#a jewel beneath the moonlight sequel

[scullysexual]

What was originally just going to be a simple epilogue turned into a full blow sequel. Halfway through this a multi-chapter format began and I can’t see this being posted just one big final chapter so now it’s just a sequel which might or might not be a good thing but I guess we’ll see.

@today-in-fic @purrykat @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @sarie-fairy Tagging you guys cause I know you’d want to be tagged haha. Anyone else wants tagging let me know. @kittydurs

I hope you enjoy this as much as you did Jewel.

Sunlight streams through the gap in the blinds. A small bedsit positioned perfectly that the first rays of light are bright enough to wake him up.

Mulder should be grateful for it, really. The first to wake means he’s the first to find a good spot on the pier, leaving the night owls to fight for the remaining places.

It’s been almost three months and this humble life has already proved to be much of a trial. He had underestimated it his whole life. Sympathy for those who lived this kind life he’d always had but the empathy had been lacking. Only now can he truly understand just how hard they had to work.

Beside him, Scully stirs, muttering something that sounds a lot like What’s the time? eyes struggling to open.

Mulder smiles, a hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face as she twists and turns to face him.

“It’s early,” he mumbles into the quiet room. “Go back to sleep.”

He watches as she settles, eyes falling shut once more.

The months passed since the disaster hadn’t been easy on either of them. When they had finally arrived at New York, the world had held its breath- maybe not directly for them but Mulder and Scully had felt it all the same, parting the ship, the miraculous survivors of a ship that couldn’t sink.

His dreams were still plagued with that night; icy water and chilling screams. When he slept, he had no escape- he was back there, clinging onto that rail, watching people drop to their deaths all around him. Sometimes he even saw Scully fall and those dreams had frightened him the most.

He never fell, though. Even when he was in the water, he could never die. Only those around him could die.

Scully fared no better. Sometimes she would just stop, get lost somewhere in the memory of that night. They never spoke about it, it was an unspoken agreement they had made stepping onto the docks. Nobody was aware they had been on the ship at all. After all, Fox Mulder had died and Dana Scully had never stepped onto the ship. It was easier that way, or so they told themselves.

With time wasting away he climbs out of bed. Their mattress in the corner has him scrambling over Scully to actually get out. His efforts to not wake her fail and, as he’s fumbling with his clothes, her eyes open for the second time.

“The pier doesn’t open until later,” she croaks. “Why do you need to leave so early?”

“Got to get the best spot on the pier, Scully,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. His attire had changed in the months that had passed. Gone were the handmade tailored suits he’d wear to dinners, now it’s just a simple shirt and some trousers. Even his shoes had taken a turn for the worse.

“You need new shoes.”

There’s a hint of worry in her voice, they barely have enough to pay their rent and eat.

He ignores the way the leather rips away from the sole.

“They’ll be fine,” he says, reaching over to grab his sketchbook- the only expensive investment he’d made after he lost his original in the sinking. He tries not to focus on that. There’s only a few drawings in this book, mostly personal stuff for when business is low and his hand aches to draw something real aside from the cartoon portraits of people willing to waste their cents.

Now ready, he walks the short distance back to the bed.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Scully nods and Mulder presses a kiss to her forehead and then her lips before he grabs the keys and heads out.

The hallway is littered as always, even this early in the morning, people sit on the stairs trying as best they can to sleep. They don’t live here but the landlord does nothing to prevent them from entering, he’ll just go round with a cup and a silent request for money.

“Good morning, Leif.”

It still takes him some time for realise that he is Leif, not many people call him by that name and he’s Mulder to Scully regardless. No, only one person calls him Leif.

Mulder turns to see Susi standing in the doorway of her studio, scantily clad as always.

He smiles, intending on continuing with his journey before Susi’s speaking again.

“You know if you ever get bored, my door’s always open,” she tells him, with her cracked-teeth smile.

Mulder awkwardly nods and smiles, saying nothing. He tries to keep his conversations with Susi brief after their first night here and she had gotten a little too friendly with him in the communal area, much to Scully’s dismay. He had only tried to make friends.

He leaves Susi where she is, unlocking the front door and making his journey to the pier.

 Scully spends her days counting coppers. Better with numbers than Mulder, they agreed that she would handle their funds and that’s how it had been for the past four months.

Yet her heart drops when she’s finished adding and subtracting the money away to find that there isn’t enough to pay the rent and feed them.

In the early days, when they’d discussed what they would do about jobs, the price of Mulder’s drawings had been brought up a lot. He’d argued that the drawings were worthless and if he was selling them at a ridiculously high price nobody could come to him. She, in turn, had argued that maybe the price should be decided on the work put in and the work produced.

It doesn’t work like that, Scully, Mulder had told her afterwards. People pay for what they get, they don’t care about how much effort has been put into it.

Scully could only scoff. How would you know? she’d asked. Everything you wanted has been handed on a gold plate. All Little Fox would have to do is throw a temper tantrum and Mammy and Daddy would cough up.

Perhaps it had been a low-blow but his words had only made her angry. He knew nothing of this, of trying to find a good-enough job to pay the bills. Once upon a time, he’d have inherited some big company, his wealth sealed in that outcome and until then he’d been all nice and cushy.

After a while, after what Scully had said had fallen to the floor, Mulder said, Perhaps it’s best we get away from each other for a while. We’ve been cooped up too long in this room. With that he’d left, leaving Scully to figure it out.

Just like she has to do now.

She stares at the numbers, maybe hoping they would magically change to the right number but no, they don’t, they stay as they are.

She can owe, she thinks. She’ll have to.

He hands the stupid drawing to the woman as the man drops the money into the pot.

The third person. The third person in five hours.

Despite it being August, despite it being lunchtime, the sun high in the sky and pier packed, nobody was interested.

Mulder cracks his back, already sore and aching. Still six hours to go, still a chance to bring home some real money.

“Business not going well?”

Mulder internally groans at the sound of a familiar voice.

“What do you want, Fuller?”

He tiredly looks over to the weasel-faced man casually poking around his stall, his face lacking stress, his hands in his pockets, and a cocky demeanour reminding him all too well of Alex Krycek.

“Just looking around,” Fuller says. “Seeing how the competition is doing.” He picks up Mulder’s money jar and pulls a face. “Ooh, not well I see.”

“You not got your own stall to man, Fuller?”

Fuller laughs. “I’m on a break. See, unlike you, I can afford these little luxuries.”

Mulder had met Fuller very early on. They both fought for the same spot on the pier- the spot Fuller now occupies- and since then it had been a race to see who could get there first. Fuller always beat him, regardless.

“Why don’t you have your little break somewhere else then?”

He goes to push Fuller out of his stall but the little weasel man is quick, hopping out of the way just before Mulder can grab him.

“Careful, Brevik,” he says. “Otherwise you won’t be around much longer to pay that rent.” He gives a sideward glance to the jar again. “Not that you’ll be paying it this month anyway.”

Fuller saunters off then, back to his own stall.

Mulder sits back down on his stall, wipes the sweat off his forehead and looks wearily at the jar himself. He thinks it’s rent day today and just hopes there’s enough at home to cover it.

“It’s Mulder, isn’t it?”

Mulder pauses. His real name being uttered by somebody else…He chances a glance up at the person, not really sure what to think.

“Christ, they said you were dead.”

Mulder frowns at the man who stands before him. He looks familiar but Mulder can’t for the life of him replace him.

The man chuckles. “You don’t recognise me, do you?” he says and holds his hand out. “John Byers, we met on the Titanic.”

Realisation sinks in as Mulder remembers him. He smiles, jumping up from stool and shakes hands with Byers.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says. “A lot’s happened recently.”

“Yeah,” Byers agrees. He looks at the sign next to the stall. “First class suits on the Titanic to selling cartoons on Coney Island. What happened?”

“A lot,” Mulder says. “A lot happened.”

 They’re meeting lands them in a bar just off the pier. It’s still early, Mulder guesses it’ll start to pack up later.

“Didn’t think you’d survived,” Mulder says.

Byers laughs. “Yeah, Suzanne wouldn’t get on a lifeboat without me. The officer just looked at me and shrugged. What about you? They say you’re dead but you’re here in front of me.”

Mulder chuckles slightly, picking the label off his beer bottle. “I didn’t marry Phoebe Green,” he says.

Byers nods. “Yeah, your father put that in the papers. Said his son had died a dignified death, sacrificing himself to save women and children.”

“Of course he did,” says Mulder, begrudgingly. He hadn’t touched the paper. The headlines were everywhere, the story plastered on every newspaper being sold. He had lived the tale, he didn’t need to read some exaggerated version of it.

“So, you didn’t marry Phoebe because you died, what was the other reason?”

He looks up to the ceiling, trying to figure out the way best to explain it.

“I met someone,” he says. “Someone from the third class.” He hears Byers breathe out heavily but ignores it. “And after a day I knew I didn’t want to marry Phoebe. I didn’t want to marry her at all, I didn’t want to get on the ship but there was nothing I could do about it.” He shrugs, smiling. “Then I met Scully and I didn’t want to be anywhere else after that. I decided I was getting off the ship with her and the only way to do that was to change my name and pretend I died.” Mulder sits back in his seat and looks towards Byers, holding out his hand again. “Leif Brevik, by the way.”

Byers laughs, shaking Mulder’s hand again. “That’s quite the conspiracy,” he says and Mulder shrugs again.

“Listen,” Byers tells him. “I have some friends who have been looking into the sinking.” Mulder’s ears piqued up at that. “We think it might have been an insurance scam.”

Mulder frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“There’s just some evidence that seem to point towards it being a possibility. We have a base not too far away from here, if you want to see.”

Mulder looks from his pitiful jar of money, to the window where he can see Fuller’s long line of people queuing for their portrait. With one final decision, he nods.

 The dreaded knock on the door finally comes. Scully jumps slightly, taking her head out of the medical journals Mulder sometimes brought back with him.

Her stomach squeezing with nerves, she grabs the bag of money and with a deep exhale, opens the door.

Mr Roth stands on the other side, his arms already full with other tenants’ rent.

“You’re rent, Mrs Brevik.”

Cautiously, Scully hands the bag to the landlord. He snatches it- ever one without manners. As he begins counting, Scully’s fingers begin to nervously fiddle with her necklace.

Mr Roth shakes his head, muttering. “Where’s the other $9?” he asks.

“That’s all we have,” says Scully.

Roth looks at her for a moment and Scully waits.

“I want $35 next month,” he says and with that limps off down the corridor.

Scully lets out a breath.

“Better be careful.”

Scully looks up to see her neighbour hanging out of her front door.

“Last tenant who couldn’t pay the second time was out on the streets.”

Scully smiles, saying nothing and retreats back into her house. Maybe it was a time she got a job also.

