#be unbroken (or be brave again)

[delimeful]

be unbroken or be brave again (3)

warnings: threats, fear, arguing, cliffhanger

-

The first obstacle to their little road trip was convincing Roman to dress appropriately for the journey.

The armor itself wasn’t all that stand-out. Patton had seen plenty of well-funded mercenaries out there who could afford an enchantment or two for their greaves. The coat of arms stamped on everything, on the other hand…

In all fairness, they had kidnapped the guy. He’d already been uncertain about, well, just about everything in the situation so far, and now he was being told that he couldn’t even wear his favorite accessories.

Patton would have had a little bit more sympathy if the accessories in question weren’t all emblazoned with the decorative sigil of Faerin, a kingdom that had personally victimized his best friend, as well as frequently seeming to make trouble whenever and wherever it pleased.

Plus, the other thing was—

“If you walk into town with that on, we’re all gonna get jumped,” Virgil said bluntly, waggling the blade of Roman’s dagger at the coat of arms brightly emblazoned on multiple pieces of the knight’s armor. “Seriously, ditch it.”

Roman huffed, holding a scandalized hand up to his chest as though Virgil had told him to strip down to his trousers and jump into a briar patch. “We will not get attacked! Faerin isn’t currently at war with any of the nearby territories.”

“Wow, real gracious of them,” Virgil replied flatly, and Patton jumped in to prevent the tensions from rising any further.

“Roman, kiddo, it’s not really about the war,” he explained, holding his hands up peaceably. “It’s more about all the taxes. People really don’t like the kingdom’s policies, so as soon as you get clear of the enforced territories, well. Folks out here tend to atax first, ask questions second when it comes to Faerin.”

Virgil snorted, leaning back against the wall and twirling the blade in his hand smoothly. He had flatly refused to give the dagger back to Roman even when Patton asked him in private, which was how he knew this little venture was really putting his friend on edge.

It wasn’t fair of him to ask Virgil to do this, not really, but he couldn’t help but ask anyhow. To meet another survivor of one of the worst days of his life and find that they’d developed a hatred of the very one who’d saved him that day… it was too sad to bear, so Patton was going to fix it! Or, he was going to try really hard to, at least.

The fixing process would have gone much smoother if the pair of them would stop jumping like startled cats every time one or the other did anything, but Patton had no say in that. Virgil was twitchy by nature, and Roman had proven rather reactive himself.

“These could have perfectly useful applications as well, you know!” Roman huffed, running his fingers over the embroidered underlayer he’d been about to put on. “Imagine if we run into a fellow Faerin knight out there? My kingdom’s symbol could grant us an ally, as simply as that, giving us more protection from malignant forces!”

Patton resisted the urge to grimace at the very idea.

Less restrained, Virgil reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, and then huffed out a disbelieving exhale, sheathing the dagger. “Okay, sure, let’s imagine that. After you get done exchanging obnoxiously overdramatic greetings with this imaginary knight who somehow survived out there without getting robbed, what then? What do you think your fellow knight will have to say when you let it slip that I’m a dragonwitch, infamously the number one enemy of your kingdom?”

Roman immediately descended into sputtering, his shoulders hunching at Virgil’s sharp critiques. “We— Obviously I would inform them of the specifics of the situation, and let them know that despite what it may look like, there’s no reason to worry and nothing to fear, for I have everything well in hand!”

At the words, Virgil went still for a moment, a sudden edge of danger seeping into his rigid posture. Pushing off the wall, he stalked closer to where Roman stood, gaze flinty and mouth slanted. For every step closer he got, Roman’s shoulders bunched up further with tension, his hand dropping to his hip as though to draw a blade that was no longer sheathed there.

Patton thought about getting involved, and then decided that he couldn’t step in every time the two of them started bickering. He had to let them do some olive branching of their own! Virgil wasn’t the best gardener, but anyone could wield a spade if they tried hard enough! It would probably be fine.

… Emphasis on probably.

For his part, Virgil leaned forward slowly until he was practically looming over Roman, and let his leathery wings slowly rise like the mantle of a bird of prey, the early morning light reflecting off his scales like oil gleaming in a lantern’s glow. He tilted his head with a menacing, narrow-eyed smile, sharp teeth on full display. “Do you have everything well in hand, Princey?”

Roman swallowed, lifting his chin to meet Virgil’s gaze head-on. “As far as anyone needs to know, yes.”

Despite his bravado, his hands were clenched into shaking fists at his sides. Virgil’s malicious smile eased into something harder to read, and he rolled his eyes before backing off.

“Just get rid of the sigils. We don’t need the trouble.”

Roman’s brow furrowed for a moment, his expression hard to read, but this time, he didn’t protest.

—

The second obstacle to their road trip was convincing Roman to actually get on the road.

Or, rather, on the dragon.

“There is absolutely no way I am literally placing my life in the claws of a dragon,” Roman stated plainly, expression dour. He was trying to look aloof, but the effect was ruined by the way his gaze kept roaming back to rest on the large footprints Virgil had left in the dirt when they’d first arrived back home, unconscious knight in hand.

“That’s probably the smartest thing he’s said all day,” Virgil added unhelpfully, picking dirt out from beneath aforementioned claws with his pilfered blade. “Give the guy a prize.”

“Virgil,” Patton said, exasperated, before turning to Roman. “There’s no need to worry, Virgil is a very safe flier. Plus, you’ve already done this once before, remember?”

“You know, I actually don’t recall! How strange,” Roman retorted, re-adjusting his pauldron in short, jerky motions. “It’s almost as though someone clubbed me over the head with a big rock or something. Imagine that!”

Patton’s cheeks went a little hot, and he cleared his throat pointedly. “Well, I was there, and he was very careful to make sure neither of us got hurt! To be honest, I was pretty darn nervous being that high up, too. Really, heights like that aren’t always fall they’re cracked up to be!”

“Don’t add pun-based insult to my injury, I beseech you,” Roman replied, grimacing. “And I’m not afraid of heights themselves, I’m afraid of being dropped from them!”

Virgil snorted, finally sticking the sheathed dagger in his boot and ambling away from them. “If you want to avoid assassination attempts, maybe stop giving out free ideas, Princey. Not that it matters. If I was going to kill you, I’d do it human-shaped. More fun that way.”

Ignoring Patton’s exasperated look and Roman’s squawk of offense alike, Virgil walked over to the middle of the clearing, taking care to circle around the daffodils Patton had planted as he went. He stopped once he had a wide stretch of space between him and any potential obstacles, glancing back over briefly with his lips pressed tightly together.

Patton gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, mostly to encourage and support him, and a little bit to remind him that no matter what happened with Roman, Patton would always be there at his best friend’s side.

Virgil offered him a slight upturn of the lips, more grimace than smile, but he seemed a bit more relaxed when he closed his eyes and turned away from them, hand lifting to press against the little purple stone set between his collarbones.

“Wait, he’s not actually going to—,” Roman started, only to be cut off by Patton flapping his hands at him in a shushing gesture, eyes still locked on his friend.

Virgil rolled his shoulders, drew his wings close around himself, and then began to stretch the leathery appendages out, wider and wider. There was a thick crackling noise, like bones snapping or lightning running through an old tree, and with a twist, Virgil shifted into his largest form.

It only took a few moments, the air around him warping strangely, and then, there he stood, tail brushing the ground as he shook himself like a very, very oversized dog after a bath. The dust stirred around them from the intensity of it.

Roman had yelped and skipped back a fair few steps, but Patton didn’t bother even shuffling out of the way. Sure enough, none of those huge claws even got close enough to think about grazing him.

He knew his friend, and so he knew that Virgil was a worrier like no other. Frankly, Virgil’s pinky finger probably held more caution in it than a grown man or three had in their whole bodies. His human pinky, not the dragon one, to boot.

Patton was probably the safest he’d ever been, standing in the shadow of Virgil’s wings. He sure felt that way, at least.

“Hey, kiddo!”

Virgil perked up at the call, shuffling around a bit to lower his big scaly head into closer range. He was rumbling low in his chest, not necessarily loudly, but still definitely big enough that Patton could feel the noise in his bones.

He reached out and embraced the surprisingly soft snout as Virgil nudged it lightly against him, huffing lightly and waiting patiently for Patton to get his fill of impromptu dragon cuddles.

Patton smiled to himself. This was a far better sight to see than the nervous, flinching way that Virgil had acted that first time he’d shifted, when he kept sneaking glances at Patton like he was waiting for him to realize what he was and run screaming for the hills.

When he finally pulled back and turned to grab their bags, he found Roman standing only a few meters away, looking more strung out than a ball of yarn rolled down a hill. His hand was once again hovering near his side as though seeking a weapon to draw, a nervous tell.

“Is he still… He’s kept his mind?” Roman asked, eyes flickering down to Patton for the briefest moment before returning to the intense stare he was directing at Virgil.

Patton reminded himself that in Roman’s eyes, the only reason a dragonwitch would take this form would be to wreak havoc, and managed to keep himself from frowning too overtly at the knight.

“Virgil is Virgil, no matter which form he’s in,” he replied, forcing some pep into his step as he scooped up the first of their bags. “He’s just a little more… caught up in his instincts, when he’s in this form.”

That was how Virgil had explained all the happy rumbling and gentle nudges the first time, at least. Patton had made the merciful decision not to tease him about the purring.

“Oh, so murder is still on the table, then,” Roman muttered, finally breaking the stare-off to avert his gaze as Patton sent him a pointed look. “Joking! Just a joke, much like the one our reptilian associate made mere moments ago!”

“Mhmm,” Patton hummed dubiously as he turned back to Virgil. “Well, Mister Jokester, it’s time to get moving! We wouldn’t want the daylight hours to drag-on without us!”

Apparently feeling more confident now that he was the size of a house, Virgil yawned loudly— the sight of which made Roman go a bit grey— and then settled into a resting position to allow Patton to clamber up onto his back.

It only took a handful of minutes for Patton to successfully haul up and tie down their bags, with Virgil’s ears carefully flicking back to listen to his humming as he made sure everything was tightly secured to the spikes along his dragonic friend’s spine.

It took more than twice that time for Roman to stop staring dumbfoundedly at Virgil and actually begin to approach.

Of course, the moment he got within a few meters range, Virgil’s large slitted pupil flicked over to watch the knight, making him freeze mid-step like a deer before a mountain lion.

Patton resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he slid down to stand at Virgil’s side. At this rate, they wouldn’t even get off the ground until noon.

“That’s Roman, remember?” he reminded Virgil, reaching up to pat his shoulder in the hopes of helping him refocus on the task at hand. “You looked after him while he was sick, and now he’s traveling with us for a bit.”

Virgil blinked, his gaze still following Roman’s every move, with far less irritation than Patton would have expected. His pupils had even rounded out slightly, making him look far more friendly in Patton’s opinion.

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure Roman.

“C’mon!” Patton gestured for Roman to approach, and Roman shook his head vehemently, as though Patton was insane for even asking.

