#enough to cause an earthquake

[lazylittledragon]

i need guenhwyvar to be Cat so bad

[zaytoon-nabulsi]

transformers fandom confuses me so much like how are the robots supposed to have sex??

[emmcfrxst]

siamese cats are SO confusing 😭😭😭😭😭

[miniimoose]

Yippee earthquakes in the middle of the night

[seranextdoor]

tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.

pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.

- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...

The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.

Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.

You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.

'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.

Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.

"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.

"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.

His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.

“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.

You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.

"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.

“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.

He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,

"...Pretty."

[lilislegacy]

something i feel like we don’t talk about nearly enough is the fact that percy is healed by water.

it’s so normal to us because it’s one of the first abilities we discovered he has. and it makes complete sense. but like… he’s the only demigod with that ability. jason doesn’t get healed by a gust of wind. hazel doesn’t get healed if she touches a diamond. nico doesn’t get healed if a skeleton gives him a hug. annabeth doesn’t get healed if she walks into a library.

like percy could be stabbed in the chest multiple times, he could break every bone in his body, he could be slammed in the head resulting in a crushed skull and hemorrhaging, but get him to some water fast enough and not only is he good as new in no time, but he’s stronger and freshly rejuvenated.

it’s insane when you think about it. no one else can do that. do you know how hard it is to kill percy? even if he’s not near the ocean, he can be healed by rivers and lakes and streams and ponds and all sorts of water sources. water recharges him. it makes him immediately stronger.

that’s a huge reason why i argue percy is the most powerful demigod. yes, he’s shown he has incredible super strength and super speed. yes, he’s a legendary sword fighter - arguably the best one alive. yes, he has control over air, land, and sea. (deadly hurricanes with heavy winds and thunder and lightning, huge volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, etc.) yes, he’s capable of mass destruction. yes he can single handedly cause natural disasters and mass casualties. and yes, he’s capable of controlling people’s bodily fluids, including their blood and saliva. he is terrifying

but even if someone manages to beat him, he dips one toe in some water and he’s immediately healed and even stronger than before. whether the injury is internal and external. he’s healed all on his own. no ambrosia or nectar or external remedies necessary.

guys. percy is insane. he’s way overpowered.

and i love it.

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

Geology of Natural Disasters and How to write them into your fictional universe.

So, you want to write about a natural disaster to advance your plot and torture your players/characters even more? Let me tell you how, accurately.

I feel like unless it is a volcano, natural disasters are a pretty slept on plot drivers, and some of them are really cool and unique! Today, I will talk to you about land slides, earthquakes (And earthquake related disasters), and volcanoes.

Landslides: Probably one I see the least in stories, but one that would be incredibly interesting to write into a plot where they believe in curses. Landslides can happen along ocean bluffs, slightly hilly areas, and highly mountainous areas, this means it is something that can happen in most landscapes. But what can trigger a landslide? Mostly all you need to trigger a landslide could be just abnormally large amounts of rain, excessive deforestation (with a little bit of rain), or an earthquake. If you don't want to use deforestation or an earthquake as a catalyst, a really cool indicator that the land is slipping and may be prone to a collapse is J hooked trees.

This indicates that there is soil creeping slowly over time, and it may lead to a major landslide.

2. Earthquakes: Probably one of the easiest things to write, earthquakes can happen anywhere, but they are most common in places that are tectonically active areas. There are about three types of environments you can expect earthquakes to be common. The first is just rugged mountains, if your landscape looks like this, you should write in earthquakes. Associated hazards could be landslides, avalanches, and large falling rocks.

The next landscape could be a thin mountain range, next to the ocean, very scenic, but very dangerous. Essentially, I am describing a subduction zone environment.

Earthquakes in these areas could equal a couple different associated disasters. Scenario one: A very large earthquake happens, and the ocean begins to recede. This is a tsunami, enough said. If you are writing a tsunami though, please, please, do not write it as a large wave, thank you. Also, a common way people are hurt by tsunami's are from them going into the ocean because they don't understand a tsunami is going to happen.

Scenario two: A large earthquake happens, your characters are in a valley and suddenly the ground begins to liquify as the ground shakes, once the shaking stops, the ground becomes solid like nothing ever happened, except everything has suddenly sunk into the now hard ground. This is called liquefaction and it typically happens in areas that have loose dirt or lots of saturated soil.

Scenario three: There are a lot of small earthquakes, they do not cause a lot of damage, but you begin to notice that one of the isolated mountains has a plume rising. Earthquakes can indicate lava moving underground and the filling of magma chambers.

The next environment that can host lots of earthquakes would be regions that have a lot of really deep valleys and small mountain ranges (not cone volcanoes), but overall seems pretty flat.

This indicates a transform fault like the San Andreas. If you want to hint at there being earthquakes in the area, you can show fence posts that are suddenly several feet out of line at a dilapidated farm or something similar.

(These earthquakes are different because they are cased from sideways movement, not an up-and-down movement this hint can only be used for this environment). Volcanoes would not be found here, but liquefaction and landslides could still occur here.

4. Volcanoes: If you thought earthquakes had a lot of information, volcanoes do too. First you have to ask yourself, what kind of volcano you want to have, what kind of eruption style? So lets break down the kind of eruptions you can have and what their landscapes look like. Hawaiian Shield volcano: This will produce a smooth fast lava, the landscape typically is pretty flat, but there will be small cones and the rocks can have a ropey or jagged texture and the rocks will be almost exclusively black to dark red.

Stratovolcanoes: These will be solitary mountains, typically, that look like perfect cones (Picture shown in earthquake section). These will have large ash cloud eruptions and pyroclastic flows, they may have some lava, but typically most damage is done from the pyroclastic flows (think Pompeii). Some hints of these, other than describing the cone features (which can be hidden by other mountains), would be to talk about petrified wood! Trees can get fossilized in the ash and I imagine it would be very strange to find this rock that clearly looks to be a piece of wood, but its a rock. Subcategory- Calderas: Used to be a large stratovolcano, but they erupt so explosively that the entire cone collapses and creates a basin.

There are a lot of kinds of volcanoes out there, so forgive me for just putting an infographic and then talking to you about these really rare types of eruptions that I feel like people should know about.

Okay lets talk about blue lava (kind of) and black lava

You will notice the lava is still red in the middle of this image, during the day these would look like a normal eruption, but at night the burning sulfur would make it appear blue. Some cool features other than this, would be that any water in the area would become very acidic and burn the skin due to sulfuric acid. This would again be really cool if you are trying to describe a 'cursed' land.

Black lava: This happens only in the east African rift I believe, but it is a carbonatite lava, but if you are writing in a rift valley (where the continent is tearing apart to form a new ocean) this might be a cool feature. The lava will cool white and will quickly erode, it makes for a very alien landscape!

Anyway as always, this is supposed to be an introductive guide for the basics of writing geology to create cool landscapes/features into dnd or fictional universes, if you are a geologist please understand my oversimplification of tectonics, I didn't want people to run away.

[tender-rosiey]

Why do I see Sakuna with a Ponyo! Daughter who is not only crazy energetic and mischievous but ALSO inherited her dad’s powers and is walking disaster wherever she goes

even worse — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

the house shakes.

not in the way that signals an earthquake or a distant battle—but in a way that makes your stomach sink, because you already know exactly who the cause is.

you barely have time to react before a blur of red streaks past the open doors, laughter trailing behind it like an ominous warning.

a servant lets out a startled yelp, followed by the unmistakable crash of ceramic shattering against the floor.

another blur follows—this time larger, heavier, and far, far more dangerous.

“stop running, you damned brat!” sukuna’s voice booms through the halls, sharp and exasperated, just as a loud thud echoes from somewhere deeper in the estate.

a sigh pushes past your lips as you rise from your seat, smoothing down the sleeves of your kimono before stepping into the chaos.

the scene is exactly as you pictured: your daughter, a tiny storm wrapped in flesh, stands atop the wooden railing of the porch, balancing on the thin beam with an ease that defies logic.

her hair, as wild as her spirit, flutters with the residual energy still crackling around her, the faint pink glow of cursed energy pulsing through her fingertips.

and below her—looking thoroughly unimpressed—stands sukuna, arms crossed over his chest, four crimson eyes locked onto her with something between irritation and begrudging amusement.

“d/n,” you call, voice steady despite the urge to rub at your temples. “get down from there.”

d/n grins, sharp and untamed. “but I just got up here!”

“exactly.”

her bottom lip juts out in a mock pout before she turns her attention back to sukuna. “catch me, dad!”

and then she jumps.

you inhale sharply, but sukuna moves faster than your heart can lurch.

his large hands catch her mid-air, but the moment he does, she twists like a wild animal, attempting to wriggle out of his grip.

“you little—” he tightens his hold before she can slip free, her giggles ringing loud as she kicks her legs, tiny hands sparking with cursed energy as she playfully tugs at one of his arms.

you don’t miss the twitch in his jaw when her strength actually makes his arm shift.

sukuna lets out a low, exasperated sigh before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“if you wanted to fight, brat, you could’ve just said so instead of destroying the whole damn house.”

d/n lets out a delighted shriek, pounding her tiny fists against his back. “I was training!” she insists, wiggling in his grasp. “you’re the one who got in the way!”

“in the way?” sukuna scoffs. “you nearly took out two servants and a wall.”

she grins against his shoulder. “only ‘nearly’?”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“she does get that from you, you know,” you mutter, stepping closer. “the reckless disregard for anything that stands in her way.”

sukuna turns his head to smirk at you, one brow lifting. “flattery will get you everywhere, wife.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

he huffs a barely noticeable laugh before finally setting d/n down, though his grip lingers long enough to give her hair a light tug—more affectionate than scolding.

she beams up at him, utterly shameless, and you swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

then, faster than either of you can react, she bolts.

“oh, for—” sukuna lunges, but the little menace is already halfway across the porch, kicking up dust as she makes her escape.

you don’t move—there’s no point. you already know how this ends.

and sure enough, just as d/n’s about to round the corner—

smack.

she runs straight into him—freaking teleportation.

she bounces back with a dramatic oof before sukuna’s larger hands swoop in once more, lifting her effortlessly by the back of her collar.

d/n blinks. “that’s cheating.”

“that’s strategy,” sukuna corrects, hoisting her up so they’re face to face. “something you’d understand if you actually stopped acting like a damn stray cat and thought before you moved.”

she pouts, kicking her legs uselessly in the air. “I did think.”

“oh?” sukuna raises a brow, unimpressed.

she grins, bright and mischievous. “I just thought it’d be funny.”

your husband stares at her for a few moments before—once again—throwing her over his shoulder.

later, after d/n has been successfully bribed with food and contained (for now), you find yourself beside sukuna beneath the warm glow of lantern light.

“she really is just like you,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder as you watch the moonlight spill across the porch.

sukuna hums, his arm draped lazily over your waist. “do not compare me to that circus monkey.”

there’s something fond in his voice—something that lingers even as his fingers trace idle patterns against your hip.

you tilt your head up at him, your voice quiet but amused. “that doesn’t scare you?”

sukuna scoffs, smirking.

