, not to scare the shy maid. She shares one more glance with the older handmaid, who encourages her. "My name is Dyana if it pleases your grace." She is pretty with her full cheeks and bright eyes. You remember her from somewhere. When you realize who she is, you feel sick. Helaena's bedmaid who once followed the princess to and from her chambers.

"Dyana. I remember you now. I appreciate your help today. Both of you, I am grateful for the assistance." The maids thank you for your kindness, but it strikes you as odd to be thanked for simply showing human decency. Despite having lived in Westeros for eight years, the culture of the Summer Isles still profoundly influences your thoughts. In the Isles, the king's household roles are considered a great honor, chosen by priests who seek the guidance of the goddess. A completely different sentiment is shared in Westeros, and serving as a maid seems more like a punishment than a service. It is common for maids to stay in one home only briefly, but Dyana has been in the Red Keep for over six years.

"Her Majesty is overjoyed to have you home, princess. She missed when you wintered in the keep," the elder handmaid, Lenna, remarks as she delicately puts pearl pins in your luscious curls. Memories flood your mind as you recall the precious moments spent in the company of the Queen and her children.

" When we were younger, Aegon and I would count the leaves of the godswood to tell when summer had finally arrived. In the winter, the godswood would lose all its leaves, which is how Aegon knew I would return to the keep. As summer approached, the tree bloomed a beautiful shade of red. Aegon told me that he believed the number of leaves on the tree was the number of days I would be away at Dragonstone. Aemond and Helaena were not fond of our game; it saddened them," you reminisce while the maids attentively listen, sharing in your nostalgia.

The memory resonates with them- a time when Aegon didn't need assistance to his chambers after a night of frivolous partying, an Aegon who didn't make crude comments when deep in his cups, one who didn't weep in his room for hours on end. It was also a memory of when Helaena roamed the halls in silence, radiating warmth.

" If you liked it so much, why did you leave, princess?" Dyana hands you a vibrant garnet lip paint. The maid's job is over, as you prefer to apply your own makeup, but they linger, eager to share in your company. You rise to sit on your bed; you gesture for them to join you, and after a moment of hesitation, they settle in comfortably. Saagael rises from his place on your cushioned chair to join the three of you. At first, Dyana seems afraid but soon begins to stroke the soft feline with a tender touch.

"I arrived in Westeros at the tender age of thirteen, not long after the tragic death of Lady Laena and Aemond's injury. Our journey was prompted by my bastard brother's claim over the Summer Isles and his subsequent usurpation of my throne," You pause, gathering your strength before continuing, "He... inflicted grave harm upon my mother, but Viserys struck a deal with her, offering me asylum on the condition that I become a ward of Princess Rhaenyra's. The Queen argued that it was more fitting for me to be under her care, and after much debate, the king decided that I would spend six months with Princess Rhaenyra and six with the Queen Alicent."

Your mother, weakened by her wounds, never had the opportunity to advocate for you. She would have, if not fearing for your life, vehemently opposed Viserys' plan to treat you as a ward and insisted that you be honored as a princess rather than relegated to the position of a ladies' maid. Her wounds had weakened her; by the time your boat docked in Blackwater Bay, she lacked the strength to stand. It stung her pride to allow her only trueborn child to be treated as a lady-in-waiting, but she could not risk you being handed over to your halfbrother. Dyana and Lenna see the sadness in your eyes. "The only reason I was allowed to remain on Dragonstone is because the king's hand practically banished me from the Red Keep."

"I would be willing to bet you've got more restrictions than even us bedmaids," remarked Lenna, albeit with a touch of amusement. "Not that we don't have plenty of rules ourselves," she quickly added to soften her words. You worry that you might have inadvertently belittled their own struggles.

" I wouldn't dare compare my plight to your own! I have so few rules here, apart from the changing seasons and my mother's final wishes." You worry that you have offended your bedmaids by making your issues seem more significant than theirs, but they are entirely at ease with you.

"Forgive me if I overstep, but what were your mother's last wishes?" Dyana inquired gently as Saagael nestled contentedly in her lap. As you sit among them, surrounded by comfort, you recall how your mother used to recline on the countless cushions in her chambers, attended by lady's maids and noblewomen, all indulging in Saera's captivating voice and flirtatious manners. She would often take you onto her lap, allowing you to revel in the lively atmosphere. You couldn't help but wonder if you possessed even a fraction of her grace or remarkable ability to spark love in others.

"She made me promise her three things," you began, feeling the weight of her final requests. "Firstly, I must never ride a dragon. Secondly, I am forbidden from marrying a Targaryen. And lastly, I can never sit the iron throne in any way. To remain under the king's protection, I mustn't press what little claim I have or use my Targaryen blood for gain."

• • • • • • •

Dinner in the Red Keep is always a lavish affair. The scene's grandeur immediately strikes you as you enter the dining room. The long, intricately painted wooden dining table, a gift from the Tyrells to Queen Alysanne, sits empty, awaiting the night's guests. Servants move about the room, rushing to light candles, arrange the table, and add cushions to the king's seat. They nod to you as they pass, a gesture you return.

"You are early, pretty lady." You sense his presence before even turning around. You would know him in a crowd of thousands; you would know him in another life. Four years apart could not make you forget the way his heartbeat from within his chest.