[ereborskingarchive2]

𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚊 ,     𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝   𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 ,     𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚊   𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚗𝚜’   𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 :          ❝     what   we   wanted   was   to   say   that   even   with   all   the   wealth   of   erebor ,     thorin   could   not   rest   until   he   had   the   arkenstone .     this   one   peerless   jewel   was   the   thing   that ,     in   thorin’s   estimation ,     bestowed   kingship   upon   its   possessor .     without   it   he   was   not   whole .     he   had   invested   so   much   meaning   in   the   arkenstone   that   without   it   he   felt   his   identity   and   legitimacy   were   incomplete .     in   the   end ,     as   impressive   and   otherworldly   as   it   was ,     the   stone   was   just   a   material   object ,     a   bauble ,     a   trinket .     its   power   was   attributed   and   not   innate .     though   he   does   not   understand   it ,     thorin   has   given   that   power   to   the   stone   and   trapped   himself .     ❞

𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚊 ,     𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝   𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 ,     𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍   𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎’𝚜   𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 :          ❝     the   story   already   had   the   ring   and   the   gold ,     so   another   talisman   may   have   been   one   too   many ,     but   the   right   to   rule ,     it   being   the   king’s   jewel ,     is   where   the   power   of   the   arkenstone   lay .     [ . . . ]     ultimately ,     the   arkenstone   was   just   a   gem   and   the   power   of   loyalty   was   beyond   a   talisman .     ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 ,     𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚜   𝚊𝚗𝚍   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚛     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟼𝟽 )          like   the   crystal   of   diamonds   it   appeared ,     and   yet   was   more   strong   than   adamant ,     so   that   no   violence   could   mar   it   or   break   it   within   the   kingdom   of   the   arda .     [ . . . ]     and   the   inner   fire   of   the   silmarils   fëanor   made   of   the   blended   light   of   the   trees   of   the   valinor ,     which   lives   in   them   yet ,     though   the   trees   have   long   withered   and   shine   no   more .     therefore   even   in   the   darkness   of   the   deepest   treasury   the   silmarils   of   their   own   radiance   shone   like   the   stars   of   the   varda ;     and   yet ,     as   they   were   indeed   living   things ,     they   rejoined   in   light   and   received   it   and   gave   it   back   in   hues   more   marvelous   than   before .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 ,     𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚜   𝚊𝚗𝚍   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚛     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟼𝟿 )          for   fëanor   began   to   love   the   silmarils   with   a   greedy   love ,     and   grudged   the   sight   of   them   to   all   save   to   his   father   and   his   seven   sons     [ . . . ]

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 ,     𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝚘𝚏   𝚎ä𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚕     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟸𝟻𝟹 - 𝟸𝟻𝟺 )          but   the   jewel   burned   in   the   hand   of   maedhros   in   pain   unbearable ;     and   he   perceived   it   to   be   as   eönwë   had   said ,     and   that   his   right   thereto   had   become   void ,     and   that   the   oath   was   in   vain .     and   being   in   anguish   and   despair   he   cast   himself   into   a   gaping   chasm   filled   with   fire ,     and   so   ended ;     and   the   silmaril   that   he   bore   was   taken   into   the   bosom   of   the   earth .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ,     𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 ,     𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎   𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟸𝟹𝟷 )          ❝     the   arkenstone !     the   arkenstone !     ❞     murmured   thorin   in   the   dark ,     half   dreaming   with   his   chin   upon   his   knees .     ❝     it   was   like   a   globe   with   a   thousand   facets ;     it   shone   like   silver   in   the   firelight ,     like   water   in   the   sun ,     like   snow   under   the   stars ,     like   rain   upon   the   moon !     ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ,     𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 ,     𝚗𝚘𝚝   𝚊𝚝   𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟸𝟹𝟽 )          it   was   the   arkenstone ,     the   heart   of   the   mountain .     so   bilbo   guessed   from   thorin’s   description ;      but   indeed   there   could   not   be   two   such   gems ,   even   in   so   marvelous   a   hoard ,     even   in   all   the   world .     [ . . . ]     now   as   he   came   near ,     it   was   tinged   with   a   flickering   sparkle   of   many   colors   at   the   surface ,     reflected   and   splintered   from   the   wavering   light   of   his   torch .     the   great   jewel   shone   before   his   feet   of   its   own   inner   light ,     and   yet ,     cut   and   fashioned   by   the   dwarrows ,     who   had   dug   it   from   the   heart   of   the   mountain   long   ago ,     it   took   all   light   that   fell   upon   it   and   changed   it   into   ten   thousand   sparks   of   white   radiance   shot   with   glints   of   the   rainbow .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ,     𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 ,     𝚊   𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏   𝚒𝚗   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟸𝟽𝟸 )          the   elvenking   himself ,     whose   eyes   were   used   to   things   of   wonder   and   beauty ,     stood   up   in   amazement .     even   bard   gazed   marveling   at   it   in   silence .     it   was   as   if   the   globe   had   been   filled   with   moonlight   and   hung   before   them   in   a   net   woven   of   the   glint   of   frosty   stars .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ,     𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 ,     𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗   𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟸𝟿𝟸 )          they   buried   thorin   deep   beneath   the   mountain ,     and   bard   laid   the   arkenstone   upon   his   breast .     ❝     there   let   it   lie   ‘til   the   mountain   falls !     ❞     he   said .     ❝     may   it   bring   good   fortune   to   all   his   folk   that   dwell   here   after !     ❞

the   arkenstone ,     the   heart   of   the   lonely   mountain   thus   named   erebor   by   the   dwarrows   and   founded   deep   beneath   its   roots ,     was   unearthed   during   the   reign   of   king   thrór   and   declared   to   be   a   divine   show   of   his   right   to   rule .     thus   the   jewel   was   established   to   be   a   crowner   of   kings¹ ,     bestowing   as   much   power   as   the   descent   of   durin ,     for   the   dwarrows   believed   it   to   be   a   gift   of   mahal ,     put   forth   in   the   mountain   as   a   homage   to   their   race .     in   their   creator’s   honor   did   they   mount   it   above   the   throne   of   thrór ,     where   it   glittered   for   all   who   sought   audience   with   the   king   of   dwarrows   to   behold² .     inscriptions   depicting   the   arkenstone   were   carved   all   throughout   the   mountain   halls³   and   upon   great   tapestries   that   hung   in   the   halls   of   history   and   remembrance .     so   it   remained   ‘til   the   coming   of   the   dragon ,     smaug ,     who   claimed   the   mountain   and   all   of   its   treasure ,     devouring   the   dwarrows   within   it .     in   this   manner   was   the   arkenstone   lost ,     for   thrór   took   it   from   his   throne   and   carried   it   with   him   to   the   treasury ,     where   the   dragon   was   reveling   in   its   hoard   and   causing   great   flying   mounds   of   gold   and   gems   with   its   wings .     thrór   fell ,     and   the   arkenstone   fell   with   him ,     out   of   his   grasp   and   into   the   swell   of   coins   that   mounted   the   steps   before   him .     as   it   was   to   be ,     the   arkenstone   remained   in   smaug’s   piles   ‘til   the   company   of   thorin ,     son   of   thráin ,     son   of   thrór ,     descended   upon   the   mountain ,     and   with   the   help   of   the   contracted   burglar   and   hobbit ,     bilbo   baggins ,     procured   the   arkenstone   from   the   dragon ,     a   creature   later   slain   by   one   of   the   race   of   men .     the   arkenstone   exchanged   hands   ‘til ,     at   the   death   of   thorin ,     it   was   placed   upon   his   breast   by   bard ,     in   a   display   of   good   will   to   the   dwarrows ,     who   were   now   to   be   the   allies   of   the   men   of   dale   henceforth   under   the   reign   of   king   dáin ,     son   of   náin ,     son   of   grór ,     and   king   bard ,   descendant   of   girion .   no   longer   would   the   arkenstone   crown   a   dwarf   on   the   throne ,     for   it   was   decided ,     in   honor   of   his   great   sacrifice   and   the   mourning   of   the   cost   of   his   quest ,     that   the   jewel   would   be   buried   with   thorin ,     so   that   he   would   be   crowned   evermore .

the   arkenstone ,     though   called   by   the   dwarrows   to   be   the   heart   of   the   mountain ,     may   never   have   been   so ,     and   instead   be   a   silmaril   forged   by   fëanor   and   hence   lost   to   the   depths   of   the   earth   with   the   undoing   of   maedhros ,     son   of   fëanor ,     who   flung   himself   into   a   gaping   chasm .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟼𝟻𝟷 - 𝟼𝟻𝟹 )          the   choice   of   arkenstone   is   significant ,     since   in   other   writings   tolkien   was   making   at   the   same   time   he   was   using   a   variant   of   the   same   name   as   a   term   for   the   silmarils   themselves ,     forging   a   link   between   the   jewels   of   fëanor   and   the   arkenstone   of     [ thrór ]     in   the   legendarium     [ . . . ]     the   idea   that   the   arkenstone   could   be   a   silmaril ,     or   was   at   least   somehow   linked   to   the   silmarils   in   tolkien’s   mind ,     has   additional   support   from   the   philosophical   roots   of   the   word .

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎  𝟼𝟻𝟺 )           like   the   silmarils   in   the   main   branch   of   the   legendarium ,     and   unlike   the   one   ring   in   the   sequel ,     the   arkenstone   inspires   greed   but   is   not   itself   malicious   in   any   way     [ . . . ]

though   many   will   point   to   the   finality   of   one   statement   that   the   silmarils   could   not   be   found   again   unless   the   world   was   broken   and   re - made   anew : 

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎   𝟼𝟻𝟽 )          tolkien   had   in   fact   at   that   point   changed   his   mind   four   times   in   the   previous   fifteen   years   about   the   holy   jewels’   fate ,     all   in   a   series   of   unpublished   works   that   remained   in   flux   and   were   each   to   be   replaced   by   a   new   version   of   the   story     [ . . . ]     it   is   thus   more   than   possible   that   tolkien   was   playing   in   the   hobbit   with   the   idea   of   having   one   of   fëanor’s   wondrous   jewels   re - appear ,     no   doubt   the   one   that   had   been   thrown   into   a   fiery   chasm ,     and   lost   deep   within   the   earth     —————     which   is ,     after   all ,     exactly   where   the   dwarrows   find   the   arkenstone ,     buried   at   the   roots   of   an   extinct   volcano .

the   silmarils   may   inspire   greed ,     but   they   merely   reflect   the   heart   of   the   one   who   possesses   them ,     and   are   no   source   of   evil ,     nor   do   they   hold   magical   sway   beyond   the   manner   with   which   all   covet   them   for   their   great   beauty⁴ .     the   silmaril   named   the    ❝   arkenstone   ❞   by   the   dwarrows   did   not   encourage   the   madness   in   either   thrór   nor   thorin⁵ .     while   they   both   desired   the   jewel   greatly ,     it   was   because   of   the   power   that   they   themselves   attributed   to   it ,     and   not   anything   that   the   arkenstone   itself   was   able   to   exact .     the   light   of   the   valinor ,     which   the   arkenstone   encases ,     is   a   good   and   beauteous   light ,     and   it   is   only   the   imperfect   heart   that   all   carry   and   that   drives   those   who   see   the   silmarils   to   commit   treacherous   deeds   for   them   that   taints   the   jewels⁶ .     in   the   end ,     it   was   the   corruption   of   the   dwarf   ring   given   to   the   line   of   durin   long   ago   that   wholly   cursed   them   with   a   dark   greed   and   a   darker   madness .     as   said   by   balin ,     the   arkenstone   would   not   have   stayed   thorin’s   madness ,     nor   prevented   it ,     but   exacerbated   it   by   its   presence .

