#the relief and gratitude at seeing his father alive

[noomyguts]

half way through the vampire armand, and he loves love and god and family and the world, like can't emphasis enough how his love for others is repeated to be the direct connection to his humanity

hope nothing bad happens to rock the foundations of his very being

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Crown

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, violence, mention of the murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she felt such happiness and such relief as when she saw her mother, alive, smiling, standing in her chamber. She dreamt of it in solitude, heartbreakingly trying to come to terms with the fact that she would only see her and convey everything she wanted to tell her in the next life.

Instead, she could burst out crying like a little child, find herself in her arms again, smelling her wonderful, calming scent, her hands stroking her head and her back. For a long moment she couldn't calm down, sobbing loudly, apologising to her for everything, babbling about how scared she was, how much she was suffering, how she was dying every day at the thought of not protecting her.

When she calmed down at last she sat with her on her bed, realising that someone must have led to this miracle, that something had happened that had completely escaped her attention, that there was someone else in the coffin or no one at all, that someone had helped her flee.

"I helped the Prince escape when he was a child. He offered to help me run away if I secured my brother's support for him. When he found out what your father wanted to do to me, he arrived at his call." She said calmly, stroking her head, and she swallowed loudly, remembering that Vhagar's real name was Aemond, that he had taken her on the table a moment ago, her thighs sticky from her moisture and his seed.

All this time he knew her mother was alive.

I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep.

She's free now.

She stared in disbelief at her mother's lap, realising with a rapidly beating heart that he had never said that he had killed her.

That he had never lied to her.

She felt a wave of heat, a wave of gratitude, of devotion, of tenderness surge through her body. She thought she would do anything for him, that she would never repay him for this miracle that had just embraced her with his arms. She lifted her gaze, recalling with fear her younger brother, the fact that he was officially the heir to the throne.

"What about Loras?" She asked in a trembling voice, her mother stroking her head reassuringly and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"He has seen me, he is in shock. My brother remains with him in his chamber so that he is not alone, but for now he cannot leave. Before the coronation, he will have to give up his rights to the throne in front of everyone, agreeing that you should become Queen instead." She said calmly, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief, hugging her face to her chest, hiding in her embrace as she had when she was a child.

"…are you willing to do it? Marry him?" She asked uncertainly, and she nodded.

"Yes."

That night she waited impatiently for him, knowing he would come, knowing what she wanted to give him. She surprised him with her directness and initiative, the low groans of his pleasure as her mouth clenched and sucked on his manhood made pleasant shivers run through her, her walls throbbing greedily around nothing.

Both of them were surprised at how quickly she managed to bring him to the edge, his noises were full of desire and vulnerability and when he came in her mouth with a loud sigh of pleasure as she swallowed bravely everything that came out of him, wanting him to be satisfied with her.

When she released him from between her lips with a loud splat and looked up at him from below she noticed that his face looked completely different − he was panting loudly, shuddering, stroking her hair, his healthy eye wide open, his lips parted, his length still twitching, swollen from his fulfilment.

"− you will make a fine Queen −" He whispered with some kind of recognition, and she felt his words deep between her thighs. He pushed her wanting her to lie on her back, clearly planning to spend the whole night with her, but she stopped him with a movement of her hands, tightening them on his shoulders.

"− no − no, we can't −" She whispered pleadingly, her eyebrows arched in pain.

There was nothing she wanted more after seeing her mother whole and healthy than to give herself to him, however, if she was to become his wife, she could not allow him to do so.

He furrowed his brow, shocked, looking at her in disbelief.

"− are you mocking me? − I have no intention of pulling it out of you all night −" He said dryly, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer − she squirmed quietly when she felt him rub his manhood between her thighs, an amused smirk appeared on his face when he felt how wet she was.

"− you fucking want this −" He hummed; she tightened her hands on his tunic, shaking her head.

"− I want this − but the court will think I am your whore − I will never be respected by your side − is it not enough that I am the daughter of a traitor? −" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he froze, looking at her in shock, his lips tightened into a thin line.

