#maybe their descendants could be the ones to truly see each other's side and achieve some better balance

[theniftycat]

Angels, Demons, and the Inevitable

A Good Omens Analysis done by an atheist who’s kinda invested in Christianity. Avaunt if it might make you uncomfortable.

Themes, through lines, and tendencies - Part 2

Parts: 1, 2, 3.1, 3.2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

As the second episodes starts, we see angels entering Aziraphale's shop.

Gabriel has no idea what books are. He's the Supreme Archangel and for the past 6000 years he's been working on this little project called "the Earth", but it wasn't enough time for him to get acquainted with it. See, he's been very busy, overseeing stuff like, like... uh... obedience of the angels? Celestial hierarchy working like a well oiled machine? Besides, books have only been around for like a 1000 years! It's so hard to keep up!

We're also properly introduced to Sandalphon, he looks like your least favourite coworker and he's known for a lot of smiting. Just a decent guy all around.

Angels come to Aziraphale to ask him about the Antichrist's birthday and him getting the Hellhound, but they hardly even do that because everything's going according to the Plan, how else can it go?

Meanwhile, Crowley is met with the opposite attitude from Hell. They assert that Armageddon will happen as smoothly as possible because everything's already been arranged. And it's a threat.

Crowley doesn't feel like a proper demon. His personality never fundamentally changed, he just became a demon because there were only two options.

Then we move on to Agnes Nutter, she predicted everything up to the Armageddon, but she couldn't predict the time of her death exactly.

Agnes, being a witch, is an agent of chaos. She's not interested in Heaven or Hell, she embraces humanity with all of its sides. Her goal is to prevent the end of the world, but...

With everything she predicts being foreseeable, where does the knowledge come from? Is everything truly written if it can be literally written down in a book?

She's not willing to go down without a fight, too. She wants humanity to survive, but she's okay with killing those who came to kill her. Truly, a human incarnate.

Her prophecies only apply to things directly connected to her descendants, and maybe, maybe that's actually the main thing she cared for. She just wanted them to live happy lives, that's why she paved the way for them. And it has nothing to do with higher powers.

It seems that Crowley spends most of his free time sitting in his throne, moping. We get a glimpse of him being angry at himself for misplacing the Antichrist. If he did it right, he could easily get rid of him, but alas.

Bold of God to tell us what Crowley wants to achieve with his plants. Discarding them after finding a single flaw? Making an example of the imperfect ones? Ensuring that fear is their main motivation? Very bold of God to tell us all of that.

Crowley is very fast to disperse responsibility for something he did. Just because otherwise he'd blame himself too much.

Aziraphale can feel that Tadfield is loved because he has allowed himself to embrace this feeling. He allows himself to love things and it brings him joy. He loves small things, big things, all kind of things, and he gives into this feeling. He knows what loving is.

For example, he loves his coat. And apparently, he's been taking care of it by human means because he doesn't want to miracle the stain away, it wouldn't feel real. Now, when Crowley does it, it's fine. External forces stained his coat, external forces cleaned it. It's almost like nothing even happened!

Aziraphale then says that guns in good hands are good, actually. Again, violence is acceptable if it's for the greater good.

It doesn't make that much sense to Crowley though.

He turns paintball guns into real guns because for him there's no much difference between pretend violence and real violence. Why would they play war if war is awful? That will show them.

And people do use this right. They shoot at each other despite figuring out that the guns are real.

Crowley wants to make a point to Aziraphale that if you give people guns, they'll use them, but he doesn't want people to pay with their lives for that lesson. He wants them just, you know, to be scared, traumatised and arrested. Nothing wrong with that.

All that Aziraphale understands is that Crowley should be wanting to murder people, but he doesn't, and that makes him nice.

Crowley is a demon who's tired of being a demon. He'd like people to learn their lessons, but they never do.

Now, on a lighter note, Crowley doesn't immediately let go of Aziraphale, Aziraphale too doesn't feel the need to get freed asap. There's no fear in either of them when it comes to being in this situation.

Aziraphale is very attached to angels being the good guys.

Crowley really can't accept any more guilt in his life.

Aziraphale tends to Anathema and her bike while Crowley just wants to deny any responsibility and get away as soon as possible.

While "angel" is an accurate term that has good connotations, I can't help but feel that for Crowley it's a word of separation. "We're different," it says. "You're better than me."

Aziraphale thinks that humans work like angels and demons.

There is a lot to be said about Aziraphale hiding from Crowley the fact that he'd found Agnes Nutter's book. Distrust? Possessiveness? Wanting to take it to Heaven first? All of the above? He's a good angel right now, don't get me wrong, but at the moment he's also a bad friend.

___________________________________

This is the second part of my analysis. It’s based on the second episode. Further parts will follow, one per episode.

I haven’t reread the book for this, it’s based only on the show, so if you see any points that can be made differently based on the book, don’t fault me.

Parts: 1, 2, 3.1, 3.2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

[taciturned-loqua]

The Aftermath

Characters: | Lovecraft | | Calypso | | Childe | (implied)

Angst w/out comfort

Summary: After the events* of the murder cases, aristocrat Lovecraft Lee isolates himself and descends into a state of misery. Mainly written for the members of Astronetwrk who participated in the game, not an (x reader) but still, feel free to read! (*Events: see POST)

Warnings: Mentions murder cases, disappearance, mentions Lovecraft having nightmares, Caly x Childe, Lovecraft is sick, mentions blood once, potential spoilers for the plot of the game maybe???. If I miss any please tell me and I’ll add it on.

Word Count: 586

Notes: I hated this. Think I didn’t do well writing it but eh, still. THANK YOU MODS SO MUCH AS WELL AS PARTICIPANTS. 

Please consider a reblog in addition to a like! I would really appreciate it <33

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3 half-drunken cups of tea. Pieces of paper stacked onto each other, filled to the brim and overflowing with intricate words. The soft dessert he would’ve preferred if less sweet, but still 2 bites away from being finished. 1 lone figure, staring with disbelief into the now empty table they had tea and shared jokes at. Yet another wave of loss. How unfortunate.

more utc!

A good night’s sleep was rarely achieved, and when it was, only through the help of Baizhu’s herbal medication. Even then, it wasn’t uncommon to wake up in cold sweat, a sign of the nightmares he had forgotten (or were they memories of the horror?). Sickly grey skin, thinned down hair and a pinched smile he only wears when retrieving things from his door. 

After the traumatic events — the sudden passing of his husband, the death and disappearance of the detectives who acted as a source of comfort for him — Lovecraft couldn’t bear the haunting voices whenever he saw the now empty table or the previously blood-stained living room. He was all alone, now. Everyone who was once close to him was taken away, other aristocrats shamelessly whispering behind his back and his good-for-nothing parents only helped for the public image. All alone, and the sole person who’s alive amongst this mess played a part in his loss. How could she? How dare she? They were so close to him, and he cared for them both so dearly. They were one of the first to talk to him without having to remind him about his late husband. Lovecraft couldn’t do it anymore, everywhere he went and everything he did seemed to become pointless. 

Now, instead of the sun-bathed streets, aromatic breakfasts from across the house and Percival sleeping by his side the aristocrat would wake up to, it was a dark and hollow room, always cold and stiff. The only scent that would be present was the smell of dewy grass when the window was unlocked, exposing a disconnected environment from society. It was a routine for him to stare at the polearm hung on the wall, across from where he sits for simple meals such as a cup of coffee (he no longer wanted to touch tea) and sometimes a piece of deep-fried dough sent to him by the detectives…the same ones who were once colleagues with Loqua and Snob, the same ones who tried to discover the story, to unravel the mysteries. Truly a shame that their tea-times were no longer.

Golden sunlight suited Liyue well, as if always engulfing the nation with wealth and prosperity, yet there will forever be places where the sun cannot enter. 

.

.

.

“Calypso! My dear, finished observing the one who used to pride himself as an aristocrat?” 

“Today’s the last day. We’ve made sure that his parents’ money funded towards the Feiyun Commerce Guild will be spent on our lawyers without having to worry about the Lee potentially ruining our plan. He’s a lost cause now.”

Obligatory tags: @i23kazu, @snobwaffles, @yzeniko, @cherry-colored-petals

Taglist: send an ask to be added!

[difeisheng]

i don't think much about the sequel trilogy these days but every now and then i do mourn the beautiful narrative parallels/foils we might have had if rey had been a kenobi

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

[twisted-imagines]

Hi ! Hope you're well ! Can I have a one shot with a F reader x Floyd. It's the beginning of the school year and Floyd is in a bad mood because the transformation in his Human form make him suffer. The reader notice it and try to help him with a massage to make the pain disappear. Thank you !

Ah, just like me, to struggle with writer's block for a week and then finish it in one evening, haha. I'm truly sorry though, my fishies😔 I hope, some time in the future I'll figure out how to write faster, but not today apparently😀

Please enjoy, since I don't know when the next update will come uwu❤

Giving Floyd Leech a massage🦈

The bells rang marking the start of just another year at Night Raven College. You arrived not long ago, a day before, and were unable to contain your giddiness. Not only you would be able to experience college life again, with all its ups and downs, but also meet your dearest merman, whom you spent most of your summer break with. A week away from him felt like a month, your step sped up more and more as you were already running to the Octavinelle dorm. It was quite a surprise to not have seen him already, Floyd somehow always managed to find his way to you, either to just greet or crush you in a hug, though to him it meant the same.

When the gateway mirror brought you to the dorm, you could see how alive it was. Students from various dorms gathered at Monstro Lounge, running to and fro, some working, while others celebrating before the working days started. You deduced, it would be natural for your boyfriend to help Azul in such a busy day, there was nothing to worry about. But leaving without at least a greeting seemed rude, those months you spent underwater really deepened your bonds with Octavinelle trio, especially with Floyd. One small kiss to his cheek would harm nobody, right? Not like you feared one particular dorm leader's wrath for distracting his employee anyway.

But even if you had eagle-like eyesight you probably still wouldn't spot any familiar face in there, everyone was in such high spirits, they didn't even mind other's rather robust cheers or loud shouts. Perhaps, it was the only day in a whole year that Azul would tolerate such "atrocities" going on in his lounge. How grateful would you be if you met at least one of your friends right now.

In such a turmoil you didn't notice when a tall figure appeared before you, an impact from collision knocked the air out of your lungs. It seemed, whatever god heard your wish, they granted it, since the one who you all of sudden crushed into was none other than Jade Leech.

"Oh, I beg your pardon... Wait, [Name]? Ah, I hoped you would come."

It seemed your luck didn't leave you today, which you were thankful for, but upon observing twin's face closer, you couldn't help but frown. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place, Jade was polite and composed like always, but his expression was gloom, lips were straining in a forced smile and the prominent eye bags he sported made it apparent how distraught he really was. You had a feeling you wouldn't like the reason for that.

"Jade, what's about it? Is something up? And where's Floyd? I didn't see him anywhere. Not like it would be an easy task with all those students, heh."

"Yes, everybody is happy to see each other after a long time, but it's very hard to manage Monstro Lounge at times like that, especially since we're currently experiencing a lack of manpower..."

His glowed hand gently took your own, before he tugged you into a direction unknown to you, not sparing another word until you stopped in front of a door. You could recognize the place he led you to as Octavinelle students' rooms, the one you two were standing before was actually Floyd's.

"You see, [Name], after you had left we too started to prepare to go to college, and it included getting potions for transformation, of course. Both mine and Azul's were normal, but Floyd's... Perhaps the wrong ingredients were mixed in. Being in human form causes him pain and he can't revert back to his merman form too."

Jade's composure was slipping, he could no longer hide how worried he was for his brother. He shook his head distressed.

"I did everything I could, but he lashes out even on me now. Maybe being with you will elevate his struggle just a bit. So, stay with him, please? He needs you right now."

"O-of course, I'll do my best, don't worry Jade!"

"Thank you, now if you'll excuse me, there's a lot of work."

Showing you the last pitiful smile, Jade headed back to Monstro Lounge leaving you alone before Floyd's room. Your longing gaze turned to the door. It wasn't how you imagined meeting him. A few deep breaths. You had to stay strong, even if it pained you to know that your loved one was going through such hardships. Rubbing your eyes hard enough to not let the tears form, you braced yourself, before knocking gently on the door and allowing yourself in.

"Damn, Jade, is that you again? I told you, everything is fine so leave me alone!"

Floyd barked those words out not even turning to the door. It would have been exciting to hear his voice after a long while, but you would prefer the setting to be much different than that. He was laying on his stomach, head pressed into the pillow. From time to time a growl or whine would escape him when he tried to shift. Your heart clenched at the sight, less than anything in the world you wanted to see Floyd in pain.

"Floyd, I’m not Jade."

The man reacted instantly, turning his head to you, gaping at you, bloodshot eyes wide open. He stared, unmoving, before he visibly relaxed and a toothy, albeit tired smile showed on his face. You were ready to bet, that you saw his eyes glistening.

"Koebi-chan? Ahaha, my dear koebi-chan came to visit me. Come here, closer. I can't really move right now."

You didn't need much prompting to run to his side and embrace him as gently as you could. With your help, he was able to turn on his back, something so simple causing him to curse and growl in pain. Happiness from finally meeting him and the unfortunate circumstances of your reunion didn't help much with holding back your tears. You let out a small sob, the warmth from his hands on your back was seeping right through your clothes to your heart.

"Eh? Koebi-chan, why are you crying? Don't cry."

"But I missed you. Also, Jade told me what happened to you. Does it hurt much?"

Floyd was stunned, it was too cute for him, who lost all resistance to your charm after a bit of separation. The whole week he spent on the land writhing in pain, he could only think about how much he wanted to see your face once again, to hold your soft, warm body in his hands. A red blush left his cheeks as fast as it came, and soon it was your turn to be surprised by how fast your boyfriend's whole demeanor changed.

"Yes, it hurts like a bitch. Especially where my tail should be. It hurts so much, koebi-chan~ Ugh, I feel nauseous. That's it, I feel like I'm dying, but maybe if [Y/n] kissed it better it would pass? "

Floyd's childish whining elicited a small chuckle out of you. Some things never changed.

"But it must be very serious, will it really help? I don't think so..."

"No no, koebi-chan, it will help. C'mon, here, a kiss~"

Floyd was eagerly pointing to his knee, fully expecting you to comply. And how could you not, you gave a word to take care of your moody boyfriend, didn't you? Chortling, you descended down to lightly peck his right knee earnings a joyous giggle in return. For someone who was bedridden, he was very lively. Another peck and another giggle. You knew how sensitive the merman's legs were, and couldn't help but caress them, especially when it was receiving such a positive reaction. When you ended your treatment you returned to Floyd's eye level only to be met with a lovely sight of your boyfriend blushing and smiling cutely at you.

"So did it help? Were special kisses from Dr.[Y/n] effective?"

"Definitely! But maybe you could do...that thing again? Like pressing on my legs?"

"That thing? You meant massage? Okay, that I can do. Anything for my favorite patient!"

A swift hand intercepted yours before you could move away. There was a dangerous edge to Floyd's words.

"The only one. Koebi-chan, I'm your only one."

That possessive persona didn't go anywhere no matter what, did it? But really, it was Floyd's charm point, and you would lie if you told you didn't learn to love it and to deal with it efficiently.

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

You leaned in to kiss his lips, before focusing on the task at the hand. Starting out slowly, you held one of his feet with your hands and kneeded the sole firmly. Your repeated motions were reflecting on Floyd's changing expressions, an especially painful grimace didn't miss your eye. The smile you adored so much wasn't there anymore, in its stead was a deep frown and sharp teeth piercing delicate skin of his lips. You had half the mind to stop, but when you halted and tried to take your hands away, the man complained and urged you to continue. When Floyd didn’t show much resistance you moved on to his calf, undoing knots or going just a bit harder at places where the muscels felt too tights, while minding that your were applying enough pressure for him to feel it, but without causing any more pain and alternating between harder and lighter strokes.  

It seemed though, that your rather amateur movements proved to be very helpful, much to your delight since less and less you heard displeased grunts and more content whines and sighs.

"You're really good at this, koebi-chan~ You keep squeezing it, but it actually feels less painful, how?"

"It's all the power of love."

Loud laughter resonated through the room, genuine and unbridled like it used to be. Not haunted by pain anymore, Floyd's mind was slowly slipping into unconsciousness, something he couldn't achieve for days on end since he drank that damned potion, his eyes gradually closing and breathing slowing down. He looked peaceful and relaxed and you couldn't be happier observing him. Tugged out of your thoughts, literally, you found yourself in the eel's arm, his limbs wrapping around your form just like he always did when it was time to rest.

"[Y/n] really does love me...I love [Y/n] very much."

Floyd slurred the last confession before he let himself depart to dreamland with you, his savior snuggled right into his side.

"Yes, I do. I love you too Floyd, so please rest and feel better."

Sweet words ensured that he wouldn't miss that smile even in his sleep.

