#It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

[mareenavee]

(Tired) WIP Wednesday

Dragging ourselves through the week through the chaos <3

I've been ill but writing has been a balm! I'm gonna share a few snippets with you.

Was tagged by @thana-topsy (HUGE HUGS! Aiden and Sarel are adorable and you DID IT. You did the thing!) and @kookaburra1701 (I'm still waiting on Book 32 of your fic universe, and will cheer until its ready!)

Tagging especially @changelingsandothernonsense for the Sad Wars which have produced amazing content as of lately from me, for being writing exercises hehe. Not to brag, I'm just really fond of the work! And of course the amazing @paraparadigm, @thequeenofthewinter, @snippetsrus, @wildhexe, @nuwanders, @oblivions-dawn, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @inquisition-dragonborn @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @viss-and-pinegar, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, @saltymaplesyrup, @orfeoarte, and YOU. Because yes. You are tagged. Tag me back if you have stuff to share! I love to see it.

Below I have a few samples from some WIPs! I'll start with World, as I'm restructuring chapter 31 <3

This selection is long, too! 1,050 words, below the cut!

1) The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 31 Athis's POV as he goes through Northwatch Keep to save Thorald. 219 words.

Still, there was something unsettling about how unnaturally quiet this part of the keep was. The hairs on the back of Athis’s neck stood up, some instinct he couldn’t place screaming of danger. Something was wrong. He’d felt this way once, years ago, before a bear charged out of the woods that time his hip had been shattered. He’d almost died, then, if it hadn’t been for Farkas and that priest out of Falkreath. Odd, that, as it was a priest of Arkay. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Now, however, was not the time to lose focus.

Athis pressed against the wall that lead out of the twisting passageways into a room that looked, from what he could tell, like some kind of torture chamber. Only, the air rippled with some kind of magic that felt like static on his skin the closer he crept. He remembered how it felt when Nyenna used certain spells nearby; this one didn’t feel like anything he could recall, and that didn’t bode well. None of it did, if he was being honest. He got the sudden notion that perhaps it wasn’t worth all the trouble — that Thorald might already be dead. But no. If there was the slightest chance that he was still alive, Athis couldn’t leave him here. He wouldn’t.

2) Storms Like This A secret WIP I'll be editing and finishing soon for a friend. 266 words.

He’d thought back to one of his favorite memories of her, besides their wedding. Before they’d decided to adopt and start a family, they were living comfortably in Proudspire Manor in Solitude. He’d been overwhelmed at first by the city he’d only ever passed through before. Living in it meant becoming entangled in the political nonsense, which Sigyn seemed to take in stride. She’d come home, fancy clothes thoroughly drenched from the rain after being gone a particularly long time on what was supposed to be a local errand, and deposited an old hip bone into a chest by the door. Unnerving, sure, but not too atypical for her.

She took him by the hand and dragged him out into the storm, onto their back porch, all while Jordis silently judged them both from her perch at the kitchen table. Sigyn had said nothing, only smiled as he’d exclaimed from the cold downpour the further she led him outside, but then, even over the thunder, he’d heard it—the Bard’s College, practicing for the Burning of King Olaf, bright and clear, almost enhanced by the storm, music reverberating through the very stones of the building next door. They danced together, on their porch, regardless of the weather. It was if, for a moment, the entire world consisted of only them. She’d laughed even as their sodden hair clung to their faces, and as water ran freely into their eyes. [He] knew then, despite all of her chaos, he would follow her absolutely anywhere for as long as he lived.

Storms like this always reminded him of her.

3) Fragment - part of The Bitter, Bitter End (Unpublished as of yet.) Featuring Nevena Ules as the POV and Orvas Dren. (Yeah. Ew.) 209 words.

Orvas was leaning over the stone parapets, looking down into the courtyard where regular people milled around on business relating to Vedam’s gathering. The moons shone overhead and, besides the noise of the crowds and bards inside, all was silent. She cleared her throat, and Orvas turned to her. He smirked—the same sarcastic look he’d won her heart with when they were younger and under far less pressure—and closed the distance between them.

His eyes, blood red in this light, held storms. She knew what had been worrying him, but she was trying hard to ignore that part, until it was safe to talk about it. Vedam’s overreaching included parlaying with the Empire and solidifying trade between Morrowind and other provinces. Only, there would be an embargo if the Blight situation got worse—which it already was, by the day. And if all of that work was so new, the newfound strength of House Dren would be the first to collapse. Orvas had said as much, and had been bringing it up in their conversations more often as of late, because Vedam wouldn’t see reason. He thought he could see a solution, but even thought of it scared her.