"− I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to insult my Queen −" He hissed. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek − she saw him hesitate, his gaze softened slightly.

"− I ask this of you as your future wife − let us not spend the night together until our nuptials −" She whispered, stroking his scar with her fingertips − she heard him sigh heavily and curse quietly, furious.

He stood up, tying his breeches, staring at her with a clenched jaw and she raised herself up on her elbows, covering her thighs, looking at him gratefully.

"You're going to finish me off, woman." He said with annoyance, and she swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze. She felt his fingers grasp her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Tomorrow, you will accompany me during my council with the lords. You will stand by my side when I tell them of our decision. Do you understand?" He asked coolly, and she nodded, feeling hot in her heart at the thought that he really wanted this.

He really wanted her to be his wife.

The next day, new servants walked into her chamber, looking at her with trepidation, apparently afraid that if they offended her she would tell everything to the dreaded One-Eyed Prince, who would cut their throats.

In silence they helped her to dress and combed her hair − even though she should be wearing mourning, she put on a light navy blue gown with exposed shoulders and long red sleeves reaching to the ground, her and her future husband's colours.

In accordance with his wishes, she was led into the small council chamber, where lords loyal to him over the years as well as those who had joined him later were seated at the table − she was relieved to see her uncle and her mother among them.

This time, as soon as she spotted her future husband sitting at the head of the table she bowed humbly, causing the conversation to fall silent.

"My King." She said softly and lifted her gaze to him − his sapphire now covered by a black eye patch, his healthy eye looking at her with satisfaction and contentment. He nodded at her.

"Come closer, my Lady." He said in a firm, dry voice, and she headed towards him obediently, surprising most of those gathered by the fact that she stopped beside his chair − Criston Cole moved restlessly, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Conquering a city and regaining the throne is one thing, however, maintaining it and keeping the peace is another. The simplest way to appease the terrified citizens, in my opinion, would be a union between the feuding families, heralding a new beginning. That is why I have made decision to take Lord Walford's daugther as my wife and that she will be crowned with me during our nuptials." He said lowly − an uproar and dissenting voices echoed around her, her heart beat hard in horror as one of the lords stood up and pointed a finger at her.

"This is treacherous blood, my King. It passes from generation to generation, it cannot be trusted. Send her back to the monastery, my daughter would be a more suitable candidate for your wife." He said looking at him with outrage, however her future husband's face remained impassive and indifferent.

"I declare my will, my Lord, not to ask your opinion. Have you supported me only to have me marry your daughter? Will you turn against me if I do not?" He asked coldly, with emphasis, wanting to push him to the wall. The man swallowed loudly, shaking his head.

"No, of course not, my King, however you must not be fooled, she will want to avenge her father and put her younger brother on the throne, she…" He didn't finish as a fiery argument broke out around her − her uncle stood up from his seat, furious, saying that it was thanks to him that they had taken over the city and he didn't wish anyone to speak to his niece in such a way − the other lord said he only did it because he wanted to be King himself.

"Why would I want to avenge my father?" She asked, looking straight into the eyes of the lord who had insulted her earlier − the man fell silent surprised that she had the courage to interrupt the men's discussion and interject.

"Because I believed he ordered my mother to be killed? Because if it wasn't for our King I would have took my own life? Because my father wanted to sell me like a mere whore to whoever would offer more?"

She asked in a trembling voice, a tense silence fell around her.

"I wanted nothing more than his death. Our King can attest that when I realised that my, what I thought at the time, ghost had connections to your cause I offered to help the Prince and do whatever he wanted, if only he would agree to spare my little brother's life. I told him this without knowing who was hiding under the mask."

"You could have done it because you sensed something was coming and wanted to warn your father!" Said one of the men, slamming his fist on the table.

"That's enough." Growled their King, but she wasn't about to leave that comment unanswered.

"If I loved him so much, why didn't I warn him? Why, after discovering the shelter under the bed in my mother's chamber, did I not inform him that the Prince might have taken refuge there, that he had survived?"

Silence answered her − the lords looked at each other uncertainly with grim faces. She heard her future husband sigh heavily, running his hand over his face.