[alethiometry]

thinkin about an alternate take on odyssey’s cult of kosmos storyline that may culminate in a blatant ripoff of valhalla but bear with me here lmao

instead of deimos continually antagonizing you the entire game as you try desperately to convince them that the cult is simply using them, deimos is actively trying to recruit you to fight alongside them. you are both demigods descended from sparta’s greatest hero, two sides of the same coin, etc. etc. as you go around killing cultists you get those cutscenes where each cultist gets to have one final say (just like all the other ac games) and while many joined and profited from the war for selfish reasons, there are enough of those who had lofty ideals that maybe you start to see that the two warring nations are both truly broken beyond repair. people are suffering because of the war, and for every callous profiteer that joined the cult to make a quick buck there’s also someone who joined just to survive, or because if you can’t beat em, join em -- at the least, they could then maybe stand a chance at protecting the people they love, even if it means others will have to pay that price. that’s just the way the world works, right?

and so after the battle of amphipolis and after killing the rest of the cult, you return to the cave of gaia in delphi and find not only deimos but also the ghost of kosmos down there, in front of the pyramid. deimos is still nursing his wounds from where kleon shot him, and the ghost finally unveils herself. both get their villain-y monologues about how it’s all for the greater good, everyone who died along the way was sacrificing themselves for a better world and the world will remember what they did -- but that will only happen if you join them. if you’re there to make sure they mattered. and the pyramid with its weird little artifacts still draws you in like it did that first night you infiltrated their meeting, and you and deimos and the ghost all touch it and you all get teleported via videogame magic or isu technology or whatever the fuck who cares it’s just a stupid scifi game let me live to...

atlantis?

it’s the exact same look and feel as the dlc: humans and gods living in (apparent) harmony, people are happy, families are together, there’s laughter and music and plenty of food and leisure. the buildings are gorgeous, there’s like fountains and gardens and aquariums and other cool shit, and if not for the weird isu tech all over the place you’d almost think it was elysium. but it’s not elysium, because you’re not dead. deimos isn’t dead. and you’ve never felt more at peace. the ghost tells you that this is all perfectly achievable, if only you join them in helping construct this world from the ashes of the old. deimos tells you that they’ve seen this in their dreams; the world was truly like this once, and it could be again.

there’s no war to be fought here; no pain or suffering or loss. deimos sheathes their sword and tells you that they cannot just go back to being family in the real world, not after everything that has happened and all the suffering you both have experienced -- out in the real world, you were both doomed to be nothing more than shattered bones and streaks of gore at the foot of sparta’s sacred mountain. you don’t matter out there, and you never did, and they know you are tired of trying to prove that you do, because they’re tired too. but in here, in this world, you could be together. you could be the siblings you never got the chance to be. this is what they were fighting for all along. they gave their name, and their life, and their innocence and their pain -- all to achieve this. and with your help they can finally stop calling themself deimos and reclaim their old name. or the two of you could find new names. you could be gods. you could slaughter the old gods, the ones whose prophecies doomed you both to die at the foot of mount taygetos (deimos still doesn’t know the cult orchestrated that lmao listen the brainwashing runs deep). you could be anyone you want here.

all of this feels so real. you feel like you could stay here forever.

deimos extends their hand. you reach out to take it. to join them.

and something tumbles out of your pouch.

it’s a little wooden eagle, a child’s toy, battered and all scratched up with most of its defining features worn away. you know it well. you know every contour of it because a little girl gave it to you when you left the island where you and she once lived, to go make a name for yourself in a war that never seemed to end, until suddenly it did. you know this toy eagle because you folded that little girl’s cold, dead, still-bloody fingers around it one terrible night in athens. you were told, later, that the eagle burned with her on the pyre your friends constructed for her. and so the only reason this eagle is here now, the only reason you can run your hands along its outstretched wings and trace the whorls of the woodgrain with your fingertips and feel the slight weight of it in your palm is because none of this is real.

what is real is this: the cult existed, and phoibe died. leonidas died. perikles died. brasidas died. and you cannot live in a world where the very act of dying for the world they didn’t know they were helping to shape is the one thing that becomes the defining feature of their legacies. where their lives become nothing more than some kind of grotesque buttressing to prop up the very people who got them all killed.

there’s some kind of bossfight against deimos, who, despite their appeals to you to join them as a battlefield companion and true siblings after too many years lost between you, still doesn’t hesitate to turn against you as they always have the moment things do not go their way. because that’s the way it is between the two of you: they push, and you push back.

and the more you fight, the more atlantis crumbles. the others don’t seem to notice; they simply sit there and laugh and sip wine and dance and sing as stone after stone falls from the vast turrets and crushes first their companions, then them, into blood and bone and gristle. there’s a gate up on the highest tower of the city, and you know instinctively that without it you’ll be stuck here in this strange dream-limbo, fighting your sibling for eternity as both worlds, dream and real, carry on with or without you. and as you make your way to it (maybe there’s some sweet parkour opportunities here with like falling debris and such) deimos gives chase and as you draw closer to the gate you start to see that it’s not empty at all, but full of people crowing in to take a peek at all the commotion.

there’s sokrates and hippokrates and aristophanes. alkibiades looking uncharacteristically worried, and [insert any npc lieutentants you’ve recruited like roxana or odessa]. xenia is there, and so is anthousa. kyra and/or thaletas, too (depending on the outcome of the mykonos questline). and a gang of plucky little kids, all cheering you on: khloe, the girl with the clay friends; arsenios, the tour-guide-turned-con-artist; ardos and his caretaker. (and i guess nikolaos and stentor if they’re still alive lmao) (maybe pythagoras is allowed too but he’s on thin fucking ice)

and, of course, myrrine. standing at the forefront, shoulder to shoulder with barnabas and herodotos. all three of them -- alongside everyone else you’ve ever allied with, fought beside, or helped out -- everyone who loves you, everyone you’ve ever loved -- they’re beckoning you home. back to the real world, where they matter. where you matter.

where you have always mattered.

you’re so close to taking your mother’s hand, you can feel the warmth of her fingertips -- and then you hear a scream below you.

it’s deimos, and they’re falling. maybe they tripped in their haste to catch you. maybe some of the falling rubble knocked them off-balance. it doesn’t matter. the only thing that matters is that your sibling is falling to their doom. again. and there’s nothing you can do about it.

except this time there definitely is.

so you leap from the ledge with all the strength you have, the roaring in your ears drowning out myrrine’s shouts. you’ve fallen from greater heights, after all, and lived to tell the tale. this is nothing. and this time you’ll catch your sibling, because this is your dream, too. and in your dream, you can do whatever the fuck you want.

you catch deimos, the both of you still falling, the ground rushing up to meet you -- and you both wake in the cave of gaia with a jolt. each of you still have a hand on the pyramid, and you make eye contact. they give you the slightest of nods, as if to say i’m okay. i’m awake.

the ghost is still asleep, head bowed, eyes flitting to and fro behind closed eyelids, both hands still on the pyramid.

you destroy the pyramid with your grandfather’s spear. this wakes the ghost. she’s furious, and tells you that you’ve made a terrible mistake. the cult of kosmos may be extinguished, but the ideals she worked toward are not. (basically this kind of mirrors the whole spiel about the philosopher-king or whatever tf the ghost said at the end of the actual in-game storyline that foreshadowed the order of ancients and eventually the templars)

deimos looks to you and mutters that it’s your choice what to do next. the ghost tries to appeal to them but they’ve run out of fucks to give. they leave.

[kill the ghost] what it says on the label. you get a nice little ac-esque assassination cutscene and it’s actually got some emotional weight to the decision/scene, unlike the game.

[walk away] leave the ghost in the cave. the pyramid is gone, the cult is dead, your sibling is free. the ghost will live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, knowing that the grandchildren of leonidas have seen her for what she is. knowing that whatever she does next, they’ll be watching closely.

when you leave the cave, you see deimos, pacing as they overlook the view of phokis from mount parnassos. it’s high noon and the sun glints brilliantly off their gilded armor. they glance at the temple of apollo and remark how strange it is to be standing here together, so close to the place where both your fates were sealed with just a few words from a puppet pythia a lifetime ago.

you ask what they’re going to do, now that the cult is gone.

the peace of nicias isn’t going to hold, they tell you. the war will start again soon enough, and when that happens both athens and sparta will be looking for champions to fight for their side.

dialogue choices:

[i’ll see you on the battlefield] you and your sibling part ways. subsequent conquest battles have a chance of spawning a bossfight against deimos who is fighting for the other side -- neither of you can perma-kill the other so you can encounter/fight them over and over again. at the end of the conquest battle, no matter who wins, you can see them walking up and down the battlefield and you can have some silly little sibling banter, which changes depending on who wins/loses the battle

[join me, fight with me] deimos joins your crew just like in the game. unlike the game, you can interact with them at any time while they’re walking up and down your ship and have sibling banter because i just want some decent fucking sibling banter in this game

no matter which option you pick, the first time you return to sparta after finishing this storyline you’ll have the option of entering your old family home and triggering the family dinner cutscene with all the surviving members of your family because goddammit even after all this wishful revisionism i still love that silly little family dinner

anyway in conclusion this is what i want out of odyssey, thanks for coming to my TED talk, don’t forget to smash that like&subscribe the way the eagle bearer definitely smashed brasidas’ fine spartan ass offscreen bc ubisoft were too smoothbrained to give us the romance we deserved

[nekoabiwrites]

Oh my god, they were roommates...

IT’S @not-so-innocent-bi-sander‘s BIRTHDAY! At least in my time zone~ And I tried my best to make a fic that covers all that Jordan loves :D

AU: Human/College AU Pairing: Prinxiety Words: 3408 Warnings: Panic attack, nudity. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Virgil didn’t think he’d ever see him again and yet, here he was... and he was hot!

--

“Across the hall from your room is our final roommate, Virgil Evans. He pr-”

“Virgil Evans?!”

The loud exclamation of his name had something clicking in the young adult’s mind. The voice was eerily familiar, though Virgil would have sworn up and down that it was just a hallucination and that no one was even out on the landing. The now muffled voices and the thumping of heavy things hitting the ground told him that someone was definitely out there, or at least was before they moved into the empty room opposite his own. There was no way it could be… could it? He went to shake the thought from his head and get back to work, but a sudden excited knocking at his door interrupted him. With a slight shake of his hand, Virgil walked up to the door and grasped the handle to see who was on the opposite side.

Everything stood still immediately once the door was opened. Virgil was, metaphorically, flung back in time by the mere sight of the man before him.

They had both been akin to outcasts in middle school; one a fledgling emo who was too scary and quiet, the other a small pudgy child who was too loud and excitable. Somehow, they were complete opposites yet fit so well together, almost like puzzle pieces. They liked to play make-believe, watch Disney movies, draw and paint. Though, on a deeper level, there was far more in common.

Virgil had been in denial in middle school. He realised that he found his friend absolutely adorable and really cute, and he realised one day during a pretend scene of true love’s kiss saving the day that he actually did like kissing his friend. But Virgil couldn’t say that, it could ruin his best friendship and – most definitely – the rest of his entire life. So, it stayed hidden and Virgil pretended like all of his emotions weren’t there. Up until the day he left.

One day, Virgil was waiting in the usual spot when his friend approached him, looking sad. He told Virgil that his family were moving away, and he was going to have to change schools. It felt as though Virgil’s entire world was crashing around him. A week passed and he was gone. Virgil was back to being alone. He thought he’d never see his friend again. Apparently, he was dead wrong.

“I can’t believe it! It’s actually you! I’d recognise your emo ass anywhere, though I didn’t expect you to get better at it!” His old friend laughed heartily, giving Virgil a once over.

Virgil rolled his eyes and leant against the doorframe, arms crossed, “Didn’t expect you to become a meathead like your brothers, but I guess we were both wrong, Roman Prince.” Virgil put extra emphasis on his last name, which caused a grin spread across his face as the man before him almost inflated with indignation.

“How dare you!” Roman pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, “I will have you know I surpassed them greatly with my grades, thank you very much!”

“Like that was hard.”

“Are you undermining my achievements?!”

“A little.”

They continued to argue back and forth for a few more minutes before a quiet voice interrupted them and both of their heads turned to the new participant in the conversation. “Um, are you two fighting? Please don’t fight, at least not on the first day…”

Virgil ducked his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, Pat… Didn’t mean to freak you out…”

“Yes, many apologies. We weren’t arguing. Just old friends teasing each other as you do!”

Patton’s eyes lit up, “Wait! Are you the friend from middle school that V-”

Immediately, the emo was out of the doorway and in front of Patton, his hand clamped over his mouth. “Patton, shut up!” Virgil hissed, his face already beginning to burn in embarrassment.

A chuckle had Virgil’s stomach churning, “So, Virgil has mentioned me, hm? I guess I am unforgettable.”

“Whatever. I’ll be in my room.” Virgil muttered, slinking back into the dark bedroom. He shut the door in Roman’s face, who tried to get one last comment in. He listened carefully to the sounds in the hallway; the short conversation between Roman and Patton, the footsteps descending the stairs as the door across the hall shut and vague noises of Roman unpacking started. Only then did Virgil allow himself to whisper scream as he collapsed onto his sheets. He asked a question in his mind, ‘How the fuck did he get hot?!’

--

Virgil hoped that, over time and with exposure, his sudden surge of attraction to his old friend would dissipate. Perhaps Roman would have weird habits that would turn Virgil off or maybe his personality – having changed over the years – would grind on Virgil’s last nerve until every ounce of attraction fizzled away. Of course, things were not that simple.

Roman was just as energetic and friendly as he had been years prior, easily making friends with not only the other roommates living with them but also many other students, and even the grumpy old lady who lived in the house next door who always complained about the weird phantom noises they were apparently making at 3am when they were all asleep (or at least, lying in bed). He always had time for Virgil though.

By the end of the first week he’d been living in the house, Roman had somehow gained an all-access pass to Virgil’s room at most reasonable times of the day. To the point that the two would just sit and do work before eventually falling into long discussions – or arguments – about nothing in particular. Some days, they’d simply fill each other in on their lives since they parted ways. Roman was extremely invested in Virgil’s life and what became of the other kids from their school, and Virgil could say the same about Roman.

It was during one of these conversations that Roman asked a particularly interesting question. He was laying on his front, head held up by his hands. There was an open notebook to the side of him, though it was all but forgotten at this point.

“I haven’t heard you mention anything about the topic but I’m very interested, so I’ll ask anyway. How many of the girls did you have throwing themselves at you when you got older? I bet that dark and mysterious vibe got them all, didn’t it?” Roman wiggled his eyebrows playfully, grinning slyly as Virgil choked on the drink in his hand.

The emo put the cup down and smacked his chest a couple of times before rasping out a short “What?! No. The fuck?!”

“Oh… Sorry, I just thought with your good looks and the whole… aesthetic you have going on, you’d have the pick of them all.” Roman said sincerely. Virgil’s cheeks darkened at the compliment and Roman’s eyes quickly lit up. He swung around, throwing his legs off the side so he could assess Virgil closer, “Virgil��� I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to answer me but… were there any… guys?”

The immediate spinning of Virgil’s desk chair told Roman everything. The sly grin creeped back up onto his face as he stood, approaching the chair that now faced away from him. Roman faked a gasp before resting his crossed arms on the back of the chair, “Did I get it right?”

Virgil huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. In a single swift movement, he grabbed the rainbow stress toy from his desk (a gift from Patton) and threw it over his shoulder, attempting to hit Roman’s shoulder with it. However, the tug on the back of the chair and the undignified high-pitched yelp followed by stumbling steps had Virgil thinking he’d missed his mark. It didn’t stop him from laughing after he turned in his chair and found Roman pouting at him indignantly.

“Oh, yes. Laugh it up. It’s just so funny that you tried to assault me!” Roman tossed his head with a sniff, a haughty look upon his face.

Virgil managed to control himself a little in order to respond, “You look like such a jock, but you are way too gay for that. And I hope that this answered your dumb question, Princey.” He picked the stress toy off the ground and held it up for Roman to truly get a look at before putting it back on his desk.

Roman perked back up once he saw the toy properly, “Well, thank goodness for that! I don’t think I could have lived knowing someone as pretty as you was straight.” He situated himself back on Virgil’s bed and went back to looking over his notes, while Virgil stewed over what he’d just heard.

The weeks passed and nothing was getting better for Virgil. It had gotten to the point where he couldn’t just bottle it up within himself anymore, he just had to talk to someone. That’s how he found himself laying on his back on Logan’s bed, staring up at the precise constellations that dotted his ceiling.

“If you truly want my opinion, Virgil, it seems there is enough evidence to show that your affecti-”

“Ahhh, don’t call it that!” Virgil threw an arm over his eyes, as if that would help him get away from the truth of his smart friend’s words, “Is there anything else you can say instead?”

“Virgil.”

Logan placed his tablet pen back into its holder, twisted the lid of his laptop back to its regular position and turned to face his bed. His left leg crossed over his right and his arms tightly crossed over his chest, looking at Virgil with his stern steely gaze. The emo lying there almost squirmed away, as he could feel the piercing gaze even without seeing it.

“Ughhhh, I knew you’d be no help!” Virgil slid himself off of the sheets and onto his feet, heading towards the door, “I’m gonna go see if Patton’s in. Maybe he’ll help me more!”

Logan said nothing, simply shrugging – which Virgil caught sight of in the mirror next to the door – before turning back to his work, “If you think he’ll help, then go ahead. Unlike you, I am actually trying to complete my studies, so you’ll know where I will be.”

A light twitch of a smile came to Virgil’s lip as he muttered a thanks under his breath before fake-storming out of Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and went to text Patton. His attention was so focused on his phone that he didn’t notice the sound of a new door opening near to him. It was only when he collided with something warm and solid that Virgil realised someone else was in the hallway with him. He quickly lifted his head to apologise, but found his words catching in his throat at the sight.

Roman stood just in front of him, still damp from his shower that he’d clearly just finished. His hair was slicked back with the water, though a few strands had fallen across his forehead from the slight jolt of someone walking into him. Virgil’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the trail of a droplet that had already run its course down Roman’s torso, drinking in every detail of his clearly well-looked after body. He was just muscular enough to have definition, as well as being incredibly broad chested – which really made Virgil realise how much taller Roman had grown as Virgil had clearly made contact with his pecs when they’d bumped into each other. His eyes travelled even further before Virgil could even consider tearing his eyes away from the sight before him. Roman’s body was almost that unbelievable triangle shape that he’d only seen on magazine covers, advertisements and movies. It even had that V-shape that guided Virgil’s gaze to the towel that was hanging low on Roman’s waist, being held up by only one of Roman’s hands.

All of a sudden, Virgil came back to himself. Thankfully, it had only been a few seconds since the impact, and both had been a little startled. Virgil, however, took several steps away, blushing a deep red. He stuttered, attempting to find something to say as he backed up to Logan’s door again. As he fumbled behind him for the door handle, Roman approached slowly, looking concerned. Virgil hadn’t even noticed he’d started to panic.

“Virgil. It’s okay. We’re both okay. Try to breathe…” Roman spoke calmly, holding his hands before him. However, he’d seemingly forgotten that his hand was the one thing keeping the towel from falling to the ground. As he went to reassure Virgil with both hands, Roman could feel the fabric fall from around his waist.

Virgil outright screeched pterodactyl-style and dove into Logan’s room, his face burning. He didn’t see Roman also turn a fantastical shade of red as he saved at least some of his modesty as the door had been slammed shut just as quick. The larger of the two listened at the door for a few seconds. He waited until he heard Logan speaking to Virgil, coaching him through breathing techniques to quell his panic, before heading back to his room to get dressed.

In Logan’s room, Virgil was slowly uncurling from the tight ball he’d managed to get into in his panic as his breathing was starting to return to a somewhat normal level. His eyes were swimming and his head was pounding, but he was able to make out the shape of Logan kneeling beside him.

“Are you feeling better, Virgil? Would you like me to fetch you some water?” Logan asked, analysing Virgil’s body language.

“That… um, please… yes.” Virgil wheezed, stretching out on the ground. He carefully stretched each muscle from the tips of his fingers to his toes as Logan cautiously stepped around him and out of his room. Virgil allowed the sense of embarrassment to wash over him again and his face continued to burn, though his panic was manageable. He could not believe that he’d almost lost it over Roman, of all people. He went to audibly groan whilst slapping his hands across his face, but the sound of Roman’s voice had him stopping mid-movement to listen to every single syllable.

He heard Roman address Logan, clearly both in the hallway nearer the kitchen.

“How is everything?” Roman asked, concerned.

“He is doing relatively well, compared to the state he came to me in, if that’s what you are asking.” Logan’s voice was getting closer. Virgil sat himself up, so he wasn’t caught by Roman lying on the ground.

“That’s good. Um, could you tell him that I’m sorry for whatever happened. I don’t know if it was my fault or what, but I just want to cover my bases, just in case.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. I think it’s best if you don’t come too close. Seeing you again may cause a slight relapse.” Logan stated as his voice came right up to the door. Virgil was now sat with his back pressed against the bed, trying his hardest to look natural.

“O-oh. Right. Of course. Um, well… I hope everything is okay…” Roman sounded disappointed, but a set of footsteps started to retreat away from the room and up the stairs.

Logan then opened the door and entered, his face as stoic as ever. He handed the glass of water to Virgil before sitting himself back into his desk chair and continuing to work. Eventually, there was a rustle of bedsheets that told Logan that Virgil had gotten off of the floor and sat himself back on Logan’s bed. Virgil was muttering something under his breath.