As though prompted by the exchange, Virgil rumbled and shuffled around a bit in place, his paws creeping forward and head dipping lower in a pose that Patton didn’t recognize until he noticed the dragon’s tail swishing back and forth behind him.

Roman picked up on what was about to happen much quicker, going by the way he went pale and immediately attempted to scramble away.

“Virgil, wait—,” Patton attempted, and then sighed as his friend lunged forward like a cat pouncing, eliciting a terrified shriek from the knight they were supposed to be befriending.

Well. At least none of the bags had been jarred loose by the motion.

The screaming was a little concerning, but Patton was sure that Virgil wasn’t going to murder the guy or anything, so he didn’t bother rushing as he circled around to see what was going on.

What was going on was that Virgil had neatly pinned Roman down with one clawed paw, and was now snuffling at him intently.

Huh. That was a lot less aggressive posturing than Patton had expected, honestly. The more he watched, the more it looked like Virgil was checking Roman over the same way he had inspected Patton for injuries earlier, all gentle nudges and enquiring chuffs.

Not that one would have guessed listening to them. Roman yowled like he was being murdered for at least a solid half a minute after it became clear that there was no mauling going on. Patton pursed his lips, trying not to look too amused at the knight’s expense.

“He’s just checking on you,” he took the opportunity to say once Roman’s shouts had wound down to bewildered, rapid breathing. “He did the same to me, remember?”

Roman shot him a panicked, disbelieving glance from under his impromptu dragon-paw prison. “Yours was far less intensive than— than this!”

Patton shrugged. “Maybe he was just more worried because you were so sick for a while there?”

It made sense, when he thought about it. Virgil had always been a real mother hen whenever Patton so much as got the sniffles, and that was with a much smaller fraction of a dragon’s instinctual possessive worry. Patton had always endured his best friend’s neuroses about illness with as much patience as he could manage, but Roman hadn’t been willing to let Virgil do so much as a checkup once he’d woken up properly. Virgil’s pride wouldn’t let him insist on looking after the slayer after he was conscious enough to be kind of a jerk again, but not knowing the condition of someone he’d been responsible for had to be driving his friend crazy.

“Worried wasn’t really the impression I was getting from Virgil,” Roman gasped out, the tension in his frame slowly leaking away the longer he remained unharmed.

“Really?” Patton asked, a little surprised despite knowing his friend wasn’t exactly the open type. “Well, there’s your first lesson: Virgil’s always worried.”

The dragon in question glanced over at Patton a little sourly, and whuffled at Roman one last time before withdrawing, apparently entirely unapologetic for nearly scaring the soul out of their guest.

Roman lay on the ground for a moment longer, looking a little like he’d been struck by a runaway carriage. He sat up and patted himself down as though checking that he was still all in one piece.

He was, of course. Virgil sent him a slanted, disdainful look for thinking otherwise.

“Are you ready to give this a proper try, now?” Patton asked with an encouraging grin, reaching out to offer him a hand up.

Roman cleared his throat extensively, looking a little red around the ears, but ultimately accepted the help without much protest. He took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

This time, when he turned to survey Virgil’s draconic form, it was with more wary determination than outright fear.

“Very well,” he said, stepping forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

The third obstacle to their road trip was finding a place to stop for the night.

Not, as one might assume, because of a lack of safe or viable options on the ground below. No, it was convincing his companions to land at all that was proving to be the issue.

As it turned out, Roman’s fear of the flight had lasted for about as long as it took for Virgil to do his first midair spin, at which point he’d whooped with astounded delight so loudly that even folks on the next continent over had probably heard him.

“Gods above, you’re fast!” he’d gasped, clinging to Virgil’s leg as the land flashed by distantly below them. “There’s no way you could do that from higher up, though.”

It seemed Virgil was easier to goad than ever in this form, because he’d immediately taken a sharp incline, earning him yelps from his passengers. Between the two of them, the bulk of their flight was spent doing gravity-defying tricks and thrilling dives to just barely skim the mountains below.

Patton was glad they’d found something in common at last. He would have preferred they bond over a hobby that wasn’t so terribly dangerous and liable to make him so dizzy he upchucked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers!

He really was begging to reach land soon, though. Best friend or no, there was only so much strain a guy’s poor heart could take.

Plus, he’d plotted out their course with a little detour, and if they kept racing on like this, they might overshoot it completely. They were traveling all this way, it would be a downright shame if they couldn’t at least stop by and say hello to one of Virgil’s other buddies!

—

The fourth obstacle in their road trip was that Patton had forgotten just what kinds of acquaintances a Dragonwitch might have.

Or more importantly— what these acquaintances might think of the company Virgil was currently keeping.

This particular obstacle arrived at their camp that night in the form of an arm suddenly wrapping around Patton’s neck from behind, tugging him into a barely bearable chokehold as Virgil bolted to his feet and growled out a vicious warning.

Across from him, Roman was in a similar situation, but with a wicked-looking serrated blade pressed right up against his jugular, and a pair of unearthly yellow eyes visible over his shoulder.

“My, my,” a smooth voice broke the silence, making Virgil twitch. “I wonder what business a Faerin knight and his tagalongs have in my stretch of the woods?”

Uh oh. It looked like maybe their little detour would take longer than he’d expected…

[capriciouswrites]

on the third day of halloween my true boo gave to me...the first scene of a sequel

Gendry tugs at the uncomfortable line of his doublet — it doesn’t matter that he’s had to wear the finery for nearly eight years now, it’s still too tight and restrictive and he hates it. That’s why he’s tugging on it. Not because he’s nervous.

Why would he be nervous? It’s not like the King of the Five Kingdoms had announced he was to have the job of ambassador to the North, out of nowhere, one day.

The keep — Winterfall — doesn’t look much at all like it had the last time he’d been here — not the piles of dead or piles of the dead-dead or —

They’ve done a lot and it looks like he probably thinks it was always supposed to.

He finds himself standing outside the open gates, hesitating, when a young voice speaks up, “Who’re you?” and he looks down and sees a girl — probably about six, with big blue eyes and dark curls and tan skin and — what is a Dornish girl doing in Northern leathers?

“Um,” he says and there’s something very familiar about the eyes of the girl and, “I’m, uh, the representative from Bran — I mean, from the Five Kingdoms?”

“Oh,” she says, and she sounds so personally disappointed he feels like he’s already failed, “are you sure? You could’ve gotten lost for a little while longer you know — then aunty would win the bet and I wouldn’t have to do my chores for a week.”

“Um,” he says, because he’s not sure what to say to that and he can hear the men behind him snickering and —

“Oi, here you are, you little menace. Ellaria’s been looking all over for you and here you are —“ Gendry blinks at the sight of Podrick picking up the little girl and tucking her under his arm like that’s a normal thing to do with small children. “Gendry! Is it really you?”

“Um,” he blinks down where there’s a second child that looks exactly like the first child except for shorter hair staring at him like he thinks he can set Gentry aflame with his mind. “Yes, it’s me.” It’s occurring to him that Sansa — that is, Lady Stark — that is, the Queen — took a Dornishman for her husband, didn’t she? But wasn’t the announcement that they’d had all girls? Maybe a cousin then?

He maybe should’ve done a bit more research before starting his trek here — but some part of him had just expected it to be the same as the last time he was here. Not that he wanted it to be like the last time but…

“Well, it’s good to see you, wait — are you the new ambassador?” Podrick has scooped up the second child, so he has one under each arm. The children have gone limp and he’s vaguely concerned about them.

“Um, yes,” he says again, but Podrick grins at him.

“Well, they’re holding session in the hall if you want to introduce yourself proper like — the Queen prefers that still.” Podrick gestures with his chin, since both of his arms are full of small child. But at least this Gendry does know — he knows where the hall is, which is where they must be holding session.

“Thank you,” he says, as Podrick walks off away from the hall.

“It was lovely to meet you, even if you shoulda gotten lost longer,” the small girl shouts at him as she’s carted away.

Gendry wonders again what he’s gotten himself into.

[krshush]

Good morning, we're tearing up to the song To Noise Making (Sing) by Hozier on this rainy day

[eosofspades]

best fucking hozier lyrics in no particular order

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us

i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door

after the foxes have known our taste, i'll be home with you, i'll be home with you

no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

why were you digging, what did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

my dearest love, i'm not done yet

who could ask to be unbroken or be brave again?

whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was

remember me love, when i'm reborn as the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

i'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around, and i'd be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice

be like the love that discovered sin, but freed the first man and will do so again

be that hopeful feeling when eden was lost, that's been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed

love, when the sea rises to meet us, oh, and there's nothing left for you and i to do

true that i saw her hair like the branch of a tree, willow dancing on air before covering me

and i love, too, that love soon might end, be known in its aching

be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

the last time i felt your weight on my chest, you said "we didn't get it right, but love, we did our best"

and just knowing that everything will end should not change our plans

i would still be surprised i could find you, darling, in any life; if i could hold you for a minute, darling, i would do it again

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and i

[xxchumanixx]

Blind and Frozen

Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Warnings: angst, hurt, a little fluff in the end

Once I touched your heart Held you in closed arms Built a haven for your love Until I let you fall apart Please forgive me

Authors note: I was craving some angst. This song was perfect for this.

Based on the lyrics of the song "Blind and Frozen" from Beast in Black. Listen to it here

Word count: 1.187

The beautiful dividers are from @benkeibear

1738, Paris

„Are you sure he will keep his word?“ you nervously asked, numb fingers gripping the material of your dress tighter.

“He would be a fool not to.” Elijah gave back, sending you a smile that was meant to reassure you.

It did little to calm your racing heart, though.

“Word already spread.” You voiced your fear, biting your lip that was stained blue from the wine. “It will be only a matter of time until Mikael finds us again.”

He sighed, as his hand gripped the glass full of whisky tighter. He was as afraid of his father as you were – if not even more.

You had bribed the major, promising him a fortune if he kept his careless mouth shut. But word already spread beyond the ocean, word of creatures that lurked in the night, stealing the blood of their innocent victims.

It was a dark chapter in your life, something you always tried to suppress.

But your dreams got the best of you, especially without him by your side.

"Do you remember how we used to dance? Your feet barely touching the ground, it seemed like you were floating. Maybe you were. Niklaus has lost his mind again, after he undaggered Kol. I fear there are dark times ahead of us."

Once I touched your heart

Held you in closed arms

Built a haven for your love

Until I let you fall apart

Please forgive me

After Mikael succeeded in finally finding you, everything changed.

To say that he scared you away was an understatement.

The only reason he let you live being the pain he caused his second eldest in forcing you to leave him.

Though Elijah never stopped sending you letters wherever you went, you never answered them.

How he did it you didn't know, seeing as a witch cloaked your presence so you wouldn't be detected by another one.

Still you saved every letter of his.

The pain was unbearable, and knowing that he thought you took the chance and run, made your heart break.