“what, that our daughter is a force of nature with a complete disregard for rules and an unhealthy enthusiasm for destruction?”

you lift a brow. “yes.”

he smirks, leaning down until his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“terrifies me, wife.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will send my cats after you

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[zaczenemiji]

Can you do a spiderwomen x kenji sato. Maybe she was sent to retrieve emi and then got caught by kenji, and she was put into a jail like thing. So now she's just stuck there. She starts flirting with him. If yk what i mean 😏👉🏿👈🏿🎀💓🌸

Have an ice cream cone. 🍦

Thanks ♡♡♡♡

Kaiju Heist

Kenji Sato x Spiderwoman!Reader

Word Count: 1,066

Genre/Warnings: Anti-hero, Flirting, Imprisonment, Morally Grey/Ambiguous Reader

Author’s Note: This one was a bit challenging, I hope it’s to your liking. Thank you for the ice cream, I offer you this fic.

MASTERLIST

Your plan was simple: sneak in, grab the baby kaiju, and get out. But things rarely went according to plan.

Let’s begin where it all started—that damn spider.

Long story short, your parents were scientists doing experiments on radioactive spiders. You help in their lab and one day, an earthquake enormous kaiju shook the city, causing a containment breach. The next thing you know, a particularly aggressive spider bit your hand.

Of course, you gained extraordinary abilities. Others would’ve loved this and used them for good—be like Ultraman or whatever. But to you, it’s more like a curse. Seriously, you didn’t ask for this so ain’t no way were you going to become a selfless heroine.

So you did nothing with your abilities; you didn’t hone it whatsoever. You looked at it as if it’s just another arm that grew out of your body. Like grabbing a bag of chips from across the room, you’d shoot spider webs out to get it without standing.

Despite living your life as privately as you could, somehow, the Kaiju Defense Force was still able to find you. So here you are now, in their headquarters.

You stood there, arms crossed. “I’ve told you before, Dr. Onda,” you said. “I’m not looking to be a hero. I just want to be left alone.”

Dr. Onda, chief officer of the KDF, and old acquaintance of your parents, leaned forward. “I know. But this isn’t about heroism,” he replied. “This is a highly sensitive mission and you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

"And why should I care?" you replied coolly. "What's in it for me?"

"Payment, of course. A substantial one. Enough to ensure you can continue living the peaceful life you desire without any further interference from us,” Dr. Onda answered.

“And more importantly, it's a one-time deal. Complete this mission, and you'll never hear from the KDF again."

Your face expressed a guarded neutrality but inside, you found it so tempting—the promise of financial security and freedom from future obligations.

“What’s the job?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Dr. Onda tapped a few keys on his desk console, and a holographic image of a baby kaiju appeared, rotating slowly.

“It’s an entity of importance for the goals of KDF to be fulfilled,” he said. “Recently, it fell into the hands of Kenji Sato. We need you to retrieve it and bring it back to us.”

You studied the hologram, noting the details. "And how exactly am I supposed to move a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby without causing a scene?"

Dr. Onda leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "We have a special containment unit designed specifically for it. It's portable and can be deployed with your help. Your task is to get close enough to activate it and secure the kaiju.”

"And the payment?" you pressed.

Dr. Onda named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly. It was more than enough to ensure your financial independence for years to come.

"Alright," you said finally. "I'll do it. But remember, this is a one-time deal. After this, I want nothing more to do with the KDF."

Dr. Onda smiled, “You have my word."

You turned to leave but paused at the door, and glanced back. "I hope you're right about this, Dr. Onda,” you said. “Because if this goes sideways, I won't be the one paying the price."

Going back to the present—here you are, in Kenji Sato’s basement, trapped in a cylindrical glass containment unit, similar to the one the baby kaiju you were supposed to retrieve was held in.

A floating spherical robot circled around you. “We knew they would send someone,” it said in a mechanically feminine voice.

Suddenly, it projected a red light over your body, scanning you. “But I didn’t expect a spider-woman.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, testing its strength. "Nice trap," you said. “But it's going to take more than that to keep me here."

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice came out of nowhere. Turning around, you see THE Kenji Sato with an eyebrow raised and his gaze locked with yours.

The biggest mystery that bothered you upon accepting this mission was how the hell did this famous baseball star had a giant baby in his basement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, what's the plan, Kenji? Keep me here forever?” you asked. “Or do you have something else in mind?"

Kenji smirked. "Depends. Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?" you replied, your tone flirtatious. "I was sent to retrieve that kaiju baby. But now, it seems I've found something else worth my attention."

Kenji's eyes narrowed slightly, "And what might that be?"

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. "You, of course,” you answered. “You're much more interesting than a simple retrieval mission."

Kenji chuckled, though he tried to hide it. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of there."

"Maybe not," you conceded, stepping closer to the glass, "But it does make this whole situation a lot more entertaining, don't you think?"

Kenji took a step closer, his eyes studying you. "You're not what I expected."

You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Good. I'd hate to be predictable."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you sized each other up. Finally, Kenji spoke. "You know, if you weren't here to take Emi, we might have been able to get along."

"Oh, I think we still can," you said, your voice low and seductive. "Besides, I never said I was strictly here for Emi."

Kenji looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. "And what if I let you out?"

You pressed yourself against the glass, your eyes locked on his. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can help each other."

Kenji pondered this for a moment before shaking his head. "Nice try,” he said. “But I need to know more about you before I make that decision."

"Fair enough," you replied, leaning back once more. "But remember, Kenji, sometimes the spider catches more than just her prey."

Kenji turned away, a small smile playing on his lips. "We'll see about that."

You didn’t wanna include this in your escape plan because things rarely went according to plan. But in your mind, you noted: flirt, make him fall for you, and escape.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@moonlight-starlight-lady01 @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan

[slyandthefamilybook]

okay because I'm seeing some misinfo, here's the story on the Key Bridge collapse

What was the Key Bridge?

The Francis Scott Key Bridge (also called the Key Bridge, the Beltway Bridge, and the Outer Harbor Crossing) was steel-arch continuous-through-truss bridge spanning the Patapsco River south of the Baltimore Harbor. The bridge took 5 years to build and cost an estimated $145 million ($735 million in today's dollars). The full bridge project (including approaches) was 10.9 miles long, but the stretch over the Patapsco was 1.6 miles long and 4 lanes wide, and comprised a length of I-695, the Baltimore Beltway. It traveled between Hawkins Point and Dundalk, and in addition to the I-895 Harbor Tunnel was the primary way for Marylanders to cross from the Eastern Shore to the West. The bridge carried an estimated 11.5 million vehicles per year. There is a lane for ships to pass under the Key Bridge with enough clearance.

Was it structurally sound?

The bridge received its latest inspection in 2022 and received a 6/9 score, which is considered "fair" by federal standards. There was a concern with one of its columns, which was downgraded from a health index of 77.8 to 65.9, but it is not clear yet if this was one of the columns struck by the ship. In 1980 the bridge was struck by a different cargo ship which destroyed a concrete support structure, but the bridge itself was unharmed. There is as of yet no evidence that the bridge collapsed because of poor condition. Experts say the lesson to be learned is about the size and weight of modern cargo ships, and that the bridge was not to blame. Engineers have noted, however, that the bridge's piers lacked protective devices such as fenders.

What was the ship?

The MV Dali is a container ship flying the Singapore flag. It is owned by Grace Ocean Private Ltd. and operated by Synergy Marine Group Ltd. The ship is currently being chartered by Maersk, a Dutch shipping company. It was built in 2015 by Hyundai. The ship is 980 feet long and 157 feet wide. The ship's gross tonnage (its internal volume) is 95,128 tons (190,256,000 pounds). Its deadweight (the weight of cargo it can carry) is 116,851 tons (233,702,000 pounds). The ship was carrying 3,000 containers. The engine is a MAN-B&W 9S90ME putting out 41,480 kilowatts (55,626 horsepower).

Over its lifetime the Dali has been inspected 27 times, and only 2 faults were ever found. On June 27, 2023 the Dali was held in port in Chile due to an issue with the propulsion system. According to an inspector the pressure gauges on the heating system were "unreadable". The fault was fixed before the ship left port.

The Dali is crewed by 22 Indian nationals including 2 maritime pilots.

What happened?

The Dali arrived at the Port of Baltimore on March 23, 2024. At 12:44 AM on March 26, 2024 the Dali left port, beginning its journey to Colombo, Sri Lanka. At 01:26 AM the ship suffered a "complete blackout" and began to drift out of the shipping lane. It is not yet known what caused the electrical failure. The backup generator did not power the propulsion system. At around 01:26 AM the crew of the Dali sent a mayday distress call to the Maryland Department of Transportation (MDOT) informing them of the loss of power and that a collision with the Key Bridge was possible. The anchors were dropped as an emergency measure to attempt to slow or stop the vessel. At the request of one of the pilots traffic flow over the bridge was immediately halted. Black smoke was seen coming from the Dali, which experts believe was the result of the crew managing to restart the power system to regain some maneuvering capability.

At 01:28 AM the Dali, traveling at 8 knots (considered to be a fast speed) collided with a support strut beneath the Key Bridge's metal truss at the southwest end of the bridge. A Baltimore resident said he heard the collision and that it "felt like an earthquake". Emergency teams began receiving 911 calls at 01:30 AM, and the Baltimore Police Department were alerted at 01:35 AM. One of the officers present radioed that he was going to go onto the bridge to alert the construction crew as soon as a second officer arrived, but the bridge collapsed seconds later.

What was the damage?

The Key Bridge has completely collapsed. The metal truss relies on structural tension from the bridge itself to maintain its rigidity. As soon as one of the support columns was destroyed, the rest of the bridge quickly followed.

The damage to the Dali is reported as minimal. The ship was impaled by the bridge's structure above the waterline, but has maintained watertight integrity. The crew has not reported any water contamination from its 1.8 million gallons of marine fuel. 13 containers carrying potentially hazardous material were damaged, and are being inspected by a team of Coast Guard divers. At least 5 vehicles including 3 passenger cars and a cement mixer were detected underwater, but authorities do not believe they were occupied

Who was hurt?

The crew of the Dali reports no casualties, except one crewmember who was hospitalized for minor injuries. There was a crew of 8 construction workers on the Key Bridge filling in potholes. 2 were immediately pulled from the water by rescue crews, with 1 being rushed to emergency care and the other reporting minor injuries and refusing treatment. The hospitalized worker has since been discharged. 1 of those rescued was Mexican. The remaining 6 remain missing. Of those 6, 2 have been identified:

Miguel Luna from El Salvador

Maynor Yassir Suazo Sandoval from Honduras

Of the remaining 4, 2 are Guatemalan nationals. Neither have been identified, but the Guatemalan Foreign Affairs Ministry has stated that they were a 26-year-old from San Luis, Petén, and a 35-year-old from Camotán, Chiquimula. The other 2 are presumed to be Mexican.

