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cursedcola · 4 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde (Here) | Diasomnia (Here) A/N: HUZZAH YET ANOTHER SERIES FINALLY COMPLETE

Habits You Steal:

Heels (Developed): Malleus is quite tall. No, scratch that. He towers over everyone. The horns give him an added height that really sells the deal. Unless you want to crane your neck back and develop a hump? It's wise to start wearing heels.

Prose (Inherited): Malleus. We love his little riddles and mysterious aura . He obviously read the wrong script and came straight out of an early 2000s YA novel named 'Evermore' or something akin. Yet he quite literally cannot get to the point sometimes. It’s a Diasomnia thing for sure but he’s the worst of the litter. It's infuriating. On one hand, your vocabulary has vastly improved. If only he could rub off on Grim, Professor Trein would be ecstatic. The problem is that sometimes you lapse into an 18th century sonnet, and your friends give maximum shit for it. Especially Ace. No mercy.

“Apologies everyone, it’s now past twilight hour and both the prefect and I need to conclude our evening agenda. Please excuse our absence and continue to delight in the night’s festivities.”-> Dear god Malleus - just say you’re going to walk them home and that you’ll see everyone in the morning. The misunderstandings that come from using big words is worse than sounding improper.

Sleeping on your side (Developed): Malleus requires a special pillow to sleep and it's one of those long ones that is positioned center of the bed. Most nights he rests like the dead, flat on his back so his horns don't tear the cloth. Laying on his side is a challenge, but he also wants to be touching you. It's one of those scenarios where once someone who's touch starved gets a taste, they can't go back. So most nights you'll sleep on one side (doesn't matter which) with either your head on his chest or your arms wrapped around one of his. Oh yeah - you get to keep one of those fancy pillows in Ramshackle. It's stored in a spare room but grim steals it quite a bit since the quality is high. The nights Malleus isn't around, you'll wake up with Grim smothered in your arms instead. Guess the whole 'can't go back' thing doesn't apply ONLY to Malleus here.

Luck (Inherited?): Fae blessings are a thing - we have confirmation within a 'discussion' during the main plot. I won't say when to avoid spoilers. Point is, the partner of Malleus Draconia most definitely has fae favorability cast upon them. You could make a HEFTY deal with Azul if he ever found out, so maybe keep the knowledge in your back pocket for a rainy day. Maybe offer to sit by him during a game of poker? Haha, no. You're actually 100% unaware. Only other fae can sense a blessing, and Lilia isn't a snitch. Expect your luck to turn around. Perhaps not entirely, but enough for the grey hairs to stop sprouting prematurely. It's difficult for other fae and supernatural to sense who placed a blessing, but they can recognize raw power. There is only one person on campus with enough magical potency to cast such a powerful charm. All thy need is two brain cells to connect the dots (some do lack this, unfortunately). You won't be sucked into any messes such as the Ghost Bride, etc. anymore, at the very least.

"Hm? I've little to no involvement with the others in my dorm, dearest. Yet, is it not a good happenstance that they treat you with the upmost respect? Do other dorms behave so uncouth that you are wary of proper manners? Diasomnia would welcome you, all you need do is ask." <- It is technically not a lie? He's not explicitly making anyone behave a certain way, but surely the strong aura acts as a deterrent for anyone with bad intentions. It just so happens that most fae-born students reside in Diasomnia. Not that he'd take kindly to any of his acting like anything but proper gentlemen towards you. This includes Sebek, by the way. The tonal whiplash with this one is insane the moment he recognizes Malleus' magic.

Gargoyles (Inherited): There is not much to say on this topic. Malleus is the sole member of Gargoyle Studies, and while he won't force you to join? It would make him very happy. You will become accustomed to travel and find comfort in desolate places. The dewy chill in deep ruins, nature's overgrowth from time's passing - certainly Malleus revisits places he once knew held life, and have been left to deteriorate. You can't truly feel the heavy nostalgia as Malleus can, but the appreciation is still shared.

"I once deeply enjoyed the solitude of ruins. The weathering of time somehow captured in architecture. Trapped in place as the world continued to live on. Yet I now find more joy in sharing them with you, rather than basking in their atmosphere alone. It perplexes me, and yet I find no problem with it." -> Malleus discovered the happiness that comes from simply being near someone you love. He just...doesn't realize it yet? It's a difficult feeling to characterize in words. Different than with his family, certainly. The entire point of going to a ruin was to enjoy the abandoned atmosphere. Malleus cares for his family yet there is a divide. Unspoken, and unable to be crossed. His world turns while he remains at a stand still. Yet whenever he discovers a new ruin, he couldn't find that tranquility he used to. Enjoying it alone is almost unthinkable - harrowing. He can't without you, or else it feels lacking. Even if you sit together in silence, he'd be happy. He just wants you there, your reactions, your company - it brings life back to the emptiness. Leaving the place more harmonious than he found it, coating it with pleasant memories for future visits. Hopefully ones where he is not alone.

Habits He Steals:

Artistry (Developed): Malleus has plenty of time to develop skills. The resources as well. He's fearful that one day your memory will become just that - a memory. One where he cannot picture your face in his mind. Where he's the only one left who recalls your existence. Be it because you pass on, or decide to leave him prematurely and return 'home'. Even if he firmly believes that there is nowhere more 'home' for you than in Twisted Wonderland. Regardless, he doesn't trust others enough. He needs to capture your likeness on his own. With his hands rather than magic - even if using magic to do so is child's play. He does not tell anyone of this budding desire or disquiet in his heart. Not even Lilia, who's likeness is forever immortalized in textbooks. The unspoken implications are too much for Malleus to confront.

People Watching (Inherited): It’s a work-in-progress, getting Malleus to see people as…well, ‘people’ and not subjects or those he’s obligated to protect. To cure his social awkwardness, there’s a need to get him ‘loosey-goosey’ and in touch with improv. What better way than to people watch? Except you don’t just sit there with him to observe. Malleus is thrown for a loop when you start making up backstories for everyone - based on their clothes, what they might be doing, or whatever else. None of it’s true. The ideas are all super embellished and with characterization holes…but it’s fun, and it gets him to think about how specific a person’s life can become, whether they live a lengthy life or not. Something utterly pointless to do, suddenly becomes one of Malleus’ favorite pass times.

Earth Slang (Inherited): It's a give and trade scenario. He improves your vocabulary, while you do Lilia proud by being the newest gremlin on Malleus' shoulder. Rather than teaching him Twisted Wonderland slang, it's much more entertaining for him to learn Earth lingo. Which is different. It's our metaphors, legends, and phrases like 'it's raining cats and dogs'. You're going to talk in SpongeBob quotes to him and he's going to believe it's philosophical. How novel, indeed. He gets to learn more about you as a person, and you get to have a bit of fun while also fostering a language shared only amongst the two of you? Like a secret code that friends have, or lovers? Huhu. It's not hard to crack at all but still fun.

"Hm? An 'updog'? Is this another saying or legend from your world? No, I have never heard of an 'updog' anywhere in Briar Valley. What is an 'updog'? A terror of some kind?" <- Heh.

Domestic Tasks (Inherited): Be still Sebek's heart, because bro might need to be resuscitated. Malleus wants to help you. Except he's found a situation where there isn't anything he can offer? Sure, he can offer coin and trinkets. Anyone can. It also is not his place to insert himself and solve your problems. You're an independent human and he isn't foolish enough to overstep that. So? Acts of service, even if said acts are 'beneath' him. This revolves back to him simply enjoying your presence, no matter what. Since you come with him to enjoy hobbies, it's only fair he does the same. Now he doesn't fully believe that you 'like' cleaning, but it's what you do most. So he'll help hang the sheets outside and then cast wind magic so they dry faster. He'll set up security charms outside Ramshackle, and enchant the paint brushes to freshen up your fence while you both share a pot of tea on the porch. You seem happy, and even a tad amused. So he'll relinquish some pride. If only for you to smile.

“Do all without magic need to take such…’extreme’ measures to clean windows? Please do not perch on the sill like this when I am not near. Else allow me this task, a simple water spell is far more proficient and safe” -> Man catches you ONE TIME, leaning out one of the second story windows to clean the outside glass and his heart skips a beat. Not that you wouldn’t make a lovely gargoyle on the roof, but spare him. He cannot fathom why one of the ghost residents can’t do it in your stead, but Malleus much prefers your feet planted on firm flooring (who’s going to tell him about all the holes and weak floorboards in Ramshackle?)

Nicknames (Developed): Malleus ceases calling you 'Child of Man'. There are many other children of men. It just so happens to be his default when you met. You are more. Much more. Which is why you cannot be his 'Child of Man'. Malleus actually takes to calling you your name more often than not. Names are meaningful, after all. Yet he dubs you 'Mooncalf' as well.

“Mooncalves are beautiful creatures that inspire. A name given to ‘those who dream’. That is what you do, is it not? Dream, and bring novel ideas that spark life in others.”

Strength (Developed): This is quite difficult. Controlling his strength when touching another is like trying to crack an eggshell with a power-saw. Yet the more you are together, the more he desires to touch you. So he has to learn. Since if he ever injured you, Malleus would never forgive himself. Often he hovers near, guiding you yet never making direct contact. His palm hovering near the small of your back as you walk, or taking extreme care when holding your arm. He's broken more teapots than you can count, and it takes months to share a bed. The fear of hitting you in his sleep caused insomnia for days...just, goodness. Don't even start on his tail. That thing has a mind of it's own.

"Fascinating...Hm?. No, no. I am by no means upset. Quite the contrary. Could I trouble you to humor my curiosity with examples? Oho, this is a wonderful evening indeed." <- Malleus showcases one of his pointed smiles - chin grasped between thumb and index as he listens intently to his juniors go in great detail about how you've begun to resemble him. The one other students will shy away from, but little do they know just how genuinely overjoyed he is. At first they showed mild distaste for the Ramshackle Prefect daring to go after someone like Malleus Draconia, yet all know better than to admit such a thing to his face. Else pity the fool. Yet nothing could dour his mood, their formal report reading like a lovestory in his mind. It is not that he is 'naive' to your mannerisms. You are always changing - as are many - and he would not dare to make any assumptions. Yet if others are noting these subtle changes as well? Malleus is...overwhelmed. Joy, appreciation, humor, and a bit unsettled if one asked for full honesty. If you are admiring him, including him in your person, as much as he is to you? It's an intimate commitment that comes once in a lifetime for his kind. He needs to think, but for now he will enjoy the 'implications' as much as he can.

Habits you steal:

Light Feet (Inherited): The king of jump-scares, ladies and gentlemen. Lilia is quite the cheeky fellow. He wades through corridors, skulking around like a bat on the walls. Both body and humor seem to ascend to new heights with this one - who without a moment's hesitation will drag you into his schemes. You may not be able to float, but that is no excuse to clomp about like an oaf! No, my doves, the greatest joys in life come from a good thrill. Others learn to keep a keen eye out for this bat's lover, as you slink about and appear at the most random moments.

"Oho!....my, my - your stealth is improving by the day. Don't get too cocky now, else I'll be forced to show you how a professional jump-scare is done!" <- Leona KingScholar himself has threatened to stick a bell collar on you, those from Savanaclaw taking a step back as you begin to resemble the more worrisome Diasomnia residents by the day. Dropping from treetops and banisters aplenty, the trickster ghosts at Ramshackle love their new fourth (and fifth, counting the ancient bat who haunts the halls just as much as they do).

Impish Glint (Inherited): Kehehehe~ it's physically impossible not to mimic that mischief laden smile of Lilia's! It's not as intimidating without the fangs and blood-red eyes, yet still oh-so charming. Why, the bat himself finds it positively adorable. It's one thing to have others call him cute - he now gets to witness the effect first-hand. The fact others can point your resemblance to him is just an added bonus. All you're missing now is the pink streak in your hair...can he? It would make such a lovely memory!

"Well aren't you just the most fetching gremlin this world has ever seen. Come along dear, I want to stir some youthful envy!"

Nose Picking (Inherited): Just kidding lol.

Historical Info-Dumping (Developed): One can only be corrected so many times before learning a topic inside-and-out. History lessons are a breeze with a personal dictionary at your disposal. Lilia is happy to help, but get ready for long stories with his bias weaved in-between. He never outright lies though, and it's a fine evening to sit with him by firelight and talk the night away over junk food. Treat it like hearing the story of an elder veteran. Except Lila has hundreds of stories to tell. There will come a day where your knowledge abut Twisted Wonderland extends far beyond what you ever knew of Earth - and you are the person people come to for notes. Even the studious Riddle Rosehearts trusts your word-of-mouth as much as his precious texts (only for history though, fair warning).

Speed Dial Takeout (Developed): This one is self-explanatory. Lilia's curiosity in the kitchen isn't something you want to deter him from. Let bro live his life, so long as it doesn't lead to the end of yours. It took months to find the TWST equivalent of speed-dial Chinese, yet a slip to Azul along with some recipes was enough to get the ol' ball and chain rolling. The food already exists, but you just had to plant some ideas to make sure that 3am last-second-craving availability was indeed an option.

"Don't look so glum now - once the oven is fixed I'll whip up a batch of Silver's favorite Mushroom Bisque! Ah - there's no need to cry. Now where did I put those takeout menus...." <- Now it's just Lils, Silver, and yourself chilling out at midnight with some egg rolls and moo-goo-gai pan after the fourth oven's been blown up in the past year. Thank Seven Malleus worked a plan with Azul set up a chain in Briar Valley, else y'all would starved.

Briaran (Inherited) : Briar Valley is indeed a land of tradition. You don’t need to learn their language to converse with fae. Most people in TWST are Bilingual - knowing common tongue and that of their homeland. Plus there are spells to help. Very few speak the ancient dialect from hundreds of years ago, which dwindled out after the war between man and fae with the ushering of a new generation. You already speak common tongue, but as for Lilia? Fluent in multiple languages. Ancient Briaran being one he slips in from time to time. You will undoubtably pick up many phrases of Briaran. Especially when he converses with Malleus, Silver, and on occasion Sebek. The third still a beginner to his personal chagrin. It’s like being a child in an immigrant household where your elders talk in their native tongue when they don’t want you to understand the conversation, so as a kid you gradually put together meanings through context. Y’know, as they go in between languages.

"I hadn't thought it possible to fall fall deeper in love - yet as always, you continue to surprise me." <- Lilia never asked you to learn, but nothing makes him melt faster than seeing you pick it up. You’re listening to him. He won’t ever jest over this, no matter how tempting, afraid it might deter you. He adores the way you mumble words under your breath, even if they’re mispronounced. He will only interfere if you ask, and be more than willing to teach. Ask him.

Habits He Steals:

Walking (Developed): Aside from when he's cheeky and looking to have some fun? Lilia will not float near you. He prefers to walk, feet firm on the ground, his hand in yours and enjoy the sweet serenity. There isn't a need to rush. Not anymore. Strolls with Malleus are a commonly discussed subject, but with Lilia? It's less like a sonnet in steps and more akin to walking the streets on a cold, winter night. Plenty of laughter as your linked arms swing between. Somehow slowing your steps on purpose, drawing out the time shared. Even if your lungs hurt a bit and joints are stiff. You don't have to. He could easily zip you both wherever need be, but the journey is part of the fun. He's gone his entire life at differing paces - and now Lilia is happy to match his final gait alongside yours.

Repeating Others (Developed): This goes hand-in-hand with you learning Briaran. Without prompting, Lilia will often repeat things his sons just said in common tongue. Sometimes dropping context clues so you can piece things easier. Not in a way that makes it obvious for you (sparing your feelings), but definitely noticeable to others in the Valley. It's an unspoken understanding not to ask 'why' he repeats himself two maybe three times tops.

"...eh? Scuzele mele. Ne vom întâlni în trei ore pentru antrenament. Da. Pentru practică. Asigurați-vă că nu vă zăboviți, altfel veți rata antrenamentul! - why that face, Sebek? Careful or your muscles will freeze like that khee hee!" <- Does it come unnatural? Maybe, but two out of three of his conversation partners can usually pick up when you're struggling to understand something. Sebek fails, but wouldn't dare question Lilia's speech and risk offending him. Translation: "My apologies. We'll meet in three hours for practice. Yes. For practice. Make sure you don't linger, or you'll miss practice!"

Intimacy (Inherited): Lilia is cheeky with most, but not touchy-feely. Not in the way that matters. He becomes clingy. It's odd being with someone actively seeking to be at his side all the time...and yet he does not mind. Which is unheard of for the loner - he spent 700 years of solo trips, wouldn't change a single one (okay, maybe a few. He could do without some scars), but the taste of a couple's vacation? A couple's intimacy? Romanic candle-lit dinners atop the castle ramparts, legs dangling over the edge as mindless talk comes and goes. Hiking through mountains hand-in-hand. Running raids online, shouting at each other from the next room? Sipping mimosas on a cruise ship - picking out souvenirs for your family an tasting cuisine. Even if it's places he's been before...with you? It's all new.

""You know...it was quite cruel of you to leave me behind. When? On that little journey to Fleur City, of course! Be it ten years ago or not - I understood at the time that it was a decision out of your hands, and yet you hadn't brought me any souvenirs...the hurt lingers to this very day and can only be healed through another vacation, won't you be my guide this time around?"

Normalcy (Developed): Lilia actively pushes the cute bit with others. Many portray his character as two sides of one coin: Lilia the General, and Lilia the Cheeky Prankster. What you get to see is...just Lilia. Not even Lilia The Father - because even with his kids, he has a part to play. Has to set a good example. Is it corny to say that he doesn't have to act cute for you, because he trusts you'll adore him? Isn't that what love is? To truly release your guard around him and not stress? It's like how on earth we all have our work mode, family mode, public mode, and then...well, us. The person we are when in a quiet room, alone, and simply being. That is the Lilia you, and only you, get to see. Lilia wouldn't get involved with someone that couldn't bring this side out of him. The one jamming out to metal while pretzeled on the ground, sifting through his wardrobe and eating burnt crisps out of a bag with chopsticks.

Time (Developed): In his last hundred years of life, with his magic dwindling, Lilia casts a glamour that lets him physically age with you. Not technically a habit, but also something he would never have spared the energy on without you as a deciding factor. Time comes for us all. He’d rather not emphasize this to his sons more than necessary…but they’ll watch you age. In an odd way, this is Lilia’s greatest ode to you. To them. To himself. You won’t have to age alone, watching him in a standstill as he’s been the past 700 years. This is his final thrilling experience, his final adventure- to grey and feel time in his blood beyond magic.

"You are as lovely as the day we first met, dear...surely I'm just as cute too, no?" <- No matter how quick you reply, he still is the same cheeky lil shit at 780 as he was at 700. Only with one heavy case of arthritis.

Nicknames (Developed): Lilia calls you ‘Dove’ for reasons best derived on your own rather than my telling. He will also be an ass and use teasing ones like 'shnookums' and 'poppet', but dove is for the softer times. On very rare occasions he will say ‘inima mea’ which is Romanian for My Heart, also known as Briaran in the world of TWST.

"Why, thank you! Kee hee hee, is it so obvious that I adore my little dove beyond comprehension? I've finally found my 'partner-in-crime' as you kids say, and my days have not been this lively in many years. Humor the musings of this old-timer, enjoy the blessings life offers while they are within your grasp." == Those who have lived as long as Lilia in Briar Valley are witnesses to his personality change. The general from hundreds of years ago is not the same bat flying about. He's a prime example for fae and humans alike that time changes us all - and so he doesn't mind popping in to humor gossiping soldiers. If anything, he hopes his open adoration serves as an example that it's never too late to welcome sweeter things in life. Family, friends, adventure, and even the once in a lifetime 'eternal love'.

Habits you steal:

Calling Lilia ‘Dad’ (Inherited?): Not Father. Just Dad. Daddio. Peepaw. Pops. Ye old man. So informal. So funny. Lilia loves it and Silver turns red every time. One? Because you’re already thinking of him and his Father as your family. Two? Please. Please, let him breathe. Flustered is the most consistent emotion he shows aside from that graceful little smile of his, and people are starting to notice. He’s not used to such bluntness and it’s killing him. You need to be more careful! Not everyone knows about his situation! Lilia is such cheeky as shit over it and teases his son every off moment. Welcome to the Vanrogue’s, my friend. It’s a clusterf*ck. You’re going to love it.

“…N-no, I haven’t seen father since lunch. Perhaps check over near the club rooms. I can escort you before my next lesson, come along and take my hand.” -> Silver will never get used to you asking ‘Hey, have you seen Dad anywhere?’. He bites back the warning for you to lower your volume. It’s turmoil - truly. He doesn’t want you to ‘stop’ per-say…but maybe keep it in private? He adores your energy but the rumors.

Compliments (Inherited): Silver gets plenty of compliments. He’s amazing, after all. This is a habit because his reactions are priceless. Why is it developed? Because the man in question is the most wholesome being to exist. He effortlessly drops one-liners out of thin air, and then has the gull to act confused when you clutch at your chest. Silver is brutally honest when it counts. His words and his reactions are genuine. Truly priceless. His confidence desperately needs that bolstering, so much that you never go a single visit without paying him a compliment. It’s only fair. You do it until he takes them with anything other than a pass off or a denial. Even after, because appreciating Silver is the best part of your day. Congrats. You’re a simp. Big Ol’ simp - side note, being so forward for his sake has turned you confident in other aspects of life as well. Congrats on being the social one.

"Your hands are unnaturally soft for a student. Perhaps I am used to callus' from training, but yours are warm enough to feel through my gloves. I heard once that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Yours must reflect a gentle personality, which is true - hm? What's wrong?" <-Wholesome. Fucking wholesome.

Animals (Inherited): How do you feel about woodland creatures? Would you consider raising bunnies, or leaving the window open in the mornings for songbirds to perch? The answer is yes. Always yes. Otherwise they will whack at the glass until you do. Silver is beloved by nature. Being around Silver means being around all the animals that perch at his side when he clocks out in random places. Eventually you'll be waiting with birdseed in your pocket, prepped to distract those that perch on his head. Ramshackle has multiple bird baths out in the gardens, and you've built shelters for the wildlife on campus to camp out in when they visit (always when Silver does. Coincidence? No).

Just Chilling (Developed): Not relationship-exclusive. Any time you find Silver clocked out, it’s instinctual to just drop everything and lay down next to him so it looks like you’re both chilling out. Doesn’t matter if he’s asleep for ten minutes or two hours - you don’t leave him. Not unless someone trustworthy comes to take your place.

Haircuts (Developed): A lil snip here, a chop there - and you're cutting his hair in the kitchen at 9:00pm with one of the old sheets tied loosely around his neck like a bib. All it took was one time for him to nick his ear while doing it himself, and you so graciously forced him in a chair. Now you cut both his and his father's hair. Since Lilia's a little turd, and if Silver gets a freebie than so should peepaw. Briar Valley could use another stylist, y'know. You already have two loyal clients!

"Thank you. My bangs can get in the way of my training, so I try to keep them short. Maybe I should adapt a cut similar to Kalim's?....Why are you looking at me like that?" <- Kalim's hair is adorable, but if Silver cuts off his shimmering silk-soft locks it will literally be a crime against cosmetology.

Alarms (Inherited): You sleep through alarms. There isn't much to say. Have you seen his bedroom? There's like - a dozen clocks in there. The only one that gets him up is you, usually whacking him with a pillow because no amount of love will ever make up for dealing with nonstop ringing every morning. You started off having a near heart attack on the first night. A few years down the road, and it takes about 2-4 of the clocks to go off before you're up.

The Way Of The Sword (Inherited and Developed?): Another one without much to elaborate. Silver insists on teaching you some swordsmanship. He does not play around either, and is a very stern teacher. Lilia engrained the danger of weaponry and battle into him from childhood.

"Steel your nerves. They will only impede your progress. Do not worry about anything other than my instruction while there is a blade in your hand. I am here for that." <-The sword exists to protect, but that does not mean you are invincible. He won't put you through a Knight's training - but as one of the few 'sane' people? Homie, you really need to learn some self defense. It isn't even about his feelings (although he does worry).You are a walking magnet for bad luck, and a firm understanding of defensive combat is necessary so you don't end up dead in a ditch.

Habits He Steals:

Wet Wipes (Developed) : It’s so tempting to draw on Silver when he’s complete zonked out in the ninth dimension. How he hasn’t woken up to any uh…hehe, ‘special’ and ‘totally not vulgar’ images all over him on a daily basis is an honest shock. Especially in a campus full of dudes. Some not so friendly with the whole dorm rivalry going on. Then again…maybe it’s his aura. Drawing a dick on Silver’s forehead feels like a crime punishable by Lilia’s homemade gazpacho.

"...I sense a disturbance." <- Regardless. It’s your civic duty to make him a work of art…much to Silver’s reluctant compliance. Some day’s it’s heartwarming. He’ll wake up and find little hearts on his cheeks, or a note on his collarbone. A lipstick kiss left smack center of his forehead…which takes endless scrubbing to get off before equestrian club. "Mngh...ah, you're here father? I could smell jasmine and oakwood and thought - wait, isn't that MC's pencil case?" <- Other days Silver wakes up covered in tic tac toe games with his father snickering over him and your form making a speedy guilt-ridden retreat off in the distance - and yes, Ramshackle smells of Jasmine and Oakwood. From repairs and the herbal cleanings.

You’ve Got Mail (Developed): Squirrels make good messengers. It helps that you live in a dilapidated dorm with a lovely forest not too far for them to skitter about. It would be troublesome if you lived somewhere like Heartslabyul…Riddle would never allow Silver’s animal friends to stay. Since you’re so open to suggestion, and skittering about yourself, he’s made a habit out of using the animals for communication.

"Please take this gift to them, would you? Today is a special day, I must take precautions not to forget." <- He’s not too big on phones since he might pass out and miss a call…or forget. So Silver likes to pen his notes when he can and trust his little buddies to make sure you get them. It especially helps with big events like anniversaries or days he cannot make it home.

Mints (Inherited): Someone get this man an Altoid, stat. Whatever curse is on his ass, crack open that tin and shove three strong peppermints between his teeth. They’ll spark more than just a crack of the great beyond in him. Giving Silver a tin of strong mints is like giving a Victorian child one singular sour patch kid. You carry the things around to punish Grim. Y’all know it’s bad if the living garbage disposal won’t even eat them….now if we could just somehow compress Lilia’s cooking into a pill form, we might be onto something bigger.

"This is a remedy from your world? Oh - it's candy? Maybe it will work then...thank you. I'll update you if there are any changes."

The Open End (Developed): Silver’s precautions extend to all matters, big or small. He’s trained to be Malleus’ guard since he was a little boy, going through strict training and beyond in order to match royal standards. Some might think him cold, but his father raised him to care deeply, truly, and so he is proactive in ensuring your comfort. When at the cinema, he sits in the inner seat. Both so he’s blocking you from strangers and so you can have the chair with two arm rests. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk, shares his umbrella but covers you fully at the cost of his sleeve, gives you more of the blanket at night and once gave you his shoes when yours were pinching your toes. If there are two cupcakes, he pushes you the one with more sprinkles, and he never forgets to ask how your day is.

"Are you happy today?...I see. That's good. I've been working hard to not disappoint you as a partner. It is nice to know my efforts have been yielding results." <- Ever the hard worker. Silver works on your relationship like it's training - but not in a bad way. He just doesn't want to reflect poorly on you, especially when this is new to him and tracking his performance in a relationship isn't the same as studies or physical training. He could do with some verbal affirmations, just saying.

Smelling Salts (Developed) : Silver does not want to sleep all the time. He is determined to overcome it - and you support him by suggesting method after method. Sometimes it takes an otherworldly person to bring in new ideas? Another cook in the kitchen, y'know. Can you believe that in all of Twisted Wonderland, with their fancy shmancy potions and charms, no one thought to get him military-grade smelling salts (or trigger his fight/flight by putting a bit of Lilia's pot roast in front of his nose)? His curse is potent, but it staves the episode off just enough for him to get to a bench or out of a clearing. I swear - magic spoiled these people. It's a blessing and a curse. It's no cure but he'll take anything at this point. Who knows what other ideas you might bring.

"Mm...thank you. I am lucky to have someone as wonderful as them in my life. I strive to be a good partner and influence. Your compliment makes me quite happy. I will be sure to pass on the message." <- Silver's expressions are typically difficult to read, they're so miniscule. Yet it would take a blind man to miss the way his disposition softens. One might mistake the far-away look in his eye for an incoming siesta, but no. He's merely in love and excited to tell you how appreciative he is to have you in his life. Whatever dreams he has that night, you're in them. As always.

Habits you steal:

Volume (Inherited) : Spoken like a true Queen. Literally. Sebek’s volume blasts your eardrums like a child’s screech plugged into an amplifier broadcasted over the Night Raven intercom. Mans has his vocals, there’s no doubt about it. The thing is that Sebek won’t stop until he’s been heard, so you have to get loud for him to listen. That can be hard to tone down when he’s not around, and you have to remind yourself that Epel will hear you just fine at a level 2 not 6.

"Disrespectful! My human can speak to their desire, apologize for suggesting otherwise this very instant. It is an honor to hear their voice!" <-Aye...sometimes your volume hits the frequency where people cover their ears, just as they do for him. He misinterprets this as a smite on your freedom of speech.

Gotta Keep Up (Developed): Get those legs moving prefect. Ya gotta go sonic fast. Sebek-y long legs over here moves in big strides. Big strides for his big personality. One of his steps is the equivalent to three of yours, no matter how tall or jittery you are. He will out jitter you with his Type-A pacing. You’d think he was on a mission and not on a date with how Sebek zooms through a shopping mall. Sebek, honey, we’re here to buy clothes, not race the evil sales clerk and save Malleus from the storage room.

Bookies (Inherited): You never know when you’ll be stuck waiting around or following Malleus with him. Sometimes it’s a sacrifice you have to make for some quality time together, and it’s not so bad. Malleus is cool with it, Silver’s good company, and Lilia is mildly stressful company. You could just go on your phone to pass the time, but Sebek limits your screen time. No IPad partners or brain rot on his watch. Read a book. Don’t make him quiz you, ‘cause he will.

"I have been thinking to start a book club, and you can be the first among many initiates! This week we will be reading My Liege's autobiography as sourced from the Royal Palace. I can think of no better introduction!" <- Dear god, he'll put in the request too. Stop him. You love Malleus to pieces but 600 pages on his birth alone is just destructive.

Prim and Proper (Developed): It’s a bit hilarious that he takes personal offense when you’re not groomed properly. Especially when near Malleus (of course). If you want to follow with the troupe, you need to look the part. He’d likely ask for a Diasomnia uniform on your behalf if it wasn’t against the school dress code. Secretly though? He enjoys fixing your tie, hair, etc. It makes him feel useful but that sweet emotion gets masked by a scolding.

"Tsk. It is an honor to wear this uniform. You should take precautions to ensure your appearance doesn't reflect on Lord Malleus. As his chosen friend and my partner, you are a representative of Briar Valley. Step forward and allow me to preform an inspection." <- Sebek has more than one jealous bones in his body. They’re all jealous bones. Make sure he’s the one to fix your tie and not Rosehearts, unless you want him to sulk.

Battery Pack (Developed): Lowkey? Sebek zaps you frequently. Think the electric buzz from pulling out a plug too quick. The sparkles come out when he gets very emotional - which is all the time. So…yeah, you might secretly carry ointment for that. Don’t tell him? He feels awful. Not awful enough to stay calm when you ask him to charge your phone. Jokes on him. The anger zap brought it to 100%.

Habits he steals:

Response (Developed): Sebek has this teensey-weensey annoying habit of answering on your behalf. He thinks it a way of proving his devotion. Partners are meant to know each other down to the tiniest detail, no? So when he responds correctly, it’s like he’s passing a test by knowing exactly what you’d want.

"They will do no such thing! Your childish antics will only reflect poorly on your dormitory. You will not taint them into participating in needlessly reckless activities!" <- While his intentions are pure, the act itself can be frustrating. Especially when he puts his values in your mouth when chatting with friends. It’s a work in progress, but he will still become overzealous to order your coffee or recall your schedule if asked.

Handkerchief (Developed): Exchanging handkerchief with one’s partner was a popular courting method in the past. Considering the handkerchief Sebek carries is meant for his lord, him offering it to you is a grand gesture. Especially since he does not replace it with one meant for Malleus, as this is something exclusive to lovers, and carries one from you instead. If you don’t have one? Well - expect to get one asap. Author’s authority dictates that you will not disappoint him.

"The embroidery on this handkerchief is exquisite. According to Master Lilia, it is the same style as lacework from my homeland's establishment...and it is yours. Please accept this as a token of my affections."

Portrait (Developed): Sebek keeps your picture hidden at NRC. There's one stuck between his mattress and the boxboard, one behind his ID card in his wallet, and a small portrait he keeps taped under his deckchair. He cannot properly display it like Malleus' - partially from not wanting to disrespect his Lord and partially from bein emotionally constipated. Expect the exact opposite when he is older though. Listen. Do not try to tell me this man wouldn't commission an extra-large oil painting of his spouse to hang up in his barracks room in the palace. He's literally the blueprint of a fanboy, and if there's no available merch then us nerds get to commissioning.

Escort (Developed): Sebek Zigvolt can and will sit in the husbands' chair while you try on clothes in the store. He will carry your bedazzled hot-pink purse with pride, guarding the thing like it's worth millions. You can leave your cup with this one when at a ball worry-free. You have somewhere to be and he isn't on duty? Sebek is hot on your heels. He has no shame. Better yet? He's the one shaming anyone unable to do such simple things.

Gotta Slow Down (Developed) : Pairs with 'Gotta Keep Up' as he tries to match your stubby legs. At first Sebek attributed your slow pace to a lack of stamina, but no. He's just a jitterbug. Obviously he can't tug you along or stop every other minute for you to catch up either. It's funny watching you both try and forget to consider the other. On loop, a never-ending cycle. NRC hasn't seen a pairing like this in centuries.

