looking into my eye


Based on a post that I can’t seem to find by @incorectspnquotes.

(The book Sam is reading has the peculiar name of “Stuff”, only in Aramaic.)

A book

When James wakes up the first thing he sees is the bright sunshine – that and Thomas’ face hovering just inside his view.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” There is laughter rippling through Thomas’ voice – he has always found it terribly amusing that James tends to sleep a lot whenever he is back from his journeys. James yawns.

“How late is it?” he mumbles, sleep still clouding his voice.

“Not as late as you might think,” Thomas grins. “But definitely too late for you to do anything productive this morning.”

“You’re only saying that because you want to keep me tied to the bed,” James protests. Despite his words, however, he doesn’t move, just enjoys the feeling of clean linen on his skin and Thomas’ presence so close, with their legs still touching.

“Maybe I am.” A twinkle of mischief lights up in Thomas’ eyes now. He turns around and grabs something from the table next to him before dropping it on James’ stomach. “But for now, this should be enough to keep you here.”

“Another book?” James laughs, but his movements are careful and gentle as he fingers the little book bound in red leather that Thomas has given him. It’s beautiful; everything that comes from Thomas’ hands is, to him.

“Of course. What did you expect? Actual affection?” Thomas evades James’ elbow with a grin and bends down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sure you’re going to love this one.”

“Herodotus’ Histories?”

“A friend of mine translated it into English for me a few years ago and I had it bound. You could say it’s the rarest item I own.”

“And you are giving it to me?” James can feel awe entering this voice.

“Of course. Who else would I rather like to have my most precious possession?” Thomas kisses him again and this time his lips linger. James smiles into the kiss and for a while, the Histories lies forgotten on the sheets.  


Flint finds the book when he looks through the ruins of Miranda’s house. The Meditations he has kept safe somewhere else, the words on its first page far too valuable for him to ever let it out of his sight for long, especially now that Miranda and, with her, the last safe haven he had on Nassau are gone.

Most of the place has been ransacked and demolished, but a little chest with books has survived and Flint’s fingers travel over the worn red leather that encase the pages of the Histories. If he closes his eyes he thinks he can still smell Thomas when he brings it up to his face – that scent, once so common and surrounding him from every angle, has now become something so rare that he treasures every moment he finds it. Maybe it isn’t even Thomas’ scent at all, but a phantom that his mind cooked up.

Maybe he has already forgotten the real one.

Flint shudders when his brain shouts his greatest fears so casually. He wants to forget but also wants to remember - wants to forget the bad and remember the good, but they are so hopelessly intertwined that sometimes he wonders if it weren’t better if he could wipe his memory completely.

Pressing the little book to his chest and then carefully tucking it into his pockets he decides, however, that sometimes the pain from those memories can be a good thing – after all, it tells him that he is still alive.


He cannot remember when the last time was that he’s had a time so peaceful and silent to himself.  Of course, his current lodgings are far from comfortable – hostage or prisoner, the cell he is in remains the same although they haven’t bound him – but it all pales besides the quiet that is finally his.

Some might have used this time to think, others to sleep, but he uses it to let his mind wander, back to other times and further beyond. He knows he can trust Silver to carry out their plan, so now, for the first time, everyone’s fate is in hands other than his own. The sudden freedom leaves a strange taste on his tongue. He is so tired.

Patting his pockets, he finds the Histories hidden away in one of them and the echo of a smile dashes across his lips. He has to remember how to smile - it has been so long. He can still cite some of those sentences in his sleep, but their meaning is not important. What is important is the memory of Thomas’ voice they carry, of his fingers travelling up and down his back as he reads his favourite passages from it to James, of the faint tickling of his hair on Flint’s skin and softness in his gaze as he looks at him.

For the first time in a long while Flint allows himself to be carried away by them. Silver’s voice echoes in his head, about a place that unruly family members were spirited away to, but he doesn’t hope. He has gone too far for hope. But there is peace inside him now, a peace soft and brittle but gentle too, and it soothes his soul until he loses himself in the book in his lap.


Semi Eita’s current concern: Tendou thinks he looks uncool in casual clothes

a) i am never letting go of my nonbinary semi headcanon, you’ll have to pry that outta my cold dead hands

b) if youre wondering what ship im hinting at, the answer is yes



…you know what it feels like to get booped off an edge. You just…let it happen and die a little inside is all.