Rescue Efforts

The Coast Guard was immediately deployed for search-and-rescue operations. Military Blackhawk helicopters were seen over the river. Rescue efforts were ended at 07:30 PM on March 26, 2024 due to darkness, fog, and cold temperatures. Rear Admiral Shannon Gilreath said "Based on the length of time that we've gone in the search, the extensive search efforts that we put into it, the water temperature -- at this point, we do not believe that we're going to find any of these individuals still alive". Recovery operations resumed at 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 with all 6 workers presumed dead.

No divers have yet entered the water underneath the bridge. Supervisory Special Agent Brian Hudson of the FBI's Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team said "the debris field is pretty sizable and I know that’s why they’re hesitant to send divers down because some of the debris is still shifting, the heavy weight of the rocks". The FBI has deployed Remotely Operated Vehicles (ROVs) equipped with cameras and SONAR.

Aftermath

At 05:08 AM on March 26, 2024 Transportation Secretary Pete Buttegiege posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"I’ve spoken with Gov. Moore and Mayor Scott to offer USDOT’s support following the vessel strike and collapse of the Francis Scott Key bridge. Rescue efforts remain underway and drivers in the Baltimore area should follow local responder guidance on detours and response."

At 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 President of the Maryland State Senate Bill Ferguson posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"Over 15,000 in the Balt region rely on daily operations at Port of Baltimore to put food on the table. Today, with Del. @LukeClippinger and colleagues representing Port, we are drafting an emergency bill to provide for income replacement for workers impacted by this travesty."

At around 09:40 AM on March 26, 2024 Maryland Governor Wes Moore and Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott declared a State of Emergency to take effect at 10:30 AM March 26, 2024, and to last 30 days. Baltimore's Emergency Operations Plan was put into effect.

More than 1,000 personnel from the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) have been deployed to assist with clearing the debris and rebuilding efforts. President Joe Biden has pledged that the federal government will pay for the entire reconstruction of the bridge.

Jennifer Homendy, the chair of the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) has recovered the Dali's data recorder, and will be inspecting both the Key Bridge and the Dali to determine the cause of the crash and the collapse. She says the investigation could take up to 2 years to complete.

Was it intentional?

According to William DelBagno, head of the FBI's Baltimore field office: "There is no specific or credible information to suggest there are ties to terrorism in this incident".

Secretary of Homeland Security Alejandro Mayorkas said: "There are no indications this was an intentional act".

At least 3 people have been killed in accidents related to ships operated by Synergy in the past 6 years. In 2018 a person on board a Synergy ship in Australia was killed in an accident relating to the vessel's personnel elevator. In 2019 an officer aboard a Synergy vessel in Singapore fell overboard while performing maintenance. In 2023 at least one sailor was killed when a Synergy ship collided with a dredging ship in the Philippines. In the first two cases safety inspectors noted that proper safety procedures had not been adhered to.

Sources

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

[rafesapologist]

fade into you — rafe cameron

summary: rafe is forced to remember everything he had with you. even if it still hurts.

warnings: mature themes, swearing, angst, smut, suggestive themes.

author's note: new year means new writing format and style!! this story switches from past to present narration before anyone asks just to clear things up (also, all i am going to say is that this was inspired by 'the virgin su*cides'). this one is a bit longer than my usual cause i am unusually inspired, therefore there will be a part 2.

"tell me about your first year at college."

in that moment rafe cameron's world tilted, not in the dramatic way of an earthquake, but in the quiet way of a rug slipping from underfoot. his first year of college felt like stepping into an echo; familiar in shape but hollow. the days of the first semester were lined with the hope of possibility, the scent of booze and marijuana, the clatter of unfamiliar voices weaving into something resembling home. but it was the nights that belonged to her.

"it was tame at first, at least in my definition of it," rafe shrugs, his gaze is glued straight to his hands on the table before him. the line between his brows deepen just then, like a page creased too many times, worn out by a lifetime of regrets and mistakes he could not change. "but it turned out to be the one time in my life i won't forget."

you first appeared like the first warm light of morning, golden and effortless, slipping into rafe's world without warning. he saw you on an ordinary walk to class, the same path he had taken many times before in the weeks following, but that day, the air felt different. charged.

you moved through the crowd in a constellation of laughter, surrounded by girls whose voices blended like a song he couldn't quite catch. it was clear to him you all were close, woven together in a way that suggested endless banter and inside jokes, a language only you guys understood. but to rafe, you were the star among them, the one who made everyone look, even when you didn't mean to.

your smile was the kind that turned heads, not for its perfection but for the way it felt like sunlight breaking through. it wasn't blinding, not overwhelming, but warm, inevitable. the kind of smile that stayed with you long after you'd turned away. rafe didn't know exactly why he looked at you, only that it felt impossible not to.

for a moment, no longer than a breath, your eyes flicked in his direction. a glance, nothing more; fleeting and weightless. and yes, it pressed into him, settled somewhere beneath his ribs, somewhat like a melody waiting to be remembered.

he didn't know then—how could he?

"tell me about your first interaction with her."

it's clear that your name carries weight still. rafe's expression softens, his lips almost curving into something like a smile. almost.

half of it is warmth, the quiet flicker of a memory untouched by time. the way you laughed and lit up the dullest afternoons. the way, for a fleeting moment, you were his.

the other half is the ghost of yours and his relationship, lingering just beneath his skin. the ache of something unfinished, of something lost before he even knew how to hold onto it. rafe swallows, shifts in his chair, and brushes a thumb over the edge of his glass as if he's trying to steady himself.

"i tried to get her to notice me for weeks," rafe chuckles with nostalgia laced in his solemn voice, "i'd go walking the same paths she did on her way to class, hoping she'd eventually notice me passing by, but she was in her own world. i guess that's what made me want her even more; the challenge of getting her and the longing for what it would be like to have her."

it started small. a glance, a step closer. rafe memorized the rythms of your routine: when you'd take that walk to class, which side of the campus you favored, the way you always tucked your books under your left arm. he'd pass by, slow his pace, linger just enough for his presence to register. but every time, you were somewhere else. not physically, because you were right there, mere inches away. but in your mind, you were leagues ahead, lost in thought, lost in the daydreams he wished he could step into.

it should've deterred him. anyone else would have taken the lack of acknowledgement as disinterest, would have let you fade back into the blur of unfamiliar faces that made up college hallways and crowded sidewalks. but not rafe. the more you drifted past him, untouched and unaware, the more he wanted to know; who are you?

what was it that filled your mind so completely? what pulled your gaze down to the worn pages of your books instead of the world around you? what songs played through those headphones you sometimes wore, what words swirled in your head when you stared off into the distance?

you weren't ignoring him. he knew what that looked like. no, you were simply somewhere else. and that only made him more desperate to pull you back, to tether you to his world, to him.

he started placing himself in your way. not just hoping you'd notice—forcing it. a well-timed step into your path, a brush of shoulders in a crowded walkway, a moment where he knew you'd finally have to look at him.

but you never would.

each time, your gaze remained trained ahead, your attention on something unseen, some unspoken thought too captivating for him to break through. and yet, with every failed attempt, rafe felt himself getting pulled further into you, like a tide drawn to the shore only to crash and retreat, again and again.

none of his friends noticed; how could they? to them it was nothing, but to rafe, it became everything.

"how did you finally get her to notice you?"

the question pulls rafe back, dragging him from the depths of his memory and deposits him here, in the mundane light of the present. he exhales slowly, but there's a flicker of something in his expression, something between amusement and regret.

his fingers tighten around his glass of water, thumb tracing over the condensation forming along its edge. he doesn't answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes distant, like he's watching a scene play out in the space just beyond the table, just merely beyond reach.

there's that half-smile again; half warmth, half ghost.

"i had to make her," rafe finally says, voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken. "she wasn't going to notice me on her own. she was too.. caught up in her own world. i had to step into it, shake it up a little." he lets out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there's no real humor behind it.

"i don't think i realized it back then, but i was desperate. desperate for her to see me the way i saw her, to know if i was even worth being seen."

there's a pause. a shift. his fingers press into the wood of the table as if he's steadying himself.

"and when she finally did.." he trails off, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "well. i was totally encapsulated by her."

for months, rafe had still been orbiting you like a restless moon, caught up in your gravity and desperate for just one glance, one shift in your world that acknowledged his presence. but you, with your mind your mind still drifting elsewhere, never let him in.

so he devised a plan.

it was simple, really. step into your world, he thought. break through the invisible barrier that kept you from looking up and meeting reality, while he stood there waiting and aching for a moment that never came.

rafe learned about the psychology club in passing, a mention overhead in a conversation not meant for him. and that was it, that was his way in.

rafe didn't know much about psychology, other than the bare essentials; how prolonged isolation eats away at the mind, how the brain can be a cage as much as it can be an escape. maybe in some distant way, he understood the subject more than he thought. but still, he was no expert. if someone had asked him to explain cognitive dissonance or operant conditioning, he would have stared blankly, willing the words to come.

but for you? he was willing to learn. to fake it until he became it.

the day of one of the many club meetings, he showed up early, leaning against the doorway like he belonged there, like he wasn't some business major who had no idea what he was doing. the room hummed with quiet conversation, students flipping through notebooks and adjusting their seats. you sat near the middle, pen tapping absently against the cover of a worn-out textbook.

rafe forced himself to move, to step inside, to close the gaping distance. his pulse drummed beneath his skin, but outwardly, he played it cool, casual, and effortless. like this wasn't all for you.

he slid into the empty seat beside you, careful but also deliberate. just close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever perfume you wore, something light, something that made the air feel warmer somehow.

and then finally—you looked at him.

not a fleeting glance this time, not the accidental brush of eyes in a crowded hallway, but a real look, direct and questioning.

"you're in the psychology club? your voice. he swore it settled into his bones.

he grinned, slow and easy, despite the way his heart slammed against his ribs. this was the moment he had been waiting for all along.

"yeah," rafe lied smoothly." figured it was time to expand my horizons."

a hint of amusement passed through your eyes quickly, like you already saw through him, like you knew. but you didn't call him out, didn't turn away. instead, you tilted your head, considering him for the first time ever.

you study him, pen still tapping lightly against your textbook, the rhythmic sound filling the space between his lie and your hesitation. your eyes flicker over him, cautious but not unkind.

"you don't seem like the type." your voice is soft, deliberate, but there's no malice in it. just quiet observation.

rafe expected skepticism; welcomed it, even. what he didn't expect was how your voice would settle into his skin, threading through him like something already known and inevitable.

he smirks, leaning back just slightly, keeping the stance of someone unbothered, though his mind is a livewire beneath the surface.

"yeah?" he tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "and what's the type?"

you exhale, barely a laugh, before closing your textbook, fingers pressing lightly against the cover.