The chair spun back around before stopping on a dime as Logan sighed, “Virgil, if you are going to say something, please let me hear it. I would like to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Virgil gave his friend a withering look that had no malice behind it as this was just the way they worked, “I said ‘I’m going to fucking die’” Virgil made air-quotes around his words.

Logan smiled wryly, “If you’re going to do that here, could you at least make it quiet? I do have a project to finish.” He waited to see Virgil smirk and stick his tongue out playfully before turning back to his laptop, giving Virgil some space to think.

It was after dinner when Virgil started to make his ascent back up to his room finally. There had been a long conversation with Logan once the emo had his thoughts in a semi-coherent order which had ultimately ended with the conclusion that both sides had a mutual interest and that Virgil should really just go for whatever he wanted. It was just as that final point was made that Patton knocked on Logan’s door in order to call him out for food.

“Oh! Virgil! I was about to call you and Roman down, but since you’re here, come on out!” Patton cheerfully said, grinning from ear to ear. The peppy student practically skipped away to call out to Roman, leaving Logan’s door wide open. Both of the other students emerged, slipping into the kitchen quietly. As food was being served up and they were all eating, Virgil avoided eye contact with Roman, even as his roommate was trying his hardest to catch Virgil’s eye. He was working out the script in his head, as Virgil knew he would never do it if not today.

It was only once he was halfway up the stairs and Roman called his name that Virgil even contemplated looking at his roommate again. When he did, his face flushed pink once again at the memory of what he’d seen. Virgil pushed that all away however, as Roman took the stairs two at a time to catch up to him.

“Are you alright? I wanted to check on you after what happened earlier, but Logan said I probably shouldn’t. Just in case. But I wanna make sure you’re okay.” Roman rattled off as they both headed up to their rooms.

Virgil stopped outside his room, leaning against the closed door. “Yeah, I’m good. Just was a little… surprised, I guess?” He mumbled, looking at a very interesting piece of the carpeted floor.

“Good. Good. I didn’t want to uh… traumatise you or something.” Roman laughed nervously, which got Virgil’s attention. He’d never heard Roman nervous before.

Slowly, Virgil raised his gaze, “Well, um, thanks? I guess? Logan helped me. We talked about a lot…” he trailed off, unsure of himself.

“What did you talk about?”

“Just… what happened and things.”

“Things?”

Virgil was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his nervousness getting the better of him. He was trying to remember the script he came up with in his head, but nothing was coming to him. This wasn’t how this was all supposed to go. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. The emo growled under his breath before practically shouting, “I fucking like you, okay?!” Immediately, Virgil clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes widened in shock at his own outburst.

The silence rang out between the two students. Virgil was unwilling to move and Roman was almost moving in slow motion. He tentatively reached out, loosely grasping Virgil’s wrist in order to pry his hand away from his mouth. It only took a step to close the distance between them, “I like you too, Virgil. Took you long enough to notice.”

Virgil was shocked this was working out the way it was. He was barely aware of what happened before Roman’s lips were brushing against his own, silently asking a question that required an answer. Instead of words, Virgil simply threw himself onto Roman, crushing their mouths together.

Immediately, his back was pushed up against his closed door once more as Roman took charge of the situation. The larger let go of Virgil’s waist in order to grab the door handle and push it open, leading Virgil inside. As the emo let his bedroom door swing shut, he watched Roman tug his shirt over his head and tossed it aside before taking one large step to close the distance between them once again. The lock on the door hit home immediately.

--

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[iustine]

A sense of familiarity

Hello 😊I decided to try my luck with writing a fic for Speaker. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you will enjoy reading about my Speaker Nev and Liam lovingly making fun of each other 😄

A sense of familiarity

The day after their victory was a bleak one. Despite it still being a mid – afternoon the gloomy mood extended over the library in the Delaney household. Open curtains and lit wall sconces unable to fully dispel the dim.

In the far end of the room; leaning against the wall, a young woman was sitting comfortably. Just beside her stood a massive cabinet filled with books and old trinkets, which almost impeccably hid her figure.

Completely at odds with the atmosphere around, her expression held a vibrant smile as she sketched vigorously. She was so concentrated on her work that she didn’t notice a figure moving in her direction.

At least she didn’t notice it until a hand landed on her shoulder.

„Eep” Unexpected touch making Guinevere jump in surprise; her hand reaching up to hold on to her throat as she squealed. This frantic movement almost resulted in an ugly bruise at the back of her head, as she just barely avoided hitting the wall.

The newcomer proved to be Liam, after startling her he backed away to lean casually against the cabinet. Thick black - framed glasses doing nothing to hide hints of humour dancing in his dark eyes.

No doubt on account of her not so graceful moment.

„Geez, Li! Shouldn’t you finally grow out of sneaking up on me?” She pouted playfully, before releasing a quick bark of laughter and standing up; corners of his lips turning upwards at her comment.

„Nah, I like to keep you on your toes.” His words tinged with humour as he shrugged. „Seems like it doesn’t work in your case though.” He added sending her a smirk, which oddly only brightened her appearance.

In a retrospect he truly should’ve expected what would happen but a moment later.

With a beaming smile and sparkling eyes firmly focused on her friend Nev stepped closer catching Li in a quick hug. Yet, just before coming out of his zone she didn’t fail to swiftly poke him in the middle. Repeatedly. Her precision being just as deadly as in the past.

Immediately he took another step away from her. She couldn’t help but snigger when noticed how he instinctively hunched bracing himself. Not omitting to send her a truly ugly glare. Unfortunately for him, it was completely wasted on Nev and the woman doubled over as her cheerful giggle swept throughout the room.

Some things never change.

While she tried not to choke on laughter in the corner of her eye she noticed as Liam sighed in exasperation. Despite it, he couldn’t maintain this annoyed appearance for long, and a not-quite-fond-but-similar smile forced itself on his face.

„I would prefer it if we broke that habit of yours. There’s only so many heart attacks I can withstand.” She teased wiping away a stray tear. „And so can you it seems.” The words almost bringing back surge of laughter. „Maybe, for both of our sakes, you should rethink my old offer of braiding bells into your hair.

„I can’t believe you still remember it.” He shook his head.

„I remember everything.” She barely managed to quell these words just before they could slip past her mouth. „It’s the most effective safety measure.” She said instead, spreading her hands; an innocent smile gracing her lips. From his barely concealed grin she knew it was a good choice.

„No way.” He elbowed her playfully, carefully keeping just enough distance to stay out of her reach. She couldn’t quite bring it in herself to feel sorry for his hypersensitivity.

He deserved some tickle scare after scarring her for life with his coffee.

„Bold of you to assume I need your agreement.” She leaned backwards with crossed arms as her face lit up with an impish glee.

„I called your name 2 times before coming over here. I doubt bells would have any effect”. Liam pointed out smirking playfully.

„Well… there is a saying that you might’ve heard before” She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide a smile. „Third time’s a charm.” Shaking her head in amusement Nev looked around locating her scattered drawing utensils.

Closed sketchbook forgotten for a moment in favour of a pencil that rolled away, almost ending beneath the cabinet. She only hoped it didn’t fracture from the fall. There is nothing as irritating as a pencil lead breaking in the middle of making a clean sketch.

„I knocked, you know. On the cabinet here, right before you” He shrugged, spreading his hands; joking smirk placed firmly at his face.

Soft chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it. „Come on, there is no way I wouldn’t hear that. Stop exaggerating.” She responded lightly pushing his arm, before placing an empty hand on her hip. „Being more perceptive than me is no achievement, remember?”

„You didn’t even stir.” He deadpanned.

Nev couldn’t help but flick her gaze to the treacherous cabinet, shock evident on her face. Liam for his part didn’t even try to hide chuckle at her dumbfounded expression.

When she stared at him in mock indignation it only reinforced, turning into a genuine laugh. The sound, equally as mirthful as unexpected vibrating in the quiet room. At the unusual sight from her soft spoken friend Nev felt a wave of warmth spreading in her chest.

Familiarity of this banter once again making her realise just how much she missed it. Missed him. Without any frantic research, without race against the time, she could fully appreciate their renewed friendship and easy camaraderie it brought.

„Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, it was you who wasn’t interesting enough to catch my attention” Nev looked up staring straight into his eyes. Teasing smile lighting up her face as she saw mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Although her amusement was short lived as a wicked grin appeared on Liam’s face. All at once it occurred to her just how Li would choose to interpret her words.

Clearly delighting in her atypical shyness, that unfortunately tended to resurface more and more nowadays, he took a step closer and leaned forward.

„Then how do you intend to make this encounter more interesting? Or maybe you would prefer to hear my suggestions?” Voice soft, words almost purred in her ear as his eyes glinted, daring her to respond.

„Oh…Um…” This proved to be way harder than it should, as his sudden proximity made forming cohesive sentences impossible. Her breath hitched, face feeling much warmer than a second ago. As deep green hair brushed her cheek a wave of electricity moved throughout, straightening her spine.

Locked in this newfound intensity she found herself unable to look away from these fathomless eyes.

Spell holding both of them abruptly broke as a pencil slipped from Nev’s grasp landing on the hardwood. The sound, unusually loud in a quiet room woke them from a daze. With her face flaming Nev looked away feeling enormously grateful they still haven’t put the carpets back in place.

„Great, if they weren’t fractured before then now they definitely are.” She mumbled, crouching in a quick motion, hoping to hide her flushed state. A few seconds later Liam joined her on the floor. She desperately avoided looking at her companion, while trying to stall her racing heart.

„I give it 2 out of 10.” His words not quite sinking in, she glanced at him as if it wasn’t a pencil that had fallen, but he did. Straight into his head.

„Your hideout.” He responded to her bewildered stare, gracefully ignoring further implications of her questioning look. „And I am being generous, literally anyone walking in would see you.” Which wasn’t technically true; despite it his lack of comment on her shaken appearance almost made Nev sigh in relief.

This feeling quickly evaporated as she noticed what he was about to pick up.

Instantly it made her forget about any pencils or even her own bashfulness. She rapidly reached out towards the sketchbook grabbing it first. With a tight hold over it she turned towards her companion glowering.

„Still with that angry hedgehog look, huh?” Completely unperturbed he sent her a lazy smirk, nonetheless he still yielded the book without any objections; even coming as far as to raise hands up in a peace offering. Whenever the action meant actual remorse or was done only to indulge her would remain known only to Liam himself.

But she would bet all her money on the latter one.

„Remember our rule?” She bristled.

„No peeking.” He answered easily, rolling his eyes.

„Good.” She said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. „If you didn’t I wouldn’t either”. She proclaimed vaguely, trying to sound intimidating. Consequences unspoken, but clear to the both of them.

Maybe only to the both of them.

„You wouldn’t find it” He scoffed.

„Aha. Got ya, so you are still writing.” She thought triumphantly, her expression must have mirrored it, as Liam recoiled. The sight making her giddy, proving she still could render her friend speechless.

„Try me.” She added challengingly crossing her arms, the knowledge boosting her with newfound confidence.

„Yes, and I am to believe you could find it?” He asked doubtfully.

„I can do everything if I focus on it hard enough.” She shrugged, a sly grin firmly placed on her face. If she was able to find people all around states following vague visions, then she had a fair chance of finding a book in a witch’s house.

For a moment she wondered if he would try grabbing her sketchbook away in a pure obnoxiousness. His thoughts must have followed a similar track, as black eyes flickered towards the book. Instinctively her hold strengthened.

Hush descended upon them as they stared at each other. Several moments passed in silence, before they wordlessy called for a truce.

With a wide grin Nev hopped on the couch, patting the place on the other side as she noticed Liam perching on it’s edge.

Ready to voice a convincing argument she wondered whenever he would sit beside her.

He did.

„So, what’s up? Is everything ok? Or did you just get used to coming over everyday?” She teased with a bright smile. „We still haven’t put out that coffee feeder.” Her smile turned a little bit more playful.

He rolled his eyes so quickly she briefly worried they would get stuck that way. „I thought you said I was welcome to borrow the quiet, but if that’s not-” he started, slowly getting up.

„What?, No! I mean; Yes! I mean-…” She stood up frantically, almost knocking the cushion off the sofa. When Liam’s shit eating grin came into her view she dropped heavily, releasing a sigh; face hidden in her hands. „You are incorrigible” She huffed trying to ignore his wide grin. „Just sit your butt down”

„How can I refuse such a charming request” He smirked, eyes gleaming in amusement.

„You know, I was contemplating showing you some of the finished sketches.” She clicked her tongue. „But I am starting to think you have enough fun as it is.”

„With you things could never be boring, that’s certain.”

„Hello the kettle. Meet the pot.” She jested vividly gesticulating with her hands. „You are just as much trouble as me.”

„Maybe, but I’m not quite as proficient at causing problems. It’s not like my notebook used to be confiscated every other day.” His expression was entirely unrepentant; clearly showing he never opposed this sentiment.

„What can I say. They had it out for me. And you never pulled out yours during class” She grinned waving her hand. „Anyway, don’t even try to pretend you didn’t love every second of getting it back.” Nev added nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

 „I never denied that.” Nudging her back, he flashed her a wicked grin. „She almost flipped when we got it before her next lesson.”

Without any need of further clarification she instantly knew who Liam was referring to.

„Poor Mrs. Roberts” She laughed heartily tilting her head back. „Hadn’t she took a week off right after that?”

„To recuperate her health.”

Mrs. Roberts was a substitute teacher that came to their class confident of handling even the worst „hooligans”. The woman could be summed as five feet of pure evil.

Unfortunately for her she hadn’t quite met them before. Although, giving respect where it’s due, she lasted far more than either of them predicted. Resigning only several months prior to the end of school - year.

It should suffice to say that she educated half of their faculty staff before her pension and most of these teachers cheered on their antics.

„You know, I actually drew her not long ago.” She chuckled softly, searching for the correct page in her sketchbook. She might have disliked the woman, but she never had as much fun as the day they got her to resign. The memory widening her smirk.

„What was the occasion?” He looked over the picture of an older woman; Soft facial features doing nothing to quell her severe glare. The sight only widening his impish grin; it was the only confirmation Nev needed to know he was recalling exactly the same memory as her.

„Me and Gwen were cleaning the library and an old photo book flew out.” She pointed towards the furthest bookshelf.

„So that’s why it’s so cluttered in here.” He deadpanned smirking at her.

„Oh, hush you.”

„You got really good.” He said softly. Sarcasm from a moment before replaced with sincerity as he examined the pencil sketch.

„Thanks.” She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear, flushing slightly. „These past years I haven’t had too many opportunities to practice.”

„But hey, look here. This one should feel even more familiar.” She added uncovering the next picture with an affectionate expression.

The drawing in question showed three kids, aged anywhere between 9 or 11 years. A young girl in the middle had her arms wrapped around her friends pulling them towards her for a photo. Her almost identical sister smiled joyously as she leaned into her. The only boy at the scene half-hugged the girl between them, his expression soft, but holding a playful edge.

The sketch emanated warmth; it was clear to see for anyone that the author cared a great deal for the pictured people.

„I think it’s my favourite.” Nev exclaimed, brushing her hand against the paper; the sight made her nostalgic. „I drew it with the help of the original photo.” She added evading looking at her companion.

As seconds passed with no answer she dared a look at Liam, who still gazed on the picture. Softly, warmly, some tender emotion moved throughout his eyes. It disappeared in a flash before she could even try to decipher it.

Sensing her glance upon him, with unusual trouble he tore off his eyes from the picture.

„It looks nice.” He ended somehow stiffly. She waited a second longer, her mouth open as she curiously looked him over. She was almost sure he would say something more. But yet his lips remained closed as he looked at her almost like if not seeing her.

If Guinevere has ever seen a good moment for a subject change then it was definitely one of them. Fortunately on her lap was a book with a fair amount of topic starters.

Without even thinking she uncovered the next page. It held a picture of a young woman sitting on a stump in the middle of a forest. Her eyes closed, a contented smile on her face. A small camera hung around her neck.

„It’s a reminder of one of our forest outings. I haven’t seen Gwen this relaxed in months and my hand slipped” She giggled looking over the sketch of her twin.

„You are dressed similarly” He observed glancing over her outfit, before returning his gaze to the sketch. Internally Nev breathed a sigh of relief sensing her friend returned to his normal self.

„We still have a bunch of identical clothes. It was especially funny in high school, once we pretended to be each other for a month straight. No one recognised us.” She released a soft chuckle.

„Have any more teachers resigned because of you?”

„Now, how can you say it?” She asked assuming model appearance of an offended innocence. „We wouldn’t have left you out from something like that.” Grin on her face almost faeish as she winked at him.

Judging by his smirk, he was just about to respond to her words, before something else caught his attention. „And what about this one” He pointed to the see-through sketch on the next page. It standed out with it’s quality, a little more rough than previous ones.

„That’s Clarkia” All her amusement evaporated in a second. „A pixie me and Gwen saved some time ago.” Her hands moved, rubbing her temple as if trying to stall an upcoming headache.

He shook his head smirking, eyes sparkling with mischief „Why the addictions?” Words leaving his lips laced with humour as he nodded towards the picture.

And „Why the addictions?” indeed. The sketch showed a small humanoid creature dressed in a frivolous outfit and holding his fist upwards in a theatrical pose. Paper around him full of small hearts and flowers. Rainbow and unicorn depicted in the background.

„Ask Gwen. She was the one who drew it.” She closed eyes, still rubbing her forehead. Action itself much more similar to a skull trepanation instead of a massage. She wondered whenever the page would disappear if she dared it hard enough. Unfortunately no such luck was in store for her. „I didn’t have the heart to tear it out.”

Soft hum her only answer as hints of humor still danced in her friend’s eyes.

As Nev was about to turn to another page she heard a subdued buzz. It’s source proved to be insistent spam of messages on Liam’s phone. After glancing at her apologetically he picked it up to check over them.

„It’s Nellie. I should better get going, before she sends somebody my way” He responded to Nev’s questioning look, before getting up with a regret.

„Maybe if we wait long enough she will come here herself, I doubt Gwen would mind” Nev added smirking knowingly, the action prompting Liam to smirk back in a shared amusement on account of their sisters. On the contrary to her words she still sighed regretfully and followed her companion up.

She doubted Nellie would call out Li if she didn’t need him for something important. Lately the woman was oddly determined to keep the two of them together as often as possible

Nev prefered not to think about her possible reasons for that.

„You should come more often. It was fun to spend some time together.” She remarked giving him a crooked grin. „And so you know.” She leaned conspiratorially, half - covering her mouth „I don’t really go around showing my sketches to everyone. You should feel honored.”

„Then I am really lucky.” He smiled, despite it’s teasing edge Nev could clearly see it’s rare, unhidden gentleness. The sight almost taking her breath away.

„Good that you know it.” She clapped her hands cheerfully gesturing forward, as the two of them fell into step together.

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„Hey, Li.” Nev started as they stalled by the front door. „I am really happy you came.” She added fiddling with her dress. „Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

„You should visit too.” He murmured „The others will be happy, Angus as well.”

„She would better be.” She laughed. „I said it before and I will repeat it; Now I am your problem.”

„I don’t remember signing up for that.”

„No take backs.”