You didn’t want to leave him, but you had no other choice.

God, I miss you like hell

I was wrong, I can tell

For the heart can be blind and frozen

Now I live with the pain

Every night, every day

As I read those letters you wrote me

You missed him, your heart constantly aching for him.

There were times where you talked to him, only realizing he wasn’t there when you got no answer.

You knew that you were in the wrong when leaving him, knowing that you should have sacrificed yourself instead.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have hated himself for scaring you away.

"Kol is daggered again. He caused Niklaus to abandon little Marcellus, almost losing the trust the boy has in him. I try my best, but the process is slower than I’d like to admit. I wish you were here to help me with this almost impossible task."

How I long for the time

When your lips would kiss mine

And the promise was still unbroken

I will wait for tomorrow

That may never come

I will wait in the name of love

You had hoped for him to eventually find you, never being brave enough to search for him yourself.

You were scared of the consequences, scared that Mikael was still always a step behind them.

You had never found love again.

How could you, when no one could be compared to Elijah? He was the love of your life, the light of your day. You had promised each other always and forever, but you broke it. Ripped it apart like a last meal.

"My forlorn heart faintly beats, your absence makes me weak. And if nothing brings you back, surely, I'll roam through life in black, like a shadow. Niklaus swore he would hunt you, but I made him promise me not to. You know how hard it is for him to keep his word."

Though Niklaus was like a brother to you, you didn't doubt him killing you on the spot when he got the chance to.

You had betrayed them, had left behind what little family you had left.

Rebekah, the best friend that was like a sister to you.

Niklaus, the psycho that managed to convince you to believe in the good in him.

Elijah, the love of your life.

"Niklaus acted reckless when we were in Mystic Falls. He got a werewolf named Hayley pregnant, causing us to get caught in the middle of a war between witches and vampires. Marcel has made New Orleans his new Kingdom. Niklaus is determined to take it back, all the while denying the fact, that he is the one that brought this mess upon us. I'm feeling more helpless the more time passes."

I would die for the love of mercy

Destiny, is this how it should be?

2011, New Orleans

When your eyes landed on his figure you almost choked on your breath.

He had changed so much, yet so little. He still wore suits, his hair looking fluffier than you had imagined it to be.

His lips parted in shock, but no words passed them. You heard his heart beating so fast, it almost matched yours.

“Elijah?” the voice of a woman broke your trance, as she whipped around the corner, her brown hair dancing on her shoulders in delicate waves. “I wanted to-“ She stopped short, when her eyes fell on you.

Her mouth formed an o shape, as the realization must have hit her. She must have known who you were even before you had the chance to introduce yourself.

The jealousy flamed up, scorching it’s way through your abdomen into your heart, gripping it harshly.

You swallowed, as it dawned on you who she must have been.

“Hayley.” you said her name, forcing yourself to smile. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.” Her mouth closed, as she hesitantly smiled back at you, returning the courtesy.

The silence that followed was quickly broken by her excusing herself, giving you the opportunity to finally talk to Elijah.

“Elijah, I-“ you started, but he cut you off. “He’s gone, you know?” he started, hesitantly taking a step towards you.

Your words died on your tongue, as you tried to process what he was saying, leaving your mouth agape.

“We killed him. He won’t hunt us anymore. I know why you did it. I know why you ran. He told me before he took his last breath.”

Goosebumps erupted on your skin, as you felt the heavy weight of the past lift from your shoulders.

He was gone. You were finally free.

Blinking slowly you swallowed the sudden dryness in your throat away.

“What are you saying?” you asked, though you had clearly understood him.

“I should have searched for you, but I was blinded by my own guilt.” He admitted, his eyes falling to the ground. “I-“ “No!” you cut him off, taking a step towards him, before he was able to take even more of the blame.

“No, Elijah. None of this was your fault. He made me leave, and I did to safe my life. I was selfish and I shouldn’t have done it, but I did it. I am the one to blame.”

He closed the distance between you, grabbing you by your arms and pulling you into him. His arms wrapped around you, one of his hands finding your hair while his head was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your arms wrapped around him tightly, after a moment of shock, eyes burning.

“Please forgive me.” you sobbed, as the tears managed to free themselves. “I never meant to hurt you. I hoped you would eventually forget me, maybe even hate me. I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I could never hate you.” he quietly gave back, his voice muffled by your hair. “I never forgot you. I just hoped you’d come back one day.”

You sniffled, angry with yourself for hurting him this much.

“I’m here now.” you told him. “And I’m staying, if you let me.”

“Always and forever, darling.”

[rose-tinted-vision]

Rose's favourite fics

(in no particular order)

part 2 here

Apparently I've linked about 50 fics so I'm sorry, I'm not going to add all the summaries for these fics.

Blue Lock

For Blue Lock I'd recommend checking out smallghosts and explorerseel8's profile

pride hath no place by vani_em (NagiReo)

raison d'être by explorerseel8 (ReoNagi)

Take Five by explorerseel8 (ReoNagi)

truth or drink by smallghosts (ReoNagi)

AITA for “abandoning” my best friend by smallghosts (ReoNagi)

fall forward/spring back by nagireo (NagiReo)

as long as I'm with you by okonomiyakein (NagiReo)

Player 2 by explorerseel8 (HioRin)

Kuroko no Basuke

Please read literally everything by umisabaku

A Kinda Sorta Fairy Tale by Lys ap Adin (MidoTaka)

But I Lived by exuberant_imperfection, kate882 (MidoTaka)

Designation: Miracle (series) by umisabaku (KagaKuro, KiKasa, AkaFuri, AoMomo, MidoTaka)

as small as a world by umisabaku (MidoTaka)

in the liminal darkness by 100demons (MidoTaka)

Haikyuu

(the sad thing is that I read a ton of Haikyuu and KnB fics before I got my ao3 account so it's a slow journey finding all my fav fics again)

I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight by carafin (BokuAka)

I'll give a bouquet to these unending days by sparksandsalt (BokuAka)

love in the time of wifi by dalyeau (BokuAka)

tea-stained polaroids by dalyeau (BokuAka)

video games and gold rings by gnomeo (KuroKen)

Ear to Ear by darkmagicalgirl (AoFuta)

Yaku and the Beanstalk by Mysecretfanmoments (YakuLev)

One Piece

For my fellow ZoSan fans: literally everything by Hazel_Athena, Harubo, 8ball, donutsandcoffee and three_days_late are worth checking out

More Ace-centric: Dezace and stormy1x2's fics that make me Feel Things

Wanted by Hazel_Athena (ZoSan)

Disoriented Envy by Hazel_Athena (ZoSan)

Can you hear me now? by Alexis_C (ZoSan)

Learning to Listen by three_days_late (ZoSan)

this, at least by adietxt (ZoSan)

come on, come on (turn a little faster) by donutsandcoffee (ZoSan)

Late Night with Sanji Black by Harubo (ZoSan)

Love's First Blush by Hazel_Athena (ZoSan)

they said love is reaching blindly at a pit full of snakes by summermidnights (ZoSan)

Complex Buddies by threesipsmore (ZoSan)

you and me somehow by losingcontrolnow (AceSan)

Cryptid Sightings Volume #1: Portgas D. "Fire Fist" Ace by Dezace (Gen, Ace-centric)

Spades On-Screen by stormy1x2 (Gen, Ace/WB pirates-centric)

whatever you can still betray by midnightluck (Gen, Ace/WB pirates-centric)

Hide the Knives by SrirachaBunny (Gen, Ace/WB pirates-centric)

The Wanderer by MaiKusakabe (Gen, Badass!Marco)

Genshin Impact

For Genshin, I'd recommend heartslogos and smallghosts

Burgeon by gloomyparfait (HaiKaveh)

Forget Your Name (Replace it with mine) by princesscas (Thomato)

the purest form of water by eversall (XingYun)

to be unbroken and brave again by magicities (XiaoVen)

Chonghua's Layered Frost by pureofheart_rareofpair (XingYun)

cloudburst by smallghosts (XingYun)

keep the caffeine away from kids by shynkai (scara-centric, slight HaiKaveh)

The Verdure and the Puppet by kimekosu (Gen, Nahida & Wanderer)

truck, barter and trade by Seungshi03 (Established HaiKaveh, them raising Wanderer)

James Bond (Craig movies)

I remember really liking anything by Jen, skylights, scioscribe, and pdameron,

Memos from Q branch by AviaCarter (Gen, background 00Q)

Sic Pravis Magna by blackidyll (00Q)

ordinary, everyday things by pdameron (00Q)

Dramatic Arts by scioscribe (00Q)

Ordinary Numbers by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria (00Q)

[feathered-serpents]

List of the most underrated Hozier songs imo while I’m going feral

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - “Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet. Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile, bloody and raw but I swear it is sweet”

Would That I - “With the war of the fire my heart moves to its feet. Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat. Feel it soft and as pure as snow. Fell in love with the fire long ago”

To Be Alone - “I know that you hate this place, not a trace of me would argue. Honey, we should run away, oh someday. Our baby and her momma and the damaged love she make”

Talk - “I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around. I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me!”

Nina Cried Power - “It's not the song, it is the singin'. It's the heaven of the human spirit ringin'. It is the bringin' of the line. It is the bearin' of the rhyme. It's not the wakin', it's the risin'”

To Noise Making (Sing) - “Who could ask to be unbroken or be brave again? Or honey hope even on this side of the grave again? And who could ask it to be sound or to feel saved again? Or stick around until you hear that music play again? So honey sing, and sing, and sing, and sing, and sing, and sing, and sing”

Sunlight - “Each day, you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty. Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight. Strap the wing to me. Death trap clad happily. With wax melted, I'd meet the sea. Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight”

[beauregardlionett]

'til death do us part (vow unbroken)

AO3 Link

Beau plopped herself down on Yasha’s lap, knees on either side of her wife’s hips as she grinned down at Yasha’s tired but fond expression.

Her wife. Beau couldn’t believe she got to say that now.

In some ways, marrying Yasha hadn’t changed things. They had been living in the same simple but homey cottage together for a while now. They shared a bed, a home, a good portion of their lives. Most of this did not change with their newly minted marriage.

In other ways, marrying Yasha changed everything.

Yasha’s hands settled on Beau’s hips, her thumbs smoothing over the bony prominences with easy familiarity. Beau leaned forward enough to bury her fingers in Yasha’s hair—undone from the beautiful, intricate braids she had worn during their wedding earlier.

“Hi,” Yasha hummed.

“Hey,” Beau chuckled, scratching at Yasha’s scalp. “How you doing, babe?”

“Today was wonderful,” Yasha said, eyes bright and voice giddy. “But I’m tired, and glad it’s just us now.”

“Me too,” Beau sighed, leaning down to press a kiss against Yasha’s forehead.

They lingered in the moment's stillness until Yasha shifted beneath Beau. The movement prompted Beau to pull back, just enough to look down at Yasha with a brow raised in question.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” Yasha murmured after a moment. “All of this...joy. I wonder sometimes if this is just a dream.”