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 .

¹     𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 ,     𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝     ( 𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎   𝚘𝚏   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎   𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜 )     ,     𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗 :          ❝     that   stone   crowns   all .     it’s   the   summit   of   this   great   wealth ,     bestowing   power   upon   he   who   bears   it .     would   it   stay   his   madness ?     no ,     laddie .     i   fear   it   would   make   him   worse .     perhaps   it   is   best   it   remains   lost .     ❞

²     fëanor ,     having   been   supposedly   taught   by   aulë     ( mahal )     ,   and   with   the   dwarrows   being   the   creation   of   aulë ,     leads   to   the   belief   that   they   would   be   able   to   facet   the   otherwise   impervious   silmaril ,     whilst   any   other   race   would   not   be   able   to   do   so ,     no   matter   any   secrets   learnt .     however ,    this   interpreation   will   adhere   to   the   film   portrayal   of   the   arkenstone ,     which   has   it   as   smooth .

³     one   such   inscription   can   be   seen   in   the   film ,     read   as :     herein   lies   the   seventh   kingdom   of   durin’s   folk .     may   the   heart   of   the   mountain   unite   all   dwarrows   in   defense   of   this   home .

⁴     in   the   film ,     smaug   tells   bilbo   that   the   arkenstone   shall   corrupt   thorin’s   heart   and   thus   destroy   him   and   drive   him   mad .     the   dragon   was ,     of   course ,     lying ,     attempting   to   sway   the   loyalties   of   bilbo’s   heart ,     as   it   had   been   trying   to   for   most   of   the   conversation ,     whether   that   scheme   was   lying   about   the   arkenstone’s   power ,     or   that   the   dwarrows   valued   bilbo   so   little .     in   truth ,     as   smaug’s   powers   of   cleverness   knew ,     thorin   would   be   the  one   to   drive   himself   mad   over   the   stone ,     and   not   the   stone   itself .

⁵     nor   did   the   arkenstone   inspire   any   such   madness   or   lust   within   bilbo   baggins ,     who   was   in   possession   of   the   jewel   for   quite   some   time ,     and   did   not   feel   any   such   inclinations   past   how   heavy   it   seemed   to   be   in   his   hold :

𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ,     𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 ,     𝚗𝚘𝚝   𝚊𝚝   𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎     ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟹𝟽 )          his   small   hand   would   not   close   about   it ,     for   it   was   a   large   and   heavy   gem ;     but   he   lifted   it ,     shut   his   eyes ,     and   put   it   in   his   deepest   pocket .

⁶     it   is   true   that   those   with   evil   intent     ( forgoing   the   idea   that   mortals   cannot   touch   silmarils ,     which   shall   not   be   considered   for   this ,     as   it   does   not   fit   no   matter   how   holy   they   may   be,     and   appears   to   be   an   inconsistent   particular )     cannot   touch   the   silmarils   lest   they   be   burned .     one   must   consider   that   bilbo   baggins   had   no   evil   intent ,     and   thus   was   able   to   carry   the   stone .     neither   did   bard ,     who   also   held   onto   the   stone   for   a   period   of   time .     evil   intent ,     however ,     is   a   manner   of   perception ;     was   thrór   truly   being   evil   by   his   greed ,     or   disagreeing   on   the   payment   of   goods   for   the   elves ,     should   he   believe   himself   in   the   right ?     was   thorin ,     up   to   a   certain   point   in   the   delirium   of   the   dragon - sickness ,     behaving   evilly   as   he   protected   the   mountain   and   what   lay   inside   of   it   against   the   perceived   threats ?     'til   later   deeds ,     he   may   have   been   able   to   hold   the   arkenstone ,     as   thrór   had ,     but   his   treatment   of   bilbo   baggins   after   the   hobbit’s   betrayal   would   have   rendered   him   unable   to   touch   the   arkenstone ,     for   that   was   a   bad ,     unfair   act   in   regards   to   the   feelings   that   they   shared   for   each   other     ( should   thorin   have   lived ,     he   would   not   have   been   able   to   touch   the   arkenstone   until   he   had   made   amends   with   bilbo   and   otherwise   honored   his   word .     it   is   possible   that   he   may   have   never   been   able   to   ever   touch   the   arkenstone   at   all )     .

[epwhales]

ahhhh i love your art so much!!! sorry if this is a common/annoying question but are you currently reading any fanfics or do you have any to-read list? thsnk you for blessing the phandom with your work!

Aaaaah thank you!!!Your question isn’t annoying at all! I love to share what’s going on my list!

First, Iet me show you my other window that I have up at all times to remind me of how many fics I need to catch up to.

(Some of these I’ve actually already read!)

Exhibit A:

And probably another good 20+ more links waiting in some google docs and hidden in some reblogs somewhere…

Because there are still so many writers that absolutely deserve recognition and some foot traffic I’ll do a quick bit of organizing and share links to each of these fics that I have up in my tabs lord help me

General One Shots (or just one chapter for now)

For the Love of Music (M) - Sylent Phantom

Where Night is Blind (Explicit) - aventurization

Drink Deeply of the Moonlight (M) - @gracianasi

Ace of Hearts (K+) - @jennyfair7

The Soul Obeys (T) - @jennyfair7​

Sherry (M) - Kryss LaBryn

Moonless (M) - @i-am-melancholys-child​

Just Between Us (M) - @i-am-melancholys-child​

On Sundays (K) - @persephone-victorious

The Wedding Night (M) - Maat

Sleepless (T) - @rosesandmusicsheets

Pretty Little (Explicit) - @sfiddy​

A Symphony of Light (M) - @sfiddy​

Small Basket of Fear and Guilt (K+) - @wolfgangamaderik​

Budding Flame (M) - @wheel-of-fish​

Turnabout (M) - @wheel-of-fish​

Surrender (M) - dreamdescend

Among A Tray of Jewels (T) - HC247

The Role of a Wife (Genderbend) (M) - @pagesofangels

Fallen Idol and True Bitch (T) - @convenientalias

Prosecco (M) - eriksangel12

The Fop, The Crop, and The Woman on Top (M) - D3adlyG33k’sMistress409

Christmas 1881 (T) - @rienerose​

A Surprise Beneath a Moonless Sky (Explicit) - Anon

Forget Me Not (M) - michellemybelle25

E/C (K+ to M/Explicit)

After Class (M) (2 chap) - Violent Darlings

Cold Ashes (M) (24 chap) - gotta-rite

Haunted by the Opera Ghost (T) (11 chap) - @jamiepage19

Confessions of a Living Wife (M) (10 chap) - @sparklyscorpion

Regret Like Tears (M) (29 chap) - FieryPen27

Dark Waltz (T) (38  chap) - Broken-Vow

The Thorn and her Golden Rose (M) (4 chap) (Genderbend) - @pagesofangels​

Madame Valerius Is Dead (M) (19 chap) - The Yellow Flower

Teach Me To Live (T) (18 chap) - @donttouchthefigs

Little Lotte (Explicit) (5 chap) - @mllebree​

A Gift from the Past (M) (28 chap) (part of long running series) - @i-penna​

Just An Obsession (M) (8 chap) - Bwayphantomrose

Tattoos and Stretched Truth (T) (4 chap) - @myfictionaldarlings

Devil’s Little Face (T) (90 chap!!!!) - @wolfgangamaderik

Balcony Duet (M) (9 chap) - @sfiddy​

Where is my Beloved? (M) (2 chap) - La Belle Dame Avec Merci

Another Voice (M) (20 chap) - JadeiteART

Surrender (M) (19 chap) - eriksangel12

Stagedoor (T) (2 chap) - @violon-du-mort

Grace Note (T) (11 chap) - SymphonyinA

Lilacs in the Louis-Philippe Room (T) (72 chap!!!!) - SymphonyinA

Binary (T) (43 chap!!!!) -

- @soignante​

Beneath the Shadows (M) (28 chap) - @i-am-melancholys-child

Burying Ghosts (T) (30 chap) - @fearwrites

To Those Without Pity (T) (21 chap) - Pointless Nostalgic

Celestial (M) (5 chap) - Monarch27

Soft Place to Fall (T) (2 chap) - @littlelonghairedoutlaw

Fate Links Thee to Me (K+) (13 chap) - @jennyfair7

Scrapbook (M) (22 chap) - @rienerose

The Assassin and the Showgirl (M) (7 chap) - Terpsichore92

The Phantom and The Masked Musician (T) (3 chap) - lesbianmermaid

Boys of Summer (M) (5 chap) - @tasteofthebitchpudding​

Wishes of the Heart (K+) (10 chap) - @gabriezzu​

The Airport AU (it’s just long) - @rjdaae​ + @hopsjollyhigh​

Phantom’s Beauty (M) (51 chap!!!!) - Lady Rosesong (CarmelaCamilla)

The World as it Should Have Been (K) (224 chap!) - angeldreamerphantom

Through a Mirror, Darkly (M) (20 chap) - Kryss LaBryn

Strange Sweet Sound (T) (39 chap) - @madamefaust

Erik and pals

Wandering (T) (6 chap) (sequel to Rosy Hours Re.) - @persephone-victorious

The Phantom and the Count (T) (7 chap) - @tallestsilver

E/R (K+ to M/Explicit)

Imaginary Friends (T) (34 chap) - Lucifer Rosemaunt

Dolls and Goblins (M) - @convenientalias

A Fool There Was (M) (12 chap) - byronicmaiden

Teach a Man to Dance (G) - agracefulshadow

Our Son (Not rated) - kylorens

Blessed, blessed Pharoga

Dance of Paradise (M) - dunkinphantom

Renewal of an Old Acquaintance (T) - @rienerose​

Running Through the Rain (G) (25 Chap) - ponderinfrustration

Sweet boi Cherik

Unprepared for Ugliness (Not Rated) (10 chap) - @madamefaust

The Boy (G) (5 chap) - @madamefaust

For the Music Alone (T) (4 chap) - @madamefaust

idk what ship this is

Under a Falcon’s Wing (G) (2 chap) - FrolickingFanGirl15

About 95% of these fics above are ones I haven’t even looked at ldskfjlksdj

I only tagged people on tumblr because I either already knew they had one or had to snoop through some bios on ffn/ao3

So if I missed someone and they’d like to be tagged please let me know!