„Bu-”

„NO take backs.” She cut him off with the widest grin, barely keeping laugh at bay.

Liam shook his head with a genuine smile. For once not even trying to mask it.

As he was reaching to open the door she made a step forward and pulled him into a tight hug. „I really missed you, you know.” For a moment she thought she heard a soft hitch of breath, but it could only be her imagination. As his hands engulfed her back; at first softly, a second later with firmness equal to hers; she had a feeling that no matter what life throws at them; they will preserve and forge their own fortune.

Distracted none of them heard a faint buzz by the stairs.

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If you are still here then maybe some of my addictional notes may interest you 😊  

- Nev was definitely drawing Liam with the goofiest, most cheerful smile she had on her face in weeks (though she next she will draw the rest of their friends so it isn’t really a surprise)

- One would have to pry from my dead cold hands headcanon that Liam stood there for like 5 minutes watching beaming Nev draw.

- I don’t believe that Nev would actually find Liam’s heavily warded notebook, but I love the thought that he actually hesitated, because of his faith in her (she is some kind of a miracle - maker)

- The buzz by the stairs is Gwen, she is definitely trying to take a photo 😉  

That’s it, I hope you enjoyed yourself 😊

And if you still haven’t seen Speaker by @speakergame then I cannot recommend checking it enough 😊

[kiranxrys]

hmm... ds9 characters by which kate bush song i think they are:

julian - the man with the child in his eyes

kira - hounds of love

jadzia - jig of life

ezri - cloudbusting

garak - waking the witch

sisko - hello earth

miles - this woman’s work

worf - army dreamers

nog - running up that hill

jake - breathing

odo - suspended in gaffa

quark - wuthering heights

and actually you know what not that anyone cares but over 1000 words of ridiculous over-analyzing explanations under the cut bc i feel like it

julian - the man with the child in his eyes

bush wrote the song about a man in whom a younger protagonist notices a youthful quality, a sort of childlike awe for the world. this really speaks to me about julian’s character, who seems to repress this side of himself throughout the show in order to earn the respect of others. to me he really is “the man with the child in his eyes”. it’s also a very sweet and loving song that reflects the way i feel about his character. 

kira - hounds of love

hounds of love definitely has a more romantic leaning, filled with a girl’s story from uncertainty about love to embracing it joyfully. analyzing this from kira’s perspective, though, to me this might be more of a story about her uncertainty with vulnerability, “what was following [her]” that she was “hiding from” being her trauma and her past. the song is upbeat and gives the sense of entering a new, exciting world filled with possibility. that’s kira’s path of recovery starting from the beginning of the story to me. particularly bush’s final cries of “i need love” ring true for me for kira. she is entirely mature and strong and experienced at the start of ds9. her journey is about learning to let go.

jadzia - jig of life

jadzia’s bush song being jig of life is a bit ironic, in a sense, as jig of life is about survival. jig of life is about fighting to let your future self live even when the present seems hopeless. maybe that’s what makes it so powerful to me as a song for jadzia. the song describes the future life and children she never got to have (or maybe did, depending on your AU ideas). the desperate cry of jig of life’s protagonist’s future self “never, never, never, never, never let me go! [...] let me live!”, as well as the song’s exploration of time and different versions of oneself really speaks to me for jadzia’s character. 

ezri - cloudbusting

what initially drew me to this song in ezri’s regard was its strange optimism given the subject matter. without getting into the historical specifics, bush wrote the song from the perspective of the son of a psychoanalyst, exploring the memories of his eccentric and troubled father. looking more closely, i would say the concept of having someone else “here in my head” connects to her struggles with becoming joined to the dax symbiot. i like the idea how “everytime it rains” (every time things get dark) that voice is there for her “like the sun coming out”. the declaration “i just know that something good is going to happen” rings true for me for ezri. 

garak - waking the witch

waking the witch is one of bush’s weirder songs, it’s very disjointed and confused in a striking kind of way, a stage in bush’s story of a girl drowning and lost at sea. the protagonist in waking the witch is this girl who, in a strange hallucination, finds herself on trial for witchcraft. the song deals with guilt and innocence as a threatening, demonic voice presses the protagonist for a confession. several key emotions connect this song with garak for me - guilt, paranoia, fear, hopelessness as she finds “a stone around [her] leg” that drags her down. “i question your innocence”, the voice tells her. “guilty, guilty, guilty!” declare the court. “well, are you responsible for your actions?” the voice asks. meanwhile the protagonist pleads (“bless me father for i have sinned” - perhaps a connection to tain, “help me, help me baby, talk to me, talk to me, please talk to me” - this terrified desperation reminds me of garak in his darkest moments). waking the witch to me represents garak’s inner turmoil and sense of guilt.

sisko - hello earth

oof, hello earth. this song is a true masterpiece. like waking the witch and jig of life, it’s a part of the story of the drowning girl. hello earth is towards the end of the story, as she struggles to survive. the awe for the world and the sense of detachment between the protagonist and her physical universe in the song reminds me of sisko’s connection to the prophets. he “[watches] storms start to form over” his country (in this case, ds9, bajor, the alpha quadrant) but “can’t do anything, just watch them swing with the wind out to sea”. when voices demand of the protagonist to “get out of the waves, get out of the water”, to me that is benjamin’s loved ones pleading with him  to return from the figurative world of the prophets. “murderer! murderer of calm!” voices accuse. i interpret this as sisko’s guilt over the regrettable things he has had do over the years, such as the events of in the pale moonlight. the song ends with a phrase, spoken by bush in german - “deeper, deeper, somewhere in the depth there is light”. sisko has this determined optimism, this conviction in what he stands for and what he can achieve. 

miles - this woman’s work

this woman’s work is a song in which a husband fears for his wife as she gives birth to their baby, looking back on their time together and finding regret. you can see the connection here. but while the idea of “i know you have a little life in you yet, i know you have a lot of strength left” can be read as being directed at keiko, i think it can also apply to miles himself. it may be a bit of a joke, but christ, miles has gone through the most - ‘hard time’, especially, comes to mind. even before the dominion war, he’s been through horrific conflict, but he still holds on and keeps fighting with his determined attitude. he’s a repressed person. “[he] should be crying but [he] just can’t let it show”. he’s still clinging to life, even after all this time. 

worf - army dreamers

army dreamers is a war song. it’s also a war song about a younger soldier, told from the perspective of his mother, who has died. she imagines what her son could’ve been, wondering what she could’ve done to save him from this fate. on one hand, this does connect for me to worf’s continuous ‘loss’ (of both people and things) throughout his time in both tng and ds9. but i think in a way worf also is, or is afraid of being, the young soldier in the story. army dreamers connects to klingon warriorship and the horrific loss of war - “oh, what a waste of all them army dreamers”. of any kate bush song, this was the one in which i felt him the most. 

nog - running up that hill

god, running up that hill. truly peak kate bush. there’s a lot here that i connect to nog. first of all, running up that hill is a song that carries so much weight, seems to touch upon themes of great burdens and struggles, something nog certainly experiences. but bush’s intended meaning with the song was a reflection upon how people from different groups (here men and women) struggle to understand each other, and if only they could “get [god] to swap [their] places”. this speaks to me of nog’s experience as a ferengi, the first ferengi in starfleet. if only those around him could understand him better - this goes both for being ferengi and for being traumatized - he would be running up that hill “with no problems”. 

jake - breathing

breathing is one of my favourite bush songs of all time. it’s a true masterpiece. here she takes on the persona of a baby in its mother’s womb, aware of a world outside that has descended into nuclear destruction and the horrors former generations have inflicted upon the earth. jake is the face of the next generation in ds9, growing from child to adult, but if the dominion war goes wrong, what world will he be left with by those who came before? at the end of breathing, bush’s protagonist, joined by other voices, desperately pleads with those above -  “oh, god, please leave us something to breathe!”. i connect this song to jake’s place as this next generation, as well as (unlike nog) an outsider in the war. 

odo - suspended in gaffa

i deliberated for a long time about which kate bush song could fit odo’s story. i chose suspended in gaffa because it explores a concept of experiencing something wondrous (in this case, witnessing god) and then not being able to experience it again, trapped by one’s unworthiness. the song’s protagonist is desperate to be rewarded - “can i have it all now?” i connect this with odo’s intrinsic desire and struggle to experience the great link, to be with his people, as well as other aspects like to be accepted by others and at peace with himself. 

quark - wuthering heights

yeah.

[guardianofjunmyeon]

Finding Atlantis (part 6)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description:   20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor,  to  any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man  has  heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But  fewer  men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean,  the key  to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold  should they  find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself.  Thus, the hunt  began.    

A/N: I meant to update last week but my VPN wasn’t working! I couldn’t access tumblr bc it’s blocked here in china but i finally got it fixed lol. This one is long! WARNING(s): Smut + Character Death (??)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

After hours of discussion and blindly heading southeast, you all were finally able to somewhat crack the code of the rhyme and the map.

“Follow the sound of your soul, she’ll call out to you to bring you back to your shoal. That’s clearly about the Atlantis return song. It’s the most important part of all of this. If we don’t get a better handle of when it appears and when it doesn’t we won’t get through the rest of the trails.”

“Trials?”

“Yes, there are three different trials masked in the lyrics of the song. The way back isn’t easy. If you leave Atlantis, you have to prove that you truly want to return,” Yeri replies.

You squint at the map now covered in writing.

“She’ll fight you to prove that your heart is true, to crush you and build you back stronger in her darkest shade of blue,” Sehun reads. “It’s about a storm. A very big one by the sound of it.” He points to an area of the map with nothing but water. “You see this area? It’s known for its unruly currents and unnatural weather patterns. It ranges from snow to thunderstorms large enough to wipe out entire islands.”

Junmyeon grazes his fingers over the map, passing the spot Sehun mentioned and further southeast. “Beautiful songs will call out to confuse the path, to distract you, but remembering your heart will get you through…if we continue beyond the location of the storm we’ll be set to approach Isla de Sirena within a week.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Yeri looks on in confusion. “Why shit?”

“Isla de Sirena is an island known for luring ships underwater. They crash ships among the rocks with song. They appear as the most beautiful creature that you can imagine; whatever you subconsciously find the most alluring. I don’t know how they do it. Different people can look at the same one and see different things; they trick you that way. Mermaids…sirens, whatever you want to call them. Freaky little bitches.”

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon admonishes.

“What? They are!”

“So we’ve got to face…beautiful singing women? Oh no the horror,” you gasp jokingly.

Baekhyun pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so horny, and so stupid all the fucking time.”

“You’re one to fucking talk-”

“Children!” Junmyeon scolds. “Can we please hold off on the flirting until this is over?”

“We aren’t flirting-”

“Anyway!” You and Baekhyun close your mouths in embarrassment. “We’ve gone near Isla de Sirena, once,” Sehun adds grimly, eyebrows pitching angrily. “If you’re able to ignore their voices then you can see them for they are. They’re the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shivers.

“So what’s the final trial?” Baekhyun asks, back to contributing to the conversation and not being a pain in your ass.

“She’ll finally take you in her arms again, cradled and safe where all life began…” Yeri reads. A sigh. “We aren’t completely sure. It’s something about a rebirth?”

You scratch your chin.

“Maybe it’s about being drowned.”

Everyone turns their eyes to you.

“What?” you ask; your wide eyes look back at everyone staring at you as if you said something crazy. You point to the map in the general area where you think you all may end up. “There’s no land anywhere near here, and the city is underwater. Born from water, taken away from water, and then reclaimed by the water. If you leave, you must be drowned and reborn into an Atlantian again right? Why else would you forget your memories and connection to the sea the longer you’re away?”

“You are reborn in the place where life began…” Baekhyun mumbles. “You might be right. The final trial is a drowning of some kind. There’s a reason only Atlantian’s are the only people who can reach the city.” Baekhyun smacks you on the shoulder. “You’re not completely useless!”

You frown and hold your shoulder.

Bastard.

~~~

Candles cover the deck of the ship as the sun sets on the horizon. You watch somberly as each member of your crew places an object that reminds them of Taemin, of Amber, of Kun, and of Jaehyun in each of the four caskets meant to sail them to the other side.

Their bodies are wrapped in cloth to save everyone the trauma of facing their decomposing faces. Flowers, candies, articles of clothes surround each body with the things that made them who they were in life.

And will hopefully comfort them in the land of death.

Your most artistically inclined deckhand, Ten, places a portrait of each of them in their respective boat. An image to match the body.

“Jaehyun was always smiling; he worked hard as a gunner. He’d hoped one day to be master gunner of the ship.” Mark stands over the casket. “He uh, he never said much but he had the most imaginative mind of any person I ever met,” he says with a sad smile. “When the cannon backfired and killed him, it was quick, so at least he didn’t suffer for long. Farewell friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Luna takes over where Mark left off, standing in front of Amber’s casket. “I’ve known Amber since we were kids. She was a strange one,” she laughs. “She was very head strong and opinionated even when she was wrong. We both knew that working in the artillery was going to be rough, that it would be dangerous, but I know that she loved this job more than anything. She had a family with us, and she died where she would have wanted, I think.” Tears fill her eyes as she sits back down in the circle of crewmen.

“Kun…was like an older brother to me. He would tell me that I was getting on his nerves, but he would always take care of me…uh…take care of all of us in the best way he could. Every meal he served, every wound he healed, was done with care. Unfortunately, sickness isn’t as kind. He tended to Taemin with his last breath, tried to heal with all he had until he had nothing else to give. I’m going to miss him and his cheesy magic tricks.” Ten takes in a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. “I hope he’s taken care of with as much love as he gave us.”

You can hear people holding back their tears. Sniffles and soft sobs escaping into the air every few seconds.

This time you stand as the representative to send off Taemin. You avoid everyone’s eyes and focus your gaze on his wrapped body and the trinkets around him. “Taemin was one of my earliest crewmen. I may have owned the ship, but Taemin was the one who knew best how she moved. He piloted with a grace and confidence I have still yet to achieve. I don’t have a single doubt that he’ll be able to guide himself to the other side without issue. He had a natural skill for movement.” You focus on an object nestled snuggly at his side. “I just hope he doesn't lose any of the things we’re sending with him the way he always loses his money pouches.” You manage a smile.

A couple of people chuckle softly, sadly.

“As Captain of the Storm Chaser, I release the four of you from duty.” You raise your gun in the air. “I couldn’t have asked for braver, hardworking, and loyal men.” You fire a single shot into the air.

It rings through the night.

Everyone stands, begins to close the wooden coffins, and Junmyeon soaks them in gunpowder and oil.

You watch the coffins get lowered into the water one by one. As they begin to float away, you, Mark, Luna, and Ten line up along the edge of the ship.

“Ready,” you all cock your guns. “Aim.”

“Fire.”

The coffins alight with flames. Yixing lights a single firework and it shoots into the air and covers the sky in bright yellow sparks.

May these lights guide them on their future paths.

No one moves until the coffins are far out of sight, their flames no longer visible. Until nothing but darkness rests in the distance. With heavy eyes, and heavier hearts, you all pull away from the railing.

Those who were close to the ones sent away cry openly and you allow everyone the rest of the night to rest and mourn as they see fit. Crying, shaking, screaming.

People cope in different ways.

As everyone disperses below deck you see Yixing rubbing Jongin’s back as the two of them cry clinging tightly to the other.

You know that Yixing grew up with Taemin. Yixing had been the one to recommend him for the crew because of their shared history. Knowing now that Yixing knew Jongin at the same time, you realize that Jongin must have known Taemin closely as well.

Leaving them to console one another, you walk away.

The stories of their deaths, of their lives, makes your heart a bit less heavy. Knowing that they died doing what they wanted, and not because life was stolen from them in situations counter to their personality eases a bit of the pain.

Minutely.

It still hurts, but the anger is no longer there. Just sadness.

This is the life of pirates after all.

Junmyeon has hidden himself away somewhere on the ship, as he always does when he wants to cry without being found, so you make your way towards the food storage for a drink. You need it after today.

People cope in different ways.

The stairs creak as you descend. One of the lanterns is already on, bright near the liquor storage. It shouldn’t surprise you. You wouldn’t be the only person who wants to drink to numb a bit of the pain.

What does surprise you is who you find hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Baekhyun?”

His head lifts and you immediately take notice of the red in his visible eye and face in the dim lighting. He seems alarmed to have been caught. He looks away in shame.

You sit down in front of him.

The bottle of whiskey at his side is half empty; you reach for it and take a sip.

For your men.

Silence shrouds you both.

You feel the need to speak. To clear the air. Whether you are doing it for him or for yourself you aren’t sure. “No one blames you, you know,” you say so softly that it almost blends into the silence. You hope he doesn’t hear.

But of course he does.

He looks over with anger. “I never said it was my fault.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re down here drinking alone after a funeral. This screams ‘this is all my fault’ you emo fucker.”

He snatches the bottle from your hands.

“Look, okay. No one thinks it’s your fault. You heard the stories. Yeah, you guys shot my ship, but their deaths weren’t directly a result of that. Things went wrong; I will accept that it was just a shot to immobilize us. If any of us thought you a murderer, in this case, we would have hung you by your neck long ago.” You forcefully grab the bottle back with a frown. “There’s plenty of other shit for you to feel guilty over. Like the time you shot me…or stabbed me…or left me on that island for dead.”

“I swear to the Gods-”

“The point is…this one isn’t on you. You don’t need to carry this guilt. Not this time.” You take a quick drink. “If however,” you point your finger at him menacingly, “this was on purpose, then I take all that back and I will kill you right fucking here I swear to the Gods.”

The bottle is taken back. “It wasn’t,” he admits, softly, angry. A swig. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says again tiredly.

His honesty takes you by surprise. Baekhyun has killed just as many people as you have in your life. If he had tried to kill them, well that would be expected. But for him to be this affected by the accidental deaths? That’s surprising.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” he asks.

“Do you really think you’re the only person on this ship who hides down here drinking? You’re talking to the master!” you boast. “And it’s my ship you ungrateful wrench.” You finish off what’s left of the whiskey and reach for a bottle of golden rum tucked securely on a shelf. Uncorking it with your teeth, you hold it in the air between you. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun!”

It burns like hell itself going down.

You hold it out for Baekhyun with an expectant eyebrow raise. You wait.

He grabs it gently. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun,” he repeats in a murmur. He makes a noise of pain as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. “What the fuck is this?”

You shiver as the alcohol settles uncomfortably in your stomach. “It's the bad rum I think.” You cough violently. “Oh fuck I think I’m going to die,” you say clutching your stomach.

His wild laugh echoes in the dark space. A bit of the gloom lifts.

You let your hands fall from your stomach while you take in the relaxed happiness on his candlelit face. His eye crinkled in a crescent, shining with mirth. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh like that since the first time you met him.

He’s pretty. You’d have to be stupid not to admit it. From his soft and shiny hair, to his cheeks that bunch up when he smiles. From his big dumb ears to all of the little moles that dot his body.

The bottle goes back up to his ridiculously pink lips and he laughs as it hurts his throat just as bad as the first sip.

All it takes is a second of thoughtless, drunken courage for you to lean forward and quickly press your lips against his, cutting off his giggles.

When you pull pack, the happiness on his face has made way for shock and then once more to nothing.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says tonelessly. His voice is serious, but you see the spark of challenge in his eye.

Ignoring the part of you that always tells you that jumping headfirst into him is a bad idea, you lean in again, slower. You brace your hands on his thighs and feel them tense beneath your palms. He stares at your lips and you watch enrapt as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

You can feel your skin vibrating from the proximity to him, and you freeze; a breath away from meeting skin with skin. Your eyes glance up to meet his and you can see the want, the restlessness, and something else you can’t quite place in the dark.

As if waiting any longer would be torturous, he leans forward impatiently to press his lips against yours. The bottle of rum falls to the ground and spills onto the floorboards of the storage room.

You don’t care.

You push harder; open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours in a way that sends tingles through every nerve in your body. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the touch of sadness, but something feels different about this time.

You crawl onto his lap, driven purely by instinct and press every inch of your body against his. Heat seeps through your clothes and you pant longingly as he pulls you closer by your neck, his other hand grabbing you roughly by your ass. A wanton moan escapes your mouth and he pulls you closer, rougher. Breaths puff into each other’s mouths as you messily connect your lips over and over again. It’s uncoordinated. It’s wet. It’s exactly what you need.

You thread your fingers in his hair and yank his head back; diving to lick and suck along the column of his neck, to the sensitive spot behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. His grip on your body tightens as he releases a shaky groan and rolls his hips up against yours. Anticipation thrums through your body. To every noise, to every touch your body responds in earnest.

This is nothing but a distraction. For you. For the both of you, you don’t care. Neither of you have to think as clothes are removed. The sadness can be ignored as you claw against his skin and coax his tongue into your mouth. It’s all movement. All feeling. All lust.

People cope in different ways.

It always happens like this. You argue. You fight. You threaten each other. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and too tired to care about the years of hatred between you. For these few moments all you are, are bodies. Bodies moving in tandem, kissing the right places, touching the right spots, connecting at the right angle. Like this things are easy, wordless.

You each just understand how the other works.

Every movement is matched in urgency, in desperation. Touch for touch. Kiss for kiss. Sound for sound. Push for pull. Gasps, moans, whimpers are muted as best you can in the quiet of the storage. You don’t realize that you’re subconsciously avoiding aggravating the stitches that lie there, still fresh, in his side as your hands leave burning paths along his skin.

Just for now, you can allow yourselves to feel that maybe you don’t hate each other as much as you let on.

