#and as arthur lay dying he said

[justaz]

was thinking about my merthur greek stories post and ran into a few tiktoks about orpheus and eurydice and got to thinking even more. just imagining them going thru a trial for some reason with the same premise and arthur is leading but cant help but look back to make sure merlin is still there and they think that means they fail but it just proved to whoever was running the trial that arthur was a loving and caring man so they passed it,, yay happy ending.

but then someone said “if orpheus had loved eurydice less, he could’ve saved her” and i got to thinking about canon merthur and started crying. if merlin had loved arthur a little less, just enough to where he didnt let the distant threat of doom hang over his head, where he didnt push morgana and mordred away, he could’ve saved arthur. if he had loved him just a little less

[sneakyboymerlin]

Some people don’t seem to get the gist of Gwaine’s character so let me break it down:

Gwaine deciding that Arthur is worth defending as a king and wanting to repay him for saving his life… does not mean that he loves Arthur the way he loves his literal best friend. Gwaine is deeply bound by his sense of morality, and his moral compass points him to Arthur. The anger with which Gwaine responds to threats against Arthur is identical to his response when, say, the Cailleach laughs at the knowledge that innocent people are dying because of her own inaction. Gwaine posits himself as a defender of good, and Arthur proved himself to be “noble” in his eyes. Ergo, he protects Arthur, as he protects civilians.

All in all, there is nothing really personal to their bond, just as there is little personal about Gwaine’s duty to the people of Camelot. Gwaine and Arthur have a begrudging respect for each other, and both have a sense of duty to ensure that the other does not come to harm. This dynamic does not need to be construed as anything other than what it is, but since we have been conditioned to believe that people can only act altruistically given a motive of friendship, romance, or family, their actions are subsequently read as such—contrary to the onscreen evidence.

I cannot stress this enough: this series is based on Arthurian legend. The knights are meant to display chivalry. That is the bond between them.

This differs greatly from Merlin and Gwaine’s dynamic, wherein Gwaine’s attachment does not stem from a sense of duty but, rather, his own personal feelings. He is drawn to Merlin from the start, finds an understanding and emotional support from Merlin that he’s never had with anyone before, and is stunned touched that Merlin hasn’t grown tired of him, despite the burden he’s placed on Merlin’s shoulders since his arrival in Camelot. By contrast, Arthur grew sick of Gwaine… almost immediately, and their dynamic was established as one of mutual duty the moment Arthur said, “He saved my life… He’s to be given anything he needs.” This is very much a discernible difference. An important one, too.

This is the reason that, despite how he is willing to lay down his own life for Arthur as early as 3x04, Gwaine explicitly does not consider him a friend afterwards in 3x08, but does for Merlin.

Furthermore, given Gwaine’s moral code—the very same one he used to judge Arthur as “noble”—Gwaine would indeed side with Merlin over Arthur in the case of a magic reveal (not to mention the fact that Merlin is his friend, he knows that Merlin is good, and he doesn’t want Merlin to be hurt). Gwaine believes that one’s actions determine their goodness, rather than their birth circumstances. Therefore, Merlin being born with magic is not proof that he is corrupt.

Outside of magic reveal scenarios, and despite his sense of duty to Arthur, Gwaine is still shown to put Merlin first. There is nothing wrong with Gwaine placing Merlin above Arthur. It’s not “unfair” to Arthur that Gwaine cares more about Merlin, and it’s not something that needs fixing. Arthur is not entitled to Gwaine’s love or loyalty. It’s beautifully satisfying, both emotionally and narratively, that Gwaine’s loyalty is to a servant first and a king second. That is the entire crux of Gwaine as a character. It is a deliberate choice on the part of the writers, and it’s perfect as is.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 21 (Exsanguination)

Arthur Morgan x Reader Drabble

As you lay on the floor, blood seeping through your clothes, you couldn't help but think about how this all went to shit.

The job was supposed to go smoothly, but here you were, wounded and dying. O'Driscolls had caught you both by surprise when you entered the seemingly empty house. There was a scuffle as you and Arthur took them out; however, one of them managed to get in a shot before Arthur could blow their brains out.

You had taken a bullet straight to the lung; it was fatal. The pain was excruciating, and you could feel yourself slipping away slowly.

Arthur sat next to you, pressing his hands against the bullet hole in your chest, trying to stop the bleeding. His face was contorted to a mix of rage and agony as he begged, "Oh god, please don't die."

You struggled to speak through the pain, managing only a weak whisper, "Ar...th..."

Looking at you helplessly, Arthur cried out, "No! Don't say anything, dammit!" He grabbed your hand tightly, squeezing it hard enough to hurt even through the numbness.

As Arthur attempted to drag you to his horse, he realized the futility of the situation. With every movement, you let out a cry of pain and spat out blood. It dawned on him that he was causing more harm than good by attempting to move you like this. In despair, he released his grip and crouched back down beside you. He cradles your body in his arms as he looks defeated.

As you started to cough out blood once again, you whispered faintly, "I never expected to die in a home... or comfortably...".

"You won't die," Arthur growled through gritted teeth, his voice laced with desperation. "Just hang on...for me".

Whether you heard him or chose to ignore him, he'll never know. All he knew is that you seemed to not be in any pain at that point.

"But dying like this... isn't so bad." You finished hoarsely, leaning your head against his shoulder for comfort.

"Don't talk like that," Arthur pleaded, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. He pulled you closer, holding you with trembling hands. "Please, just stay alive."

You reached up to touch his face, smearing blood across his skin. He holds your hand to his face as he presses against it and closes his eyes.

After a while of silence, Arthur opens his eyes to find you with a expression of serenity.

As you gaze up at the sky, taking in each breath as if it might be your last, Arthur breaks down completely. He holds you closer, and you can feel his heart pounding wildly against yours. The warmth of his body provides some small comfort amidst the cold that settling into yours.

"I love you. Never doubt that, yeah?" Arthur said through heavy sobs, holding you close.

"love you....too," you managed to choke out, feeling your breath growing shallower by the minute.

Arthur leaned down and kissed your forehead tenderly, tears rolling off his nose onto your skin.

"Promise me something," he whispered. "If there's a heaven, wait for me there, alright? I'll find ya somehow."

With great effort, you nodded, closing your eyes as you began to feel sleepy. You closed your eyes for the last time, letting the darkness claim you.

The last thing you hear is wails of agony as Arthur clings to your cold body.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[nyasiaaaaa]

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem reader (Nurse)  Fem reader x Arthur ( platonic) Fem reader x John( platonic )

Summary: This is a story about two people who become constants in each others lives, and eventually fall for each. While one learns to love again, the other learns the cost of loving a man like him. 

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Cursing, blood, death, , drinking, alcohol, talks of war, guns, murder, Tommy Shelby, ( If I missed anything or you think something should be added please tell me.) ( Also Y/N is on dick, IDKY she acts like this)

A/N: part 1 takes place during season two, part 2/3 season 3 and 4/5/6 season 4. This is a Slow burn there will be smut eventually. 

Part 1  Part 2    Part 4   Part 5  part 6

*****************************

It was early, though you didn't know how early; sunlight filled the room slowly, and you heard birds chirping in the distance. You were still on the floor, but your position had changed slightly. Tommy was now lying to your right on his side with his head in your lap, and your legs were stretched out in front of you with one hand on your lap and the other playing with his hair. Neither of you had to gone to sleep; even though Tommy's eyes were closed, you knew he wasn't asleep. 

You didn't know how long you had been laying there, and honestly, your body was aching, but you were going to stay till he was ready to get up. 

It wasn't long after the sun completely filled the room that Tommy got up without a word or a glance in your direction. He walked to the bathroom that was in the room and shut the door, locking it. 

You stood up and stretched, then you stood there debating whether to wait for him or leave. He needs space, right?  

Yeah— he needed space; you decided to leave and go check on Gracie's body to make sure she was ready to be transported. You headed towards the nurses' station, hoping to get an update. 

As you approached the station, you were glad to see a nurse you knew and liked.

"Hey Jackie," your voice fell flat as you slightly smiled. 

"Hi, you OK. " 

"Yeah, just tired. Uh, did Grace's body get taken care of? Is it all stitched up and down in the morgue?" 

"Yeah, and one of the other doctors had to stitch her up. Dr. Brown's hands weren't the steadiest between the Whiskey and Grace dying on his watch. And now the board wants to do an investigation," she said and smacked her teeth. 

"I had told them— I told the board that Dr. Brown was a drunk and that It was only a matter of time before someone got killed." You had pushed the papers on the counter in frustration before resting your arms on it and placing your head in your hands. "Maybe— I don't know." 

You had been too caught up in your emotions to notice that your friend had gone silent. You didn't notice till someone cleared their throat behind you; slowly, you raised your head to see your friend frozen in fear. 

You turned around and saw Tommy standing behind you; he cleared his throat again before licking his lip and then running his cigarette across them. He placed it in his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag, all while his eyes remained on the floor. 

Pulling the cig from his lip, he lifted his head to look at you. 

His eyes looked different; they were darker, and they looked.... empty.