Please, don’t be afraid to promote yourself in the comments! I’d love to have more fics on my list!!!

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #30: The Sunless Sea

Prompt: darkness | Master Post | On Ao3

WARNING: Spoilers for Shadowbringers MSQ. This fill is also a spiritual sequel to Stargazing, from FFXIV Write 2018 (prompt sixteen), and to Tonk!, from this year’s challenge (first free write).

Four Lightwardens were dead, their crackling glass Light contained in Synnove. Tomorrow, they’d march on Kholusia for the last of the Lightwardens of Norvrandt. But tonight, the Warriors of Darkness—and one Warrior of Light—fled out into the mountains of surrounding Lakeland. The Warriors of Darkness found a large, flat plateau, far to the northwest of the Crystarium, so far in fact that the Crystal Tower was a sliver of blue on the horizon. As they landed their chocobos on the plateau, Ardbert walked into existence, whistling cheerfully as he looked around.

“Desolate, isolated, little to no chance of untimely interruptions,” he said. “Very nice, ladies.”

Synnove slapped him on the shoulder and handed him Ivar, collecting Chantilly’s reins and walking after the others. Ardbert cuddled the ruby carbuncle closer, scratching under his chin, as he followed the Highlander; Ivar purred loudly in delight, one of his hindlegs kicking out. Ardbert chuckled at him.

They settled the chocobos down for the night first, the four of them creating a wind break for their riders. Each chocobo was unsaddled, feathers groomed into place, then fed and watered. Then as the chocobos laid on the ground in makeshift nests, legs and feet beneath themselves, blankets tucked around them to stave off chills—and Chantilly’s beloved flyer’s shaffron buckled under her beak to keep the mountain winds from blowing it away—the giant birds all settled down to sleep with content little kwehs. Meanwhile, their people and one ghost chattered.

“—oh, come on, a king behemoth? Synnove, I know you’re not precisely sane—”

“He was a sweetheart and just wanted a cuddle!”

“And you wonder why we drink, Ardbert.”

The discussion continued throughout the setup for dinner. Rereha and Alakhai set up the kindling they had packed, place a ring of stones around the makeshift firepit. Ardbert held Ivar forward, the carbuncle obliging belching out a lick of flame that ignited the logs and sticks, then gestured with Ivar still dangling from his hand as he argued axes versus swords and Synnove set up the pot for dinner.

“Now a good two-hander I could understand, that’s got a nice heft to it—Synnove, you’ll need the turmeric and cumin for that recipe—”

“Got it!”

“—and once you get your momentum going swinging around something that big, you’ve left yourself open for a reprisal. No, sir, I like keeping my feet firmly planted exactly where I like them.”

“Oh, come on, Heron—”

Ivar went back to sleep even as Ardbert kept gesticulating with him.

Dinner went as expected: as Synnove minded the stew, Ardbert peering over his shoulder and muttering about proper spice ratios—“Ardbert, I swear, you are worse than my aunt.” “And if you’re going to make a proper Nabaath stew you need to add more turmeric, do it right now.” “Alakhai, smack him for me, please.” WHACK! “Ow!” “Thank you. My pot, my stew, now back off, dead boy.”—and Heron and Rereha got into a heated discussion about the last game of Founders of Tanac they had played while Alakhai sharpened her knives and shook her head at all of them.

More banter over dinner—“Branden named himself Dark Heart, just how extra were you lot trying to be?” “You say it yourself all the time, Rere: go big or go home.” “There’s big and then there’s melodramatic.”—and yet more through cleanup. Then after banking the fire, the Warriors of Darkness crawled into their bedrolls, while Ardbert sat on one of the makeshift benches they’d set up using the larger rocks, Ivar curled up in his lap while his siblings burrowed in with their mama. They all stared heavenward, at the jet-black sky spangled with rivers of stars; it was a new moon, so only the stars lit the world.

“And now, Ardbert,” said Rereha with a great amount of satisfaction, “it’s time for that most time-honored tradition: Make Your Own Constellation.”

“Let me guess, that one’s a pair of breasts?”

“A man after my own heart!”

Ardbert stuck his tongue out at her, the spectral glow of his soul making it easy to see. Rereha cackled at him.

“How about this,” said Heron, the ever-exasperated peacekeeper and group mother, “we’ll point out the shapes we see—no genitalia, Rere—”

“You ruin all my fun, Heron!”

“—and you tell us about the constellations that were recognized back before the Flood and you can remember, Ardbert.”

He scratched his chin. “Sounds fair. Nyelbert could have named them all, and told you all the stories besides, but I’ll do my best.”

“Alakhai, you start,” said Heron.

The Xaela hummed thoughtfully, then pointed to a string of three stars next to a half loop of four more. “That looks like a bow to me,” she said.

Ardbert tilted his head thoughtfully, leaning back on one hand as he followed where her finger indicated. “Well, not bad, Alakhai,” he said. “Already nailed it. That’s actually one of the old ones, Chorra-Mai’s Bow. Legendary mystel huntress; Renda-Rae knew all the stories about her. If you follow the string a little further along,” he gestured with his finger, dragging it ‘up,’ “that big blue beauty? That’s Ronka’s Tear; same as your Navigator’s Jewel, that’s the one star you can always use to find your way home.”

“Synnove.”

Synnove took a bit longer than Alakhai, studying the sky intently. Finally, she pointed out a cluster roughly east of Chorra-Mai’s Bow. “Amaro,” she said. “There are the points for the head, the chest, the wings, and the tail.”

“Huh,” said Ardbert, blinking in surprise. “I can see it. Oddly enough, I don’t think any of the star charts had an amaro constellation. That’s a shame. But you’re not far off from a Norvrandt one, though: excluding the ‘head’ star, that’s the Manticore.”

“…That is not a manticore,” said Synnove.

“Maybe not an Eorzean manticore,” he said wryly. “But the ones of Nabaath legend? Head of a hume, body of a lion, tail of a scorpion.”

A very long moment of silence, broken by Rereha: “Respectfully: what the fuck.”

“Don’t look at me!”

They continued like that for another bell, maybe two, laughter and shouting echoing off the surrounding mountains, until the Warriors of Darkness finally began to drift off to sleep. When Ardbert was the only one left he awake, he carefully leaned back on his stone perch, dragging the sleeping Ivar up to his stomach, and crossed his arms behind his head. He felt a smile slowly stretch his lips as he gazed up at the glittering beauty of the sunless sea, basking in the welcoming embrace of a moonlight night.

He’d forgotten what hope had felt like over the past century of mad, lonely wandering. Now, here he was, as sane as any ghost could hope to be, with four more brilliant, ridiculous siblings of his heart, and the chance to finally see his mistakes righted once and for all. Even should they encounter setbacks, he knew Dancing Heron and Synnove and Rereha and Alakhai would find their way to victory.

Hope…hope felt rather wonderful.

[sabraeal]

The Grave Soul Keeps Its Own Secrets

A sequel to Virtue Has a Veil, and Vice a Mask, written for @youseimanami’s birthday request for three confessions...just two months late...

Zen had never thought he would see his brother married.

It’s not that he hadn’t understood -- a king’s most sacred duty, after ruling wisely, is to secure succession; to provide the royal line with strong, clever sons who would rule and have their own, and so on and so forth until the very walls of Wistal came down around them. It just had seemed as Zen hurtled towards adulthood, ushered into the glittering world of courts and intrigue that his brother had shielded him from in his childhood, that Izana was quite content to leave him his heir. He didn’t have time to worry about women and weddings when Clarines needed a firm hand to guide it, and, of the two of them, Zen was the one eager to love and be loved in return.

He’s not sure when things changed.

A king was to have an advantageous marriage and suitable heirs. It just hadn’t occurred to Zen that it meant a wife, that it meant sons, until he watches his brother sweep his bride across the floor, the closest thing to a smile curving his mouth.

It never occurred to him that one day, Izana might have family that was not just him.

And he’ll be expected to do this next.

It’s not a new thought; Zen has always known he’d be expected to marry, to have sons too, raised to be loyal to their cousins, but he’d never thought about -- about this. About weddings, about wives. It had seemed beyond him; a decision that, despite his complaints, would be made behind closed doors. He might talk about love, about mutual attraction made over a ballroom or a garden, not a table, but he knew what form it would take -- they might allow him the luxury of believing in a chance meeting with a suitable girl behind the roses in the west courtyard, but it would all be engineered, right down to her demure smile and the way her dress was in his favorite shade of blue.

Until he met a girl in a garden with hair the color of apples. Then it had all seemed so real, so within his grasp he might as well reach out and pluck his future from the branch.

-- the ribbon slides against his fingers, parting so that porcelain falls away to reveal bronze, to reveal blue, blue, blue –

Funny, he had always thought it would be his brother who yanked it out of his reach.

The ballroom is stifling; the dancing is at its height, and up on the dais, seated beside his brother, there is no way for a breeze to reach him, to brush him with its cooling touch. The formal regalia is better than his costume a few nights ago, but only just; his hair still is damp by his scalp, not helped by his brother’s insistence that he dance with every appropriate girl without a partner.

He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking he’d get a dance with Shirayuki, but –

“You’re avoiding her.”

He startles, nearly pitching off the seat they’ve set for him beside the throne. He looks up, up, into the all-too satisfied eyes of his brother.

His gaze cuts to where the Yuris delegation lingers, the ambassador bowed close to listen to hear Kihal over the music, mouths spread wide in smiles --

“Who?”

It’s the exact wrong thing to say; Izana’s gaze traces his, and his mouth curls at a corner. “My, my. I meant to say Lady Shirayuki, but I see I may have been hasty.” His eyebrows raise, intrigued. “Countess Yuris, mm?”

“I --” He could choke on his own tongue, the way Izana corners him. “I’m not avoiding Shirayuki.”

That, at least, is true; he’d considered, that first night, that he should go to her, that he should admit his sin in full but –

But he hadn’t meant to. The kiss had been for her, and even though it had been embarrassing to know he wasn’t as…familiar with her as he’d thought, it wasn’t damning. It was a mistake, easily made. That it had been an enjoyable one was...beside the point.

But Kihal…

“You’ll have to dance with her, of course,” Izana tells him, so simply. “I don’t know what the nature of your disagreement is --” his tone says quite clearly, but I can guess – “but Councilor Toghrul is known as one of your staunchest allies. One of the crown’s staunchest allies. It will be noted if there’s…strife between you.”

“It’s not like I’m the limiting factor, here,” Zen snaps, “she would have to --”

“Zen.”

He almost startles right off his chair.