"Aegon." You do not need to say anything else. Your reunion is swift as he draws you into his embrace, grasping you as if he fears you will slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. The scent of wine was long gone, replaced by the soothing aroma of frankincense.

"Four years. It has been four years." Aegon's body shivers. You fear he has begun to sob, but he pulls away to hold your face; his eyes are teary, but he composes himself as he cups your face gently in his hands. His touch, unexpectedly tender, is much unlike the rough hands of a dragon rider." You still stun me after all these years." He whispers as one might when confessing their sins.

"My prince does not realize how beautiful he is." You tell him, your heart filling with the happiness only your old friend can create. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving your own. "All beauty fades in comparison to yours." You know you should take his words with a grain of salt; he has always been a flirt, but you can't contain the flush that heats your cheeks. "My prince is cruel with his jests."

The heavy door creaks open, and the flickering candlelight reveals the shadowy figure of Aemond Targaryen as he descends the stairs with the kind of casual confidence one would typically see in a king. “Ziry vestragon ao emagon umazigho īlva jorrāelagon raqiros, lēkia.” It seems you have found our dear friend, brother. Aegon frowns, his response slow and uncertain, "Skoro… syt ruaragon… ñuhon?" Why..hide…mine? Aemond hums at his brother's failed valyrian. Aegon was never good at paying attention to his maester's, but it looks as if he will try to speak again, so you cut in.

"Jaehossi uēpossi arlȳssī, sepār ȳzaldrīzes se quptenkys Ēngos!” By the old gods and the new, speak the common tongue! Your valyrian accent is like liquid honey, flowing from your mouth with the same silky musical tone as the summer tongue. Saera had a hard time ridding you of your summer accent, finally giving up when your accent had shifted into a unique combination of both your mother tongues. Nevertheless, your high valyrian was as rusty as your summer tongue, and you sometimes mixed words between the three languages you spoke. Aemond humms in agreeance but Aegon is cautious. He watches his brother carefully as he moves closer. Aemond slowly paces around the dining table, his every step drawing nearer until he looms behind you.

" Be glad it is I who found you. Others would spread damning rumors." Although Aemond is not close enough to touch you, you feel his strong presence as if he were right against you. Aegon instinctively clutches your hands tightly. "Tread carefully, Aemond," warns Aegon. His warning goes unheeded. " I have saved her from ruin. The people already speak so ill of her mother. Would you want to feed their distaste simply because you can’t keep your hands off?" You pull from Aegon's grasp and step away from both brothers. In your time as a ward, you learned that there are many moments to stay silent and very few moments where you should speak up.

“Can I not embrace an old friend? When has friendship become a scandal?” Aegon demands of his brother, but his words cause Aemond to smirk, almost as if he knew something that the two of you did not.

"Aemond Targaryen, you have no right to speak as though you fear for my reputation. Was it not you in the library making vile accusations against me?" Aegon's head whips from you to Aemond as he repeats your last words in bewilderment. Aemond scoffs, "Too much time with my half-sister has changed you." He boils your blood. Aemond steps closer to you, and instead of backing down, you match him, bringing the both of you barely an inch from each other. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you missed me."

"Don't be ridiculous, princess."

"Is it so ridiculous to assume you might miss an old friend?"

"We are not old friends," Aemond hisses, his words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. You restrain yourself from asking him about the nature of your relationship. Just as the tension becomes unbearable, the door swings open, and Rhaenyra enters the room, flanked by Jace and Luke. Their sudden appearance shatters the moment's intensity, and you quickly assume the role of lady-in-waiting, bowing respectfully to the princess as she approaches.

“Sister.” Aegon and Aemond both quip in unison, their voices subdued in her presence. The princess acknowledges them with a curt nod before turning her attention to you. Her mere presence seemed to quell the sibling rivalry.

“Have I interrupted something, dear brothers?” In her presence, the boys are like puppies caught fighting for a bone. With one look, she makes her brothers fall silent. Very little has been resolved between the Targaryen siblings since the disappearance of Helaena, but to Rhaenyra’s credit, she had flown to King’s Landing to be with her family. Since then, they had exchanged the occasional letter. She kept the contents of the letters she exchanged with her brothers close to her chest despite your begging to read them. Helaena was dear to all her siblings, and in her absence, they were able to share one thing: a longing for her.

“And is Daeron not joining us?” Rhaenyra questions, but it is Daeron’s timely arrival that quiets her. Daeron holds his mother's hand, helping Queen Alicent down the stairs so she does not stumble over the long fabric of her gown. Not far behind them are Otto and Daemon, accompanied by your dear cousin Rhaenys and her granddaughters.

Without a word to anyone, Alicent takes her seat to the left of the king’s chair. Rhaenyra follows as if pulled to the other woman, sitting on the king's right. You all head towards the nearest chairs, placing you between Aegon and Aemond with the dragon twins in front of you and their respective betrothed beside them. Rhaenys takes the seat opposite the king’s chair, a dignified place for your beloved cousin. Otto and Daemon sit across from each other at the corner of the table beside the queen and the princess.

Viserys is carried in barely a minute after everyone is seated. With his arrival, the dinner finally begins.