He wanted to ally the Camonna Tong with the Sixth House.

4) Fragment - part of It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn (Unpublished as of yet.) This one is is Danger!Bean Varlais's POV. 353 words.

Varlais never felt like he belonged anywhere in particular, to be fair. His parents had been elevated slightly after a few turns of events when they’d moved with Ondolemar’s family to Skyrim. That was, technically, his doing, all those years ago, but they were still othered by most Altmer of any rank, Thalmor or not. It was complex, of course, and he didn’t have the energy to parse it all. He’d leave that to Ondolemar, who seemed like he could hold every political detail in his head, as if his mind was some kind of tome.

All he knew was it had to do with the Ayleid ancestry that refused to fade into the background for his family, no matter how many generations. Aerissa, at least, never looked down at him for the blue eyes, thank Auri-El, but she was back in Alinor now, doing clerical work for the Thalmor. And, of course, he was stuck here. But at least, if he was here, he could try and save her from them. No matter how badly he missed her, he’d keep fighting. Before she became a thrall, well, she’d always stuck by him. He looked down at his ring, the gold band glimmering with a faint enchantment, the metal worn and scratched. Somehow, likely by Mara’s direct intervention, he’d not lost the thing, nor had it torn through his skin and bone in some horrifying way. He touched the edge of his left ear where he’d lost an earring that way, and was grateful at least in that moment, his magic worked to stanch the bleeding.

As of late, he’d been feeling even more unmoored than usual, despite Ondolemar’s best efforts—the man was seventeen different kinds of distracted, after all. They were and always had been close as brothers, but with so much changing and hanging in the balance, Ondolemar had to focus on the plan. They had a goal, after all, as impossible as it all seemed. The Civil War and the Dragons were mucking up pretty much everything. Varlais also tended to make himself a problem, though never intentionally. Not really.

[birdwithinternet]

The Tornado by Owl City.

That's it that's the post.

[sanguineposhrat]

They say it's always the ones you least suspect but *I* think it's always the ones you give the least fuck about

[batboyblog]

Sen. Cindy Winckler, D-Davenport, reflected on her 2007 vote to add civil rights protections for sexual orientation and gender identity. She said, “I am so ashamed” of the bill passed Thursday and ended her remarks in tears.

Iowa Republicans voted, over the objection of every Democratic member of the State House and Senate to remove trans rights from Iowa's Civil Rights Act. Rights Democrats added 18 years ago.

This is a dark moment for sure, but it's only ever over when you give up. If you're in Iowa gear up there's an election in 2026 and I don't want to hear "oh we're a red state" fight, fight for it. Sign up to volunteer if this made you SICK to your fucking bones, don't tweet, don't post, do something.

where ever you are in America, if this shit makes you sick? look around, if you're in a red state and you find "hey no one is running against my gross MAGA state rep" you do it, if Elon Musk can be President, you can funding RUN FOR SOMETHING! you can find cool local candidates running in 2025 to help here and get signed up to help fight in elections in 2026 and beyond here and here

But I think the most important thing any of us can do is this: Have the hard conversations with the people in your life. You have the power to shift the people in your own life more than any TV ad or speech by a politician can. If you've been avoiding talking to a family member, if you haven't been as open at work as you could be etc, now or never. You shouldn't have to educate people, but if you don't, someone will do it for you and you won't like it.

[tikkunolamresistance]

I’m rly scared of what Netanyahu is doing and how bad it’s going to get for us, in Israel and in the diaspora, if he succeeds. how are we going to keep fighting? how much more of this can we take? it feels like his government is going to let Hamas and the Jew haters win. we can’t let them. I hope that’s tikkun olam resistance.

i know it feels futile but history and time ebbs and flows. we can look at the jews before us to lead us in how to survive. yes, the added complexity of a nation state rearranges perceptions of jewish ancestry in israel, but our vow to always return will continue. politicians may influence general public but as long as we know what we stand for we can never really die. jews have been and always will be indigenous to israel and there is very little anyone can do to change that other than manipulate language.

i’ve had a really really really bad day. i was able to reach out into my jewish community and spiritual existence to find strength and peace. i’m not saying this is easy, but i am saying it is something we are capable of.

we fight by our mere existence.

am yisrael chai.