Beau heard the things Yasha didn’t say underneath the half-confession. That Yasha wasn’t sure she deserved this, the ever present worry that she had killed Beau back in that cathedral and this was all a made up scenario to cope. Or worse, the lingering effects of a spell lying to her. They’d had this conversation before, and they would likely have it again. Beau understood, more than Yasha might realize.

Sometimes she also couldn’t even believe this was real. But she wasn’t the one who needed convincing right now.

“This is real, Yash,” Beau murmured, bending slightly to catch Yasha’s eye. “I promise.”

Yasha smiled, a tight, close lipped thing—clearly unconvinced but trying not to worry Beau. Realizing she would have to be more persuasive, Beau shifted her weight and smiled.

“You,” Beau said with emphasis as she scooped up one of Yasha’s hands into her own. “Are wonderful.”

Beau leaned down and kissed the pad of Yasha’s ring finger. “You’re thoughtful.” She flipped Yasha’s hand over and kissed her knuckles. “You’re funny.” Beau pressed her lips to the inside of Yasha’s wrist, lingering over her pulse point as she glanced up at her wife.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Yasha flushed but didn’t glance away and left her hand in Beau’s grasp. Beau grinned, moving to kiss the crease of Yasha’s elbow. “You’re strong and brave and unfailingly loyal.”

Shifting her weight forward so she could lean in close, Beau pressed a long kiss to the curve of Yasha’s shoulder. She turned her head to the side and pressed her cheek against the spot she had just kissed, beaming up at Yasha’s flushed cheeks.

“You care so deeply about me and our family.” She heard the shaky exhale Yasha let out as Beau shifted again, moving to drag her lips up the column of Yasha’s throat. She pressed a sweet kiss to the curve of Yasha’s jaw, grinning against the tender skin there.

“You are a monochromatic vision in a world of color.”

Beau leaned back just enough to settle her hands on Yasha’s shoulders and drink in the dazed, loving look she got in return. The words were a familiar weight on Beau's tongue. It was the same thing she had said to Yasha when they were on their first date together, tentative and fumbling and desperate not to fuck up as the threat of imminent death hung over their heads. But here, and now, there was no threat to their lives. There was only the quiet crackle of the fire in their hearth and the deep, comfortable knowledge of security.

With a grin of her own, Beau leaned down and captured Yasha’s lips in a long kiss. It wasn’t anything like the more chaste, somewhat formal kiss they had shared at the altar in front of their friends and family earlier. This was something better, something that tasted like wine and devotion, something holier than Beau could ever imagine.

As they broke apart, lingering scarcely centimeters from each other, Beau said breathlessly, “you’re my wife. And this is real—I promise.”

A grin brighter than anything Beau had ever seen before split across Yasha’s face. Her hands skimmed up Beau’s back to wrap her up in a firm embrace as Yasha laughed, high and sweet.

“You are my wife.” And, oh. Beau understood now why Yasha looked so fucking giddy now. That was such a wondrous thing to proclaim.

Beau buried her face in Yasha's hair, pressing another kiss there as she returned the embrace and laughed. This was familiar, easy. Marrying Yasha hadn't changed anything. Marrying Yasha had changed everything.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 12

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Unbroken

Notes: Their journey has begun y'all.

Warnings: Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  12/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Monk led you back to the place you had first encountered each other.

You did not know if you were ready to be back in that dungeon. Back then, you had believed you would never leave the place again, that you would die there and be left to rot.

The ruins of the destroyed fort only offered a glimpse of how big it must have once been. He was the first to dismount and helped Squirrel to get to the ground, then he looked around for a place to hide the horses from sight. The ruins proved useful, he found a part of the fort that would offer the horses some shelter.

Once the horses had their spot, he searched for and found the trapdoor again, it was still open.

“Wait here. I will see if it is abandoned.” He said.

You waited with Squirrel while he went down the narrow steps that led to the dungeon.

Squirrel wasn’t keen on going down there either. “Why were you in there?”

It was to be expected that the boy would wonder why someone would want to be down there. “Manbloods who were in the Brotherhood kept me prisoner down there. They made me heal them.”

It almost startled you when the boy took your hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

The brave boy reassured you that you were safe with him, “Nothing bad is going to happen. If there’s more of them, I’ll fight them off.”

You were speechless, you weren’t the sentimental type but that sure tugged at your heartstrings.

By kneeling down, you put yourself at his eye level, then cupped his cheek and planted a kiss on it. “You are the bravest person I know.”

Squirrel was wiping his cheek off with his sleeve and looked at the Monk who had witnessed it happen upon his return.

Those red cheeks were visible even from a distance.

“The place is clear.” He announced.

The boy was the first to head down the steps now, and you stood up from the ground.

“After you.” You gestured to the stairwell, sword in hand because you would not go back to that place unarmed.

The Monk could easily tell that you were not looking forward to being down there again and he went down the steps before you did. He did not need much time to light one of the torches on the walls and used it to light some of the others. It was still a dark place, but not as intimidating anymore.

Squirrel was not fearful of the dark and wandered off to explore the place.

You were far more reserved. “I do not want to go back to the room you found me in.”

It was an understandable demand.

There were still a lot of other doors in this place and you were curious to see what was behind them, you struggled to open the first one on the left.

Even with putting your shoulder against it and pushing, the damned thing did not open.

The Monk saw the struggle and put a hand to your arm to make you step aside, then he kicked down that door in one go.

Someone had had enough experience and practice with this…

You peeked inside, as did he, then shared a look.

There was cheese and ale, this must have been where Hutch and Ives stored away their wares.

He walked in and searched the room for a moment. He found a pouch with some coins, caught your attention and tossed it at you.

You caught it and counted some silver coins and even a gold one. “I must have earned them good coin…”

He looked over his shoulder, seeing that flicker of sadness wash over you, “They…sold you?”

Your eyes met his from afar. “They sold my healing ability to others. Nothing else.”

The Monk let out a quiet breath in relief and continued to search the room, Squirrel waltzed in there and inspected all there was to eat.

You noticed something hanging on the chair that looked like it had been fixed a hundred times already, you went to take it and were pleased to see that it was brown leather sword sheath and belt. Of course you put it on immediately and stored the sword away at your side instead of having to carry it around by hand all the time.

Squirrel was trying to open the drawer of a small cabinet, “What’s in here?”

The Monk went over and forced the thing open, a silence fell over him and he closed the thing again before Squirrel could look inside.

“Oi!” The boy loudly protested.

It caused you to look at him, “What’s in there?”

The look in the Monk’s eyes said it all, his wording was vague to spare the boy, “Relics.”

Squirrel had understood the meaning of what that meant, as did you.

You walked over, moved Squirrel behind you and went to open the drawer.

The Monk put his hand against the drawer. “Y/n, don’t.”

This had been your prison for months, you wanted to know the truth and secrets within these wall. “I need to know.”

With reluctance he withdrew his hand and let you open the drawer yourself.

Bones from fingers, too small to be from an adult, were in the corner of it.

Small teeth were in a small bowl…

Relics that they intended to sell, relics of the Dawn Folk children.

Slowly you pushed the drawer shut again, eyes fixed downwards.

He had seen how you were trying to keep yourself together over the shocking discovery. “Percival, will you collect all there is here that can still be eaten? Place them in the hall for now, perhaps we may find something to store them in.”

The boy looked up at you, then nodded at him.

Once the boy was out of the room he fixed his attention on you. “Are you alright?”

It had shaken you to your core. “There were other Dawn Folk here before me. Children. They must have discovered how our magic drains us too late. The young ones were not strong enough to use their magic as much as an adult can…”

To the Reaper, the Dawn Folk were too useful to let them die. Ives and Hutch had only ever cared for the quickest way to earn coin. The Brotherhood of the Reaper would have killed them for this ‘wastefulness’.

You turned away before he could ask further, or see how badly it had hurt to see it.

By rummaging through the room quickly to find anything of use, you hoped to be able to shut that door and not enter that room again.

The Monk must have guessed your trail of thought as he grabbed whatever that looked useful. He gathered two tankards he found and a lantern.

The contents of the drawer was still on your mind and all you had in your hands was a spoon that you had found.

He held out a tankard and you put the spoon in it.

Back in the hallway, he put the items with the cheese Squirrel had gathered.

The Monk proceeded to go and break open every single one of those doors if they were locked. With some luck there was other useful material to be found.

At the third door, he called you over.

You went to see what the fuss was about.

It was just a room filled with stacks of linen and some supplies like a broken broom and some buckets.

You arched a brow at him, “What? You want us to clean this dungeon up?”

He let out a sigh and took a bucket from the room. “There is a well outside, if we go and fetch water we can use it.”

Oh, that was actually a good idea.

“You can wash the blood off of you then.” The Monk mumbled while passing by you.

You took a bucket as well and quickly followed him, “Does the scent of my blood bother you?”

He answered with, “It will if your wounds get infected.”

Squirrel walked over and stepped aside when seeing the buckets.

The Monk urged the boy to stay down in the dungeon. “Wait here, we will be back in a moment with water.”

The tired child did not protest against it and went to look in the room you got the buckets from.

Together you went back up those daunting steps and followed him to the well.

The well was located quite close to the entrance and the old rope still hanged on it. He used it to tie it to the bucket he had carried and then lowered it into the well.

Once he caught the water, he pulled at the rope to get the bucket up again.

The full bucket was placed on the ground and he untied the rope from it.

He held out his hand in your direction. “Pass me your bucket.”

You did so and voiced your irritation. “You don’t need to order me.”

That caused him to look at you. “I was not. I was asking.”

The whole thing had put you in a bad mood, your limit had been reached and trampled over.

You went ahead and handed him the bucket. “Here.”

Without another word, you went back into the dungeon to fetch another empty bucket.

By the time you were back at the well, the Monk stood waiting beside it.

This time you bound the rope on the bucket yourself and lowered it into the well, all while ignoring the way he was looking in your direction often.

You got the bucket up from the well again and put it down with the others while getting the rope off. One look up at him and you just knew that he was holding back on saying something.

He caught your arm before it could pick up the bucket again and you were seconds away of pulling yourself free of him.

The Monk was not afraid to voice how the tense atmosphere between you was bothering him, “You have a sword in case my presence is too overbearing for you.”

You pulled free, “The Hidden disagrees with that idea. What do you expect of me? To be sweet after all that has happened?!?”

When you took a step to return to the dungeon, he followed the action and ended up right in front of your nose again.

Your anger boiled over. “I do not have to pretend to like you, Monk! I know you could have just left me there, but that does not mean I have to forgive you for putting me into that hell in the first place!”

No matter how hard you tried to let the rage mask the pain, it slipped through in your voice when it broke, “And now… here again…”

The fury was there to mask the sorrow. Why had he not seen this sooner?

The silence that fell could have cut through steel, you needed it to pull yourself together before Squirrel would hear or see. You grabbed a bucket of water, ready to return to the boy.