~~~

“Get your own fucking telescope!”

“Where am I going to get one? We’re in the middle of the god forsaken ocean; do you expect me to pull it out of my ass?”

“You should have brought yours with you if you wanted to use one so bad! That doesn’t give you permission to just take my shit whenever you feel like it. You aren’t Captain here.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I’ll do worse than that. Seulgi, get me my pistol.”

“Captain I don’t think-”

“You think you’re going to shoot me? Chanyeol where’s my gun?!”

“I’m gonna shoot you right in your last fucking working eye you dirty fucking son of a-”

A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your curse. “Baekhyun, you’re needed in the kitchen. Kyungsoo is asking for you.” You and Baekhyun share one last deadly glare before he stalks off and you’re released.

“What the hell Minseok?” You turn on your gunner, anger from your argument with Baekhyun being projected instead onto him. It has to go somewhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered.

“So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?”

Your eyes bulge out of your skull. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”

He sighs, grabs you by your arm and drags you all the way to the infirmary. You’re forced to sit down stupefied as Minseok stares at you expectantly. “The two of you are exhausting to watch. If you weren’t two of our most capable men we would have tied you both up and put you in the brig until we found Atlantis days ago,” he says evenly.

You scoff, mouth agape.

“I would tell you to fuck and move on, but seeing as that seems to be what triggers a fresh round of arguments, I’m going to ask that you two refrain from ever having sex on the ship again in the future.”

You splutter embarrassed. Your skin heats at having been called out so boldly. “W-what?! How- Wh- How’d you find out?”

“Any time the two of you have sex, you spend the next month or so telling all of us how much you hate him, how you’re going to kill him, blah blah blah. After a while you stop being as vocal about it, but then we make port, usually at Arae, and he happens to be there, then BAM we're back where we started. You’re obsessed with each other.”

You flush. “We are not,” you try to deny. His face is unimpressed. “I don't know where you got the idea that either of us feel anything but pure hatred for the other. Okay yeah, we’ve had sex a couple of times. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had sex with half of Arae.” You cross your arms defiantly.

“As soon as this is all over, we’ll part ways...in 6 months we’ll go to Arae for a bit, as we always do, you’ll have ‘angry hate sex’ yet again and then spend the next month being pissy over his existence. No one who genuinely hates someone spends so much time a) around them willingly and b) obsessing over them when they aren’t around,” Minseok says matter-of-factly. “I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.”

“Minseok!”

“I agree,” Jongin’s head pops up from behind the singular bed in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, heat again filling your cheeks at the extra witness to this interrogation.

“I work here?”

“I mean hiding behind the bed!”

“Oh…I uh tripped and then the door opened and you guys started talking and I was too afraid to get up and interrupt,” he says quickly.

You squint in judgment.

“This whole…” Minseok waves his hand around as he searches for the word, “…archenemies thing is getting old, Captain. If you really wanted to kill him, you would have done it already. And I’m sure the same goes for Byun. Right Jongin?” he turns to face the younger.

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees with a shrug.

You can’t believe your ears. “He just…hasn’t done anything worth actually killing him over yet. He’s useful sometimes…for information…” you murmur lamely. The excuse is weak even to you.

“You are both dumb and annoying…and also super transparent. Whenever you injure the other, it’s always in a place that won’t kill or do permanent damage. Don’t act like it’s just been luck that you’ve both managed to miss any kind of serious blow from the other. You’re both deadly fighters, you know how to kill someone if you want them dead.”

“He ditched me in cuffs on that island-”

“You had the key to the cuffs,” Jongin chimes in unhelpfully.

Minseok rolls his eyes at your words. “Yes, and again, in a survivable situation. Was there not food and shit on that island?”

You open and close your mouth pathetically.

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re an incompetent dumbass. You would be able to find your way off even if you hadn’t been found. He didn’t blow the ship to bits like he could have a month ago, you haven’t slit his throat like you could have many months ago. You both dance around injuring each other, making the other’s life difficult, and fucking. You’re in love, please just accept it. I don’t care if you’re into BDSM and blood play or whatever freaky shit gets you guys off, but I would at least appreciate it if you kept it in your bedroom.”

Jongin nods from the back. “I just think it’s obvious,” he adds simply.

“Pff…Psh…Tch…I’m-I am appalled that you would talk to your Captain like this.”

“I know, I know. You could have us hanged, shot, thrown in the ocean, whatever…but the fact of the matter is that you aren’t going to do any of that, and you know that we’re right. Now, I’m going to go make sure Chanyeol hasn’t shot any of my men with any of my valuable pistols, and I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Minseok nods his head with finality and exits the room.

Mutineer…

You glare at Jongin for ganging up on you. He flushes timidly. “I’m uh…gonna go see if Kyungsoo needs any help…Captain.” With a nervous smile he dashes from the room.