[lady-raziel]

Raz please I need your opinion on this

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSrwmmTjD/

Asked God and he said this is NOT canon, since it implies that the hosts of heaven do not already have access to Undertale and that a copy of the game is the critical info Pope Francis relayed upon arrival (it’s not). Instead, what isn’t immediately apparent (but will soon become clear) is that Francis 1) knew he was dying 2) knew Vance was coming for the purpose he came for 3) the whole thing was actually part of a setup between the Divine and the Pope. Because in spite of Vance’s claimed love for C.S. Lewis, or perhaps because of it, it’s kind of embarrassing that he didn’t see he literally fell for the trap setup that is “main guiding light mentor character sacrifices their life to give the final momentum necessary to reverse the tides towards victory.” Guess that’s gonna be pretty embarrassing for him huh

[darkestspring]

Imagine if Rhaenyra and Cole had a son instead of daughter. He like born after 8/9 after her wedding to Laenor and he got Rhaenyra features like white hair and purple eyes. But Rhaenyra takes one look at him when he’s born and can tell this is not Laenor or Daemon baby.

(She having oh sh#t moment)

she knows it's not laenor's or daemon's the moment she sees him, her lovely boy, with amethyst eyes so bright that she wanted to weep. he didn't look like cole either, there was none of his traits, rather, he looked like her mother. so soft and lovely.

rhaenyra worries over if he'll grow to hate him like she despises cole now, but it never happens. there's never a day where she doesn't love him, her lovely boy.

she keeps him away from cole and alicent, always staring unhappily at them when she encounters them, her lovely boy in her arms or clinging to her skirts.

for all intents and purposes, it's her and laenor's first child, her heir, nothing else mattered.

[honkshooomimimi-art]

I decided a while ago that I would start making book covers for my favorite fics in an attempt to draw more and then promptly forgot BUT I did finally get around to finishing this one for “always darkest before the dawn” by taizi!!

This fic holds such a special place in my heart I reread it at least every couple months, its absolutely amazing (and honestly so is everything made by taizi, I’ve probably read everything they’ve made at least twice,,,,which is concerning on my end but that’s neither here nor there—) I definitely recommend giving it a read!! Alts under cut

[rontra]

so, like, given I’ve not persona’d even once, I gotta ask: does her life, like, improve, ever, or,,,

HELP ... BEGGING FOR HER LIFE TO SUCK LESS... PLEASE DIESEL GIVE US A SIGN.... IS IT SADAYOVER....

in the game you can definitely help her. her life does improve. granted you have to use like magic persona powers to fix it which toriumi notably cannot do. but i'm sure she can figure out a way to kill everyone who's ever been mean to kawakami in real life

[cottagecori]

you think no one's there for you? wrong. shake it out by florence and the machine is always there for you.

[tomsmusictaste]

Something about Below being arguably* Beartooth’s darkest album, immediately followed by The Surface being so unabashedly positive.

Something about, it’s always darkest just before the dawn. You know?

[chokovit]

In the last year I

Had to move from a place I called home

Lost my beloved job, a huge source of my self confidence and security

Had to rehome one of the cats

And now this shit with the election

[hourcat]

omg can I have an angsty prompt request...post-breakup piarles, reuniting after x years, realizing the feelings are still there...and maybe its not too late...hehe 😋

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It’s been about two years since Pierre took off his ring for the last time.

He’d done it before then plenty, of course—nothing aggravates an argument with the perfect mirror of yourself quite the same as a grand gesture like that, tugging off an engagement band and leaving it on the counter before storming out. But two years ago, things had just…come to a head. Pierre loved Charles, he did, but keeping up with him had become too much work. Life outside of racing had gotten very big very quickly for him, and there’s only so much a person can do in the shadow of their partner before things get testy.

And when you’re engaged to your lifelong best friend, sometimes testy is just the final straw. Charles had been in the middle of one of his big Ferrari collaborative projects, spending more nights in Maranello than at their shared flat in Monaco, and Pierre fell asleep alone in bed once again with the ache of not being enough.

So he’d left. Took the ring off, wrote Charles a little apology, and packed the things he was confident were his before disappearing into the cool November night. He’d changed both of his phone numbers a few days later when Charles started blowing his phone up with messages and voicemails. And then he’d gone off the grid entirely.