"I'll send someone for Grace," he said before turning and leaving the hospital. 

You watched him as he walked away from you. You wanted to say something, but what could you say? 

You just watched him walk away till he was out of your sight. 

You were sick, you knew about Dr.Brown, and you never said anything, and now Tommy Kn-

Wait

Tommy had just heard you admit that you knew Dr.Brown was a drunk, and you never told him, and now Grace was dead because of him. 

Because of you. 

You fell back, but Jackie caught you; people around you asked questions, but you couldn't hear them, let alone see them, as your vision started to get blurry and your chest tightened.

Tommy was going to kill you, no doubt about it. 

*******************************

You had yet to die; you were so sure that by nightfall, you would be in a shallow grave right next to Dr.Brown. But surprisingly, you and Dr.Brown were still alive, and it had been one week since Grace's death. 

For the first couple of days after Grace's death, you had been slightly paranoid, constantly checking your surroundings on the lookout for Tommy or any peaky man. But after a week of not seeing anyone, you started to calm down.

Everything had been quiet and slow. It didn't feel right, like the calm before the storm. 

You had been sitting at the nurse's station doing paperwork when a fellow nurse came up to you and told you that you had been requested to exam room one. 

You were petrified.

You got up slowly from your chair. Your legs had a slight shake to them as you walked. Had he done this on purpose? Did he wait you out just to kill you when you least expected it? Your breath started to come out shaky, and you started feeling light-headed. You looked at the wall, counting down the exam rooms as you walked. It was like the universe was laughing at you, giving you your very own count down to your death, 5….4….3….2…1.

You stood in front of exam room one. 

It was time. 

You couldn't move, your arms felt glued to your side, you couldn't move them, you couldn't open the curtain.  

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

On three, you would go in.

One 

Two 

Three 

You didn't move, not an inch. 

You felt like screaming; you brought your hands up to your mouth to keep you from making a sound.  

Your face suddenly felt cold and wet; you reached up to touch your cheek; it was tears you were crying. 

You couldn't do this. Maybe you could run away; you did have an Aunt in America somewhere, you think. You could-

The curtain was pulled back, and in front of you stood John and Arthur. 

You started to back up, and your tears flowed more freely. 

"No, no, no, Please," you sob out. 

Arthur said your name as he reached for you, but you flinched away and continued to back up until you hit a wall.

You were trapped; there was nowhere you could run, so you just slid down the wall and curled into yourself.

"Calm down, will you? I don't know what you think is going on, but we need your help," John said 

You raised your head out of your knees and looked up to John before looking over at Arthur. 

"It's true here; take my hand," he said, reaching his hand out to you; you hesitated but eventually took it. He helped you up to your feet, guided you into the exam room, and closed the curtains behind y'all.

"What do you need?" your voice was strained, and you kept sniffing.

 Arthur took out his handkerchief, handing it to you; you took it and wiped your face.

The two shared a look before Arthur spoke up, "Tommy wants the doctor dead, the one who worked on Grace." 

You were confused. If they weren't here to kill you, then what did they want, and why are they telling you this.

"OK, what does that have to do with me?" 

"The Doctor isn't taking any visitors or new patients. He's keeping himself locked up, and we're having difficulty getting to him. We need your help. Tommy said you would know how to help." John was blunt, and while Arthur stood, there was a look on his face that you could quite read. You had heard that the Doctor locked himself up in his office days ago, so it made sense that they couldn't reach him. 

You had assumed Tommy was talking about taking the Doctor down the hall you snuck him out of. It made sense; they could snatch him as soon as he walked out the door, he wouldn't suspect a thing, and there would be no witness. It's not like anyone would snitch anyway. 

You didn't take a second to think about it cause there was nothing to think about. You had no choice but to help them, so you said, "OK, follow me." 

You lead them to the hallway and out the door; you tell them your plan and tell them to wait there for you. Once they understood, you left them and headed towards Dr. Brown's office. 

You walked fast. There was no reason to drag this out.

You arrived at his office and jiggled the handle, but it was locked, so you reached up and knocked.

"Doctor, it me open up. It's me, Dr.Brown; open up." 

 You heard footsteps approach the door, then a lock turn; he peeked out the door slightly before shutting it again. You were confused and about to knock again when you heard stuff being moved around. He must've barricaded himself inside, not taking any risk. 

You waited, and soon, he came to the door again and opened it; he pulled you inside before closing the door and locking it again.

It smelled like shit, 

you looked around; the room was a mess; the trash cans were overfilled, spilling onto the floor, papers were everywhere, and furniture was tossed around. You turned back to look at the Doctor, who was already looking at you. He looked like he had been rolling around dirty; his clothes and hair were all messed up, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. 

You felt bad for what you were about to do.

"They're here, Tommy, Arthur, John. They're all here. They're looking for you." You tried to sound panicked so he would believe you.

He started to pace around the floor and ran his finger through his hair. "What—here—no, no." He stopped and turned to look at you. "Why are you here, you with them? You here to kill me, please, please don't. I'm a good guy; you know I'm a good guy." Tears fell down his face as he got on his knees in front of you and begged. 

You felt your eyes start to water; you couldn't do this; you panicked and turned your back towards him. 

You closed your eyes and calmed yourself down. 

You turned back to face him and hoped he wouldn't read into what just happened. 

"Get up; I'm not here to kill you; I'm here to help you." 

"What"

"If I was with them, they would have come through the doors instead of me. Now Get Up!" 

He looked at you briefly, got up, grabbed some cash from his desk, and met you at the door.

"OK, we'll have to be quick; they could be anywhere. I will let you out on the south side, and after that, you're on your own." He nodded at you, tears still falling from his eyes.

You quickly opened the door before you could stop yourself. You pretended to check if the coast was clear before telling him to follow you. 

Your walk to the south end of the hospital felt so slow but fast at the same time. You were approaching the final stretch of hallway, the door was in your sight, and you picked your pace up, 

you just wanted to get this over with.

"Thank you so much. I had prayed for a way out, and in came you." 

His words caused you to let a few tears sip; you quickly wiped them and reached out to open the door.

As soon as the both of y'all were out the door and it closed, Arthur and John came around from the wall. You heard him panic but kept walking straight. He yelled your name as he begged for his life, 

that only made you walk even faster. 

You passed Arthur and John, but you didn't look them in the eye; you couldn't. 

You heard the gun cock, and that's when his begging ended, and he started saying prayers.

"By The Order Of The Peaky Blinders" 

Then the gun went off.

You jumped, frightened, and quickened your pace.

You walked to the front of the building and into the hospital. You walked up to the nurses' station and grabbed your things. Some other nurses were there, and you told them you weren't feeling well and would be out for a few days. You didn't wait to hear their response and rushed home. 

When you got home, you immediately went and showered; you felt dirty. You were in there for over an hour, and you kept soaping up and washing it off over and over again. No matter how hard you scrubbed, you still felt like there was blood on you. 

When you finally got out of the shower, your skin was sore, and you were tired. You were too tired to even put clothes on; you hopped on your bed in your towel and balled yourself up real tight. 

At the angle you were lying at, you could see yourself in the mirror; you just looked at yourself. 

It wasn't like you were looking at a completely different person; you knew it was you. It wasn't a stranger in the mirror. It was just a different version of you that you hadn't seen since the war. 

A version you didn't want coming back. 

************************************

It had been a month since you saw Tommy and a few weeks since the Dr.Brown thing. 

You had taken a week off to handle your emotions; it was your first week back, and you were doing fine. You weren't your happiest self, but you spoke when you were spoken to, ate with everyone else, and even laughed at people's jokes. 

Was any of it genuine? No, but you are all about faking it till you make it. 

You had also been trying to write a letter to Tommy. It will say how you are genuinely grateful for everything that he has done, but you can't do this anymore. You would back pay him in rent when you could, but for now, if he could stop the protection detail and send his men to get fixed up, you would greatly appreciate it. 

You were having a hard time sounding stern. You had to make sure he understood that you couldn't do this anymore; you couldn't keep a man like him in your life, 

cause it was starting to cost you.

You were chewing on your pencil as you stared down at the letter you had written. The paper was smudged, and eraser pieces were everywhere.

 You had glanced up the clock to check the time; it was late, a quarter to midnight. You were working a night shift at the hospital; it wasn't bad. It was a chill night, pretty quiet. 

You stood up about to get a snack when you heard a tire screech outside; you peeked around the corner and saw a car in the ambulance bay; it must have been pretty serious if someone had driven here instead of calling an ambulance. You started walking towards the door of the bay when they suddenly burst open; a young lady yelled as she fell back. 

"Help, please, someone help."

You rushed over to help her, and that's when you realized the woman was Ada and the man she was holding in her arms was 

Tommy. 

"Ada, what happened?" You grabbed Tommy off her and signed for her to stand up; together, you both lifted him on a gurney and rushed him to an exam room.

"I don't know, h-he said," She was struggling to speak as she cried, "he said he had a cracked skull, concussion, internal bleed, and something about hemorrhaging." 