He lowered his eyes to the grass at your feet. “I will not ask you for forgiveness-, ”

You scoffed and turned to walk away, having heard enough.

“I will earn it.” He finished his sentence.

Your head whipped around, you didn’t know what to say to that for a moment. “I don’t think either of us have enough years left in life for that.”

Was that a jest? Or did you mean it?

He did not know. It intrigued him nonetheless.

His head tilted to the side a little, as if he was studying your reactions, “It is worth it to try, is it not?”

“You have to decide that for yourself.” You told him and headed back to the dungeon with the bucket.

It was not until you were already going down the steps again that he realized he was fidgeting with the pommel of his sword, he had never done so when facing Father’s fury.

He picked up the remaining buckets and followed in your tracks.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

“Squirrel?” You searched around for the boy after putting the bucket down.

He wasn’t in the room where you had found the buckets, or the relics. And the cheese he had placed in the hallway had vanished too.

Your heart returned to it’s regular pace when you found him in another empty room, vast asleep on a pile of linen that he had stacked together. Some crumbs stuck to and around his mouth, the cheese he had been eating was still half in his hand. He had put the pile of cheese down in the corner near him.

The Monk descended the steps with the buckets, put them down and stopped beside you to see what had paused you.

You took one of the buckets and brought it into the room, placing it next to the cheese.

The Monk went and carried one to the room with the old linen and found inspiration in the boy’s self-made bed. He returned with stacks of linen and quietly placed them on the ground, offering you some as well.

You used the first one you were handed to cover Squirrel to keep him warm. The cheese was taking from the boy’s hand and placed beside him.

You walked over to the Monk again and he handed you some smaller pieces of linen, and some that looked to have been cut and torn in long pieces.

“What do I do with these?” You whispered at him.

It sounded more like a careful suggestion, “Use if for your wounds? You can treat them in the linen room.”

Oh…

You collected most of the smaller pieces and chose not to ask him whether or not he had been the one to tear them from the larger fabrics.

The hallway was not as dark as you remembered it, had the brothers truly never bothered to light a single one of those torches whilst you were there?

While walking to the linen room, you looked behind you and at the end of the rows filled with doors was the room you had spend months locked away in in darkness.

Your past self would have never believed you would return here, with a Fey child and the Weeping Monk, it would have been unthinkable.

Then again, back then you had been certain you would perish in this place.

You went into the linen room and shut the door, there was the lantern he had found earlier, a candle burned inside of it and offered a modest amount of light.

The Monk was fortunate to own a flint to make fire when it was needed.

You removed your vest and bodice, the back of your shirt was covered in dried blood.

By feeling your back, you could get a close idea on how bad the wounds of the lashes were.

If a paladin could survive them, so could you.

With the water from the bucket you began to clean the blood off as best as you could, in the light of the lantern you could also see the dark bruise on your lower back where the Trinity Guard had kicked you.

The water turned dirty quickly and you didn’t feel comfortable to keep using the water now that is was looking like this already.

You put on your shirt and quietly left the room to grab the other bucket that was still near the steps, then went back to the linen room.

You discarded the bloodied cloths in the previous bucket and continued to wash up with the clear water.

It took a while, the cut on your hand was the last thing you cleaned and put a bandage on, you started to get dressed again.

A knock on the door, startled you. Still in your shirt, you opened the door,

The eyes of the Monk dropped to the stains on the shirt right away, he forced himself to look at your face then, “I was just.. you have been gone for a while.”

Your brow could not arch higher. “I had some trouble cleaning the blood off.”

His attention shifted to the bucket nearest to the door, of which the water had turned brownish from the blood.

You followed his gaze. “Oh, I’ll toss that.”

He moved past you and picked up the bucket. “I will take care of this. Go and rest.”

“I-” You watched him walk out of the room with the bucket before you got to protest against it.

Others would have been reluctant to even go near or touch a bucket filled with dirty water. It was hard to wrap your head around the Monk. If you were more certain of him and his intentions, you would have suggested going north instead of coming here. But you questioned if he still believed in cleansing and serving the Church, and as long as that was unclear, there was little trust you had.

You put on the bodice before following his trail.

He was right that you had been gone for quite a while, it was dark outside when you went up to the well.

The Monk had tossed the tainted water and was just untying the rope from the one he had filled anew.

He noticed your presence and looked over at you.

You crossed your arms over your chest while walking over to him. “Just making sure you’re not running off with the only horses we have.”

It was possible, he could leave, unless he really did feel responsible for Squirrel and making sure that the boy was safe.

“Only one of them allows you to ride them.” He rubbed it in your face.

Oh, how easy it was to remember how arrogant he could be.

You stopped a few steps away from him, “Are you really sticking around to make sure Squirrel is safe?”

He sounded quite determined. “I owe it to him. You saw what he did, if he had not interfered, that Trinity Guard would have crushed my skull.”

At least he knew what gratitude meant…

You saw him put his attention on you. “I met Squirrel in the village I fled to after you took me away from here.”

He gestured to where the dungeon entrance was approximately, “I could tell that you were familiar with him. He is the boy you spoke about once, is he not?”

It was quite impressive how much of your conversations he could recall. “He is. So, you were telling the truth back then. I always feared the paladins had caught him that day too.”

The Monk was the one who went ahead and took a step closer. “We found what we needed, bringing you to Father was my order, not chasing a boy through a village.”

A question that lingered on the tip of your tongue was finally asked, “Why did you save him?”

There was a line he would never cross, not even when it was ordered.

“I told you before, I do not harm the children, they form no threat.” He said.

For someone so feared, he did come with a set of morals, it only made it harder to figure him out.

There were others who thought differently on the matter. “Father Carden disagrees on that.”

He spoke quietly, lost in thought, “Only evil kills children.”

You recalled having said something of the sort to him not too long ago.

Carefully you approached the subject, “I want to know where we are now.”

Confusion washed over his face.

You had to explain what that meant, “Do I need to be worried that you will kill Feys that we might encounter?”

He dared to stop a step in front of you. “I am a traitor to the Church, I cannot…cleanse.”

His broken faith had put a stop to it. He could not save others from evil while giving in to it himself.

You read between the lines and tried not to take it personal, “You still believe we are born from evil?”

The quiet truth was not something he expected to tell you, and yet he did, “I do not know what is true or not anymore.”

Honesty was something you appreciated, to hear that he was starting to think for himself more was progress.

Your crossed arms were shielding you from his close presence. “Well, now you have a chance to find out for yourself, without others telling you what you should or should not believe in.”

He appreciated that you were respectful about it and gave a shallow nod.

You brought up the idea you had, the journey north would take some days and would give you enough time to figure out if he could ever be trusted. “Look uhm… I have a friend we could take Squirrel to, it would be safe there for him.”

“A friend?” He questioned.

“Far up north, there’s a uh…” You wondered if it was smart to even be telling him of this. “Place. A safe place, for Squirrel. Once we’re there, we can go our own way.”

At this point he was just looking at you and trying to read your thoughts. “How far north?”

That was one of the problems you would face. “Past Uther’s castle. It’s at the coast.”

His eyes widened slightly, as if the idea was insane. “Past Uther’s castle? The land around the castle is protected by the king’s soldiers, we’ll be captured long before we can pass it.”

You knew it would be dangerous, but staying was too. “We can’t stay in this dungeon either.”

The Monk wiped his hand across his mouth, clearly not approving of the idea yet. “Let us think about it for the night, we can decide tomorrow after we have rested.”

You took a step back, finally uncrossing your arms. “Alright, that’s fine.”

In the light of the moon, you noted how pale he looked, it was not just Squirrel who was tired. Sudden exhaustion was common among people healed by magic, first there was a surge of energy, but when that stopped the body went back to it’s usual state.

“Do you still need to be in the linen room?” He asked.

“No.” You said.

He moved past you. “Then I shall make use of it.”

You called after him, “Going to try and wash the sin off?”

He sounded so matter-of-factually, “Only a scourge can.”

The way it sounded so normal to him… it didn’t feel right to you.

You made the suggestion to try something different then harming himself, “Maybe try prayer instead?”

For a brief moment he looked back at you, like he did not know what to say, then turned and headed back down to the dungeon.

It had been a long time since you had been north, maybe the Monk was right and it was too dangerous. But the dungeon was not a good place to stay with Squirrel, children had died down there. The place deserved to be burned out of existence.

For now, all you could do was go back down there and return to Squirrel.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Getting some rest in this place was not simple.

You had build a comfortable spot on the ground next to Squirrel with the linen and were trying to sleep.

With your back against the wall, you were reminded how hard it was to fall asleep in this place.

The door of the room was open and you could see the dim light from the torches in the hallway.

Still, it was not enough to make you feel less trapped. The only thing stopping you from walking out off that room and sitting closer to the stairwell, was Squirrel sleeping next to you.

You waited and waited for sleep to come and eventually gave up, even though your body was exhausted after healing the Monk, your mind was not at rest enough.

Quietly you walked out of the room, seeing a small ray of light coming from under the door of the linen room where the Monk was in.

You plucked a torch from the wall and walked down the hall to the room you had avoided.

The door was still open and you could see where you had scratched at the wood when being in the darkness had taken a toll on you.

After a minute of hesitating, you went inside and often glanced back to see if the door was still open.

The room was small, old blood stains were on the floor of it. The first two weeks you had tried to fight them and escape, it often ended in you being a bloody mess. Once your nose had bled so much after being hit by Hutch that you’d thought he had broken it.

You wandered around the room for a moment longer, then walked out and closed the door behind you, this time forever.

The light at the other end of the hall was still present and you remembered that you had forgotten your vest in the linen room.

After putting the torch back in it’s holder on the wall, you went to the room and knocked, quietly announcing yourself, “It’s me. I forgot my vest in-”

“Come in.” The Monk called out.

Slowly you opened the door and peeked around it, he was in his undershirt and trimming some of his beard with one of his daggers.

But it was the small mirror he was using that surprised you.

Your attention went to the mirror right away. “What… where did you find that mirror?”

That would have come in handy earlier.

Dammit.

He continued while answering, “In between some of the linen.”

You picked up your vest from near the door and noticed all the blood stains on his shirt, it was in far worse condition than your own. At least yours had no tears in it.

Your kind could not heal scars, so the ones on his back were still present, but there were still some cuts on his hands that your healing had not cared for.

You didn’t want him to think you had done it on purpose. “I tried to heal you as best as I could without fainting.”

He did not blame you for the wounds still present. “You have done more than enough, I have seen the toll it takes on your body to do what you did for me.”

You were watching him trim his beard so meticulously that you couldn’t hold in a small laugh.

It had him turn a little to look your way, he was not understanding what had caused the reaction.

“I think you missed a spot.” You dared to say.

He knew you were not serious about it. “That would be intentional.”

Well, he surely was confident in his shaving abilities.