"I appreciate your devotion, my Lords, but my decision is not negotiable. Let us proceed with the details of the coronation so that we can get it over with. I understand your concerns, fear not, you will fill your purses with gold."

Despite the extreme distrust and coldness with which her husband's decision was received, it looked as if his allies must have struggled to accept it, seeing that he was taking it seriously, not wanting to lose out in his eyes, hoping for close and important positions in his future council.

She watched from the sidelines with the ease with which he set them up like pawns on his chessboard, seeing exactly what they wanted, the greed and vanity behind their grand words of allegiance.

He knew that he could not trust them completely, that he had to control them.

Even though he didn't have a mask on his face, he somehow put it on in front of them, not letting any of his emotions or thoughts come to the surface that he didn't want to share with them.

She saw his greedy, thirsty gaze, knew he was dying of rage and irritation, struggling to keep his promise not to go near her since that night.

He craved her and couldn't touch her.

When the day of the coronation finally arrived her maids prepared her bath in the morning, dried and combed her hair, helping her put on her beautiful new black and red gown, a gift from her future husband, the colour of his house.

She felt a kind of pride when she noticed that the shade suited her − her dark hair contrasted with the ruby long sleeves, her hair partly pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, partly loose, flowing down her bare back.

She walked out of the fortress for the first time in weeks, accompanied by guards, and was led to the carriage that would take her, escorted by Criston Cole along with her mother and her brother, to the temple where the nuptial and coronation ceremony was to take place.

"Do you remember what you are supposed to say?" Their mother asked Loras, correcting his robe, also the colours of red and black, proof that he too was from now on relinquishing his father's lineage to his new house.

"Yes." He muttered, looking at her in horror, pale, his large, dark eyes glazed over from tears. "If I say all this, won't they cut my throat?"

She pressed her lips together at his words and reached out with her hand, grasping his fingers, squeezing them, looking at him tenderly.

"No one will hurt you again. I will become the wife of a Prince, and then a King, and you will retain the title of lord and inherit the estate that once belonged to our father. Everything will be as it should be." She said calmly, for the first time sincerely believing that their lives would finally be at peace, that her husband would keep his word.

When they arrived there were crowds of onlookers waiting around and in the temple itself, horrified people not knowing what to think about what had happened, watching them in silence.

Her younger brother was led onto the podium with their mother, much to their consternation − she heard shouts that it was a miracle, that the Queen was dead. Her mother placed a hand on his shoulder as he began to recite what he had been ordered to say.

"I, Larys Walford, as the son of a traitor, renounce my claim to the crown in favour of its rightful heir, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and my sister, his future wife, retaining by their grace the title of Lord." He said in a trembling, childish voice from which she felt a tightening in her throat.

He came downstairs, standing behind her, heading with her to the entrance, where her uncle was waiting for her to lead her inside instead of her father. She grabbed his arm and nodded that she was ready.

When they went inside all eyes were fixed on them, but for some reason she felt no fear or panic. All she looked at was the man who stood in front of the huge altar, behind him the tall windows through which the sun fell, illuminating his pale face, his eye patch, his long, almost white hair.

He stood upright, proud, prepared for this moment for many years, confidence, calmness and determination beaming from him − she saw that he swallowed hard at the sight of her, a barely visible grimace of satisfaction and contentment on his lips, from which she felt heat in her lower abdomen.

He craved not only the crown, but also her.

It was all about to become just his in the eyes of the gods.

Her uncle gave him her hand, which he grasped in his own, looking down at her, his gaze seeming soft to her despite the coldness, her fingers tightening lightly on his skin.

"We are gathered here to unite, bless and anoint these two people entrusting the fate of us all into their hands. Do you, standing here before the face of the gods, wish to join in holy matrimony of your own free will?"

"Yes." They both replied in a confident, clear, calm voice.

"Have either of you, standing here before me, made a commitment to someone else that might stand in the way of this sacred union of marriage?"

"No." Again they both answered, she saw his gaze change with each passing moment, as if he was slowly realising that this was really happening, that they were just becoming one.