You looked at her, confused; if he had all that, he would be dead right now; he should be dead. You placed Tommy in a room and started to look him over; he was severely injured. 

"OK, Ada, look at me." You grabbed her arm tightly to get her attention. "I needed you to run towards the hospital's front desk and tell them that I need help. OK, say my name and tell them I need a neurosurgeon to come." She looked at you, hesitant to leave Tommy 

"Please, Ada, I can only do so much." 

She nodded and took off. You put gloves on before assessing Tommy. 

He had bruised ribs and a dark purple stomach; he might have been right about the internal bleeding; you went up to check his pupil reacting, and you grabbed his head softly, turning it up toward you before flashing your light. One eye was blown, but the other was good. 

He was in serious trouble; the likelihood of him dying outweighed the possibility of him not.

You were about to walk away to grab some gauze when someone grabbed your wrist; you tuned in and saw Tommy blinking; you rushed over and stood over him.

"Tommy, hey, can you see me? Can you hear me? You are in the hospital. Everything's going to be OK." He let out grunts of noise, not making any sense.

"Shhh, it's OK. Don't speak, please; you might hurt yourself."

"G-Grace " 

You immediately got nervous; if he was seeing Grace, he didn't have much time left.

"Tommy, no, it's me, hey, it's me." You grabbed his face in your hands and made him look at you. 

He whispered your name.

"Yeah, Tommy, it's me." Tears had been falling from your face, but you didn't notice until you tasted them. 

"Yo- You h-hav-e to P-ull me out." 

"What?" You reached up to wipe your tears; you were so confused.

"Pu-ll me out." That time, he spoke just above a whisper, but you still heard him and were still confused.

The Doctor then rushed in and quickly assessed Tommy; Ada stood behind in the distance. 

You stayed next to Tommy; you held his hand instead of his head, out of the Doctor's way. 

Before you knew it, other nurses had pushed the wheels into a moving position. They were about to take off towards the surgery room. You jogged alongside them to the room.

"It's going to be OK, Tommy; they're going to take good care of you, OK?" You squeezed his hand for reassurance.

"In t-he-" 

"What, what did you say?" You leaned closer to his face to hear him better.

"In the Bleak Mid-winter" 

You had reached the surgical room and let his hand go; you didn't want to put up a fight; this wasn't your specialty. You knew you would only delay his care if you fought to be in the room when you weren't needed. 

You had slowly walked back to the ER; your mind raced so fast you couldn't keep up.

You had heard that before; you didn't know where, but you were sure you'd heard "In a bleak mid-winter" before. And not at church but in a way Tommy just said, in a "final good-bye" kind of way 

You were so confused and so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't even realize that you had made it back to the ER. Once you pushed through the door, you were immediately rushed by Tommy's family, who asked you a million questions. 

You backed up a bit before speaking.

"I don't know anything. I don't know if he will live or die. I don't know the extent of his injuries. All I know is that he's in good hands; this Doctor is the best in the county. " 

Even though no one seemed satisfied with your answer, they all backed off. You had decided to lead them to the same private room they were in before to await Tommy's fait. You had been waiting no longer than 20 minutes when a nurse came in; you had all gotten a bit nervous, someone coming in so soon. 

He had to be dead. 

He wasn't, though, and the nurse had just come to gather some information about Tommy.

Ada helped, and you stared off, trying to remember. You weren't listening to them, but she said something that caught your attention.

"What did you say?" You asked Ada; you had pushed yourself slightly out of your seat to get closer to her and hear her properly.

"I said Tommy was a tunneler in the war and had been in a Tunnel collapse." 

You nodded your head slowly as you sat back down, 

"In a bleak mid-winter," you whispered as you slowly remembered where you had heard that before; your head was starting to hurt as the memories came rushing back in. 

It all started to make sense now, from your first in contour, the way he looked at you, and why he trusted you so quick without even knowing you, not only with his life but with his men, Grace, and his son. The reason he pays your rent and the reason you have a protection detail. 

You never understood it before; you never understood how you made such an impression on Tommy after one night or why he made you a constant in his life.

But now you understand, this isn't the first time you met Tommy.

You met him all those years ago when you dug him out of the dirt, brought him back, and saved his life. 

That's what he meant with Grace, how you saved him but couldn't save her.

He knew who you were this whole time, yet he didn't say anything.

Why didn't he say anything? 

[queer-ragnelle]

Camelot (2011) | Created by Michael Hirst & Chris Chibnall

Arthurian Film List | Arthurian Show List | Movie review below the cut ⤦

Star Rating: 10/10

Content Warning: graphic nudity & sexuality, heavy gore, torture, rape

Overview: Full disclosure, I'm hella biased. I watched this every week while it aired back in 2011. But having re-watched the series again numerous times since then, I stand by my love for it. If there was anything I would add, it would be dogs. Where are the puppies?! The costume designer for this show went on to win awards for her work on The Tudors, all the acting is prenominal, the set designs, the score and sound design, the writing is just insanely good. Even when I don't agree with all narrative choices, I'm convinced to appreciate them here. Eva Green is by far my favorite Morgan and James Purefoy my favorite Lot. I wasn't born queer, their intense sex scenes with blood oaths and body hair queerified me. Who said that. Anyway the biggest thing to praise about this show is how abundantly and well it centers women's stories. Igraine, Guinevere, Morgan, Vivian, Sebile, Bridget. You're all really amazing. I support women's rights and women's wrongs.

Synopsis: Morgan returns from her many years at the nunnery and is immediately rejected by Uther and her step mother Igraine. She vows vengeance and returns to the castle later in the guise of a child to secretly poison the king. As Uther lays dying, Merlin gets him to sign over his kingship to the son he never met. The show then transitions to Arthur, who has been raised along side foster-brother Kay by their loving parents in ignorance they are not fully brothers. Merlin shows up and spills the beans, taking Arthur and Kay with him to Camelot, an old crumbling castle they need to rebuild as the center of a great city. There, Uther's old knights, including Lancelot Leontes and his fiancée Guinevere, wait for them. Meanwhile Morgan turns castle Pendragon inside out to remake it for her own liking, including bringing on Vivian as her messenger and handmaiden, and Sebile the nun as her advisor. She also allies herself with King Lot intending to claim the throne of Britain for herself. Morgan and Arthur must battle for the right to take their father King Uther's place.

Final Thoughts: This show really has it all. It's a tragedy it was cancelled after a single season. There was so much set up that will never get pay off. I cry every day. The homoeroticism between Kay and Gawain going unfulfilled haunts me. Read Exiled From Camelot by Cherith Baldry to get your fix but damn I'm so sad we didn't see more of them in a second season. HUGE SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING but it set up that Guinevere was pregnant with Galahad and would take the bloody seat of the Round Table where Leontes was meant to sit, meanwhile Morgan was pregnant with Mordred in a last bid for power after she was finally revealed to Arthur as a threat. GO WATCH!!!!!!!

[boggywitchin]

Arthur wasn't a forgiving man. It had never been taught or encouraged since forgiveness wasn't a particularly kingly trait. He hadn't forgiven his father for what he'd done to his mother. He hadn't forgiven Morgana for the death and destruction she'd wrought upon Camelot. He hadn't forgiven his uncle for his deceit. He wasn't even sure he'd ever truly forgiven Gwen for her infidelity. No, now he realized that hadn't been forgiveness, but merely him trying to forget. 

Of course this revelation was only possible because he was dying. He lay there helpless, body weak and heart breaking, as his dearest friend confessed to a lifetime's worth of lies. Merlin was a sorcerer, he had violated the most sacrosanct laws of his kingdom, he had betrayed his trust over and over again. Yet it had all been for him. Merlin looked so desperate when he said that, so eager to be believed, to be forgiven. He heard the other man weep all night, heard the whispered apologies, heard the crushing guilt he'd born all these years. 

Of course he forgave him. He'd forgiven him the moment the truth had left his lips. How could he not? Yes, he'd needed time to process, to grieve the relationship he thought they had, but in the end this was still Merlin, his Merlin, and he'd be damned if he let a little magic come between them now.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 17th

OK HERE WE GO I AM MENTALLY PREPARED TO LEARN ABOUT LUCY’S DEA —

Lucy Westenra's Diary.

Nevermind that. Guess I’ll have to do it all over again.

Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress more poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press of water.

The pain of hope alright…

To-night Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone.

‘Cause here we go, go, go again 🎶

Thank God for mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found him asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes.

EVERYONE. IS TRYING. SO HARD.

Anyways BACK TO RENFIELD:

Suddenly the door was burst open, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost unknown.

Right. But he did escape the facility itself twice, including once with your complicity. So maybe the safety protocols need a liiittle bit of reassessing here.

Without an instant's pause he made straight at me. He had a dinner-knife in his hand, and, as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was too quick and too strong for me, however; for before I could get my balance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely.

FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!! FIGHT!!!!

He was lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, simply repeating over and over again: "The blood is the life! The blood is the life!"

Renfield’s DYI Guide to Vampirism: now available in a bookstore near you!

I cannot afford to lose blood just at present;

This is a terrifying and strangely sweet thought and I will be reusing this turn of phrase.

Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do without it.

Telegram, Van Helsing, Antwerp, to Seward, Carfax. Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night.

Now that’s what I call comedic timing.

Anyways back to… Lucy again… Oh…

I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact record of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing.

Talk about an emotional roller-coaster.

Presently the door opened, and mother looked in; seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. She said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:—

"I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all right."

I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me;

SEE WHAT I MEANT LAST TIME. Yes Ms Westenra is dying but she still wants to watch over her little girl! Yes Lucy is a grown adult but she still needs her mum! It’s all about love

After a while there was the low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over—as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert.

OK OK not to (surprisingly) turn into your local Mrs Westenra Defender™ but. But. If this exact ordeal happened to you and you did not have the benefit of knowing the lore, would your natural conclusion not be that the flowers attracted the wolf? Because that sure as Hell would be mine.

I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother's poor body, which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased to beat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.

WAIT SHE’S DEAD????? WHAT ARE WE BLAMING HER FOR EXACTLY????? SHE FUCKING DIED

The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining-room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dear mother's breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and, besides, I would have some of the servants to sit up with me now.

I WAS TOLD LUCY’S MUM THREW THE FLOWERS AWAY AND THAT DIRECTLY CAUSED HER DEATH. THAT COULD NOT BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH. WHAT HAPPENED

My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother's doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.

WHO WHAT AND HOW

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!

LUCY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO —

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra (Unopened by her.)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

My dearest Lucy,—It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my budget of news.

Why don’t you twist the knife even deeper Bram.

Well, I got my husband back all right;

A little bit of light in this God-forsaken world

'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.

And twist the knife deeper he did.

So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my bedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of rooks—and humans.

Windows! Parallels and contrasts!! Something monstrous VS something divine and most of all human!!! I’m fine this is fine we’re all fine —

How is your dear mother getting on?

ALRIGHT BRAM THAT’S ENOUGH TWISTING.

and Jonathan wants looking after still.

🥺🥹 (<- Hanging on by a thread)

And now I have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his 'respectful duty,' but I do not think that is good enough from the junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send you simply his 'love' instead. Good-bye, my dearest Lucy, and all blessings on you.

Yours,

MINA HARKER.

(Thread snapped)

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[daisyblinder]

Falling apart (Part 1) / Thomas Shelby x reader

🦚Warnings: Cursing 

🦚Summary: Thomas Shelby is not good with emotions. So when his wife is going through a rough time, he makes an insensitive comment.

As a result she hides her breaking heart from him and turns to the only member of the family she knows won't shame her for being vulnerable: Arthur

And so begins Thomas's story of jealousy, marriage councelling and learning intimacy. 

When she had married Tommy, she had known what she signed up for. She knew her husband did not wear his heart on his sleeve, hell she knew that sometimes he did not wear his heart at all.

 But very rarely she had had to face his coldness. When she was in distress, he had been there for her. When she was happy, he often smiled with her. But today was not a day when Thomas Shelby was offering her those treats.

 Been raised by a mother who believed girls to be a stain on the family’s purity was difficult. Having been the daughter who faced her mother’s wrath on most things, Y/n was used to believing when something was wrong, it was her fault.

 She was used to believing that when she looked in the mirror, she was a lesser being, cruel and childish girl who would never find her place in the world. For a long time those feelings were kept in a locked chest, and she was able to smile and feel the world accepting her.

 But now on the 10 anniversary of her father’s death, all the security and love that had died with him, felt like it was dying all over again.

 With glossy eyes, she wrung up a bouquet of flowers. When she had married Tommy, he had let her keep working at the flower shop her friend Ida owned. had known her for over half of her life. She had become her dear companion and her family.

 But now Y/n worked alone. Two years ago Ida had slept away at the age of 85. And the Shelby family had agreed that it was for the good of Y/n to buy the flower shop for them and let her keep running it.

 Sniffling she finishes the small flower girl bouquet and sighs. This day was supposed to be easier by now. But no. There was nothing easy remembering all of her past. The things she had hidden to keep her held up.

 The missing hole her father left, the spears and knifes her mother threw towards her, the times Ida’s brother had tried to corner her into the backroom of the store and most of all the loneliness she had faced her whole life.

 Feeling of being the outsider. The one girl who people said would end up an old maid, the girl who others pointed and laughed when she thought that she had friends.

”I heard the store was to closed today”, a low voice interrupted her misery. With a jump Y/n turns and tries her best to muster up a smile.

 ”Tuesdays are usually slow days, I’m finishing up the wedding flowers today”, she explains almost crying with relief when she feels her husbands hands arrive on her shoulders. Only his touch comforting her to no end.

 Sighing Tommy rolls up a chair to sit next to her and puts a cigarette between his lips. ”And don’t you think half of the town remembers what day it is today now that you have closed the shop, eh?”, he points out focusing on lighting his cigarette.

 Furrowing her brows Y/n turns to look at Tommy with bewildered eyes. ”And what does that have to do with anything?”, she asks softly, guilt already rising in her heart.

 ”Family is my strength, but if the people out there see how fragile your head is, they will know where to hit”, he explains leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He knew he was not playing the fairest game but he did not want Y/n to end up suffering for his business.

 And for that to not happen, she needed to realize what to do to protect it.

 ”Tommy, my head is just in the mud today”, she sighs and lays her hand on his thigh. Needing to touch him so that she feels he is not disgusted by her. Needing the reassurance he would not leave.

 ”Mud that’s more than old enough to be clay”, he comments coolly looking at his wife in the eyes now. ”And clay doesn’t spread around, bag it, close the bags and shove them in the closet”, he instructs.

 His words cut deeper than he ever expected them to. But he knew that this was something he had to do. If his wife was a wreck for everyone to see, it made her soft, and if he let it continue, it made him and the business soft.

 ”Alright”, Y/n whispers pulling her hand away. Resting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands she closes her eyes to hide the tears rising in them. She had needed Tommy today, she had needed him on her side.

 ”So?”, Tommy says softer this time and leans towards her to rest his chin on her shoulder.

”So?”

 ”Will the store be open tomorrow?”, he asks voice still soft but his words still hurt.

 ”8 o’clock sharp”, she answers her own voice stronger than she expected. Tommy gently turns her chin to face him and gives her a soft kiss. ”I’ll be home early tonight”, he promises before rising and taking his leave.

 When she hears the door close, her tears fall. Heavy ugly sobs and hiccups rising from her chest as the self-hatred and loneliness all start coming out. Trying to calm herself, as she feels her whole body start shaking she tries to think of a place to go to.

 Soon her mind is set and she is racing out of her store to the Garrison.

 ***

Arriving to the pub, she goes to straight to the bar. ”Is Arthur here?”, she asks Harry, trying to hold herself together the best she can.

 ”In the back”, Harry answers letting her make herself over to her brother-in-law. When she arrives, there is Arthur a glass of whisky in his hand and for once a grin on his face.

 When Y/n sees him, she can’t hold back her emotions anymore. Her sobbing starts annew as Arthur stares at her with wide scared eyes.

What the fuck to do?

 ”I-I”, Y/n tries to speak but her shaking becomes too strong and her breathing turns erratic. Quickly Arthur is up from his seat.

 Arthur gently puts his arm around his sister-in-law and leads her to the seat he just occupied. ”Easy, love. There ain’t nuthing coming to get ya”, he soothes and kneels next to her, his left arm still around her frame, bringing his right hand to hold one of her tightly.

 He knew what it felt like to be drowning in misery. He had had the shakes more than once and knew how the world could do someone some mean tricks.

”Do you want to call Tommy?”, he asks softly after Y/n’s breathing steadies a little.

 ”No!”, she says quickly her head snapping towards Arthur in lightning speed, her breathing picking up again.

 Arthur tightens his hold on her and starts speaking fast. ”Alright, no Tommy. Ain’t Tommy got anything to do here. No Tommy”, he awkwardly tries to soothe.

 Y/n takes steady breaths as she tries to collect her thoughts. ”How do you do it?”, she whispers after a while making Arthur’s brows furrow. ”How can you keep going? All the awful things you’ve seen, all the emotions you go through a-and then the family just tells you to push it aside? How can you keep going?”, she rambles sniffling on the way.

 Arthur locks eyes with her for a minute before dropping his gaze to the ground. Y/n can see him clenching his jaw, his blue eyes turning sad. ”I ain’t like Tommy, I can’t just shove it down”, he whispers sadly causing Y/n to squase his hand.

 ”And you don’t have to be”, she reassures. There were great many times when she had heard the family put Arthur down, sometimes for a reason and sometimes she thought they were being cruel. The man had done everything to protect his family, Tommy had become the leader of the family but she saw Arthur as the father. The father who did everything to protect his kids and help them succeed, even if it meant they rose above his own authority.

 He has become a friend and a brother to her. Great many times she tried to get him to talk to her about his emotions, and he did talk. After talking he was usually more level. What he needed was someone to listen. Like she did now.

 ”Tommy say something to ya?”, he then asks raising his own eyes. He can see Y/n tense up at his words. Her lip starting to wobble a bit.