"someone who actually wants to be here," you say simply.

it's not an accusation, just a statement, but it lands somewhere deep in his chest. a hit, subtle yet painfully sharp. because you're right, he doesn't want to be there. not for psychology, not for the club. he wants to be there for you.

still, rafe is nothing if not quick on his feet. he leans in just slightly, just enough to close the space without making it obvious. his voice dips lower, words smooth as he shrugs.

"maybe i do want to be here. maybe you don't know me well enough to say otherwise."

your expression doesn't change. you hold his gaze, unwavering, like you're deciding something about him that even he doesn't know yet.

"i don't," you admit, your voice gentle but firm. "but i know people. and people don't usually show up to places they have no real interest in—unless they're looking for something." there it is. that careful certainty, the quiet wisdom that lingers beneath your softness. you say it without any suspicion and malice, but still, he feels caught.

rafe swallows the lump in his throat. he doesn't break eye contact.

"what if i am?" he says after a beat. "looking for something, i mean."

a pause.

something unreadable flickers in your expression. you exhale through your nose again, a slow breath, before picking your pen back up, flipping your book open again.

"then i hope you find it." and just like that, you return to whatever thought had been occupying your mind before he arrived, as if his presence, charm, and game was nowhere near enough to shake you.

for the first time in his life, rafe feels off-balance.

he watches you settle back into your book almost defeatedly, as if the conversation is already done, as if his presence is just another passing thing that's easy to dismiss.

but rafe isn't the kind of guy people dismiss, and he's sure as hell not going to let you be the first.

he breathes out while shaking his head slightly, a subtle smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. then, with the kind of boldness that always seemed to get him in trouble, he reaches out and gently turns the corner of your book toward himself, like he's trying to read over your shoulder. your fingers against the page.

slowly, you lift your eyes to him again, one brow arching, not in anger; something quieter. confusion, amusement, and maybe even intrigue.

"you know," rafe says, tilting his head, "most people would try to make a new guy feel welcome." his voice is low and teasing, but there's something real beneath it. something honest.

"you don't seem like someone who needs help fitting in." the words slip from your lips so effortlessly, so certain, and it throws him in a way he wasn't expecting. because you are right—he's never had any trouble fitting in. not at parties, or in crowds, or any room he's ever walked in for that matter. but with you, for the first time he feels like he has something to prove.

he holds your gaze, his smirk softening into something else. "maybe i don't," he admits, leaning in just a fraction, "but i do need you to talk to me. because i can't figure out if you're playing hard to get, or if i'm just that easy to ignore."

you blink at him, caught off guard by his directness. for a moment, he wonders if he pushed too far and too fast. until he suddenly hears a laugh.

it's soft and breathless. the kind of laugh that slips out before you can stop it, and have mercy on him, if that sound doesn't go straight to his chest.

"you're a lot," you say, shaking your head as you glance back at your book as if you're trying to compose yourself. rafe grins in return; triumphant.

"but you noticed me," rafe points out, "so i must be doing something right."

you exhale, still amused but guarded, as if you're still trying to figure him out, to see if there's something about him. and finally, you give in. just a little.

"fine," you say, closing your book again and resting your elbow on the desk. "if you're really going to be here, tell me something—what actually interests you about psychology?" it's a test. a challenge. you know he doesn't belong here, and you're daring him to prove otherwise.

rafe leans back in his chair as he pretends to think, though he already has the answer.

"you," he says simply.

there it is again; a flicker of something in your expression. but this time, you don't let him win so easily.

"that's not an answer," you reply smoothly.

he laughs, shaking his head.

"alright, alright," he concedes before his voice dips into something quieter, more genuine, "i guess.. people interest me. why they think the way they do. why they make the choices they make." you tilt your head slightly, watching him. and this time, he knows you're taking him seriously.

"that's a decent answer," you admit, "even if it's probably bullshit." rafe grins once more, but this time it's softer and real.

"guess you'll have to stick around to find out." and for the first time, you don't dismiss him. you just sit there, watching him, thinking just maybe, you might.

"that day," rafe murmurs, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the condensation of his glass, almost as though he's talking to himself. "that was the start of it all."

there's a pause. a shift in his expression similar to the look of someone who is being haunted.

"i asked her out shortly after," rafe admits, his voice carrying the weight of something unfinished. she hesitated, of course she did. she was cautious and i was.." his smirk is brief, self-deprecating, "i was me." a chuckle, small but real.

"but i wasn't going to let her brush me off so easily. i made sure to take her somewhere she'd feel comfortable. somewhere safe. somewhere she wouldn't regret saying yes to."

"how did you ask her?"

for a second rafe says nothing, just remembers. then, he answers truthfully.

it was an afternoon weighed down by the promise of rain, clouds stretched thin but looming, casting a dim glow over campus. the air smelled of damp earth and cooling pavement, the kind of scent that felt like change.

you were walking ahead of him towards the psych club meeting, your bag slung over your should, fingers absently twisting the strap as if lost in thought. rafe had spent days, weeks, playing scenarios in his head, running through all the ways he could say it. he wasn't the type to hesitate or plan, but with you? it had to be right.

so, was he fell into step beside you, he didn't waste time.

"go out with me."

your step faltered just slightly, barely noticeable, but he caught it. your head turned to him with your brows raised, expression unreadable as usual. half of it showing you were caught off guard, half something he couldn't quite name.

"go out with you?" the way you said it, slow and careful, like you were rolling the words in your mouth to see how they tasted.

rafe huffed a quiet luagh, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked. "yeah. i know you heard me."

you studied him for a beat, your face still unreadable. "and what makes you think i'd say yes?"

rafe tilted his head slightly, considering, before giving you that look—the one that had disarmed more people than he could count. "because i'd make sure you wouldn't regret it."

silence.

then finally, you sighed, turning back towards the sidewalk ahead. "where?" and just like that, the grip around his ribs loosened, the breath he didn't realize he was holding finally slipping free. he grinned, triumphant but not cocky, like he'd just opened the first page of a story he'd been dying to read.

"you'll see."

that weekend, when rafe arrived at your dorm, it wasn't just you waiting for him. your friends are gathered behind you in the doorway, watching him intently; unspoken scrutiny. the kind of silent, collective judgement usually reserved for overprotective parents.

they weren't just watching, they were assessing.

rafe took it in stride, offering them a lopsided smile as if this was nothing new, as if he wasn't completely aware that they were mentally quizzing him, calculating if he was worth even a second of your time.

you, meanwhile, exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple as if you were already exhausted. "guys—"

one of them, a girl with sharp eyes and crossed arms, cut you off. "so, what exactly are your intentions?"

rafe blinked, momentarily thrown, before letting out a small laugh. "you're really doing this?"

another friend, short but no less intense, nodded firmly. "we are."

rafe turned his gaze back to you, his eyes glinting with amusement. "they rehearsed this, didn't they?" you pinched the bridge of your nose in response.

"unfortunately."

the first girl wasn't deterred. "answer the question."

rafe shifted his weight, pretending to consider. "right now? my intentions are to take her out, making sure she enjoys herself, and bring her back in one piece." a beat, then a smirk. "long-term? guess we'll see."

you sighed, already reaching for your bag. "okay, thats enough—" but your friends weren't done.

"we'll be watching," one of them warned, narrowing her eyes.

rafe just grinned in return. "i wouldn't expect anything less." and with that, you finally stepped forward, brushing past your interrogators and out the door.

the campus was humming with the distant sounds of laughter and footsteps, the night stretched cool and quiet around you. but there, in the sliver of space between buildings and streetlights, it was just the two of you.

rafe walked a half a step ahead, his hands shoved into his pockets, his stride was easy and unhurried, like this wasn't the first date but a moment that had already happened a hundred times before. you, on the other hand, kept your arms crossed loosely over your chest, shoulders drawn in just slightly, as if holding yourself together.

it wasn't for the fact that you didn't want to be there. if that were the case, you wouldn't have come at all. it was just that rafe cameron had a way of pulling things out of you—things that you weren't sure you wanted to give.

"still not gonna tell me where we're going?" you asked, more to fill the space than out of real frustration.

rafe glanced at you, his lips curving in a knowing smile. "what, you don't like surprises?"

you exhaled through your nose, "not when i don't know what i'm walking into."

his chuckle was low, amused. "fair enough." he nudged his shoulder against yours, only lightly, just enough for you to feel him. "but trust me, you'll like this one."

you did your best to ignore the way his presence had weight, the way his warmth reached out even in the crisp air. instead, you focused on the path ahead, the streetlamp glow catching in puddles from the earlier rain.

"you're quiet," rafe said after a moment, and though his tone was casual, there was something beneath it—a curiosity.

you shrugged. "i don't talk just to talk."

rafe hummed as if considering, before tilting his head. "so, when you do talk, it means something?"

you gave him a look. "that's usually how words work."

he grinned. "see? there she is."

you frowned slightly. "what?"

"that confidence. knew it had. to be in there somewhere." you scoffed at him, but there was a flicker of something, not amusement or irritation, something in between.

"you really like to push, don't you?"

rafe didn't hesitate. "only when i know there's something worth pushing for."

his words hung between the two of you, unspoken meanings curling around. them, but he didn't let the weight settle. instead, he nodded toward a small building up ahead, tucked between two larger halls, its window glowing dimly.

"we're here."

you glanced at the entrance, your brows knitting. "the library?"

rafe grinned. "not just the library." with that, he reached for the door, pulling it open for you.

the library at night felt different.

gone was the daytime rush of students flipping through textbooks, the scattered hum of whispered study session, the relentless scratch of pencils against paper. now, it was still—quiet, but not empty. the overhead lights had been dimmed, casting a glow over the bookshelves. a faint melody played from a record player at the front desk, something old and slow, the kind of song that belonged to a different time.

you stepped inside hesitantly, glancing at rafe. "you brought me to library?"

he smirked, stepping past you, his hands still in his pockets. "not just any library," he said, repeating his words from earlier, "come on."

you followed him, weaving through the shelves, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and something faintly sweet; maybe vanilla or cinnamon. it wasn't until you rounded the last corner that you saw it.

a small table, nestled between two massive bookshelves, tucked away from the rest of the world. two chairs. a single candle flickering in the center.

you blinked. "you planned this?"

rafe leaned against the shelf, watching you carefully. "figured you wouldn't wanna go somewhere loud," he admitted, "and i remembered you always got here early for psych club, so... thought you might like it."

for a moment, you didn't say anything. you weren't used to people noticing things like that.

rafe filled the silence, rubbing the back of his neck. "it's stupid, i know. i just—"

"it's not stupid."

his eyes flickered to yours, and for the first time tonight, the usual cocky glint was gone and replaced by something softer and warmer.

a beat of hesitation, then you exhaled, stepping forward. you ran your fingers along the worn edge of the table, tilting your head at him. "are you gonna sit, or just stand there watching me all night?"

his grin returned, slow and easy. "didn't know if i had to convince you first."

you rolled your eyes but took a seat, and after a second, he did too.