Chivalry is not dead (Inherited...just not from you) : Lilia fucks with him and you’re subjected to many, many odd courting attempts…some he unironically takes a liking to.

"What must I do for you to reciprocate my intentions?! I have bestowed pearls shucked with my own hands, invited you to dance under moonlight, hung dried thyme over every door and given earthly offerings to all your kin! I implore you for transparency this instant!" <- Oh...oh, His trust in your batty elder wanes for months after being tricked so cruelly. Only until you accept (out of pity?). Then he feels guilty for ever doubting Lilia and begs for forgiveness. At least life never gets boring? Haha...hah...ha...

‘My human’ (Developed) : Sebek gets hit hard with a crippling awareness for your mental well being. He defended your 'honor' once and had it thrown in his face that he calls you a human more than your own name. Old habits die hard, and he prostrates himself on the ground as an apology. He really didn’t realize it came off so derogatory. Especially considering your relationship. Felt awful. Apologized profusely. Only says it in an affectionate way or with pride now. Tacking in the ‘my’ makes it better somehow? It's a work in progress.

"An apology is in order. My actions until now were unbecoming, and I am truly repentant. I cannot begin to beg for forgiveness, knowing that my words have struck you. I was wrong. You are no mere human, you are my human. A very special one whom I could not have foreseen in this lifetime" <- You know it's bothering him when he takes a gentle tone, looking directly in your eyes with shame open on display. Responsible enough not to look away and face his wrongdoing in the face. Even after you forgive him, Sebek will carry this lesson with him forever.

Flower preference (Inherited): In the language of flowers, which means a great deal to fae kind, he goes for the one associated with your birth month. Carries a pressed one as a bookmark, changes his cologne, and places a vase of blooms by his bedside that never seem to wilt.

"It is an honor! I shall never cease striving to improve. It is only natural that my partner does the same. Your acknowledgement is noted and appreciated. Please continue to treat them well." == Insulting Sebek is a challenge. The comment could be made with the most nasty undertone, but he only hears that you're behaving like a model citizen. You must, if you are beginning to resemble him in so many ways. Hearing that you are a positive influence on him is nothing short of baseline knowledge. Of course you are? He picked you to be his partner? Honestly. If people have time to sit around and gossip, they could go do something more productive.

Habits you steal:

Acronyms (Inherited): Does this truly come as a shock? Big L on your part if so. C'mon, this is Idia we're talking about here. Bro cannot go two sentences without pullin' some quote out of his mental backlog. Since you're stuck in TWST, not watching their culturally founding shows and cartoons is a crime. You'll be speaking in pseudo-lingo like how Spongebob quotes make their own language around these parts.

"Whehehe way to debuff your charisma stat - you might want to craft some mimic gear before Professor Trein locks ya in detention....n-not that I care! It's just that I'll have to solo tonight's raid and you're the one with the rotation buffed character!" <- On one hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. That's good. Less work for Idia. On the other hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. They're totes going to make fun of you now and it'll be his fault. You'll get lingo-lashed by professors and feel burdened and - okay. He'll shut up now.

Evil Laugh Who? Villain Where? (Inherited): We all know Idia has two modes: nerdy and sofuckingarrogantheneedsacoldshower. You know exactly when he's feeling number two via his laugh. That over boisterous 'WHEE HEE HEE' which is way too high pitched to belong to a villain but perfect for when Idia's in the zone. It comes out when you're feeling especially ecstatic or embracing your inner gremlin. A bit more subdued than his, but you've seen him do it so many times that the adaptation is subconscious.

"Ah -?! What w-was?....No! NO I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING! Just hurry up before we gotta interact with more NPCS! Awahhh my blood pressure's already spiking back up..." <- He first caught it when you insisted on playing one of those cheap festival-games outside the main market in Fleur City. All he wanted was to grab a grape juice and get back to his group before they noticed he ditched, but you saw some handstitched plushies and just like in some mainstream otome, he just had to get it for you. It was easier than sitting there watching you get cheated by a sleaze. He was amidst convincing himself that he robbed you of the fun, handing the doll over while sucking down his second grape juice when he heard it - on one hand, is this what he sounds like to other people? Scratch that. No way he's this cute - wait. No. He didn't just think that -

Gatcha (Inherited): One of Idia's go-to hangouts is playing an MMO. The dude already gave you a console as a gift for what happened at S.T.Y.X. One inkling of interest towards one of his main games and he won't hesitate to build you a PC. He'll take care of the maintenance and even send over some matching accessories. Ortho will be the one to drop it off of course, but it'll already be set up with whatever games he thinks you'll want to tag-team in and some extra money to explore on your own....and thus, the addiction begins.

"Hey, press this button for me real quick. I need to test something. N-no! I'm not setting you up, uggh just do it would you?" <- Your pulls are better than his and Idia can't decide if lady luck is smiting or blessing him. On one hand? Ultra rare pulls are going to a beginner account. Yet you're more likely to keep playing this way....fate truly tests the Shroud name every day.

Night Owl (Inherited and Developed): Freedom...is powerful. As the Shrouds are responsible for Blot Control, you're left with little to do at S.T.Y.X. You can work anywhere in the facility. As a lab assistant, tech maintenance, heck even the kitchens if you want - but Idia's on that night-life and likes to work when most are asleep. So you match it. Maybe not to a T - going to bed at 6:00am and waking at 4:00pm like him - but time does get a bit disoriented in a place where the sky is simulated.

"Why're you still up? This isn't a 24hr stream, y'know. Even I'm not crazy enough to do multiple all-nighters in a row...well, I'm off for now. Wanna watch the PREMO concert from last week with me?"

Vitamins (Developed): You take them. Idia is taking them. No matter what bro says - he cannot live off the Ignihyde snack machine. Get him the kiddy gummies if you have to. You started taking vitamin D in preparation for moving to S.T.Y.X in the future. Surely they've got something better than the options at Sam's, but you won't be developing Seasonal Affective Disorder anytime soon.

Snacks (Developed): A very simple kindness. Idia uses deliveries as an excuse to get you to visit Ignihyde, and in the future that doesn't change. Expect calls to do deliveries around S.T.Y.X and run 'confidential' reports whenever he's antsy for a visit. We all know he won't explicitly ask...ah, it's reminiscent of all the bogus orders he'd put in at Sams so you'd stop by.

Habits he steals:

Financial 'Responsibility' (Inherited): You both are very bad with money - and by bad? I mean that Idia is a jerk who thinks he can solve everything with money. Minor red flag - something to address. Definitely the type to apologize by sending an unnecessarily gigantic stuffed bear or something akin since he's afraid of saying something that will make it worse. Then pray you don't say anything as he stews over a fight like 12hr simmering sauce.

"Please spare me your double-standards the next time you're shoving vitamin water in my snack stash. SRSLY, Headmaster's a worse deadbeat than I thought if you're living like this....uh, don't tell him I said that" <- On the flip side, he's also flippant with that Shroud inheritance and will buy stuff on your behalf all the time. He's the type to go 'Oh, I thought it was going to be more. You live like this?' when wiring you money for groceries (because Grim ate your allowance in tuna smh). As for how you're bad? You're just flat broke man, so he's responsibly irresponsible as a result.

Vitamins Again (Inherited): Bro. Bro, genetics are making you pale but that diet is what is making those eyebags so prominent despite having a decent skincare routine. You need Vitamin D but he needs the whole spectrum. His potassium is so low, that you'll be staring him down with a plate of cooked salmon in one hand and a bottle of vitamins in the other. Is it pushy? Sure, but you don't want him keeling over within the next decade. Eat the vitamins or it's time to raid his search history. Ortho, get them medical reports out stat.

RPG (Developed): Every chance he gets, Idia will model his MC after you in an RPG. A character customization screen HATES to see this man coming, because he will sit there for hours until it is as close to your image as the system allows. You won't even know since he plays these games solo and has photographic memory to recreate you without a reference. If caught, will deny it despite the evidence being right there. Flat out takes this to the grave.

Sour Candy (Inherited): Fun fact? Citric acid is the perfect stimulant to shock someone out of a panic attack. You find the sourest candy he can tolerate, and it does it's job. If anything it creates a placebo effect, where when Idia tastes it he'll make an association with being anything but anxious. One time he ran out while stuck in a work meeting, and Ortho had to swipe a lemon from the cafeteria.

"Eugh! Sour! Sour! My tongue's gonna shrivel up like a prune! I should have knew this was a prank -" <- Proceeds to forget why he was anxious. Stops himself mid-rant, face sours realizing that you were right, apologizes under his breath and doesn't question you again.

Protective (Developed): Idia teeters the yandere line, to be fair. He's highly protective of the things he considers worth caring about - scratch that, the things he allows himself to care about - which are few. Very, very few. His self-doubt both keep this protectiveness in line while also fueling it. He is quick to convince himself that he has little right over your person, and that it's only a matter of time before his role gets snubbed or written out. Yet the moment his position becomes threatened by something he considers inferior? He hates the thought of some noface coming along and making a muck of your life. It's not his fault if you don't realize Idia's doing just that - but he'll be damned if someone else puts their two cents in, pushing him towards a bad ending.

"Hey - so uh, totally unprompted question that you can just ignore in all honesty - but what's it like living with so many ghosts? They don't give you any trouble or anything - 'cause if they do we've got a few empty rooms over in Ignihyde....only if you wanna! I mean - we're a buncha shut ins but it's pretty quiet and stuff. Okay, fading into the background now." <- Do you remember the Ghostbride? Idia does. Vividly. He also remembers you were the only person aside from Ortho who actually wanted to help him and didn't need cohersion. Stupid move on your part but he's hyper aware of the paranormal now regardless.

Sharing a bed (Developed): Unheard of. Especially since he's stated how miserable he was sharing a dorm - Idia surprises himself with this one. Not a single person would believe just how clingy bro is - but he's only clingy because 'you're' clingy - or so Idia loves to say if anyone teases him for going back on his whole 'solo for life' rants. He goes from the whole 'eww normie love bleh bleh' to 'oh you normies just don't get it because you don't have it hwee hwee'. Look. You're the one matching his sleep schedule, making him used to sharing a bed and having something other than a pillow to curl around - he didn't want to get used to it, he was adamant that this lifestyle was an absolute no-no, but now he's ten years too deep and he's screwed.

"Snkk - funny joke, Ortho. Almost got me there with that one. Inheriting any of my skills is like welcoming a one-track path straight to doomsville. You and I both know it." == Ever observant Ortho is very eager to share all the little changes he's seen in both yourself and Idia. Especially when the latter enters self-deprecation mode and is insistent that your relationship is nearing a band ending. In truth? Idia notices. He doesn't feel entirely himself anymore, and it terrifies him. Not everyone's meant for companionship, and for a long time Idia thought he was one of them. Someone perfectly content on their own with absolutely zero need for other people. Especially those hot-shot nosy hero types that would try to fix him without asking if he wanted to be 'fixed'. Thing is? You haven't pushed him to change at all - and he's freaking out because he's not supposed to want this. You're not supposed to want him.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #silver vanrouge x reader #silver vanrouge #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #ignihyde #diasomnia #colawrites

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goodluckchamp · 3 months ago

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KISS ME, SON OF GOD (18+)

PAIRING: Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson x Reader WORD COUNT: 5737 CONTENT TAGS: Smut with a lot of plot, MMF, catholic church, purity ring, religious imagery, competition, corruption, coercion, cigarettes, blasphemy, bisexuality, college/coming-of-age, Catholic!Art, fwb!Patrick, inspired by Fleabag + my own religious trauma SUMMARY: Patrick Zweig, of all people, goes to church every Sunday. You find out why.

You’ve always thought it was odd for Patrick, of all people, to diligently attend the town’s church every Sunday morning.

As far as you’re aware, he’s the furthest thing from holy— partly because he’s got an asshole personality that could make anyone want punch him in the face, and partly because he’s fucked you more times than either of you bothered to count. If there’s anyone who’s ever seemed allergic to anything remotely pure, it’s Patrick fucking Zweig.

You just can’t picture the scene of the curly dark haired boy, sitting in a pew amidst the soft, colourful glow of the stained glass windows, finding solace in prayer— it’s utterly ridiculous.

So naturally, you find yourself walking down the aisle of the church in your Sunday best, eyes scanning the space for the familiar face. The air is heavy with incense and the people are scattered across the neatly organized benches. Everything is a little too serene, but it’s kind of a vibe with the huge stained windows in blues and reds. casting faint, vibrant patterns across the floor.

Your gaze drifts as you walk, where oil paintings hang all over the walls. Some have faded and some are confusing to understand— but there’s a clear image of Jesus in the centre of it all, hanging on the infamous cross, wearing nothing but a loin cloth. He is surrounded by fully-clothed men and women who stare at his suffering body in what seems to be awe. You squint at Jesus’ carved chest and muscles gleaming in the light, the bright halo behind his thorny crown, and the blood trickling down his chiselled face. You swallow.

You look back down at the people, sweeping the back of their heads until you spot the one that you want— sitting in the middle of a pew, his back straight, eyes focused forward, looking completely in peace. Not a hint of the usual loose-limbed arrogance, but just a young man looking to confess his sins and fly straight up into Heaven. Uncanny.

You slide right onto his side, pressing against Patrick like you came here together. He shoves you away with his body in a subtle way— but the sharp side-eye he shoots at you is definite. He arches a brow and you mimic him, returning the same look with a grin.

Before he can say anything, the priest lifts his hands.

“Let us pray.”

You stare at the man with a blank expression until you turn to the side to see Patrick with his eyes closed, hands clasped together, and head tilted slightly downward. Oh, fuck off.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

You copy his pose but lean into him, close enough to breathe on his skin. He sighs, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. He looks at you up and down, taking in your attempt at Catholic modesty.

“You clean up nice,” Patrick whispers. “Didn’t think you owned a dress that covers this much.”

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

You roll your eyes. “Didn’t think you owned a bible.”

His lips curl at the edges. “You’d be surprised what I own.”

Give us this day our daily bread,

Your gaze flicks up to the front of the church, watching the congregation murmur the words along with the priest, who has his arms wide open like he’s absorbing the prayer through his chest.

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

You turn back to Patrick. “You come here to confess?”

His lip twitches. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

You snort, then quickly slam your hand across your mouth. Patrick’s shoulders shake.

And lead us not into temptation,

You give Patrick a slow, expectant stare, lips pressed together. Come on. Tell the truth.

Patrick peers back into your eyes for a moment, the familiar lazy smile forming on his face, before he shifts his gaze, flickering past you. You turn your head, following his line of sight.

But deliver us from evil.

Across the church, to your left, in one row ahead of you— is a boy.

A boy with the kindest, purest face you have ever seen, half-lit by the dramatic golden lights. He sits with his head bowed, his tousled blonde hair falling just over his forehead. He mouths the words with certainty like he has all the words memorized, and there’s just something so pure about his stance, hands tightly holding each other, devoted. He’s all soft edged and open warmth, the kind of pretty that feels delicate— almost sacred. Like he was meant to kneel at the altar, not sit among sinners.

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.

Around his neck, a silver chain with a simple cross resting against the crisp white fabric of his shirt, just above his heart. A matching ring is on his left hand, glinting faintly as he breathes.

You turn your head back to Patrick. He’s smiling.

You feel your own grin tug at the corner of your lips.

“Amen.”

Mass is long. You try to focus. But your eyes keep betraying you, drifting back to where he sits— perfect posture, attentive eyes, and hands absentmindedly fidgeting with his necklace. Every time you look, you expect to find something imperfect about him. A twitch, a yawn, a cough— but there’s nothing. He’s pristine, listening to the priest like he really, truly understands what it’s about. And it makes you want to ruin him, just a little. Just to see what he’d look like when he falls apart.

Patrick kicks your ankle.

“Dibs.”

You kick him back.

“You can’t call dibs on a person.”

It’s a childish back and forth of shoes to legs until the mass drags to an end. The priest delivers the final blessing, the congregation murmuring a chorus of amen, and then— movement. People get up from their seats, gathering their coats and purses and bibles, shaking hands and nodding heads toward each other.

Peace be with you. And also with you.

Patrick is already ahead, shaking hands and sharing peace with some old lady, while you attempt to follow him— only to be intercepted by a well-dressed man who gives you a firm, approving handshake and some peace to be with you. You return a tight expression before catching up to Patrick.

He catches your sleeve, pulling you slightly and tips his chin— towards the blonde haired boy. He’s standing just a few feet away, shaking hands and exchanging polite smiles with everyone around him. There’s a whole lot of sincerity in his form, like he’s actually able to distribute peace just by touching skin. You can’t help but notice how his fingers curl gently around each handshake, how his eyes soften when he listens to the replies.

“His name’s Art.”

You whip your head around. “You’ve talked to him?”

“Everybody’s talked to him.” Patrick shrugs. “He’s the deacon's son.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Poor guy.” He sighs, staring at Art with great concern. “Imagine being raised that close to God.”

The two of you gawk at him without hiding it, standing in the middle of the aisle, letting the flood of the leaving congregation split around you like a tide. He’s just a few feet away now, talking to someone who looks like his father, his fingers idly twisting the silver band on his ring finger.

“And what’s up with the ring?” You ask. “He can’t be married.”

“Purity ring.” Patrick answers, like it’s obvious.

You blink. “What’s a purity ring?”

Patrick stays silent. He catches Art’s attention with a small wave, changing his face to a far more honest one. Art’s face lights up, genuine— says something to his father before starting towards the two of you, weaving through the last bit of the crowd.

“Peace be with you.”

You hesitate. “Thank you?”

He laughs— his sweet, brown eyes crinkling along with it— and it completely disarms you for a moment.

Fuck. He’s exactly your type. But he’s not Patrick’s usual type at all. Patrick likes people who bite back— someone sharp, who can keep him amused, at the very least— but this boy looks like he’s never seen that side of Patrick Zweig. Like Patrick hasn’t had the chance to pounce on him yet.

You sort of laugh with him, ignoring Patrick’s amusement.

Art calms. “First time?”

“Yes.” Patrick puts his hands on your shoulder. “This is (Y/N). She’s been having a tough time in her life, so I brought her here. Thought she could use some guidance in her life.”

Unbelievable.

“That’s really kind of you, Patrick.” Art’s face softens. He turns to you, eyes warm with ingenuous concern. “I hope you found some comfort here.”

You nod. “Oh, yeah. I can see why Patrick comes here.”

You earn a smile from him. He offers you a hand.

“I’m Art.”

You take it. He’s warm. Gentle. Like he’s trying to be reassuring, welcoming, but there’s a slight hesitation in the way his fingers wrap around yours, like he’s not entirely sure of the line between politeness and something else. You feel the cool surface of his ring against your skin.

“I like your ring." You glance down at the jewelry.

There’s a snort from Patrick as Art flushes, a subtle pink spreads across his cheeks. He pulls back from your grasp, his smile flickering into something a little less certain. He swipes his thumb over his ring, as if to hide it.

“Thank you,” he says with a nervous laugh.

You tilt your head, confused. Patrick fills the silence.

“She’s completely new to this whole thing." He sighs, shaking his head like you’re a real burden. “I’ve been helping her a lot, but, as you know, faith comes from opening yourself to the lord.”

You give him a look. “Are you saying you've opened yourself to the lord?”

“Oh, I’m wide open.”

“Well, I— um—” Art stops, like he’s trying to regain his composure, searching for the right words. It’s cute. “I’m really glad you’re here. I know it might feel overwhelming at first, but the church is always open. If you ever need anything, I’d be happy to help.”

Yeah, you definitely need something from him. You give a quick glance to Patrick— who cannot hide his excitement at Art’s offer.

“I’d love some help, actually.” You plaster on your sweetest, most hopeful expression on your face. “I’m so lost with this whole thing, and I could use some personal guidance.”

Art beams. This is what he’s good at. “Of course. Are you interested in participating in Bible study?”

You blink. “Is that like a one-on-one thing?”

“I— well, Bible study is usually a group thing.” He explains. “But I could help you out with some of the passages if you’re having trouble.”

Patrick cuts in, like the attention whore that he is.

“You know,” He taps his finger on his brand new Bible. “I think I could use some guidance too. My faith needs some deepening.”

You tilt your head. “Oh, I thought you already opened yourself to the lord.”

“I can always go deeper.” He grins. “So, Art. Your place? Sometime this week?”

Art, sweet, oblivious Art, looks between you both, overwhelmed at the sudden pressure. His hand fidgets with his necklace as he looks at the Bible in Patrick’s arms, then the expectant expression from your face.

He nods. Earnest.

God bless his soul.

The three of you eventually figure out a time. You ask for Art's number— only so that he can text you his address, of course— and he gives it to you, easily. You and Patrick keep up your good behaviour, but just as Art leaves, you snap towards Patrick.

“Tell me what the ring means.”

Patrick licks his lips, before leaning in. You catch the hint of a smile in his voice as he whispers the answer into your ear.

Oh. Oh.

So that’s why Patrick hasn’t…

You let out a breathy giggle, a rush of heat crawling up your neck. The pieces start to fit together. That soft, pure little lamb you’d just been around. Art. Untouched by anything except the passion of his faith. You never knew such purity could exist in your life, but here he is.

“That’s insane." You sigh, a rather delighted smile on your face. “Why would anyone do that to themselves?”

“Well, not everyone is a slut like you,” Patrick hums. “Some of us are trying to focus on our spiritual journey.”

You roll your eyes, heading towards the entrance. “You’re so fucking fake.”

Patrick swings his arms around you, lowering himself to be face level with you. “I’m not the one who spent half of mass eye-fucking the deacon's son.”

You jab him in the ribs and run out of the church.

Art lives alone in a small apartment on campus. It’s small, but neat, curated with annotated religious books on shelves and a wooden cross hanging on the wall. He’s studying theology in university, because apparently, he wants to be a deacon like his father.

“So do deacons need a calling?” Patrick asks. “Or is that for priests?”

“No, deacons can have a calling too.” Art smiles, a bit sheepish, eyes flicking downward.

You’re sitting on the ground, across from Art with your back against the base of a couch. Patrick sits beside you, touching your knees, fidgeting a pen between his fingers. He nods to Art’s words, lips pursed, hungry. On the coffee table ahead are three Bibles spread open on top.

You nod too. “And you’ve had a calling?”

“I think I always have.” Art looks into your eyes with a soft confidence. “It’s always been a part of me.”

He is so quiet in his certainty, which makes you wonder if it's even certainty at all. You peer into him and he turns his attention back to the Bible, like you’d catch something in his eyes that you’re not supposed to see.

Art isn’t the slutty, easy romance you’re used to, rather, he holds an innocent kind of beauty that only alludes to his chastity. The men in your life, including the asshole next to you, have been wolves, but Art— he is but a gentle lamb. Always so bashful, so honest around you.

Such purity begs to be tainted.

The three of you have been studying Genesis since 8PM. The basics. The origins of the world, of human life, of sin. It’s not particularly radical to your knowledge but it’s been fun, being able to picture the nakedness of Adam and Eve in that perfect garden, untouched by shame. You wish the Bible was a picture book instead— you’re a visual learner.

Art continues down the page. “That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.”

“One flesh." Patrick repeats, slow, savouring. Like he’s rolling something sweet on his tongue. “This is about sex, yeah?”

You bite your lips, a breath away from a laugh, but you hold it in. Patrick’s been so good for the whole evening— so good. Didn’t even twitch when you skimmed his thigh under the table, didn’t even blink when you adjusted your shirt, just enough to expose your skin a bit more. You’d started to think he was actually behaving.

But his comment is like a switch— it breathes permission into the room.

Art flicks the thin page of the Bible. “It’s about unity.”

Patrick persists. “A physical unity.”

Art looks at you, like he’s asking you for help— but you shrug, pressing into the couch behind you, settling in for a show. He’s a bit thrown off by your silence, like he’s been betrayed— but turns to Patrick anyway. Courageous.

“Yes, the physical act is part of it. But it’s not just—” He swallows. “Sex for the sake of it. It’s about two people coming one in marriage. It’s part of God’s design.”

“To have sex?”

“To be fruitful, and to multiply, and to replenish the Earth.” Art quotes.

Dear God. It’s your turn to strike. “You can do that without being married.”

“But it’d become an indulgence.” His voice is steady, firm in that self-assured way— but his burning face gives away how he really feels, that only makes it more fun to push him. “It prioritizes pleasure without the sanctity of commitment.”

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek at Art’s answer, eyes taking over his form to measure just how deep that conviction really runs. He eventually grins, pulling back.

“Okay, no sex before marriage, got it.” He nods. “What about self-unity?”

“What?”

“You know.” Patrick mimes an exaggerated jerking motion.

You see Art’s finger graze his ring— like he’s reminding himself why he’s here, doing this with the two of you. “It’s not about the act itself but the lustful thoughts and fantasies that lead to it.”

“So if I just jerk off with no thoughts, head empty, then I’m good?”

“You can’t not think about anything while—”

Art stops.

You see it happen— the exact second he realizes what he’s said. The way his lips press shut so fast like he’s trying to shove the words back in. It’s a tiny sliver of vice— that allows the two of you to corner Art like a pack of wolves.

“Oh?” Patrick’s grin sharpens. His voice drips with delighted mockery, knowing he finally has the upper hand. “How would you know?”

It's quiet until you start to laugh— you really can’t help it. It’s barely contained as your facade slithers away. The sound eases the tension a bit, coiling through Art’s sides— and he shakes his head with a tight smile, like he’s made a mistake. But he can’t take it back. None of it.

“It’s okay if you’ve jerked off before, Art. We’ve all done it,” You say between giggles.

Art stares at you like he’s never considered that before. That you, sitting across from him, knees touching Patrick’s, have done it. And is willing to talk about it.

“So, when was the last time?” Patrick sings.

Art closes his eyes. “I’m not answering that.”

“So recent, then.”

"No, we're not doing this."

"Do what? We’re just talking.” You tease, sweet. “What do you think about?”

“No,” He groans, pressing his hands to his face, though it does not hide anything. Not the raging colour of his skin, not the rigidness of his structure, and not the silver ring holding the promise of his chastity. “This is wrong, okay? It’s sinful.”

You let the word curl around your chest. Sinful. He says it like it’s meant to scare you, to twist some guilt into your insides. It’s a word he’s clinging to like a shield, the word he thinks is going to save him from the overwhelming heat that's seething in the room. Like he’s afraid to admit anything else that could be available to him without the thought. Suspense. Pleasure. Relief.

Patrick turns to you with a face of amusement and sympathy— as if to say, Pitiful, pitiful Art. He just doesn’t get it. Patrick knows he’s responsible for Art’s conflict. He should be the one to fix it.

“(Y/N.)” Patrick tilts his head. “Come here.”

You glance back at Art, who lowers his hand, slowly. He’s a stifled, frantic thing, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nothing. You slink closer to Patrick, legs ending up in a kneeling position beside him.

You smile at Art. It’s okay.

“Does this look sinful to you?” Patrick asks, before pressing a short kiss to your lips. As if it’s nothing. Just a little taste.

The two of you turn to Art, who is clutching the bible with his hands, fingers digging into the worn leather cover. “No, but—”

“Okay, what about this?”

Patrick pulls you closer, taking your face, pushing your hair behind your ear before his mouth brushes against yours. It’s slow, purposeful, measuring every bit of his actions to be as tempting as possible. He checks Art, gauging his reaction— ears flushed red, legs pressed together, and eyes completely focused on the two of you. Patrick grins, and it’s you who lean into the kiss, the impatient feeling growing between your legs.

Patrick’s hands find the back of your neck, gripping you a little too tightly. You open your lips to let him in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with practiced ease. His lips move against yours like he's starved, dragging each sound, each movement out with an almost theatrical precision. You let his hand roam down your sides, barely grazing the places that feel good. It’s not about satiating your pleasure, not yet— he’s just showing you off.

“Does this look sinful to you?” Patrick murmurs between kisses.

Art does not answer. His eyes, wide, dark— flicker from your mouths to your body, watching your thighs press tightly together, rubbing against each other like you need something more. His lips part slightly, a shaky breath escaping as if he’s forgotten how to properly breathe. The Bible, now closed, rests against his lap, blatantly hiding his bulge straining beneath his pants.

You pull back, gasping for air as your lips sting from the rough pressure. Patrick laughs at the swollen state of your lips, wiping the side of it with a playful kindness. It’s sweet, and it’s not an action easily forgotten by Art. His gaze locks on the action, as though he’s memorizing the way Patrick touches you, the way you both exist together in this moment. It’s intimate. Easy.

“Art.”

He flinches at Patrick’s voice, like he’s been under a spell until he spoke his name— and Patrick reaches out, turning your face gently toward Art by your chin. There’s a deliberate edge to it, like he’s claiming you in front of Art.

“Does she look sinful?” He asks, still holding you, framing you.

Art’s eyes flicker, darting between you and Patrick— his mouth, still wet from the kiss. His hands on your face, holding you— you, with your chest rising and falling too quickly, still shaken from the intensity. Legs bent at the knee, leaned against Patrick— letting the residue of the kiss hang between the three of you.

And there’s nothing about you that looks shameful. Nothing desperate or untamed. The way you breathe, the way you look at him— there’s nothing that makes you feel wrong. No fear, nor indignity. It’s just… you. It’s funny, because, you’re the one he’s been warned about. The kind of promiscuous, corrupt girl that haunts the message of every sermon, the kind that makes men stumble and question their every thought.

And yet. You’re beautiful.

He shakes his head. No. No, you’re not sinful.

He feels a knot tightening in his chest. He looks at your eyes— calm, innocent. There’s no sin there. No, it’s not about you— it’s him. He’s not looking at you the way he’s supposed to. The heat pooling in his body, the way his pulse races— it isn’t about you. No, it’s his body that’s betraying him, reacting to the most innocent thing in the most unholy way.

His throat tightens as he shakes his head harder. He looks down at the Bible pressed against his erection and he’s ashamed— how wicked is he to react like this? And he knows— he knows the two of you are staring at his erection, and it feels like the whole room is closing in on him.

“I’m sorry,” He stammers, barely able to make out the words.

Holy fuck. Patrick practically revels in his apology, dropping his hands from you like he got what he wanted. You’re unsure if Art’s saying it to you, to Patrick, or to God— it doesn’t matter. You’ve come so far, so close.

“Art, it’s okay.” You crawl towards him. “I’m flattered.”

You slowly pull the Bible away from his crotch, and he watches your eyes stare at his bulge with desire. It’s wrong. He should move away. But he finds himself letting you gently grab his face, body stiffening under your touch. You can feel the tension of his muscles beneath his skin, as if he’s bracing for something sharp, something brutal— but it never comes.

You worry he might pull away, but then, so quiet you almost miss it, he exhales. It’s small, broken in half, but it’s enough to know— he has fallen.

You smile, before leaning into him, planting your lips against his.

Art kisses like he’s scared. Like one wrong move and he’ll be electrocuted. He waits for you to make the moves, completely immobile at first. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, his legs, his erection— and lets you guide him through the whole experience, making Patrick snicker as he slides towards Art.

“You kiss like a middle schooler,” Patrick jokes, turning Art’s face away from you. His fingers grab at his neck, just how he did with yours. Art fuses with it, slowly kissing Patrick, trying to copy how you did it before. And Patrick doesn’t ease him in— he’s been waiting for this, longer than you— he devours him. It’s sloppy, a little more tongue than you think you were putting out, but adorable nonetheless. A whimper breaks from Art’s throat, and you reach for his chest— you want to know what other sounds he can make.

The thin shirt does nothing to protect him from your touches, prodding and feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. You start from his chest, down the centre, where his heartbeat pounds under your touch. You drag it lightly over his ribs, his stomach, then all the way down— and he shudders in response. You palm him through the fabric of his pants, and he jerks away from Patrick’s mouth with a startled gasp.

“Wait—”

Patrick pulls him back, crashing his lips against Art’s. He makes a muffled, helpless noise, protesting— but it’s all tongue and teeth. There’s nothing gentle about the kiss— rough, relentless. For a moment, you think it might be too much. But Art doesn’t push either of you away. His hands twitch uselessly at his sides, not knowing whether to grab onto Patrick or you.

You press your palm against his boner, firmer this time, fingers curling slightly. His hips buck up before he can stop himself, like he’s working purely on instinct now— and he makes a noise broken in half— soft, wrecked. He’s bigger than you assumed— this guy should not be allowed to be a virgin. You work him up, rubbing him through his pants, watching the way he tenses and shakes.

It happens faster than any of you expect. Art gets loud, the sounds choked up in his throat— and you barely register what’s happening until he pushes Patrick away, hips stuttering, legs squeezing together like he’s trying to stop it.

“Wait— no, I’m gonna—” He grabs at your wrists, weak. “I think I’m gonna—”

You stop.

Art makes a confused sort of sound, eyes fluttering open as his whole body shakes, struggling to process the sudden absence. You can see it— how it takes him a second to register that you really, truly stopped.

“We should probably go back to studying, huh?” You tilt your head, picking up the Bible discarded on the floor. “Got a little sidetracked.”

Art’s stomach twists— he feels dizzy, overheated, aching in a way that makes him go insane. He tries to keep his mouth shut, swallowing the moan in his throat, trying so hard to keep himself controlled— he knows what you’re doing. He knows what Patrick is doing.

But fuck— he’s still shaking. Chest heaving, staring at you like he’s been betrayed.

Art breathes as you flip the book open. He turns to Patrick, like his stunned silence will somehow mean something— but Patrick shrugs, moving to pick up his Bible from the table.

Art’s finger reaches out, grabbing onto Patrick’s sleeves. “Wait.”

His eyes are wide, tear-stricken, vulnerable— but the sense of fear has disappeared from his form— like he has forgotten all about the ring on his finger. Like his desires are finally biting him in the neck, puncturing his skin and replacing his voice with pure impulse.

That’s all you need to see before kissing him again.

For Art, It has always been quick. Under the blankets. Lights off. No moaning, just furious shame-jacking until he finished, quietly cleaning himself up before falling asleep with his heart pounding in his chest.