"Therefore, I, the envoy and servant of the gods on earth, call upon you to take an oath:

In the face of the gods and all assembled witnesses, I vow that what was empty becomes full, what was broken becomes whole, and what was separated becomes one, now and for all eternity.

They said with difficulty. She felt tears gather in her eyes with each word, her throat tightened, their fingers clenched on their hands − she saw his lower lip tremble slightly.

There was a complete silence around them that made her hear their accelerated breaths perfectly − they let go of each other's hands when the priest ordered them to face him and kneel.

She closed her eyes as he anointed first his forehead and hands with holy oils and then hers, while saying that by the will of the gods they would rule this kingdom.

She heard Ser Criston Cole take a black steel crown, adorned with rubies, from the altar and walk over to her husband, placing it on his head. He went back and took another crown from it, which was in the form of a diadem with ringing ruby beads − when he placed it on her head it would fall on either side on thin strings, connecting to each other at the back.

Her husband stood up, and she rose with him, Criston Cole shouting behind them.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!" His lordship cheered, and behind them the other assembled people began to chant, simple folk who had watched everything from afar.

Loud applause echoed all around them, and she thought that people, like her, were relieved at the thought that the worst was behind them, that perhaps there would be peace at last.

They returned to the fortress on horseback so that all those gathered could see them − she rode a little way behind and heard the people shouting her name, calling her their queen, running after her.

She looked at them with some kind of emotion, remembering how they had thrown flowers at her feet when she returned alone to the keep, thinking that her mother was dead.

They were welcomed in the fortress with a huge feast of dancing and revelry, seated behind a large wooden table, receiving congratulations from the lords and their families along with vows of allegiance, which they accepted with a nod.

She knew they were both dyingly exhausted and dreamed only of rest and respite. Her husband did not ask her to dance, however, she did not mind.

She felt no need to do so, although to her surprise, she was filled with contentment.

She looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye − he was sitting with his profile to her listening to the words of another of the lords, the black crown on his head looked noble.

It seemed to her that he was born to wear it.

When at last they were able to retire to bed, her husband ordered her to go with him to his chamber, so she did so without a word of objection, and her servants followed her.

He watched sitting in a chair as they helped her to take off her gown, trying to remove the diadem from her head first, however, he immediately protested.

"No. The diadem is to stay." He said coldly, in a slow respectful movement pulling the crown off his head, placing it beside him on the table, looking at it thoughtfully.

Her servants walked out when she was finally left in just her nightgown, closing the door behind them − her husband raised his eyes at her, his gaze expressing displeasure.

"Shall I rip it off you?" He asked lowly, so she pulled at the ties of her nightgown and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall lightly to the floor.

She saw her husband-king lick his lower lip involuntarily, seeing her naked body at last in the candlelight, able to admire her shamelessly without having to rely solely on his sense of touch.

He rose slowly from his chair with a creak of wood, approaching her unhurriedly, towering over her. She shuddered as his hands ran gently over her shoulders, up to her neck and cheeks, a pleasant, warm shiver passed through her even though she was cold.

He surprised her when he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, barely rubbing against them without giving her a full kiss. She sighed in delight as she felt his familiar touch and scent, her fingers ran over the soft skin of his cheeks reciprocating his caress.

She moaned quietly as he grabbed her with his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his lips greedily pressed against hers in a loud kiss as if he were tasting the fruit − they both gasped as the tips of their tongues licked each other tentatively.

"− I'll lick you good down there before I slide it into you − hm? −" He murmured running his nose over her cheek and she felt her insides throbbing hard at his words. She nodded quickly, running her fingers through his hair impatiently, looking up at him pleadingly.

She squealed quietly as he grabbed her hips and lifted her with ease, walking with her towards the royal bed that had once belonged to her father, and his father before that.

She sighed as her warm body collided with the cold sheets, her husband taking her thighs in his hands and spreading them in front of him, looking down at her with slightly parted lips.

"Mmm."