“Kihal!” he gasps, righting himself. Izana’s face is turned away, but oh, he knows what those shaking shoulders mean. “I didn’t think – you were just talking with Rangi --”

“He told me you were taking too long.” There’s nothing different about the way she speaks to him; she still sounds half-annoyed, impatient that he never moves quite as quickly as she likes. “And that I should show the initiative of my mothers and come get you myself.”

“Oh, of course,” he mutters, “it’s a proud Yuris tradition to make me look like an idiot, after all.”

“As far as I can tell, it’s a proud Wisteria tradition that you’re an idiot.” She holds out a hand. “Well? Are you going to come or not?”

He darts a glance at his brother, waiting for him to – to say it would be an embarrassment, that to preserve the sanctity of the crown she must wait for him to come to her –

Izana smiles mildly back. “Are you going to leave a lady waiting, brother?”

“N-no!” He bolts up from his chair, hard enough that it wobbles threateningly behind him. “Of course not. It would be an honor to dance with you, Councilor Toghrul.”

“I think,” his brother hums, mouth twitching as Kihal’s strong fingers thread tightly through his, “that tonight she is Countess Yuris.”

“Oh--”

“Never mind him,” she deadpans, leading him away, “for you, I’m Kihal. Every night.”

That shouldn’t make his skin feel so warm, shouldn’t make his cheeks flush so guiltily. He’s too aware of her as they take the floor, of the way her gown clings to her shape, of the way it sways just above the floor, offering glimpses of slipper and ankle beneath. He hopes for a polka, for a mazurka, anything that would not require him --

The reeds warble the start of a steady measure, slow and strong. A Waltz. Damn.

Kihal turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I have to lead too?” she asks as he stands dumbly on the floor.

“N-no! Of course not!” He reaches out, pulls her close, and – and this is not anything they haven’t done before, it’s no different than any other party, any other ball where they’re forced to dance to show solidarity between the crown and the islands.

Save for the one thing, of course.

“I should…” He coughs, clearing his throat. “I should apologize.”

Her eyes fix on his, and oh, how he remembers her being so close differently now, that blue –

“Why is that?” She lifts a narrow brow, entirely incredulous. “Have you done something annoying that I don’t remember?”

“No!” He nearly scowls -- she always thinks he’s done something, even when he’s innocent -- but then he remembers: he has. “For – for the other night. At the masquerade.”

Both eyebrows raise now. “Whatever for?”

“For – for causing you embarrassment.” He can feel the heat in his cheeks, flirting along the edge of his collar; he hopes she assumes it’s from exertion. “In the – the alcove.”

Her back tenses under his hand. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“I just –“ His mouth works, but words refuse to come, not unless he forces them out. “I didn’t mean to. And we were – we were both clearly expecting – someone else.”

“Someone…else.” The waltz is a close dance, but Kihal is suddenly a thousand miles away. “Right. Of course.”

“I won’t pry,” he tries with a laugh, swallowing down his nausea. This shouldn’t be so hard. “But do let him know I’m sorry for – ah, intercepting you.”

“Right.” The song ends, and she steps away sharply, as if his touch burns. “But for you, who…?”

“Oh.” He’s never told her, all these years. Not in words. “Shirayuki. You remember her, right?”

“Shirayuki.” Her smile twists, bittersweet. “Of course it was. You…she was the one that asked you to test the birds. To save Yuris. So of course…it was like that all along.”

“Kihal?” He doesn’t understand. “Is something --?”

“No, just.” She waves a hand to ward him off, twists away. “I just…put things together. It’s…fine. Enjoy the wedding.”

“The lord’s kiss!” a man calls out as the woman beside him laughs, both of them deep in their cups. “Give her the lord’s kiss and that’ll keep her in bed.”

A lady, bedecked in jewels worth more than a year’s rent in the city, offers, “A stallion like that is meant to be ridden often and well!”

Laughter presses around Obi, thick as a curtain, and he swerves from the Clarines’ glittering press. Their voices are raised, hurling suggestions at their king and consort as they climb the stairs, heading toward their marriage chamber. He’d known the tradition -- he’d seen more than a few of his men married at Lyrias -- but...

There’s not much he considers vulgar, but of course Clarines finds a way.

The balconies may not staunch the noise, but the stone certainly muffles it. With a sigh, he perches on the banister, one leg bent on the rail and the other hanging off, his back to the wall.

It’s a nice night; warm in his uniform but not stifling, the stars out in full force. His Majesty can’t control things like that, but Obi’s found the universe seems more apt to obey him anyway. Maybe one day he can get him to teach him the trick --

“Here you are.”

Obi doesn’t need to look; he’d know that voice anywhere.

But he does anyway; he’s always been a glutton for punishment.

Miss looks beautiful tonight. Her gown shimmers in the moonlight, green washed as pale as her skin with only silver to limn it. Mistress Haki -- Her Majesty picked it herself, it’s rumored -- a gift for Miss’s years of service to Wilant.

A woman should look touchable, she’d said with her secretive smile, fingers running down the beading, and unapproachable. Miss had laughed, had reminded her that she might like to dance at least once --

Mistress Haki’s sharp eyes had cut to him before darting away. The right man knows when he’s invited.

And the wrong one knows when he is not. Obi holds the sigh in his chest. She looks every inch a lady that has no business idling on a balcony with him. Miss meant for princes, for kings, not for mongrels who have sniffed their way up to respectability.

“Here I am,” he agrees. Her mouth curls at one edge as she rests her hands on the banister, right next to his boot. A twitch and she’d touch him. An inch and he’d –

He’d better forget what it was like to kiss her. He can’t afford to keep being...distracted. Not with her so close

“I thought you’d be inside,” she says, chin tilted up to the stars, “ the first in line to tell the King of Clarines how to impress his wife.”

“Maybe if it were, M—” Master hangs on his lips, but he closes teeth around it, swallows down such a dangerous thought— “more private. It’s one thing to talk about how to please when you’re soaking in a bath, but with strangers? Your family?”

There’s things he can do, and talking about how to swing a cock in front of the Queen Dowager is not one of them.

“I thought I’d see you out here,” he admits. “I thought you might be afraid of setting the curtains off with that blush of yours.”

Miss laughs, bright and lovely. He needs to stop thinking about how he’d like to swallow that down, how he’d drink it in a single drought like silvered bourbon down his throat.

“Oh, you should see how it is in Tanbarun,” she scoffs. “The whole wedding helps the couple undress too!”

He grimaces. “Remind me to never get married there.”

“I don’t think it would be that bad,” Miss says thoughtfully, turning toward him so her chin nearly brushes his knee, so that her arm winds over the shin of his bent leg. “It’d be funny, if you weren’t…”

She flushes, obvious in the moonlight. “Well, if it wasn’t the first time someone had seen you. In just your small clothes.”

Obi can’t help himself; he sees pale skin and bright eyes, hands skimming up over his bare stomach, pink lips parted –

He shuts his eyes, leaning back against the stone. He really needs to just – just stop. She kissed him once, and hasn’t – hasn’t done anything --

“I always thought that would be how it would happen for me anyway,” she admits haltingly, peeping at his from the corner of her eyes. “Anyone that I’d be with wouldn’t care whether…whether things were done before or after.”

There’s not enough air on this balcony. He crooks a grin at her. “Not what I would have expected from you, Miss.”

She bridles, just slightly. “I’m curious. Aren’t you and Garrack always complaining about that?”

He opens his eyes to half-mast, watching her squirm under the directness of his stare. “Even about that?”

Her shoulders round, her cheeks flush. “M-maybe.”

“Mm.” That -- that makes sense. Curiosity. That’s why she kissed him. Not -- not because --

He shakes himself. It’s a royal wedding with all the trappings, just like the one she might have in a not-too-distant future. She’s used to Master, used to sweet kissing with the barest heat. It’s only natural that she’d wonder if there was more, if there was something that bridged hidden moments behind the roses with what happens between a husband and wife in the privacy of their own bedroom.

And who would know better than him?

“I can tell.” There’s something in him that twists, some perverse urge that makes him say, “After all, you kissed me.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “That’s not why.”

He lifts a brow. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” Her chest is flushed now, the tips of her ears too. “I only – it was --”

“It’s all right, Miss,” he assures her, forcing the grin on his face, the playfulness as he presses a hand to his chest. “I know my effect on women. Must be hard to be around me, when I light girls up like a --”

“Stop. Please. It’s not --” her breath rasps out of her chest, painful – “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

It’s so silent, without his heart beating. “Well, Miss, I’m sure everything seems like a good idea in the moment --”

“No.” She’s firm now, close. Her hand brushes over his on the rail. “I’ve…wanted to kiss you for a while.”

“O-oh.”

“It’s just easier to be brave behind a mask.” Her gaze slips off him, and his heart picks up it steady beat. He can see the shape of things now; the curiosity, followed by regret, followed by guilt.

“I guess you’ve sated your curiosity now,” he remarks, light. “Since you haven’t tried again.”

“I was…I was confused.”

He nods, letting his gaze slip over the balcony, trying to settle somewhere safer for his heart. “I’m sure.”

“Obi --”

“I’m glad that we’re past it now,” he says, each word stabbing into him. “Now you know exactly who you want to --”

Her hands cradle his face, dragging it back to her, and –

And it’s very hard to think about anything with her mouth on him like this.

She pulls back, just the barest moment to rub her nose against his, to take a steeling breath as her forehead rests against his --

And then she is on him again, tongue dragging over his bottom lip, pleading with him to open to her. He twists, burying his hands in the silk of her hair, lips parting so that she can lick at the roof of his mouth, so she can take him apart slowly with the slow slide of their mouths and tongues.

“No,” she breathes when he pulls back, needing air. “I…I wasn’t sure you’d want to kiss me again. After all, you light girls up like a --”

He groans against her lips. “Don’t.”

Her mouth curls against his, and he expects her to tease, to make him regret every word he’s ever said about other girls --

“I wanted to kiss you again, so badly. I just didn’t know if you’d even thought of me like that before, or if...” She hesitates, pulling back, staring at where her hands clutch his coat. “Of if you were just...seizing a moment.”

His heart beats frantically against her knuckles, but he doesn’t try to slow it, not this time.

“Maybe” he sighs, guiding her back to him. “Maybe you haven’t been the only one wondering about that.”

It’s the silence that unsettles her.

Even in the halls, the din of the party had chased their heels, had echoed off the walls around them. Haki had laughed, almost tripping over the hem of her skirts, and His Majesty had righted her, had given her a smile so soft she thought back to a sea of masks, to the quiet darkness they had one stood.

Now the doors are closed, only their own breaths to keep them company, and –

And Haki doesn’t know what to do, not with a man standing in his small clothes, looking the way His –

Her husband. The way her husband does.