This is mutiny…

~~~

The ship sails southeast for days before anything alerts you all of the impeding first trial. The weather is normal, the water is normal, and then all of a sudden, the winds become violent.

“Captain, I think we’re getting close to whatever the first test is…” Yixing says tremulously.

The wind whips around you and the sails of the ship flap violently. There’s no way to tell which way the wind is blowing from as it whips from what feels like every side simultaneously. The ship tilts dangerously to one side.

“Junmyeon…that song telling you anything right about now?” You ask anxiously.

Your first mate looks out on the horizon with worried eyes. “We’re going the right way…” is all he says.

“Helpful,” Yixing murmurs sarcastically.

There is no visible sign of a storm; nothing seems out of the ordinary outside of the unnatural winds. The crew is already reefing your regular sails and raising the storm jib and trysail. If the winds get any stronger, which they will, they’ll catch your regular sails and capsize your ship before the waves even begin to hit.

“Who can man the helm? Who’s the best pilot on board right now?” you ask Yixing.

Yixing looks around a bit panicked. “I don’t know… I don’t know Captain.” The ship lurches to the side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you scan the ship. Most of the men are working on preparing the proper sails, securing any moving parts, and making sure the wind alone won’t turn the ship on her side. You see Baekhyun working with Wendy on securing lose lines. You haven’t talked to him since your lecture from Minseok all those days ago. “Junmyeon, go check to make sure we have enough ballast in the hold. We’re going to be rocking and we need to pray that we have enough weight to keep us as stable as possible.”

He rushes away; you try to think of what else you can do to prepare. There’s no way to tell how long this storm is going to last, how bad it’s going to be, and you would rather prepare for the worst.

A sea anchor.

“Johnny!” The boatswain is immediately at your side. “Take whoever you need and deploy the sea anchor. We should have one somewhere in the hold. I need you to work fast, but be thorough.”

The ship is going to have to sail against the wind and against the waves. The wind will push the ship off course, but to survive a storm like this the ship needs to keep its bow to the waves. If a wave catches the ship on her side or back, there’s no chance for survival. You’ll have to use your sea anchor and just pray that the Gods are feeling merciful.

“Baekhyun!” you shout. He turns immediately at the sound of your voice. “How good are you at the wheel?”

“I’m decent.”

“How’s your tracking? Your jibbing? Can you keep the ship from capsizing in this storm?”

He looks up in the sky when the sound of thunder shakes the floorboards. “My jibbing isn't the best, but I think I can keep her afloat,” he promises.

The feeling of static fills the air. The hair on your body rises to attention. Another rumble of thunder rolls across the ocean, louder than before. The sky is darker than it was 5 minutes ago.

There isn’t much longer until the storm hits.

“I need you at the wheel. I’m trusting my ship to you. Don’t let me down.” With a determined nod, Baekhyun is off. You see your first strike of lighting. Bright blue and not far off.

Chanyeol runs up to you to assure you that all of the cannons, ammunition, and artillery are properly secured. “Tell Minseok to get all his men below deck in the storm rooms. Secure any hatch and pray to the Gods that we make it through this,” you instruct. He nods and runs off.

When a storm hits, it hurts more than it helps to have people above deck. Three people would do the job just as well as all 20. Half of weathering a storm is the training and skill of the crew; and the other half is just pure luck.

The beginning patters of rain begin to pelt the ship. You run back up to the helm where Baekhyun has stationed himself.

The ocean gets choppy, picks up ferocity. The ship leans starboard. Baekhyun has never steered your ship, and truthfully, you have no idea whether or not he can actually steer through a storm. You’ve never seen him at the wheel of any ship in all the years you’ve known him.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” you ask.

“Honestly…I don’t know,” he admits. “We have enough sea room; we won’t crash into anything this far out. I just hope we can pick up enough speed before the waves start to grow.”

Junmyeon reappears, with Kyungsoo at his side, both out of breath. “We’ve prepared all that we can. The sea anchor is deployed, we’ve got a decent amount of ballast, the jib is ready to be backwinded, and the crew is all prepared for the rocking. What’s the plan?”

“Heaving to,” Baekhyun says simply. He swipes at his bangs, heavy with water and clinging to this forehead. “We keep the bow to the waves, keep close to the wind, and then lock the helm in place.”

“Won’t we broadside?!”

“No, if we were to lie ahull, we would broadside,” Kyungsoo supplies, blocking his eyes from the rain picking up in ferocity. “By heaving to, we can keep the ship from going parallel to the waves and capsizing. We’ll have to stay above deck to correct it if the wind or waves suddenly change. Since you’ve got a sea anchor we’ve got more chance of keeping the ship sailing straight into the waves rather than along them.”

“If heaving to doesn’t work, we try to run off downwind. As the wind increases we’ll have to slow down the ship as much as we can so that we don’t dive straight into the wave in front of us.” A bolt of lightning hits the waves. The rain gets harder.

“We would die…” You say unhelpfully. Lighting blasts in front of you and the waves crash angrily against the ship’s sides.

“Exactly. So if we run off, we’re going to need more than the four of us to throw whatever heavy lines you have off the stern,” Baekhyun’s voice rises to be heard over the increasingly loud winds and waves.

“As a last result, we’ll lie ahull and just fucking pray that when we capsize the ship holds for long enough to keep all of us alive,” Kyungsoo shouts.

You exhale shakily as another three bolts of lightning flash across the sky.

Poseidon be kind to us all.

You leave Baekhyun with the job of steering the ship against the waves that grow in size and power by the second.

At Kyungsoo’s instruction, Junmyeon is in charge of keeping the jib backwinded, and you reef the trysail as soon as it becomes clear that it’s going to be a hindrance in the grand scheme of things. Kyungsoo stands at Baekhyun’s side correcting course when he gets thrown off balance. Baekhyun does the same as Kyungsoo is knocked to the side in turn.

The waves become brutal, rocking the ship so hard that it’s nearly impossible to keep on your feet for more than 10 seconds at a time.

The wind finally sets in a single direction, fiercer than anything you’ve faced, and the general direction of the waves becomes apparent. The ship rocks violently from side to side and then immediately forward and back. You’re thrown into the foremast by the unexpected direction change with enough force to knock the wind out of your body. You gasp in pain. You get up on wobbling legs and try to breathe even as the water falls so fast and heavy around you that it feels equivalent to drowning.

You can’t see more than two feet ahead of yourself.

Think. Think.

There is rope at your feet, secured to the mainmast of the ship. You untie it with cold, wet fingers and hold it tight as you walk to the helm. The ship crashes into another large wave and you fall to your knees as water washes over the bow of the hull, covers the deck in freezing water and pitches the ship forwards. You stand up, shivering but determined. You tie the rope around your own waist to help you keep note of where you’ve come from.

Getting to the helm is a challenge, but you make it. Junmyeon is helping Baekhyun and Kyungsoo lock it in place.

“We should head below deck!” You shout as loud as you can. Thunder and lightning work in tandem to drown out your voice. To remind you of who is louder. Who has more power. You’re soaked to the bone.

Each man above deck is in a similar state. “We’re going below deck!” Junmyeon shouts. “We think heaving to may work.” The ship lurches dangerously to the right.

“Quick! Let’s go,” Kyungsoo screams, hair clinging to his forehead in inky black tendrils.

You use the rope to guide you. It feels as though you’re swimming through the air with the amount of resistance the winds and rain are putting up. Kyungsoo makes it to the hatch that leads below first. You follow behind, climbing down the ladder with shaking limbs. Water leaks through the boards, but it’s a welcome change from the brutality of facing Mother Nature directly.

You gasp for breath, finally able to breathe without also inhaling water, and look around the space for the ship’s emergency supplies. The ship dips, your stomach lurches.

Freezing water streams into the room from the open hatch above. You realize belatedly that there are only two of you in the compartment. Baekhyun and Junmyeon haven’t made it down.

You’re thrown to the ground when the ship dips without warning.

Clattering catches your attention as Junmyeon is swept into the room with a fresh rush of water. “Baekhyun fell overboard!” Junmyeon screams. He crashes against the ground. The sky screams.

What?

Kyungsoo turns away from opening the hatch down to a lower level of the ship to gape at Junmyeon’s words in horror.

Gasping, soaked, Junmyeon looks around the compartment frantically.

You’re moving before you have a chance to think.

You vaguely hear your name being called out from behind, but you don’t turn around. Rope still secured around your waist, you run, slip, stumble, over to the closest life boat. As fast as your shaking hands can work, you cut yourself free of the mainmast and tie the end of the rope not tied to your body to the dinghy.

You slice through the thick ropes holding the dinghy to the side of the ship with an urgency you’ve never felt. Water hits you head on, chilling you to the bone.

The final rope snaps and you and the dighy fall into the water with the force of landing on cement. Something is broken, but your adrenaline is pumping so violently that you can’t feel the pain. It doesn’t register.

Doesn’t matter.

You look around frenzied. The water is pitch black and moving too fast. The rain pelts your skin. It stings, burns, blurs your vision.

The waves are too big for him to survive out here on his own.

They’re too big for you to survive in your search for him.

The sky roars.

The waves crash, flip your boat once, twice.

You settle upright for the second time when, by the grace of the Gods, you see his white shirt illuminated against the dark water by a strike of lightning. You row frantically as a wave begins to swell. You nearly scream in relief when you reach him, but the sound dies as your heart sinks.

He’s not moving.

And he’s face down.

With all the energy you can muster, you pull him into your little boat. You take a few seconds you catch your breath, then you realize the height at which the wave has lifted you. It begins to cascade down; instinctively, you wrap your arms around Baekhyun’s unmoving form and brace yourself for the crash.

It’s dizzying.

It hurts.

It’s terrifying.

You hold your breath, close your eyes, hold onto the man in your arms with all you have, and wait for the water to stop jostling you around so violently. The water seems to calm slightly, so you open your eyes.

The water is dark, and then bright. Black, and then illuminated by lighting.

Your chest tightens as your need for oxygen reaches desperation. You maneuver yourself beneath the water enough to hold Baekhyun with one arm and swim to the top with the other.

You break the surface and gasp for air desperately.

You pull your rope and the boat appears at your side, thankfully upright. You lift Baekhyun aboard first, and then with heavy limbs, you topple on top of him. You don’t give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you’re leaning over him checking for signs of life.

You lower your ear to his chest. You can’t tell if he’s breathing. If his heart is beating.

“Come on Byun. Don’t die on me like this,” you beg. You repeatedly push against his chest, the way you were taught to restart a heart. After a few beats you press your ear to his chest again to listen for a change.

Nothing.

“Fuck. Come on…come on,” you pant.

You pinch his nose and lean down to cover his mouth with yours, filling his lungs with the air that he’s unable to take in on his own. His chest rises each time you exhale into his mouth. You go back to pumping your locked hands against his chest. A wave knocks you on your side. The boat stays upright.

You exhale into his mouth again, once, twice. You beg the rain to let up. You beg the waves to grow smaller.

You beg his heart to start beating.

He jerks and water spurts from his mouth. Relief hits you so hard that all the energy left in your body is expelled and you sag forward and land directly onto his chest.

You can finally hear the dull thumping of his heart. You can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

At last, you can take a second to just breathe.

The small boat continues to jerk around, but it’s clear that the worst of the storm has passed. The waves now are shallow and choppy. The rain has lessened to nothing but a drizzle. The thunder rumbles farther and farther in the distance.

And Baekhyun’s heartbeat gets stronger.

You close your eyes, and let exhaustion overcome you, lulled into sleep by the beat of his heart and the rocking of the boat.

[scarletravenswood]

Pagan vs Christian Worldview || 4 HUGE Differences

One of the most common questions I receive is if someone can be both Christian and Pagan. This is a difficult question as it depends on what perspective you're coming from. From a Christian perspective the answer is definitely NO as in Christianity you must only believe in the one ‘true’ God. If you’re looking from the Pagan perspective the idea of combining Christianity & Paganism is a bit more possible because as Pagans we can always add on an additional deity, which in this case would be the Christian God, into our religious practice. However, there are some huge differences between the Pagan & Christian lifestyle and worldview that would make combining these two faiths difficult. So for this video & blogpost I want to share what I view makes the Pagan worldview so fundamentally different from Christianity.

Now before we begin, some disclaimers. I am not an official expert on religion. This is just my personal understanding of the differences between Paganism and Christianity so take everything I mention with a grain of salt. I understand that there is complexity and nuance to everything and this is just meant to be an introduction & my personal beliefs. This is also a very difficult topic to tackle because Paganism is an umbrella term and there are many different religions with varying beliefs and practices that could be considered Pagan. For the purposes of this post I’m using commonalities I find among the majority of Pagan religions, though this will of course not reflect all Pagans or Pagan religions.

Now that we got that out of the way here are 4 fundamental differences between Paganism and Christianity:

One God vs. Many Gods

In Christianity there is belief in one true god. Those that believe in this God will ascend to heaven and those that believe in either multiple deities or a different singular God are incorrect and they must be “saved” or else they will not ascend to heaven. In Paganism we believe in multiple Gods. While there may be a hierarchy of Gods, with some more powerful than others, the belief in multiple deities is an essential part to Paganism.

This makes Paganism distinctively different from Christianity and also makes it extremely versatile as each individual can choose the deities they would like to incorporate in their religious practice. This Pagan worldview also allows for religious syncretism which is the blending of two or more religious belief systems into a new system. The deity Hermes Trismegistus is an example of this as he is a deity formed by combining the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth.

Why is Religious syncretism important? Well, Pagans have the ability to adopt other deities and religious customs instead of completely rejecting them as wrong or sinful. Because of this unique feature it is my personal belief that Paganism is very conducive to peacefully living in a society that is filled with a diversity of people with various faiths. Also, as a side note, since there is not ONE true God in Paganism that means that others don’t need to be “saved” so there is no need to proselytize in Paganism. “Spreading the word” or converting others is not necessary or desired in Paganism.

Faith vs. Actions

Faith is the most important aspect of Christianity. Sin can be forgiven as long as you confess & have faith in the one true God. For example, in Hebrews 11:6 “And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”

In most Pagan societies, faith was secondary to actions. It was more important to perform the rituals & festivals to honor the Gods than it was to fully believe in the Gods. It was your actions in life, not your faith, that determined your place in the afterlife. You can look at Valhalla as an example - it was your strength in battle, not your faith, that determined a place in Valhalla.

You can also look towards ancient Roman society where religion was practical and contractual, based on the principle of "I give that you might give." Roman religion depended on knowledge and the correct practice of prayer, ritual, and sacrifice, not on faith or dogma. Excessive devotion or fearful groveling to deities was considered undignified in Roman society. This does not mean that faith was unimportant among Pagan societies, it just means that it was not valued in the same way as it was within a Christian worldview.

For example, we can look at a quote from Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, “Since it is possible that you might depart from life this very moment, regulate every act and thought accordingly. But to go away from among men, if there are gods, is not a thing to be afraid of, for the gods will not involve you in evil; but if indeed they do not exist, or if they have no concern about human affairs, why would I wish to live in a universe devoid of gods or devoid of Providence? But in truth they do exist, and they do care for human things, and they have put all the means in man’s power to enable him not to fall into real evils.”

Here Marcus Aurelius is stating how the Gods have created us not to watch over us to see if we are sinning, but instead they have empowered us to create and mold our own lives. Faith here is not what’s truly important. What’s important is the quest to empower ourselves to actions that better our lives and the lives of others.

Mercy vs. The Warrior

In Christianity there is a focus on humility, peace, and meekness and an de-emphasis on physical strength & the warrior archetype. For example, Matthew 5:5 - “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

This is much different from Paganism. There is not a ‘turn the other cheek’ worldview and Pagan societies were not always peaceful or gentle. In fact, pretty much every Pagan society had at least one God of war.

This does not mean that we as modern pagans condone violence. However, it does mean the warrior archetype has value and that building both physical & mental strength can be an active part of Pagan practice. If you are interested in learning more about the Warrior archetype I would recommend watching the video The Archetype of the Warrior – How Films Help Empower Us All. 

Strength in the Pagan worldview, both personally & collectively as a society, was greatly important. For example, you can consider the value of athletic glory in Ancient Greece or you can look towards Socrates who wrote, “No man has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.”

In Paganism the body is not sinful nor is it something to be ignored. In fact, the body is an integral part of spiritual practices. Through bodily strength & pleasures we gain access to glimpses of the divine, but that does not mean we should descend into purely hedonism. There is of course a time & a place for hedonism in Paganism, but it must be balanced by a strong body and mind.

Focus on Afterlife vs. Focus on Life

In a Christian worldview the goal is to live in faith without sin so that you may ascend to heaven. In many Christian texts and in certain aspects of modern Christian culture there is a yearning for this life to end and for the rapture to occur. During this time faithful Christians will be chosen by God and the rest of us will descend to hell for eternity.

Even the main symbol of Christianity, the cross, focuses on death and the afterlife. Additionally, you have the concept of the martyr - to sacrifice your life for God leads to sainthood.

By contrast, the afterlife is not as important within Pagan societies. While there are some occasional mentions of places like Elysium or Valhalla, it’s clear that the afterlife was not a main focus of Pagan religions. Instead, a main focus of Pagan religious rites and festivals was to celebrate life & fertility. This celebration of fertility is a clear departure from the Christian worldview.

In Christianity, female sexuality and fertility is often viewed through a lens of sin. Pagan societies however, greatly celebrated fertility - both our human fertility and the fertility of the land. Some of the earliest art we humans created, like the Venus of Willendorf, emphasized the sexuality & fertility of the female form and celebrating this fertility is an integral part of pretty much all pagan religions.

When it comes to death in Pagan societies, it was your legacy that mattered much more than where you end up after you die. For Pagans achieving eternity did not mean dying and going somewhere where you’ll live forever. Instead eternity was achieved when the great acts you performed in life are remembered & retold by your descendants and your community.

There’s a lot more I could discuss about the differences between the Christian & Pagan worldview, such as Purity of God vs Flawed Gods or the Intersection of Science and faith in Christianity & Paganism so let me know if you enjoyed this post and I maybe I will make a part 2.

Next I’d love to hear what you think are some of the fundamental differences between Christianity and Paganism, so please share your thoughts as well. ✨

[miaxeu]

      though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, MIA STOEGER is actually a descendent of DIONYSUS. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-ONE year old MYTHOLOGICAL STUDIES MAJOR from LOS ANGELES, USA has taken after HER godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite CHARISMATIC & DUPLICITOUS. 

( y’all dont deserve this real messy intro but im workin w half a bwain cell at 4am so i beg thee 4 mercy. nywyy im the excited new girl who’s hella pumped to meet all ur charas : katya ! feel free to hop in my ims to plot or drop a like and i’ll hop in urs ! x  )

POWERS

natural acting abilities — her ma’s a hollywoo agent so she started actin real early & now shes a big shot actress. there r more deetz on her career below !

chlorokinesis — it wasnt as natural as acting n she only started working on it when she turned 13 n started going to camps. b4 she just noticed shes good w plants but it wasnt super crazy or nything. its p good now tho ! shes prioritizing vine binding and manipulation 4 the self defense bc awards r cool n all but they dont rlly protecc from monsters ykwim 

levitation — shes trying her best ur honor

alcokinesis  — she cant conjure it or anything, she’s just immune to it ffff

BIO POINTS — cw: drug use ( full biography here )

her mom raised her by herself bc dionysus the party god was out of the picture immediately. she never told mia she’s a demigod & it was always just “ wow ur so talented ” or “ aww u got a green thumb ! ” but when she saw him claim 13 y/o mia by placing a weird hologram over her head while she slept, she knew she had to spill da beanz & tell her kid

ofc mia thought her mom was jus playing sum weird acting exercise w her bc her powers r so lowkey she could highkey just be a Mortal but insert sad whistle, the realizashun & the claiming meant heightened monster threat !! so yea ,,, one ended up chasing her a couple days later rip 

aside from the trauma, mia was ok. mostly bc she ended up cryin for dionysus like any child would n lo & behold he came & helped !!! as he should. nywy she made sure to go to summer camps every year after that but mostly just for protection purposes

she lowkey rlly hates this whole god business esp now that shes grown lmfao deadass thinks she got a bad deal bc life threats arent sexy !!! went to eonia eventually bc its Too Much Man. she just wants to go back to work and her life w the mortals w/o worryin for her life. would deadass fade her father if she could. may or may not be majoring in greek mythology to figure out the logistics of it all out of spite, who knows !

PERSONALITY

not ! a Drama Queen  —  dont get me wrong, shes hella Extra in the way she moves n acts sorta like shes always bein captured on film. is quick-witted & playful & can be a huge tease/flirt if she feels like it, but miss her w Real Feelings ! totally not sentimental. srsly she will try to rationalize away everything and is just,.,., not good w it. so soz folks, we just keepin it breezy here

ugh, she’s an Actress — aka she can act like she cares tho ! shes very much into keeping ppl on her good side. shes friendly n palatable to everyone bc its how shes been trained & while it doesnt seem fake, its def diff when its genuine

The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known —  lemme circle back to the first one, ok so shes good w emotions but only in theory. does intense character work with her roles so she thinks that counts as her having eq when rlly shes just emotionally stunted, projecting n repressing like an idiot

blonde, skinny, rich, & a lil bit of a Bitch — shes only a bitch inwardly or to ppl she trusts enuff to let in on the gossip. if anyone full on opposes her or becomes real emotional, then this lil diva will rear its superiority complex head n snap a lil. will most probably do it v underhandedly n w a smile but it will be Brutal

girls just wanna have FUN ! — shes the child of da party god, so ofc she a true party girl. officially off the rails when she parties. inhibitions ? we dk her. can be insensitive in that case bc smtms its truly no strings attached, tis all abt the fun. likes company a lot & it doesnt even have 2 be loud or particularly abt her, she just likes having people around n the escapism of it all. will make friends with everyone n make sure they have a jolly fun time guaranteed at dionysus parties 

Work Hard, Play Hard — real responsible when it comes to work and commitments and if she trusts/likes u enough, she’ll give it 2 u straight, no bs. def thinks Calling Out is an act of love but maybe does it a lil too harshly smtms. v much into efficiency, sentiments be damned. not the feely words type. will sit next to u or party w u or even pay 4 ur therapist if u need sum1 to talk to. she will Be There while u work thru it, so long as u dont expect her to change n be all emotional n stuff

if she seems a lil contradictory thats bc she kinda is. tis the good ol nurture vs nature. her ma’s a real no nonsense chick n her pops is a frat guy drama geek greek god whos rlly into cottagecore so u get this lil blonde bitch whos sorta teetering on the edges

OTHER INFO  — cw: drug use ( full headcanons here )

re her career, she achieved pegot status when she was 18 aka she truly b dat bitch. shes not super mainstream famous tho, more like indie sweetheart, film snobs/critics fave typa gal. if ya want a trajectory she started w baby commercials then a sitcom from 4-10 ( think modern fam’s lily ) then it was off to the big screen & the stage ! 

mia has a lil bit of a drug habit. its not abusive or dependent, but it is a staple whenever shes parties bc alcohol is useless 2 her. started a lil young too bc hollywoo. primarily uppers/hallucinogens. she smokes weed a lil more liberally but the rest is mostly just an on occasion thing ( which, ngl, is a still a lil problematic when u party a lot rip )