You put your vest on and rolled your eyes while walking back to the door. “I’m going to look around and see if I can find a shirt that isn’t ruined. Maybe the Brothers left more things laying around than we have found so far.”

In the mirror you could see the reflection of the slight frown he had.

You weren’t going to ask if you should look for a shirt, you didn’t want to come across as too helpful towards him, it was possible that he realized this.

On your way out, you looked down at the swords that he had put to rest against the wall.

He caught you looking and commented lightheartedly. “You have your own.”

You looked at him through the mirror and then walked out.

Maybe there was some clothing left in that room with the relic drawer, it looked like the brothers had been there the most often back then, and there had to be some leftovers from the ruins above.

You went to a door that had been broken open by the Monk and entered the room.

Dust. Tons and tons of dust, some of it flew up and covered you in it.

More buckets were there, a ruined table and a set of chairs. Off in the corner was a big and heavy looking wooden chest, fortunately it was not locked and you were able to look inside.

Some books, always a good thing. A bottle with dried up ink and a quill. Some clothing was inside, including a shirt you hoped to find.

Under the clothing was a small knife, it was rather dull but maybe it could still be of use so you took it along. And then you found something most useful, a satchel to wear over your shoulder.

Right away you began to store away two small books that looked interesting, and the knife.

With the shirt you returned to the linen room and almost forgot to knock.

He was already opening the door and it made you stumble back from it.

Had he heard you walk?

“Your scent.” He said upon seeing your confused reaction.

“I washed!” You snapped.

Oh, how difficult it was to bury the hatchets when one took every spoken word as ignition for battle.

Still, he could sense that most of your hostile attitude was the result of the broken trust you had in others. It was something he could relate to.

The Monk looked down at your hands and slowly took hold of the shirt in it, while clarifying with a slight smirk what he had meant. “Your Fey scent.”

Oh…

“Did you find that satchel in the same place you found the shirt?” He noticed it hanging at your side.

Your eyes dropped down to it and you showed him the contents. “Oh… yes. Some books as well and a dull knife that I can maybe sharpen and give to Squirrel.”

It slipped out of him, “Everything is a weapon in his hands.”

It seems that he was quick to figure Squirrel out.

You gestured to the room Squirrel was still sleeping in. “I am going to try to get some sleep.

He gave a nod and quietly closed the door again.

Back at the room, Squirrel was snoring a little when you went to lay down on the linen bed you had build for yourself.

Exhaustion washed over you not long after and finally carried you off to sleep.

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

[tsugarubecker]

Happy 1000 Followers to meeee! 🥰🎉🎉

To celebrate, I’ve just spent entirely too many hours writing a fanfic of The Van Scene from Mike’s POV. It is essentially a lot of prose about Mike’s head being full of gay 10 Hours of Ocean Sounds to Sleep To noises lmfao 🌈🌊 Enjoy! ☺️🎇

Re: Lighting up a Room

He pauses to catch a breath right after comparing himself to Lois Lane. He doesn’t have time to wonder if all the purple palm tree delight he’s been around for hours in a cramped van is making him a little loopy.

He looks up. Will’s giving him a searching, unreadable look. Like Mike isn’t making any sense.

And he’s not. He knows he’s not. Superman? The Daily Planet? Shit. At what point did he start rambling - and why can’t he get himself to stop?

“Sorry.” I don’t know why this is all I can think about right now.

“No…”

“It’s so stupid, given everything that’s going on. It’s just… I don’t know.” He pauses to breathe again, to try to get his own thoughts to slow down long enough to make an iota of sense. He’s nervous - somewhere, buried deep, he knows he’s dancing around something he needs to say about El - something he doesn’t want to say. “…I just—“

“You’re scared of losing her.” Will supplies.

And that’s not quite it. But a recent memory blares like a voice on a megaphone, echoing across Mike’s mind: his own words.

I feel like I… like I lost you, or something. Does that make sense?

Mike looks up. He meets Will’s eyes, and it’s like he’s been hit in the stomach. No air in his lungs. No oxygen in his brain.

As he gazes, he wonders - not for the first time - if maybe he’s dancing around… more than one something that he doesn’t want to say.

But maybe he won’t have to?

He glances down, swallows, meets Will’s eyes again. Commands himself to nod in assent, resulting in the tiniest inclination of the head that could pass for a nod. Keeps searching Will’s eyes.

His thoughts are moving at about a mile a minute, and none of them seem to be coherent English sentences. Based, probably, on the fact that he has no idea what fucking wavelength he’s currently on, he’s finding it sadly impossible to determine if Will is on the same one. Fuck. Fuck.

“Wavelength” makes him think deliriously for a split second of the iconic Pink Floyd album cover. Which feels so on the nose he wants to cry and laugh at the same time. Maybe the purple palm tree delight contact high really is affecting him. He’s about 0.5 seconds from needing to stifle a laugh/sob when—

“Can I… show you something?”

Will doesn’t wait for a reply, or he takes Mike’s unbroken gaze as a yes - either way, Mike’s grateful, since apparently his brain is currently full of secondhand PPD, Pink Floyd album covers, static, and rocks. (He suspects if he rolled his head around right now he’d hear clunking noises. He doesn’t roll his head around.)

He keeps his brow furrowed slightly as he watches Will digging around for something. What is he looking for? He swears his pulse has sped up to match the bpm of that Bronski Beat song that he loves but can never remember the name of, but Will doesn’t need to know his heart’s going haywire.

Will pulls an earthy brown paper scroll from his bag.

Uhh, what’s that?

Keeping his face carefully frozen in a slight frown, Mike reaches for the scroll that Will offers.

It’s… it’s nothing, just this painting I’ve been working on.

His hands aren’t shaking as he starts to unroll, but somehow it feels like he’s pulling his muscles out of quicksand. They don’t seem to want to move.

Cool.

He unfurls a bit more.

He… he won’t show me what he’s painting. I think it is for a girl!

The painting is before him. And it is - it’s a full-blown painting. Oil on canvas. A fully realized mythical landscape, so similar in content to all of Will’s work before - the dragon, the brave warriors attacking with sword and shield - but this is far, far beyond the skill Mike has become familiar with from Will. This painting practically has a heartbeat. This painting’s heart beats nearly as loudly and strongly as Mike’s does, looking at it.

He realizes he’s smiling. He’s beaming. He thinks actual sunbeams might be shooting out of his face.

He doesn’t care.

I think it is for a girl!

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

“This is amazing.” He turns to Will, almost giddy. Almost delirious. “Did you paint this??”

Will’s face mirrors Mike’s. Excitement. Relief. Something more - a spark that’s too scary to name. Mike is dizzy. He thinks he might giggle - he doesn’t know if he’s ever “giggled” before. (He still suspects some fresh air may be in order, but it’s a low priority at the moment.)

“Yeah. Yeah.” Will says, looking back and forth between Mike’s eyes. Mike can almost see the spark that he’s too hesitant to name. He feels he could reach out and touch it, cradle it in his hands like a firefly.

“I mean.” Will breaks eye contact. He faces forward. “I mean… I mean, El asked me to.”

In his mind Mike sees an image flash like a movie: he opens up his cupped hands and there is no firefly.

What? …El?

Will’s head is turned away from Mike’s, looking out into the distance. Mike stares after him, scrunching his brows, trying to find Will’s gaze again. Listening. Trying to understand.

“She commissioned it, basically. I mean, she told me what to draw—“

Will is painting a lot. But he won’t show me what he is painting. He won’t show me what he is painting. He won’t show me what he’s—

“Anyway,” Mike hears, which breaks the verbal loop his brain has gotten stuck on, tied to the metaphorical tracks of this train of thought, “my point is—“ and after a fraction of a moment, Will leans in close to touch the painting.

Will’s forearm brushes Mike’s hand. And rests there. He starts speaking. Words. Definitely words. Mike is sure words are entering his ears, but his brain is not processing them.

Mike glances down. Bites his lip. His hand is full of warmth, his shoulder has turned to stone because now he can’t move. Will’s whole torso is thiiis close and he can feel his presence like an invisible force field. Focus. Will is talking. Look at the painting. His head is full of bees. His head is full of poetry. He doesn’t think he’s ever written a poem. He’s pretty sure he’s writing about seven and none of them make any sense and they don’t rhyme and something about hands brushing as they reach for fireflies and speaking of flying fires, dragon paintings as a metaphor somehow and—

“—your coat of arms here? It’s a heart.”

His poetry-addled brain latches on to the word. It’s like a portal - he’s present again. He looks up at Will.

“And I know it’s sort of on the nose, but that’s what holds this party together. Heart. Because, I mean, without heart, we’d all fall apart.”

No fair, Mike thinks. Your poems rhyme. Is Will really saying these things?

Will would fall apart without Mike?

“Even El,” Will emphasizes. “Especially El.” He leans away, turning instead to face out the window. Mike can’t decide if it’s Will’s body language that’s just become a metaphor for emotional distance or his words. He thinks it must be both, feels the sudden distance regardless. His hand feels cold.

“These past few months, she’s been so lost without you.” Will is saying. “It’s just, she’s so different from other people. And when you’re… when you’re different, sometimes you feel like… like a mistake.” He’s choked up. Mike can hear it.

Sometimes, I think it’s just scary, Mike’s memory supplies softly. To open up like that - to say how you really feel.

Who are we talking about right now, Mike wonders. El! A part of him chastises. No, another part murmurs gently.

“But,” Will whips around. There are tears in his eyes. “You make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different.”

Especially to people you care about the most.

“And that gives her the courage to fight on.”

Because what if - what if they don’t like the truth?

The truth, Mike thinks. Being different. A mistake. Courage. His head is full of El, his head is full of Will. His head is full of Mike Wheeler. Courage. A mistake. Being different. The truth. His head is full of fireflies and he can’t think. He has no idea what’s happening on his face and it scares him.

“If she was mean to you, or she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s because she’s scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her.”

Like I… lost you or something.

Yes, he thinks. Scared. I am scared. Scared of losing—… his mind won’t supply a pronoun. He swears he hears a bzzt and thinks it’s bees, or it’s electricity as his brain short circuits. He loses further control over his face. He’s looking at Will’s lips. Stop that. Smile at him, he’s talking about El. Get it together.

“And if she was going to lose you, I think she’d rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a band-aid.”

Wait - what? Who’s losing me? No one’s losing me.

“So, yeah. El needs you, Mike. And she always will.”

That’s better. You’re not - she’s - I mean she’s - not losing me.

It occurs to him a beat too late that Will is done speaking, that he has just bared his heart both verbally and in the form of a painting - or, well. El has bared… her heart? Mike’s head hurts. He’s a writer - words have never felt more difficult for him than in this moment of utter brain sludge.

“…Yeah?” He finally musters, letting his face move intuitively. His heart pounds with affection. He knows it shows.

“Yeah,” Will breathes back. He smiles. His eyes are in pain.

Mike doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand anything. He’s never understood less in his entire life.