"alright, cameron," you murmured, resting your chin in your palm, "let's see what you've got."

rafe chuckled, reaching for the bottle of wine he'd somehow managed to smuggle in. he poured you a glass, then one for himself, lifting it slightly in your direction.

"to you finally noticing me," he said, teasing but sincere.

you studied him for a moment, and then, despite yourself, you lifted your own glass.

"to that." you took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, but the truth was, you had noticed him long before this. you just weren't sure if you were ready to let him know that yet.

rafe breathes out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. "that was the start of it," he says, voice distant, as if he's not really here anymore.

his fingers drum against the table, the flicker of something in his eyes: nostalgia, longing, something heavier he won't say aloud.

"and after that?"

rafe's lips quirk, but not quite a smile. he swirls the last of his drink in his glass before answering.

"after that," he murmurs, "i couldn't stay away."

it happened gradually, in ways so small they could've been dismissed as nothing at all.

the first time you lingered at rafe's place past midnight, curled up on the couch, your psychology textbook open but forgotten in your lap. the lamplight was dim, the tv humming softly in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention to it.

"stay," rafe had murmured, half-asleep himself.

and you did.

and then it happened again, and again, until the nights at his apartment outnumbered the ones in your dorm. it wasn't something you talked about. there was no dramatic moment, no confession, just the slow shift of gravity pulling you into his orbit.

you still walked with your friends to class, at first. but one morning, as you were stepping out of your dorm, rafe was already waiting outside, leaning against the railing with that easy smirk.

"thought i'd save you the trouble of pretending you didn't see me on your way out," he said.

you rolled your eyes, but you didn't turn him away. that was the first time you let him walk with you.

and then it wasn't just once. it became a habit.

it felt safer, more comfortable, like something meant to be. and rafe—he liked the way you gravitated toward him. the way you trusted him with those little parts of your day.

people noticed. of course they did.

it started with whispers—small, harmless things. is she really with him? then, it turned into something sharper.

"didn't peg you for a charity case, cameron." rafe heard the comments more than you did, and the ones you did hear, you brushed off. you had this way of ignoring the ugliness in people, of refusing to let the world harden you.

but rafe wasn't like you in the slightest.

he knew the cruelty of the people you surrounded yourself with. he know how easily they could taint the softness in you, and he—he wanted to protect you from that.

"just ignore them," you told him once, when he tensed at a passing comment. you were so sure, so unwavering, and it made something in rafe ache.

"you're too nice," he muttered, shaking his head.

you just smiled, nudging his shoulder with yours. "maybe someone should teach you how to be nice, too."

and maybe someone was.

because rafe found himself doing things he'd never done before. walking you to class even when it meant going the long way. keeping an extra sweatshirt at his place because he knew you'd get cold. keeping his hands to himself, even on nights when you curled up next to him, falling asleep to the sound of his breathing.

it was slow and deliberate. because for once, rafe didn't want to rush. he just wanted you.

"she was different," rafe says simply.

"how so?"

rafe huffs a quiet laugh, but there's something almost bitter in it. he leans back, tilting his head slightly, as if looking for the right words.

"she wasnt—" he stops himself, exhales, then tries again. "she wasn't like the rest of them." there's a pause; a flicker of something in his eyes.

"i didn't want to mess it up," he finally says. and for awhile, he didn't.

rafe was careful with you, that was the difference.

for all his recklessness, his sharp edges, the impulsivity that had driven most of his life—he was careful with you.

he never reached for you too fast, never asked for more than what you were willing to give. even when you spent your nights curled up on his couch, tucked into the blankets he'd wordlessly draped over you, he kept his distance. not because he didn't want to be closer, but because he knew if he moved too quickly, you'd slip through his fingers like sand.

so he settled for the little things. a hand on you thigh, just barely there. an arm thrown over your shoulder when you let him. a touch that never lingered longer than you allowed. and that was enough.

until it wasn't.

one night, when something in you shifted, it was late—later than usual. you were in your usual spot on rafe's couch, legs tucked beneath you. the only light came from the flickering tv screen, playing something neither of you were watching. you turned to him then, something unreadable in your expression, and said, almost too softly—"i don't want to sleep out here tonight."

rafe's stomach dropped.

not because he expected anything more than what you were offering, but because this meant something.

you saw his hesitation in him before he could even speak, the way his jaw tensed, how he wet his lips like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"you sure?" his voice was quieter than he intended. you nodded, and that was it.

you let him lead you down the dim hallway, past the half-opened bathroom door, past the quiet hum of the city outside his window. you stopped just rafe the threshold of his room, fingers grazing the doorframe.

rafe watched you, waiting for any sign of doubt, any sign that you wanted to change your mind. but then, you stepped inside.

it was the smallest act of trust, but to him, it meant everything.

that night, he didn't even touch you.

you fell asleep on one side of the bed, and he laid on the other. the space between you was measured in careful breaths, in the rise and fall of your chests. and for once, rafe didn't mind the distance; you were here. and that was enough.

"so she trusted you?"

rafe breathes out sharply, eyes darkening with something you can't quite recognize. "yeah," he says, voice rougher now. "she did."

there's a pause.

"and did you deserve it?"

rafe doesn't answer. because truth is—he's not sure.

he wasn't used to softness. not like this. not the kind that crept in slow, like light spilling through the cracks of a door, like warmth settling into his bones before he even realized he was cold. but with you, it wasn't just softness. it was something bigger, more consuming; real.

and it wasn't just him who noticed.

people talked. they always did. the whispers followed you both like shadows, lingering in lecture halls, slipping between phone screens, taking shape in jealous glances from girls who had wanted him for themselves. but rafe had never been theirs, and now, he was yours.

he saw the way they looked at you, the way their envy dripped. from their lips in the form of cruel comments, passive-aggressive stares. it didn't matter that most of them would have never given him the time of day before you. now that he was devoted—they wanted what they couldn't have.

the things they said about you online were even worse:

"she's not even that pretty." "she must be easy." "he'll get bored of her soon."

rafe wanted to rip their words from their throats. he wanted to set the world on fire for you, but you never even flinched.

you walked through campus with your head high, your expression unwavering, never once giving them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

and most surely, he marveled at you for it.

he knew that if the roles were reserved, he would've lost it by now: throw a punch, say something reckless, done something he'd regret. but you? you just let them talk. you let them think their words held weight when, in reality, they barely scratched the surface.

still, rafe wished you'd fight back. he knew you could. he knew that deep down, you were a force to be reckoned with, the kind of person who could level cities if you wanted to.

but you didn't. you just smiled. kept walking. and maybe that's what made him love you even more.

"she was stronger than me," rafe admits. his fingers tighten around the edge of the table, knuckles going white. his expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—raw.

"i don't think i ever told her that," he continues, voice quieter now, "but she was."

he exhales sharply, shaking his head like he's trying to push away the weight of the past. his jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks haunted.

"she could take a hit. let it roll off of her. i don't know how she did it."

"you wanted her to fight back."

rafe's lips twitch, not quite a smirk nor a frown, just something stuck in between.

"yeah," he says after a pause, "i did."

there's a beat of silence.

"and did she?"

rafe swallows. his gaze flickers downward, and this time, he doesn't answer.

the first time you called his apartment "home," rafe almost didn't catch it. it was an accident, really. slipped past your lips without thought.

you'd been sitting on his kitchen counter, stealing bites of his food like you always had with your legs dangling lazily. and when you stretched your arms over your head and sighed, you murmured, "we should get more of this for home."

rafe had blinked.

the word settled between you both, warm and unspoken, but it was there. home. and he didn't bother to correct you.

after that, it became second nature. you were there more than you weren't. you left things behind regularly: books, sweaters, your favorite chapstick. and before either of you could even process it, your things just lived there.

and then, one night, when rafe went back to his apartment after a long day, exhausted and half out of it—you were already there. waiting for you like you belonged there. it was home for you, too.

that was the moment, he realizes now later on, that he stopped seeing you as a part of his life and started seeing you as his life.

"did she ever tell you she loved you?" the question is gentle, but it still makes rafe flinch. his jaw tightens, fingers drumming against the table. his eyes are still unreadable.

"no," he admits, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "not with words."

there's another pause.

"but she didn't have to."

you never said it out loud; not once. not in the stolen moments between classes, not in the quiet hum of the early morning when you stretched against his sheets, your breath warm against his skin. not even in the moments when you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

but you didn't have to.

rafe had spent his entire life, at that point, surrounded by love that was loud: consuming, possessive, and reckless. girls who clung to him like he was air, like he was something to be claimed. they spoke their attractions in rushed declarations, in lipstick-stained voicemails, in drunken whispers against his neck, but it had never meant anything to him. not like this.

you loved him in ways that were quiet, subtle. you let him carry your books when you were too stubborn to admit they were heavy. you started keeping extra advil in your bag, because you noticed how often his head hurt when he was stressed. you traced patterns against the back of his hand when you thought he wasn't paying attention. you stopped letting your friends walk you to class—you let him do it instead.

and maybe the biggest shift of all; you started staying. at first, it was just the evenings, your presence filling the corners of his apartment in the softest ways. your softs on the floor, your books on the coffee table, the faint scent of your perfume lingering on his couch. but then one night, you didn't leave. you stayed. and rafe never asked why, cause deep down, he already knew.

"so she never said it? at all?"

rafe shakes his head again. "no," he mutters with a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips, "not with words."

he breathes as he drags a hand through is hair, fingers raking through the strands like he's trying to pull himself back into reality.

"but i felt it," he admits, voice quieter now, "God, i felt it."

"and you?"

rafe's gaze flickers upwards. "what about me?"

"did you ever say it first?"

silence.

then, rafe chuckles—a hollow sound that is laced with something that almost sounds like regret.

"no," he admits, "not at first."

another pause.

"but i should have."

truthfully, rafe had never been gentle with a girl before. not because he did not want to be, but because he had never needed to be. girls threw themselves at him, took what they could get; made it easy. but you? you demanded softness. not with words, not with ultimatums, but simply by being who you were. you didn't want reckless hands or desperate touches. you wanted patience and care. and rafe was willing to learn.

at first it was just the little things: a hand on your thigh, low enough that you didn't feel the need to move away. an arm over your shoulder, never too tight. a brush of his knuckles against yours, just enough to ask, never to take. and you let him.