But Patrick’s slow. He’s got one hand around Art’s cock, stroking it slow, patient. His thumb occasionally teases the tip, stopping Art from coming too soon. His boxers are down to his knees, legs splayed and twitching. His shirt is rolled up to his collarbone, exposing his chest— pink and damp, heaving.

You’ve been playing with him, feeling the insides of his thighs, tracing his hips, brushing over the curbs of his stomach with your nails to watch it contract. He’s a mess, mouth slack, breath catching in his throat as he struggles to let his words out properly.

“Don’t be mean,” You scold. “It’s his first time.”

“I’m not being mean,” Patrick murmurs, kissing the side of Art’s cheek. “He’s enjoying it. Right?”

Art makes a strangled sound in response, his hand gripping your wrists, grounding himself— but not stopping anything.

You give Patrick a look and he sighs. Fine. He picks up his pace, working Art faster now, no more teasing, slow strokes. Just clean, focused jerks that have his hips lift erratically, like he doesn’t know whether to thrust into Patrick’s hand or run away to your embrace.

“Good?” Patrick asks, knowing the answer.

Art nods helplessly, eyes squeezed shut, noticeably reaching closer to the edge.

“Put your hand on his stomach,” Patrick orders, going faster and faster. “Want you to feel when he comes.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You press on his stomach, leaning close enough to feel the heat off his skin. You can feel the intense contractions of his muscles, convulsing as Patrick pumps him to the edge.

“Wait, wait—” Art sobs, fisting your shirt. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming—”

You and Patrick watch in awe as Art comes. He throws his head back, back arching as he sobs through it, hands gripping you as Patrick strokes him through his orgasm.

“Holy fuck,” Patrick groans, deep and satisfied. He knew Art had it in him.

White liquid splatters over your hand and Art’s stomach as he jerks through the aftershocks. It’s messy, embarrassingly loud, practically obscene— and he folds onto himself like he wants to collapse inwards and hide— but you hold him down by his hips, whispering in his ear that it’s okay, this isn’t sex. He was so good. He’ll be alright.

When he finally blinks back into himself, looking down— he’s mortified. He presses a shaking hand at his abs, but it only makes it worse. The wet, shameful stickiness stains his palm and he hiccups, jaw clenched tight, like he can’t believe what just happened.

You can see the way he fights his blissed-out body with his escalating thoughts; I tried to be good. Please forgive me. Please. Please.

He tries to hold everything in but his tears fall anyway, shoulders shaking as he goes limp in your hold. Patrick brushes his hair away from his face while you pepper kisses and lick the guilt off his cheek.

You’ve half-expected him to taste sweet, mirroring his honeyed hair and mellow eyes.

But he’s all salt, and the taste lingers between your teeth.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

A giggle slips out, high and breathless, before you can swallow it down. The weight of your words, which are none, loiter in the dim confessional. It’s 1 AM and church doors have no locks, apparently— so you and Patrick have slipped in, a bit tipsy and horny, which seems to be the default setting when the two of you are together.

“Isn’t this blasphemous?” You whisper, eyes darting to the wooden partition, where the outline of Patrick sits.

“Probably." He huffs, letting cigarette smoke pass through the patterned holes. “You scared?”

“No.” You pull your leg up, hugging it with both arms, knees tucked against your chest in the small wooden seat. “It just feels wrong.”

“Go on, then.” Patrick lowers his voice, something akin to divine. “Confess.”

You roll your eyes, but smile nonetheless.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I had impure thoughts.”

“Shocker.”

“Shut up.” You swallow. “There’s this boy. He’s…”

Soft, delicate, quiet. With unkissed lips parted open with curiosity and a burdened, guilt-ridden heart. Devout.

“...Good.” You close your eyes. “And I think we may have ruined that goodness, a little.”

“A little?” Patrick snorts. “He’s going to burn in hell because of us.”

You’re both thinking about him. The way he shook under your touch, the way he gasped when Patrick wrapped a hand around him— the way he twisted himself to deny the pleasure, trying, trying so hard to be righteous and good. All of that, wasted in the span of an hour.

God, you can still taste his tears.

“Do you feel bad?”

“Nah.” Patrick shifts, taking another drag of his cigarette. “It was the kind of good that was hanging by a thread anyway.”

Hm. Your head tilts back against the wood.

“Maybe next time I can give him a blowjob.” You chew your lip. “That’s not really sex, right?”

“With that logic, you should just ride him. Technically he won’t be doing anything wrong if he just sits there.”

It’s meant to be a joke, probably. But the image hangs in the air, and your appetite only heightens. Patrick notices, catching it from your lack of response. He blows the smoke and it slithers through the tight space, hissing into the preceding scent of age and stale prayers. Stifles you as it furnishes your lungs and presses your chest from the inside.

“We’re such assholes,” you mumble.

“Yeah.”

“We should probably leave him alone.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence is all it takes to know that neither of you believes the other. Then you both dissolve into laughter— outrageous and wicked— foreheads pressed against the wooden panel. Sinful, shameful creatures. And you always will be.

NOTE: My first work that doesn't mention Tashi? I miss her already !!!

#challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson smut #artrick #artrick smut #art donaldson x you #challengers fic #challengers smut #patrick zweig x you #religious trauma #be bisexual

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thekinslayed · 1 year ago

Text

Thy Mission

summary | The lines between desire and duty blur between the Targaryen brothers on their last night before a battle.

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI, oral sex (m), p in v sex, anal, mentions of war, double vaginal penetration, incest, Aemond Fucks™, porn w little plot, mentions of sex work, just pure filth tbh

wordcount | 5.1k

note | this was inspired by Uneasy Lies The Head by @troublesomesnitch! her work is absolutely amazing and i highly recommend for everyone to check them out!

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(dividers by @targaryen-dynasty)

Aemond marched across an array of tents that lined their encampment. He passed horses being fed, blades being sharpened, and fires where the men roasted game for supper. A sneer adorned his lips as he passed by a group of soldiers sat around logs, giggling whores on their laps. How these women managed to follow their army and could stand being around these stinking, grubby men, he knew not the reason. They were at war, and he had no time to indulge in such depravity.

He hastened to reach Aegon’s tent, situated at the far end of the camp. The King’s accommodation was larger than the rest and was well guarded, or rather, it usually was. His Kingsguard were nowhere near their station, making Aemond stop in his tracks to search for any White Cloaks. He found none.

Ever the wary soldier, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword in case of any threat that may jump out of nowhere. Strange sounds came from behind the tarp of his brother’s tent, a bemoaning from Aegon that made Aemond rush in through the flaps of the tent.

“Aeg– Seven Hells!” Aemond cursed, the sight of the King’s pale arse greeted him as he entered his tent. Aegon’s standing figure barely covered your figure kneeled before him, taking his cock earnestly as he thrusted into your mouth. Groans left the King’s lips, his pace never faltering despite his brother’s intrusion. Aemond lifted a hand to shield the sight from his eyes, quickly turning around to leave, but is stopped.

“Fuck– Brother, wait!” Aegon called out, panting as he chased his release.

“I can wait outside.”

“Just give me one sec– fuck, that’s it.” Aegon breathed out, praises falling from his lips as you took him further down your throat. The sound of your mouth eagerly sucking his cock filled the room, coupled with the moans falling from the King’s lips. Aemond rolled his eye and doesn’t leave, but instead turned around to face the wall of the tent. The elder chuckled as he turned to the sight of his brother’s back. Fucking prude.

The intrusion and the feeling of having an audience drove Aegon closer to his release. His hips picked up its pace, his cockhead hit the back of your throat brutally almost to the point of gagging you. You whimpered around his length, tongue pressed on the underside of his cock as you fondled his stones.

Breathy moans grew louder as he gripped your hair, rather exaggerating for his audience of one. His balls tightened at the thought of cumming while his brother watched, looking back to see if Aemond had turned around. He had not. As he approached his end, Aegon took his cock out of your mouth and tugged at it furiously. Coughing lightly from the assault on your throat, you hastened to free your breasts from your shift, presenting it to your King to accept his seed, just like he liked it. Your jaw fell agape as Aegon’s cock spurted his white, hot release, painting your tits. A final groan left his lips, before stepping away from you.

“What is it, brother?” Aegon asked after a moment, chest still panting.

“Cole needs your input on th-”

“Turn around and face your King when you speak.” The elder ordered. Aemond gritted his teeth, sighing in exasperation as he turned around to face his brother. He is met with the sight of you, still on your knees, and Aegon’s glistening cock that started to soften. He is granted a better view of you as his brother walked away to fetch a cloth.

One amethyst eye fell on your chest, the royal seed still dripping around your mounds, some even had trickled down to the skin still covered by your shift. His cock stirred in his trousers at the sight, gulping at the flame that started to ignite in his belly. Tearing his gaze from your breasts, his eye flickered to your face. Your eyes met, and you gave him a meek smile.

With a rag in hand, Aegon returned with a smirk on his face at his brother’s hungry gaze on you. His softened cock swayed as he walked, tossing you the clean cloth to wipe yourself before approaching the serving table where a jug of wine and clean glasses sat. He poured a cup of red, taking a small swig before handing it to you, which you accepted with a gracious smile.

“So…” Aegon spoke, tearing Aemond’s attention away from following your lips as you sipped your wine. “Is something the matter?” He asked as he began to dress.

Aemond cleared his throat, before meeting Aegon’s eyes. The tips of his ears warmed up at the amused look on Aegon’s face, no doubt having caught him staring at you unabashedly.

“Cole requires your presence in the council, your grace. The plans need your approval before the move on the morrow.” The younger prince informed him. Aegon let out a groan at his words, rolling his eyes as Aemond gave him a stern look.

“You know of these plans, yes?” The elder asked. You rose from your place on the ground to assist him with putting on his doublet.

“Of course.”

“Do they seem acceptable to you?” The king asked once more. Aemond clenched his fists as he tied them around his back, his patience was running thin at his brother’s lack of urgency. “I think we have favorable circumstances.”

“Then why do you need my approval?”

“Because you’re the fucking King.” Aemond snapped. Your eyes shifted warily between the brothers as they stared at each other, fingers hurrying to finish securing the last clasp on the King’s doublet. Aegon’s lips quirked upwards, which caused Aemond’s nostrils to flare in annoyance. Your hands smoothed down his chest as you finished, stepping off to the side as they left wordlessly.

As the brothers left, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. A thickness in the air dissipated from the tent with their departure, a blazing tension that can burn a mere lowborn like you, but one only dragons could handle. You had never seen such fire between two people, especially not in brothers. Curiosity sparked within you, an eagerness to witness what these Targaryens must get up to, or if they had acted upon these desires at all.

“Does your whoring know no bounds, brother? Even at war?” Aemond berated as the brothers made their way to where their council waited. His longer legs made for bigger strides, Aegon having to walk faster to keep up with the younger, grumbling under his breath.

“That is exactly the point, brother. We face the possibility of dying at any given moment. Would you rather die having never known the pleasure of having your cock sucked?” Aegon retorted, earning a scoff from the other silver-haired prince in return.

Aemond’s had his cock sucked before, of course. He’s fucked through young ladies and servants at court almost as much as Aegon had. As much as his brother thought him a blushing prude, he was still a man who had needs. He just did a better job in keeping his head in authority over his cock, and his… endeavors kept within the confines of his chambers.

The pair paid no attention to the people that bowed and greeted them as they passed, and continued their path to where Cole awaited them in the tent located at the center of camp. As the brothers approached, one of the men standing guard lifted the tarp to let them through.

“You know, if you ever decided on getting off your high horse and fucking live a little, I am more than happy to share,” Aegon suggested, his tone teasing as the back of his hand slapped the one-eyed prince’s firm shoulder. Long silver tresses whipped across his face as Aemond turned back to him briskly before he could react.

“Enough.” The younger hissed, before turning back around to dip through the tent's entrance. Aegon let out a cackle at his brother’s dramatics, following after him.

“Deny yourself all you want, brother, but I know you love a good pair of tits.”

At the hour of the owl, Aemond was ordered to the king’s tent. For a pressing matter of the utmost discretion, the squire had said. His tent was right beside Aegon, and he knew not the reason why the fucker couldn’t have made the short walk if the matter was so urgent.

Nevertheless, the prince made his way to his brother’s pavilion, clad in only his cotton tunic and breeches, ducking through the canvas to enter. There was no Aegon in sight, however, Aemond was met with the sight of you kneeled on the cot, leaning on your elbows with your arse on display. His eye widened as your eyes met, watching as you scrambled to cover your bottom half and sat up.

“My prince!” You greeted him, cheeks flushing red. Aemond’s eye trailed over your garments. A thin, almost translucent, white fabric covered your front, tied behind your back by a golden-colored rope. Your back was exposed, and the fabric dipped down to drape over your rear. He could see your breasts through the glow cast by the oil lamps scattered around the vicinity, the shadows emphasizing the way your nipples pebbled in the cold night air.

“Where is my brother?” He asked, tone stern as he clasped his hands behind his back. His discerning eye caught the open vial of oil on the wooden table beside the cot.

“H-his grace’s attention was needed elsewhere, my prince. Something about feeding his dragon.” You stuttered, growing anxious as the prince closed his eye and sighed. He turned to leave the tent, but your sweet voice called out to him.

“He should return any moment.” You said, getting up from the cot to stand. “Would you like a cup of wine as you wait?” You offered, hands wrung together as he stared at you.

You felt like shrinking under his sharp gaze, gooseflesh formed on your skin as his pupil seemed to dilate at the sight of you. He let out a hum and nodded, stepping back into the tent. You hastily poured him a cup of wine, reaching out to offer it to him as he sat on the edge of Aegon’s cot. A gasp threatened to leave your lips when his warm hand covered your smaller one as he took the cup. It is raised to his thin lips, tongue darting out to lick at them as his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Where are you from, girl?” The prince asked, another hum leaving his lips as you told him of your homeland. You watched as his veiny hand traced the embellishments adorning the shiny cup, long fingers trailed along the rim. “You are a long way from home.” He commented.

“Indeed, my prince.” You responded, smiling bashfully. You had been on your journey to work in a brothel in the Street of Silk when word had reached you and the girls you traveled with about the King’s army taking camp not too far from where you were. All of you made your way over to the encampment, eager to provide your services to the soldiers weary from battle. There was no doubt most of you hoped to be called upon by one of the royals who resided at the site, well aware of the King’s proclivities. Tonight, it seemed, was your lucky night.

“I imagine a tent in the middle of the woods is far from the comforts of your own home, my prince.” You mentioned, boldly taking a step closer to his seated form. His head leaned up to look at your face, his eyelid hooded as he regarded you.

“There is little comfort to be expected during war.” He uttered, earning a nod from you.

“Still, solace can still be sought out anywhere, should you look hard enough.” You remarked, a smooth tone in your words. His knees had bumped lightly into the outside of your thighs as you stepped into his space, looking down at him with a seductive smile. Aemond’s hand twitched when he felt an urge to touch you, causing him to grip the cup in his hand tightly. “I could provide that for you… if you would like.” You suggested, voice dropping to a whisper.

His eye darkened at your words, igniting a spark of excitement within you. You stared at each other for a moment longer, your heart thumping loudly against your chest in anticipation. The prince dropped the cup of wine to the grass with little regard, before gripping your hips to pull you into his lap.

You climbed onto his lap eagerly, thighs caging his own. His lips smashed onto yours in a frenzy of teeth, tongue, and spit. You moaned against his lips as his hand gripped the hair on the back of your head. His free hand slithered around your lower back, pushing your weight down onto his growing bulge. Your hips ground down on him with expertise, fingers lifting the hem of your garments to show him your center. His jaw dropped ever so slightly at the sight of your cunny humping on his clothed cock, your essence started to smear on the dark fabric of his trousers as your hips circled his lap. Pink lips attached to the pale skin of his neck, licking and biting on his flesh. You preened at the sounds of his low grunts in your ear and the appreciative smack he delivered to your rear before squeezing it.

Large calloused hands trailed the smooth expanse of your back, the warmth radiating from him a satisfying contrast from the chill night air. His fingers reached the knot on the back of your neck, toying with it.

“Take it off.” Aemond commanded, tone stern and commanding. You immediately obeyed, rising from his lips to stand, before reaching back to undo the tie holding up your garment. The thin fabric dropped into a puddle of white on the floor, your flesh bared to the prince’s eye. A small smirk rose on your lips as you watched how his gaze ran down your body, delighted at the hungry look that clouds his purple eye. You turned around and bent over, giving him a view of your glistening pink folds.

Aemond could feel the throbbing in his trousers at the sight of your cunny, a warmth spread from his chest as the urge to ravish you threatened to overtake him. What caught his eye, however, is the way your puckered hole also gleamed in the warm glow of the tent. His mind recalled the way you had been on your knees when he had entered, as well as the vial of oil that sat open beside you. He all but salivated at the mental image of you stretching your tight back hole as you waited for Aegon.

The younger prince always had a bad habit of wanting whatever his older brother was given– the crown, the Conqueror’s sword, and the glory that came with sitting on the throne. If he had the chance he would snatch everything that wastrel was freely given, he was more deserving of it after all.

And now Aegon wasn’t here, and Aemond would be a fool to not claim the delectable morsel of flesh before him.

He stood from the cot and threw you onto the feather mattress, ordering you to get on your knees. You wordlessly obliged, excitement pooling in your belly at the younger prince’s dominant nature. The king often had contrasting personalities in bed, you had discovered, depending on his mood. There were some moments when he would take and take all that you could give, treating you as a mere hole to fuck, but oftentimes he would be a babbling, pathetic mess, and you would have to soothe and take care of the tearful man that suckled on your teat like a baby lamb. You enjoyed your time with the King, but the dark look in Prince Aemond’s eye as he manhandled you as if you were a sack of grain exhilarated you, causing your core to clench around nothing. He grabbed the vial of oil from the side table, before untying his breeches as he took his place behind you. Your position prevented you from getting a view of his cock, but you heard the slick sounds of his hand slathering oil on his shaft, and a few sighs falling from his lips. A breath hitched in your throat as you felt his cockhead align with your hole, a whine falling from your lips as he started to breach.

Aemond cursed at the way your tight ring of muscles gripped his cock. It took almost all of his restraint to not push into you in one motion, your walls clenching as you struggled to take his length. It seemed to take forever for him to bottom out, more whines fell from your lips as he still slowly thrusted into you inch after inch. Though you haven’t caught a glimpse of his length, you were sure he was longer than Aegon.

“Ha, so fucking tight…” Aemond cursed. His hands squeezed the plump flesh of your arse, hips still unmoving as he gave you a moment to adjust. As he felt your hole start to relax, your hips wiggled against him slightly to urge him to move. His hips started to set a steady pace, a groan fell from his lips as he felt every ridge of your walls.

“Here I thought a whore like you would be looser than a worn-out glove. Isn’t that what you were doing when I came in, hm? Stretching out this tight little hole of yours?” Aemond questioned, earning only a moan from you in response. A dark chuckle fell from his lips, before delivering another smack to your rear.

“I haven’t started fucking you yet, girl. Have you gotten drunk on my cock already?” Your cheeks burned at his words, your hands fisted the soft sheets as the prince thrusted deep into you. Aemond’s hips started to pick up their pace, his thrusts growing harder and harder. The sounds of his flesh slapping against yours started to fill the vicinity along with your moans, no doubt heard by anyone close enough to the King’s tent. The silver-haired prince continued to ram into you, his own moans of delight left his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure.

More slaps to your ass caused the flesh to sting, and the soft rub from his hands soothed the reddening flesh. Tears started to gather in the corner of your eyes, sobs fell from your lips when Aemond pulled on your hair to lift your head back. You felt his bare chest press to your back, unaware of when he removed his tunic. The weight of his warm body on yours was a welcome sensation. His lips positioned right next to your ear, biting at your lobe before whispering.

“Touch yourself. Go on, show me how you cum with my cock in your tight hole.” He ordered you, warm breath fanning the side of your face as he spoke. Your fingers immediately fell on your pearl, urgently rubbing circles on the nub to hurl you closer to your release. Aemond grunted as your walls close in around his length, making it almost too tight for him to continue thrusting into you. Your moans increased in pitch as the coil in your belly threatened to snap, uncaring of whoever might hear you. A particularly harsh thrust from Aemond threw you over, a long whine escaped your lips as your juices gushed out of your empty core.

The prince continued to fuck you through your orgasm, thrusts still unrelenting as he chased his own release. A heat licked at the base of Aemond’s spine, crawling upwards as he neared his end. He was so close, your spasming walls pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“What do we have here?” An amused voice spoke, cutting through the cloudy daze both you and the prince found yourself in. Aemond grunted in annoyance, hips stilling at the sight of his brother stood with a devilish smile on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” The younger seethed, cock still buried in your hole as he regarded Aegon. The entrance of the tent faced his blindside, making him unaware of his brother’s arrival, nor of how long he had been watching them.

“Long enough to see how much you have been enjoying yourself. Please, brother, carry on. Do not let my presence hinder you.” Aegon urged on, stepping into the pavilion, the scent of smoke following him. He shot you a wink when your eyes meet, before walking over to the serving table to pour himself some wine. The high that was close to washing over Aemond had died down at his brother’s intrusion, and if it weren’t for your hips wiggling against his and your shining eyes staring back at him, he would have left and brought himself to release in the privacy of his tent. Keeping his eye on you, the prince tried his hardest to ignore the sound of Aegon moving around behind him.

It wasn’t long until he was lost once more in the sweet sounds that fell from your lips, uncaring about his brother’s eyes on his back as the coil in his belly tightened again. He clenched his eye shut, focusing on the delicious sensation of your ridged walls. When he opened his eye, Aemond was taken aback to see Aegon, somehow already naked, directing his cock to your lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The younger snapped. Aegon doesn’t stop despite his brother’s annoyance, sighing as you started to suck on his cock.

“Oh please, Aemond, she has enough holes for us to share. She’ll be happy to have both our cocks.” Aegon scoffed, his hips setting their pace. “Wouldn’t you, darling?” He cooed, caressing the back of your head as you nodded at him as much as you could, whimpering.

Aemond’s eye fell on the sight of Aegon’s cock disappearing into your mouth, his brother’s stomach tightening. The tips of his ears flushed red as a spark ignited in him that made his cock throb, one he convinced himself was from the squeeze you gave him. He tore his eye away from the sight of you and Aegon, pulling out of your hole with a sigh of frustration. Aemond had started to tuck his still-hard cock back into his trousers when Aegon stopped him.

“W-where are you going?” His brother asked, breathless. The younger only stared at him, observing how Aegon’s face contorted in pleasure when you started to fondle his balls. Forcing himself to withdraw from your mouth, the King turned to face Aemond.

“Our father and uncle must have shared women all the time, Aemond. Don’t be such a priss.” Aegon remarked, causing his brother to scoff. “Come on, you haven’t even tried her cunt yet. It is heavenly!” He encouraged, gesturing to you. Still on your knees, you turned to meet Aemond’s gaze, giving him an encouraging smile. His eye falls on your dripping cunny, the flames of his desire being stoked once more.

You turned around to lay on your back, spreading your legs wide for your prince. Leaning on your elbows, it was then you finally got a good look at Aemond’s cock. It was long, as you expected, and veiny. His cockhead blushed a deep red, the slit dripping a clear liquid. The sight made you gulp as another gush of arousal dripped from your core. You looked between the two men, assessing their sizes. Aemond had the length, while Aegon had more girth.

The prince looked at you, then at Aegon, who slowly stroked his cock while looking back at him.

Fuck it.

The younger prince pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them before gripping your thighs, pressing them to your chest. A gasp left your lips in surprise as he enters in one swift motion, the intrusion giving you little time to adjust to his impressive length. Immediately, he fucked you with an animalistic pace. There was a sense of urgency in his thrusts, having been denied his release twice because of Aegon’s presence. Moans openly fell from your lips at the way his tip kissed your cervix deliciously, another wave of release drawing closer with each thrust. Before you could react, a hand grips the side of your face, the elder turning you to his cock once more. He thrusted into your mouth, resuming his earlier pace as you sucked on his length. The King threw his head back as your moans vibrated around his cock, sending a spark of pleasure through his veins. The two silver-haired men chased their release, both equally unrelenting in their thrusts. However, you were the first to break among the three of you. Your thighs spasmed as your core clenched, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Aemond’s cock continued to drive into you as a broken moan fell from your cock-filled mouth when you spill around his length. He moaned as you pulsed around him, his long-awaited climax starting to wash over him like the tide. The prince pulled out of you in haste, furiously tugging at his shaft, spurting hot seed onto your stomach as he groaned in delight.

Seeing his younger brother spill his seed triggered the older Targaryen’s release. With his eyes locked onto the way Aemond’s cockhead let out spurts of cum, Aegon spilled his own royal seed onto your breasts with a curse. You moaned at the warm sensation of their seeds painting your flesh, turning to look at the two royals who were catching their breath.

Their cocks were still hard, which meant there was still more to come. Another spark of arousal coursed through you, making you clench your thighs together. The two brothers met each other’s gazes, the air shifting into something different as their eyes met. Aemond felt a strange feeling in his chest, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother’s flushed expression.

With his eyes still on his younger brother, Aegon ordered you, “Why don’t you ride my brother’s cock, darling?”

Both you and Aemond settled into position at the King’s authoritative tone. The prince sat on the edge of the cot, gripping your waist as you aligned yourself above his cock. A sharp inhale left the both of you as you sank onto his length, your core still sensitive from your last peak. You started to ride his cock, his hands guiding you up and down. Aemond was tantalized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face. They were still covered in Aegon’s seed, though the prince paid it no mind as he took one of your breasts into his mouth. The cum tasted salty in his mouth, though he continued to suck on your teat while burying down the shame building in his consciousness. Aemond could sense his brother approaching the two of you, hard cock sitting heavy in his hand. Aegon’s hand urged you to lean forward, causing Aemond to lean back onto his elbow as your hips stilled momentarily. You felt Aegon’s cockhead run down your puckered hole, expecting him to claim it. But before you could react, Aegon started to breach your already full cunt.

“Your grace, wai– Oh!” You squealed, the sensation taking you by surprise. You had never felt this full before, and the stretch made you bite your lips as you struggled to take both cocks. Aemond was equally caught by surprise, his grip on your hips tightening as you clenched. When Aegon had managed to insert his cock into you fully, you clung onto Aemond’s shoulders at the overwhelming feeling. The two Targaryens started to thrust into you, finding a uniform rhythm.

With a whine, you wrapped your arms around Aemond’s neck, pressing your front, still sticky with both their seeds, against his firm chest.

With your head buried into his shoulder, Aemond had a clear view of his brother’s face. Purple eyes met, sparkling in the warm glow of the pavilion. Aegon let out a small moan, brows furrowed as his hips continued their ministrations. His eyes fell onto Aemond’s lips as his brother bit them, biting back a grunt of pleasure. The King’s head ducked down closer to his brother’s face, with the intent of capturing his lips, but the prince turned his head to the side in avoidance. Aegon ignored the slight pang in his chest at Aemond’s rejection, turning his gaze instead to the sight of your cunt taking both their cocks.

The underside of their shafts rubbed together, sending a delicious spark of pleasure that licked at the base of Aemond’s spine with a familiar warmth. Shifting his weight to one elbow, the prince pistoned his hips into you roughly. You were far gone, drooling onto his shoulder as your jaw fell slack, uncontrollable moans and whines coming out of you.

Without warning, your third release washed over you. Goosebumps rose on your flesh at your most intense climax yet, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Your core compressed both cocks together even tighter, which caused both men to grunt in your ear. Black spots covered your vision, mind far from earth as they chased their release. Aegon was the first to break, his release overwhelming him, making him double over. The elder gripped onto his brother’s shoulder for stability, accidentally gripping some of his brother’s long tresses as he spurted his seed into you.

When Aegon pulled out, Aemond ground his feet, thrusting up into you as he chased his own end. You had gone limp in his arms, but your core still pulsated around his cock. With your body fully laid on him, your pearl rubbed on the base of his cock. The friction sent you into overdrive, triggering another orgasm that prompted Aemond’s. The prince couldn’t resist the loud groan that left his lips as he spurted another round of his seed into you.

He could feel the top of his head buzz at the aftermath of his climax, laying there for a moment with you still draped on top of him like a blanket.

After gathering his bearings, Aemond carefully laid you on the cot. A hiss left both of you as he pulled out, the mixture of the brothers’ seed spilling out of you. You laid there on your stomach, eyes closed as your mind floated away. One of them, you weren’t sure who, wiped you clean. You let out a hum as a sign of gratitude, dozing off almost immediately from exhaustion.

Aemond wordlessly dressed while Aegon settled into his cot beside you. He spared your blissed out figure one last look before moving to leave.

“Good night, brother.” Aegon called out to him, prompting Aemond to stop and look back at him. The two silver-haired men locked eyes once more, the strange feeling in Aemond's chest returned as he looked into his brother's round orbs. Pursing his lips, Aemond gave his brother a nod of acknowledgment before turning to leave.

On the morrow, they shall ride together at the head of their army. The memories of this night shall remain unspoken of as they charge forward together in battle, presenting a united front.

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegond #targtowers #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond fic recs #aegon ii fic recs #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aegmond

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 2 days ago

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I hope y’all like my OC’s!! I picked them cuz at least one of them is related to Fossils (duh duh duhhh)

For those who dont have an account on the artfight but are still interested in my oc’s, I’ve provided the description that i gave them on their pages under the cut off :)

There came once two siblings, as the moon still and sun brighter, but all stars must die and in her eyes-- too soon. But children, they were, and with her plea to a deity, the young sister of the dead boy came; bring my sun back to me, for I cannot live without that warmth upon my skin and heart. I want my brother back, and I will do whatever you need. The deity told the girl of the illness that ransacked and ravaged that land in a prior 200 years to her present, something that should have never effected the youth of now, yet it came for him ever still. A residue of a war they never were to be apart of, or intended rather, for there now came yet another casualty. Oh what could the girl do, she wailed, and the deity took those tears to heart. In the anguish of those fallen tears, came her wish fulfilled-- The Spirit of Health was born. Even as this spirit, the girl could do little to nothing, her aid not helping this illness that crept and crawled upon his very bone, like vine upon a trellis. So, with another bout of pleas, she came to the god, who listened, and for a second time, granted that same wish in a different form-- The Spirit of Death was born. That too failed, even able to bend his life into the route she wanted, the river still flowed the same. That limbo she stuck him in, it was no life, so she, for a third and final try, lamented to the deity, who took a final pity upon them, for there could be no other aid to offer. The girl had a familiar, a grand bird of mighty wing, with the property to carry on through death, to bounce back and perch once more to her being. The girl and her savior plotted, creating a plan to be fulfilled before the first arrow came flying over the castle walls. To use the host, her own beast, as a conduit for the ceaseless, hungering rot that revenged her brother. Feed it pieces, subject and inflict, a loveless pet in deed. That solution could not utterly cure. In 20 years time, her familiar's body would expel the illness and produce that desired ichor, however she would not be with the bird long enough for that desire to come and pass. A thankless act, that deities work, for soon there came a plot upon them. The girl and her waxing sun, not they but a HE, a masculine force far beyond their doing. Her failure of courtship, an ex lover perhaps, he came all the same; it came time to hatch a plot. To usurp a kingdom, to kill a being far beyond the flesh and human bone, to end a deity that once held itself upon the little girl, now woman's heart; it came time to end all of that rot, and pain. A bird flies, a woman weeps, and the suggestions of a ruin stand still now. There came no aid for that diety, no wishes granted, who was to listen to their plea but the ever roaring silence of an unwavering throne. Oh sun, oh moon, oh stars above, bear witness to blessings each. To find that cure, that fluttering hope— where is thy bird now, oh sister of mine. 🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺 Doc is a No Bullshit doctor who has the ability to heal all non-magical illnesses and wounds. She travels to find a cure to her brother's illness and her bird, whichever comes first for now. She took a graft of his skin when she left, she keeps it alive with her powers, and its her most treasured possession.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Busk is an inventive musician who possesses the ability to control the dead. He really doesn't utilize his abilities all that much though and chooses instead to spend his time playing music, inventing instruments (of the musical or mass destruction varieties, and doing drugs. Often in sequence of each other. He used to have a pet cow that passed away and now he wears her skull on his head in connection to her. He does not dare to reanimate her body because that wouldn't be her, that would just be him controlling her remains.

#WDTHL doc #WDTHL busk #my ocs #wdthl #my art #artfight #art fight 2025

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bitchy-craft · 2 months ago

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PICK A CARD: poems that represent your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you poems that display your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

I carry your heart with me, I carry it in] – By E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear

no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)I want no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

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Pile 2:

A Valentine – By Edgar Allan Poe

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,

Brightly expressive as the twins of Loeda, Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies

Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines!—they hold a treasure

Divine—a talisman—an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure—

The words—the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!

And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre,

If one could merely comprehend the plot. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering

Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing

Of poets, by poets—as the name is a poet’s, too. Its letters, although naturally lying

Like the knight Pinto—Mendez Ferdinando— Still form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying!

You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

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Pile 3:

Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? – By William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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anneapocalypse · 5 months ago

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Urianger’s Faith

I think Urianger’s faith is a core part of his character. In fact, I think that most other things about him—his history of secrecy and deception, his lifelong fascination with prophecy, and his growth over a multi-expansion character arc—are better understood in the context of it. So that’s what I want to talk about today!

This essay contains major plot spoilers through Endwalker. It's also really long.

Urianger’s Religion

We should probably talk about what, exactly, Urianger's faith is—or, to start, what his religion is. Like the majority of Eorzeans, and so far as we know, all of the core Scions, Urianger is a Twelve-worshipper. Rites and customs vary widely between the different regions of Eorzea depending upon their patron deity and the local culture, but while the worship of Rhalgr may look very different from the worship of Halone, they all fall under the same pantheon, and their devotees ascribe to a shared mythos regarding these gods and their relations with one another. In brief, there are believed to be Twelve deities, with various familial relationships to one another, who rule over and guide various aspects of the world and life within it. There exist seven hells and seven heavens, created and presided over by the gods, to which mortals will be sent in death according to their deeds in life.