Internally, anyway. His own heart. What he does understand is that Will has just made a big gesture of love. He doesn’t feel sure, anymore, that there would be a firefly there if he reached out a hand. Maybe not that kind of… (He can’t finish the thought.) But he knows there is love in this gesture, even if his hands are devoid of softly glowing, fragile creatures. He isn’t leaving empty handed. Will loves him.

He can’t help but smile.

Will turns away. He rests his chin on his hand, looks out the window into the distance. Mike thinks he sees his shoulders shake.

He looks down at the painting, only half-seeing it. There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t have a grasp on this narrative. His head is pounding out a rhythm so fast and hard it would be danceable if it wasn’t the beginnings of a headache.

Hey, what’s wrong? No.

Are you okay? No.

What the hell just happened here? Definitely not.

He’s not ready for the conversation. Who am I referring to? Mike doesn’t know.

He traces his fingers across the characters on the painting. Softly. Across the heart on the shield.

You’re the heart. You’re the heart. You’re the heart.

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

———

Thank you so much for reading!!! 🥺 Please reblog or comment - it would mean the world to me to hear your thoughts.

Bonus: linked here is the amalgamation of the poems Mike’s brain was writing for Will, if you’re curious 🙃💕

-

Update: incredible fanart that I commissioned from @gmaybe666 who absolutely blew me away 😭💕💕

[qroier]

spiderbit lyrics in hozier songs, in no particular order apart from the fact that this is how they are listed in the document i made months ago. not definitive because otherwise this would be a million miles long:

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives /Ride 'round picking up clues

We tried the world, good God, it wasn't for us

There's something tragic about you / Something so magic about you

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword / Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

There's something broken about this / But I might be hoping about this / Oh, what a sin

I'd be home with you / I'd be home with you

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I'll crawl home to her

My babe would never fret none / About what my hands and my body done / If the Lord don't forgive me / I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask you, neither should you / Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips / We should just kiss like real people do

You don't understand, you should never know / How easy you are to need

It can't be unlearned / I've known the warmth of your doorways / Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

When I was a man I thought it ended / When I knew love's perfect ache

When you move / I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be / When you move / I could never define all that you are to me

I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint / I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave

Who could ask you be unbroken or be brave again? / Or, honey, hope even on this side of the grave again / And who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? / But stick around until you hear that music play again

Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was / Just as it was, baby / Before the otherness came / And I knew its name / The love, the dark, the light, the flame

And tell me if somehow some of it remained / How long you would wait for me? / How long I've been away?

Be that hopeful feeling when Eden was lost (lover, be good to me) / That's been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed (lover, be good to me) / Which side of the wall really suffers that cost? / Oh, lover, be good to me

With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet / Like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat / Settle soft and as pure as snow / I fell in love with the fire long ago

But whose heart would not take flight? / Betray the moon as acolyte / On first and fierce affirming sight / Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight / Oh, your love is sunlight

You are unbreaking / Though quaking / Though crazy / That's just wasteland, baby

If I was born as a blackthorn tree / I'd wanna be felled by you / Held by you / Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames? / Ain't it the life of you, your lighting of the blaze?

Remember once I told you 'bout / How before I heard it from your mouth / My name would always hit my ears / As such an awful sound

Some part of me must have died / Each time that you called me baby / But some part of me stayed alive /Each time that you called / Each time that you called

Do you think I'd give up / That this might've shook the love from me / Or that I was on the brink? / How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah / If I could hold you for a minute

And though I burn how could I fall? / When I am lifted by every word you say to me / If anything could fall at all, it's the world / That falls away from me

If there was anyone to ever get through this life / With their heart still intact, they didn't do it right

You know the distance never made a difference to me / I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea

You called me angel for the first time / My heart leapt from me / You smile now, I can see its pieces still stuck in your teeth

That I'd walk so far just to take / The injury of finally knowing you

The sky set to burst / The gold and the rust / The colour erupts / You filling my cup / The sun coming up /Like I lived my whole life /Before the first light / (Some bright morning comes)

The waking up, having forgotten / And remembering again the full extent / Of what forever is

But after this I'm never gonna be the same / And I am never going back again

[ask-healthy-light]

This episode contains graphic descriptions of pain and violence, bordering on torture Reader discretion is advised

For a long time, both Boom and the Dragoness standing in front of him waited for the other to start speaking, but as the deafening silence dragged on, and Boom could feel the temperature of the rocks on which he knelt increase, he grew nervous; and after he took a deep breath, he sincerely told the blue Dragoness that he was willing to give his life to her, only asking for safe passage in return.

But in response, the Dragoness merely waved the Scepter towards Boom, and a split second later, the rock he was kneeling on broke into countless pieces, which grew to envelop his hooves, until he was unable to move, or break free; for no matter how hard he tried to pull out his hooves, or break the stones holding him using his magic or his body, he soon realised that he was only injuring himself.

As the Dragoness slowly bowed down to talk to Boom at his level, and stared directly into his eyes, she whispered his name with a chilling calmth in her voice, and Boom looked at Dragon Lord Ember in awe and terror, as he could tell that she was furious; but he knew better than to interrupt her, so he anxiously nodded to her in return, whereafter she rose to her hind claws again, and circled him.

To his immense dismay, the tiniest movements that Lord Ember made with the Scepter caused the rocks on his hooves to tighten drastically, and he could hear and feel the nauseating crunch of his bones as they shattered under the force; and it took Boom all of his energy not to cry out in pain, so he said in his strained voice that he would do anything for Ember, as long as she stopped hurting him.

All that Ember did in response was bow down again, and as she stared right through Boom, whose eyes had started to well up with tears, she shook her head agonisingly slowly, terrifying the Unicorn in front of her before she waved the scepter around again; and Boom cried out in anguish as his hooves were crushed, until he fell over, as he could no longer stand on what little was left yet unbroken.

Even though his screams of pain only reached so far, and none but he and Ember heard them, the rest of the group stopped in their tracks when they felt a sudden sharp pain in their hearts, which even Courage and their friends back in the Empire were able to feel; and even Ember felt sorry for Boom, but despite her ever growing remorse, she did not relent, and she merely bent down to threaten him.

If she were to hold on to his hooves, and continued to crush his arms and legs, chest, and at last, his heart, and held on to it for an Age, Ember whispered, then he would still have only felt a mere fraction of the pain he had put her and her Family through; and since she knew he would heal again, Ember calmly asked Boom why she should give him the time of day, instead of keeping him stuck here.

Through his heavy breathing and weeping, Boom narrowly managed to tell Ember that he understood how terrible her grief was, and that he had no right to ask anything of her for himself; but he quietly said that he wanted to ask her to help his group of friends and allies instead, as they were headed to the East to be rid of an immense threat, which was a danger to friends and Family in the Empire.

As Ember raised an eyebrow in response, Boom continued, and told her about his companions, whom had all joined him hither from outside of the Dragon Lands: a Kirin, a little Pink Diamond Dog, and two Dragonesses, also, both brave and loyal to each other, and their friends; a Captain, experienced in fighting, but neither in talking, nor enduring a few jokes, and the Daughter of Princess Luna, Nox.

When she heard Boom utter the name of Nox, Ember loudly gasped in shock, and she hastily unmade all of the rocks that were hurting Boom, and holding him in place, whereafter she carelessly tossed the Bloodstone Scepter; but after Boom took a moment to steady his panicked breathing, he told Ember to keep it close, for not only would he heal on his own, but somehow, he could not overcome its magic.

To his surprise, Ember shrugged in return, and as she put the scepter under her wing, she scoffed:

"Psh, magic… You Pony folk think you are the only ones who can wield it…"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Boomlord from @thedumbguywithaheart43

[todaysdocument]

Speech of then-Senator Harry S. Truman before the United Rally to Demand Rescue of Doomed Jews, April 14, 1943. 

“This is the time for action. No one can any longer doubt the horrible intentions of the Nazi beasts.”

Collection HST-SVP: Harry S. Truman Papers as U.S. Senator and Vice President

Series: Speech Files

File Unit: Press Release File April 14, 1943 - United Rally to Demand Rescue of Doomed Jews, Chicago, Illinois

Transcription: 

SPEECH TO BE DELIVERED BY SENATOR HARRY S. TRUMAN

BEFORE THE UNITED RALLY TO DEMAND RESCUE OF DOOMED

JEWS AT CHICAGO STADIUM, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, ON

APRIL 14, at 8:00 O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING -

TO BE RELEASED ON DELIVERY

Some twenty-three years ago when we men of American returned to this nation's shores, we dedicated ourselves to the principles for which our comrades had laid down their lives. In our hears was a consuming hatred for the forces of oppression which had sought to crush the free people of the world. In our memory was an undying horror of war. We laid aside our weapons and turned to the pursuits of peace. But we knew we could never keep our trust with those who had given their lives on the battlefield of Europe unless we undertook to bring into actual being the liberty and freedom for which we had fought. That war was waged not only that nations might be free but also that the people who make up those nations might be free.

During this time we strove to achieve these ends through the arts of peace, relying on an honor that we hoped existed between nations. Today, again, we find the forces of oppression seeking to crush the free peoples of the world.

Today the flag of freedom and liberty for which those comrades of mine gave up their lives has been trampled into the dust by the iron heel of the barbarian. In conquered Europe we find a once free people enslaved, crushed and brutalized by the most depraved tyrants of all time. Through the edict of a mad Hitler and a degenerate Mussolini, the people of that ancient race, the Jews, are being herded like animals into the Ghettos, the concentration camps, and the wastelands of Europe. The men, the women and the children of this honored people are being starved, yes! actually murdered by the fiendish Huns and Fascists. Today these oppressed people, still with spirit unbroken look for succor to us, we people of the United States, whose flag has always stood for liberty, freedom and justice for all.

[page 2]

-2-

The history of America in its fight for freedom and the history of the Jews of America are one and the same. During the dark days of the Revolutionary War, when it appeared that the cause of freedom for which our forefathers then were fighting was a lost cause -- when the spirit of Washington and his brave men was lowest -- the man who took his personal fortune and dedicated it to the freedom of America was that early patriot, Haym Solomon. The history of the South could not be written without recounting the honored deeds of Judah P. Benjamin, Senator of Louisiana, statesman, scholar, and revered leader of the South. So on down through the pages of the history of America, you find the efforts of the Jews -- as of all Americans -- striving for all those things that have made America great.

When in the course of the present conflict it became apparent that the forces of evil were moving along a path toward world-wide conquest -- the ultimate goal, the compete and utter subjugation of all nations of the world -- our great President outlined the Four Freedoms: the Freedom of Speech, the Freedom to Worship God, the Freedom from Want, and the Freedom from Fear. Today we find America and her allies fighting to uphold those principles. We are fighting now that the Four Freedoms shall be, not only freedoms for the United Nations, but a guaranteed birthright to all the peoples of the world.