He’s all lean muscle, the candlelight clinging closer to him than a lover, casting the planes of him in scintillating chiaroscuro. His skin is gilded in this light, makes him look darker than the linen at his waist. She knows that to be a lie, that even with her Lyrias-pale skin, he is paler still; if he would come close enough, she would be able to trace the lacework of his veins, be able to see the blue blood of House Wisteria run just beneath the surface.

The mattress dips beside her, and she realizes – he is coming to bed. Her husband is coming to lay with her.

Her heart races, as if it’s trying to escape her ribs, as if it’s trying to fly from the room. There’s a part of her that wants to follow it, that wants to find a quiet place to hide until this is all over, until she doesn’t have to pretend to be this woman anymore. Until she isn’t expected to be a wife.

But there is another part whose fingers itch, whose mouth tingles in anticipation, and –

And she stays.

Her husband does not join her beneath the covers, but he does slip closer to her, her side aligning along his front.

“Perhaps you have not been informed, Your Majesty,” she drawls, breathless, “but it isn’t possible to take my maidenhead through a sheet.”

A grin curls at the edges of his mouth, soft and sly, and she thinks of other nights, of getting pulled into alcoves and hot mouths, of wandering hands and fervent promises.

“I think you might be surprised, my lady,” he murmurs, his long fingers trailing down her cheek, brushing through the loose stands of her hair. “And we have all night. You’re trembling like a leaf.”

She flushes. She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. “From anticipation, Your Majesty.”

“Ah,” he laughs, breath huffing across her lips. “No. Not yet.”

This is not like their other kisses, hot and heavy and breathless, stolen moments in the shadows; no, this is slow, exploratory, in the full light of his bedchamber. He is taking his time, savoring her, and it leaves her squirming beside him, unable to quell the ache between her thighs. She braces a hand against his chest and nearly moans at the strength she finds there, at the power coiled in his body, at how much she wants him to use that on her.

He pulls away, every line of his face smug, self-satisfied. She nearly snips at him for it, except that she feels his hardness knock against her hip, and –

And she is not the only one affected. She is not the only one who is looking forward to him joining her beneath these sheets.

“I am glad to see you’re making the best of a choice you didn’t get to make, husband,” she tells him, trying to slow her heart as he bends back in, placing a delicate kiss behind her ear.

His body jerks, stilling next to her. She’s afraid she’s said something wrong, but then he pulls back, staring down at her with a fire in his eyes that leaves her breathless.

“Is that what you think?” he murmurs, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “That I am making the best of a girl chosen for me?”

“Kings do not marry for love.” Her father had reminded her of that often enough. “They don’t have the luxury.”

His mouth crooks, amused. “My mother and father had a marriage like that. Arranged. The best for Clarines.”

“For Wilant, too.”

“Yes.” He’s distracted now, fires banked. “And it did not end well. For anyone.”

His gaze slides back to her, tracing the curve of her lips, the column of her throat, and she rubs her legs together to try to quell the ache. He needs to touch her, more than just a hand along her cheek.

He agrees, hand trailing down, alongside her breast and over her hip, until it hooks under the apex of her thigh, turning her toward him.

“I chose you,” he admits, breathless against her lips.

“Liar,” she moans when he moves his mouth to her neck, leaving hot kisses along her pulse. “The council --”

“Gave me a list.” His teeth nip mercilessly at her skin. “And you were on it.”

“We met once,” she reminds him. “And it was a disaster.”

“I wanted you.” He stills against her, just for a moment; his body writhes, but less in ecstasy and more in -- embarrassment. “More, after all that.”

Haki twists, just enough to see where he’s buried himself in her shoulder. “I did all but scold you.”

“You told a boy pretending to be a man that he was a child still,” he says, so softly, almost reverent. “And you looked glorious.”

There is not enough air in the room, not when he sounds like that. “And then I ended up on a list?”

“You did.” He abandons her neck, licking and nipping down over her clavicle, bringing his mouth to the slope of her breast -- “And I am not so selfless a man to not take what I want when it’s offered.”

His lips close hotly around her breast, sucking through the sheet --

“Then get under these covers and take it,” she moans, kicking them off. “I’m burning.”

He grins against her skin. “As my lady wishes.”

The straggling revelers stumble towards the halls, dresses falling off shoulders and cravats given up as lost. The servants are quick to fill the empty ballroom, sweeping in to move chairs and abandoned glasses from the edges of the room. The night is nearly over, and Zen lets himself take a full breath. Finally, time to himself.

It’s Shirayuki who fills his mind now, red playing behind his eyelids as he lets his heart calm. He hasn’t seen her all night –

He hasn’t seen her all week, really. He’d been at the gate when she arrived – the only nice part of being on greeter duty for their esteemed guests – but the parties and plans for the wedding had occupied him otherwise. He’d tried to invite her to dinner, or lunch, until he’d have to cancel each time, drafted into yet another politically important meal over five courses.

She’s been on his mind all week, but he’d hardly noticed that he hasn’t seen her. And that’s…that’s…

It’s fine. Good even. Four years of separation had done them good, had made the urgency of their love into something gentler, more abiding. He doesn’t need to see her to love her.

…But he should, at some point, now that she’s here. He wants to see her, after all, and he’d like to know she wants to see him –

A loud sniff echoes in the arcade. It’s unmissable in the silence of the night, and Zen’s steps halt, trying to locate the noise.

It’s a sob now, desperately muffled. He whirls, stalking toward a pillar.

“Kihal,” he yelps, suddenly wishing his heart was not so soft, his ideals not so chivalrous. The thought dries up when he sees the puffiness around her eyes, the red tracks down her cheeks. “You’re crying!”

“I’m not!” she snaps, lip quivering as she spins away from him. “I’m – I’m taking in the night. It’s lovely!”

Another woman he might believe overcome with the beauty of nature, but not Kihal.

“Was someone rude to you?” he demands, mind running through the list of guests, trying to divine who would possibly say something so terrible as to send the councilor of Yuris crying behind a pillar. She shies away, and he grips her wrist, makes her looks at him. “Did someone – did someone do something rude--?”

“I’m fine!” she yelps, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. “I can handle myself, thank you very much. Just…leave it alone.”

“If someone’s upset you --”

“You can’t fix it!” Her hands are bent into a stiff claws, like she’d rake him if he got closer. “You can’t just – prince everything away!”

“I’m not trying to – to do that!” he protests, feeling his face flush. “There’s no reason for anyone to be allowed to disrespect a friend of mine in my --”

“It’s your brother’s castle,” she reminds him, pedantically.

He scowls at her. “In my home. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to let them know how I felt about it, too.”

Kihal sighs, half the fight seeping out of her. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” There’s a list of things she expounds on, on the regular. Idealistic. Privileged. Oblivious.

“Good.” She shakes her head. “You can’t fix this because it’s you.”

“Me?” He blinks. “But I –”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else,” she blurts out, “I knew it was you. When we kissed.”

“Me?” He stares. “But – why? How?”

“We just – we work closely together, and you’re…you.” Her hands twist anxiously above her skirts. “It’s not – it’s not something big. I just – you kissed me, and I thought – it was nice, and I --”

She waves her hands, trying to ward him off, even though he hasn’t moved from the spot. “Just, never mind. Good night!”

“Kihal --”

“No!” She shakes her head, stepping further from him. “It’s not – you’re not at fault here, Zen. I should have known it wasn’t for me.”

There’s something in how she says it, so sad, so hopeless, and it – it’s only that Kihal is not that, she’s fighting spirit and grit, she gets knocked down seven times and gets up eight, and – and –

He’s done that to her, made her think that she – that he couldn’t –

He moves without thinking, three steps to catch her and a tug to bring her back. She stares up with wide, wary eyes,  one hand braced on his chest, their height nearly even, her mouth so close to his –

And it’s nothing to close the gap, to take one hand and bury it in the weave of her chignon, to turn his head and deepen the kiss when she gasps. Her hand clutch at his tunic, then at his hair, and when his back hits the pillar his knees go weak.

Air becomes a necessity, and they pull back, eyes searching and –

And he does not feel nothing. He feels – quite a lot.

This is…complicated.

He pulls her back.

[thevikingwoman]

Prompt: *slams fists on table* I demand to see Solas and Iwyn having sex at her parents' house. Bonus points if Solas is kind of reluctant at the thought because he is still nervous about impressing her family, if the bed has a squeak, if one of them gets too loud for a second....

Thank you @buttsonthebeach! Here we go :) For at @dadrunkwriting

This is a direct sequel to Better. Also, this takes place just before Dirt. 

Iwyn Lavellan x Solas | post-Trespasser, post-reunion | romance, smutnsfw, oral

Better, part 2

Iwyn’s lips are softer than the moonlight, and he kisses her again. And again. She groans and opens her mouth, her tongue running over his lips. He yields to her, and she tastes the liquor her father served after the dinner, of the herbs her mother used to cook the fish they had to eat. He pulls back, and she raises herself up, kissing his jaw, then biting him lightly, impatient.

He presses closer to her, wanting, needing, to feel her body against his own. The moon is silent, but he is not. He becomes aware of the wooden walls, the small room, as she pushes him towards the narrow bed.

“We should not,” he says, when the back of his shins hits the bed. “Your parents…”

The dinner had been awkward, broken up by nervous silence. He doesn’t want to overstep, not here.

“We’re adults, Solas,” she says with a smile. She keeps her hands on his chest, and she pulls back to her head to look into his eyes. “They know we are here, together.”

He isn’t sure they’ll approve, but he knows better than voice his concern. She has spent enough courage to bring him here at all. She wants him here, and that should be enough. He kisses her again, and again. He can’t help it, her eyes deep and honest.

“Okay?” she asks, her hands on his shirt, sliding beneath it.

He nods.

“We just have to stay silent, then.” Her eyes sparkle, jewels meeting the moon. “Can you manage?”

Her hands move lower, light and teasing. He grows harder in his pants, and he finds himself agreeing, yes, he can be quiet.

They make quick work of their clothes, their hands and mouths meeting skin with burning need. It is still new, wondrous, how she feels against him, how her hand touches him. He waited two years and more, with his heart closed to her. He waited immeasurable ages before that, to meet her, and now that she is here, he can’t wait, and he can’t be still. Moonlight and walls be damned.

They fall naked onto the bed together, their mouths tangled. Her hand is already on his cock, aching. His hand is on her breast, plucking a nipple, causing a muffled sound as she bites her lip. His other hand slides between her legs, finding her slippery and wanting.

The bed squeaks.

“Don’t worry,” Iwyn mumbles, her fingers running up his thigh, grazing his balls. “It’s fine.”

He hopes so, when she moves her hand to his erection, when he kisses her to stop himself for moaning. He hopes so, when her mouth leaves kisses down his chest, when she licks the tip of his cock.