Born in the Sharlayan colony (according to anecdotes about Urianger and Moenbryda in Encyclopedia Eorzea), and presumably raised there until the exodus when he would have returned to the motherland, Urianger’s patron deity is Thaliak, and accordingly when he invokes a singular deity it tends to be the Scholar, as in this rather sarcastic-sounding greeting to Alphinaud in the Heavensward patches:

Why, Master Alphinaud. Would that the Scholar had seen fit to grant me knowledge of thy coming. What bringeth thee and thine here this day?

As in the real world, it’s not uncommon for characters to invoke the names of their gods in casual, humorous, and downright irreverent ways, such as the well-known exclamation of “Thal’s balls!” among Ul’dahns. Similarly, just as an utterance of “Jesus Christ!” does not necessary indicate a profound Christian faith in the real world, characters exclaiming “By the Twelve!” or “Gods be good!” does not alone indicate that they are especially devout.

I think it’s probably safe to say that the followers of Louisoix who comprised the Circle of Knowing are, at the very least, more than nominal adherents of Twelve-worship. As seen in the “End of an Era” video, it is in part their prayers that summoned primal versions of the Twelve in an attempt to contain Bahamut.

I think it is possible, however, to single out Urianger as especially religious even relative to his comrades. There are numerous instances in his dialogue that I think demonstrate a singular faith. He regularly interprets good fortune in terms of the favor of the gods to a greater extent that his colleagues. As late as Shadowbringers, for example, when Y’shtola is rescued from the aetherial sea for the second time, he says:

In all of history, there are but few who have returned from a misadventure in the aetherial sea possessed of mind and body both. To have done so twice beggereth belief. 'Tis plain Y'shtola wanteth not for favor among the Twelve.

However, I think it would also be inaccurate and incomplete to say that Urianger’s faith is wholly centered around the Twelve.

Hydaelyn as Mother-Goddess

If you’re going purely by 2.0 onward, I think it’s easy to miss that a broad awareness of Hydaelyn as a personage (as opposed to simply the name of the star) is a fairly new development in Eorzea. Sharlayan, at the forefront of aetherological studies, has been well ahead of the curve on this, with scholars theorizing not only a concentration of aether at the core of the star which they have termed "the Mothercrystal," but possibly even a consciousness, a "will of the star," sometimes also called "the will of Light." This theory was confirmed when the scholars of Sharlayan succeeded in contacting Hydaelyn through the Antitower in the Dravanian colony, granting them knowledge of the Final Days, and directly leading to the exodus from the colony and subsequent preparations for a potential exodus from the star itself. This knowledge was intentionally kept extremely secret, however, even from most Sharlayan citizens, nevermind the rest of Eorzea.

Any conception of Hydaelyn as a deity is a novel concept, and not a part of traditional Twelve worship. We don't generally hear common people invoke Hydaelyn as they would a deity; it's usually one or all of the Twelve. As recently as five years ago, in 1.0, the true nature of the Echo was still widely unknown; Minfilia’s Echo support group was called The Path of the Twelve because the phenomenon was, understandably, believed to be a gift from the gods. The various powers granted by the Echo had been previously documented, but it is only in recent years that they have been hypothesized (Encyclopedia Eorzea specifically uses the word "hypothesized" rather than "believed") to be a gift from Hydaelyn. "Blessing of Light," likewise, is a broad term referring to a variety of phenomena in which Hydaelyn seems to directly communicate with Echo bearers or intervene on their behalf. EE1 tells us that "despite their frequency, little is known about them. However, it is assumed that many of the 'miracles' which appear in myth and legend are actually instances of Hydaelyn bestowing Her blessing upon an individual." Again, this appears to be a recent theory recontextualizing a set of long-documented but poorly-understood phenomena. Any understanding of the struggle between Hydaelyn and Zodiark is also noted here as a recent discovery by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

(As a sidenote, I don't think it's necessary for our purposes here to get too hung up on where the Echo ends and the blessing of Light begins, as at the end of the day both are umbrella terms for a broad set of distinct but overlapping phenomena that come from Hydaelyn.)

It's probably also important to note that this evolving understanding of Hydaelyn is one both spiritual and scientific. By the time we meet them in ARR, it does seem clear that the Scions have already developed a view of Hydaelyn as a mother-goddess figure, but they're also devoted to deepening their understanding of the world through observation and study. They're working closely with the Students of Baldesion from the beginning of ARR (and a couple of Students can be found hanging out in the Waking Sands in the early game). They are willing to modify their beliefs based on new evidence, and indeed, over the course of the next few expansions, a whole lot of new evidence is going to surface. The political leaders who stood with Louisoix at Carteneau—Admiral Merlwyb, General Raubahn, Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna—are also familiar with these novel theories. When the Warrior of Light has their first direct contact with Hydaelyn in the introduction to ARR, thereby receiving a Blessing of Light, it is both their Scion representative and the leader of their starting city who explain to them the meaning of their vision and the crystal of Light they now bear.

And novel though it may be, it is clear that the arrival of the Warrior of Light only strengthens the Scions' belief in Hydaelyn. I think this adds important context to the Scions' reception of the player character and the way they look upon that character as such a beacon of hope. It's not just that the WoL is possessed of great strength and skill, or even that they have the Echo; it's that their experiences are actively confirming the Scions' developing theories about Hydaelyn.

Yet for all their approach to understanding Hydaelyn is of a scientific bent, their relationship to Hydaelyn on a personal level still has a distinctly religious flavor—particularly for Minfilia and Urianger. I'll be bringing up Minfilia a few times here, both because her story is deeply intertwined with Urianger's and because I think in some ways they have a lot in common.

Minfilia herself is an Echo-bearer, though it seems like prior to the end of the ARR patches, she has not experienced the blessing of Light in the way the Warrior of Light has. Nonetheless, as she escapes with the Warrior of Light through the watercourse, it is to her that Hydaelyn speaks—and Minfilia heeds Her call, urging the Warrior of Light onward without her, while she runs back to be caught up in Y'shtola's Flow spell and carried into the aetherial sea.

This much, it seems, was Hydaelyn's doing. But something that I think is often missed about Minfilia is that she does not become the Word of the Mother against her will. Hydaelyn does not pull her into the aetherial sea and simply consume her; with Her power so diminished, she probably couldn’t have done that even had she wanted to. Hydaelyn merely guides Minfilia back toward Y'shtola to be caught in the Flow spell. Whatever Hydaelyn’s intentions (which we can’t know for certain), it’s entirely possible that had Minfilia not made a choice, the Seedseers might have pulled her from the aetherial sea alongside Y'shtola, or she might have eventually materialized malms away in the wilderness like Thancred.

In Minfilia's own words:

There, adrift and alone, Her voice silent once more, I prayed... For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. To Her I would make an offering...

Minfilia gives herself to Hydaelyn. She understands—all the Scions understand—that Hydaelyn is profoundly weakened after protecting the Warrior of Light against the Ultima Weapon. She understands that the only way Hydaelyn might intervene in the present crisis is if She can regain some of her strength, and for that, She would need an offering of aether… and Minfilia, having faith that Hydaelyn will intervene, offers herself.

Though it comes at great cost to her and to the people who love her, Minfilia's faith is rewarded. The Warrior of Light survives. Little by little, Hydaelyn does regain strength, and is finally able to speak to the Warrior of Light again and begin to restore what Midgardsormr stripped from them. The Scions rebuild themselves and continue their work. Through Minfilia, Hydaelyn is able to communicate truths lost to time, to help the Scions better understand the struggles they face. And ultimately, Minfilia goes on to save another reflection and its people from total destruction.

What Minfilia understands, Urianger also understands.

The first time Urianger really caught my attention was in the Warriors of Darkness storyline in the Heavensward patches. I love that whole storyline and what it established about his character, and I love how much it set up threads that will be further explored and paid off later. Shadowbringers was a true delight for me, not just because Urianger is so central to it, or because I love the story in its own right (though those are both true things) but also because it is the resolution of this storyline.

The way Urianger calls upon Hydaelyn after the invocation of the crystals has always stuck in mind:

Mother Hydaelyn, hearken unto Your children's plea! From two worlds do we gather, and from two worlds do we offer a bounty of Light. In this desperate hour, we do beseech Your intercession! We beg an audience with the Word of the Mother─with Your chosen, Minfilia!

Urianger possesses a flair for the dramatic generally, of course. And at the same time, this has always struck me as such an earnest prayer. Even in Her weakened state, he has faith that if they can only invoke the combined power of the crystals of Light—an offering of aether!—She will be both willing and able to work with them to save another shard, which is Her aim as well.

And he’s right. Though it comes at great cost, Urianger’s faith in Hydaelyn is rewarded here.

The Invocation of Saints

While Thaliak may be Urianger's patron deity in the strictest sense, I think his faith rests much more strongly in a figure closer to home: his late master, Louisoix Leveilleur.

All of the core Scions have great respect for Louisoix, even what might be called reverence. I don't think it's a reach to say that the Archons of his Circle of Knowing view him, not only as an expert in prophecy, but as a kind of prophet himself. In an Echo flashback to a time before the Calamity in the introductory questline, you might see Y'shtola saying, "It is as Louisoix foretold…" or Papalymo saying, "…just as Louisoix forewarned," depending on your starting city. Thancred, notably, seems to take a more practical view, saying, "Louisoix will know what to do. We need only trust in his judgment," focusing more on his master's wisdom in the present than foreknowledge of the future. Nevertheless, it is clear that all of them put a profound faith in their mentor. Later in ARR, we see Thancred berate himself for arriving too late to prevent Ifrit from tempering nearby soldiers, saying, "Lousioix would never have allowed this to happen."

For Urianger and Minfilia, this reverence takes on a particular flavor.

Urianger's very first words to the Warrior of Light in 2.0 are: "Dawn may banish even the darkest night…" This is the beginning of a well-known writing of Louisoix, which we later hear in full from the Wandering Minstrel, who has arranged them into verse (though he notes that they were not originally written as poetry):

Dawn may banish even the darkest night, Yet ever shall primal desires burn. Two swords shall vie to lay them low─ A blade born of light and a blade forged of might. Alas, man may entrust his fate unto but one.

I think it's very likely Urianger meant to recite the whole thing, finding it a prescient introduction both to the Scions’ work and what role the Warrior of Light might play in it. However, Minfilia gives him a Look which I think suggests he is losing his audience, and Urianger seemingly course-corrects, saying, "The words of a dear friend. I am glad of our meeting." Nonetheless, it seems clear to me that he holds the words of Louisoix in the same regard he would any canonical prophet, and looks to them for guidance in the man's absence.

In the middle of A Realm Reborn, while the Waking Sands are still bustling with Scions going about their work and new recruits waiting for their first mission, Urianger may be found conversing in a very animated (if perhaps one-sided) fashion with a group of adventurers. If spoken to, he has the following to say:

Knowest thou the import of the broken staff within the solar? It fell from the grasp of Archon Louisoix, the man who, in his abiding love for all Eorzeans, shielded us against the storm of the Calamity.

The way he describes his late master feels almost like a christ figure. Have you heard about our lord and savior Louisoix, who so loved the world that he died to save us?

Both Minfilia and Urianger pray directly to Louisoix at certain points in the story. Furthermore, they both make reference to Louisoix watching over them and even guiding their path forward. Y'shtola, too, seems to hold this view. After the attack on the Waking Sands, she says, "It is as if the benevolent hand of Master Louisoix guides us still. He would not see us undone so easily. Not now, when the need is so great." In an Echo flashback, just before the attack on the Wakings Sands, we see Minfilia look up to the fragments of Tupsimati upon the wall of the Solar and say, "Louisoix, do you see? Your light shines brightly in this one. And in time, it will illuminate the realm once more." In the patches, as the Scions prepare to depart for Mor Dhona, she asks, "Tell me, Louisoix... Would you have done the same?" And in learning that Hydaelyn has been silent to both herself and the Warrior of Light, she says, "Then She speaks to neither one of us. Hydaelyn's silence portends naught but ill, I fear. Louisoix… I pray you yet watch over us…"

And as Urianger brings his plan with the Warriors of Darkness to fruition, just before calling upon the Warrior of Light to invoke the power of their crystals, he utters, "Master Louisoix, guide my hand, I pray you, as fate's thread spinneth upon this most capricious spindle." (Note that as with Hydaelyn, and with Louisoix’s grandchildren, Urianger uses the formal you rather than the informal thou.)

While for other Scions, these invocations largely fall away after ARR, for Urianger they do not. As late as Endwalker, he still prays to his late master and invokes his protection:

'Tis no meager delight to watch Alisaie and Alphinaud grow more resolute in mind and heart. And remarkable though their accomplishments may be, I doubt not that they are destined for still greater things. Grant them thy protection, Master Louisoix. I implore thee…

As the Scions call upon their various allies and prepare to use salvaged Allagan technology to craft a vessel to ferry people to the moon, Urianger has this idle remark:

What serendipitous irony that the remnants of the Seventh Umbral Calamity would become the keys to mankind's salvation. Never more certain have I been that Master Louisoix watcheth over us from the aetherial sea...

In this, it is plain that Urianger's faith is deeply tied not merely to distant gods, but to one particularly trusted mortal leader.

Faith, Science, and Flexibility of Mind

Above, I discussed how the Scions�� understanding of Hydaelyn is both scientific and spiritual. It is also worth noting that this idea of the dead watching over them from the aetherial sea seems somewhat divergent from the standard beliefs of Twelve-worship, the seven heavens and hells to which mortals ascend or descend upon death depending on their deeds. Devout as they may be, the Scions’ beliefs about the afterlife are more aligned with the scientific findings of Sharlayan’s aetherologists. This is evident in 2.3, when Urianger and Minfilia review the principles of aetheric dissipation:

Minfilia: Before discussing our new discoveries, it may benefit us all to recall what we know of aetheric behavior. Minfilia: Let us begin at what some might call the end. When we who dwell in the material realm die, our spirits dissolve into the flow of aether, and are returned to the aetherial realm. Minfilia: In turn, the restless energy which suffuses that plane streams back into our world, giving rise to new life. Urianger: 'Tis as the heavens did decree─the way of all mortal souls. Urianger: 'Twixt this world and the next do the aetherial currents swirl, bearing the very essence of life. Thus doth the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth continue unabated.

I find this exchange particularly interesting, because it does not seem to me that the Scions see any conflict between their faith in the Twelve and their understanding of aetherological phenomena. In fact, Urianger explicitly frames the latter in spiritual terms: “’Tis as the heavens did decree.” Integrating a scientific understanding into his nonetheless devout worldview does not seem to be an issue for him, or for the Scions generally. This seems perfectly in keeping with the Sharlayan ethos to me, but it also seems pretty consistent with who Urianger is as a person, with his love of esoteric texts packed with metaphor and poetic imagination. Even were the tenets of Twelve-worship strictly codified across Eorzea, which I suspect they are not on the whole (Ishgard's strict textual orthodoxy seems to be the exception and not the rule), Urianger is not a literalist. It’s probably not a reach for him to interpret "hells and heavens" as poetic interpretations of observable reality.

Urianger will later say that his studies in prophecies have granted him a “flexibility of mind,” and I think that’s an accurate descriptor.

The Art of Foreknowledge

At the heart of Urianger's faith is his belief in foreknowledge and fate.

We are told that prophetic works have fascinated Urianger from a young age—and at this point, I think we need to take a step back and talk about what, exactly, prophecy is in this world. So far as I know, Final Fantasy XIV doesn’t ever really give us a clear definition, but we can deduce some things from context.

Divination takes a variety of forms in this universe, from the astrology we see in Sharlayan and Ishgardian practice, to tomes of poetic verse which are accepted as having some true bearing on the future or the nature of the world or both. It is the latter which is Urianger’s primary field of expertise, though he does seem to have some background in the theory of astrology, and takes it up in practice later on.

That part about certain texts being widely accepted as prophetic is pretty important. We can guess that among scholars of prophecy there is an accepted canon of sorts—works which are acknowledged by scholarly consensus as bearing prophetic relevance. In the cutscene with Elidibus in the Great Gubal Library, Urianger initially scoffs at the Gerun Oracles as “apocrypha”: non-canon, not accepted in scholarly circles as significant. (Elidibus, of course, refutes this by calling it “a truth long forgotten.”)

Prophecy in fantasy fiction often focuses primarily on predictions of the future, but there is a more nuanced understanding to be had of prophecy as speaking of past, present, andfuture, and of truths fundamental to the nature of reality. This is certainly true of many of the texts we hear Urianger recite. Some offer a more vague sort of wisdom, such as the verse Urianger recites for the Scions upon their departure to the Far East:

Look ye where the sun doth rise, see crimson embers, dark'ning skies... Look ye where the sun doth fall, see azure lost amidst the squall.

There is certainly some meaning to be found in these words with regard to the events of Stormblood: conflict in both east and west, war on both horizons. "Azure lost amidst the squall" might even be interpreted as a poetic reference to Estinien's activities. Still, these words offer no great revelations. Compare this to the Gerun Oracles, which Urianger comes to accept it as not only true, but corroborating the revelations of the Word of the Mother with regard to the Sundering, the Reflections, and their destruction in the Umbral Calamities. Even of this text, Urianger acknowledges, "their copious use of allegory defieth any single interpretation." Prophetic texts, it seems, are rarely straightforward.

So, we return to the question: what is prophecy? Where did these writers gain the insights which they put to verse? Did they even understand their significance at the time of writing? Unfortunately, in this regard we really have only conjecture. I think it's easy enough to come up with plausible theories. The prophets might have been experiencing the Echo; they might have had contact with Ascians; they might have been spoken to by Hydaelyn Herself. The game, alas, does not offer us these answers. Indeed, even of the text most central to Louisoix's journey into Eorzea we know almost nothing.

The Divine Chronicles of Mezaya Thousand-Eyes are a series of prophetic writings that seem to describe each of the first six umbral calamities. This text is so widely-known that even Garleans are familiar with it and the Legatus Nael van Darnus of 1.0 fame also apparently regarded it as prophetic (according to GamerEscape’s 1.0 summary, The Rise and Fall of the White Raven). Of the famed prophetess who penned it, we have almost no information at all. The various fan wikis don't even have pages for her, as there is basically nothing to include there. Her writings, however, seem to be accepted as prophetic. In fact, the six verses of the Chronicles were widely cited as proof that no further Calamities would occur… until a seventh verse was found inscribed on a stone tablet in a cave.

Louisoix Leveilleur, Sharlayan's foremost expert on prophecy, believed this verse pointed to a seventh impending calamity. According the the Unending Codex, it was for this reason that Urianger joined the Circle of Knowing, seeking to understand the truth of this text. And the belief that Eorzea would soon be plunged into another calamity led Louisoix to leave Sharlayan with his followers and venture south into Eorzea to help her city-states prepare for the worst.

In their understanding of this prophetic text, they found purpose. Which leads us to…

Fate and Purpose

I want to return to Urianger's words about Louisoix in the Waking Sands, specifically the latter part of it:

The stars wheel across the heavens, and the skies brighten once more. The survivors gather, and ignite a fiery dawn to burn away the glowering shroud. Ah, but destiny, thou art beautiful...

Destiny, thou art beautiful. This is how Urianger conceptualizes the Scions gathering in the wake of their beloved master's sacrifice. We're still about mid-ARR here, before the Warrior of Light has slain Titan. Compare to Y'shtola's idle dialogue at the same point in MSQ:

As you have doubtless witnessed in your travels, the lands of Eorzea are gasping under the pall of a suffocating darkness. I must wonder if it is this darkness that invites disaster, or simply that disaster has left such gloom in its wake. One thing is for certain: now is not the time to relax our vigilance.

Urianger is hardly unaware of the trials facing the Scions and Eorzea at large, and yet his framing of their present circumstances is distinctly one of hope. Where Y'shtola speaks ominously of "the pall of a suffocating darkness," Urianger speaks almost rapturously of "a fiery dawn to burn away the glowering shroud."

Keep in mind, too, that these words about the beauty of destiny follow directly from Urianger speaking of Louisoix's death. This sentiment will be echoed later when, upon the death of his oldest and dearest friend, Urianger declares, "The moon sinketh, taking her leave of the heavens. Yet her passing heraldeth the coming of a new day. Moenbryda hath fulfilled her destiny, hath she not?"

This is Urianger's response to loss. He affirms his belief in fate—not simply in predestination, in a future that may be foreseen, but in a brighter future that will give purpose to such sacrifices.

Encyclopedia Eorzea Volume 3 tells us that Urianger’s parents rarely had time for him as a child, occupied as they were with their own research. I think this likely impressed upon him from a young age that there was always something more important than him. And when his parents effectively abandoned him with the neighbors and departed for “parts unknown,” never to return, that idea would only have been solidified.

For a child already fascinated by prophecy and the idea of fate, I imagine it could have offered some kind of comfort to believe that the pain of his abandonment was all for a higher purpose, a greater good.

I can imagine how this belief, so ingrained in him as a child, could lead him to go along with his mentor even when Louisoix declared that Moenbryda must stay behind, and offered her no explanation as to why. It's clear that Urianger felt some guilt in the wake of this decision, specifically his choice not to explain Lousioix's intentions, believing their master wanted Moenbryda to come to that understanding on her own. As he laments after his friend's death, "Knowingly did I deny my friend the comfort she craved." Yet he did all of this, undoubtedly, not only out of faith in his mentor's judgment, but because he believed it to be in service of a greater good. And in fact, he seems to take Moenbryda's final words as affirmation that Louisoix was, in fact, correct. "The realization hath set her free. She may now find the peace which hath for so long eluded her."

So in the end, to his thinking, it all worked out as it was meant to.

I don't think Urianger believes that the future is set in stone. If that were the case, then personal choice would be meaningless; there would have been no reason to intervene in the first place, to warn the Eorzean nations of the Calamity, if the future would play out the same regardless. Indeed, Urianger speaks frequently of choice, and agonizes over the difficult choices he holds himself responsible for making.

What he does believe for a long time, I think, is that in the face of an impending and forewarned crisis, there is often only one path forward to avert it. The role of the one who would heed the warnings of the prophets is to make the necessary choices no matter how painful, to take the necessary actions, to make what sacrifices must be made.

When he overhears his oldest and dearest friend about to sacrifice herself to destroy an Ascian, he does not intervene to stop her. He speaks of her having "fulfilled her destiny," even as he will torment himself for this decision for a long time to come.

And as the Scions face mounting challenges for which they are increasingly unprepared, Urianger increasingly decides that his role is to take those burdens upon himself.

Changing Roles

I did not get to experience 1.0 for myself, and so what I know of Urianger's role in it is sadly limited to what has been preserved by other fans. To the best of my understanding, his role was as a kind of doomsayer, traveling from settlement to settlement and sharing prophecies of the Calamities in an attention-getting manner. Though his approach was off-putting to many, his performance ultimately succeeded in its aim: serving as a diversion for the Garlean Empire, leading Legatus Nael van Darnus to fixate on apprehending him, while in the meantime Louisoix and his fellow archons were able to rally the Grand Companies to face the coming crisis. (@mirkemenagerie has a great post about that.)

By the time ARR begins, this performance is no longer needed, and Urianger has taken on a much different role in the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization formed from the merger of Louisoix's Circle of Knowing and Minfilia's Path of the Twelve. He is now the keeper of the Waking Sands, and the Scions' primary adviser on primal lore, and only rarely ventures out in the field with his fellow Archons.

And I think that initially, Urianger seems happy enough with this role. Though he may not get out as much as he once did, the Waking Sands are lively with new recruits. Urianger can be seen at various points during ARR having spirited conversations with other NPCs. In one bit of idle dialogue, he says, "As the primals fall, so do our spirits soar. Though mine aid be but modest, I nonetheless am heartened in my duties."

Urianger is happy here. Though the Scions face many mounting trials, he is surrounded by a community united in purpose with a leader in whom he may place his trust, and his duty is clear.

It's not until the ARR patches, when things really go awry for the Scions, that we begin to see the seeds of doubt in our steadfast arcanist.

The Seeds of Doubt

The defeat of the Ultima Weapon fundamentally alters the Scions' path and their role in Eorzea. While they have always been in communication with Eorzea's leaders and called upon for aid, now they are thrust into the public eye in an unprecedented way. 2.1 opens with Minfilia reflecting upon the myriad support from various parties suddenly on offer—and the price that inevitably comes with it. Urianger seems to share her ambivalence:

'Tis the lot of the powerful to attract the covetous as well as the needy. Thus doth prudence dictate that those with power proffer aid with one hand whilst the other resteth ever on their hilt. Alas, we have not the luxury of time to decipher our petitioners' machinations─nay, not while the beast tribes do labor unseen, defiant in defeat, to raise up their fallen primals once more. Doubt not that they shall return─stronger and bolder both─nor that we shall be the ones to meet them. This sacred charge shall ever be ours. 'Tis but a pity we are so few, and our fortune so finite...

By this point, tragedy has already altered Urianger's surrounds irrevocably. The Garlean attack on the Waking Sands has left dead many of the people with whom he once socialized on a daily basis, leaving the Scions' headquarters a much quieter and more somber place. Urianger himself, fortunate enough to be one of those spared, endured capture and imprisonment.

And further change threatens to unsettle the place and the people amongst whom he has found a home. Despite Minfilia's reticence, we see her increasingly bow to the vision Alphinaud has for the Scions—what he sees as continuing the work his grandfather began. Repeatedly, we see the two of them clash over what is best for the Scions—and each time, we see Minfilia cede ground.

Urianger is not without his own concerns about the Scions’ new direction, though he refrains from clashing directly with either Alphinaud or Minfilia, likely out of his deep respect for both of them. Nonetheless, he chooses to stay behind in the Waking Sands and continue his research there. "I had thought to relinquish the property," Minfilia explains, "but he was quite adamant, and I had not the heart to disagree."

As the Scions prepare to depart for Mor Dhona, Urianger confides in the Warrior of Light:

Thou art ever welcome, [Forename], but I require no assistance. Pray take thy leave unburdened by concern for my well-being. Verily, thy countenance bespeaks a desire to quit this place without further delay. Hm. Mayhap thou thinkest this chapter of our tale concluded─that these halls should rightly be consigned to the annals of history...? In man's eagerness to seize the future, how readily he doth set down the past. Full many a proud pioneer hath bravely stridden into the great unknown, only to find there the banner of his ancestor, faded by the eons. And still man glorieth in his discoveries. 'Tis through his pride that wisdom doth ever give way to ignorance, while they who lurk in shadow remain hidden, lost no sooner than they are found. <sigh> Be not offended, [Forename]. Thy conduct hath ever been beyond reproach. Despite thy surpassing strength, and all thy many victories, thou hast never been so convinced of thine own greatness as to imagine thyself above the failings of thy forebears. Mayhap it is the Echo which hath opened thine eyes to the lessons of history. Would that the same could be said of─

(At which point he is cut off by Minfilia's scream as she is accosted by Elidibus.)

It is not difficult to imagine that in the midst of so much upheaval, Urianger's remaining in the Waking Sands might be his way of clinging to one familiar thing, a place he feels at home, even if it cannot be for him what it once was. That said, he clearly has very real concerns about the Scions' direction on the world stage, and worries that his trusted leader is failing to heed the lessons of history.

I have no doubt that Urianger has great love and respect for Minfilia, but I do think this is when his faith in her as a leader begins to waver a little. Whether he meant to name her or Alphinaud before he was cut off is ultimately irrelevant, as Minfilia has capitulated to Alphinaud's vision for the Scions. (And I don't mean to pick on Minfilia here; she's another one of my favorite characters, and I think she does the best she can with the circumstances in which she finds herself and largely does manage to rise to the challenge of leading the Scions in Louisoix's absence. Through no fault of her own, she's simply ill-equipped to handle the increasing visibility and political volatility of the Scions' position, and the deference with which all the Archons seem to feel they should treat Louisoix's grandchildren only further complicates an already messy situation.)

And the hits just keep coming. Up until now, the Scions have worked closely with the Students of Baldesion, receiving substantial support from the Sharlayan organization and frequently consulting them for their research. They've barely arrived at Revenant's Toll when Urianger brings the news that he is unable to contact the Students, and fears the worst. Not long after, contacts in Sharlayan confirm the shocking news that entire Isle of Val, where the Students had had their base, has vanished. Once again, these likely include colleagues and friends, people with whom Urianger once communicated regularly for a common purpose. Now missing under terrifying circumstances, and feared dead.

It is in the midst of such turmoil that Urianger makes a rare trek out into the field to observe a primal firsthand—feeling, perhaps, that in the absence of the allies who had once provided valuable insights, it is his duty to observe all he can, even if it's quite a departure from his usual domain of written lore. And not long after that, faced with the puzzle of tracking down Lady Iceheart's hidden aetheryte, he calls upon Moenbryda.

In the light of all that has come before, this is such an interesting choice. Moenbryda’s expertise in aetherology is certainly invaluable to their present crisis, but there’s no doubt that it would have been valuable at many points prior. Louisoix Leveilleur has been dead for five years. Only now, after the Scions have suffered major losses at the hands of the Garleans and lost even more with the disappearance of the Students of Baldesion, does Urianger contravene the will of his late mentor, and ask Moenbryda to come to Eorzea.

So far as we know, this might be the only time he’s ever done that.

I bring all this up because it is here, in the ARR patches, where we see Urianger begin in subtle ways to question the wisdom of his trusted leaders. I don’t think this means that he in any way doubts the intentions of Louisoix or of Minfilia, or their principles in the broad strokes. His reverence for Louisoix persists all the way to Endwalker, and he continues to behave with great deference toward Minfilia, as well as toward the twins. There’s just a subtle shift here from Urianger simply doing as he’s told, to Urianger acting out of his own sense of duty to do what he believes necessary.

I didn't realize until the conversation in Endwalker that the implication of Urianger’s “I heard all” is meant to be that he was there just offscreen listening when Moenbryda died, not simply that he heard the others discussing her death after the fact. Though he clearly did not overhear her words about understanding Louisoix’s sacrifice (as the Warrior of Light has to tell him), his Endwalker dialogue makes it clear that he could have called out to her and begged her to live—and he did not. Knowingly, he allowed her to sacrifice herself to destroy an Ascian—for the greater good.

Moenbryda hath fulfilled her destiny, hath she not? Thus does Urianger justify her sacrifice, as well as his own part in it, and thus does her death serve to reinforce his existing beliefs, even as it torments him with undeniable regret.

A Creed Sacrosanct

At the end of the ARR patches leading into Heavensward, the Urianger approached by Elidibus has seen nearly every person and institution in which he placed his faith crumble and vanish. Louisoix is dead, the Students of Baldesion missing and presumed dead, many other friends and colleagues lost, Minfilia missing, the remaining Scions scattered to the winds, the Waking Sands near-empty. Beyond what he may contribute to the search for the missing, coordinated by Tataru from distant Ishgard, Urianger is rudderless and leaderless both.

What remains is his faith in a greater good, in a higher purpose. And this time, when duty calls, he will choose to place that burden on none but himself.

The way Elidibus speaks to Urianger, I don’t doubt that he’s been observing the Archon for some time, because he seems to know exactly what buttons to push. For one thing, he approaches Urianger just when he is at his most vulnerable and alone. The Warriors of Darkness don’t actually come on the scene until post-Heavensward; Elidibus didn’t strictly need Urianger yet and doesn’t seem to have had him doing anything throughout Heavensward, but nonetheless, this is when he chooses to make contact. Upon their first meeting, he says, “I would speak of fate, Archon. Yours, mine—the fate of this very star.”

Later in 3.1, when we see them in the Great Gubal library and Urianger scoffs at the Gerun Oracles as apocryphal, Elidibus replies:

It is a truth long forgotten─a tale of the beginning, and of the path we have been set upon. Our fates were ordained long ago, Archon. The Garleans are no exception. Nor the Triad. You know what must be done.

We have only a few brief scenes of their interactions, and yet in these few words it’s made plain how Elidibus gained Urianger’s faith, not in his intentions, but in the truth of his words. As Urianger says later:

‘Twas in the hope of opening mine eyes to said revelation that they first came unto me, imagining it sufficient to secure mine allegiance. Nor would they have been mistaken─were my heart a temple to truth alone. But as a devoted follower of Master Louisoix's teachings, and for the love I bear him and his, I hearkened not to their words.

Elidibus is able to persuade Urianger of the truth of the Sundering, the Reflections, and the Rejoinings. Where he miscalculates is in missing Urianger’s core belief, his faith in the core of his mentor’s teachings, their entire purpose in coming to Eorzea: To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom—it is indolence.

By the time his friends are found and the Scions begin to rebuild, Urianger is already in the weeds with Elidibus and the Warriors of Darkness, and that secret in itself serves to further isolate him from his friends—though clearly not without misgivings. After pushing Arbert to confront the Warrior of Light, we see Urianger in a private moment of doubt, saying to himself:

What good a creed one cannot uphold? What hurts soothed, what lives saved... O hapless fool, what hast thou wrought by thine own hands? Minfilia, my friends─I shall not now beg your forgiveness. Full deeply though it paineth me to walk it, I shall not stray from my chosen path. As Moenbryda remained steadfast, so too shall I...

And once again, Urianger places the greater good, those who may yet be saved, before all else. Once again he accepts, as a necessary sacrifice, the loss of a trusted leader and a dear friend—though in this case, it is worth noting, Minfilia is for all practical purposes already lost to her friends, having offered herself to Hydaelyn. It is impossible to say whether she could or would ever have returned to mortal life, given that she has made effectively the same sacrifice the Warriors of Darkness made; nonetheless, her willing journey to the First does, in the eyes of her friends, all but eliminate that possibility. Urianger does not send her to the First, despite what Alphinaud says in an emotional moment; he couldn’t have forced her to go, especially had it gone against Hydaelyn’s will. What he does is functionally what Elidibus did to him: he tells the truth, and offers a choice. As Urianger chose to act, as Moenbryda chose to act, so too does Minfilia.