He murmured, and then leaned over her, nuzzling his face into her warmth between her thighs, with shy, tentative movements sliding the tip of his tongue inside her, teasing her deliberately, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips, her body arching backwards as his nose rubbed against her bud.

"− please − please, my husband −" She mumbled out, feeling her whole body burn with desire − for the time he hadn't visited her she had satisfied herself with her own hand, but it wasn't the same − she needed and wanted only him. She heard him hum with satisfaction at her words, watching her reaction with contentment.

"− so impatient − I was thinking only about this listening to those fucking fools −" He muttered between one lick of his tongue and the next, making her body tremble in his hands.

"− about what I'm going to do to my wife tonight −" He breathed out − she moaned loudly, surprised, clasping her hands in his hair as his tongue suddenly burst deep inside her.

He began to eat her like a starving man with a loud click of their mixed moisture, the tip of his tongue rubbing and pressing the spot inside her from which her walls throbbed wonderfully, her hips began to push desperately against his face.

"− my King − right here, yes, please −" She was panting and whimpering with pleasure when she felt the shockingly intense fulfilment shake her body, waves of heat flowing through her one after another − she was writhing in front of him, thinking only of the fact that he was her King and she had just come on his face.

She heard him sigh in contentment, with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue licking off everything that flowed out of her.

She looked at him with misty eyes when she heard him rise up on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand, reaching up to clasp of his tunic, staring at her as if he was about to devour her.

"− as your King and husband, I swear to you that you'll fall asleep and wake up with this inside you −" He murmured with a grin as he untied his breeches, releasing his hard, swollen erection, its tip glistening from his own wetness.

She spread her thighs obediently in front of him as he leaned over her, placing one hand at her head, the other guiding the fat head of his cock against her entrance, still throbbing from her fulfillment, and he pushed into her, a moan of delight escaping from their throats.

He slid deep into her with one sure thrust and immediately began to slam into her, panting loudly along with her, imposing an intense, fierce pace, his thighs slapping again and again against her buttocks with the loud click of her juices.

"− oh gods, yes − fuck, I've missed this −" He breathed out, rooting into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, sliding into her with ease − she reached her hand up to his eye patch and pulled it off in one sure motion, startling him completely.

He groaned low as she grasped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face to hers, their lips colliding in a sticky, loud kiss, their bodies hitting each other fast and hard.

"− yes − please, yes, fuck me, my King − I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours −" She mewled meeting each of his thrusts with the bucking of her hips, one of her hands clamped down on his buttock allowing him to pound into her harder. She could feel him twitching all over, close to fulfilment after such a long separation, her insides sucked desperately at his cock, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− gods, stop clenching − stop, oh, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck −" He muttered before fulfilment shook his body and his hot seed spilled inside her − they were both panting, looking at each other with misty eyes, trying to prolong this sensation with the motions of their sweaty bodies.

She sighed quietly as he leaned in and kissed her deeply, pulsing hard, still moving inside her with involuntary rocking of his hips.

"− you are made for me −" He sighed in relief, his voice filled with calmness, as if stating a fact he had read about in some book.

"− you were born to be mine −"

______

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[raayllum]

Opeli has always had faith.

It had just made sense as a little girl, the world so vast and wondrous, the steady turn of the Maker's Wheel and the cycle of the seasons. The call had always been there, a burning ember in her heart, her father an archivist in their small town's one House of Law. Her sneering mother had been a godless woman; it'd begun, like so many things, as a quiet rebellion. Then a career, and a life, here in Katolis. In the castle.

She lights the incense, a duty first given to her when the High Cleric before her, Naomi, had relinquished it to be at Soren's bedside as a sickly child when Opeli was perhaps sixteen. As High Cleric herself, she leads the congregation in prayer. The leaves fall and return. Ezran speaks and grows as king, his crown steady upon his brow.

The Wheel turns. Until it doesn't.

The sky is blue. Until it isn't.

Nothing could've prepared her for the hell fire raining down, for the crumbling of the castle that had withstood three proud centuries. For Soren's arm, strong and slung over her waist as he tackles her to safety, covers her from the stone, keeps her from running out into danger.