Merely talking about the Four Freedoms is not enough. This is the time for action. No one can any longer doubt the horrible intentions of the Nazi beasts. We know that they plan the systematic slaughter throughout all of Europe, not only of the Jews but of vast numbers of other innocent peoples. The streets of Europe, running with the blood of the massacred, are stark proof of the insatiable thirst of the Nazi hordes.

Now is the time for fighting. Today, as always in the past, Americans are fighting with honor and glory. Those of us on the home front are devoting all our energies to giving them the weapons they need. But we must do more

[page 3]

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than that. Of paramount importance today is the firm establishment of the foundation of our post-war world. We must make sure that when final victory is achieved all men throughout the world will live in peace, free from all oppression.

Today -- not tomorrow -- we must do all that is humanly possible to provide a haven and place of safety for all those who can be grasped from the hands of the Nazi butchers. Free lands must be opened to them. Their present oppressors must know that they will be held directly accountable for their bloody deeds. To do all of this, we must draw deeply on our tradition of aid of the oppressed, and on our great national generosity. This is not a Jewish problem. It is an American problem - and we must and we will face it squarely and honorably.

[nawysstuff]

In the Shadow of Curses: A Love Unbroken

Disclaimer: angst, mlm.

Pair: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto.

Geto slumped heavily onto the worn, tattered sofa, his heart burdened by the agonizing wait for Gojo's return from yet another perilous mission. Gojo, the strongest sorcerer known to all, was always the first choice when it came to confronting curses that no one else dared to face. The house seemed emptier, colder, without the presence of the one man who had stolen not only Geto's heart but his very essence.

With a deep, melancholic sigh, Geto turned his attention to the flickering images on the television screen, where a stranger's voice resonated through the room like a haunting melody. "When you really love someone," the voice intoned, "you see all their mess, their shattered pieces, and yet, you love them still. In fact, it's precisely those broken fragments that make you love them even more."

Geto's eyes drifted from the TV, his gaze vacant but brimming with the weight of sorrow and longing. He couldn't help but relate those words to Gojo, the man he loved more than life itself. The memory of Gojo's smiles, his messy hair, and the scars he bore from countless battles were etched in Geto's heart, becoming all the more precious with their imperfections. Every scar told a story, every flaw held a piece of Gojo's soul, and Geto cherished them all, even as they tormented his soul in Gojo's absence.

The room was steeped in silence, the words on the television screen reverberating in his mind like a dirge for his own broken heart. Geto's love for Gojo, in all its torment and imperfection, was a testament to the depths of his sorrow. It was a love that had been tested by distance, danger, and darkness, and yet, it burned with an intensity that only the darkest of sorcery could rival.

Love! He mused to himself, a complex, enigmatic emotion that had him ensnared in its intricate web. His thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, an endless spiral of longing and confusion. Yet, amidst his tumultuous introspection, an unfamiliar voice called out his name, shattering the fragile sanctuary of his reverie.

"Suguru, Suguru, can you hear me?"

Startled, Geto's gaze snapped from the abyss of his thoughts to the source of the voice. There, before him, stood Gojo, his presence marred by the unmistakable signs of brutal battle—bruised, bloodied, and gasping for breath. Time seemed to halt as Geto's heart raced with dread.

"Satoru, oh my God," Geto stammered, his voice trembling, his emotions in turmoil. "How... How did this happen?"

Geto struggled to form coherent words, desperate to hold onto his composure as his world teetered on the precipice of despair. Gojo, despite his injuries, tried to reassure him with a faint, brave smile. "It's okay, Suguru. I'm fine, just need some rest."

But Geto's composure was hanging by a thread, and as Gojo's weakened form succumbed to unconsciousness, it snapped. "No, not again, Satoru!"

Geto gently cradled Gojo's battered body in his arms, a surge of panic coursing through him. He rushed Gojo to the bedroom, his movements quick and deft as he sought to staunch the bleeding, change Gojo's blood-soaked clothes. In the process, he became acutely aware of his own appearance, drenched in Gojo's blood.

His hands shook, breath came in ragged gasps, and his thoughts whirled with the terrifying what-ifs. "What if he had been gravely hurt and couldn't have made it here in time? What if..." Panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"I should take a bath," Geto whispered to himself, his voice trembling. After an agonizing fifteen minutes of struggle, he managed to tear himself away from his beloved's side, desperate to wash away the physical and emotional toll of the day. The water ran hot, but it did little to wash away the anguished turmoil that had taken root in his soul, entwined with his profound love for Gojo.

The steam from the hot water enveloped Geto in a comforting embrace as he stood beneath the showerhead. But no matter how scalding the water, it couldn't cleanse the stain of dread and sorrow that clung to his very essence. Each droplet seemed to echo the anguished thoughts that raced through his mind.

As the water cascaded over his body, he couldn't help but replay the moment when he'd first laid eyes on Gojo, battered and bruised, a vision that had filled him with a paralyzing fear he'd never known. The feeling of Gojo's blood on his hands, an indelible reminder of the fragility of the love they shared, left Geto shaken to his core.

The bathroom was filled with a disorienting blend of steam and the sound of running water. Geto leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, his chest heavy with the weight of his emotions. "Satoru," he whispered through trembling lips, as if the name itself held the power to mend his shattered heart.

Time seemed to stretch on, both eternal and fleeting, and as Geto emerged from the shower, he found himself faced with the image of Gojo still unconscious in the bedroom. The wounds were dressed, but Gojo's pallor spoke volumes about the ordeal he'd endured.

Geto sat by Gojo's side, gently cradling his hand and pressing it to his lips. A silent vow formed in the depths of his soul—to protect, to love, and to never let Gojo face such horrors alone again.

The room, though dimly lit, felt like a sanctuary. The steady rhythm of Gojo's breathing was a poignant reassurance. As Geto settled beside him, he knew that the tangled web of love, pain, and longing they shared would never be easy to unravel. Yet, in this moment, amidst the shards of their vulnerability, it was the profound and undying love they held for each other that illuminated their path through the dark.

With a heavy heart and fervent hope, Geto whispered, "We'll face it all together, Satoru. No more lonely battles." And in that room, filled with the remnants of anguish, they clung to each other, bound by a love as powerful as the sorcery they both wielded, a love that had been tested and found to be unbreakable.

Author's Note:

Hi y'all, Nawy here. It's my very first attempt of writing. I hope you enjoyed it 🌼

[whatwouldsylwrite]

i would give anything to see a version of the Abby + Florence lyrics post with hozier oh my g o d

honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes / i feel like a person for a moment of my life - you kiss these words into Abby's skin, so fucking thankful she exists, so thankful for her love, and she caresses your hair gently, smiling at you with a faint blush on her face.

who could ask you / be unbroken or be brave again? / or, honey, hope even on this side of the grave again / and who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? / but stick around until you hear that music play again - Abby finds this one after a very tough day, when she feels like she just can't move forward anymore, and the last line breaks her. She comes looking for you so you could soothe her and let her cry in your arms.

oh, all these colors fade for you only / hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight - this one Abby finds in your hands, while you're asleep on the couch. Abby chuckles and carries you to bed.

all the fear and the fire of the end of the world / happens each time a boy girl falls in love with a girl - this one you pass to Abby on one quiet evening, so nervous you could throw up, when you confess to her. You look at her as she reads the note, your fingers fidgeting with your shirt. She looks serious and she furrows, trying to understand what you wanted to say to her, and you just blurt "I'm in love with you". Abby doesn't leave your place on that day.

I'd suffer Hell if you’d tell me / what you'd do to me tonight - you whisper this in Abby's ear when you two both have to suffer a long stiff boring social event at Abby's father's gala.

still I've had no love like your love from nobody / I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint / I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave / but I want you to know that I've had no love like your love - Abby finds it on the kitchen table after she lashes at you accidentally and feels guilty, apologising the whole evening. It hurt, but her guilty terrified eyes hurt even more, and you need her to know that "you're okay, we're okay".

when my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I'll crawl home to her you - on this day you feel like your love for Abby turns into obsession and you're so dizzy with it. Abby reads it and she feels the dark possessive side come out, and she needs you, needs to see you come apart in her hands.

all you have is your fire / and the place you need to reach / don't you ever tame your demons / always keep them on a leash - this one is in Abby's book just after she had to fight with someone. She had to have this fight because it was a right thing to do, but she felt bad. You knew she was right and you got angry with the world, so you wanted to remind her her anger was okay and she didn't need to suppress it.

[koijikido]

🍂 Past

"It's not fair," he whispered. His gaze was directed to the grave, which he had just dug himself, put the body in and buried that Veena. They had met again and again, had known each other for a long time, were friends. They got along well. He was the second now. And there weren't that many others who had been so close to him. He was always alone. But meeting the others and sitting by the fire together and talking had brought about this great feeling of joy and happiness in him. It had driven away the cold thoughts and feelings that kept creeping up to the surface. Like a shadow present over him.

But now these moments would never come back. They were both gone. And he was really alone now. Truly.

Extending his hand, he gently placed it on the burial mound in front of him before placing flowers there. They were fighters, warriors, protectors; they fought for the safety of the women and children, to protect the forest and the mountains, braving the cold. But did they also fight for themselves? This deep-seated tradition, this unbroken law that hovered over them everywhere. Was it so deeply rooted for him too? Was it so convincingly stuck in him? Then why did he feel so much pain? It wasn't that he didn't advocate protecting others. It was much more about whether he was really someone who could endure this isolation and these lonely days, nights, hours and minutes any longer. When he was alone, his thoughts circled to infinity. He didn't want that anymore. He couldn't do that anymore.

Gently he closed his eyes. It hurts. That feeling. Lonliness. Loss. Pain and sadness. Shouldn't he be stronger? Like all the others? They must have felt it too, and yet it seemed to him that they were stronger than he was. Gently he sat up and wiped the silent tears from his cheeks. "I promise that I will follow your words. I take them to heart.” he whispered towards the grave before the white-haired Veena moved away from it. He walked slowly at first, deliberately, lost in thought, then the steps grew faster with each passing moment, before he ran. Running purposefully. Away. Just away from here. Out of isolation, out into the world, away from the shackles that sat invisibly on wrists and ankles to break the chains. Away from this tradition. Away from these bonds and these eternal thoughts!

"Koiji. Promise me you'll listen to your heart. Promise me that you'll have the courage to leave someday. We've known each other for so long, and I can see that you just feel differently than the rest of us. I don't judge it. Some of the others do, I don't. I tell you, you should follow your heart. Promise me and let go of those bonds.”

Tears ran down his cheeks again and slid into the air in the haste of the movement. "I go! Do you hear me? I go! I'll keep my promise!” he cried as he ran, without hesitation, without a doubt. A gust of wind caught him as he emerged from the edge of the forest and halted on a high hill. His gaze fell back towards the forest.

"... I will be brave now." he spoke his words towards the forest and turned his back to his home as he saw a world so big before him. He closed his eyes for a moment before he gathered his courage and took the first step onto new ground.