Nonetheless, he accepts that his friends will hold him responsible, for her loss and for the deception both. This he considers an acceptable sacrifice for the salvation of a distant star. He accepts the burden of this responsibility—and ultimately, he sees his faith in Hydaelyn and in Minfilia rewarded. The First is saved from absolute destruction by Minfilia’s intervention.

It’s no wonder, then, that it takes Urianger so long to change direction. Every sacrifice up to this point has been devastating, but still seemed ultimately necessary. Louisoix. Moenbryda. Minfilia.

It’s no wonder that, upon arriving in the First and seeing what his actions have wrought, he agrees to go along with the Exarch’s plan.

The Point of Failure

Once again, Urianger accepts a temporary deception and a permanent sacrifice as necessary in the service of the greater good.

Though Elidibus and the Exarch have very different motives, I think there are some striking similarities in the way they approach Urianger. Both, it’s safe to say, have observed him and his personality, and deemed him the best choice of accomplice. Both persuade him by getting him alone, and once persuaded, keeping their secrets will further isolate him from his friends. When the Warrior of Light arrives in the First, the Scions are scattered and distant, each pursuing their goals alone, and I think it’s safe to say that the secrecy has contributed to that—particularly for Y’shtola, who seems to have realized early on both that the Exarch was hiding something and that Urianger’s vision didn’t pass the smell test.

Once again, we see Urianger having clear reservations about the path he’s chosen. He appears anguished in the Echo flashback with the Exarch, asking whether this is truly the Exarch’s wish before he agrees. When Y’shtola expresses her concern for the Warrior of Light, and questions him about the veracity of his “vision,” his eyes drop to the floor as if in shame. Still, as before, Urianger accepts that he will face condemnation for what he has been party to. Once again, he has faith that it will all be worth it. The Warrior of Light and the First will be saved, his faith will be rewarded, and he will accept the responsibility for what it cost.

It’s not without cost even for the Warrior of Light, who is kept in the dark about what’s happening to them as they slay the Lightwardens, and clearly suffers considerable pain from the accumulation of Light once it reaches a critical mass. Urianger bears witness to this, and I don’t doubt that he feels remorse for it, even as he is committed to his path.

There’s this beautiful moment after the defeat of the Rak'tika Lightwarden where Y'shtola asks Urianger to describe the night sky to her. He describes it thus:

A sea of shimmering stars. Diamonds strewn across a raven gown, boundless and beautiful. 'Tis an exquisite sight not unlike that of the Source. Calm and gentle... and forgiving...

This comes directly after Y'shtola presses him for the second time on telling the Warrior of Light the truth about the Light's corruption.

Once again, the cost weighs upon Urianger. He longs not only for the reassurance of faith rewarded, of a higher purpose served, but for forgiveness.

In his conversation with Ryne, Urianger speaks of life as "a tapestry of fates," and of the difficult decisions that must be made by those who strive to do good. He concludes with this:

Thou needst but have faith. Have faith and all will be well.

And I don't doubt that he means it. Is this not, after all, what he is doing? Continuing to withhold his knowledge and deceive his friends, out of faith that the Exarch's plan will succeed, and all will be well? If the Warrior of Light declares their trust in his plan in Kholusia, he swears to them that that trust is not misplaced. That their faith will be rewarded, that all will be well.

Thing is, in the end, that sentiment is proven wrong.

Faith isn't enough. The Exarch, however well-intentioned, fails to account for Emet-Selch's interference, the plan fails, and now Urianger is forced to confess his deception, not in victory, but to a friend on the brink of death.

After the revelations with the Warriors of Darkness, Urianger speaks frankly to the Warrior of Light, saying, “Speak thy mind. I do not expect thy forgiveness.” He even says later that Alisaie was right to condemn his choices. But he does not quite say he was wrong, and I think that’s apparent in the fact that when confronted with a similar scenario by the Exarch, though it is with obvious reluctance, he makes a similar choice.

And though Urianger even now does not openly beg forgiveness… his posture toward the Warrior of Light is very different. He goes to one knee, bowing his head before them. He says, “I offer no excuse.” He asks to be allowed to join them in setting things right, promising that his talents are at their disposal. He effectively throws himself upon their mercy. If the Warrior of Light forgives him, the look on his face is one of absolute relief, joy, and gratitude. There’s no doubt in my mind that that is the outcome he most desires, though he hardly dares hope for it.

This time, I think he knows he's fucked up. Perhaps it took the Exarch's plan going terribly sidewise for him to reach that point. I think this is a critical turning point for Urianger, one that sets him on the path to genuinely reevaluating his world view.

A Different Path

I've spent a long time pondering the fact that Urianger never has much of a visible crisis of faith upon learning the true nature of Hydaelyn.

He remarks upon it, of course, following Emet-Selch’s revelations about Hydaelyn and Zodiark in Shadowbringers:

'Tis oft said truth is a matter of perspective. Yet upon this matter, there can be but one truth. I only pray it is not his.

From that moment on, I was honestly waiting for more of a reaction from him, especially after the confirmation in Endwalker by Hydaelyn’s own words that She is, in fact, a primal. You’d sort of expect it, right? More and more, as time has gone on and their understanding of the world has broadened, the faith of the Scions as a whole and Urianger’s devotion in specific has shifted away from the Twelve and toward Hydaelyn as an all-encompassing mother-goddess. To learn now that She is truly a primal—one of the very beings the Scions have sought to eradicate, for their devastating effects on the land and on people… Can they still trust Her guidance? Are the Echo-blessed merely tempered? What does it all mean?

Indeed, I think that these revelations very likely would have triggered a crisis of faith in pre-Shadowbringers Urianger.

But by Endwalker, Urianger is not that person anymore.

In Endwalker, we see the culmination of Urianger’s long character arc in several key scenes. The first of these comes on the moon, after the Loporrits, well-intentioned but anxious for the success of their venture after the lukewarm response to their preparations, have taken him aside and asked him to act as a liaison of sorts—to use his powers of persuasion to convince their collaborators that the moon will be a suitable vessel for the people of Etheirys.

On the surface perhaps, the Loporrits aren’t asking him to tell any really dramatic falsehoods—just talk up the moon, make it sound good, while passing along any information he can on what could improve it. And all in the service of saving a whole world full of people. He’s done far worse for that.

The subtext, however, is that Urianger would be acting to push the evacuation plan—perhaps at the expense of putting his efforts toward a way to halt the Final Days for good. Though this plan might well save the people of the Source, the reflections would be lost—a sacrifice beyond anything that’s been asked of him before. And yet if they fail to stop the Final Days, and exodus proves the only option left… could his powers of persuasion prove the difference in saving who they still can?

It all seems to immediately strike a nerve. “And so fate doth conspire to set my feet upon this path once more...” Moreover, Urianger hones right in on why he has been chosen for this task. “Is it so plain that these strangers could intuit it at a glance? My capacity for silence and secrecy... and duplicity.”

For a moment, it even appears that he might be considering going along with it. Once again, he references fate… but almost immediately, I think, he begins to turn away from that path. Y’shtola even remarks, “Urianger usually puts more effort into concealing his clandestine endeavors.” And when the Warrior of Light catches up to him, Urianger is unsurprised to see them, remarking, “Thine arrival is timely as ever.” It seems that he has already chosen not to move in shadow.

For his experiences in the First have changed him, and in the conversation that follows, he will explain why.

To me, this scene is a truly inspired moment of character development. In the hands of a lesser writer, we might have just gotten a "I don't want to lie and hide things from my friends anymore, because deception is bad" kind of epiphany. And like, sure, but that's never really been the core of it. Urianger doesn't keep secrets because he loves lying and being deceptive. He actually really doesn't. He hates it. Every time he's done it, it's been because he believed it was the only choice that would server the greater good, and the critical bit, as he finally says so candidly, is that he never looked for another way. Just as he didn't intervene to stop Moenbryda from sacrificing herself so that they could find a alternate source of aether to destroy an Ascian, he didn't look for an alternative to going undercover with the Warriors of Darkness alone, and he didn't try to convince the Exarch to look for an alternate solution to the Light problem.

“Dutiful disciple of Louisoix,” he says of himself, “ever looking to the greater good…” But the greater good part has also never actually been his problem. The Scions are all about the greater good, and most of them have been ready and willing to throw themselves on the sword should the greater good require it. The real significance of this description isn’t the greater good, but the dutiful disciple of Louisoix. Louisoix, their master; Louisoix, the prophet of their age.

Louisoix, who himself once asked Urianger to travel the realm alone and act as a diversion, while he himself moved in shadow to prepare Eorzea for the worst.

Urianger may have a natural talent for theatrics and misdirection, but he didn’t learn this from nowhere. He learned it, and performed it, at the behest of his beloved mentor, his prophet, his saint. The man who said, The worst is coming, and laid before them a path to fight it. And in his absence, Urianger has followed the path that Louisoix laid out for him: doom foretold, and one path to avert it, a path marked by, as he says now, subterfuge and sacrifice.

It's only here on the moon, faced with the request that he be the hype man for evacuating the entire star’s population onto a spaceship crewed by rabbits, that he finally says: There must be another way.

Even now, while he hopes to persuade the Loporrits to consider another avenue, he initially thinks to take that burden on himself so the responsibility of failure will be his alone. But when the Warrior of Light approaches, he confides in them, takes their encouragement to heart, and invites them to join him.

Ultimately, Urianger decides to stay on the moon to offer the Loporrits his aid, while his friends continue their work down on the surface. A plan that allows for multiple contingencies, making the best of the Loporrits’ preparations even as they hope not to need them, and most critically, a plan which requires cooperation and communication, not secrecy. Even now, it is possible they will fail. Yet for the first time, Urianger accepts that he need not carry his burdens alone. He has faith that his friends have the strength, and indeed the desire, to bear them alongside him.

This is the shift in Urianger’s faith, and the reason that in Endwalker his resolve is not shaken, but is in fact stronger than ever.

Standing Together

Urianger’s second key scene in Endwalker comes after he has returned with a gaggle of Loporrits eager to see Etheirys for themselves and learn how they can help.

Here is perhaps a good time to recall again that despite the stories of his early childhood, the Urianger we know as an adult has always been a fairly social person in his own way. In his 1.0 role, he might have been off-putting to some, but he was certainly not a recluse, and the work he was doing required its own particular type of charisma. In ARR we see him not hiding away in a corner with his books, but engaged in conversation with fellow Scions. Even in childhood, it seems like he found it difficult to relate to other children thanks to his singular personality and interests, rather than any innate misanthropy, and Moenbryda’s efforts to befriend him were ultimately successful because she made the effort to understand him.

Isolation seems to mark the darker periods of Urianger’s life, the times in which he undertakes the greatest subterfuge. And even then, he is never truly alone. In fact, he seems to succeed in these situations largely thanks to his skill in understanding and relating to those different than himself—a skill learned from his dear Moenbryda, perhaps. He manages to gain the trust of the very jaded and world-weary Warriors of Darkness. He submits himself to exhausting trials to gain the favor of the pixies and becomes practically an expert in the customs of the fae. It’s little wonder that he bonds so quickly and so well with the Loporrits, facilitating a great exchange of information and a much deeper understanding, ultimately getting them involved in the Scions' efforts to defeat Meteion and stop the Final Days.

For all his eccentricities, Urianger thrives in community, perhaps even more so in community with the odd and the unusual.

And thus do Moenbryda’s parents observe with great affection when they are reunited with him in the Sharlayan hamlet:

Wilfsunn: And look at you now. At the center of the crowd─the reason there even is a crowd, having brought these people together. You've no idea how proud we are. Bloewyda: To see the boy our daughter trusted and believed in more than anyone... grow into the man she always knew he could be.

Urianger’s final key scene in Endwalker is in Ultima Thule.

It took me months to fully process the final events of Endwalker after playing through it. It's not that I disliked it—far from it, in fact. It was deeply cathartic to play through, and left me with a lot of lingering emotions. The main thing I had to grapple with was the sacrifice aspect. For the Scions, I think so much of their arc as a group has been moving past the idea that every victory must involve some heroic sacrifice. We have seen the culmination of Urianger's character arc in his understanding that sacrifice is not always necessary, or at least should not be assumed to be the only way. Moreover, Endwalker as a whole is about the need to stand together. We see not only the payoff of the Scions’ relationships, strengthened over the course of several expansions, but the payoff of the many relationships the Warrior of Light has forged in their adventures, all coming together to save the world.

So why does this story then culminate in the Scions sacrificing themselves one by one, so that the Warrior of Light can forge on alone?

I do think we are meant to understand that the Scions are not permanently dead and gone. Even in-universe, the Warrior of Light is given to understand that between the malleability of reality in this dynamis-based place and the power infused into Azem’s crystal, it is possible to bring their friends back. Hydaelyn hints at it, noting that souls were drawn to the WoL in their journey through the aetherial sea. Y’shtola says it outright:

Though my body will soon dissipate, there may be a way to restore it. Azem's magick. So long as our souls remain, you can use it to summon us back. But you mustn't, for it would mean losing our way forward. This, I only reveal so that you can promise not to invoke the magick.

G’raha, too, as he prepares to give himself to open the way forward, asks the Warrior of Light for several promises for the future, all of which indicate faith that they will be reunited.

And this all builds on what the Warrior of Light has seen in their journeys, in particular the understanding of life and death and the aetherial sea which their descent into the Aitiascope recently confirmed: the souls of the dead do not always dissipate immediately into their component aether, but may linger, still conscious of themselves, in the aetherial sea, even for considerable time. In the Aitiascope, we see departed friends come to the side of the Warrior of Light to lend them aid.

When Bloewyda says, “I can see her in you, too. Feel her. She walks with you, wheresoever you go…” and Urianger replies, “I think… I can feel her too,” it may sound like mere sentiment at the time. When the Warrior of Light and Alphinaud see a vision of Haurchefant and Ysayle at their side as they fight to prise the Eyes of Nidhogg from Estinien’s armor and save their friend, we might doubt whether they are literally there, or whether it’s simply their memory that gives our heroes the strength to succeed. But this, I believe, is what we are meant to take from the journey through the Aitiascope: it is not mere sentiment. In this world, the departed can and sometimes do watch over their loved ones from the aetherial sea for a time, even if they cannot intervene in mortal affairs.

And thus, whatever it is precisely that happens to the souls of the Scions as they leave their corporeal forms in Ultima Thule to bend its reality to their will, they are not gone.

Thancred’s intitial sacrifice to save his friends seems to be pure impulse. He has no time to think, only acts on instinct, and bids them live, and in this asserts his will over reality. When the others understand what he has done, however, each in turn are faced with a choice.

And Urianger’s approach to this choice is somewhat different than the rest. He does not simply announce his decision on the spot, but takes the Warrior of Light and G’raha aside to confide in them. (It seems he still harbors some discomfort in revealing his thoughts to the whole group—perhaps not least because he knows how the twins will respond.) In this conversation he reveals not merely his plan, but the thoughts that have led him there, as well as some guidance for their next steps.

In true Urianger form, he speaks of faith, and of fate. Addressing G’raha, he says:

I once placed my faith in thy chosen path, walking at thy side full knowing that we were bound for thy demise. I ask now that thou returnest the favor, and abide in faith as I fulfill mine own destiny.

I think it is important here that Urianger’s belief in fate, in purpose, persists. Moreover, he uses the word destiny in the context in which he has always used it: to offer purpose and hope in the face of loss.

But no longer does he presume that facing his destiny means facing it alone. “Yet even if I must needs go to such lengths,” he says, “I cannot well feign ignorance of the answer I have found within... The answer to the question: in what moment might I stand strongest?”

It’s clear that since their arrival in Ultima Thule and Thancred’s sacrifice, Urianger has been ruminating upon this question. This time, he has the opportunity to consider the choices ahead, not simply make a decision on the spot, and he seizes that opportunity, looking for where he may do the most good.

He does not say outright what answer he found, not yet, but it becomes clear when he steps up to join Y’shtola in opening the way forward.

My resolve hath never been as strong as thine. Full oft have I wavered in my decisions, and afterwards been stricken with regret. In spite of this, I may still stand with my comrades, supporting them as they attempt the greatest of feats. This truth, I have learned in the course of our journey.

And not only does Urianger help to forge a path by bending reality, by his words and his insights he also helps to guide his friends to confront each new despair that bars the way—even after he has vanished from their sight.

Ultima Thule is not truly about sacrifice, but about a tremendous leap of faith. It’s about the strength to keep going even in the face of loneliness and despair, to know that one is not alone no matter how alone one may feel. This Urianger has learned, and the Warrior of Light will in turn as they take those final steps.

By the end of his arc, Urianger has learned that he stands strongest at the side of his friends. And perhaps this is not quite a new revelation for him, but a truth learned and forgotten and learned again and again. Character growth need not be a straight line. In his youth, Urianger was an isolated child who learned to accept Moenbryda’s friendship, and it was by her encouragement that he pursued his own path of learning which eventually led him to join Louisoix and the Circle of Knowing. I point back to the animated, talkative Urianger we see in ARR, who in the face of loss and sacrifice yet looked to the future with hope, with faith in his companions and in the continued guidance of their mentor. I think this is a truth he has known before, but one he lost sight of as his community and support system crumbled around him. We might look at Urianger’s downward spiral following Moenbryda’s death as a dark night of the soul, in which he clings to his belief in fate and ordained purpose all the more tightly, for what he has sacrificed for them, even as his insistence upon carrying the weight of duty alone sets him upon an increasingly dark and lonely path.

I wonder if he sees something of that dark and lonely path in Hydaelyn Herself, when he stands before Her and hears Her words: “There was no kindness nor justice in the tragedy I wrought.”

And as Hydaelyn is unburdened at last in entrusting the future to others… so now has Urianger found peace by placing his faith in his friends.

Conclusions

Faith has always been a core part of Urianger’s character. All his life, he has looked to forces outside himself to guide him to the truth and the right path forward, and to reassure him in the face of loss: to the gods, to prophetic writings, to trusted leaders, to the stars. And he has striven to follow what he believed was the right path, even when it meant great sacrifice and pain—even when it drove a wedge between himself and the people dearest to him.

In the end, Urianger does not lose his faith, but rather the shape of it changes. In this he finds greater peace and purpose both, understanding that he need not walk in shadow, or alone.

Having finally met Hydaelyn face to face and understood Her purpose, I think Urianger understands that this is, in fact, what She would want. In Her death, She entrusts the future to Etheirys’s people. And though we unfortunately do not get to see Urianger (or most of the Scions) react to the true nature of the Twelve and their departure from the world in Myths of the Realm… I think he’d be okay about that now, too. It is in those who stand beside him that he now places his faith, not in distant gods. And Urianger has faith that his friends will happily share in his burdens, forgive him his failings, and celebrate their victories together.

And in this new faith, he has also gained faith in himself. He can accept his own strengths and weaknesses, confide in his friends without fear of judgment, request their aid without shame. We see Urianger look to the future and embrace his duties with far greater confidence and far less doubt and torment, knowing that even in the darkest moments, he can rely on the friends who stand at his side.

Endnotes

A huge thank-you to @eriyu for her searchable transcript of MSQ dialogue at xiv.quest, without which this essay and most of my Urianger research would have been a great deal more difficult.

An additional thank-you to all the fans who have worked to preserve material from FFXIV 1.0 and make it available on YouTube, on fan wikis, and in tumblr posts; I am forever in your debt.

#urianger augurelt #ffxiv meta #ffxiv #endwalker spoilers #afk by the aetheryte

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konoharfts · 5 months ago

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“…When I’m with you the world makes sense, but when we are apart I see clearly that your world is not one from which one can escape..”

Heard the “Dear Arthur” Red Dead clip and thought of my rancher Gai and outlaw Kakashi from the Cowboy AU so uhhhhh now y’all have this 🤷‍♀️

Anyways, enjoy the sad gay cowboys, they took years off my life 🙃

^^ full comic

Yeah so basically my concept was that Kakashi and Gai met each-other at a bar, got into some shenanigans (lots of stupid challenges and flirting ), and yadda yadda thy start seeing eachother on the down-low.

At first the whole Kakashi being an outlaw thing doesn’t really matter to Gai. The tales of his dangerous and illegal adventures are exciting and it’s definitely not horrifying when he comes to the Maito ranch with blood oozing out of a barely patched wound. It’s endearing that he trusts Gai enough to help stitch him up on the kitchen table.

And it’s not like Kakashi likes doing illegal activities… he just has people he needs to protect, people who he’s completely loyal to, and sometimes those people need him to back them up while they do illegal activities. 🤷‍♀️

But, you know how it goes, suddenly it starts to catch up. Suddenly the grey gets murky and someone takes it a step too far and now your boyfriend is being actively hunted by law enforcement 🤷‍♀️ Suddenly those stories become concerning, and you wonder if the next time he stumbles through your door with an injury he got god knows where will be that final nail. Suddenly you don’t want to ask how he got it.

(^^ by you I mean Gai, buuut you get the idea)

So yeah.. Gai knows full well well that Kakashi’s loyal to his crew to a fault. He knows that no matter how good life is when Kakashi’s around - how good KAKASHI’S life is when they’re together - Kakashi will never abandon his comrades…. And Gai’s whole life is on that ranch…

So now the only time Gai sees Kakashi is on the various wanted posters that circulate (though they could never quite get his eyes just right) and the only time Kakahshi sees Gai is the few times he has a nice dream (instead of a nightmare)

Yeah anyways you guys see the vision right? I don’t even have that strong of a plot idea I just get my heart ripped out every time I hear that RDR2 scene and I figured Cowboy AU KakaGai kinda fits so 🤷‍♀️

If anyone read that I will serenade you sofly 🫶🎶🎷🐛

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yuansie · 6 months ago

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ocean memories : children of the sea,

synopsis. you never listen to your parents. what makes them think you'll listen to them now?

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. reader is a preteen or a tween in this HAHFAHEFA so is rafayel, ooc preteen raf oopsie daisy (it's for the plot, unfortunately), formal speaking (it's set in the olden times...), reader's hair and eye color change to specific colors (it's for the plot... IT'S FOR THE PLOTTT PLS DONT HATE ME 😭🙏🏼) but skin color is not specified (obvi), raf is kind of serious... just a little bit (i think), slight spoilers to his forgotten sea myth (kind of?), reader is also supposed to be the smartest kid in her village . if there's anything i should add, please let me know!

genres. fluff

rating. sfw

w/c. 2.7k hahaha... 😟

a/n. HELLOOOOOO this was so long bye i didn't mean to make this chapter long but it happened so good bc sometimes i struggle even writing a sentence down BYEEE anyways ! for this section of the series, dialogue will be very formal because i do NAWT want to write in shakespearean ! bro's plays are good to read but writing it? NO ! reading raf's forgotten sea myth with all the "thy/thou" words had me internally crying.

YOUR PARENTS LIKE TO SAY THAT YOUR CURIOSITY WILL GET YOU IN TROUBLE, and while you don’t agree with them, you think their words might prove you wrong tonight.

the adults have always said never to head to the current by the coral reefs, said that it's too dangerous. you asked your parents once about why it was so.

they never answered you.

and then you asked the head of the village once—he said that you were too young to know.

to know what? that it's just a current? what is a current going to do to your strong tail? what will it do to a lemurian?

these vague answers have done nothing but pique your curious mind and your adventuring-craving bones. and so you find yourself laying wide awake at night, waiting and waiting until you know your parents have gone to sleep and are well into their dreams.

it's easy to slip out afterwards, easy to swim past the sea lamp outside the front door and the other homes. it's easy to swim past the village head’s place and head to the coral reefs behind it. the current comes into view quickly, easy to distinguish by the light blue waves that rush down and disappears beyond the wall of coral reef.

your parents words echo in your ear: stay away from the currents.

but they’re pushed away, a soft voice calling out to you. come closer. the voice sounds pleasant, not too deep nor too high pitched. it calls out to you again, come to me, find me, their words lulling you closer to the currents. and you move closer, abiding to the voice’s request. then you blink, finding yourself in the current. laughter erupts from your throat and spills from your lips, “and they said it was danger—” you squeal, waving your arms wildly when the current abruptly pulls you down, taking you away. you wait for the coral reef to scratch your skin and tail, but there was never any pain. it was almost as if the current protected you from it as it dragged you away, tugging down you to the entrance of what looks like a cave.

you’re dropped softly on sand, your mind absolutely blank from what just happened. the eerie silence gnaws dread into your bones, your heart beginning to pick its pace up. you’re all alone in some cave who-knows-how-far-away from the village. you push yourself off the sand, your tail hitting the ground and sending sand upwards. just as you’re about to explore the area to find a way back, you stop and tilt your head to the side, watching how the image of the cave shimmers and vibrates, its appearance morphing into what you think is a temple.

columns of pristine marble that look whiter than the pearls you sometimes see in the market, renders you speechless. you swim closer as if you’re in another trance, slowing to a stop right at the entrance. there is no door to keep you out, only a pitch darkness separating you from the inside. you stretch your hand out, fingers embraced by the darkness inside for a few seconds. the darkness doesn’t startle you, you feel no fear as you look into it but rather a strange calmness. the darkness erupts into a blinding light, making you shield your eyes until they adjust to the sudden brightness. the light now illuminates the temple and you move inside. your breath stops at your throat, wide eyes taking in every detail of the beautiful temple. you swim and reach an alter, blinking in confusion at the body of a boy around your age lying there.

the boy lies flat on his back, dark lashes and purple hair contrasting against his pale skin. his skin is so pale you think he’s sick, so you press a hand to his forehead and then your own against the back of your hand, closing your eyes. his skin is cold, though it soon warms up much to your surprise. you feel soft puffs of air against your skin; your eyes flutter open to find a pair of bicolored eyes, with beautiful hues of ocean blue and sunset red, staring back at you. there’s a faint glow of red by his shoulder blade, but you don't say anything and neither does he, choosing to just stare at one another.

“i am so sorry,” you say, leaning back to give him space. “i was just checking if you were sick since you looked so pale…”

“i am not sick,” he says, eyes trained on you. the intensity of his stare makes your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but you decide to hold his stare. “i was merely sleeping.”

“sleeping?” the embarrassment you feel is washed away and replaced by curiosity. “all the way out here and not in whalefall village?"

he ignores your question and closes his eyes, “i have been waiting to get awakened,” he opens one of them to look at you, “you should have woken me up when i grew into an adult.”

“…what?” your curiosity is now skepticism because you have no idea what this boy is trying to say. “are you okay?” you look at him with narrowed eyes, studying his features. “you are not from the village. i would have recognized you.”

he ignores your question and rambles instead, “of course i am fine,” he says, “like i said, i was just sleeping, waiting to be awakened; now that i am awake…” the corners of his lips slowly lift and he points at you, “i have a question for you.”

“for me?” you point at yourself.

the boy nods. “i don't see anyone else here, now do i?”

you huff through your nose. “alright… but first, you must answer my question!”

he quirks an eyebrow up. “...okay. what is your question?”

“what is your name?”

the boy blinks at you. “i am the god of tides.”

your jaw drops, “what?” clearing your throat, you hit his arm to which he yelps in surprise. “don’t speak lies!”

he rubs the sore spot on his arm, his lips forming a pout. “i am not lying! i am the god of tides!”

“the village head told me that the god of tides has not been seen in over hundreds of years!”

“that’s because i was sleeping in my temple!” he huffs and throws his arms up. “i was waiting for my priestess to wake me up!”

“priestess?”

“yes!” the boy gets up from the alter and swims to you. “the deep sea told me it would send a girl who loves the sea more than anything, with hair the color of sea foam and eyes like sea… and here you are!”

“woah there,” you chuckle, lifting your hands to push the boy away from you. “i do not have sea foam-colored hair nor eyes like the sea.”

the boy points at your hair. “yes you do.”

you grab a strand of your hair in your hair and look down, choking in surprise at the color of your hair: blue sea foam that appears when waves crash on the surface. turning towards the boy, you grab his shoulders and shake him. “my eyes! what color are they?”

he rolls his eyes, “i told you that they are blue like the sea. why have you already forgotten?”

“no!” you whine, “my parents will kill me! that is not the color of my eyes nor is my hair this color! what did you do to me?”

the boy shrugs. “the deep sea must have blessed you when it chose you to find me.”

breathing in deeply, you exhale slowly, your hands still on his shoulders. “you say you are the god of tides, yes?” he nods, and you continue, “the village head once told me that only the god of tides could wield fire… can you?”

he pushes you away enough to create some distance between you two. your arms fall to your side as you wait with bated breath, and the boy holds a hand out, a fire burning brightly in his palm. he glances at you through his eyelashes, his lips forming a bright smile at the sight of you watching the flame in his palm with awe. the flame flickering in your blue eyes, he thinks, is pretty.

very pretty.

“oh,” you gasp, snapping him from his thoughts. “i was rude to you. i am so sorry.”

he waves it off. “i will forgive you because you are my one and only priestess.”

a priestess to the god your people have longed for.

you beam at him, “thank you—ah.”

“what?”

“your name,” you say, “you never told me.”

you watch the boy scratch the back of his neck as he thinks before finally replying, “i don’t have one.”

“what?” you gape at him like a fish does when it’s out of the water. “you have no name?”

“no.”

you close your eyes and tap on your upper lip with a finger, thinking long and hard. there is a text book you read not long ago, a text book the village head had lent you after you asked about the god of the sea. while reading it, there was a name that had appeared in the text that you liked.

“rafayel.”

blue and red eyes stare at you with curiosity. “rafayel?” he echoes.

“yes,” you grabs his hands and smile at him. “i read it in a book the village head gave to me. it means god has healed, and our god has finally healed and is back.”

rafayel mirrors the smile on your lips, gripping tightly onto your hands. “rafayel,” he says, “i like that name.”

it hasn’t been long since you woke rafayel and took him back to the village, and while the village head wanted to stick to his side like glue and aid him in whatever he could, rafayel had shooed him away, claiming that he only needed his priestess—you.

“you cannot be serious right now,” rafayel deadpans, watching you with narrowed as you swim about in the temple, the trinkets you had found on the surface clinking in your arms, “why would you go to the surface? again?”

“because it is fun and,” you raise your arms slightly, “i can find these odd things. they are fascinating, raf!”

rafayel furrows his eyebrows. “fascinating?” he repeats, glancing at the things in your arms before looking back at you, grimacing, “they do not look like that to me.”

“well, they just are!” you let the items go, letting them drift as you swim to your friend. “why don’t you go with me?”

“go with you?” he hums in thought. “no. the people will not let me leave the temple.”

you grab his hand tightly. “but i will be with you, rafayel. nothing bad will happen.”

you can see the gears in his head turn before slowly nodding. the corner of his lips twitch as you brighten, beginning to ramble about what you will show him first. he won’t admit it aloud—no, he can’t because he must remain a noble figure in your eyes—that he is excited to see with his own eyes the wonders you hold dear to your adventurous heart.

it’s almost comical how you wait until nightfall to sneak out of your home and head to the temple to meet rafayel. you have to continuously pinch your hand to refrain from laughing at how easy it is to slip out of your room and past the homes.

your parents will never learn, you think as the temple comes into view.

“rafayel?” you stick your head inside only to yelp in surprise at how quickly rafayel appears in front of you.

he gives you a lopsided grin, calming your racing heart instantly. “did i scare you, my priestess?”

“what do you think?” you grumble, slapping his arm. he whines, rubbing the sore spot on his arm as he sticks his tongue out at you. his foul mood is washed away when you grab his hands and press a finger to your lips, winking at him as you lead him to the surface.

out the temple, take the current to the coral reefs, swim to the canyons and cliffs, go up.

moonlight reflects on the surface of the water when you two emerge from it.

rafayel turns his head to face you, grimacing. “you sneak out for… this?”

the island not too far in front seems bare, lacking the human trinkets you like so much. there is only but the beach and the forestry, nothing else.

“that is because we are not on the beach,” you say, dragging him closer to the sand. he lets you drag him. “and there was a storm last night. there will be treasure to find once we are at the beach.”

when his tail brushes against sand, you release his hand and push yourself out of the water, your tail which once shone with beautiful, iridescent scales, turns into human legs. twirling around on legs foreign to him, smiling so brightly he thinks he might be staring at the sun, you hold out your hand. “what are you waiting for, rafa?”

he grumbles, pushing himself up from the water. his tail morphs into human legs as well, and he takes a wobbly step towards you, almost falling. you laugh as you catch him, your skin warm against his. “this is not fun,” his cheeks feel like they’re burning, a feeling he has never felt before—perhaps it is embarrassment.

he looks at you, a frown etched on his lips. “lemurians are meant to swim, not walk.”

you giggle, continuing to support rafayel as you walk to the other end of the beach. “we lemurians can do anything, rafie.” you point at something, and rafayel looks in front of him to find something glimmering as the moonlight shines on it. “see that?” you whisper, “that is the treasure i was talking about.”

you bring him over to the object that shines, which happens to be a circular metal with a button on top, a thin chain hanging on its back. you grab it excitedly, like a child given a candy, and show it to him.

“what am i looking at?” he asks.

“a pocket watch!” you press the button on top and the circular contraption opens, revealing a ticking watch at the bottom and a small mirror at the top. “oh, this one is different.”

“how so?”

“the other ones i have found usually have a map here,” you tap the mirror. it reflects his eye and tufts of his hair on the left while the right shows your eye and sea-foam colored hair—he remembers you saying that you’re still not used to the new colors of your hair and eyes, admitting that you miss the original colors. you catch his stare through the mirror and wink at him, continuing, “but there is a mirror here.”

he averts his gaze. “i must admit… it looks interesting.”

“i told it was interesting and you did not believe me!” your smile, so infectious, brings one to his lips.

you go on a scavenging journey while he opts to sit on the sand near the water, watching as you run back and forth on the beach, sometimes stumbling and falling. when he attempts to get up to check on you, he always falters when he hears your laughter echo into the sky soon afterwards. eventually, you tire from your search and plop down next to him, dropping your new trinkets next to you. your legs turn into your tail, and you rest your head on rafayel’s shoulder.

his legs turn into his tail, and he gently hits the ground just as a wave nears both your tails, splashing water onto the two of you.