 ”You know how I’ve told y-you about my relationship with me own head?”, she whispers and she gets a nod in return. ”Tommy wants me to just shove all of my feelings into a locked box. But I can’t- I can’t, but I love Tommy. I love that man so much it hurts, I-I just wonder when will he get tired of me”

 Her words cause Arthur to shake his head slowly. ”There ain’t gonna be a day when he gets tired of ye. Look at me, Y/n, you look at me”, Arthur raises the hand that was holding hers to hold her chin.

 ”Tommy fell in love with ye integrity. Yes, I learned a pretty word and that is what Tommy loves the most about ye. No matter how much you battle with the devil, you never let him hide yer heart. ”, he reassures her and then drops her chin.

 ”Tommy ain’t good with lovey things but he cares more than anyone”, he finishes. Y/n gives a shaky sigh and looks at the ceiling. ”He was good with Grace”, she says vulnerably.

 That causes Arthur to rise up and drag her up with him. ”Wh- Where are we going?”, Y/n asks startled. Arthur looks down at her sharply.

 ”We’re going for a walk, ye need air and I ain’t gonna let you cry on yer own because of a dead woman”, then he stops in his tracks and stares down with wide eyes.

 ”Y-Y/n?”, he starts hesitantly. His sister-in-law raises her brows a little startled by his timid voice.

 ”Yes?”

 ”Are you up the swanny?”, the pure terror in his voice makes Y/n laugh outloud. Her giggles only strengthen with his following pout. ”I was just asking, don’t want to offer a pregnant lady whiskey”

 Y/n calms down from her giggles and looks up at Arthur with pure mirth now in her eyes. ”You look like I just asked you to be my midwife”, she shakes her head. ”But no, there is no babe in my belly”

 ”Thank the devil. I may be Arthur fucking Shelby but pregnant ladies are still a mystery to me”, he mutters more to himself but Y/n hears him and her laughter bubbles out anew.

 **

After their walk Y/n gets a ride back home. Now in her face was a soft smile. The miracles having a true friend could do.

Sighing she takes of her boots and goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She makes her way up to her husbands study to see if he was already home.

 ”So instead of keeping the shop, you decide to go on a stroll with my brother like a little lovesick girl, eh?”, is the first greeting she gets when she opens the door to his room.

 Tommy knew it was her coming. She knew he wouldn’t bother knocking and he knew her steps all too well. He also knew the feeling brewing inside of him all too well. Pure and irrational jealousy.

 ”I went to your brother to calm my head”, Y/n tries to explain softly and goes to stand next to Tommy’s chair. She chews on her lip, her previous fears coming to light again.

 Tommy let’s out an unamused huff shaking his head. ”And you couldn’t just say this to me when I visited you, that you need to talk?”, he grunts, knowing he is being unfair.

The lecture he gave her this morning was all but encouraging of the fact but the boiling thought of her finding comfort in another man made him irrationally angry. The anger became even more burning hot when he knew he was part of the reason she had to find comfort.

 ”Tommy you know why I went to Arthur”, Y/n sighs tiredly. She knew that Tommy understood why she had gone but she also knew he was too prideful to admit that.

 ”And you think he is a prime example of how to control your emotions? Prime example of the shit inside can turn everything to shit on the outside”, he speaks coldly staring at her with his ice colored orbs. Y/n stares back clenching her jaw, now refusing to back down.

 ”Like you haven’t used that to your benefit”

 ”Excuse me?”

 ”Like you don’t use his emotions to your benefit! You know he will do anything for you! You know he has done everything and anything he could to see you succeed! ” she was yelling now. Thomas goes to interrupt her but she lifts her hand to stop him.

 ”I know you have been there for him too but he acknowledges that! Can’t you fucking see how much he adores you, he would bring you the moon if you asked him to! You have someone you can fall back on, I lost the person who I could fall back on 10 years ago! AND IT FUCKING HURTS!”, the end of her speech was a pure scream.

 She was tired of playing calm when she was seething and crying on the inside. She was already falling apart why not show it.

 Tommy looks up at her ever the picture of calm and collected strength. ”You have me”, he whispers finally. He pushes his chair back a little and reaches out a steady hand.

 Y/n takes it and lets him guide her into his lap, slumping down on him like a doll, his touch quelling the starvation for affection she was burning for.

 Thomas can feel the regret of his words seeping into his heart as he feels how much him just being there seemed to aid his wife. His sweet free spirited wife. His sweet treasure he wanted to hide from every wop and copper coming their way.

She only needed him to be there but he was not a man whole. He was man who had more than a world on his shoulders. 

”You fucking have me”, he then whispers again pressing his lips against Y/n’s forehead tightly. She brings her own hand to lay against the side of his neck, stroking her thumb along his jaw ever so gently.

 ”I can’t turn my emotions off like from a light switch, I can’t Tommy”, she admits with sorrow as she tries to burrow herself even closer to her husband.

 Tommy lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. ”You don’t have to”; he finally says, ”We’ll work on this. Hell we’ll work on this with Arthur, what do you say? He knows why I do what I do but he understands what your head does to you”

 Y/n smiles but then lets out a little snort. ”You really must love me to offer that”, she eventually giggles. ”Therapy with Arthur fooking Shelby”

 Her giggles make Tommy let out a small chuckle of his own. But then he turns serious. With quick almost rough movement he grasps both sides of her face and makes her look at him in the eye.

 ”That I do. I love you and I would kill every fucking living thing that tries to take you from me. I have you, you can fall on me”, he speaks seriously. Y/n smiles lifting her own hands to hold his wrists.

 ”I love you so much Tommy”, she whispers back and leans down to give him a sensual kiss. For fifteen minutes they stay just like that, her in his lap sharing lingering kisses. When they finally pull away Y/n is breathless but smiling as she rests her forehead against her husbands.

 ”Your heart is safe with me Tommy, let me take care of it for once too”

Part 2

[fictionadventurer]

First Letter from Julia I. Sand to Chester A. Arthur

[1881 Aug 27]

To the Hon Chester A. Arthur.

The hours of Garfield's life are numbered--before this meets your eye, you may be President. The people are bowed in grief; but--do you realize it?--not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor. What President ever entered office under circumstances so sad! The day he was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce? Your best friends said: "Arthur must resign--he cannot accept office, with such a suspicion resting upon him." And now your kindest opponents say: "Arthur will try to do right"--adding gloomily--"He won't succeed, though--making a man President cannot change him."

But making a man President can change him! At a time like this, if anything can, that can. Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life. If there is a spark of true nobility in you, now is the occasion to let it shine. Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you--but not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult and more brave. Reform! It is not the proof of highest goodness never to have done wrong--but it is a proof of it, sometime in one's career, to pause and ponder, to recognize the evil, to turn resolutely against it and devote the remainder of ones life to that only which is pure and exalted. Such revolutions of the soul are not common. No step towards them is easy. In the humdrum drift of daily life, they are impossible. But once in a while there comes a crisis which renders miracles feasible. The great tidal wave of sorrow which has rolled over the country, has swept you loose from your old moorings and set you on a mountain-top, alone. As President of the United States--made such by no election, but by a national calamity--you have no old associations, no personal friends, no political ties, you have only your duty to the people at large. You are free--free to be as able and as honorable as any man who ever filled the presidential chair.

Your past--you know best what it has been. You have lived for worldly things. Fairly or unfairly, you have won them. You are rich, powerful--tomorrow, perhaps, you will be President. And what is it all worth? Are you peaceful--are you happy? What if a few days hence the hand of the next unsatisfied ruffian should lay you low, and you should drag through months of weary suffering, in the White House, knowing that all over the land not a prayer was uttered in your behalf, not a tear shed, that the great American people was glad to be rid of you--would not worldly honors seem rather empty then?

Make such things impossible. Rise to the emergency. Disappoint our fears. Force the nation to have faith in you. Show from the first that you have none but the purest aims. It may be difficult at once to inspire confidence, but persevere. In time--when you have given reason for it--the country will love and trust you. If any man says, "With Arthur for President, Civil Service Reform is doomed," prove that Arthur can be its firmest champion. Do not thrust on the people politicians who have forfeited their respect--no matter how near they may be to you as personal friends. Do not remove any man from office unnecessarily. Appoint those only of marked ability and of sterling character. Such may not be abundant, but you will find them, if you seek them. You are far too clever to be easily deceived. In all your policy, have none but the highest motives. With the lamp of patriotism in your hand, your feet will not be likely to stumble.

Do you care for applause? Of course, you have had it, after a fashion. Perhaps from the dregs of the populace, inspired by the lowest of politicians. Possibly it pleased you at the time--it may have served some purpose that you solved then. But in the depths of your soul, do you not despise it? Would not one heart-felt "God bless you!" from the honest and true among your countrymen, be worth ten thousand times more? You can win such blessing, if you will.

Your name now is on the annals of history. You cannot slink back into obscurity, if you would. A hundred years hence, school boys will recite your name in the list of Presidents and tell of your administration. And what shall posterity say? It is for you to choose whether your record shall be written in black or in gold. For the sake of your country, for your own sake and for the sakes of all who have ever loved you, let it be pure and bright.