after she got claimed, mia ended up going to demigod camps in a lot of diff places n countries, depending on where production would take her. there was never an established place, more like wherever was nearest when they wrapped up shooting bc monsters afoot n wutnot  

she was always homeschooled but she still managed to go to a prom and homecoming bc party is life. that makes eonia uni p much her first chance at having a normal educational environment & experience and even then its anything but. still tho this is her moment !!! im lit rally begging her to get a personality that isnt her internally rolling her eyes going “ its not that deep ”

might put up a bio/stats page if im feelin sxc but i wud jus like the records to show that mia stoeger is a bi sxc babe bc me ? write a het ? no grassy ass.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS — cw: drug use ( full connections here )

omg danny devito i love ur work ! 

,,, p self explanatory sdkjfs sum1 who loves her work ! it can be lowkey/highkey fangirl to a civil admiration

OR alternatively, y/m can Not Be a fan of her work. they might think the storyline of the projects she takes on r too out of touch n highbrow yada yada yada, but yes, we love to see either of it ! 

summer camp sweetheart !  

someone she met when at camp when they were teens ? doesnt matter in what country/city, but mia was only visiting so it was truly a one summer romance typa thing. bc she was younger, im thinkin 13-17 or w/e she was probably sweeter n a lot more emotional then. was it either’s first puppy love ? first kiss ? first “ relationship ? ” idk, do yk ? truly, so many possibilities. nothin set in stone just hmu bub 

summer camp pals ! 

p much the same as above but make it Platonic

party buddies !

or druggie pals. either way works but she wud luv it if theyre both xoxo

friends w benefits !

most probably ( but not limited to ) sum1 she met at a party skdjhsjk is it exclusive ? is any1 starting to develop feelings ? im down 4 nthing n evrything

alexa play true friend by hannah montana !

give mia her college bestie ! her confidant who knows her feels and can call each other out viciously with no ounce of resentment. we stan the friendships !

omg i love ur skirt !

that is the ugliest effing skirt i've ever seen. lmao basically sum1 mia pretends to like or acts civil w but rlly ,,,, Cannot Stand for w/e rzn   

im p much braindead rn but those are just sum ideas !!! ofc the usual staples like the pals, enemies, wutnots are also v welcome we love to see it. if u also have a wc that u think mia would fit in, id luv to know more ! there are also a couple more detailed ones here, but pls feel free to shoot me a msg n we can get 2 plotting x 

( * wipes brow * how did i type so much n say so little rip. mia is also a completely new muse so pls b patient n if i fuq up from time to time, pretend u do not see >.< nywy thnx 4 readin, sweets ! feel free to hmu here or at discord if ya wanna <3333 )

FULL INFO  ||  EONIA TASKS 

[golden-deer-dear]

Pray at Your Altar 1/4, Claude x Byleth Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: When a marriage proposal is answered with the death of the messenger, Claude is sent on a mission to deliver Almyra's revenge. But first, he is going to find out just what the all powerful Archbishop wants from the strange woman he was supposed to marry.The secret revolving around Byleth is something Claude can't leave alone.

Notes: So, I lost 30 pages of outline and world building for History on Repeat. I'm working on trying to recover the doc, but I'm just really blah about touching it. Apparently I'm dealing with it by writing another multi chapter fic, although this one will be much shorter. I love arranged marriage aus where the couple basically falls in love while also developing into a power couple, and it's honestly really surprising to me that I haven't tackled this idea yet for claudeleth.

AO3

Pray at Your Altar

Claude stared at the severed head, the mutilated and decaying features barely recognizable as the messenger sent across the border a month ago. Congealed blood stained the silver tray so lovely provided to charter the grisly object back to its homeland. Whatever had become of the rest of the body, they were left in the dark. 

The entire court was in an uproar, their shouts echoing off marble walls. The only people not screaming in outrage were himself and his parents. Queen Odette’s fury was clear on her face, her cheeks blushed hot with rage. Her fingers clutched the arm of her husband’s throne in a white knuckled grip. 

Where his wife burned hot, King Mahtab was freezing cold. He stared at the head with the same calculation as his son, but where Claude seemed curious, Mahtab was decisive.

One brave, or perhaps stupid, courtier stepped forward, his voice rising above the others. “It was a mistake to think the Fódlani above any other barbaric actions! The Archbishop has reacted to a simple marriage request with an act of war!”

The yells overtook him once more, the crowd engulfing him as he stepped back. But when Mahtab stood, the room went eerily silent at a whiplash pace. It was as if every single one of them forgot to breathe as they awaited their king’s words. 

Mahtab descended half way down the dais that left him towering above the court, coming to a stop one step behind Claude. “We will not go to war.” Mahtab held up a hand, holding back the tide of anger that was practically palpable at his words. “But that does not mean we will let such an insult pass. This mission -” Mahtab paused, a heavy hand dropping to Claude’s shoulder, “- will fall to my son. We will use this opportunity to see if he possesses the strength to defend the throne.”

Claude was not sure what his father was planning, but he was not about to fail at something so important. If he succeeded now, he might very well gain the influence he needed to achieve his dreams.

/

Almost two years had passed since Claude had come to Fódlan. He had been at Garreg Mach Monastery for almost a full month, narrowly avoided losing his life only three days ago to bandits, and had yet to see the woman who had caused this whole mess in the first place.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair he supposed. As far as he knew, this supposed goddess reborn might not even know what had been done in her name. He doubted that, but as he had barely any data to go on, it was not a conclusion he could yet rule out. Rhea’s word obviously had way more influence than was healthy over these people, especially since the death of King Lambert. She held so much sway over the people of Fódlan it disgusted him. There was blame on both sides of the border for the current hostilities, the hatred that had them both distrusting outsiders, but Rhea seemed to be someone determined to keep the system in place on this side. Doing so would certainly leave her influence securely in place. 

The Church’s influence was the entire reason the marriage proposal had gone to this Byleth instead of the Adrestian Princess. And after meeting Edelgard, Claude mentally let loose a sigh of relief. It was no insult to her, Edelgard was a smart and passionate woman, but Claude was certain he would drive her insane. And then her ever present shadow would find some unpleasant way to dispose of him. Claude was glad he had successfully dodged that fate without much effort on his part. 

Still, he wanted to meet this mysterious woman his father had attempted to marry him off to. As far as he could tell, she only came out of seclusion for one or two religious ceremonies a year. Otherwise it was deemed too dangerous for Byleth to make an appearance. Not that Rhea phrased it that way, but Claude read between the lines of the lies that fell from her mouth.

Which was why he was so surprised when Rhea summoned the three house leaders to the audience chamber, and standing beside the Archbishop was a young woman. Despite never seeing her before, Claude knew immediately they were in the presence of the goddess reborn. Edelgard and Dimitri had come to the same conclusion as him, if the open shock on their faces was anything to go by. He should purpose a poker game with them; they would be terrible at it.

Byleth certainly was beautiful. She was decorated in golden ornaments that tinkled softly when she moved. And that dress! Claude did his best not to make his stare obvious, but the cut of her blue dress emphasized Byleth’s alluring figure. But her expression was so blank Claude could not even begin to guess what she was thinking.

“Welcome,” Rhea greeted in her warm voice, a serene smile on her lips. “I know this is unexpected, but as we have never had all three heirs studying with us at the same time, I thought it would be prudent to introduce you all. I can tell by your faces that you have already guessed who this lovely young woman is beside me. Edelgard. Dimitri. Claude.” Rhea paused between each of their names, waiting for their nods of acknowledgement before continuing on. “This is Byleth, the reincarnation of the progenitor god.”

As Rhea turned to Byleth, Claude was caught off guard by the look of...was that greed? It was a fondness that seemed born of knowing Rhea would be rewarded with whatever it was she wanted from the young woman at some point soon. It was so obvious on the Archbishop’s normally guarded features, that Claude felt his skin crawl.

Byleth nodded her own greeting, not saying anything. That blank look was so foreign, Claude could understand why those who had seen her would believe there was something inhuman about the woman. But that blank look, for some reason it made him angry. 

What had Rhea done to cause such an effect on Byleth?

/

Claude received his second shock of the day as he made a nightly stroll around the grounds, dodging the knights on patrol that would lecture him about being out so late. He caught a flash of gold and blue as he circled toward the cathedral. 

Looking over a stone railing, Claude saw Byleth standing before a grave. Well, this was certainly a chance Claude was not about to pass up.

“I didn’t think Rhea let you out for strolls.” Claude knew that while his tone was casual, his words were perhaps a bit too malicious. Still, he wanted to see her reaction.

Byleth flinched at the unexpected interruption. He thought he saw her eyes widen for a split second, but in the dark Claude could not be sure. “She doesn’t,” Byleth answered back, her voice even and unconcerned.

Huh. That alone was worth the outing. He had begun to suspect that Rhea had more control over Byleth than he previously thought, and he could very well gain more confirmation if he kept poking. And maybe he would even find out something about Byleth herself. The woman intrigued him. He had not stopped thinking about her since their meeting that morning. Claude wanted so much to unravel her secrets.

Claude flashed her a winning smile, one she seemed to study and pick apart, her eyes narrowingly ever so slightly before easing back to her blank expression. “So, the goddess’ reincarnation has a rebellious streak? Wouldn’t have guessed. But why come to the cemetery?”

“To visit my parents,” Byleth answered easily. She was so straightforward with her answers it was throwing Claude off. He expected to have to pick apart her words to uncover what she truly meant like he was having to do with Rhea. “They both died when I was a baby, but it...it feels right to come visit them.”

“I’m sorry,” Claude said, not hiding his sincerity. He had honestly never even thought about her having parents, but somehow that obvious fact made her seem a bit more human.

Byleth shook her head, the tassels of her crown brushing against the tips of her ears. Those intense eyes refocused back to the gravestone. “I don’t remember them. My mother died giving birth to me. A few months later there was a fire in the nursery where I was. My father was caught in the blaze, but Rhea just managed to save me.”

Yeah, Claude wasn’t buying that. He highly doubted that was all there was to that story. However, before he could think of something to say, both their heads snapped up, bodies tense at the sound of approaching footsteps. They moved together as one, slipping into the shadows cast by the staircase down into the graveyard and huddling together. 

Seteth’s voice hissed above them, directing knights in their search. Claude knew it was not for his benefit. They pressed against each other, trying to take up as little space as possible, barely breathing until the torchlight passed overhead. It was only when it was once more dark, Claude’s view illuminated only by the half full moon, and the sound of footsteps had retreated, that the two of them dared to move. Claude dropped his arms, only now realizing they had been wrapped around Byleth to hold her close.

Byleth’s hand lingered on his, seeming to study the feel of it against her own. Claude felt heat on his cheeks, and knew his face was bright red. Not for the first time that night he was grateful for the darkness that surrounded them. He knew Byleth was still studying him, but her reactions were so minimal he could not even begin to guess what she was thinking. 

“I do not know when the next time Rhea will be distracted, but I usually go to the Goddess Tower. They never find me there.”

Claude nodded, another smile flashing across his lips. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

Claude could not help but feel pride swell in his chest as he caught the barest hint of amusement in her answering tone, so subtle he never would have caught it if he was not trying to pick apart every piece of her.

“Perhaps.”

After two long years, he was finally making headway with his mission. 

[chiclet-go-boom]

point of impact 8: and never

...continuation for poi7:always  more quarantine goodness for @linguini17!

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

If it wasn’t for the presence of the fireplace, she would have called the room a prison cell. Well, that and that the door wasn’t actually a door at all, or even a set of decent bars. Where a barrier would no doubt have hung at some point is now just an empty gap. A scavenged tapestry has been strung up, allowing her some privacy.

Still, sometimes it doesn’t matter what the details are. Prison cell or storage room or awkwardly shaped closet, it’s still much too small.

The room she’s been given is barely three paces from wall to wall, deep in the heart of Suledin Keep with no windows, no ornamentation and comprised entirely of pale gray stone without any redeeming features. She knows she is tall but even still it doesn’t seem right that her hair nearly brushes the ceiling. It’s an uncomfortable feeling and she tells herself over and over again not to hunch. It’s not as if she is magically going to grow three more inches and actually bump her head. But cramped as it is, it does have a small inset alcove that vents to the outside through some miracle of ancient engineering and the fire that has been built there does its work well each night, warming the space to the edge of uncomfortable. The raised stone shelf behind her that runs the length of one wall has no discernable purpose but now at least holds a deeply piled pallet for sleeping. There are no shortage of blankets in the keep at least. If the walls are blank and claustrophobic, well, she has certainly dealt with worse before.

Many times worse, she reminds herself. Still, it does somewhat feel as if she is occupying a mausoleum.

Cassandra is too old to let the comparison bother her, she is long past her girlhood where the Mortalitasi of her youth were frightening figures of power and mystery. And she is pretty sure if she keeps repeating that, eventually she’ll come to believe it. She sighs, sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed. It seems a petty thing to ask for a different room while they are here, recovering from their last… well, adventure is the wrong word, but march isn’t correct either, neither are they precisely advancing anywhere. Recovering from their latest trials, perhaps. That is close enough.

Suledin itself is only recently liberated and while the corps of Inquisition workers that have descended upon it have done themselves proud, there is still much of the place that is fit only for birds and weather. And asking for a room that faces outside when yet another blizzard could blow up out of nowhere would be the height of hubris.

No, it’s better that she remain where assigned. There is a bed and warmth and truly, she needs no more than that. They will only be here a few more days, she is sure. She can handle too-short ceilings for that long without complaint.

Cassandra leans down and starts to root in her pack for her carefully wrapped book, her singular vice. She will read until she is either too tired to make out the words or the fire dies enough to achieve the same end.

There is a odd sound outside in the passageway. It repeats again after a moment and she realises it is a knock, or a close approximation of one as someone taps something metal on the stonework. She frowns, halting her search. “Seeker? Can I come in?” Oh.

Varric. Of course it would be Varric.

Out of nowhere she is pricklingly aware that she is wearing things that she intended to sleep in; her oldest breeches, soft and thin and held to her hips by frayed leather ties. The rough undyed cotton of her shirt falls to her thighs, more than acceptable even if loose laced and wide at her throat. She has worn less in front of company before and thought nothing of it, yet at the mere sound of his voice outside she feels horribly exposed.

She needs a sword and breastplate, neither of which are here. At least her hair is still up and braided. Being caught completely unpinned would have been unconscionable.

“Seeker?”

“Varric,” she replies dryly. She casts around desperately but her mind is blank. She stands, not willing to be sitting for some reason and squares her chin. “Come in.” His hand brushes aside the heavy canvas covering the opening and Varric ducks inside.

His face is not a stranger to her and she should not feel this defensive. Yet, she does. Without willing it, her arms cross over her chest. The rough texture of her shirt rubs against her breasts and she regrets having removed her breastband for comfort. Let him think her annoyed, it is better that than anything else.

“What is it, dwarf?” “What, can’t I come visit my favorite Seeker?” “I am the only Seeker you know, Varric. Why are you here?” He’s been drinking, at least a little. His eyes are just that little bit too bright, his skin just that little bit too flushed. Somewhere along the way she has started to see the small things that belong to him and the things that are imposed from the outside. His voice is deeper than usual and he is already taking up too much room for all that he hasn’t taken but a single step inside. Perhaps he too thought her room would be bigger. She watches the play of muscle move along his jaw as his eyes flicker over the sleeping area. He appears to be finding and discarding things to say and she watches all of them move across his mobile face. Once he would have been unreadable to her and she is uncomfortably aware that somewhere that has changed. Does he see into her better as well? It’s a disturbing feeling.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“With you, yes.” Training keeps her voice and face impassive. For the first time tonight she is grateful for her height, that she towers over him in her bare feet as he stands before her. It is an illusion and they are both aware of it but still, it helps. The fact that the firelight is doing wonderful things to the color of his hair is not something that is worthy of her attention.

“Alright, we’ll just get down to it then. You didn’t tell her Inquisitorialness.” “No. I did not.” His broad face tilts and his voice remains mild. “Mind if I ask why?” Somewhere she knows she had hoped they could simply avoid this conversation. But trust Varric to push when he was least wanted, when she still hasn’t figured out what she intends to do. She opts for a blunt truth.

“You are needed here, now more than before. I am sure that you will not… that it will not happen again, now that you are… aware. Of the potential.” He snorts softly.

“So you didn’t tell her so she wouldn’t send me back.”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrow and then suddenly Varric leans a shoulder against the wall, crossing his own arms. Instead of looking defensive, he just claims space, lounging easily. She frowns at him but he just smiles broader like he knows something she doesn’t. Of all the things he does, she likes that one the least.

“Not good enough, Seeker. I’ll buy that at least halfway but that’s not the only reason.” She throws up her hands in agitation. “What are you looking for, Varric? Did you want me to tell her?”

“It’s not a bad idea. I mean, when your forward scout goes crazy and tries to join the other side of the war, don’t you think that’s something you maybe ought to mention at some point?” “You were not…” she protests hotly before she catches the expression in his eyes, at odds with the rest of his face. She puts a hand on the back of her neck and stares at the too-close ceiling for a long count. “You were not yourself,” she finishes more calmly. “That’s the definition of crazy, Seeker.” “You were… not yourself. The lyrium…” For a heartbeat she feels again the snow sliding under her knees, everything washed red. Blood on his face, on his hands, sparking in his eyes. The terror as she’d realized she was going to lose because it wasn't even a fight. She shoves it down. “You will not make that mistake again.” He’s silent for long enough that her eyes come back to him. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Sure about that?” “Varric?”

“No, Seeker. You’re right, I won’t make that mistake again. If the red stuff is going to get me again, it’s going to be because somebody held me down and shoved it down my throat. I’ll throw Andraste herself on the pyre again before I let it get to me a second time.”

She shifts, suddenly unsure what to make of the tone. “You got too close and you were weakened. I should have protected you better. It is as much my fault as yours.” He laughs at that and shoves himself away from the wall without warning. “Protect me? Excuse me, Seeker, but didn’t we already figure out that I’m stronger than you?” He takes an aggressive step forward and she can’t help it, can’t help it at all, stepping back to keep the distance between them. The back of her knees bump against the bed she’d half forgotten about and she sits abruptly.

She glares at him, flustered. The expression on his face has twisted, something knowing curling the corner of his mouth in a way she cannot stand.

“Do not look like that,” she says coldly. “You’re afraid of me now.” “I am not.” “You are. You won’t let me anywhere near you.” “I am not afraid of you, Varric. There are many people who are stronger than I am, it is not a contest.” “And how many of those people have nearly broken your arm just by grabbing you?”

He takes another deliberate step forward. The room is much, much too small to have him in it, the bulk of his body half cutting off the light from the fire now. He’s outlined in light, bright and gold and red, the color of corrupted lyrium but also his color, always how she thinks of him. Red for passion, for anger, for blood; red for everything worth having. She would stand again if she could but she can’t and maybe it wouldn’t help anyways.

But she still puts a hand up to ward him off. She misjudges and her fingertips brush his chest, bump against the gold chain at his throat.

He stops then, still as stone. She watches his throat move and there is no way she can interpret the expression on his face, hooded and dark.

“Okay, so you’re not afraid.”  His voice is rough gravel. “Show me your arm, Seeker.”

“What?” He’s patient as if understanding her confusion, his voice gentling. “Show me your arm.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Seeker. Shit, I don’t understand myself half the time but I need you... I need you to show me what I did. I have to see.”

Is she afraid of him? She doesn’t know. Something has changed between them, yes, and it keeps changing and she is no longer sure of what she should do, what she should say. It was not his fault, not truly. And yet, it was.

But this is Varric here, now and if she has no hope of understanding anything else, she understands the pain in his eyes. If she is afraid, she will not let it rule her.

Cassandra watches herself press her palm against his chest with deliberate pressure, the warmth of his skin beating under her fingers. He is wonderful to the touch and she stands, suddenly calm. Varric takes a step back at that and the room expands just a little bit so that it’s easier to breathe.

“Very well.”

She could just remove her shirt and for a heartbeat, she actually considers it. The possibilities suddenly curling through the air like smoke are confusing and she wonders what he would do if she was so bold. Anything at all? Would he want to put his hand on her too? She reaches instead for the laces at her throat, widening the gap of the collar. Her night shirt is meant for comfort and it is simple enough slip her shoulder through the newly created space, sliding the loosened material down to her elbow. She pulls her arm free of the sleeve with effort, wincing at the strain on the healing flesh.

“Maker’s balls.”

Varric has stopped breathing. She doesn’t need to look herself to know what he’s seeing. The yellow fingers touch as high as her collarbone now, pool in the cup of her shoulder, sweetly outlined in blue as if painstakingly painted. Her bicep is still a weltered glory of darker color where the pressure had been longest and deepest.

The dwarf shifts on his feet, gaze locked in sudden agony. “Shit. I knew... Maker lose me on the Deep Roads. I knew when I saw you struggling with your shield.” “I have had worse in training.”

He reaches out with such a blank look on his face that she knows he’s barely aware of anything else.

“The hell you have.”

His hand wraps slowly around her arm, gentle as anything she has ever felt. She knows he’s matching himself precisely, fingertip by fingertip. She can feel it, hot little points of contact. “Varric.” He won’t look at her. “Varric,” she insists. “I have had worse in training. I would not lie.” “Fine, if you say so. But I bet nobody’s tried to feed you to red lyrium before while doing it. That was all me.” “Stop wallowing, dwarf.” She pitches her voice curt and sharp.

Varric growls at that, curling his lip, and something in it catches the breath in her throat. She makes an involuntary sound and his eyes fly to her face.

“You did that then, too,” she babbles. “Growled. It was frightening.” “So you are afraid.” “Yes. I mean, no. Varric, no. I am not afraid of… Maker, this is impossible. You snarled at me, at the last, just like that, when I tried to pull you away. There was nothing in your eyes that I knew anymore and you growled at me and yes, I could not break away and yes, I was frightened. Anyone would have been. But then you just... stopped. And you were... you again.”

She is sure he won’t answer the unspoken question. She can see it closing over his face, the shrug he will give, the words he will say that might, in some manner, even be true but will not be truth. She braces for it.

He hesitates though. Then his hand reaches up and he strokes her damaged arm, shoulder to wrist in a slow, unmistakable caress.

“You were crying.” “I… what?” “You were crying, Seeker.”

“I was crying.” “Real tears, Seeker, honest and truly. And you know what I was thinking? If you can even call it thought?” She shakes her head. His fingers encircle her wrist in a loose grip, nearly holding her hand. His hand is warm and it spreads through her body. “That if I could only get you to hear it like I could hear it, you wouldn’t be afraid anymore. I didn’t want you to be afraid.  I just wanted you to be with me. Hear it with me. But you were crying and I just… you were crying because I was hurting you and I just. I just...”