“you have pretty scales,” you say, your tone soft. “they remind me of your eyes and your eyes remind me of the how sunset looks when it is reflected on the ocean’s water.”

“you have pretty scales, too. prettier than mine.”

“really?” you ask, shoulders slightly shaking with the giggles that spill from your lips.

“yes.”

when he’s back in his temple, watching you swim back to your home, he thinks that maybe the surface isn’t all that bad.

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2025

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livingfandomly · 8 months ago

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I see people having issues with Agatha’s arc and the season finale. I agree with certain plot points for the finale but for me they’re very minor. Agatha on the other hand…

People have been dying to make her a morally grey character but, you guys, she’s not one. Rio is a morally gray character. Rio is forced by nature, by her duty to do what she does. Agatha, yes she is a siphon and needs other peoples magic for power, but she also could’ve chosen to give up magic if she wanted. She’s just not that kind of person.

The fact that she literally started the Witches Road as a lure the day her son died, to me, says that the only way she saw her son living on was through thy song and she accepted it as such. She’s also an addict so she then used that song to find her the hit she needed. At the end of the day she’s just a sad, self serving villain. The entire point of AAA was, in my opinion, to show glimpses of her change.

For the first time she stopped her siphon mid-way. I don’t know if she ever even tried to stop it before because she was always getting what she wanted from people who didn’t care about her or had actively hurt her. For the first time she was forced to spend time with a coven instead of immediately killing them and this coven, despite all odds, ended up wanting to help her. For the first time she chose a to lose so someone else could win and it may not seem like a lot but for a character who has never thought of anyone but herself… it’s a big deal.

I think the show would’ve benefitted from another episode or two so that we could spend more time with Agatha’s journey so we could understand her thought process a bit more.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

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Writing Notes: Foreshadowing

No one likes a spoiler, but everyone loves a good breadcrumb. When done the right way, foreshadowing brilliantly steers a reader’s journey through a story.

Foreshadowing - a literary device used to give an indication or hint of what is to come later in the story. It is useful for creating suspense, a feeling of unease, a sense of curiosity, or a mark that things may not be as they seem.

How to Use Foreshadowing in Your Writing

Foreshadowing does not necessarily mean explicitly revealing what will happen later in your story. In fact, when it is used effectively, many readers may not even realize the significance of an author’s foreshadowing until the end. Examples of foreshadowing range from the very subtle to the incredibly pointed. No matter how veiled your hints are, there are a few time-honored ways to weave them into your storytelling:

Dialogue: You can use your characters’ dialogue to foreshadow future events or big reveals. This foreshadowing may take the form of a joke, an offhand comment, or even something unsaid that adds personality to your characters while planting the seed for later revelations. A prime example of dialogue foreshadowing occurs in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo says, “My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.” This line foreshadows Romeo’s eventual fate: committing suicide over the loss of Juliet.

Title: The title of a novel or short story can be used to foreshadow major events in the story as well. For instance, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher” foreshadows not just the destruction of the physical house, but the demise of an entire family.

Setting: The choices you make about the setting or atmosphere of your story can foreshadow events as well. In Great Expectations, Charles Dickens uses descriptions of foreboding storm clouds and inclement weather to foreshadow the dark turn Pip’s story will take: “So furious had been the gusts, that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their roofs; and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of windmills carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, of shipwreck and death.”

Metaphor or simile: Figurative language like similes and metaphors can be effective foreshadowing tools. In David Copperfield, Dickens uses simile to foreshadow the betrayal of David by his mother, comparing her to a figure in a fairy tale: “I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this suppositious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again by the buttons she would shed.”

Character traits: A character’s appearance, attire, or mannerisms can foreshadow that character’s true essence or later actions. On second reading, Lennie’s death at the end of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men comes not as a shock but as an echo of a moment much earlier, when George must put down a dog. For George, the two events are not directly linked, but the reader learns that he is willing to do something gut-wrenching in a moment of greater need.

Foreshadowing is a key tool for writers to build dramatic tension and suspense throughout their stories.

It’s a quiet flag from the writer to the reader to pay close attention, and it’s also a great tool to prepare your reader emotionally for big reveals.

For instance, if an abrupt revelation or plot twist is not adequately set up via foreshadowing, your reader may come away from your story feeling annoyed, disappointed, or confused, rather than surprised and satisfied.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#foreshadowing #writing tips #writing notes #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #books #light academia #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing resources

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thyrinea · 9 months ago

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Limbus Company - Nostos Theory

For a long time I’ve been a huge fan of Greek mythology, so it was natural for me to gravitate towards Outis when my friends showed me about the game Limbus Company. But knowing by heart how her source material goes, I was skeptical about how the team would be able to translate Odysseus’ travels and make it fit in an episodic method just like how they managed to do to the other sinners.

We have so much information going on when we dive into the Odyssey, and since everything is connected through narrative, cutting a part of it for the sake of condensing the plot would make the story feel rushed or incomplete. Honestly, for a time I was scared thinking about what Project moon would do with it.

But then I remembered, Homer’s Odyssey is categorized as a Nostos - In Ancient Greek literature, it is a theme related to giving a high level of heroism for those who managed to return home, especially after dealing with myriads of mortal trials during their travels. And isn’t that exactly what Outis will accomplish once her Canto arrives?

With that in mind, I decided to reread both the Odyssey and all the cantos available until now in-game to see if maybe there was something I missed during my playthrough. You’ll never guess what I’ve found.

What if I told you that we have been going through Outis Nostos since the very beginning? I believe I have some solid evidence that all cantos up until now are following a path similar to the one written on the Odyssey. This might seem crazy, even I was skeptical of this theory at first, but knowing Project Moon there’s probably a reason why we are getting the lineup we have in Limbus Company.

So, with that said, hi! My name’s Thy, and welcome to my little insanity corner that I would like to call the Nostos theory. I hope you can read through everything without any problems, and if you have any new information that you would like to add to this, I’d be delighted to chat!

#limbus company #limbus company analysis #limbus company theory #project moon #outis lcb #outis limbus company #30 pages and 7400ish words baby

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chilling-seavey · 1 year ago

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Love Thy Neighbour (gr63) - Part One

↳ A/N Still waiting for Apple to invent the iTimeMachine so I can go back to the 80s when Andrew Ridgeley was in his prime. Anyway, please enjoy house husband George slaying the 1980s suburbia. Comments, reblogs, and predictions are always welcome!!

↳ Inspired By: 'Everything She Wants' by Wham! and 'Heartbeat' by Wham!

↳ Summary: It’s the end of summer 1984 and you and your perfect little family moves into a quaint suburban neighbourhood to escape the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan lifestyle. Your next door neighbours are a picture-perfect family of their own - or so it seems from the outside. But, as you spend more time with the handsome husband, the cracks in your own 'perfect' marriage start to come to light.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Neighbour!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 22.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, slow burn, cheating/adultery (i don't condone this but, boy, does it make for a juicy plot), use of explicit language, female masturbation, non-consenting voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex (and extramarital creampie)

September 1984

The house was straight out of the recent issue of Better Home magazine and even as you stepped out of the passenger seat of the station wagon, you were in awe of the New England architecture. Crisp white siding and red painted shutters over spotless picture windows; it was hard to believe it was all yours. It was nowhere near the small ancient apartment that you were used to in the city - although you certainly wore that place thin until the seams were bursting. It was about time you made the move out of Manhattan and into the nearby suburbs. The American Dream was in the palm of your hand.

Your husband, Andrew, set his hand on the small of your back and dangled the set of shiny keys over your shoulder with his other, “Want to test the locks?”

You smiled back at him and grabbed them out of his hand before hurrying along the front path to the modest porch and welcoming front door. He followed behind you closely, glancing over his shoulder on the way in expectation of a follower of his own, but the young boy was already busy rushing across the freshly mowed lawn.

“Richard,” your husband called for him as you turned the key in the lock, the faint remnants of his English accent ghosting through his words, “Come see inside!”

Unbothered, your five-year-old son didn’t even look up as he dropped to his knees beside the garden bed, “No thanks!”

You glanced across the sprawling green grass yourself, “Don’t you want to see your room?”

The little boy’s head perked up in your direction at your very convincing offer and his big brown eyes shone in the sunlight. He shot up from the ground, “Okay!”

He took the four front stone steps with ease and rushed right past you into the house, making a beeline right for the straight run staircase just inside. You called a reminder after him to hold the handrail but he was already at the top by the time the final word left your mouth.

Still on the front porch, you and your husband shared calm little smiles over your shared adoration for your little boy, and then he was gesturing you inside first. You stepped over the threshold onto the hardwood floors and you took your time soaking in the modern floral wallpaper that trimmed the foyer and led into the formal living room through the archway to the right. It looked so empty without furniture but it also held so much promise and possibility within the brand new walls.

Through the living room you could loop into the dining room that overlooked the spacious backyard framed in lush trees and a wooden fence separating the property from the neighbours on either side. The backyard view was perfect from the kitchen sink, giving you a perfect spot to keep an eye on your son playing while you could do the dishes or prep dinner. You had fallen in love with this house the moment you saw it in the real estate section of the newspaper - a new build in a quaint suburb of Connecticut - but at first glance you had figured it would only be a dream. It was hard to believe that your husband and your finances were on board. With a growing little boy, it was time to move out of that tiny one-and-a-half bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Now, with three full bedrooms upstairs, the future was far more open.

You hadn’t realized you were daydreaming at the empty kitchen sink before your husband gave your shoulders a squeeze, bringing you back to your content reality, “The moving truck should be here soon. Should we start unpacking the car?”

Leaning back into him, you agreed with a smile, “Alright.”

He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed a kiss to your cheek before he was pulling away just as quickly and disappearing into the foyer and towards the front door.

Andrew always lived a lively life and somehow you managed to keep up. He always wanted to be out doing things such as date nights on the town rather than picking up after-hour client dinners just to socialize and bring in more money for his company - and, ultimately, himself and your family. It was so nice when you were younger and you were in love and willing to follow him to the ends of the earth but the reality of parenthood made you more tired than you used to be. Suddenly, nights out felt tedious and the airtime was always filled with business talk or discussions of Richard’s school. It all felt a bit like a chore. But maybe that just came with growing up. You were loved, you were secure, and you had a beautiful roof over your head. You swore you had nothing to complain about.

The moving truck pulled into your driveway not long after your trusty station wagon had only been unpacked about halfway. It was going to be a long day but you tied your hair back and made sure your son was kept busy when you could and Andrew and the movers took over most of the heavy lifting, leaving you to rearrange boxes and direct them inside the house. It was always your responsibility to take care of your son so it wasn’t unusual for you to keep busy with finding him a snack from your cooler once that was brought in from the car. The kitchen table followed not long after from the moving truck and the two of you sat at the table together with Jell-O cups.

Richard would be starting kindergarten in only a week and part of you was worried about what on earth you were going to busy yourself with once he was gone. Being a stay at home mom, your sole job was caring for him and since there were no other kids on your agenda as of yet, you were painfully preparing to be completely alone from 9-3 every week day. You tried not to worry about it as you watched your five-year-old eat his cherry Jell-O and you reached out a hand to brush through his frazzled dark brown hair, trying to pet it down into some sort of order. Even the gel that you had slicked through it that morning seemed to not be doing its job anymore but that seemed to be common with a lively little boy. You truly loved him with everything in you and those big brown eyes could just melt your heart with one look. He was his father’s son through and through.

Being an only child, Richard got bored pretty easily on moving day so it wasn’t long before you sent him outside to the front yard to play while the truck was finished unloading and you and Andrew tended to the organization inside. With the windows open, the late summer air breezed through the freshly painted house and one of the first things you set up was your record player in the living room so you could have some music while you worked.

Soon, Richard came rushing back inside and across the carpeted living room floor in his outdoor running shoes, earning a lightly scolding “Ritchie” out of you.

“Mommy, there’s kids next door. Can I play with them?” he asked, ignoring your quiet scold of his name as he clutched onto the hem of your sky blue shorts pleadingly, batting those sweet long lashes up at you.

You pet your hand over his soft hair, “Sure, baby. Stay close though, okay?”

“Okay!”

He was already halfway out the front door again before the single word reply was even completely out of his mouth. With a few trinkets in your hand that you had been taking out a box of arrange in the curio cabinet, you drifted over to the large picture window overlooking the front lawn. Two kids around Richard’s age were playing on the quiet tree-lined street on big wheel tricycles and your son ran over to them to introduce himself. You smiled fondly at the sociable nature of your son that was quite unlike your own traits, watching the children play for a few more moments as Richard was given a turn on the bike, before you were moving back to your boxes.

As the afternoon wore on and you grew tired, you had just enough energy to make dinner - something simple and quick - and soon you were stepping out onto the front porch to call your son back in to eat. He said goodbye to his two new friends and then hurried over to you just as you noticed two people crossing over your lawn towards you.

“Hey there!” the woman called politely.

Richard stood in front of you nosily, watching them, and he wrapped an arm around your leg. Your next door neighbours approached you across your lawn, a man and woman maybe only a few years your senior, and the man held a white bakeware dish covered in tinfoil in his hands.

“Hi.” you greeted them with a smile.

They were clearly a well kept pair as if they had been cut from a magazine themselves with the husband in tidy blue jeans and a tucked in button up and the wife with her blonde hair tied back in an impressive updo. She had on dress slacks and a blazer with posh shoulder pads, earning a lighthearted envious glance out of you at her style as you accepted her handshake and she spoke again, “I’m Jennifer and this is my husband, George. We just live next door and saw you moving in so we wanted to introduce ourselves.”

“How lovely.” you smiled, moving on to shake her husband’s hand, trying not to be intimidated by the electric blue eyes staring back at you as you introduced yourself and your son.

Your five-year-old peered up at them behind waves of dark hair that tumbled over his big brown eyes despite the way you swooped it out of his face yet again.

“Are those your little ones?” you asked, gesturing over to the street where the two kids were still playing.

Jennifer glanced over to the children before looking back at you, “Yeah. Those are ours. James and Nancy.”

“It was really nice of them to let Ritchie play today.” you started.

The adult conversation got boring quickly for the five-year-old so he slid out from under your maternal touch and slipped inside without a word or goodbye.

“He’s an only child,” you explained, “so he sometimes gets a little lonely…especially in a new neighbourhood and all.”

“Oh, of course.” Jennifer tisked.

“Is he starting school this year?” George asked.

It was the first time you heard him speak apart from a brief greeting drowned out by his wife but it didn’t phase you. The hint of a British accent across his words didn't either, all too used to the same from your own husband. How likely that the suburbs of America brought two Brits as next-door neighbours. Comedically written in the stars, or something of the sort.

“Yeah, he’ll be starting kindergarten next week.” you exhaled, “Big steps.”

“So is James.” George said, “I’m sure they’ll be in the same class. Would be good for them to have a little friend before being thrown into a classroom.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” you sighed thankfully, setting a hand to your chest, “Even that alone brings so much ease to the conscience. I’ve been worried about how he’d transition to this whole new place.”

George smiled knowingly, “And especially when your first is going off to school for the first time.”

“Definitely.”

Footsteps across the foyer floor behind you pulled your attention away from your new neighbours to your husband stepping out onto the porch with you to see what was taking so long - undoubtedly you were tattled on by your five-year-old. You welcomed his arm around your waist as you introduced your new neighbours to him and him to them and they shared brief pleasantries.

“We won’t keep you.” Jennifer took a step back, “I know it’s probably close to dinner time.”

George took one step up onto the stone stairs of your porch to offer out the bakeware, “We just wanted to bring you a little something to say welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“That’s so thoughtful. Thank you so much!” you took it from him.

“Such a nice change to have nice neighbours after the nightmare of living in Manhattan.” Andrew joked.

“Oh, totally. We don’t mess with the city-dwellers.” George waved his hand casually, rising light laughter among your little group. He took a step back towards his wife who was already clearly trying to urge him back towards their house, but he reiterated honestly, “Anything you need, we’re right next door. Don’t be strangers.”

“Thanks a lot!” Andrew raised his hand up in a brief wave and you wished them a good night as they herded their two kids back towards their house and you were gently steered back inside by your husband.

The apple crisp was placed on the kitchen counter and you served some for dessert to your little family. It wasn’t chocolate, candy, or ice cream so Richard wasn’t too impressed, but as adults, you and Andrew both swore it was the best dessert you had in a while - even surpassing your own. You made a mental note to find a way to thank the neighbours next time you saw them.

Having just moved in, your available time was few and far between throughout that weekend and into the beginning of the following week. Your plethora of boxes that needed unpacking as well as your young son who needed to be prepared and set for his first day of school kept you busy and it didn’t help that after the weekend, Andrew was back to work full time, needing to leave earlier to commute into the city and ultimately getting home later for that same reason. You were just appreciating the last few days you had with your son before he was going to be in school for the next two decades. The looming loneliness almost had you craving another baby but the time just never felt right.

Wednesday was Richard’s first day of school and he was that perfect expected mix of nervous and excited. He was already eating his cereal at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to the TV in the adjacent family room when Andrew returned from his early morning run to get ready for work before the sun had even passed the horizon. With a five-year-old, every morning was an early morning but a commuting husband only stressed that fact further.

In his white t-shirt and short white Fila shorts, Andrew was quite the looker as he joined you and your son in the kitchen for good morning kisses before he had to run upstairs to shower and get ready for the day. The white clothing stood out against his tanned skin and dark features right down to the white socks and running shoes. He was still that tall, dark, and handsome stranger you fell in love with those few short years ago and the way your eyes trailed after his legs in those itty bitty shorts only had the desire to fill the second bedroom upstairs heating across your cheeks. But you quickly turned back to your work at the counter prepping Richard’s lunch for school.

Andrew was gone in under an hour and your driveway was left empty as he took the family car for his commute to the train station where he would then take transit into the city. Since the car would be gone every day, Richard was set to take the school bus to school which was a whole new experience for both the five-year-old and yourself. You held his hand as you closed your front door behind you and started on your short walk down the front path of your house and along the curb of the street to the bus stop. Richard’s blue backpack looked almost huge on his back and he carried his metal Flintstones lunch box in the hand that wasn’t claimed by yours.

At the nearest intersection in your quiet suburbia, a few parents and kids were already standing there and waiting for the bus. Richard tugged at your hand and when you looked down at him, he took his hand out of yours to point to the small forming crowd, “I see James, Mommy!”

“You can go run and say hello. I won’t go anywhere.” you promised.

He rushed across the street to the sidewalk and met up with his neighbourly friend he had met on moving day. Sure enough, James’ father was also waiting for the bus to arrive like some of the other parents with his daughter sitting in his arms, and as you approached, you shared quiet ‘good morning’s.

“First day jitters?” you asked lightheartedly.

“Yeah,” George sighed with a melancholy smile, “Although more so me, apparently.”

“Preaching to the choir.” you agreed.

There was a pause as you both stared fondly at your boys talking excitedly together with their seemingly huge backpacks and perfectly styled first-day-of-school hair. You sensed yourself being stared at so you looked back to him only to find the culprit being his young daughter perched in his arms.

“Good morning to you too.” you said sweetly to her. She smiled shyly and leaned her head against George’s as if to hide from you as a stranger.

He rubbed her back and coaxed her, “Say ‘good morning’, Nance.”

She shook her head and tightened her little arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, I wanted to thank you and your wife for the delicious apple crisp.” you said, steering the subject away from the unwanted attention to the shy little girl. George glanced at you as you continued, “Andrew and I agreed that it was the best we’ve ever had.”

“That’s great to hear! I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just found the recipe in the recent issue of Home Cooking magazine and thought I’d give it a try.”

Your eyes widened, “You made it?”

George chuckled, “Yeah. I made it. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well…no…I guess not.” you stammered, trying to collect your words before you embarrassed yourself, “I’ve just never seen my husband pick up a measuring cup yet alone a whole recipe in all six years we’ve been together. I’m impressed.”

He simply shrugged modestly and gave his daughter a little bounce to try and bring a smile to her face, “Baking is just something I like to do in my spare time when I’m not running after these two crazies.”

“I’ll get that bakeware back to you this week. Don’t want to keep you from your passion projects.”

“No rush!” George promised, “I have plenty.”

“Mommy!” Richard ran right into your legs, burying his face against your thigh, and you only had to glance up to find the cause of his panic was the yellow school bus turning the corner.

“Aw, Ritchie.” you smiled fondly and crouched down in front of him to take his soft face in your hands, “You and James are gonna have so much fun today! And when you get home, I will meet you right here in this very same spot and we’re going to have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner…your favourite.”

He threw his arms around your neck and you held him close as the bus stopped by the curb and opened the doors for the kids. The older few got on with no issues but a few of the younger ones were facing the similar sense of anxiety as Richard was. Even James was lingering close to George despite the way he tried to play it off.

“Okay, my handsome boy.” you gently guided your son away from you and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “The faster you go, the faster you come home!”

He nodded sadly.

George added with a pat to his son’s head, “You two stick together today, alright?”

The boys nodded.

You told your son you loved him and left him with one more kiss before he and his new friend were getting on the school bus together with the rest of the kids. You and George waited there until the bus was long gone around the corner and the other parents started to disperse. Since you were next door neighbours, the two of you walked back towards home together with the added company of George’s daughter still in his arms.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked you casually as you navigated the tree lined street.

“Still unpacking a little.” you confessed. “I feel like it’s been going on forever.”

“I don’t miss that.” he chuckled faintly, “When Jenn and I moved here when we were expecting James it felt like we were never going to get out of the hoard of boxes.”

“Truly. But I just put on my records and get busy.” you shrugged, tucking your hands in the pockets of your blue jeans.

“Are you much of a music listener?” George asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been playing Bryan Adam’s album on basically repeat since it came out last year.”

“Cuts Like A Knife?”

You looked over at him with a grin, “Yeah! You know it?”

“Of course. I’m quite into music myself.”

“So is Andy.” you looked back to the street beneath your feet with each slow step side by side, “We met in a music club one night back in ‘78 and you could say he literally swept me off my feet. He plays some guitar but I can’t play an instrument to save my life. We’re hoping Ritchie gets his talent.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of George’s lips but he nodded modestly, “That’s great. Jenn and I have the same mindset for our two - although I don’t know if she has any musical talent because she claims she never has the time.”

“Maybe I should use that excuse.” you chuckled, “I might deafen you if I ever pick up Andy’s guitar - or if he ever lets me. So if you hear anything that sounds like a dying cat from the next house over, that’s just me and my wonderful musical renditions.”

Stopping by the curb between your two houses, George shared in your smile and your gaze lingered on the way his light eyes shone in the morning sun. He hiked his daughter a bit higher on his hip and readjusted his hands under her bum as he replied smoothly, “I doubt you’re that bad.”

You waved your hand passively as if to brush off his niceties, “You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, all you’ll be hearing is my record player. Please tell me if it gets too loud and disruptive. I can get carried away sometimes.”

“I won’t, but it’s a kind offer.” he smiled with a cock of his head. “Seems you like good music anyway so who am I to complain?”

You set your hands on your hips with an up-turn of your nose in his direction, a mirrored amused smile on your lips at his playfulness, “Well then, I take my role as neighbourhood DJ very seriously. Any requests, you know where I live.”

“I might take you up on that; watch out.”

Your conversation naturally faded out under the waving shade of the lush trees that stretched over your suburban street like a canopy and Nancy tapped George’s cheek shyly to get his attention. He looked at her expectantly and she leaned in to whisper to him under the presence of a stranger - you. The quietness of his youngest had George smiling fondly and he rubbed her back with a soft “okay” before looking to you,

“We have to head back - important date with cartoons and snacks are awaiting us.”

“Of course.” you took a step back towards your lawn, “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too. And I’m sure we’ll see each other again in the same spot at 3pm sharp.”

You nodded, “That we will.”

Then, he headed across the lawn towards his house that was nestled closely beside yours and with the satisfaction of a nice conversation with your new neighbour fresh in your heart, you made your way into your own house to start your first day all alone.

It wasn’t until the next day that you were able to bring over the bakeware to your neighbours’ since you wanted to make a point to wash it first. Richard was off at school again and after lunch you walked across your shared lawn to the house beside yours, sparkling white dish in your hands. You ascended the few stone steps to the front door and knocked against the glass, hidden from the inside by sheer curtains. After only a few moments, someone appeared behind the door and then it was opened to reveal George.

He smiled warmly at you, “Hey, neighbour.”

You couldn’t hide your slight startle from seeing him, trying to play it cool with a friendly smile and the bakeware held out towards him, “Hi. I brought back your dish. Washed up and everything.”

“Oh, thanks so much.” he took it from you, “You didn’t have to wash it. I’m sure you already have enough on your plate.”

“No trouble. It was the least I could do.” you assured him.

“Did you want to come in?” he asked, “If you don’t have more boxes to unpack.”

You chuckled softly, “I could actually use a break from that overwhelming presence of cardboard.”

“Yeah?” he stepped aside with a warm smile and a cock of his head, “Come on in.”

The wood paneled foyer welcomed you in and you stepped over the threshold with a quiet thank you, your flat shoes landing dully against the linoleum tile floors. George shut the door behind you and led you straight through the modest house towards the kitchen, passed the foyer console table that was lined with photographs of his children around a centred wedding photo of him and Jennifer. Your eyes skimmed them on the way past as you followed him into the kitchen.

“I couldn’t help but expect your wife to answer.” you confessed once you passed by the stairs and entered into the kitchen at the back of the house, the fluorescent lighted ceiling tiles really brightening the space with that 1984 modern touch, “Are you taking the day off?”

“Nope. Everyday is a work day for me. I’m a stay at home dad…Jenn brings home the bacon.” George explained as he opened one of the wood cabinets and crouched down to stack the clean bakeware with the rest under the counter. He then walked around the small island to the corner of the kitchen where the kettle was resting on the stove, “Would you like tea or anything?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

He filled the kettle at the kitchen sink before setting it on the stove again and turning on the heat to boil the water. You stood just out of the way, head whirling with the concept that he was the one who stayed home while his wife worked. You couldn’t help but be nosy.

“So what does Jennifer do for work?”

George opened the fridge to take out the carton of milk, “She’s an executive assistant to some big shot CEO in the city. He’s pretty demanding so she’s always somewhere or another.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of her.” George pulled a tight lipped smile as he fetched two mugs from one of the cupboards and set them on the counter as the kettle boiled. “We knew when we got married that we wanted at least one of us to be home with the kids as they grew up and her job was already pretty set in stone and secure so we agreed that I’d take the at-home responsibilities.”

“Hence the apple crisp skills.”

“Exactly.” George leaned back against the counter opposite you and he crossed his arms over his chest casually, “Although with two little ones, I’m surprised I have time for much of that. It’s so hectic sometimes. I guess that’s the one good thing about James going off to school now; one less kiddo to chase after during the day.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sure.” you agreed politely before glancing around the unfamiliar house, “Where’s your other?”

“Napping. We went to the park earlier then had lunch and she was knackered. I’m sure she won’t bother us.”

“Never a bother.” you tisked, “I love kids.”

“But you only have one?” George asked before quickly following it up with a, “Sorry if that’s an invasive statement.”

“No, no. You’re fine.” you shrugged, “Where we lived before was a tiny apartment in Manhattan that Andrew had bought when he was a bachelor after moving from London. Ritchie was literally sleeping in the den with the desk and filing cabinet and things. There was literally no room for another kid.”

“And the time was right to move into a proper house?”

“Yeah. We didn’t feel totally settled in the city and with a young kid I felt like he needed a yard to run around in.”

“I understand that. That’s why we moved out here after we were married. The appeal is just so much nicer than Manhattan when thinking of settling down.”

There was something about George that felt so trustworthy and kind and you found yourself easily relaxing in his company enough to confess, “We didn’t have the luxury of planning. Our relationship was a little…out of order.”

The whistle on the kettle blew and George turned to take it off the stove and shut off the heat while also continuing your conversation, “Out of order? What do you mean?”

“Well…we got married because I was pregnant.”

George’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ in realization and he glanced over at you for a brief moment as he filled the mugs, not quite knowing what to say.

“Married at 20 isn’t totally ideal.” you chuckled, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the tile floor. “But we were in love so it was okay. And Richard is the best kid we could have asked for.”

“All worked out then.” George said with a kind smile in your direction.

You nodded faintly, “Yeah.”

“Milk? Sugar?” he asked with a gesture to the filled and steeping mugs.

“Milk would be great, thanks.”

George prepped the tea and even grabbed a few cookies from the cookie jar to place on a plate for your early afternoon snack and then you followed him back down the hallway and towards the formal living room adjacent to the foyer, passing the photographs once again. The built-in bookcases along the far wall housed more pictures and trinkets from over the years and your eyes lingered on them as you sat on the blue upholstered couch and George arranged your drinks on coasters on the cherry coffee table. With you on one end of the couch, he sat on the other end with a respectable distance between you.

“I was just admiring your photographs.” you confessed when you finally tore your gaze away from the collection across the shelves and you leaned forward to grab your tea with a quiet thanks to him.

“Yeah.” he smiled fondly as he glanced over the frames he was all too familiar with, “I like having them around.”

“The wedding one in the foyer was really sweet.”

George sipped his tea with that gentle upturn of his lips and an acknowledging, “Mhm.”

“How long have you two been married?”

George leaned back on the couch and looked to the ceiling in thought, his mug held at a rest on top of his blue jean clad thigh, “We were married in ‘77 I think…the years seem to get a little foggy. And Jenn doesn’t like to make a big deal about anniversaries so it’s not like we diligently keep track.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t she like to make a big deal?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, really. I think she’s so busy all the time that having one less thing to worry about is easier. The first few years were celebrated and even planned the odd stay-cation but after the five year mark and having kids…it’s just easier to not really bother as much.”

“I guess so. I think Andy and I are the same way…although we never really had the money for stay-cations or elaborate gifts anyway. He’ll just buy me flowers.”

“Flowers are good.” George smiled over at you.

“Yeah.” you exhaled.

“I’m more of the romantic one in my marriage but Jenn isn’t into the whole bit of gifts and time and whatnot so I’ve had to learn to cut back or she gets so overwhelmed.”

You frowned and met his gaze, “That makes me sad.”

He shrugged with a melancholy smile, “Eh, it’s okay. We had our share of mushy love in high school anyway. Maybe we’re just too old for all that now.”

“High school sweethearts?” you pried.

“Mhm.” George’s eyes sparkled. “Met her in our first year of high school when my family had just moved here from London. We were the graduating class of ‘73.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to do the mental math for a moment before finally asking, “So how old are you then?”

George cocked his head to the side with an amused expression, “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t want to answer that.” you laughed, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked down to your steaming mug of tea held in your lap.

He spared you with his answer, “I’m 29.”

“Okay, not far off from us. We’re both 26.” you added.

“Still young.” George bantered lightly, “Did you want more kids? Now that you have a bigger house and all.”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted a whole bunch…Andrew not so much though. He took some time to warm up to Ritchie when I told him I was pregnant the first time so I’m not sure how he’d feel about the pitch of a second.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask. Marriage is all about give and take, right?”

George’s statement inflicted a bit of ache in your chest as it forced you to reflect back on your six years with Andrew and the desires and plans of your own that you had pushed down to help him thrive in his own life and career. You sipped your tea quietly without a reply, taking a second to daydream about the filled house you had always wanted ever since you were a little girl. A house full of kids and a little job for yourself on the side and a husband who treated you like a queen. You were treated well by him - that was never a question - but everything always felt as if it was falling short to your expectations.

“Sorry.” George’s voice tore you from your thoughts, “I don’t mean to force my way into your marriage as some sort of psychologist.”

“No, no. That’s okay. It just has me thinking.” you looked over at him again with a melancholy smile, “We were just so young and I didn’t really have a chance to know myself or what I wanted before we got married. Andy’s such a good guy but sometimes there’s some sort of disconnect in what we both strive for.”

“That’s fair. But even time doesn’t guarantee that perfect connection. Like how Jenn and I differ with what we want in terms of romance and showing our love. I love the words, the gifts, the intimacy…whereas she just likes when I do her laundry or make her lunch.”

“Got those reverse gender roles, huh?”

George cracked a half smile, “That’s actually very true. I finish tidying this entire house by the time she gets home from work, the kids are already bathed and in bed, and she’s ‘too tired’ to spend any time with me. Honestly, I don’t even know how we ended up with two kids.”

You both shared faint laughter behind casual sips of your tea.

“That’s not much different on our side of the fence.” you agreed. “Must be that working world that just absolutely obliterates someone’s intimacy desires. Is it that tiring?”

“Commuting an hour and a half into the city there and back every day doesn’t help.”

You tisked, “Of course not.”

“It’s easy to feel lonely. I didn’t understand it when I was growing up…seeing my mom being a homemaker and all…but when you’re in it…”

It was the first time someone truly acknowledged how you felt - and a man at that. Even your husband didn’t quite get it, but why would he? But suddenly this stranger was speaking the words that you were too ashamed to even think about and you felt like a weight of a cloud was pulled from your shoulders.

“Yeah.” you breathed, sharing the air across the couch with your unwavering gazes, “That’s exactly it.”

“And then your kids grow up…”

“And then what do you have?” you concluded his sentence, “What is your purpose after that?”

George tisked lightly and scooted slightly closer so he could set his hand on your knee, “You have purpose, okay? You’re not just a mother and not just a homemaker and not just a wife. You’re a woman too.”

You bit lightly at your bottom lip, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes that suddenly seemed to push a warmth through your chest and up to your cheeks.

“You have purpose and you have value.” he told you like he was telling you the most honest truth.

“Thank you.” you mouthed back, worried that if you spoke out loud, your voice might break.

He gave your knee a gentle reassuring squeeze, “Of course.”