"so, was that the farthest you went with her?" the question lingers in the air, delicate but razor-sharp nevertheless, slicing through the space.

rafe doesn't answer right away.

instead he swallows hard, his. throat working around a lump that refuses to go down. his fingers twitch against the table, drumming once against against the smooth surface before he exhales—a breath that sounds more like a quiet, defeated laugh. a humorless chuckle. because; only if you knew.

if only you knew what it felt like, to touch you, to have you, to finally be granted access to the arts of you that nobody else had seen because of your persistent modesty.

he doesn't say anything yet, but in his mind, he's already there.

it had been slow.

like the turning of pages, like the unraveling of silk. rafe had never been patient a day in his life, but with you, he was willing to wait. had to wait. because for all the ways you had let him in—your time, your words, your presence in his apartment more often than your own—this was different.

you had always carried yourself with a kind of delicate modesty, a quiet armor that kept the world at bay, and rafe never dared to push. not until you let him.

and one night, you did.

you had been curled against him, your breath steady against his collarbone, your body warm against his sheets. the room was dark except for the soft glow of his beside lamp, shadows painting the walls in lazy strokes. and then, you moved. just a little. just enough.

enough for your fingers to ghost over his skin, enough for the shift of your body to press just a little closer. enough for him to know. that this—this moment, this night, this touch—was permission.

and when rafe finally touched you, really touched you, it felt like stepping into something sacred. like opening a tomb that had never been disturbed, like discovering something untouched and unspoiled; only meant for him. an honor.

that's exactly what it was. that's what you were.

and the moment his hands found you, skin to skin, warmth to warmth—he was gone.

drunk, intoxicated, not on alcohol not on the substance he used to numb the rest of the world, but on you.

because you were the strongest, most potent form of liquor he had ever tasted, and rafe knew—he could never get enough.

rafe felt it like a pulse beneath his skin, a silent beckoning, and still, he had waited. but the moment you had turned to him, when your eyes found his in the quiet hush of the night, he knew. he reached for you then, slow and measured, like a man afraid of disturbing something sacred. his fingers traced along the bare skin of your arm, his touch barely more than a whisper, as if testing the fragility of glass.

and you—you let him.

you did not flinch, didn't pull away, didn't shrink beneath the weight of his hands. instead, you leaned into it, into him, into the warmth of his pal against the curve of your waist. it was a slow unraveling.

it was like silk slipping through fingers, like the quiet collapse of a tide meeting the shore. his hands mapped the shape of you with careful, aching reverence: the dip of your spine, the delicate slope of your shoulder, the space just beneath your ribs where your breath hitched beneath his touch. and most certainly, he could feel it; the way your body trembled, not in fear, not in reluctance, but in something else entirely.

something deeper and unspoken.

rafe exhaled, his breath warm as it fanned across your temple, his lips barely grazing your skin as his finger trailed lower—only to pause. waiting. asking. and when your fingers curled around his wrist, when your grip tightened just slightly, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away—that was all he needed.

he moved like a tide drawn by the pull of the moon, slow and inevitable, touching you in places that had never been touched. not just your body, but your trust, your guarded heart, the parts of you no one dared to claim. rafe knew it then—it wasn't just touch. this was permission.

the moment stretched, fragile as spun glass, suspended between what had been and what was about to unfold. rafe was drowning in it.

the scent of you, clean and warm, wrapped around him like a fever and your breath—soft, uneven, trembling against his skin—was the only thing anchoring him to reality. yet, even reality felt distant.

it felt like a dream, like something surreal and untouched by the weight of the world. he had wanted you for so long; he longed, ached and burned for you. but not like this. not in the way others had. this wasn't about conquest, it was about immersion. about losing himself in you, in the sound of his name slipping from your lips like prayer, in the way your breath hitched when his fingers finally moved where you needed them most.

"rafe—"

it wasn't just a whisper, it was his undoing. your body reacted before your mind could process it, arching into his touch, into the deliberate drag of his fingers, slow and worshipful. his name wasn't just a plea, it was a confession, an invitation, a surrender.

and rafe had answered it.

he traced reverence across your skin with his mouth, with his hands, with the way he listened. every sigh, every broken sound you gave him, he committed to memory like scripture. the way your fingers tangled into his hair; tentative, then certain, then desperate.

the little gasps that spilled from your lips, the quietest whimpers you tried to swallow down—he chased them.

"let me hear you," he murmured against your jaw, voice thick with something unrecognizable even to himself. not lust or desire, but something that was raw.

your hands fisted in the sheets, in him, in anything that would keep you grounded as he unraveled you, as he worshiped you. he wanted to stay there forever.

lost in your warmth. in your sweet, breathy moans that filled the quiet of his bedroom. in the way your body responded to him so effortlessly, like you were made for this, for him. you trembled beneath his touch, the tension coiling inside you unbearable, and he felt it—felt everything.

he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing in every sound, every whisper of his name like it was oxygen.

he pressed his mouth against your collarbone, his lips brushing against your pulse, fast and unsteady, mirroring his own. he wanted to stay there, breathing you in, tasting the heat of your skin, memorizing the way your heartbeat quickened under his touch.

the way your fingers tangled in his hair tentatively at first, like you weren't sure if you were allowed to hold onto him. but then, his fingers curled every so slightly, and you gasped, your grip tightening, your body instinctively answering his silent plea to let him in. you were soft—so soft.

soft in the way your breath broke against his cheek, soft in the way your thighs trembled under his touch, soft in the way your voice whispered his name like a secret meant only for him.

"are you okay?" his voice was low, quiet, rough with restraint. it mattered to him.

you nodded, but it wasn't enough.

"tell me."

your lips parted, but words seemed impossible. so instead, you reached for him, your touched featherlight, uncertain, but when your fingers brushed against his jaw, something inside of him shattered.

rafe had been touched before, but never like this. like he was something to be held, cherished, to be discovered slowly. never like he was something delicate. his breath stuttered, and for a moment, he just looked at you. he was drunk on you, drowning in you, lost in the way you were finally letting him in.

"i need you," you whispered, and God, you didn't even realize what those words did to him. because he needed you, too. more than you would ever know. more than the air in his lung, than the pulse thrumming beneath his skin, more than anything he had ever reached for in his entire life.

he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his hands stilling against you for the briefest moment like he was memorizing this, like he needed to etch it into his bones before it could slip away.

"say it again," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

your lips parted, your breath shaky, the space between you humming with danger and intoxication.

"rafe—"

you didn't even get the chance to say it before he was kissing you again, swallowing your breath, your words, your everything. he kissed you like he was answering something unspoken between you, like he had been waiting for this moment for far too long. his fingers traced slow, deliberate lines against your skin, exploring every delicate curve, inch of warmth, like he was mapping you out with his hands, learning you by touch alone. and you surely let him.

your breath hitched when his fingers splayed over your ribs, his thumb barely grazing the soft skin beneath your bra, his touch was so light, so careful it was nearly unbearable. he was testing you. waiting. holding himself back in a way that felt excruciating, agonizing, perfect.

"tell me if you want me to stop." his voice was a whisper, but it wrapped around you, threaded through you, settled deep inside your chest. you didn't want him to stop, you never wanted him to stop. instead, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist as you guided him, giving him the permission without a single word. that was all it took.

"God, you're beautiful." his voice was breathless, raw, like the words had been torn straight from his chest. you whimpered softly at the praise, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, and nearly lost himself right then and there. you had no idea what you were doing to him.

the way you arched into him, the way your lips parted against his neck, the way your breaths grew heavier with each passing second. it was unraveling him, piece by piece, turning him into something wrecked and desperate and wholly, completely yours. he wanted to make this last.

the sound of you, soft gasps and barely there whimpers, the quiet way you murmured his name was intoxicating, threading through his veins like the most potent of poisons. he was lost in you. he was drowning in you, and he didn't want to come up for air.

the moment unraveled like silk slipping through calloused fingers, a sacred thread being pulled loose. rafe had never been so lost in anything before in his life—not in the high of a late night thrill, not in the haze of cigarette smoke curling around his lips. but you—you were something else entirely. you were ruin wrapped in euphoria, a dream so tangible it felt like he could reach out and grasp it, only for it to melt between his fingers.

every breath you took was a siren's call, pulling him deeper into the undertow of you. his hands traced the map of your body with that same reverence, memorizing every single curve and valley as if you were something holy, something he wasn't sure he was meant to touch but couldn't resist worshipping.

and your eyes, half-lidded, dark with something he'd never seen before, were the final undoing. they held him captive, ensnaring him in a way that made escape seem foolish and unwanted. he swore you looked unreal, something divine carved from the softest parts of the universe, ethereal and just out of reach even as you lay beneath him.

rafe had never know a moment like this, where time ceased to exist and reality bent at the edges and blurred into something intoxicating. the quiet between heartbeats, as his name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, he realized he'd never truly touched anything before you.

"so if you guys had such a good thing going, where did it go wrong?"

rafe blinks but it's as if he's looking through the present, past it, past everything. his fingers drum against the table, restless. his jaw tightens. he looks detached, but the truth is, he's drowning.

"the way we ended was my fault," he says, his voice rough and weighted. "and every ending that happened in her life after that might just be mine, too." his breath comes slow and deliberate, like he's trying to steady himself, but it doesn't work. he drags his teeth over his bottom lip, his gaze sinking into the floor.

"i left her by herself one night."

it was a bar, dimly lit and thick with the scent of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke. the music pulsed like a heartbeat, and the night was already slipping into something hazy. rafe remembers the amber glow that softened the harsh edges of the world, the way the laughter of his friends melted into the buzz of the room. he remembers standing you, shoulder to shoulder, his hand resting on the small of your back like it belonged there.

you looked up at him then, your lips parted slightly, as if on the verge of saying something. but the moment passed before he could catch it. and then—he let himself get distracted. it wasn't intentional. just a drink, just a conversation, just a turn of his head. a moment. a single, fleeting moment.

but when he looked back, you were gone.

the empty space where you stood before sent a spike of something sharp through rafe's ribs. he scanned the room, his pulse kicking up, but you weren't there.

"they told me she called my name." his voice is quieter now, as if he's speaking more to himself than anyone else. "i remember that much. i remember turning back for a second, seeing her standing there in that dim bar light."

his throat bobs. "she had that look on her face—like she was about to say something, but i never got to hear what."

[esamastation]

wvyld: Desmond wakes up in Angelgard — to find a guy in chains who feels Very Evil (daemons) to the Eagle Sense, but also. uhhhh. you know. it's just — the chains are going through his flesh it's. yeaah he may have to go against his intuition with this one, this is no way to treat an eldritch abomination....

Guess what I didn't write? Any of that. I did however write Desmond in FFXV. :D

-

He sleeps the deep, deep sleep of the Earth. He dreams of mountains, of ravines, of endless pressure and crushing weight. He sleeps, and dreams, and his dreams have the weight of gravity, the drag of continental plates, the churning of magma and rattling of earthquakes. They're slow dreams but they're not peaceful.

They're also never enough to distract him from the weight still resting on his shoulders. The weight he can never put down. The heat of it pounds down on him, burning him, crushing him. Weight and heat are the same, when you really think about it. Mass makes gravity makes pressure makes fire makes explosion. Gravity makes stars. Makes planets. Makes earth. It's all the same.

There's always some weight upon him. That is his task and nature, as an Astral. A shitty gig, if there ever was one.