“Just be quiet,” she says, an unfair challenge, as she takes him into her mouth. Her hand holds his hip, grounding him, holding him tight into the blankets beneath him. She sucks in earnest, and soon he has to put his hand in his own mouth, only a muffled sound escaping. He forgets why he should keep quiet, but he still tries.

The pressure at the base of his cock is mounting, and he manages to stroke the top of her head, and he lets out a soft sound to stop her.

“Wait, vhenan… I want…”

“Me too,” she says, letting go of his cock. “I want you inside of me.”

She moves up next to him, her skin touching his in a perfect agony. She pulls him on top of her, and he sinks into her heat, her gaze sinking into his. He moves, as she moves below him, first slow, and then faster. He wants more, he wants to bury himself so deep in her that he can never leave.

The bed squeaks.

She lifts her head and kisses him, and he doesn’t care. It squeaks again, with every stroke, but he moves faster, surrounded by her, and she muffles a moan biting into his shoulder. The pressure at the base of his spine expands, filling him, and the bed squeaks and he groans, and she moves, and he comes, and all he knows is her.

He collapses on top of her, and she folds her arm around him.

“Ar lath ma,” she says.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he replies.

He kisses her brow and then he rolls off her. She grabs something, somewhere, and cleans herself, then hands him the cloth. Soon they are under the blankets.

“I am not sure we managed to stay quiet at all,” he says.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

She is curled up next to him, her lips moving against his shoulder, and he knows she is right.  She is next to him, loving him, in her parents’ home. She loves him enough to bring him to her family, to the people she cares about. It is blinding, like the daylight which will surely fill the room come morning.

[scullysexual]

Jewel Sequel: Chapter Two.

There’s been a change of plan. I was originally gonna get this out on the weekend (so it had a similar system to what Jewel had) but then I finished it and edited it today so the post day will either be late Wednesday/early Thursday and hopefully I’ll be able to stick to that schedule. Hi, hello, if you’re new to this. This can arguably be classed as a ‘Titanic au’ still cause it exists within that universe. This is a sequel to that and it is highly recommended to read A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight first, it’s not long, it’s thirteen chapters and if you’ve read my stuff before you’ll know my chapters/one shots are never long. You won’t regret reading it either. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this universe but most wanted me to continue with it so here you go. I do really hope you enjoy this as much as you did Jewel. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them :)

Tagging: @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @purrykat @today-in-fic. As usual, let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. 

Link to Chapter One.

Scully sighs in frustration as she turns the pages of the newspaper. It was the third one she had picked up so far and nothing; nobody advertising for any job, nobody looking for extra help.

She places the newspaper back on the rack, her hand hovering over the next before…

“We’re not a library. If you’re going to look through it, you better pay for it.”

Scully looks up to see an old man peering down at her from his stall.

Reluctantly, she leaves the fourth paper where it is and saunters over to the counter.

“Yes?” the man asks, warily.

“I was wondering if there had any job requests,” Scully answers, her elbows coming up to lean on the counter.

The man eyes her cautiously. “What kind of job?”

“Nanny, housekeeper, that sort of thing,” she shrugs.

With one last careful glance towards her, Scully watches with apprehension as he pulls a piece of paper off the wall and hands it to her.

“The Burkes came in a few weeks ago saying they were looking for a new housekeeper. They never came back to tell me they found someone so you can always check there.”

Scully looks at the yellowing paper. The address was not of a place she had heard of but it sounded upper class enough for them to have money so it was good enough for her.

“Thank you,” Scully says, exiting the shop. Too busy still reading the paper, she misses the sign If you read, you buy the man tapes onto the newspaper rack.

   Three knocks and she’s stepping back, praying that her appearance is presentable enough for this family to consider her.

Physical appearance had been everything with the other family; hair up, clothes tucked in, and not a single curl out of place. Scully’s curls always fell out of place, regardless.

She hears barking from the other side of the door and smiles. They have a dog.

Out the way, Bruce, she also hears before the door is opening and a boy no older than herself stands before her.

“Uh…can I help you?” the boy asks.

Smiling (just as she had been taught) Scully begins,

“Hi, uh…there was a housekeeper request made and I was wondering if it was still open?” She extends the note towards the boy and he looks down at it, looking as if he’s unsure as to what it is or what to do with it for a second before he’s taking it from her.

“Uh, yeah…just, hold on a minute.”

Scully nods, still smiling, as the door is placed on the latch and waits for him to return.

To say she was disappointed to being back in this position again perhaps wasn’t right. She knew even four months ago that there would have to be an adjustment period, and while her future turned out differently than she imagined before stepping onto the ship, career-wise, it wasn’t entirely off target.

The four months she had been here was really about allowing Mulder to settle. She knows how much of a drastic change this is for him, how important it was for her to be there when he came home every evening- she was his only familiarity anymore, after all- but Scully couldn’t shake away the feeling that maybe she had pushed her dreams too far back, all just to accommodate Mulder.

Had she still been here with Charlie, they would have found the swing of things fairly early on; him at some construction site, her in some upper-class house. And she wouldn’t have to try and get the weekend off.

Charlie…

It still stung to think of her brother.

The door reopens to an older woman, late 30s Scully assumes, holding the note Scully gave to the boy.

The woman looks her up and down. “You’re the help?” she asks, distastefully.

“Aye, ma’am,” Scully nods.

The woman sighs defeatedly. “I suppose you’re better than nothing.” She opens the door the little wider to allow Scully entrance. “Well, come on, then.”

Scully enters and immediately the dog bounding towards her, curious as to who this intruder is. She laughs as the gold Labrador slobbers all over her skirt, not minding at all as she pets the top of his head.

“Edward!” Mrs Burke shouts towards the rooms leading off. The boy who answered the door exits out of the nearest doorway. “Take the dog somewhere else.”

Edward moves towards the dog, gripping it by the collar and tugging it away from Scully. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“You won’t need to worry about the dog,” Mrs Burke says, shutting the front door. “That’s Edward’s job. What did you say your name was?”

“Ingrid Brevik,” Scully answered.

The woman smiles slightly, a smile that tells Scully the woman knows she’s lying.

“You’re real name.”

Scully hesitates for a moment. They had been using their fake names since they got here, every new person they met they introduced themselves as Leif and Ingrid and nothing was said on the matter. Even when they had got to Ellis Island, they had been allowed to pass through immigration fairly easily.

“If will remain within this household if you’re scared,” Mrs Burke reassures.

And maybe Scully was scared. What if they knew the Mulders had been her first thought, was always her thought when meeting anybody. Scully knew first-hand what vultures these people were.

But what if not all of them were? Mulder certainly wasn’t.

“Dana Scully,” Scully finally answers.

Mrs Burke nods, “That sounds more like it. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Scully gets a tour of the house. It’s easy enough to navigate, give her two days and she’ll be able to walk around with her eyes closed.

She’s finally led to where she’ll be staying. A room in the basement. Minimum furniture; a single bed, a set of drawers yet the added bonus is the small bathroom attached. The last house hadn’t had a bathroom and Scully had been forced to use the one they had outside.

“You’ll work from six to nine every day. Dinner is usually served at seven. Any meals you have are to be had after we’ve eaten. Yes?”

Scully nods.

“Any questions?”

Scully fumbles with her fingers, unsure of how to proceed.

“Um…I have one request, actually.” The woman looks at her, waiting. “Can I have Saturday to Sunday off?”

  An agreement was made. Monday to Friday she would work, for half the wage.

Scully hadn’t tried to bargain with Mrs Burke. She hadn’t been too impressed with Scully’s request but had granted it anyway once Scully explained Mulder. She may not have been truthfully honest, Mulder was far from inept and she had no doubt he could take care of himself if it really came down to it but needs must.

Now she had the task of actually telling Mulder, something she had been dreading since this idea first came to mind. Five days a week Mulder would have to learn to live without her which meant he had a few new skills to learn.

Scully braces herself at the sound of the door unlocking. It opens to reveal Mulder, worn out and dropping his sketchbook onto the floor. He looks over to her, smiling tiredly, taking off his shoes.

“Long day?” she asks.

Mulder smiles in agreement, placing the money jar on the table. Scully’s eyes fall to it and widen when she realises what sits inside.

A dark green dollar bill.

She brings the jar towards her, twisting off the cap.

Mulder is full smiles now, pulling out the opposite chair and sitting down.

“Took a bit of convincing, but I managed to con them into giving that over.”

She looks up at him disapprovingly. “Mulder! We agreed you weren’t gonna use any deceitful tactics.”

“Look, I only did it the once, and look what it got us,” he points to the bill she holds in her hand. “I promise I won’t do it often.”

Scully sighs, placing the note back into the jar and pushing it out of the way. “You won’t have to. I got a job.”

Mulder stares at her in surprise. “Really? Where?”

She slides the note she got from the newspaper stall over to him.

“It’s just a housekeeper. I work Monday to Friday but I get to be home for the weekend.” She smiles, hoping it’ll lift his spirits.

Mulder stares glumly at the note. “You won’t be here for five days.”

She reaches her hand out, grasping his. “But I get to be home every weekend, that’s something right?”

Mulder shrugs, his fingers playing with hers. “When do you start?”

Scully looks down at their entwined hands. “Monday.”

“Monday?” Mulder exclaims. “But what’s in two days.”

“Well, it’s better than starting tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Mulder looks glumly down at their hands. “I guess,” he mumbles. “Scully, how am I meant to survive five days without you here?”

Scully smiles, “I’ll teach you how to cook. That should keep you alive.” Another thought passes through her mind then, one she hadn’t thought about before this moment.

“Mulder, will you be okay at night? You know, with the nightmares and that?”

She watches him think for a moment, a flash of panic crossing his face. Often their nightmares consisted of something happening to the other, or just a memory of what happened that night, and when they would wake up, the other’s presence would soothe them, allow them to go back to sleep knowing the other was safe and alive next to them. With them both being separated, there was a worry that that safety, that comfort wouldn’t be there anymore.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, trying to sound like he was convincing them both. “What about you? I know you have them, too.”

Scully tried to be less vocal about hers. Sometimes, Mulder’s dreams would have her waking up- usually because Mulder’s woke her up- sometimes it was the only way he could really go back to sleep if he knew she was really alive. Scully would just cuddle closer to Mulder, listen to his breathing and fall asleep that way.

She grasps his hand tighter. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

It was going to be strange, being away from each other for so long. They had been in each other’s company since the day they met. They have never gone a day since that day without seeing each other at some point during the same day. Scully just prayed Mulder would be able to manage without her.

[scullysexual]

WIPs Masterlist (and other fics)

So I’ve accumulated a lot of WIPs in these past few months and I’m just curious which ones people would be interesting in me picking back up so just reply below, let me know, and I will get round to it.

WIPs.

A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight Sequel

Found here. A sequel to A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight. It’s a Titanic au. I wrote the sequel as more of an epilogue that I had plans to turn into another multi-chapter fic.