You both stayed there, frozen, for a moment, just staring at each other. You felt some sort of warmth all around you from more than just the half empty mug of tea still clutched in your hands, realizing how close you were now. Tearing your gaze away from his light eyes, you naturally glanced at his lips and watched as they perked up at the corner in a gentle smile, moulding the shape of his soft lips and his precisely shaped cupid's bow that you couldn’t help but stare at.

The moment you got the urge to lean in, you turned your head away from him and cleared your throat as you set your mug on the coffee table. His hand was removed from your leg.

“I should go…” you mumbled.

George stood when you did, “Okay.”

“Thank you…for the tea and the company.” you said to the ground as if scared to look at him in fear of feeling those strange warm flutters again.

“Of course. I’m always here…whenever you want to talk or anything.” he promised before leaning down to pick up the plate of untouched cookies, “Biscuit for the long journey home?”

You smiled at his playfulness and when you grabbed one from the plate, you finally looked him in the eye again, “Thank you.”

“Let me walk you out.”

He held his arm out for you to urge you to lead the way and you slid between him and the coffee table to make your way to the front door, trying not to focus on the scent of his cologne as you drifted by him so closely. You needed to get out of there.

You barely remembered saying goodbye or the ghostly touch to your arm he offered in passing before you were out in the fresh air of your neighbourhood and you were trying not to stumble down his front path. The cookie was still held in your hand and your startled eyes darted back over your shoulder to his shut front door before you broke out into a brisk walk across the lawn and onto your own property.

In the peace of your house, you shut your own front door once back inside and you leaned against it heavily, your chest rising and falling in your half panicked breaths. Nothing had happened but it felt like it had and the strange feeling of guilt bubbled up in your stomach. You had never before had thoughts of another man apart from Andrew but you pinned it to George’s manners and how he only said what you wanted to hear. There was nothing to feel guilty about because absolutely nothing happened. Just because you thought something didn’t mean you did anything wrong.

The cookie was still in your hand and you pushed yourself away from the door to take it straight into the kitchen and you tossed it in the garbage bin, closing the lid loudly.

Andrew got home around 6:45, just when you were putting dinner on the table. Richard hopped out of his chair to greet him with an excited hug and your husband crouched down to meet him with a wide grin and open arms. He asked his son how school was and half listened to his youthful explanation of his day as he greeted you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth and drifted past you to his seat at your dining room table.

You ate together as a family like you almost always did and then when Andrew retired to the family room to wind down and watch some TV, you took Richard upstairs to get ready for bed. The little boy was bathed and dressed and afterwards he rushed downstairs to say goodnight to his father before you were tucking him into his single bed in his blue wallpapered room. You always loved watching your son fall asleep; there was something so peaceful about it and gave you a moment to admire his soft features without him running away with youthful exuberance. With a kiss to his head, you left him to sleep and shit his door behind you before making your way back downstairs.

MTV was playing on the chunky TV across the family room and Andrew glanced up at you from the couch when you entered. He held his arm up and you gladly took the spot beside him and cuddled up close. He rested his head against yours with a soft sigh as he focused back on the music video he was watching with the host of MTV counting up that week's hits from the charts.

“Imagine if I was #1.” he spoke quietly, almost dreamily. “Making it big in some internationally known band rather than rotting in some office in Manhattan. We’d have the money to afford an even bigger house.”

You hummed plainly in acknowledgement and slid your arm around his middle as if in some desire to melt completely into him.

Your lack of response had him looking over at you, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” you mumbled.

You weren’t looking at him but you could feel how he stayed staring at you for a few more seconds before he turned back to the TV too, not wanting to press you further. But then you shifted at his side so you could tuck your legs under yourself on the couch and face him properly.

“Andy.”

“What’s up, sugar?” he rested his head back against his couch so he could look at you again.

The random pop music video played on in the background.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” you confessed, trailing the hem of his collared work shirt with your finger.

“Alright.” he leaned forward to mute the TV and the smiling dancers danced to nothing on the screen, giving you his full attention.

When he was settled back in his spot on the couch, his big brown eyes on you and his hand on your thigh right where George’s had been earlier that day, you just blurted it out, “I want to have another baby.”

Said big brown eyes blinked at you once, twice, then his eyebrows furrowed for a half second before he spoke, “Oh.”

“We have a bigger house now and that empty room upstairs has been just calling to me or something. And I’ve always wanted many kids and Ritchie is the best we could ask for…where’s the harm in having a second of him?”

Andrew sighed and gave your thigh a squeeze just like George had, “I dunno, sugar.”

“Why not?” you frowned and leaned in closer to him, almost pleadingly.

“Well, work is busy so I won’t be home much and we just are getting settled in this new place-”

“We’ll still have nine months to prepare!” you reminded him quickly.

Andrew laughed lightly towards the carpet, “Yes, I know, but now Ritchie’s away at school and he’s already big and-”

“Which means I won’t have my hands as full taking care of a baby and a kid at home.”

“I don’t think we need another. I am perfectly happy with our little family as is. Aren’t you?”

You nibbled at your bottom lip as you stared at him while he looked at you expectantly and everything in your heart wanted to tell him no but your quiet voice abandoned you with a soft, “Yeah, I guess.”

Andrew lifted his hand from your lap to tuck your hair behind your ear before pulling you close by his arm around your shoulders, “Maybe you’re just saying this because you’re not used to being alone since Ritchie started school.”

“Maybe.” you muttered.

“I am very happy with the life we have. I don’t need anything more.” he tried to be sweet about it but your heart ached and even as he kissed the corner of your mouth, you had to force the smile to come to your lips.

Andrew rested his head against yours as he unmuted the TV and the top hit pop song filled your family room and the big house that felt empty in your heart. Your eyes drifted away from the screen to peer through the adjacent window that looked out towards the neighbour’s property and although only looking at red brick and white siding, you silently and guiltily wished you had what they had.

Since Richard had no siblings, you knew that it would be important for him to socialize outside of school with kids his own age at various activities. He had expressed interest in baseball not long before so you jumped on the opportunity to sign him up for the local little league team just before the fall season was set to start. You, yourself, were excited for a bit of a distraction after the ultimate letdown that was your conversation with your husband a few evenings prior although Andrew went about his days like nothing was wrong.

On Tuesday evening, you were getting Richard into his baseball uniform for his first practice, making sure that the shirt and pants fit him properly on his young body that seemed to be growing faster than you could buy clothes for it. He stood proudly in his mirror in his room as you adjusted his navy blue baseball cap over his dark hair and swooped his messy bangs out of his face. Grinning up at you in approval, he didn’t even have to say a word for you to read exactly what was on his mind.

“You look so grown up, Ritchie!” you gushed, crouching down to his height for one last shirt adjustment, “You excited?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna get a home run!” he announced.

“I bet you are!” you held up your hand and he smacked his little palm against yours for a high five. “Come now, let’s show Daddy and then get your shoes on.”

Richard rushed right out of his bedroom and hurried down the stairs in his socked feet, “Daddy, I’m ready!”

Andrew was already waiting by the front door and seeing his son coming down the stairs brought a beaming grin to his face, “Looking so spiffy, little slugger.”

You passed over the baseball shoes to your husband, “Can you put his shoes on for him while I get the snacks?”

“Of course.” Andrew took the pair from you and crouched down in front of the little boy who obediently rested his hands on his father’s shoulders and stuck one foot out for a shoe.

You returned to the kitchen that still had the dinner dishes in the sink in need of washing but time was already cutting it close and you were already in a bit of a rush to get to the field in time. The cooler was packed and sitting beside the fridge and you checked that the watermelon slices and Hi-C juice boxes were tucked away with some bags of ice before locking the lid and carrying it back down the hallway to your family. Andrew took the cooler from you to carry it to the car himself and you ushered your excited five-year-old out of the door after him so you could close up the house.

As you walked down the front path to the driveway, you couldn’t help but glance over to your neighbours’ and notice their family car was missing from their house. You forced yourself to ignore the curiosity that was getting the better of you as you had been in a constant strive to pretend absolutely nothing had happened between you and George. In reality, nothing did happen, but the strange feeling of guilt was eating at your heart. Some distance would do just the trick, you were sure.

It was nice to have Andrew able to come to Richard’s first little league practice, especially after he was tired from a long day of commuting and work, but you thanked him silently with a quick kiss to his cheek as you climbed in the passenger seat of your station wagon. His warm smile back at you still managed to bring that little flutter to your heart after your six years together and you broke his gaze to glance to your son in the back seat. Richard gave you two thumbs up and a beaming grin that was all his father’s, making his big brown eyes scrunch closed at the corners, all ready to go to his first event.

The community park was only about a five minute drive from your house and once Andrew pulled into the gravel parking lot, it appeared that there were still some families pulling up. The baseball diamond looked busy though so you hurried to get your son all signed in and so he could meet his teammates and coach. Andrew took the cooler and your hand while Richard ran ahead in his own determination to socialize. You joined the queue of parents by the team dugout who were signing in their sons and as you waited, you both watched Richard help himself to the group of boys who were playing in the red sand of the baseball diamond, all in matching navy blue uniforms with their own chosen number on their backs.

After a few moments, Andrew gave your hand a squeeze to get your attention, “I’m going to put the cooler down and find us a spot on the bleachers. You okay to sign him in?”

“Of course.” you agreed.

He left you with a brief kiss before heading off to the metal bleachers that were already dotted with parents and families alike. You watched him go for a few seconds before turning back to the lineup you were in, only to find yourself face to face with George himself. You were so startled that you nearly choked over your breath but he just smiled cooly.

“Hello, neighbour.”

“Hey.” you stumbled out. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at his blue baseball jersey and then back to you with a casual wave of the clipboard in his hand, “I’m the coach.”

“Oh, right, of course you are.” you chuckled faintly.

“Your boy signing up?”

“Yeah, his name should be on the list. Richard Ridgeley.”

George, who had looked down at his clipboard after his initial question, only glanced back up at you with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” you asked worriedly.

He licked away his smile and looked back down to his list with a half shake of his head, “Nothing.”

If it was anyone else, you would have been mad, but it was George and you knew he meant no harm. You couldn’t help but smother a smile of your own in return, “Are you making fun of my son’s name?”

“Not at all. I love alliteration. Very poetic.”

“Okay, shut up.” you laughed. “I bet your last name is no better.”

“Russell.” he told you smoothly with a playful glance.

You scoffed teasingly, “Of course…George Russell…what a champion kinda name.”

“Who knows…maybe I’ll be MVP before you know it and you’ll be seeing my face everywhere…getting totally sick of me.”

“Mhm.” you tried to steady the racing of your heart at the realization that you were already trying not to see his face everywhere, desperate to change the subject, “So is my kid on the list or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s here.” George crossed his name off, “I also see you’re down for snack duty.”

“Sure am. Brought my cooler and everything.” you gestured aimlessly towards the bleachers.

George looked back up at you but his eyes drifted past you with a tight smile. Before you could look over your shoulder to see what he was looking at, Andrew appeared beside you and set his hand on your back.

“All signed up?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re all set.” you answered calmly.

“Hey, mate, good to see you.” George held his hand out to your husband and they shook hands politely.

“You too.” Andrew smiled, “It’s been a while.”

“Sure has.”

“Well we should let you get set up.” you said, taking a step away from George and closer to Andrew.

“No worries.” George adjusted his cap on his head with a smile, “See ya after.”

Then he was walking off into the baseball diamond to corral the little boys to begin their practice. You and Andrew headed back to the bleachers and to the spot he had saved for you with the cooler and you sat on the metal bench between the other interested parents. It was surprising that so many parents wanted to stay and watch even if it was just a practice but it reinstated your good feelings about your new neighbourhood and how involved everyone was with the community.

While George directed the boys through throwing drills and showing them how to swing the bats, you found yourself staring more at him than you son. There wasn’t really much to watch when the other kids were taking their turns anyway and there was something about George in those light wash blue jeans that just drew your eyes in shamelessly. They just fit so nicely over the curve of his ass and you habitually licked your lips with a focused cock of your head.

Andrew’s arm draping around your shoulders made you jump and you pressed a hand to your heart despite his grinning face and you huffed, “You scared me.”

“That into the practice, huh?” he chuckled.

“Yeah.” you mumbled and looked back to the field for a moment, pulling Richard out of the crowd of boys with ease before you glanced back at your husband, “I’m glad you could come.”

“Of course.” Andrew smiled over at you in the evening sunshine, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I dunno. With work and the longer commute and all…you’ve seemed more tired…busy.”

Andrew sighed and pulled you closer by your shoulders and you rested your head against his as he spoke to you quietly, “Yeah, it has been a lot to get used to. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much and if you feel like I’m letting you down.”

“Oh, you’re not letting me down.” you assured him, lifting your head up again so you could give him your full attention, “I’m proud of you for sticking with it even when it gets hard. You work so hard for Ritchie and for me and I really do appreciate it.”

Andrew reached his free hand up to tap your nose lightly and you shared in his calm smile before he was guiding you towards him by the chin for a kiss or two.

“I love you.” he whispered against your cheek.

Your eyes drifted back out to the field, “I love you too.”

At the halfway mark, George called you over with the snacks and Andrew let you slip out of his arms to do your little job. You helped to hand out the juice boxes and watermelon slices to each little boy and most said thank you - and your son even gave you a kiss with his thanks. George stood beside you to watch as his little players ate their snack and relaxed on the grass for a few minutes and once your stock was empty, you closed up your cooler.

“Thanks again for bringing the snack.” George said as you stood up.

“Any time.” you smiled, “Is it a rotation thing or is it one parent for the season?”

“It depends. Why, are you willing to be the designated snack-bringer?”

“For you, sure.”

It was out of your mouth before you could think about how it would sound and George’s expression rose into a hint of amusement.

You cleared your throat, “And the boys, of course.”

“Of course.” George nodded.

You stared at each other for a few seconds.

Then, his hand was on your arm, “I should get back to practice. I will expect you here with snacks next week then.”

He was gone before you could process the warmth that his touch left and you just smiled and nodded after him as he herded the snacking boys back to the diamond, the sunshine yellow '63' printed boldly on the back of his jersey. You carried your empty cooler to the bleachers again and sat yourself stiffly beside your husband who was oblivious to anything going on and, instead, was waving to your son from across the field.

For the next week or two, you ran into George more than you’d have ideally wanted. Between school drop off and pick up, little league baseball practice, and the casual neighbourly run-ins, it was starting to feel nearly impossible to avoid him. And, at the same time, the more you saw him, the more you didn’t want to avoid him. There was something so charismatic about him that made him so easy to talk to and to confide in and you hated to confess that you took him up on his offer for tea once or twice during the week. While you sipped in his living room, there was never a silent moment as there was always something to talk about and even little Nancy was starting to warm up to you just a little.

Despite your fluctuating feelings towards your neighbour, your guilt was something that stayed stagnant. You loved Andrew with your whole heart and you never once doubted that, but the strange warmth that spread across your skin at a mere glance at George was unlike anything you had felt before. You swore it would be something you would take to the grave. No one - especially not George or Andrew - needed to know the internal battle you were facing.

Since your first conversation with George at his house two weeks earlier, you only started to see more and more of the truth behind your honest chat. Andrew was working himself exhausted between the commute into the city and the lengthy hours which left almost no time for you to relax as husband and wife the way you would have appreciated. You tried to talk to him here and there about it but you also didn’t want to make him feel badly - you knew he was trying his absolute best and for that you were grateful. But still, at the end of the day, you were still a woman with needs and it was growing increasingly more frustrating to sit around and wait for him to give you the satisfaction that you needed.

The one good thing about Richard being off at school was that you had more private time which, with children, often was incredibly few and far between. With your record player on, you were listening to Madonna’s album as you vacuumed the main floor of your house, letting your mind wander on its own. Maybe it was the emptiness of your house or maybe it was a certain time in your hormonal cycle but as the seconds ticked by, your desire to tend to the house diminished greatly. Finally, the vacuum was turned off mid chore and you rested it down on the carpet before flopping back onto the couch with a huff to the ceiling. Your music played on from the other room, the familiar scratch of the vinyl record bringing comfort and you closed your eyes for a moment to let yourself be taken by the celestial voice of Madonna.

As if with a mind of their own, your fingers inched their way over your thigh and up to the waistband of your straight leg blue jeans and you popped the button, taking an habitual glance towards the front door as if someone were going to walk right in unannounced. But you were in the complete privacy of your own home, away from the paper thin walls of Manhattan apartment buildings, and you could do as you so pleased. Your jeans were dropped to the carpeted floor.

Propping your feet up on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, you got yourself situated comfortably within the warm embrace of the sofa cushions and your eyes were drawn to your framed wedding photo that sat on the fireplace mantle directly in front of you. Licking your lips and then your fingertips, you didn’t tear your eyes away from it as you slipped your hand down the front of your underwear and refamiliarized yourself with your body.

It had been so long that the first graze of your fingers had your lips parting in a soft gasp, working yourself slowly without any sort of prior build up, gentle circles over your aching clit. You hadn’t realized how many weeks had gone by without any sort of touch like this until you got yourself in that position. Under slightly furrowed brows, you stared straight ahead at your wedding photo, eyes boring into those of your husband without so much as a blink; almost as if you were reconditioning yourself to direct your full entire attention at him and him alone.

No more nonsense thoughts of the neighbour.

Even though you spoke that line to yourself in warning, the concept just tasted so good to your mind with your hand down your panties and your legs spread in the middle of your sun-bathed family room. Flashes of him at the last little league game filled your head; the way his arms looked in that snug navy blue t-shirt standing out against his lightly tanned skin…his blue eyes sparkling every time he looked at you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter closed and your head fell back against the couch with a soft whimper, shutting out the framed photo with the curse of your own mind.

Little did you know, said neighbour was on his way over to your house at that very moment with a sealed Tupperware container in hand and a whistle on his lips. The faint muffled sound of Madonna leaking through your walls brought a fond smile to George’s face as he crossed over onto your property and made strides over your perfectly trimmed grass. His attention was caught by the sight of you through the single paned front window and he went to send you a smile and a wave until he stopped in his tracks at the realization of what he had stumbled upon.

There you were, lounged back on your couch, socked feet propped up on the coffee table with your legs spread and your hand nestled between them. The look on your face was nearly erotic as you faced the ceiling with an angelic furrowed expression and made yourself writhe under your own touch, any sounds muted by the music that filled your empty home.

George stepped away from the front window so as to not be caught and he turned to head back home to give you your privacy but before he crossed over the property line again, something stopped him. Almost like he was held by an invisible force, he stood dumbly at the edge of your lawn, staring at his house, the Tupperware container of homemade banana bread held in his hands. Everything in him knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help but glance back to the side of your white paneled home to the side window that gave him a direct glance inside and to the couch on which you sat.

If anyone drove by, they would have thought this man looked absolutely ridiculous just standing there, but he was captivated by you, watching you touch yourself to whatever thoughts were taking up your mind. Little did he know, but they were thoughts of him.

His name fell from your lips when you came, almost startling yourself in the process. As your body shuttered through the small waves of your orgasm, your eyes snapped open to land on your wedding photo again as if your husband had seen the whole thing. A furious blush came to your cheeks and you panted heavily as you tried to catch your bearings and process the realization of what you had just done. Sitting up a little more on the couch, you found yourself unable to look at the framed photograph again, instead, staring wide eyed into the darkened fireplace beneath.

A flutter through the window beside the fireplace caught your eye but when you looked, there was nothing there. You hurried to tug your jeans back on and buttoned them up before making a beeline to the kitchen to wash your hands and splash some cool water on your face. What was wrong with you? Your husband was going to walk through the door in four hours and you were going to have to kiss him hello with the mouth that just moaned another man’s name. You were going to have to face said man at the bus stop in an hour and that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Before you knew it,

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Silence.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Huh? Oh, me? Yeah…fine. It was fine. Nothing…important.” you looked to the sidewalk beneath your feet.

George nodded, “Nice.”

Silence.

“How was yours?” you asked.

“Fine. It was good.”

“Good.”

Silence.

You urged the bus to round the corner with the pleading glance of your eyes, desperate to escape the horribly awkward situation that was completely one sided. George cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another at your side. Neither of you knew what the other knew and somehow it made it that much worse. You swore that even a few of the other parents at the bus stop were catching onto your horrible tension and you tugged at the collar of your shirt habitually to try and get some air.

In reality, it was all in your head but, to be fair, George was all in your head too and that was the root of your issue. As you stood there, your mind taunted you with the thoughts that had clouded your mind that afternoon - curious imagination of how his lips would feel or how his hands could grab you or how his body would feel against yours, traced by your fingertips. You discreetly stepped away from him.

In perfect time, the bright yellow school bus rounded the corner and you took that opportunity to step even further away from George, feigning it as simply excitement to see your son. Like every afternoon, Richard ran off the bus and right into your arms and you hugged him tightly with your warm maternal greeting. You barely gave George a goodbye before you were encouraging your son to race you home - a perfect excuse to get as far away from George as possible…and as quickly as possible. Of course, despite the way you ran down your street in the afternoon breeze, you still let Richard get to the front door first and you let him inside with a ruffle to his hair and one last glance from where you came, almost as if you were hoping to see your neighbour trailing after you.

Later that evening, once Andrew was home and dinner was had and Ritchie was tucked into bed, you were desperate to repair the damage to your mind that you had caused by your own actions. Your husband was sitting in the same spot on the couch as you had been earlier that day, already in his pyjamas, a magazine in his hand as he read quietly by the light of the table lamp. He was oblivious but you felt as though just him sitting there would cause him to realize what you had done so the only way to prevent that was to bring your full and entire attention back to him - where it rightfully belonged.

You plucked the magazine from his hands and tossed it onto the coffee table, urging his eyes to raise to your face as you tossed a leg over his lap and sat yourself down on his thighs. His hands fell to your hips just as you swooped in to kiss him purposefully, lingering on his lips for a few seconds before offering him a bit of tongue. He humoured you for a few seconds before he was tilting his head back with a soft chuckle to break your kiss.

“What are you doing?” he asked playfully.

You slung your arms around his shoulders and leaned forward against his chest until your noses were almost touching, asking him almost pleadingly, “Have sex with me.”

Andrew’s hands gave your hips a squeeze, “You know I love you,”

“Mhm.”

“But I’m far too tired for that right now, sugar, I’m sorry.”

“Andy.” you dropped your head back in frustration, staring at the same part of the ceiling that you had earlier that day.

“I’ll be nothing but completely disappointing to you.” he argued lightly. “You deserve my best.”

You frowned and slid off his lap onto the couch beside him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, leaving his hand on your waist to keep you close and he kissed up your neck, “It was just a really exhausting day today. Maybe this weekend, okay?”

“Since when do we have to plan it?” you tisked.

“Since we got old.” he teased.

A small smile perked at the corner of your lips and you swatted him gently with the back of your hand, “Speak for yourself.”

Andrew kissed over your cheek and to your lips and you shared a few brief kisses before he replied softly, “We are the same age, in case you forgot, and thus we are going to get old together.”

Never before did that statement bring a tinge to your heart but in that moment it did and you could only pull a tight smile and nod in reply and he gave you one more kiss before shifting off the couch and taking you by the hand to lead you to bed.

By Friday, you seemed to have fallen back into your usual routine of pretending that George didn’t exist. The few times you saw each other in passing or at the baseball games were few and far between and conversations didn’t stray farther than a polite hello or shallow discussions about your sons or the weather. Your initial guilt due to your solo situation on your couch from earlier in the week seemed to die down and you were very thankful for that. George was a great guy and you appreciated him as your neighbour and wanted to keep it that way.

That might also have been a reason why he was the first person you thought to call when your washing machine flooded all over your basement floor just after lunch. If nothing else, he was kind and reliable. He came over right away with his tool box in hand and you opened the front door for him and led the way into the basement where the flood was occurring. The unfinished concrete floor was covered with a thin layer of cold water that only seemed to be leaking more from somewhere behind the washing machine.

“I haven’t even used it since we moved in!” you said as you stepped cautiously through the water to your laundry basket that was sitting protected on top of the machine. “First time and of course it goes to shit.”

“It’s okay.” George set his tool box on top of the adjacent dryer and then leaned over the two machines to see down between them and the wall, flashlight in hand. “Good you called. Wouldn’t want you flooding away.”

“My new house at that.” you added.

“Exactly.” George wrapped his hands around the sides of the washer and warned you politely, “Step back a bit.”

When you did, he heaved the machine away from the wall with a tight grunt and your eyes widened at the bulge of his biceps under his t-shirt. It certainly wasn’t a light thing to move so you coloured yourself impressed and you stayed out of his way as he managed to give himself enough space to get between the washer and the wall with a wrench from his tool box. You clutched your hands together and held them anxiously in front of your mouth as you watched him crouched down working, focusing your attention on hoping there was no damage done to your house rather than how his jeans fit him so nicely over his thighs.

“Nothing major.” he called out with his head still hidden by the washing machine, “Just a loose pipe. Guess they weren’t installed correctly.”

“Damn.” you tisked.

“Yeah,” George chuckled, his voice tight as he worked the wrench around the pipe to fix it for you, “That’s what you can expect from these installers on new builds. They’re getting sloppy.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

George straightened up carefully from behind the washing machine, “Same thing happened to us when we moved in, if you can believe. I actually liked to pay attention to what the plumber was telling me…and guess it helped to save you $30.”

Your eyes widened, “$30? My Lord.”

“Yeah,” George chuckled and set his wrench back in his tool box, “Should be all set now. If you have some towels we can use to mop up the floor that could be good. I can restart this load for you.”

“Sure. Thanks.” you headed back upstairs and traipsed your damp footsteps up to the second floor to retrieve all your towels you owned from the linen cupboard in the main bathroom.

Bringing them all back to the basement, George had restarted your load of laundry that you had attempted to put on - including detergent and fabric softener and even set it to the correct wash cycle for your blouses. He then showed you the most efficient way to mop up the water with the towels without allowing it to leak into the foundation of the house and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his knowledge base.

“I can’t thank you enough.” you said with a relieved sigh as you both stood on the bottom step of the basement stairs and admired the organized mess of towels soaking up the water.

“No problem at all.” George assured you modestly, “Was the most interesting thing to happen today.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you chuckled, “Nothing like a damsel in distress call to really shake up the lunch hour.”

“Hardly a damsel in distress.” George brushed his hand over your back casually, “You’re perfectly capable in many ways.”

You met his eye in the dim basement lighting before turning to look back up the flight of stairs as you cleared your throat, “Did you want tea or anything?”

“Sure. If you’re offering.”

As you led the way back upstairs and into your kitchen, you realized that was the first time he was in your house. Of course, it was when your basement was flooding and you had breakfast dishes still in the sink and Richard’s toy cars scattered all over the family room and part of you felt embarrassed as if you had to impress him for some reason.

“Sorry that the place is such a mess.” you rushed out as you hurried across the kitchen to try and make the mound of dishes in the sink look less disgusting.

“No need to apologise.” George tisked, “Realities of parenthood. I get it. I don’t judge.”

“Yeah.” you sent a calm smile over at him in silent thanks before focusing on filling up the kettle in the sink, ready to make you both tea just like he did for you that first day you truly talked.

George set his tool box on the round kitchen table and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he walked slowly around the kitchen and took in your shiny new house that was already starting to look like a home. The counter by the hallway archway was covered in pens and stamps and opened mail on which your address was written on each and addressed to ‘Mr and Mrs Andrew J Ridgeley’. George looked away, walking across the linoleum floor towards you and he leaned against the counter beside the stove as you turned on the burner and set the kettle down on top.

“Where’s Nancy today?” you asked casually.

“Oh, sometimes she goes to work with Jenn on Fridays and spends the day at the daycare in the office building. She has a few little friends there and whatnot so she likes it.” George explained.

“That’s nice.” you replied, “So on Fridays you really feel like an empty-nester like me, huh?”

George laughed faintly, “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Good thing I saved you then today.”

“Very good thing.” George agreed smoothly.

There was a calm pause between you as the kettle boiled on the stovetop and you looked away from his light-eyed gaze with a casual lick to your lips. You tapped your fingers against the countertop.

“Y’know,” George said, “I was worried you were avoiding me recently or something.”

You looked back at him, “What?”

“I just felt like you’ve been going out of your way not to talk to me or something so getting your call today kinda reassured me that we’re still on good terms.”

You let out a half laugh and rested your hand against your forehead for a brief moment in near embarrassment, “Actually…I kinda was, honestly.”

George’s eyes widened, “Oh? Did I do something?”

“No, no.” you assured him quickly, “We have just been spending a lot of time together and I didn’t want Andy to get the wrong idea.”

“Did he say something?”

“Well…no…but-”

“Then what wrong idea is there to get?”

You let out a soft nervous laugh without looking away from the steaming kettle but you didn’t offer him any sort of response. George cocked his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment that he was listening for your reasoning. You had his undivided attention. Why did it make you nervous?

“You’re just…” you sighed despite the anxious smile that you couldn’t lick away, staring unwaveringly at the stove, “Really sweet and really personable and I don’t want to get too comfortable and too close to where Andy might feel uncomfortable or suspicious. Or Jennifer, for that matter. There are boundaries, you know? I don’t want to overstep.”

“And if there weren’t boundaries? What would be different?”

The kettle whistled and you stalled in answering his question by taking it from the stove and turning off the burner so you could pour the water into the mugs to steep. Finally, you set the empty kettle back down and forced yourself to look at him, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be talking about this.”

“You started it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” you countered quickly, covering your bases.

“It’s not what you’re saying…it’s how you’re saying it.” George said smoothly. You were suddenly very attuned to how warm and rich his voice was and your eyes flicked across his face like they always did when he was around, wanting to look at every inch of him. He continued purposefully, “How you can’t stop staring at me, especially.”

You scoffed and turned away from him with a blush rising to your cheeks, “I’m not staring at you.”

“You were. You often do.” George teased. “I’m not a complete idiot, I know when someone is checking me out.”

“I don’t-” you laughed nervously down to your steaming mugs of tea, your hands falling gently onto the edge of the counter, “I don’t check you out.”

“Yes, you do.” George laughed just the same. “It’s okay. I don’t mind it. It’s flattering.”

You opened your mouth to reply with some defence but no words came to mind and you shut your mouth with a frustrated little huff and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes for a moment. With your cheeks so warm they could keep your tea hot, you almost wanted to leave if it wasn’t for the fact that it was your own kitchen you were both standing in.

When your hands dropped loudly to your sides, George leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest as he asked in retaliation, “Do you mind when I check you out?”

Offering a disbelieving laugh, you glanced over at him, “You don’t check me out.”

“Why do you say that?” he questioned.

“Why?” you were taken aback, “Because I dunno. Because why would you?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” George answered. “And I most definitely stare at you…although I must be better at hiding it than you are.”

You kept your eyes on his, eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, and you let a faint smile prick at your lips as you gave him a faint shake of your head.

“Can I confess something?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“The other day I came over here to bring you some banana bread I had baked but…I saw that you were already occupied on the couch.” he gestured haphazardly behind him towards your family room. “And I might have stared at you a little then.”

Your eyes widened and you raised your hands to your cheeks in realization, “Oh my God.”

“I’m really sorry, I should have just left when I first noticed but…” George sighed, “You looked fucking gorgeous when you were touching yourself like that.”

“That’s so embarrassing.” you mumbled despite your smile and the eye contact you kept with him.

“No, it’s not.” George shrugged, “We’re human…we can do whatever we need to in the privacy of our own homes.”

“With peeping neighbours in our windows.” you teased.

“Hey, now.” he laughed, reaching out to gently nudge your arm, “Not like I was standing out there with binoculars in one hand and my dick in the other.”

Your smile faltered for a second as if he had completely read your thoughts from that day and how you shamefully fantasized about him as you made yourself cum on your family couch. George’s hand grazed down your arm and his finger linked in the sleeve of your blouse for a brief moment as if he were debating something in his own mind.

Then, his eyes focused on yours once more and he asked as casually as the weather, “What were you thinking about?”

It was a question that would ultimately change the course of your life depending on how you answered but at the moment, you didn’t think that deeply about it. He was right there and he already confessed that he liked it when he stumbled across you like that, the least he deserved was an honest answer. Not to mention the gorgeous blue of his eyes was so mesmerizing that maybe you were a bit dizzy by him as you breathed out a soft, “You.”

Pin drop silence.

Unbreakable eye contact.

And then he was grabbing you by the back of your neck and yanking you towards him for a kiss that burned every inch of your skin.

Your hands grasped the front of his t-shirt to hold him as close as possible, letting your lips mould sloppily together in some sort of semblance of a kiss that easily progressed into more. Standing at the counter in your kitchen, you grabbed onto each other like you were life preservers and he kissed you with so much passion that you had nearly forgotten what it had been like to be craved so carnally like that. He nearly took the breath from your lungs, bending over you until your back was arched and your body took the shape of his. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair as your lips smacked together wetly, tongues pushing together for a greedy taste of infidelity; although your spouses were the last things on your minds.

The steeping tea was forgotten about as he guided you backwards blindly across the kitchen and you gently hit the edge of the opposite counter, giving him the chance to grab the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto it. Right away, your arms and legs were slinging around his body and yanking him closer all without breaking your kiss, sharing hungry moans into each other's mouths. Your fingers tightened in his soft hair but your aggression just pulled a handsome groan from his throat that tasted like heaven against your tongue.

With your ankles linked behind his back, you used the heels of your feet to pull him closer to the counter as you rested near the edge so the front of his blue jeans were pressed up snugly against yours, getting your fix of that fiery touch after so long, regardless of who it was. Your eyes were shut tightly with greed, taking what you wanted from his lips with your body arching against his. George’s hands on your hips pressed indentations of his fingerprints into your flesh and he held you against him as he grinded against you faintly.

The sweet moan that fell from your lips had him moving like that again, rutting the front of his jeans right up between your spread legs, creating that friction that satisfied the craving of pleasure that you ached for. You moved with him faintly, grinding against his body in return from your spot on the edge of the kitchen counter until you both were turning more and more desperate from it.