He breathes in deep and then falls deeper into slumber. Deep into memories of other worlds and other planets and man that once was and doesn't really matter anymore. The Meteor is heavy, heavy, heavy, burning, burning, burning. He sleeps and dreams deep, deep, deep.

And then someone Sings with the Voice of Stars and drags him from Beneath - and for the first time in eons, Awakens him.

It's not a pleasant feeling, to become aware once more under all the weight of the Cosmos' Rage.

"God of the Earth I beseech you!" A small voice calls out from somewhere below. "Enter into a covenant with the Chosen King so that he may reclaim the Stone and purge the Darkness from our Star!"

It takes a moment - a stretch and press of time dilation under weight of infinite gravity - to remember what speech is. What the little voice is saying makes no sense, even then. "WHAT," he says, with the Meteor roaring like hellfire in his ear, deafening him.

There's a little human somewhere near his feet, tiny, tiny thing, blond and pale and wearing white. She reminds him of something from eons ago.

"The Time of the Prophecy is at hand!" the human says, grand and commanding and barely audible. "The Darkness Eternal threatens our Star and only the King of Light may defeat it! To do that, he will have your power - you must enter into this covenant!"

The words make no sense. "WHAT KING?" he asks. "WHAT COVENANT? WHAT DARKNESS? THERE'S ONLY THIS DAMNED THING," he shifts under the weight of the Meteor. "AND THE ASSURED DESTRUCTION SHOULD I EVER PUT IT DOWN."

The little human wavers and he realises - his voice is too loud. He's shouting at her. His quietest voice is deafening to her. Even so, she keeps shouting back. "There are worse dangers now! Even now the Darkness grows stronger - every day, it claims more of our Star's Light. Without that Light, there is no Life, without Life, there is no future! The Meteor doesn't matter now - "

"THEN WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL HOLDING IT?" he asks sarcastically, and the little human is thrown back, faltering under his power. Oops. Poor thing. "WHAT IS THIS DARKNESS YOU FEAR SO MUCH, THEN? WHAT IS SO BAD THAT YOU'VE AWOKEN ME FROM DEEP SLEEP?"

The human struggles to her feet, using her little staff to prop herself up, and faces him with a stern look on her face. "It is the Scourge of Stars!" she says and lifts her staff. "I will Show you!"

And she does. She shows him a Disease. A plague that causes transformations and shadows, that infects flora and fauna and twists them into living ash. It makes monsters they call Daemons, and it has been coming up again and again for the last two thousand years. No one knows where it came from, but people have a Prophecy about it.

The Draconian made a Prophecy about it. Apparently that's what they call that guy now. And the little human - the Oracle? The Oracle tells it to him like he's supposed to know it. Like he's already part of it.

"I DON'T KNOW YOUR PROPHECY," the Archaean - that's what they call him now, apparently - answers. "I'VE NO PART IN IT. I WAS UNDER BURDEN BEFORE YOUR STARSCOURGE EVEN APPEARED. THE DRACONIAN'S WORDS, SPOKEN EONS HENCE, HOLD NO SWAY OVER ME."

The little human falters. "But - but the Cosmogony - the Prophecy says - "

The Archaean strains under the weight of the Meteor. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT A PROPHECY IS, LITTLE ONE? IT'S SOMEONE VOLUNTEERING SOMEONE ELSE FOR A TASK THEY THEMSELVES WILL NOT DO. THAT'S ALL."

The little human shakes her head. "No, no, it has to be the Chosen King, the Draconian said - "

"IF THE DRACONIAN REALLY WANTED THIS DARKNESS GONE, HE'D DO IT HIMSELF," the Archaean says, unamused. "HE CERTAINLY HAS THE POWER. JUST LOOK AT ME." He shrugs his shoulders and the Meteor upon them, sending tremors through the earth beneath his feet. "WHO DO YOU THINK CAST THIS THING UPON ME?"

The Oracle clutches on her staff, her eyes wide. "The Draconian sent the Meteor down upon us?" she asks, horrified, and falls to her knees. "W-what? No, that's not possible. I don't - that can't be."

Well. That seems rather telling and alarming.

The little Oracle can't take this conversation for long, it seems like - his voice is too much for her, as it tends to be for most humans. There's no way around it, though. He can't do much for her. The Archaean simply cannot put down his burdens, not for a long, long time, not until the half life of the damned thing runs its course. Until then, it's just him between the Meteor and Eos - and an explosion that would rock the whole solar system, if the two ever met.

He can, however, detach a small portion of himself to act as his avatar.

-

"Well, don't you look far less tiny from this angle, huh," the Messenger says, cracking his neck and getting used to being human sized again. "Hello, Oracle."

The Oracle stares at him, wide eyed. "You - you're the Archaean?"

"Small part of him. It's a bit of a long term gig, holding up the Meteor," the Messenger says and peers up at himself, standing tall as a mountain under the Meteor. Already his larger self is going back to slumber - much easier to bear the weight like that. "Six thousand years down," the Messenger says, shooting finger guns at himself. "Six million more to go."

"Y-you -" the Oracle stammers and then goes down into a bow. "My Lord, I am your humble servant - I beseech you to listen to me, for our blight is true and dire."

"I believe you believe that, and it probably is pretty bad," the Messenger says and motions to the Meteor. "But if that thing goes down, it will destroy this whole planet. Into itty bitty space dust," he adds, just to drive the point across. "So, no. There will be no Covenant. The Archaean will not move. Not for a long, long time."

The Oracle looks at him, stricken - her lips actually quiver. "B-but I foresaw - this is meant to happen - all the writings -" she trails away, staring at him. "Is it really impossible?"

"It really is. If it was possible to put down the Meteor, the Meteor would be down, trust me, and I'd not be here," the Messenger says and shakes his head. "I'm sorry - whatever the Draconian has been telling people, the Archaean has no part in it. Our hands are tied."

The Oracle looks at him like she's going to cry. "I - all my life I've been preparing - training for this moment - I was supposed to awaken all the Artrals for Noctis - I -" she stops, drawing a hitching breath. "It's all been for naught - the Darkness will win? Our star will be destroyed?"

"Okay, okay, let's back up a bit," the Messenger says with some alarm, lifting his hands soothingly to calm her. "Why don't you tell me about this terrible fate about to befall all of us, and we'll figure it out?"

So, she tells him. Faltering and stuttering, she tells him everything she knows.

It's a lot.

-

So maybe sleeping away the eons under the Meteor's weight wasn't the smartest idea. Turns out, he's missed a lot. Like, apparently, the Fall of Solheim? Which, in the human time frame, happened eons ago, of course - six thousand years is ancient time for humans. Since then, there's been other nations, empires, kingdoms - like the one they're currently in, the Kingdom of Lucis, the one the Draconian chose. Which has since fallen into ruin, because of war.

"So," the Messenger says. "There was a Chosen One who was supposed to be the first king of Lucis, but he got sick with this Starscourge and was betrayed, so he was made the Accursed instead and the Kings of Lucis descend from his brother, the usurper. And now the current last heir to the throne is supposed to kill his many, many times grand uncle to defeat the Scourge once and for all. With Astral's power and the Crystal."

The Oracle, now sitting down on a rocky ledge looking small and sad and hopeless, nods.

The Messenger rubs at his forehead. "And that didn't clue you in to the fact that Draconian is making this shit up as he goes along?"

The Oracle's shoulders slump. "Gods are fallible, I know," she says. "But I thought the Revelation of Bahamut was true. Everyone always said it was. Even the Kings of Lucis believe in it, and they're the closest to him."

"Sounds to me like nothing is true, really," the Messenger muses. "But okay. I have a question - what, exactly, is the Crystal you keep mentioning?"

The Oracle looks up, and sort of sputters at him. "It - what - how can you not - " she chokes out. "It's the Heart of our Star - "

"The heart of a Star is mostly hydrogen and helium and thermonuclear fusion under pressure," the Messenger says and folds his arms. "I've never heard of this Crystal of yours. Is it something the Draconian made, maybe?"

"I-it was gifted to mankind so that we may know lasting prosperity -" the Oracle says before faltering and frowning at her own knees, confused. "It gives powers to the Kings of Lucis. It has protected the Kingdom for centuries, and they have protected it. I don't…"

The Messenger scratches at his neck, not sure what to tell her. It sounds like a lot of stuff the Astrals can do. The Archaean could probably whip up a magical rock too, if he wasn't under a bit of pressure at the moment. Well, he could probably still do it.

Under pressure is how gems were made.

Bit beside the point, though.

The Oracle looks up at him, actual tears in her eyes. "Everything I have been told my whole life is a lie, isn't it?" she asks as the tears spill out. "The Revelation of Bahamut is a lie. The Draconian dwells in the Crystal, it's his chamber, his fortress and for two thousand years the Kings of Lucis have bled for its upkeep."

Ouch. "Don't know what to tell you, Lady, this is all news to me," the Messenger says awkwardly. "Maybe we should set the whole… existential horror aside for a moment. Tell me more about this Accursed."

-

Six thousand years he bore the weight of the Meteor just fine. Now that he's stepped away from it, this is what he gets from it - a tension headache.

"So this guy was a healer fighting this Scourge, he was the Chosen One, supposed to be the king, the First King of Lucis, this great magical nation to be…" the Messenger says, just to clarify, while rubbing at his temple. "And then he was betrayed, usurped, and kept prisoner and tortured by the Kings of Lucis for two thousand years."

The Oracle nods slowly.

The Messenger hums in understanding. "Yeah, I kind of see where he's coming from."

The Oracle winces. "Yes, same," she admits with a sigh and then continues her increasingly depressing explanation of all the things he'd missed.

It's getting late by the time he has the full picture. Time is relative when you're Ancient Astral Being, or whatever, but as a Messenger he experiences daylight the same as your regular humans and the sun is going down below the horizon. Which apparently means the Daemons of the Star Scourge are going to come out.

"Alrighty, I want to see these Daemons and the Scourge for myself," the Messenger says, stretching his arms. "I'm guessing the radiation from the Meteor is keeping them away from here?"

"The light, yes," the Oracle says, lifting her staff. "I have the power to keep them at bay. I can also create Havens, sacred ground that will repel them."

"Neat - don't do that just yet, though, I want to see them," the Messenger says. "After that we can hopefully figure out something that won't involve the Archaean's power."

"Right," the Oracle says, taking a slow breath to steel herself, preparing to lever herself back to her feet with her staff. "I will do all I can, even - even if I cannot fulfil my original duty. I will do everything I can to cure our star."

"That's the spirit," the Messenger says and holds out a hand to her. "By the way, never caught your name."

"Lunafreya - Lunafreya Nox Fleuret," the Oracle says and takes his hand. "And you, my lord - what can I call you?"

"Not your lord, for a start," the Messenger says and pulls her up and to her feet, thinking of a name. Oh, well, why fix what's not broken. "Call me Desmond. Now, what say you we get out of here Lunafreya?"