Noctorum.

Found here. My darkest fic so far. I got about three chapters out before I stopped because I got worried about the reception it would receive. It’s inspired by Outlast II and I really liked this idea originally before the nerves kicked in.

Plushies.

Found here. One of my earlier fics. Everyone wanted a part 2 to this and I never got round to doing it. That, and I also just couldn’t really come up with an idea for it so if you want to see more of this let me know what I could actually write for plot.

Not Another College AU.

Found here. I few this out as an idea that I was really onboard with then just lost interest in. It’s a college au, nothing more I can really say.

Prompts.

Song Prompts.

The only one I did found here. I dislike this and I had plans to rewrite it. However, there were many more that there sent so if this fic didn’t put you off and you’d like me to continue this song prompt thing let me know (and send me some too)

A Collection of Baby Fics.

Found here. Just a load of fics that are less than 1,000 words and didn’t really need their own page. A collection of prompts, headcanons, or other people’s ideas that I hijacked and turned into a fic- including fanart. Send me prompts for this thing and I’ll write them and, if they’re below a 1,000 words and don’t belong elsewhere, they’ll go here.

Post Episode Fics.

My Tiny Little Child. 

Found here. Post How The Ghosts Stole Christmas. It’s angsty and didn’t get as much love as I hoped it would but I like it.

Hidden In The Shadows.

Found here. Post Sein und Zeit. It was so long ago I can’t even remember what this fic is other than I eluded to smut. I think that’s literally all to the fic.

Comfort, Support.

Found here. I hate this title. Post Orison. It’s the first fic I’d ever wrote (for xf) and I hadn’t actually watched the episode before writing it. Mulder comforts Scully and that’s about it. They shower together. They share a bed (I think...) All the tropes apparently.

AUs.

Pictures of You.

Found here. The first of many college aus. I love this little set of moments and it’s the first fic I’d recommend anyone if they came asking. I love everything about this- the fanart they were based on, the moments themselves.

Baseball.

Found here. I sat in maccas so Emily sat in maccas. Little Mulder/Emily bonding moment. Tbf, this could easily go in the WIPs section cause there’s more I could write to this as well.

[scullysexual]

What are you working on at the moment? What do you consider to be your greatest writing achievement? Do you use a favourite word/saying/metaphor often? Whose POV do you prefer to write - Mulder or Scully? How do you feel when you write - do you experience the same emotions as the characters? How do you know when a fic is ready to post? Link us to three fics you've written that are your personal favourites and tell us why you're proud of them.

Omg I love these, thanks you!

What are you working on at the moment? 

There’s a lot going on rn lol. I have somehow accumulated so many fics and I just don’t have the time to write them. So fics I am currently posting are 50 Days of Prompts, Time Can Heal, and daisies. The prompts are the focus as they’re kinda a semi-daily thing (that makes no sense lol) The other two are sort of when I have the time. Stuff I should be writing are the ABIF’s prompts, @enigmaticxbee ‘s headcanon fic, and also technically the script fic that I haven’t touched in a month but let’s ignore that. There’s also any one shots that are derived from the rewatches and the discussions we will have.

What do you consider to be your greatest writing achievement?

Honestly, I’d say I have three just because they all hit difference achievements. A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight was the first multi-chapter I completed. Rain and Metal in terms of I kinda wrote smut and don’t feel embarrassed by it (I’d also say it’s one of my best written pieces too) and daisies- while not the most popular fic of mine (which I expected) I get to write what I want to write (the Mulder and Scully I want to write) without feeling the need to please everyone and its also something a bit different and if you know me I like to bend the rules and give out something new and different.

Do you use a favourite word/saying/metaphor often?

I guess if I was to go through all my fics I might be able to see that I’ve used the same metaphor or similar sentence in two different things. Honestly I try not to but sometimes it happens.

Whose POV do you prefer to write - Mulder or Scully?

Definitely Mulder’s, I find him to be a lot easier (we have a lot in common tbf) but I’ve been writing Scully a lot more. For the longest time I was really scared to write Scully- I was always worried that I was gonna get her characterisation wrong or something unlike I realised that that didn’t exist. Obviously there a rules to stick to with these characters but you’re interpretation is your interpretation and that’s what fic is. My Scully will be different to your Scully- just look at the show and the way each writer chooses to focus upon certain aspects of the characters, exactly what we’re doing. The way I look at it, as long as you’re backed up by the show and by canon at some point nobody can argue that it’s out of character.

How do you feel when you write - do you experience the same emotions as the characters?

Yeah! Otherwise I feel like I’ll default to just telling which isn’t bad and you do need a bit of it but you also need to show and so long as I’m feeling the emotion I’m trying to write I can do that.

How do you know when a fic is ready to post?

I post immediately after I’ve written, it’s terrible and I shouldn’t but that’s how it is. If you’re lucky, I’ll read over it but if not you get it in all its terrible grammar/typo glory. It’s a habit I need to get out of but I write at night, writing makes me sleepy and I also have this need to post it straight after I’ve wrote it. There’s something about waking up to comments or reblogs that I really enjoy. My daily validation intake I guess.

Link us to three fics you've written that are your personal favourites and tell us why you're proud of them.

Gonna try to make this different to achievement question. 

A Baby Is Forever.

It’s the multi-chapter that holds my longest written piece- 5000 words. I really liked that prompt and I really liked the world that I created and the fact that it was a touchy subject (I’m dealing with teenage pregnancy and forced marriage) but people really liked it and it was nice.

Mulder and Scully Abduct Adopt An Alien.

This is such a stupid fic. It’s not the best written but it’s meant to be. It’s one of my more comedic fics amidst all the angst that I tend to write. When I get back round to writing it it will turn into a Monsters Inc AU.

Gone.

This wasn’t popular at all which is a shame because this is where I began to write the stories I wanted to write and write the characters I wanted to write. It all began here. And I enjoyed it, I planned it out, I didn’t post immediately after writing it, I cared about it but sadly it just wasn’t a popular fic so I stopped.

Bonus:  help me im being hit on at a bar please be a fake boyfriend for a second.

Everyone wants a sequel to this lol. Again, I love the world I built and all the detail in it. It’s very simple in plot (the title says all) but there’s so much more I could write in this universe- there’s the conversation they have, I hint that they’ve had sex in an alleyway, I could given write a fic on when he broke her glasses. There’s just a lot I could do and similarly to Metal and Rain, it just worked. All the words went seamlessly together and it was fun to write. 

I loved these questions! Thank you so much :)

ASK ME ABOUT MY FICS!!

[scullysexual]

Jewel Sequel: Abandoned

My first abandoned fic...yikies.

Maybe some of you saw this coming but I won’t be carrying on with the Jewel Sequel. Sometimes it happens, sometimes what’s a great idea in your head doesn’t translate well onto the page and that’s what happened here. I don’t have the biggest urge to write it because I’ve had such a turbulent relationship with it and all that has finalised my reasoning for abandoning it. 

I’m not going to leave you hanging, though. At a later date I will release a one-shot in that world but I think that’s as far as it’s going to go. Jewel (original) is my baby, it was the first multi-chapter fic I committed to and completed in a decent amount of time and it’s my most popular fic. I don’t need to replicate that by doing a sequel.

You can always read or reread A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight whenever, too. It will always be on my AO3 page. 

Going forward now I’m just going to focus upon Gone and getting that planned and posted, and the Whirlybird series. They’re my two main fics right now.

[scullysexual]

1. 2. 3. 4. Fic asks

1 + 3 answered.

2. Do you focus on attention to detail when you read fics? Are you more or less attention to detail when you write fics?

I don’t look up if that colour of wallpaper was around in that era when I’m reading fic. When I write fic...I’ll look up if that colour of wallpaper was around in that era.

4. Tell me about one of your abandoned WIPs. Why did you abandon it?

So I actually have 2 abandoned fics (3 if you really want to go there but 2 definitely abandoned ones) The first one I abandoned when nobody knew me and the second one- the one I’m going to talk about- is the Jewel Sequel. As I’m sure most know now I have the Titanic au- A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight. My child, my 1 year old toddler who would still like some attention- anyway I planned to do a sequel and it was going to expand from 1912 to around 1940s. I was pretty excited for it, ready to go on this long ass journey with this sequel. I posted the first chapter, everything was fine. I posted the second chapter and that is what started with weird relationship I have with posting fic. It just had this unexplained effect on my mental health. I felt like shit. I felt like my writing was shit, I should leave the fandom because of it. It was weird. People liked it, people wanted more and it was just making it worse. So I made the official post that I was going to scrap that idea and do a oneshot. I’m actually thinking now of doing a similar thing I did with ABIF and just write mini prompts/oneshots in a particular year spanning from 1912 to 1940s.

SEND ME FIC ASKS!!!

[scullysexual]

5, 18, 22, 29 for the asks!

5.  If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

A Jewel Beneath the Moonlight. I’ve said this so many times but it’s my baby, it’s was the first multi chapter fic I committed to and finished, it’s my most popular story. I’m just really proud of it.

18.  Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

The Jewel Sequel. I just hit a really bad low right after I’d posted the second chapter and it was horrible. I decided that Jewel didn’t need a sequel and I’m going to do a one-shot for it instead as an apology because I know people were really looking forward to that sequel.

22.  Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

It’s not old and I don’t exactly cringe when I read it but Gone is a fic where I’m very up in arms about it. My relationship with that fic is weird currently and I’m just feeling uneasy about the whole thing so I think I’m gonna take a break from it and see if that changes how I look at it.

29.  Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I have three lol: Pictures of You, My Little Tiny Child, I’ll Always Be With You. They’re some of my favourite fics and they just don’t get enough love I don’t think, it’s strange. 

Thank you :)

Send me Fic Asks!

[scullysexual]

Wednesday, Fortnight, and May, please!

Wednesday. Name a fic you have posted that you think is underrated? 

Pictures of You. I love that fic; I love the art I based it off and I love the setting...I just really love it and for someone who bases what to read off kudos’ (which is really bad and i feel horrible for it but it helps me figure out what the likelihood of me enjoying the fic is if a majority themselves have enjoyed it) it got ten kudos’ on ao3 which is worrying but then I have to remember that not everyone has my mind set when it comes to what fics to read.

Fortnight. What wip do you plan on posting next, if at all?

Obviously I have chapter four of A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight to post eventually, once I’ve figured out how to be smart and write a strategically passive-aggressive but we’re gonna smile at all times dinner scene which I’m slightly terrified for. Aside from that, there’s not much else. Some people have asked for a sequel for Plushies and there’s the Baby Fic Collection to continue with but I have nothing in my head currently. 

May. A fic you have regretted posting?

Had things turned out differently I probably would have said Jewel but it didn’t so I don’t really have one...yet.