As one of the people over whom you are to be President, I make you this appeal. Perhaps you have received many similar. If not, still believe that this expresses the thoughts in many hearts, today--and do not give those who have had faith in you, cause for regret.

Yours Respectfully,

Julia I. Sand.

46 E. 74th st. New York.

Aug 27th 1881.

[yallemagne]

AHHHHH

So I was screaming during this episode (Re: Dracula November 6)

Episode spoilers under the cut because you need to listen to it:

Jonathan and Quincey you're so fineeeee you blow my miiiind with that HALT. just end me sirs.

The way Mina describes Jonathan is so damn sexy. I swear to god, this is the only adaptation that properly captures how desperately she wants to jump his bones.

Literal Castlevania organ music started playing when Jonathan threw the box off the cart ipjoegaojaiq.

But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart.

I too shrieked with delight!! And I know that Bramothy the Coward wrote that line with like... a scared lady scream in mind? Because owww wiowence is scawy? Fuck that shit, you know Mina gave a guttural "YES!!" Hearing Dracula choke was the best thing in my life, and do take that out of context, I dare you.

and then. and then the guitar. As Quincey was dying I could do nothing but scream at him to put that guitar down. He did not, he sang an entire song.

(those Amens, just, just shoot me. Ahhhh men. I have replayed this part too many times trying to discern the order: VH, Jack, Arthur, Jonathan. Quincey doesn't say it for whatever reason.)

With the song "Take My Heart Back to Texas" we have confirmation that they did exhume Quincey's body and lay him to rest in Texas, it's what he would have wanted. He said to lay his wild soul down in the West, what's not clicking. I refuse to believe they dug a shallow little hole in the snow in the middle of a field and left him there.

that aside that aside AHHHHH

[greenerteacups]

If there was one major plot element that you could change in the original canon what would it be?

The Marauders' deaths. With the exception of James, I don't think any of the Marauders die in a way that's narratively suitable — or, to be more particular, they die in a way suitable for a narrative I don't like very much. James is an acceptable (though, obviously, tragic) death to me because it completes his arc: he's an obnoxious, arrogant bully who grows into a selfless soldier on the side of the light, and lays down his life as a final gesture of abnegation. It's not Proust, but it's good, right? His death represents a symbolic triumph over Voldemort because it's something Voldemort would never do.

None of the others make the same kind of sense for their subplots. Sirius dies at the Ministry because Harry fucks up and lets his abandonment issues override his judgment, and while that's a compelling moment for Harry — whose hamartia is a trauma-forged combination of hot-headedness and desperate fear of losing people — it's not for Sirius. Sirius's problem in Book 5 is that he's emotionally stunted by his years of imprisonment and refuses to grow up, because he's clinging to the life he thinks — rightly — he should have gotten to have. This is made painfully clear in the Department of Mysteries, wherein some of his last words to Harry are "Nice one, James!" He refuses to treat Harry like the child he is, and he keeps acting like he's this fun-uncle type, blowing off rules and pissing off Mom (Molly), because that's the dynamic he should have had with Harry if Lily and James had lived. Sirius doesn't want to be Harry's guardian and role model. He wants a brother and a nephew, and he's trying to force Harry to be both, because he's all he has left of that family. His death doesn't tie any of those threads; they're left dangling. That's a valid narrative move — every death cuts a story short, and you can't give everybody an arc — but I loved Sirius. Giving Harry the "grieving loss of a parent" arc that was originally meant for Ron (Arthur was the original Big Death of the OOTP, in JKR's drafts) also means that Ron spends a lot of Book 6 without anything to do, whereas Harry goes through what's essentially a more intense version of the grieving-and-recovery arc he did after Cedric's death.

Remus, on the other hand, is just — first off, a Mess, I agree with so few of the choices made with Remus in the later books, but let's say he's deep in the trauma, the grieving, and whatever living among werewolves as a spy does for your mental health. So he gets into this will-they-won't-they with Tonks, gets married, tries to abandon pregnant wife, then goes back and gets to be with his wife and son for about half a year before dying, with said wife, in battle. Okay. So like:

I think the Remus Weirdness in Book 7 is actually an attempt to close a plot hole, which is that the Horcrux Hunt happens completely without adult supervision, despite the fact that there are lots of adults the Golden Trio could and should ask for help. Harry's insistence that he doesn't want to risk anyone's life except for Ron and Hermione's is, while understandable as a character move, utterly ridiculous, because the other Order members are risking their lives anyway. One of the biggest holes is Remus and Tonks, who are (a) both already targets for Voldemort because of who they are, and so have nothing to lose, but also (b) both care for Harry on a personal level, and would never accept his reasons for pushing them away. So Teddy Lupin is conceived in order to bench Tonks, who's safely out of commission while pregnant. But that leaves Remus, who probably in fact would have super complicated torn-loyalty feelings about the situation, and who is scarred and traumatized and probably has enough abandonment issues to try and walk out, but — in my view — never resolves any of those things. He doesn't suddenly realize that he loves Tonks and wants to be with her, or feel a sense of duty to his son; when Harry's justly furious at Remus abandoning his kid in Harry's name, Remus gets pissy about it and goes "well, if you don't want my help, fine," and leaves. Which is, again, fine, a character flaw, it's childish, he's allowed to be, and he is, in fact, similar to Sirius and James — but it left a bad taste in my mouth, because that's one of the last conversations we get with Remus, and it's such an impoverished vision of his bonds with others. It doesn't delve deeply into why he loves Tonks or Harry, or the substance of his conflict between them; like always with the Marauders, he just invokes James, and Harry throws James's name right back at him, and it ends there.

And then he dies, so that baby Teddy Lupin can be an orphan, and we can do a parallel to baby Harry Potter. Even though we don't see Teddy Lupin on the page ever, so we have no idea what that comparison means, or how their experiences compliment or contrast one another, or literally anything more substantive than the series beginning and ending on the same event. Which: great. Okay. To quote a Roger Ebert review that I think about, on average, once every thirty-six hours:

"J.K. Rowling has learned from better novels that authors sometimes create narrative parallels, but she has not learned why."

[unmaskthewriter]

O’Death {Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader}

Summary: Arthur always said revenge was a fool’s game. You believed him, that is until the end

A/N: I am in a bad mood so expect angsty stuff, lol. Also heavily and obviously inspired by the Jen Titus cover of O’Death. It’s kind of Arthur Morgan but not really, it’s very lightly mentioned they were more than friends. Pretty sure I made this gender neutral as possible, if you spot a mistake let me know so I may fix it!

Word Count: 1053

Warnings: major canon character death, angst

O’Death…

O’Death…

O’Death…

Won't you spare me over til another year?

Arthur is gone.

That fact kept ringing in your head repeatedly as if you needed any reminder. After escorting Sadie and Abigail to Copperhead Landing to reunite with Tilly and Jack, you returned to Beaver Hollow for Arthur. The camp was lifeless and deserted, a stark contrast to months ago when it would be filled with lively music and laughter. Mrs. Grimshaw lay beside her wagon, loosely holding her shotgun. You knelt down beside her, frowning at the bullet wound. She wasn’t the nicest woman, but she held the camp together.

But what is this that I can't see

With ice cold hands takin' hold of me

“Fuck.” You whisper before standing up and looking around. ‘It wasn’t Pinkertons who shot her,’ You come to the realization, almost reliving the chaos that occurred while you were gone. You followed tracks through the caves and up along the ridge behind camp.

Arthur’s cold, lifeless body lay on the ridge, facing the rising sun.

You couldn’t recall how long you were sitting there, only that it had been some time since the sun had risen over the horizon, gracing the mountain ranges and plains with warmth and light.

You wished you could feel that warmth, that light but you only felt empty and numb. For a while, you just held his hand, occasionally brushing the mud-caked and bloody strands of hair from his face. With a free hand, you traced every cut and bruise on his cold, pale face. His beautiful eyes you so admired were open, but had been replaced with a lifeless gaze. His lips that once would breathe life into you were cold to touch, turning a faint pink.

When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

Who will have mercy on your soul?

You wonder what life could have been if Arthur had said to hell with Dutch and his loyalty, and left with you. Arthur deserved to live in a cabin on a quiet property filled with beautiful scenery and vast wildlife for him to draw until his dying days. In another life, without sickness and death, perhaps the two of you would have made official the love you had for another, and filled the homestead with children. Instead, he is here, laying propped up against the cold, stony mountain ridge, having been alone in his death. Was he afraid in his final moments? Did he wish you had come for him sooner?

Light footsteps could be heard, but you didn’t care to move.

O’Death…

O’Death…

O’Death…

O’Death…

Arthur is gone, what else is there to lose?

“I came as soon as I could…” A familiar voice breaks the bittersweet, peaceful silence between you and Arthur. You don’t bother to look and see who it is, “Oh.” He finishes quietly. You only sniffle and shrug your shoulders, gently squeezing Arthur’s hand. You hear their footsteps approach slowly before kneeling down beside you. For a moment, Charles gazes at Arthur as his hand rests on Arthur’s arm.