Lunafreya nods and follows him away from the crater. Behind them the Archaean stands still, steadfastly shouldering his stellar burden, like he always did. Desmond casts him a last look, shaking his head - the last six thousand years had not been kind to him. The Meteor's radiation really brought out the Isu in him too, it looks like. Awkward.

One of these days he would stop being such a sucker about world ending disasters. One of these days.

Not today though.

-

Lol. Lmao even.

Here you can see in real time my daily word limit coming at me as I pass it somewhere in the middle of this and the writing starts getting increasingly nonsensical as it goes on. Anyway. Desmond as the Archaean, just because the white streaks on Titan made me go 👀

Also we're just ignoring Gentiana's existence here entirely. And pretty much all sense and logic.

It's 2 a.m. I'm tired.

[hypnzo]

Hello new here! So glad I get to request to you Percy jackson x reader if you mind please!

My idea is y/n getting attacked during capture the flag by the Ares kids and ends up getting stabbed in the shoulder causing them to scream bloody murder and also alarting Percy who seeing this loses control of his anger and rage and almost causes the whole camp to be flooded by his powers and rage!

Ofc if you feel comfortable doing this thank you for your time!

“I'd back off if I were you.”

Percy Jackson x Reader

Warning !! English is not my first language. There might be some mischaracterization.

It was capture the flag once again. For all the times you've spent in this camp—confidently, you could say you've gotten the hang of it.

However... There was one problem: The Ares Kids.

You weren't exactly sure what you have done to enrage them so much to target you every chance their eyes landed on you.

Perhaps it was that stinky eye you've given their head counselor, Clarisse La Rue, which was.. not so long ago.

In your defense, you weren't meaning to! Though she might've not been your cup of tea, you swore to them it was just.. an accident.

Did they believe you? Not even in the slightest...

As capture the flag was just about to start, you could already feel their eyes burning fire against your back.

Gods, they really won't stop...

Suddenly, you felt someone's arm wrap around your shoulder. Their presence was familiar against your figure.

You didn't need to look up at the person to know that it was Percy.

His hold and warmth was enough to melt away your worries.

Looking up, you saw him raise a brow and flashed you one of his stupid grin as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What was that for?”

“Can I not kiss my partner?”

You only rolled your eyes in response, not bothering to argue with him for any longer.

“Good luck.” He says, before he pressed a soft kiss on your lips, tapping your shoulder before he goes back to his position.

“Thanks.” you felt your lips crook upward, your cheeks staining a subtle pink hue.

“Well, well,” you felt yourself flinch as the voice rang through your ears, “if it isn't the pathetic loser of camp.”

“...What do you want?” you furrowed your brows before glancing fully at them. You felt your hands twitch against your weapon.

Disdain filled their faces, though a few of them exchanged amused glances with each other.

“Oh please, quit the bravery act.” one of them rolled their eyes. “You're already embarrassing as you are.” they scoffed.

“Unless you want to embarrass yourself even more. Then by all means, go ahead. Let's see how you'll handle it.”

“I bet they'll trip before they could even land a hit.”

They all laughed—they don't even bother landing an attack as if they're trying to mock you for being too weak.

You lunge forward, holding your stance evenly as one of their swords clinked with yours.

Their aggression was evident, it was as if each strike of their weapon was spelling out their immense hatred towards you.

Without meaning to, you accidentally missed your step, causing them to take it into advantage to pierce their weapon to your shoulder, causing you to groan about the pain.

“I guess you'll just never learn, huh?” they all laughed, not even bothering to help you as they all turned into a blind eye to your bleeding shoulder.

Shockingly, half of the people in camp stumbled upon their balance. Was an earthquake forming?

It didn't take long for the Ares Kids to fall onto their feet, though the ground only continued to shake as if it was angered by something.

You were about to fall onto the ground when suddenly you felt someone tighten their hold onto your waist.

You looked up at the person—the raven locks of his hair was evident to know who it was: Percy.

His sea green eyes were evidently piercing towards the Ares Kids, though his hands were clasped gently onto your waist.

You felt shiver as if something was approaching. You hissed from the pain on your shoulder as you turned around.

Was that a tsunami?!

“Percy..!” You shook him, trying to calm him down.

He felt your hands panicking against him, causing his powers to falter out of focus. He immediately turned his attention towards you, showing his evident concern to your current situation.

“Sorry angel, are you alright?”

You heard the Ares Kids scoff, though they were only met by a glare from Percy, causing them to scowl away.

“I'm fine.”

“I don't know if you'd consider bleeding to be fine, but..”

“Okay, maybe not...”

He pressed a kiss onto your lips before he helped guide you back to the infirmary.

Note: I genuinely apologize if it took me so long to respond! I have been really busy...

Have a request? Feel free to send one in!

[aliciavance4228]

Bitches be like "Oh Hades always has to deal with his stupid youngest brother Zeus who cannot keep it in his pants."

First of all, Ancient Greeks didn't wear pants.

Secondly, Hades and Zeus are actually decent with each other. Hades isn't ashamed of asking him for help whenever he considers that there's the case, whereas Zeus trusts his eldest brother enough to give one of his daughters as his wife. There's also this whole discourse claiming that Zeus got the best and Hades got the worst, but if you actually give a second thought to it the Underworld actually has some of the greatest peaks: besides the fact that you're extremely rich all the mortals eventually become your subjects. Even poets stated that in numerous works:

Ovid, Fasti 4. 443 (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) :

"[Zeus speaks :] ‘My rank is no greater [than Haides]. I hold court in the sky; another rules the sea [Poseidon], and one the void [Haides].’"

Or:

Seneca, Hercules Furens 53 (trans. Miller) (Roman tragedy C1st A.D.) :

"Dis [Haides] himself, who drew a lot equal to Jove's [Zeus's]."

But if you're so desperate to give Hades a brotherly rivalry then I'm here to tell you that there's no need to erase all of Zeus' qualities (leadership skills, wisdom, long-term planning, determination, cunning etc.) and over exaggerate all of his bad actions in order to portray him as an incompetent asshole Hades always has to deal with. You could simply give Hades and Poseidon this type of dynamic instead.

Poseidon is way more impulsive, temperamental and testy than Zeus. He doesn't hesitate to show his wrath, let aside make others suffer because of it. On top of that, he's the god of the sea and earthquakes, and he's also almost as powerful as Zeus. His attributes and realm could easily represent a threat to the Underworld if he lets his anger go too far.

Take this passage from the Iliad as a relevant example:

Homer, Iliad 20. 67 ff :

"Poseidon from deep under them shuddered all the illimitable earth, the sheer heads of the mountains. And all the feet of Ida with her many waters were shaken and all her crests, and the city of Troy, the ships of the Akhaians (Achaeans). Aïdoneus [Haides], lord of the dead below, was in terror and sprang from his throne and screamed aloud, for fear that above him he who circles the land, Poseidon, might break the earth open and the houses of the dead lie open to men and immortals, ghastly and mouldering, so the very gods shudder before them; such was the crash that sounded as the gods came driving together in wrath."

Dude was freaking out in this scene. During the entire Greek Mythology he's presented as stoic and rarely frightened, but when his brother was causing a strong earthquake he was shitting himself and sucking his thumb like a baby (metaphorically). For the first and last time we see a god being vulnerable and scared by other gods in a similar way a mortal who is about to lose all of his property and belongings would be. Poseidon is pretty much capable of drowning the entire Underworld or exposing it to the Aboveworld if he wants to, so who's actually the more problematic brother? The one who can maintain his calm and control and understands better how distructive power can be, or the one whose anger was on the edge of breaking the border between the realms of the living and the dead?

What if people would stop completely changing the original personalities of the Greek Gods and create more headcanons and fanfictions based on what's actually stated (or at least what is suggested/more plausible) in the myths?

[ddejavvu]

just read the fancam fic and it was so good!!! now i’m just imagining tyler finding a fancam someone made of the reader using the like three grainy clips of her that are available,,, like just how flustered she’d be

part one / please send me tyler owens requests!

Tyler is typically very considerate about letting you sleep in- just because he was raised to wake with the sun doesn't mean you don't enjoy sleeping until ten. But today you're awoken by a sharp jostling of the bed that makes you reconsider whether your regional natural disaster is tornadoes and not earthquakes.

"Baby! Baby, look at this," Tyler's phone is shoved unceremoniously into your face, music and movement on the screen combining to send your sleep-addled brain into overdrive, "Someone made one of you!"

The song plays through three times before you realize what you're looking at.

They're clips of you, grainy and far away, but it's you set to the tune of a honey-sweet love song that Tyler's definitely serenaded you with before to bring heat to your cheeks. There's clips of Tyler as well, lifting you into his raised truck or pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek while he straps your seatbelt into its buckle.

"What-" You mumble, brows furrowed as you realize that this is posted, publicly, and it's already got a good amount of engagement, "Someone made that?"

"One of my fans. Or- your fans, I think. Caption says you don't get enough love from 'em." Tyler hums, bending down awkwardly and nestling his nose against your sleepy face.

You can't find the words to respond, but perhaps it's not because you're sleepy. You continue to watch the video loop, videos of yourself waving shyly at fans strung together with shots of you ducking behind Tyler interspersed between.

"Some of 'em are us together," Tyler settles in bed beside you, on top of your blankets which means that you're trapped beneath them due to his weight, "But that's just 'cause you're not on camera all that much, so they had to use what they could get. But still, look at that! That's you, darlin'." He croons, kissing at your flaming cheeks while equal parts mortification and delight roil in your belly, "The prettiest girl on the internet."

[piratefishmama]

just sat here thinkin about older Eddie Munson. Having lived through the horrors of Hawkins, gotten out and clawed his way to his dreams, his band thriving, going onto be huge names in the industry, living his life properly in every single way he hoped.

Save for one single thing.

Never managing to publicly come out.

Like, he's comfortable in himself, happy in himself, his relationship is thriving nicely, hell they're planning a lil backyard wedding soon as the weather sorts its shit out, but publicly...

Steve is his housemate, the one who's famed for having stood up in court and testified for Eddie's innocence, who rallied respectable members of the community (surprisingly enough, his parents) to come forward to do the same, the one who's famed for dragging him out from under Earthquake rubble and shoving his life back into his body.

Steve who they say only lives there cause paramedics dont make much so it's just cheaper for him to live with Eddie in that big ol house the rockstar has since Robin has long since moved in with her partner Vickie.

They're happy, they live quiet (save for the whole, rockstar thing) lives.

But Eddie... he's just terrified. Stuck with the trauma that being mob hunted would give him. He didnt do anything, and they still tried to hunt him down to undoubtedly kill him, Jason would have killed him. He would have shot Lucas who had nothing to do with it at all, but he would have shot him. Eddie isnt stupid enough to think Jason wouldn't have shot him. Probably wouldnt have even let him speak.

That mob came for him when he did nothing wrong.

He lives with the fear that a mob might come for him again, only this time he wont even be able to deny what they're hunting him for.