He presses the tiny glow toad into her hands, and she doesn't want to run—her heart pounds with adrenaline she hasn't felt since the Battle of the Storm Spire, but that had been with pride, certainty. Not terror and abject fear as she runs, because she wants to live, because the people will look to someone the way she's looked to Soren for the past hour, and she hopes—she prays that's not the last time she'll see him.

Opeli has always believed in miracles.

She performs last rites for the dying they cannot save, counts the heads of her Novices and doesn't let herself dwell on the the few that missing—not now, not yet. She pressed her palms together in gratitude that as many survived as they did, as she leads them towards Temple Hill, and thanks Lady Justice and her Sisters that at the very least Prince Callum, and in her heart of hearts, that King Ezran was not here, that he is safe elsewhere in Lux Aurea with his family.

The sky is yellow and red with fire, blackened by smoke, by the time she turns and sees people running through the flames encroaching the bridge most people hadn't been able to dart through once it'd grown, Opeli among the last to make it out. She cries bitter tears as she walks through the rapidly makeshift camp and wipes them away with her sleeve, but—

Heat beings are running towards her. A scream rises in her throat, but she recognizes the face of Barius' niece underneath, and one of her novices, and the way they are running, laughing, crying tears of joy amid smoky skin and firelight eyes. Magic, keeping them alive, family members hissing through the hearty embrace as they find each other in the crowd.

Her heart leaps.

Somehow, some way—

"Opeli." A large steady hand finds her shoulder, frighteningly warm, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Soren!" Opeli throws herself at him before she can think better of it, arms around his neck. His armour radiates warmth, and she pulls back, remembering herself just as he begins to hug her back, so they stay in that in between place for a moment as she studies him. His face is like stone and lava, fiery yellow cracks running down, the familiar blue of his eyes, gone, but—she can recognize him still, too. "I'm so glad you're safe."

She doesn't mean for her voice to break, but everyone's been looking to her and only to her the past few hours, and maybe she hadn't realized what a relief it was to have someone also making choices back at the castle, how much Soren had taken charge—how much Ezran has grown—until they were both gone, and...

Soren's eyes crinkle. "I can imagine," he says, his softer smile widening as he spots Hat crawling up from her hood. "Looking after Hat is a big responsibility."

Opeli hiccups a laugh, the tiny glowtad placing a tentative foot on Soren's hand when he raises it, then recoiling with saddened eyes.

"Don't worry little guy," Soren assures him. "It's magic. It's not permanent. Might take a few days, but..."

"Oh." More relief fills her lungs. "Good. Good—"

Soren raises his brows at her. "Why, High Cleric? Were you going to miss my pretty face?"

Momentary surprise overtakes her, as Soren has always been a flirty person generally speaking, but he's never been flirty towards her before. Opeli must really be exhausted, though, since she can't even be mad at him for it—and despite his miraculous survival and apparent levity, there's a flicker of shadows and sadness in his eyes, too. Something he's not telling her.

But she will wait to see if he wants to, just as they will wait together for his and everyone else's magicked transformations to change.

"Come." She briefly touches his elbow, the soft fabric covering it teeming with the same heat as everything else. Hat sits on her shoulder. "You should have some food and water. Then we can decide what to do next."

They can ask for help from the townspeople. Write a crow to King Ezran. Make more plans in the morning as the stars come out to play.

They can rebuild, together.

Opeli has always had faith.

[kaurwreck]

this is just a tiny addition to my last ask (i’m only beginning to read through the pdf again but can't help but share this already, i apologize T — T)

there is a possibility that BSD Yosano’s fiery loyalty to her objective to save the lives in front of her, which is quite too heroic of a goal for an 11-year old kid might be derived from this aspect of the real Yosano’s early childhood: her father is ignorant to her existence for most of her childhood however there is one activity that her father approves of—reading. reading to his children, and seeing his children read.

and when he does read to Yosano and her siblings, he reads to them stories of heroism!! allow me to insert a pic from the pdf hehe:

But Yosano herself has, already, this sense of empathy and concern for the life of others!! again, another direct photo from the pdf uwu:

Later, that night the fire did actually happen to a Sake Brewery, and there weren't numerous casualties, however, there was still a girl who wasn't able to escape the fire at all. The people around her felt relief and gratitude that they were not the one in the girl’s position. Despite this, young Yosano’s heart felt for the girl, for her life that was taken—here’s another photo supporting this:

BSD Yosano’s grief, sadness, and guilt for not being able to save, and watching the lives of the people she tended to slip past her fingers in the most horrific traumatizing way feels so much more,,,idk, tangible?? reading this about the real Yosano gives a whole new intensity to what BSD Yosano felt, no wonder it ruined her psyche so much because if we apply the real Yosano’s childhood to her, then from the moment she could comprehend stories she has always wanted in almost a vision-like way to save. She bore within her so much empathy and sacrifice.

I think if we apply the real Yosano’s life again, and specifically the feelings she possessed about the girl who died in the fire, she would rather that the takemura home (i think her sister was mentioned to live nearby) burned down if it meant that the girl would still be alive—we can understand better why she’d rather live in isolation, and sacrifice the years of her life just so that the life of others will not be devalued and disrespected and in her own words be cheapened ever again.

sorry if this makes little sense but i had to let this out HSHHSSHSH HOPE LIFE HAS BEEN KIND TO U LATELY <333

Thank you for sharing 🤎 I'm loving learning about itty bitty Yosano and how she intertwines with bsd!Yosano!

[castlescrumblingdvwn]

writing this in the middle of watching episode 7, so this is not as coherent as i would like to be, but:

mokha met kiho's father without telling kiho/bogeol, probably to protect him? and i can't help but think how this is such an obvious and poignant parallel to when young kiho fought her dad without telling her so she could escape. they were so scared (you can see it in the way mokha is so nervous throughout, and the way young kiho flinches just before tackling her dad), but did not back off. not for a second.

and, in both the cases, it... didn't really help a lot.; mokha ultimately escaped her father but ended up stranded in an island, while kiho's father now knows that he is alive, meaning he is going to be even more relentless in his search for kiho and his family... which is far from good news for our main characters.

all the while my heart aches so, so much for bogeol, in particular when he and woohak argue— he's lived like this for fifteen years, but now that mokha is finally found, the cracks are beginning to show. and well. of course they are. he had given all he could to help her, even throughout the years he never gave up the hope that he would find her (and i say this especially because of the scene where he smiles after he sees mokha on the island. that's a sigh of relief and gratitude- the kind of relief that he has been waiting to feel for freakin fifteen years. the gratitude that she is alive and finally found).

there's no way he would be able to stop himself from helping her now that he finally has the chance to correct past wrongs.

the little reversal of roles this ep–with mokha being the one trying to protect kiho this time around– made me tear up. i hope we get to see more of that, as kang pd continues to support mokha's dreams and be her silent anchor like he's always been.

[amateursatelier]

❛❛A NEW LOVE BEGINS.❞

✦ sif / reader

❀ synopsis. meeting sif for the first time in the forest + headcannons. (angst + fluff, mention of blood, mention of choking, and a dead mother.)

❀ note. i was so upset by the lack of fanfics for sif that i decided to intervene. I pulled an all-nighter just to satisfy my need to read content about her. ( music I listened to while writing: exist for love by aurora, soft universe by aurora, and ribs by lorde.)

────── . ⸙.°

A LOVELY AZURE PAINTED the early morning sky. chirps of birds echoed in the forest, reminding all those that hear them of a new beginning. but unfortunately, it was another day you would spend mouring your mother after ragnarok.

ragnarok is a tragedy you would never forget. on that day, the potent smell of blood choked you to the point of tears, but the feeling of it on your hands was far worse as you tried to save your mother's life after a piece of debris shot through her torso. the last expression that you ever saw her make haunted your conscious, making sleep nearly impossible.

it felt like a miracle when you had willed the strength to get out of bed so early in the moring and bake fattigam, a delicious dessert that your mother made whenever she was having a particularly good day. you smiled fondly while you make it, and although it hurt, you couldn't help but to think of you and your mother would be conversing if she were still alive.