“Have you seen the others?” Charles spoke softly and calmly. You shake your head, letting out a defeated, quivering breath.

“G-Grimshaw… she’s back at camp, dead.” You almost choke on your words, to which Charles sighs.

“We have to bury him… it won’t be long before…” Charles trails off, a small frown on his face. You nod quietly.

“I know a spot… facing the setting sun in the west… like he wanted.” You whisper, leaning closer and placing a gentle kiss between Arthur’s brows before forcing yourself to your feet. You never felt so heavy, yet so empty.

No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold

Nothing satisfies me but your soul

Charles carefully carried Arthur to the spot you suggested. He dug the grave while you collected flowers. Off in the distance, Taima stood alongside your horse hitched to a tree. After carefully placing Arthur in the grave, a moment passes you.

“Arthur loved you.” He spoke softly, placing a gentle hand to your shoulder. Your heart ached for a love that no longer existed.

“I know.” As the western sun had set over you both, you planted the flowers as Charles placed an engraved cross at the head of the grave. You wanted to feel at peace, but you could feel nothing but anger for Dutch, for Micah, for all those who had treated Arthur like a traitor in the end.

O’Death…

Arthur Morgan - Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness

It was fitting, for Arthur, but not something you could agree with. If notions such as justice and righteousness existed, Arthur would still be alive. As you stand and look over the grave, Charles comes to stand alongside you.

“Let me take you somewhere safe,” He offers, looking at you with pleading eyes, “a hotel or even a saloon. I just can’t let you be alone out here…”

“Nowhere is safe with men like Dutch Van Der Linde and Micah Bell alive.” You whisper, refusing to tear your eyes away from the grave.

Well I am Death, none can excel

I'll open the door to heaven or hell

“Arthur was sick, you knew that. You don’t know what exactly happened-“ He explains, placing a hand on your shoulder that you shrug off quickly as if it were a disease.

“What about Sean? Kieran? Hosea and Lenny? All dead because of Dutch’s foolish plans… and where is Dutch now?” You cry, clenching your eyes shut for a moment, “where is loyalty now… when the man who was like a son to Dutch is dead?” Your voice falters. Perhaps if you wished strong enough, you’d wake up and none of this would be real. Unfortunately, you open your eyes and Arthur’s grave remains. Small hands ball into tiny fists as tears escape your eyes.

O’Death…

O’Death…

“I know what you plan, do not-“ Charles attempts to negotiate.

“I must.” You tell him, at last meeting his gaze with bloodshot eyes and cheeks burning with tears. You swiftly turn on your heel, whistling for your horse. She gallops forward, and you mount her.

“Goodbye, Charles.”

My name is Death and the end is here...

[lauralot89]

Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., etc.

I searched this trying to figure out what the fuck was happening, and these were the results:

Thankfully, the Dracula Daily subreddit had my back:

Had the same question and there probably should have been a comma between S and L. MD - Medical Doctor MRCS - Member Royal College of Surgeons LKQCPI - Licentiate of the Kings and Queens College of Physicians of Ireland

He has had another outbreak

Poor Renfield. First Dracula ditches him for Lucy, and then Seward does the same.

I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred

Except for his fits of violence he's never been violent

led me to believe that he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning

I mean that's not particularly cunning, that's what a toddler does when they realize they're about to be in trouble for acting up and/or the Shaggy Defense

Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.

I keep remembering that he's saying all this out loud. So dramatic. Can't blame him.

Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest.

There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round—doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim—and every now and again struck the window with its wings.

what are you even doing Dracula, do you just want to watch your girl transform?

I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat.

Oh shit

It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close.

This is sad. I'm sad now. Damn it, Dracula.

The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.

Oh shit.

For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:—

"She is dying. It will not be long now.

well it would have been five minutes longer if you hadn't stood there gaping at her

He was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more."

Guys, if ever I lay dying, I just want you to know that I do prefer hand-holding and forehead kisses to mouth kisses. I don't know why this will ever be relevant, but just so you know.

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!"

Lucy what are you even planning here, are you going to suck the blood out of his lips? His tongue?

Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown one; drawing it to her, she kissed it. "My true friend," she said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos, "My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!"

no that's fine, I didn't need my heart anyway

Do you ever wonder if Dracula had similar emotions when he turned

I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that nearly broke me down to see.

I too am broken

"Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!"

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—

"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see."

FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MAN

[romsabombs]

malevolent 43 was insane so here are my notes. my live reactions while listening. enjoy :)

god i feel so sick already

EW AD☹️

okayyyy voices

is it kayne watching

oh god this again

hes way more dramatic this time i think

ermm??

yuck😨

omg queen!!! indeed queen💅💖

i have no idea whats going on

ohhh dang

IS HE GETTING CHAINED UP

im so nervous and scared and afraid

yorrick lore episode?? :3

ohhh yeahh he was the prince's skull

JOHNNNN🥳🥳🥳

omg yes talk to eachother!!! bond!

HAHA JOHN WHY ARE YOU TELLING HER ALL THIS

yesss KING AND QUEENNN

omg hastur he-who-is-not-to-be-named lord of carcosa thats the thing kayne said

OKAYYYYY 💅💅

WHO😐 HAHAAA💀💀

yesss you tell him girl!! they broke into YOUR house‼️

ohhh erm what😶

"i am the king in yellow" SHE DOESNT CARE JOHN

ermmmmmm erm erm uhh

i have no idea how to describe kingqueen relationship rn

"you are no god i have witnessed" "no. but i am a god" such good lines

she should read oscars note lol

LORE LORE LORE yess tell us about this world queen🎀

"and yet you moan on a table beneath my knife👹" okayyy shes vicious💅

YORRICK SNITCH

"my transition" okay🤨🏳️‍⚧️

yo i have no idea what's going on

she said i know what u are🤨

LILY MENTION LILY MENTION

👹LIES👹 girl we're having a moment

"you gained humanity as a prisoner" okayyy true hmmm..

gosh this is heavy

bestiary mentioned :))

her ass is NOT listening

i have no idea how to picture this scene in my head

ohh she was hurt by humans☹️ because her ass is a witch

two sides of the same coin

YOUR MOTHER? omg a name

arthur is straight up dead and we're doing the traumadumping hour

😀☹️😞 :( :( oh darling

mother darkness is my drag name

okay shes got a point tho🫡

YORRICK DONT HAHA shut up!!

oh!! :3

ermmm third wheeling over here

yorrick finally does something good (shuts the fuck up)

death for the undying⛓️💔

hell brings about the truth in people🔥🔥🔥 these lines go hard

im sure you did😒😒

can you believe this episode is 52 minutes long

imagine arthur laying on the floor family guy pose while all this emotional stuff is happening

BEDROCK RAAHHHH

"our" :3333

even the witch knows hes a child

"silent to all but those who can hear🗣️🗣️🗣️"

"i am not forgotten. not by him" :((

i remember you my king!! 🤓🥰

larson mansion arc throwback

"i saved him" erm you're the reason he went crazy in the first place

FUCK YOU👹 does she even know that word

john finally gets therapy not clickbait

ok shut up john my headphones are dying

ok we're back

"i tried to kill a man who i felt was in my way" 💀💀

HAHA SHES SO MEAN

okay now arthur is the child

dont go to the dark side pookie🙏

bro this shit is none of her business stay out of it

MY LOVE FOR ARTHURRREEE🥳🥳 WE WON!!!!!!!!!!!🔥‼️🗣️

ermm 😶 come on johnn🙏

arthur said i can fix him and then did!!

WOAHAHSHFHCBXNSN WHA😨😨

WOAHHHHH WHATATTTT QUEEN??

HAHAHA WHY DID YOU DO THAT

ERMMMMMMMM HES WHAT

😀😀HEAVY BREATHINGGG

OKAYYYYYYY JOHNN🥰🥰

RAHHHH👹👹👹 hes so sigma

yo what the hell is happening

😨😨😨😨HUH

this witch sure loves stabbing arthur

TRUEEE we r in her home!!

his ass is not really gone come on

do true loves kiss or whatever or like shed a tear and it'll land on him and he'll be alive again because magic

"🤢JOHN🤢" okayy rude🙄

mm yeah true why did you leave

😀john stay with us🙏🗣️ pretty pls

i miss arthurs voice its really nice

FRIEND MENTIONED like from s1 :3

HIS ASS ISNT GONE what would the show be without him bruh

jesus christ

NO NONONONOOO NO COME ON

🫣🫣 ermm 😶

man arthurs only purpose is to be a vessel huh :( :(

isn't john like bound to this body

what a mess :/ how will we fix this

girl u barely know him why do u care

"ignorant false morals" 😒girl

i wanna know what she thinks about the trolley problem

maybe don't listen to her she just murdered your boyfriend twice. thrice

GIRL YOU DONT EVEN KNOW HIM

shut up🙄 dont piss me off you killed my boy

ohh arthur i miss him already

erm john!!!! dont say allat😀

GOD DAMN IT we got so far man

hail to the king🗣️🗣️🗣️

NEW BODY??