George broke away from your kiss first and his hands shoved up the bottom of your blouse and lifted it over your head so it could be tossed aimlessly to the floor. You panted heavily to the kitchen as he moved his kisses down your neck and over your breasts that were tucked in your unflattering bra but he didn’t mind one bit. He groaned against your chest as he sank to his knees in front of the counter, “You’re fucking sexy.”

“Holy shit.” you exhaled, lifting your bum off the countertop when he popped the button on your jeans so he could yank them off you.

“That’s it.” George licked his lips as he guided your feet back until your heels were tucked on the edge so you were spread open for him, only separated by your underwear. He leaned in close and dusted his nose right up between your legs before his tongue was following, teasing your pussy over your underwear with the faintest of touches that still managed to make you squirm. He stared up at you from his knees, sending you a teasing wink as his fingers linked in the hem of your panties and he started to pull them down too, “I’ve wanted to do this for too fucking long.”

Once they were dropped to the floor too and your feet were back in place where he wanted them, you could barely rush out a reply, “Me too.”

In reality, you hadn’t truly realized you wanted that until you were put in that position but the images that your mind pictured earlier that week certainly might have proved otherwise.

He touched you like you were a masterpiece, gliding two fingers down between your glistening folds with his lips parted in near awe, watching how your wetness clung to his fingertips greedily. You raked a hand through his hair to guide his face in too and he gladly obeyed, nustling his tongue alongside his fingers with a gorgeous exhale that sent shivers up your spine. The caresses of his tongue were devine and he teased around your clit and down across your pussy in gentle strokes that had your head lolling to the side.

Being in that position wasn’t new to you - you had a husband after all - but you weren’t aware of how limited your experience might have been until George had you there. His first few touches and licks were expected and you offered him soft hums in appreciation, your teeth sunken into your bottom lip faintly as you watched him between your thighs. But then his large hands were sliding around your thighs and his fingers pressed into your flesh, his wedding ring on his left hand shimmering in the early afternoon sunlight, and he was nuzzling his face deeper with quick laps of his tongue. Your mouth fell open at his insistence and your hand in his hair gripped tighter in surprise.

“Oh-” you stumbled out faintly.

George tugged you closer to the edge of the counter as he slurped at your cunt until he was sucking on your clit and your head tossed back with a sharp gasp and your back straightened up.

“Fuck!” you squeaked.

He hummed against you, blue eyes staring straight up your body to gauge your every reaction as he tongued at your clit in quick strokes. The feeling was intense and you didn’t know what to do with yourself as you gaped dumbly into your kitchen and almost choked over your breath, eyes struggling to stay open, and your hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair ended up slamming flatly against the side of your refrigerator. The upper cabinets caught your head as you let out a loud moan to the ceiling, toes curling over the edge of the countertop, and George only grabbed tighter to your thighs to hold you on his mouth.

Your hand tightened in his hair although you couldn’t decide if you were pulling him closer or wanting to push him away with how strong the pleasure was that he built within you. You mouthed a silent chant of “fuck, fuck, fuck-” to your kitchen ceiling, gaping dumbly to the light fixture. George took his right hand back just long enough to slip two fingers in his mouth before he was guiding them slowly inside your leaking pussy.

“Oh God-” you whined tightly.

“Good girl.” he praised warmly against your cunt as his fingers started to thrust into you shallowly but strongly. “This what you were thinking about?”

“Mhm-” you could only nod cluelessly, barely able to make out what he was saying thanks to the ringing of your ears that was brought on by the pleasure he introduced to your body.

His tongue flicked faster at your clit and his fingers nudged up against that warm spongy spot just inside you at a perfect consistent pace. The moans that tumbled from your lips were nearly involuntary, coaxed out of you by his generous touch, until you were sure the neighbours could hear - if it weren’t for the fact that your neighbour was the one between your legs at that very moment. All your stresses and anxieties from the prior few short weeks seemed to fall away and the rush of pleasure that tore through your body completely made up for it.

You felt dizzy and you rested your head back heavily against the upper cabinets behind you with your eyes screwed shut, barely able to choke out a, “Yes-”

George gripped you tighter and kept his pace going, keeping his eyes on your face even if you weren’t looking at him. He analyzed your every flutter of expression to see just how you wanted it, smothering a half smirk at the displeased huff that you let out when he gave his tongue a break to suck on your clit instead. The change up took a second to get used to but you had never been so catered to before so you weren’t one to complain, tightening your fingers in his soft hair while he worked wonders on you.

Then that build up was forming again, flushing warmth across your skin, and you gaped down to him, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

George didn’t move a muscle from exactly where you needed him even as your legs started to quiver from where you were held open. You choked over your next breath as the first wave of pleasure tore down your spine and George gripped onto your thighs to hold you steady on the edge of the kitchen counter as you came on his mouth. His name fell from your lips like it was second nature and it truly felt so much better when he was there to hear it himself.

He pulled away once you started to get sensitive and he pulled his fingers out of you as he stood up and he rubbed along your messy cunt in lazy strokes. Your hand in his hair slid around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another open mouthed kiss, instantly sharing the taste of you that lingered on his tongue and you sucked on it greedily. George blindly unbuttoned his jeans while he kissed you, barely able to drop them and his underwear to the floor before you were tucking your legs around his waist again and tugging him closer.

“No one’s ever gone down on me like that before.” you confessed breathily between feverish kisses.

“No?” George chuckled cockily into your mouth, kicking his jeans off his ankles and across your kitchen floor, “Well good thing you have me.”

You offered a sweet “mhm” in reply that was quickly swallowed up by his lips once more.

He grabbed your thighs again and tugged you closer to the edge of the counter, “This okay?”

“Yeah.” you slung both your arms around his shoulders, leaving one hand in his hair and the other grasping onto the back of his shirt.

“You want this?” he asked breathily.

“You have no idea.”

The two of you shared faint laughter that was swallowed up by a few more sloppy lustful kisses before George was breaking away from you long enough to look down between you so he could angle the head of his cock against your slick cunt. You shuttered slightly in anticipation, clinging onto the back of his shirt as you breathed him in greedily with your nose pressed against his cheek.

George pushed inside you slowly and once that aching stretch came to spread across your hips, your eyes met closely as your mouth fell open with a soft gasp. His eyes darted across your face before his lips were capturing yours in a sensual kiss and he slid deeper inside you with his hands grabbing at your doughy hips, sinking himself into your body. The wavering breath he let out into your mouth was laced so perfectly with the faintest moan and you felt it right through your body, making your muscles flutter around him.

“Holy shit.” George slid a hand around the back of neck, his fingers nestled in the roots of your hair, and he pulled your lips harder onto his with an underlying sense of urgency that burned hot over your skin. And, as he did, he started to thrust into you hungrily, sharing in your whimpering moan that blessed your kiss.

“Fuck.” you choked out, your grip tightening on the fabric of his shirt as if to pull him impossibly closer.

Your kisses were messy from the quick aggression with which he fucked you on your kitchen counter but you kept at it like you never wanted to stop, unable to get enough of each other and the addictive drug of sin that joined you together. When even what he gave you didn’t feel sufficient enough, you pressed your heels into the flesh of his ass to try and get him to give you more, whining desperately against his tongue-led kisses. He stopped completely, nestled as deep inside you as he could fit, and your head dropped back against the upper cabinets behind you with a warm moan at the glorious fullness he offered you. George grabbed your ass and pulled your body right up against his so he could lift you up off the counter and into his arms.

You gasped in surprise but clung onto him tightly, trusting him entirely to do whatever he pleased, and your hands splayed across his back over the thin material of his shirt to feel the way his toned back flexed as he held your body weight. He carried you through the adjacent doorway into the dining room and through the spacious archway into the front living room, the afternoon sun streaking in through the large picture window at the front of the house. The carpet was soft beneath his feet and hid his footsteps as he blindly navigated his way to the couch, still taken up by your lips that kissed him like he was more important than air. George sat himself down heavily on the couch with you perched perfectly on his lap, his dick still tucked warmly inside you.

“Mm, my God.” you withered, driven by humanistic lust, and you were right away starting to bounce on his lap.

“Holy fuck, you’re sexy.” George groaned, slumping back comfortably on your couch that had been a wedding gift to you and your husband. He stared up at you with dilated blue eyes and he licked his lips at the sight, his large hands on your hips following your eager motions. But despite the obvious intent you held, he still reminded you politely, “You tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not.” you insisted strongly, grounding your hands flat against his chest so he was held down on the couch and you had the leverage to ride him harder. You had wanted that for what felt like weeks now and even though you had initially wanted it from your husband, you couldn’t be completely blamed for finding it elsewhere.

“Oh my God, look at you.” he breathed in near awe, “You want it so bad.”

You couldn’t bite back the sly smile that pricked at the corner of your mouth even if you scrunched your eyes shut and tilted your head back in some effort to keep him from seeing the effect he had on you. Your skin clapped lewly against his thighs with every bounce, tainting your marital home each and every time. The feeling of his hand around your throat startled you slightly.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Fuck, yeah.” you stumbled out.

That wasn’t new either and you had your fair share of more kinky interactions with your husband before he was your husband and before parental responsibilities and careers started to diminish the passion. It had been far too long.

“Harder.” you ordered.

George’s hand squeezed your throat a little tighter, “Better?”

“Mhm.” you withered, still messily bouncing on his lap.

“What do you say?”

His demand took you by surprise but it was invigorating and you looked down at him and his handsome lust filled expression, offering him an angelic, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.” he corrected you smoothly.

You nearly choked over your breath and the obvious reaction to that simple demand had Georges smirking proudly under you as you tried to keep riding him on your couch.

His hand tightened around your neck a little more, ordering you strongly, although his voice could never get rid of the undertones of gentleness, “Say it.”

“Thank you, sir.” you exhaled.

“Good girl. You’re doing such a good fucking job.”

“You feel so fucking good inside me.” you whimpered. “I don’t wanna stop.”

“Don’t. Keep going until you make yourself cum.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you confessed, “I can’t cum like this.”

“No?” George tugged at your neck to urge you down on top of him so you were chest to chest and he could kiss you.

You took that opportunity to rut yourself against him greedily, rocking your hips back and forth on his lap with your clit rubbing faintly against his pelvis just enough to get a little huff out of you against his lips. George let go of your throat to take two handfuls of your ass instead and he guided you into stronger motions against his body, keeping you on his cock even as you used his body to stimulate your aching clit. Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt tightly, moaning into his mouth while his tongue pushed insistently against yours until you were falling breathless.

When he slid his hands up your back, you tried to keep yourself going the way he had started for you but it wasn’t the same. Before you could beg for him to help you again, he was swallowing you up in his arms and smoothly sliding one of his legs under him so he could flip you over and drop you both lengthwise across the living room couch with him rightfully on top of you.

“Fuck.” you squeaked, throwing your arms around his shoulders just as he started thrusting into you roughly, forcing your head back against the arm of the couch with a choked, “Sh-Shit!”

“Better?” George taunted against your cheek.

“Yes, sir.” you whimpered.

His chuckle was low and warm and your toes curled at the sound, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. But he would never dream of stopping, not when he had you where he had dreamt of having you for as long as you had imagined the same about him.

What had started as a somewhat cautious rendezvous had quickly moulded into a carnally lustful hookup, entirely trusting of each other, and he wasn’t holding back as he fucked you on your couch harder than you had been in a while. You couldn’t even manage to form words as you stared up at him above you with your mouth agape and your eyebrows furrowed with intense pleasure, stupid little moans tumbling freely from your throat as language abandoned you. His icy stare was steamy hot and you refused to look away for even a second, raking your nails across the back of his t-shirt until the fabric was definitely being creased and wrinkled.

“Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

His voice was ethereal and you could have finished from that sentence alone, the pet name causing your swollen cunt to tighten around him for a moment.

“Use your words.” George teased.

“Please,” you forced out, “sir.”

“Can you cum like this?” he asked softly.

You nodded quickly, already feeling the seeds of an impending orgasm blossoming inside you, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” George chuckled, nudging his knees across the floral couch cushion to be a bit closer to you, keeping his thrusts so perfectly deep, and when he sat back from you just enough to get his hand around your throat again, he was at the perfect angle to hit your g-spot dead on. When you took in a sharp breath at the quick rising pleasure from his minor adjustment, he smirked down at you, “You needed it that bad, huh? Already gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, sir.” you repeated dumbly up to him, swimming in a euphoric haze, “Please don’t stop.”

“No way, baby.” he promised, keeping your unwavering eye contact, “Wanna feel you cum all over my fucking cock.”

“Please.” you breathed, face scrunching up from the intense sensations. “Please-“

George was on the same wavelength as he was blessed with the glorious feeling of your body, already feeling himself falling into his own rising pleasure. His hand that wasn’t taken to your throat was gripping the arm of the couch beside your head and with every thrust, his hair was falling farther over his forehead on beautiful messy waves. You wanted to kiss him again but you wanted him to make you cum more, so you didn’t dare move him from his positioning, taking the view gladly instead as your attention was all on him and your fingers stayed locked around the fabric of his shirt.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl, I can feel you tightening up already.” George spoke down to you, his voice so rich and heavenly you swore it made you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum.” you whimpered loudly, head lifting from the arm of the couch so you could peer down your body and watch how he fucked you, the sight of his dick disappearing inside you before pulling back out almost all the way covered in your glistening wetness in rapid succession only making your impending orgasm feel stronger and stronger. You were almost sure you were going to rip his shirt right off him as you squeaked out, “Fuck, fuck fuck, right there, right there-“

“Uh huh?” George’s jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself back for the sake of you as the priority. You had to finish first.

The moment that the first wave of pleasure hit you, your entire body shuttered and your head tossed back against the arm of the couch with a silent gape to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut. Then it was all let out with the most beautiful trembling moan George had ever heard and you filled your silent house with the sounds of your euphoria and the praise of his name, painting the walls in sin. You hadn’t cum that hard in a while to the point where you almost blacked out from the strength of it and your body wrapped itself around George to yank him down on top of you for something to hold onto.

That just made it even more impossible for him to stop as he kept fucking you right through it, groaning loudly against your cheek as he fought against your vice-like grip around his aching cock. He was getting sloppy with it, losing himself in the warm wet heaven of your pussy and the lewd sound it filled the living room with. Your ankles linked behind his back and pulled him in deeper, gasping and whimpering in sensitivity that you pushed aside to bask in the glorious and reliving pleasure he brought you.

“I…” George choked out, dipping his face into your neck as you held each other tightly, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Gimme it.” you pleaded. “Please, sir.”

Forward thinking was not your priority in that moment as all you craved was for him to claim you completely, filthily, beautifully. For all you cared, this could have just been one perfectly intense dream and you wanted to make the absolute most of it.

With a few more thrusts, George was shoving hard into you once more and as his dick throbbed inside you, he came strongly, spurting thickly as deep as he could reach. Your mouth fell open at the feeling and one hand flew to his hair to tangle in the soft strands and hold his face in your neck as he moaned heavenly against your flushed skin. He ground into you greedily, giving you everything he had and it made your mouth water, your head tilting back to stare up at the living room ceiling with a mouthed ‘oh my God’.

“Fuck.” George huffed, gently allowing his body weight to rest on top of you completely.

You welcomed him gladly and enveloped him in your embrace and even kissed his head and his faint breathy chuckle at your action had you smiling. The pleasure hormones swirled around your mind and body and before they could fade away, George was sliding his hand over your cheek and guiding your lips to his for a slow, sensual, breathless kiss.

The two of you made out like that on the couch for a few minutes, what was once such a rush now dimmed down to lazy yet purely passionate kisses in the silence of your marital home. He was still tucked inside you and feeling his body so close with yours was addicting. Your fingers scratched through the back of his hair and he broke your kiss to rest his head against your collarbones.

“I needed that so fucking bad, oh my God.” George sighed.

“Me too.” you confessed lightly.

“It’s been way too long.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of silence as the reality of your situation settled on your minds.

“We really did that.” you exhaled.

“Yeah.” George sighed.

“Do you regret it?”

George lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you properly, “Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

A faint smile pricked at the corner of his mouth and he answered with a soft, “No.”

You trailed your hand out of his hair and down the side of his neck to guide him in for a chasté kiss, “Me neither.”

George gave you one more kiss before he was carefully sitting back from you, “Our tea is probably cold.”

You giggled softly, “Probably.”

“Want me to get you your clothes?”

“Please.”

He carefully pulled out and you let your hand take his place, staying on your back to keep from leaking out onto the couch, and he disappeared back into the kitchen. For the few seconds he was gone, you stared wide-eyed out the front window to the tree-lined street, the heavy side of reality settling onto your consciousness. If you had felt guilty about your thoughts the last weeks, then this was unimaginable. You committed arguably the ultimate sin in marriage - how would you ever come back from this?

“Here you go.”

George held out your underwear to you first and you glanced up at him - now fully dressed himself - and you took them from him with a soft thanks. He helped you up from the couch and you hurried to shimmy your clothes on while he watched you.

“This should be a one time thing, right?” you said after a moment.

“Yeah, probably.” George sighed.

“And…just between us?”

“Of course.” he agreed quickly. “We don’t want to…mess everything up.”

“Yeah.” you smiled faintly, thankful that he understood.

You could see him hesitate for a moment before he was taking your hand and leaning in to kiss you again. Despite the events that had just happened, the move made you a little shy and you pulled away a second later with a bashful smile to the ground. His thumb brushed over your skin lazily and as you stood together in your living room face to face in the afternoon sun, you felt drawn into him to steal another gentle kiss from his plush lips. Without sharing a word or any additional touch, you kissed softly, innocently, for a few long seconds before breaking away from each other again. You licked your lips that tasted like him and he noticed with a fond smile.

“The school bus should be here soon.” he said.

“Mhm.” you hummed, only half paying attention as your gaze was transfixed by his swollen lips.

“We can walk together if you want.”

“Mhm.”

There was another momentary silence between you and George’s faint bite to his bottom lip had your eyebrows naturally peaking for a split second. He could read your face like it was the front page of the morning paper.

“This isn’t going to be a one time thing, is it?”

You shook your head and took the half step closer to him as you leaned in for another tender kiss.

He was everywhere in your house now. Everywhere you looked it was tainted with George and you were worried that it showed all over your face. The kitchen...the living room…everywhere you looked. That very same night you stood in the kitchen preparing dinner while Richard watched TV in the family room and you tried not to think about the memories that the counter behind you held or pay attention to the constant leak that dampened your panties under your jeans. Andrew would be home in no time and you had only that long to compose yourself enough to face him like nothing was wrong.

The phone on the kitchen wall rang loudly, startling you dramatically and your head whipped around to it. You set the knife down on the cutting board and wiped your hands on your apron as you made your way over to it. Without thinking twice, you answered it with a casual, “Hello?”

“Hey, my love. It’s me.”

Your grip tightened on the receiver at your husband’s voice and you cleared your throat before answering, “Hi, Andy. What’s going on?”

“I just heard news that the boss wants me to come out for dinner with a potential client tonight so I won’t be home until a bit later. Nothing crazy but we’re hoping to get them onboard with this pitch and apparently bottomless wine is the way to do it.” his soft chuckle acted as a way to cover up his disappointment - you knew that well after your few years together.

“Oh. Okay.” you looked to the ground, silently grateful you wouldn’t have to face him until later.

“I’m really sorry, sugar.” Andrew said softly through the phone, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“No, no. That’s okay. Do what you gotta do.” you pulled the most chipper voice you could.

“I’ll make you proud.”

You slouched your shoulder against the wall, “You always do, Andy.”

“Tell Ritchie I say hello and I love him. I won’t be back before his bedtime.”

“Of course. Be safe, okay?”

“I will. I love you.”

You nibbled your bottom lip for a half second before answering through the guilt that burned within you, “I love you too, honey.”

It was almost 11pm when you heard the front door open. Richard had long been put to bed - although not without asking for Andrew a half dozen times and trying to stall bedtime so he could see him before he slept - and even you had retired to bed yourself. With a book in hand, you were in your nightgown on your side of the bed in the warm light of your bedside lamp, trying to look as nonchalant as possible for when your husband would return home. He didn’t need to know a single thing and especially not how often you had been thinking of how George’s night was going since you had parted that afternoon.

Each quiet footstep on the stairs had your heart racing but you had all evening to calm yourself so you had belief that you were definitely able to play it cool. So, when the bedroom door opened and Andrew stepped inside in his black work slacks and pale blue button up, you offered him a loving smile. He closed the door behind him again so as to not wake your son and it was then that you noticed the small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your smile faltered for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable weight settling in your chest.

Andrew just kept his warm grin and he walked over to your bedside to lean down to greet you with a kiss and the flowers, “Happy anniversary, sugar.”

You didn’t know what to say for a moment, using all your willpower to keep the smile on your face despite the fact that you completely forgot it had been your wedding anniversary of all days. But you closed your book and set it on your bedside table, “Aw, thank you, my love.”

“I’m really sorry I missed most of the day.” Andrew said, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“That’s okay.” you brushed it off easily since you did much worse that day, “You’re here now.”

“Finally.” Andrew took the flowers across the room and set them on the dresser still in their cellophane so he could get ready for bed. “And it’s Friday, thank God.”

You watched him loosen his tie and then slide it off from around his neck and he dropped it on the dresser before starting to unbutton his shirt.

You tried to keep casual conversation, “How was the dinner?”

“It went really well actually.” Andrew said, “Got them on board and they will be signed with us on Monday.”

“That’s great! Although I didn’t have any doubts; you’re their best guy anyway.”

“You flatter me,” Andrew glanced over at you with a sweet smile as he walked across the room and draped his shirt over the back of the armchair. He then unbuckled his belt before it, too, was joining the forming pile on the chair and he dropped his slacks, “But now I don’t want to think about work because it’s now the weekend and it’s our anniversary and all my attention is yours. I told you I’d make today up to you.”

“That’s okay.” you assured him softly. “I’m not upset.”

“I am.” he protested gently and your eyes followed him back across the room and around to his side of the bed. He pushed back the sheets and climbed in beside you in only his underwear, telling you honestly, “I’ve felt so badly saying no to you so much the last little while.”

“It’s really okay, honey.” you promised, lolling your head to the side to look at him.

“Nope, not accepting that.” he tapped your nose, “I can tell I was doing nothing but disappointing you and I don’t like doing that. Not that we need an excuse but I think our anniversary is the best time to get back at it, you reckon?”

You didn’t realize how hard you were biting your bottom lip until the pad of his thumb gently swiped over it to get you to let go and then he slid his hand around the side of your face and guided you in for a soft kiss. You tried to push the guilty thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on your kind-hearted husband at your side who, even after an insanely long work day, still wanted to give you what you wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that you were still in love with him, but you kept your new secret locked away in order to prevent hurting the man you loved.

Andrew was obviously clueless to your internal affairs and his kisses were just as passionate as ever, still managing to erupt butterflies in your stomach with every lingering lock of your lips. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist of the hand that cradled your face and the fact that he didn’t have an ounce of suspicion from the taste of your lips that had kissed another man made you sure that you could have your cake and eat it too. It was almost thrilling.

Your husband broke your kiss and reached under the sheets to tug at the hem of your nightgown, “Wanna take this off for me?”

You gladly pulled it over your head and tossed it to the carpeted floor beside the bed and he moved in again to kiss your neck while his hand trailed down your naked body and traced the shape of your breasts and the peak of one of your nipples. He definitely knew where to touch you and that was never a question, proven by the way your eyes fluttered shut when his lips grazed just the right spot under your ear and his tongue against your skin pulled shivers down your spine.

You took the initiative to shuffle yourself on the mattress so you could lay yourself down properly against your pillow and Andrew was following after you gladly, laying half on top of you with his forearm holding him up at your side. Your hands guided his lips back to yours and you shared deepening kisses in the warmth of your shared bedroom. With your fingers tangled in the back of his short brown hair, you shared the responsibility of guiding your kisses until his tongue was nudging against yours. Opening up for him was easy but there was that tiny worry in the back of your mind wondering if somehow he could tell who else you had been kissing in his absence.

In reality, Andrew was perfectly clueless, and he trailed his hand down your bare body and under the sheets and right over the front of your panties. You hummed pleasantly into his kiss and spread your legs a little more for him, urging his hand to rub strongly across your clothed pussy. After a few seconds, he was pulling away from your lips with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and you met his gaze with your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Andrew chuckled breathily, his hand still helping itself between your legs, “You’re so wet.”

You could only offer him a soft giggle that he kissed away greedily.

“I’ve kept you waiting that long, hm?” he teased against your mouth.

You could only manage a faint nod into his kisses.

He didn’t need to know that most of that wetness he was feeling was thanks to your neighbour.

Andrew pulled away from your lips for a moment so he could focus on shoving down your underwear under the blankets and you blindly helped to kick them off to get lost under the sheets. Once his fingers found your cunt again, you were pulling his lips back on yours by the back of his neck, silently praying he couldn’t feel the remnants of George’s cum still leaking out of you. But he was blissfully unaware as he touched you like that, fingers rubbing at your clit and then sliding between your glistening folds and back up, his lips pulling hungry kisses from your own.

When he finally pulled away from your lips, you followed his lead to hold up the sheets to let him shuffle himself underneath them, sharing soft laughter at the ungraceful nature of it as he got himself between your legs. You let the bed sheets fall overtop of him and you adjusted your pillow under your head with a nervous lick to your lips as you stared up at the ceiling. You were sure there was no way he could know - it had been all afternoon and evening after all - but a part of you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

The first touch of his tongue against your pussy had your eyelids fluttering and your breath shuttering in your chest. He nudged your legs open wider and his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you open for his mouth and the gentle caresses of his tongue. Your eyes bore into the ceiling, focusing on the touches of your husband beneath your bedsheets, shamefully thinking back to that afternoon when George had you up on your kitchen counter and ate your pussy like it was his last meal. Andrew’s lazy and gentle strokes weren’t bad, just…different. Familiar. Expected.

He moved as if he were cleaning you up rather than aiming to make you messier and although it felt good, it still fell short. You shut your eyes and tried to focus on it a little more, offering a soft hum to the dimly lit bedroom as your fingers grasped the pillow you were lying on. You exhaled to the ceiling, trying to relax yourself into the mattress without thinking too hard about the fact that your husband was pretty much eating another man’s cum out of you at that very moment.

After only a few more seconds, Andrew pressed a sloppy wet kiss to your clit and then started to move back. Eyes snapping open, you set your hand on top of his head over the sheets, holding him in place as you requested quietly, “Can you put your fingers in me too?”

“Sure.” he chuckled faintly, words muffled by the sheets and duvet.

You felt him glide his fingers across your slick pussy and then he was sinking two inside you slowly, right down to the knuckle. His tongue followed again and he lapped at your clit while his fingers pushed strongly inside you all the way and back out in slow thrusts.

“Yeah,” you breathed, keeping your hand on the back of his head, “Faster.”

He followed your demand with fingers and tongue, ravishing you a little faster until his jaw was starting to ache and his hand was cramping up from those quick thrusts. Andrew hummed flatly against you and slowed himself down after a few seconds and before he could stop completely, you were squirming slightly underneath him.

“Can you only go, like, halfway with your fingers?” you requested quietly.

There was a pause and then movement as he shuffled his way out of the sheets to let them fall to the end of the bed, exposing your naked body to the air conditioned bedroom. He caressed your hip gently with a quiet, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” you replied almost too fast, “Why?”

“It’s just…you’ve never had to tell me what to do before. I always usually make you cum.”

“I know, I know.” you assured him quickly, wracking your brain for an excuse, “Was just wanting to try new things.”

Andrew smiled faintly at you and nodded, “Okay.”

You returned his soft smile and he leaned down to kiss your lips, once, twice, and a third time before he was sitting back on his knees and shuffling out of his underwear. You tried to hide your disappointment that he wasn’t going to go down on you some more behind a tightlipped smile as he met your gaze and pulled the sheets up around you both again. Habitually, your legs went around his thighs as he situated himself on top of you and his lips locked with yours again in slow sensual kisses, tangling together as husband and wife in your shared bed like how it was supposed to be.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

“Mhm.” you slid your hands up his back and scratched your fingers across his shoulder blades lightly as he got himself situated.

The head of his cock nudged against your dripping pussy and your muscles fluttered at the sensation, naturally waiting for him to finally push inside you. And, when he did, his eyes stayed focused on yours without breaking away for even a second, watching your expression as he filled you completely. Your hands rested on his back as you stared right back at his face, taking in his dark and handsome features that you loved so dearly, and yet part of you was already missing George’s blue eyed gaze.

The flicker of a guilty wince across your expression was covered with ease by the first thrust from your husband as he started to make love to you properly. He kissed your lips sweetly, sharing single little fleeting kisses and soft breaths as you tangled under the sheets together. His thrusts were slow and deep and so incredibly loving, something that had been so comforting over the recent few years together. Something you didn’t realize mattered much. Not until George came over that afternoon and shook your very knowledge of reality and pleasure to its core.

Andrew broke away from your kiss to tuck his face into your neck and your arms wrapped entirely around his back to hold him on top of you, whimpering softly against his shoulder as he took you over like that. Your eyes scrunched shut and you desperately tried to stay in the moment, clinging onto your husband’s beautiful caramel skin and the scent of his office that lingered on him; copy ink and paper. His warm breaths fell against your neck in gentle pants in time with his precise thrusts, your bed squeaking faintly beneath you.

But your mind was straying again, drifting to the house next door and the man who had his way with you that afternoon; the one who somehow made you see stars for the first time in years. That used to be you and Andrew or so you recalled as the memories faded with time, but now it was all so fresh with George and you were drunk on the newfound adrenaline of it all. You tried to hush your mind from begging you to do it again and again and again with the man who had his own wife and his own family and who wasn’t legally bound to you in any way.

Just because you couldn’t have him didn’t mean you couldn’t think of him. With your eyes closed tightly and your husband’s face still tucked warmly in your neck as he made love to you gently into your bed, you shamelessly imagined him to be George instead. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and your mind swirled with memories from that afternoon and the dirty words that your neighbour spoke to you. You imagined him saying such things to you now, holding you down on your bed, fucking you like you never knew you needed.

As you clung onto your husband, your lips formed the words without thought, mouthing them silently to the ceiling, “Yes, sir.”

George took up your mind until your thoughts were so vivid that you swore you could smell him right there with you, taking the place of your husband. Even Andrew’s soft sounds were that of George and you were buzzing off the fresh memory that burned within you, completely encapsulated by the man that wasn’t yours. You could do nothing else but picture him on top of you instead, mouthing his name to your bedroom ceiling over and over as if speaking to him in your mind.

“That’s it.”

The breathy faint voice that ghosted across your ear tore you from the strength of your imagination but the power that George still held over you kept you going just that little bit longer.

“Holy shit, you’re gonna cum already?” Andrew chuckled against your cheek, “I can fucking feel it.”

“Shh.” you pulled his face back into your neck, playing it off effortlessly that you were too close for casual conversation. That wasn’t entirely a lie because the words that George spoke to you in your memory were certainly bringing you closer by the second, urging your muscles to tighten up around your husband’s dick.

Andrew kept his pace going even as your nails pressed into the muscles of his back and your body fell into pleasure beneath his. Your orgasm certainly wasn’t as strong as the two you had that afternoon but it was still real and it still felt good, regardless of the slight disappointment that filled your guilty conscience.

“Yes.” you squeaked out, tangling your hand in the back of his hair to grip tightly to his soft brunette roots, “Fuck-”

“Oh my God.” Andrew groaned from over top of you, shifting away from you a little to get a better angle with his hands pressed onto the pillow on either side of your head.

Panting softly underneath him, your hands slid down to his biceps and you held onto him as he thrusted into you a little faster, those big brown eyes staring right into your distracted gaze. He was still as beautiful as ever to you and the expression of pleasure that spread across his face was just as breathtaking as the first night you shared together six years earlier. Only seconds later, he was pulling out of you and coming right across your abdomen with the added help of his own hand, offering quiet moans to your bedroom walls as he finished himself off. You watched him closely, tearing your eyes away from his face to glance down between you under the sheets to get a glimpse at the mess he made across your flushed skin.

“Shit.” he huffed and carefully shifted off of you.

You took the sheets from him to hold them up and out of the way as he rolled over to grab a few tissues from the bedside table. He helped to clean you up like the gentleman he was and then you let the blankets fall gracefully over the both of you as he leaned in for a few breathless kisses.

“How was that?” he asked teasingly.

You bit back your smile, “Good.”

“Good?” he laughed lightly, feigning offence, “Just good, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” you swatted his chest playfully.

Andrew tossed the sheets back and swung his legs off the bed, “I’m gonna throw this out. Did you want water or anything?”

“I’m okay.”

He leaned back down towards you for one more kiss, “Okay. Be right back.”

You tucked the sheets up to your chin as you watched him stand up and shuffle his underwear back on before he was patting across the carpeted floor to the ensuite bathroom. When he was out of view, your eyes drifted to the flowers still resting on the dresser across the room and you nibbled at your bottom lip to try and keep the guilt at bay. Then, you looked straight up at the ceiling instead, trying to settle the rapid beating of your heart over the realization that you had to think of another man apart from your husband to get off. That had never happened before.

Andrew’s gentle humming came from the bathroom as he brushed his teeth and finished getting ready for bed and you tried to let the familiarity of his voice soothe you but it didn’t do much. Instead, you just kept wondering what George sounded like when he sang or what music he played when he baked or if he was thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him. How ridiculous. How absolutely teenage of you.

“Alright,” Andrew emerged from the bathroom and joined you in bed once more, “all set.”

You reached over to your bedside table to turn off your lamp before laying beside him again, habitually wrapping yourself up under his arm. He kissed your head and sighed as he settled, holding you close under your shared sheets.

“I love you.” he said through the dark.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, “I love you too.”

Andrew was drifting quickly after a long day but you were still wide awake, staring blankly across the room to the front windows and their shut curtains. You aimlessly trailed your fingertips over your husband’s chest and the faint dusting of chest hair that grew down between his pecs, wondering to yourself that if Andrew still felt like home to you, why did your mind crave to be elsewhere. Mostly, you tried not to think of George.

You really tried.

PART TWO

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