Varric’s face spasms and he turns so that all she can see for a moment is his profile. His gaze drops and she is left to stare at the top of his head even as he turns her palm up. She feels his thumb moving slow across the sensitive flesh of her wrist. She has no memory if he’s ever touched her like this before, it feels so achingly fragile.

“You were crying, that’s all.”

She sits down because she really doesn’t think she can stand anymore.

He shrugs then and when his face lifts, his expression is mocking as it often is, a smile hovering over his lips. “I’ve done a lot of really shitty things in my life, Seeker, but hurting you because I have poor impulse control? Pretty much tops the list.” “You broke out of lyrium thrall because I cried.” It seems unbelievable. “Yeah, well. If you tell the Herald, which you should, let’s leave that part out, okay? It can be our little secret.” His lips move into a larger smile and she can see the story settling over his face, his body starting to shift away. “Give me a bit and I’ll think of something better.” “Varric.”

“Yes, Seeker?” She takes a deep breath. “I did not tell the Inquisitor because she would have sent you back to Skyhold. For your own good.” “You said that.” “She would have sent you away. I didn’t… I don’t want that. It is selfish, I know, do not think I am not aware of it, but I would worry if you were not… if you were not here. I promise, Varric, I will protect you better, now that I am aware of how strongly it calls to you.”

It’s nothing more than the truth but for some reason it’s impossible to look at him directly. She keeps her gaze on his necklace instead. His fingers are still light on her wrist and she wonders if he even realises he’s still holding her there. She doesn’t want to point it out in case he stops. She watches him swallow and when he speaks, his voice is slow. “So. You’re saying you want me with you too.” She opens her mouth to disagree, it’s not like he is implying. It’s simply important that she not fail in her duty, not now when she knows how vulnerable he is. Anything could happen if she can’t watch over him. He would spend all his time in the tavern, drinking and blaming himself and that would not be right. It really is as much her fault as anything. She should have known, reacted better and faster. “Don’t, Seeker.” He hasn’t moved but somehow the space between them has closed, she’s not sure how. She is conscious of the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his skin radiating so close to hers. His hand moves finally, stroking back up her exposed arm, a tickle of fingertips alone. She shivers and cannot disguise it. “I’ll tell you another secret though, just for you and me.” “What?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds wrong, too thin, too light.

“I didn’t want you to be afraid. But mostly? I wanted you with me. I wasn’t going anywhere without you. Not even into madness apparently.” His hand curls over the top of her shoulder, warm and strong. His fingers slide over bare skin to the back of her neck, tangling in the short curls there and at that she has to look up. His face is so close to hers. “Messed up, I know.” “Varric.” “That’s my name.” The smile is deprecating but his eyes are somewhere else and she knows somewhere that once upon a time she would have heard the words and seen nothing else.

“Why do you never call me by mine?”

He shakes his head then. “No. No, that’s still my secret.” His thumb traces the soft skin under her ear and for one heart stopping moment, she wonders if he’s going to kiss her. What she will do about it. If she will do anything at all. Does she want him to? His fingers are paralyzing, that’s all she knows.

“That is unfair, dwarf.”

“Life’s like that.” She feels more than sees the deep tremor that runs through his body and then his hand smoothly drops away, breaking contact. She takes a deep breath, then another, unsure of when she’d stopped. “Tell the Inquisitor, Seeker. I want to finish this as much as you do, but sometimes it really doesn’t matter what I want."

He’s ducked out the not-exactly-a-door before she can think to ask what she’s supposed to tell, exactly, and what precisely it is that he wants to finish.

[scullysexual]

titanic au | multichapter-au | au | multiple parts | historical au | msr | mature | ao3 | 10/13 | @today-in-fic​​ | 

For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who’s had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life? 

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

A JEWEL BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT: CHAPTER TEN.

The water is surely climbing its way up now, people will be making their way to the top deck, people will be running by this room.

But Scully has yet to hear a thing. No one’s came down this corridor. What’s even along this corridor aside from this office and maybe a few storage closets?

She glances outside the porthole, to water. Scully could see out of this earlier, just along the water’s surface.

This is bad.

In one last hopeless plea that someone is near enough to hear her, she bangs the chain against the pipe, screaming as loud as she can.

“Can someone help me!”

Still, there’s not a soul around.

And where is Mulder?

Probably on a lifeboat, sailing away from any danger, a nasty voice far back in her mind answers. Scully shakes the bitter noise away. She has to focus on herself before this gets very bad.

She tries everything in that moment; scrunching her hand up to see if they’ll fit through the holes, hanging her weight off the chain to see if it’ll break, but the chain is solid metal, the bracelets made well enough that nobody but a magician could get out of them. And Scully is no magician.

She slumps against the pipe, wrists aching, hands hurting.

“This is bad,” she says, her eyes closing in defeat.

Her heart freezes when she hears the faint sound of water sloshing. Eyes opening quicker than they closed, she watches the water begin to creep in from beneath the door.

“Shit,” she cries, immediately moving her arms to the top of the pipe and beginning to climb as more water slips in.

It moves at a speed despite the pressure, in minutes this room will be swimming.

In a desperate attempt, Scully tries breaking the cuffs again, beating them, metal against metal.

The water slowly begins to rise, dislodging the furniture from its place in the room. In minutes this entire room will be submerged, Scully with it.

“Come on…come on…” she repeats as a mantra, the banging of metal, her cries, and the sound of water the only noise to be heard throughout the corridor.

Until.

Scully! Scully!

At first she’s unsure if she’s heard it right, yet relief spreads through her all the same.

There’s only one person in the entire of Titanic to call her by her last name.

Mulder.

The water now approaching her knees, Scully climbs onto the table, the buoyancy will keep her afloat for much longer.

“…Scully!”

“Mulder!” she shouts back in response. “Mulder, I’m in here!”

Her eyes stay fixed on the door that’s just partially open, praying the incoming water keeps it that way.

“Scully…” she hears Mulder call again but it sounds further away.

“Mulder, I need you to follow my voice!” she calls back, trying to guide him to her. “Just follow my voice and keep shouting!”

“Scully!”

Good, it sounds near now.

“Keep moving forward, Mulder. There’s an open door, I’m in here!”

She sits on the desk now, floating above the water that still continues to rise. As she looks around for something Mulder can use to break the handcuffs, it’s the first time she notices the slight tilt in the room. If her geography is correct, the front of the ship will go down first. They need to get to the back.

“Scully!”

Mulder stands in the doorway, as real as this sinking is, and Scully finally allows the hope for survival to return. Relief floods through her as her body finally relaxes.

“Mulder…”

He pushes various bits of furniture out of the way, coming to a stop in front of her.

Instantly she feels his lips descend onto hers. Scully melts into the kiss, comforted by the fact that she now isn’t alone in this watery hell.

She lets them kiss for a bit longer before allowing reality to set back in.

They pull away, foreheads falling against each other. Scully allows herself this moment to just draw strength from Mulder, to finally understand that she’s no longer alone, that for now it’s the two of them.

She briefly lets the fear go.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should of,” Mulder whispers and Scully smiles slightly, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry about that now.” She lifts her head up, shaking her still handcuffed hands. “You need to find a key or something.”

The water is a lot deeper now, almost up to Mulder’s chest. Scully doesn’t even want to think of where it’ll come up for her.

“A key, right.” Mulder moves away from her, headed towards the key cabinet and throwing open the doors. “What colour was it?”

“Brass, I think.”

“Brass…brass…There’s no brass key!”

The panic begins to set in again. Her eyes dart about the room, looking for anything that can be used to break the cuffs. She spins around, losing the buoyancy of the table in her rush to find something, yelping as the cold water brushes against her leg as she fights not to fall in.

Mulder is there, grasping a hand out and steading the table, allowing Scully to regain her balance.

Slower this time, Scully continues to look around the room. As she scans past the door, something red catches her eye.

An axe.

“There!” she shouts, pointing towards the door. “The axe.” Mulder follows her point, seeing what she sees then quickly turns back to her.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

The room continues to fill, getting deeper and deeper as time is wasted.

“Yes!” Scully all but cries. “Go!”

Her eyes do not move from Mulder as he paddles his way out of the room, breaking the glass with his fists and yanking the axe from its case. He re-enters, axe in hand and Scully prepares herself, spreads her arms as much as she can with what little leeway the chain gives her.

“Go on,” she encourages, biting down on the panic and nerves. If this goes wrong, this is going to hurt.

Mulder looks straight into her eyes, asking, “You trust me?”

For some insane reason she does, she really does. “Yes, I trust you.”

He nods, poises the axe in the air and swings. At the last second Scully shuts her eyes, preparing herself for the pain and the blood.

The axe collides with the chain, breaking the metal in half and lodging itself within the pipe.

Scully can’t believe it, he did it. She opens her eyes, catches Mulder’s equally surprised expression. Now free, she pulls him into her, hugging and thanking him over and over again. His arms fold around her, holding her tight against him.

“We need to go,” he says pulling away.

He’s right, they don’t have long and they have four decks to climb up before they can get on a lifeboat.

Mulder helps her down into the water and Scully has never felt cold like it- it burns her nerves, stabbing every place imaginable.

“Shit!” she cries, how the hell has Mulder been standing in this for so long?

“I know, come on.” He grabs onto her hand and Scully notices she can’t touch the floor without going under. She tries to remain calm, to not let that panic overwhelm her. Just keep hold of Mulder and once they are off E-Deck they should be safe.

Grasping hold of Mulder’s hand, Scully half swims-half paddles her way out of the office.

“Shit, the exits blocked,” she hears Mulder say above the torrent of water bursting through the door at the end of the corridor. She sees it too, a wave of pressured water that would kill them alone.

The lights flicker above, the electricity struggling to stay one against the onslaught of ice-cold water, combined with the creaking as Titanic struggles to withstand the added weight, it makes for an incredibly eerie setting.

“Come on, there’s got to be another way out,” Scully shouts above the waves. She takes the lead, heading in the opposite direction and into the darkness ahead.

 It’s a labyrinth. A maze of cabins and storage rooms. Whoever designed the Titanic never intended for it to be an easy escape.

Scully sighs in frustration at yet another dead end and to make matters worse they were still on E-Deck.

“This is stupid!” she cries, kicking the door and sighing once more in frustration.

“You hear that?” Mulder asks.

Scully stops huffing and puffing for a moment to listen.

“This way. Go down there and to you’re left, now…Stop running! You’re not allowed to run down the corridors! This way, Miss.”

A smile begins spreading across Scully’s face, never has she been more happy to near another’s voice. She moves towards the door, pressing her ear against it.

“There’s a corridor on the other side of this door,” she says and Mulder nods.

Still, there is one more issue.

“So how do we get through it?”

Mulder smiles, “I just broke metal, woods gonna be no issue for me.”

Scully watches as Mulder repeatedly slams his shoulder against the wooden door.

“That’s White Starline Property,” she says, a smirk across her face. There’s no humour in it really.

“Don’t you start, as well.”

It takes a few more slams of the shoulder, Scully helping out towards the end but eventually the wood snaps and they both fall through to the other corridor.

Briskly, they start fast-walking their way to an exit. Down the corridor and to the left, as the man said.

“Oi!” A voice behind them shouts, different to the one earlier. “That’s White Starline Property, you’ll have to pay for that, you know.” It was funnier when Scully said it because she hadn’t meant it like this imbecile shouting at them.

Ever in sync, Mulder and Scully spin at the same time, both huffing out an annoyed Shut up! to the boy-steward. They don’t wait to gauge the lad’s reaction before they’re turning the corridor to…

A mob of third class passengers.

“We just want a chance, for god’s sake, let us through!” an Irish man shouts at the top of his lungs. He and a few others occupy the very front of the rally, many of the other passengers egging them on as they shout at the stewards on the other side of the gate.

Bastards have locked the gates, Scully realises.

“Count on the Irish to start a riot,” Mulder jokes though his worry at their current situation sweeps through as he looks around for another way out.

“I think this time it’s justified,” says Scully, also looking for another way free. In the corner stands a mother and her two children. The boy tugs against his mother’s coat.

Scully doesn’t hear what the lad asks but hears the mother response.

“Soon. There just getting the first class people onto the boats, and then they’ll be starting with us.”

Scully’s heart breaks in two at the false hope. She wonders what one would say in this situation, what she would say if she had children. Lie like this woman has or tell the truth? That they’re not getting out any time soon.

Her attention is diverted when she hears a familiar voice shout through the crowd.

“Aye, you just want to safe the first class bastards, forget about the poor stuck at the bottom, you slimy gits!”

Relief floods through her at the sound of Charlie’s voice. He’s alive.

For now.

She watches the red-headed boy push away from the gate and force his way through the crowd. Defeated and hopeless, Scully reaches out to him.

“Charlie!”

Immediately, the boy perks up at the sound of his voice. He spies her instantly, running the last couple of steps towards them.

“Dana.” He collapses into her embrace instantly, no longer needing to be the riot-leader and can just be the younger brother sourcing comfort from his older sister in a time of panic.

“It’s no use, Dee,” Charlie says against her. “There not letting anyone through.”

Still hugging her brother, Scully looks anxiously towards Mulder. Reading her request just simply through her look, Mulder jostles his way through the people. Scully ends her embrace, brushing past Charlie to follow Mulder up the stairs.

“You have to wait your turn,” one of the stewards say. “They’re not ready for you to board yet.”

“You have to let us through,” Mulder says, speaking over their script. “These people deserve a chance to live.”

“You have to wait your turn, they’re not ready for you yet.”

“Jesus Christ, man!” Scully speaks up, angered by the handling of this situation. “There’s women and children down here!”

But the steward refuses to deviate from his script. His constant conscending voice riles Scully. She grasps her fingers around the gate’s bars and furiously shakes them, making her anger known to the stewards and people around them. She doesn’t even bother to listen to their Now stop that, or we won’t let you through at all respond before she’s launching herself down the stairs.

“See, it’s hopeless,” says Charlie.

Scully wasn’t prepared to die by being handcuffed to a pipe, and she isn’t prepared to die stuck behind a gate. Adrenaline and anger surging through her, she looks around for some implement to use to break all the steward’s faces when she finds something better.

“Charlie, help me with this bench,” she instructs, bending to grasp the bench.

“You cannae be serious, Dana?” Charlie says, his eyes wide with shock at his sister’s irrationalism.

“Do you want to live?”

Charlie does as he’s told, gaining a hold on the bench. A few others around them, including the first Irish to shout before, realises what they are planning to do and all pitch in to help, grabbing the middle.

“Ready,” says Scully. “One…two…three…” Together, the four of them rip the bench from the floor. Using all her strength, Scully positions the bench to her chest, ready to ram it against the gate.

The stewards realise what their doing, her eyes widening with shock as the insistent stewards yells at them to stop and put that bench down. They ignore him, and all together bash the bench against the gate as the stewards make a run for it. People cheer them on, Mulder keeps the path clear as they ram the bench into the gate twice more before the flimsy metal snaps and a hole is created.

They begin jumping through. Mulder helps Scully over and they run through D-Deck. They run for their lives.

[sebastbu]

My Top 40 Movies of the Decade

***just my opinion***this list is not set in stone either***

1. 12 Years A Slave (2013)

What Steve McQueen has managed to do with this movie in nothing short of the best thing art is capable of. He takes the horror of humanity and turns it into a heart shattering tale of the best of humanity. A film that could have sunk easily among the brutality it contains, instead soars with Solomon’s survival. It is one of the most life-affirming, uplifting works of art I’ve ever seen. It makes you cry, it makes you shout, it makes you cheer, it makes you breathless. In short, all the things movies are best at. Not just a definitive movie, but a definitive work of art.

2. The Act of Killing (2012)

This has my vote for the best documentary film of all time. What begins as a transfixing profile of the mass murders responsible for the 1965 Indonesian genocide quickly transforms into a Brechtian nightmare as director Joshua Oppenheimer somehow convinces these men to stage scenes for a fake movie reenacting their crimes. As the film progresses you can hardly believe what you’re witnessing. Horrifying, yet you can’t look away. Oppenheimer holds your attention for every second. What’s captured for film here is truly unique, ground-breaking, soul shaking. A statement about the banality of evil as profound as Ardent’s essays. 

3. The Tree of Life (2011)

Malick has reached his final form here. An organic art form, pure cinema, visual poetry, whatever you want to call it. Nothing but a movie could be this. The images he crafts here are as close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had watching a movie, and probably ever will. In exploring childhood memories, Malick’s style perfectly matches his subject manner. He use of ellipsis and fluidity mirrors the way memories flash through our heads. It is as if we are witnessing memory directly, unfiltered. This movie will move you in ways you didn’t know a movie could. 

4. The Social Network (2010)

That Facebook movie? Hell yeah that facebook movie. What Fincher and Sorkin have managed to do is take what could be a standard biopic, or dull tech movie, and made it into an epic tale of betrayal, greed, friendship, coming of age, and identity. Ross and Reznor’s score pulses, as does the dialogue. This movie starts the instant you press play and it doesn’t let you catch your breath for one second until the very end. Endlessly quotable, perfected acted. A masterclass.

5. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

What can I say about this movie? Every shot is perfect. Every joke, beat, pan, zoom. Well, I guess I’ll say this. This movie disarms with its charm, its facade. But at its heart is a wrenching tale of loss, nostalgia, and the fleeting nature of everything, especially those we love. A jewel of a film. Anderson makes sure you’re cozy and then pulls the rug out from under you, and suddenly you’re crying. 

6. The Master (2012)

Career best performances from Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Lushly shot. Greenwood delivers another ground breaking score. PTA has made an aimless film about aimless characters that nevertheless is riveting. At the end, you may not know exactly how far you’ve progressed, but you’re sure glad you went on the journey. 

7. Drive (2011)

This is not an action movie. It’s a love story. The now famous dream pop soundtrack. Ryan Gosling doing so much with so little. Refn’s breathtaking cinematography. Diluted dreams. Crushed hopes. Silent gazes, filled with more emotion than dialogue could ever render.

8. The Revenant (2015)

An achievement of pure cinematic insanity. I still have no idea how they got some of these shots. A brutal, thrilling story of survival among nature’s cruelty. Inarritu’s camera is like magic in this film, uncovering the previously thought not possible. 

9. La La Land (2016)

A reinvention of a genre that somehow manages to have its cake and eat it too: a nostalgia trip that also subverts expectations. Right up there next to Singin’ in the Rain, in my book at least. How on earth was that only Chazelle’s second ever movie? 

10. The Lighthouse (2019)

TELL ME YE FOND O ME LOBSTER! WHYD YA SPILL YOUR BEANS? IF I HAD A STEAK ID FUCK IT. That about sums it up.

11. Parasite (2019)

Bong Joon Ho has made a beautifully twisted psychological thriller that is also hilarious, touching, and a lasting commentary on class and social mobility. 

12. The Florida Project (2017)

Baker’s approach of setting this story from the viewpoint of children makes it a glorious romp through a world of innocence as well as tragedy, and also makes it all the more emotionally impactful.

13. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

It’s all about the cat. Alongside the Coen’s mastery of dialogue and the side character, as well as the beautiful folk music, this film acts as a deeply moving portrayal of depression, and how sometimes we are our own worst enemy. 

14. Moonlight (2016)

Expertly crafted. Expertly acted. Expertly shot. A gorgeously rendered coming of age story. I’m not really the person who should speak of its importance. I’ll just say: it is. Very. A movie that will stun you. 

15. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Practical! Effects! Yeah, that really is Tom Hardy swinging fifty feet off the ground on a pole as explosions go off behind him. A feminist, post-apocalypse, road trip movie brought to you by the director of Happy Feet and Babe 2. What more could you want?

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

A wonderful celebration of childhood and of fantasy. Anderson crafts a world you want to return to again and again. Anyone else get jump scared when they realized Lucas Hedges was in this??? 

17. Arrival (2016)

I love Denis Villeneuve’s films for so many reasons. The most important I think is that he balances entertainment and artistic depth so well. Like all great scifi Arrival is not really about aliens, it’s about us. 

18. Inception (2010)

A film that runs on all cyclinders. Smart, funny, jaw dropping, just plain fun. Nolan manages to build some surprisingly moving moments as well. 

19. Gone Girl (2014)

Ah Fincher and his twists. Rosemund Pike at the top of her game. Ross and Reznor return with another gripping score. Around the narrative, Fincher creates a fascinating portrayal of the media and marriage, one with endless twists and turns. You never quite know where it’s headed.

20. Sicario (2015)

A second thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he does point of view characters better than anyone else. 

21. Enemy (2014)

A third thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he plays with genre and narrative structure unlike anyone else working right now.

22. Incendies (2010)

A fourth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he’s given us some of the best female lead characters this decade.

23. Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

A fifth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he somehow managed make a Blade Runner sequel work. Here’s hoping for Dune. 

24. The Look of Silence (2014)

The companion film of The Act of Killing. Oppenheimer does it again, this time focusing more on the victims of the genocide. Groundbreaking cinema.

25. Shame (2011)

Slow clap for Michael Fassbender. Slow clap for Carey Mulligan. Slow clap for Steven Mcqueen.

26. Hereditary (2018)

Using horror to examine mental illness and family trauma. Aster has made a new classic of genre, taking it to new heights.

27. Under The Skin (2014)

How to make a movie about an alien descended onto earth in order to capture men and engulf them in her weird black room of goo? Make a very alienation movie. Chilling. Otherworldly. Haunting. 

28. Son of Saul (2015)

In making any holocaust film there’s always the risk of feeling exploitative. Nemes’s radical camera work, focusing almost entirely on the main character’s face in close up leaves this concern in the dust. The horrors enter only at the corners of the frame, while humanity is firmly centered the whole time. An important film everyone should see. 

29. Whiplash (2014)

As visceral and heart pounding as the solos performed, the film as a whole is a perfectly made portrait of a obsession. 

30. Amour (2012)

Haneke takes his unforgiving approach and lays bare a topic with incredible emotional depth. The result is deeply moving without ever being sentimental. I’m hard pressed to find another film about old age that is this poignant. 

31. Birdman (2014)

A whirlwind of a film. A high wire act. The long takes turn it into something more akin to a play. A pretty damn good one at that. 

32. Once Upon A Time In Anatolia (2011)

What’s Chekhov doing in the 21st Century? He’s in Turkey. He name is Nuri Ceylan. 

33. The Favourite (2018)

Lanthimos turns down his style and turns up his humor. The result is the best of both worlds: a dark, twisted tale of power and a hilarious parody of monarchy and British costume drama. 

34. Phantom Thread (2018)

PTA delivers again. What could easily have been another tired tale of the obsessive artist and the woman behind him is instead a fairy tale-ish ensnaring of two people’s ineffable pull towards each other. 

35. A Hidden Life (2019)

Still fresh in my mind. Malick’s late style is given the backbone it needed in the form of a relevant tale of resistance and struggle. A meditative, prayer-like film about the power of belief. 

36. Prisoners (2013)

A sixth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: his movies have layers, but only if you look. Otherwise, the ride is pretty great as well. 

37. Manchester By The Sea (2016)

A masterclass in doing less with more. 

38. Foxcatcher (2014)

Bennett Miller does biopics unlike anyone else. That is to say, maybe better than anyone else working today. 

39. The Witch (2015)

Eggers’s first foray into historical New England horror. A chilling commentary on the evils of puritanism.

40. The Kid With A Bike (2011)

The Dardenne brothers managed to make a gut-wrenching tale of childhood, masculinity, abandonment, the power of empathy, belonging, and redemption in 84 minutes. Here’s a suggestion. Watch this movie. Then watch it again. A better use of the same amount of time it takes to sit through The Irishman. Oh wait, no you still have 30 minutes left over.