ok now shes worshipping him😒

:( he says arthurs name so coldly. absolutely no emotion in his voice☹️

DONT TELL HER!!!!

ugh hes back to his kiy voice

im gonna kill myself actually

"think of the object you desire to find" imagine a rosetoy just appears

OH OH OH OH HAHA YEAHH HAHAA

this is awesome actually

faroes song goes hard

ohhh hes back :3

yorrick is so cutiepatootie

oh wait is he okay😨

OH NO

OH :3 HAHA YORRICK💀💀

insane episode

aye we cant save arthur without another deal with the devil i think

where's kayne when you need him

john this speech is embarrassing you're not an alpha wolf

john non binary arc🙏

..meaning??🧐

"i choose you. to be a part of you" ☹️ pokemon reference for a sec

yorrick embodiment of sillyness

yeah doll him up before reviving him

"your love for your friend" yorrick is so third wheeling

oh he feels human :3 i feel so sigma

cant we just let arthur stay dead let bro rest in peace he's been through enough

ARTHUR :33 WOAHHH😨😨

yeah i guess that musta hurt huh

yo is his ass okay😀😀

arthur is in Pain Painnn

ima have dreams about this one

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Eight: Summons

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. Red Sail Hall Present Day

“Don’t you dare,”

Arthur’s hand froze over Cromwell’s skull as Rhys slapped his fingers away and down and snatched up bone, gripping the jawless head by the temples and pulling it from reach. Arthur went to take it from him, but they froze as Matthew rolled over from his place and bundled into a quilt. When he didn’t wake, Rhys snapped his gaze back to Arthur, and he found himself being dragged from the study with its electric faux fire and his son draped over the sofa, sleeping like the dead. They were suddenly in the hall, and he found himself pinned against the wall by his brother’s forearm. “You are not waking mother again.”

Arthur thrust the arm away but found he couldn’t move Rhys. He’d always been denser, compact and heavy like a lead ingot. “I don’t need to. I only need the skull and the spring.”‌

“For what? You delusional bastard. Do you fancy you can open a portal?‌ You can barely make a curse box without me, much less this deep in your cups. And you are not sullying her grave with that man’s bones.”

“I have Alfred to consider. Don’t pretend you have the—”

“It’s my name he bears, you bloody bastard. How Saxon do you think Jones is? Hm? All of your children are as much us as they are you. Including Alfred.”‌

“Would you be reasonable?”

“No.” Rhys was very close, a spring force as he stood straight.

“Since when do you—”

“Since you rolled out of a bloody fairy ring and into my lap.” He prodded Arthur towards the stairs. “I am not letting you run off half-cocked because it’s easier to hurl yourself into a void than feel a fucking emotion. This isn’t you tossing yourself into a ship and running; this is a paradigm shift in the universe, you daft cunt.”

“Rhys—”

“May Mother strike me dead before I‌ lose two nephews and a brother at once,” He was very close now, and sometimes ‌Arthur remembered why there was a dragon on every flag his brother used. “You are a grown fucking man with four grown children. Take a fucking avomine, sleep more than thirty seconds, and we’ll make a move in the fucking morning. Go.”‌

Burial Mound, Cumbria The Next Morning

Matthew knows he is dying when his uncle’s arms catch and hold him and he doesn't care. He has bled to death more than once. His shoulder had nearly been torn from his body once; a lobsterback cavalryman had broken an infantry formation he’d been caught in trying to run from the cannon fire. The bare faces of his arm bones saw the sky that day. He never ran away from a fight again. He was a century older when a gaping cavern of flesh appeared where his belly once was. A‌ piece of shrapnel severed his spine and his jugular. And blasted a hole through his front. This is worse. This is much worse, but Alasdair kisses his head, and Matthew stands, blank and unmoving.

He has said goodbye to the two who were once his siblings, and he hopes the squeeze they gave him isn't the last good thing he ever feels. Now he is without them, standing before the ruins of a chapel. Trees soar to the sky, older than most in England, but spaced like the posts of a palisade. He can hear running water and whispers. Aunt Brighid is there. Father asks her something. Softer than he ever does, and she stands tall.

“I‌ wove the spells into his cradle, I‌ will not damn him to a grave so far from home. And the past is another country.”

His father is not often speechless, but the novelty is not enough to stop the bleeding. There is no trace of red, but he wishes it would be over, that it could all seep into the earth and let him go—anything to make the silence end. Even a scream will not pierce it now; it lays so thick over his thoughts. He is dying. Uncle Rhys lights a torch, then two more. Even here, lifting light, Matthew is redundant. He can only follow as his father and uncles follow their sister, lingering behind as she walks ahead. Alasdair, Rhys, and last, Arthur. Perhaps the first time in a thousand years his father has not led. His uncles carve sharp shapes into old indentations softened by exposure. His father cuts his hand and presses blood into the runes until it drips into the furrows and inks their carvings into contrast with the darkness. Matthew cannot read the shapes. His aunt sings, and he does not understand the words. As he always has, he clings to the tree line and watches others do their work. Something in him wants to die. Something in him knows his will, drowning in silence that will not let him hear his own voice anymore.

A woman’s figure appears. His father’s mother, but not his grandmother. Her time is too far gone for him to know her now if he ever did. Matthew’s hands are shaking now. They speak more words he does not understand. The Welsh vowels and little pieces of Scots Gaelic he can hear refuse to make any sense. He knows Gaelic the way he does his French, as natural as breathing, but he cannot put meaning to sound, and nothing makes sense. He wishes he would bleed to death already.

Then, Life.

His world broke open with a song. He doesn’t know which one. Something about a republic and grapes of wrath: the chorus is the laugh of North America, showing teeth and soaring like the sky. Alfred. A‌ branch nearly takes his head off as he smashes through the trees towards the sound. More laughter. His world was born from a bolt of it centuries before. The pool of a spring lap at the stones of the edge, and the water sings in his brother’s voice for a moment before Matthew realizes the sound is below the water. There is no bottom of the pool; the stone edges descend into a black abyss. He would not have understood the depth of it even a moment before Alfred cut himself free from their reality. Kneeling, he touched the edges of the stone and knew the rounded channels locking into place were his uncles doing, the same dry stone construction of a broch.

“Mattie,” Alfred spoke, only barely damped by the water. A week without Alfred and he'd lost more love than Francois had given him in 150 years. Just a thread of it wound around his heart, hearing his name on the piano notes of his brother's laugh and pulled him forward.

He dove.

[rosielefay]

Hetalia Snippet ʚɞ

USUK cardverse/asoiaf/hotd au

“You cannot marry another. You chose me. You love me, you said so yourself,” Arthur was indignant.

“And you denied me. You may have sold your heart to the throne but mine is still free to bestow,” Alfred replied, his tone flat, dull.

It was a lie. His heart was Arthur’s. He had given in to him 3 months ago alongside the wreath of crimson roses, declaring him that tournaments Queen of Love and Beauty. Then again, maybe it was before that, Alfred may have snuck it to him when they were children: playing under the table during one of his Father’s many banquets, climbing on the chipped tiles on the roof of the red keep, in bed whilst they joked about dragons and futures and marriage. It didn’t matter when, Alfred knew he didn’t have it anymore. No, it rested in the dainty, gloved hands of Arthur, cradled to his chest like a precious thing, an object to parade around as a sign of his own worth and loveliness.

“Why would you confess to me just to throw yourself into the arms of another. We’ve always been together Alfred, ever since we were children. It’s how it’s always been and how it always will be. It’s not within our control, a greater power than thou have decided it. Just because I cannot have you in one way, your way, doesn’t mean I can’t have you there at all,” Arthur was frantic now. His words seemed to spill out of him, hurried and choking, thick with a fear of something intangible to young Alfred.

“You are a cruel, selfish thing Arthur. Do not do this to me. Set me free. Give it back and be done with this. You have every jewel, every silver, every silk found under the sun of the world – just let me have this.” It was murmured. It wasn’t shame or humiliation which cast his eyes to the floor, no, his love was pure, and he was proud to have felt it, nurtured it. Instead, it was the pain, the ache of his heart which felt like a vacuum in his ribcage. It swallowed the air inside of him, left his bones shrivelled and his blood sharp in his veins. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Is that what they meant by sickness. He always thought it meant love lost, dulled by years of torment or repetition. Yet Alfred had never had that love in the first place, he was loving backwards – dying from the terrible void in his chest, the emptiness of unrequited affections.

The problem was Arthur was spoilt, and hadn’t been denied a thing in his life. Always surrounded by wealth, attendants, admirers; they were easy in their flattery but lacking in sincerity, and Alfred knew the warmth of his pining heart would not be lost from Arthur’s grip so easily. But his hands were cold beneath his velvet gloves, his fingers bony and his nails sharp, and Alfred was hurting. His great feats of combat, his enormous strength, they could do nothing to defend him from the other boy. His physicality was a useless weapon in the ways of the soul; his sword arm lay dormant by his side, rather, it was his heart which reached and grappled aimlessly at the terrible distance between them.