I love you, but I cannot do this anymore. That’s what he’d said. Two years later, sitting in the dining lounge at LVMH headquarters, he thinks it’s probably the right call. He no longer feels like a WAG working under his own collaborative brand with the company’s latest popstar ambassador whose name he doesn’t even really recognize. She’s nice, at least—Pierre is waiting for her now, actually, so that they can walk through the latest scheduling draft for the upcoming Winter show. He’s still not fully involved in the behind-the-scenes work, but if he can figure out something splashy to present at the next meeting, he's convinced that he’ll—

“Pierrot?” A familiar voice breaks through his thoughts, coming from somewhere to his right. Pierre turns.

And then his stomach drops, because standing before him is Charles Leclerc—ex-fiance, former best friend, the love of his life once upon a time, standing there with a bag hanging off his shoulder and his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Part of Pierre instinctively wants to fix it, either push them gently back where they belong on his face or pull them off and carefully tuck them into the vee of his shirt.

He does neither.

“Charles,” he greets instead, pushing back in his chair casually. He’s not going to get up, he’s not. It’s not like Charles is there for him, after all. “What are you doing here?” He pauses, then realizes how rude it must’ve sounded to just blatantly ask why he’s in Pierre’s workplace. “How have you been?”

Charles, to his credit, doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are lit-up, sparkling the way they always used to when they were together on the track. “I’m good,” he says as he takes a few steps closer to be within proper conversational range. “Ferrari is exploring potential luxury brand partnerships, and since I was already in Paris…” he shrugs. “Just looking, is all.”

Ferrari. Pierre hasn’t followed along close enough with their old sport for quite some time, but the name still makes him grimace. All the time that team had sucked away from him—from them—the thought still makes him bitter enough to taste it. “I see,” he hums in reply, picking up his little espresso cup and sipping at it. Charles just keeps looking at him, though: like he’s curious. “I have been working here alongside some of the lead designers of the season.”

Charles oohs softly. Pierre hates that he can tell it’s genuine even after all this time apart. “They found the perfect model,” he murmurs, a small smile playing on his face. “I’m happy they have you, Pierrot.” He looks like he wants to say more for a moment—it’s been two years and Pierre hasn’t really thought about his almost-marriage for longer than a day at a time, but suddenly having Charles right back in his space is crumbling the foundations of his new life like they’re made of plaster. “How have you been?”

“Good,” is the immediate answer that comes out of his mouth. It’s not entirely false, really, but…Pierre can’t help how his eyes trail up and down Charles’ body, how they catch at the silver chain hanging around his neck. The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing the faint little patch of chest hair that Pierre used to tease him about when they were younger. Nestled in it is…

Is the engagement band Pierre bought him all those years ago. Pierre’s gaze darts to his left hand instinctively. He swallows when he sees it ringless in the places that matter. The sight of the gaudy golden ring against his still-pale chest flings Pierre back in time, when he’d first slipped it on Charles’ trembling hand and whispered be mine forever? Charles had promised him, then, that he would—the memory makes him feel nauseous. Forever had felt like a long time when Pierre had weighed his options before leaving—a long time to be waiting in the wings, a long time to be a love of Charles’ and not the love.

And yet, the last two years without him has felt like a lifetime in the most agonizing of ways. He’s reminded of that yet again with the sight before him: Charles still wears the ring around his neck, and Pierre has his tucked away in the drawer beside his bed, folded in one of Charles’ old bandanas he’d stumbled upon after moving out. It’s silly. It’s devastating. The love Pierre had spent so long packing away in moving boxes is starting to leak out at the bottom.

“Charlie,” he says softly after a long moment, gesturing to the empty seat across from him, “come join me for lunch.” Charles just looks at him, blinking his sweet, slow, cat-like blink until Pierre gestures again, more earnest than before. “Please, mon cheri. It has been so long.”

After another long, breathless moment, Charles’ face softens even further. He pulls out the chair across from Pierre and sinks into it. “It has,” he says quietly. “Pierrot, it has.”

[darkluminosity]

Day 17 - Shadow

Based on a fic I wrote months ago (It's Always Darkest Before Dawn)

[princessamerigocreations]

Hope and strength

Garcia: No, Lucy, stop! I know it's terrible, but you cannot change history. Lucy: But it is a catastrophic result. Our daughter, this country... Garcia: The people have spoken. They must now live with this decision and learn from its consequences. We will teach our daughter to be strong and brave and to stand up for those who are and will be in need.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Happy (Belated) Birthday Kimberly Harrington! (August 22nd)

Tag List: @airwolf92 – want to be added?