once the fattigam was done, you set it in a basket and put on marred cloak. with a deep breath and for the first time in however long, you left your cottage to venture into the forest and watch the sunrise, an ritual you commonly did with the only family had left. immediately your lungs felt refreshed by the heavenly morning air. you don't remember when, but you decided that if there was nothing you could do to bring your mother back than you could at least honor her and show gratitude by keeping her alive in the little things you two did together.

you had been walking for quite some time. you sighed in relief once you finally found a lake to rest by. kneeling down, you cupped your hands togther and gathered some water. before you could take a sip, you heard faint sounds of…sobbing.

the closer you got, the more painful the sobbing sounded, the source of it must have been hurting so deeply and it saddened you. you wondered what could've happened to them.

but strangely your curiosity was immediately satisfied once you saw who it was. although you could not see the individual's face. you knew exactly who it was from their familiar tattoos and smooth golden hair that was braided to their ankles.

lady sif, the goddess of wheat, harvest, earth, and…family. your chest began to swirl in discomfort.

before you succumbed to your greif and locked yourself away in your cottage, you had caught wind that her husband, thor, the prince of asgard, died by the hands of his own father, odin. you never could've fathom such a thing.

although you didn't know what it's like to lose a lover, you understood what it was like to lose someone who loved you deeply and vice versa. out of empathy, you secretly hoped that atleast she didn't have to see him die right in front of her as you had with your mother.

you begun to turn away to give her privacy, however, you accidentally stepped on a twig causing a sharp snap! to echo approximately ten meters. you tightly shut your eyes in frustration when you heard a sharp gasp from behind you. turning back around, you made eye contact with a teary-eyed lady sif, you immediately showed yourself and bowed your head to her.

“I..I'm sorry for the intrusion, lady sif. I mean you no disrespect, i was just simply passing by.” you kept your head down to embarrassed to make eye contact again.

you were even more embarrassed when you heard her let out an offended huff.

“than why are you still here, mortal?”

you flinched at the harshness of her tone but you knew better than to take it personally. you knew all to well how grief could affect a person, you refused to judge her.

“your right. I'll be on my way right now. forgive me, lady sif.” as you began to turn away, lady sif suddenly stopped you.

“no! wait─”

you turned back to face her and watched as she composed herself. she wiped her tears and turned fully towards you with soft smile. although you could tell it was forced, a weird warmth radiated in your chest.

“I'm sorry. that was rude of me.” she said.

you smiled softly at her and bowed again. “it's alright, lady sif. I understand.”

she frowned slightly at your words. “you understand? you think you know what I'm feeling?”

her tone held both regality as well as slight irritation.

your heart worked faster than head. “with all due respect, lady sif, although I don't know what it's like to lose a lover. I understand all too well how it feels to lose someone you cherish.”

despite not showing it on your face, you felt bashful by your own words. you don't know what could've possessed you to speak so boldly to a goddess.

“you speak of your mother, yes?” her inquiry almost caused you your neck. you looked up at her quite fast, in disbelief that she knew who you were, your eyes were now the size of dinner plates.

“you..know who i am?” you asked in a demure tone and slowly straightened your posture.

lady sif smiled sofly at you, it didn't seem as forced as before. “of course, you're the offspring of a very talented baker. she was kind woman, as well. I was very fond of the desserts she would gift me to show her graditude.”

a sad look flashes in her eyes before she closes her eyes. “I'm sorry to hear that she has passed.”

hearing lady sif speak so fondly of your mother made your eyes sting. you held back your tears as to not make lady sif uncomfortable. you composed yourself and put on your best smile.you walked a bit closer to lady sif and cleared your burning throat.

“pardon me if I'm overstepping, lady sif, but..if you would like, I was planning on watching the sunrise while eating some fattigman,” you held up your basket in front of her to show off said dessert. “would you..perhaps care to join me? my mother often said said that desserts taste better when you share them.”

she looked at you with surprise. embarrassment slowly waved over you, you sucked your lips into your mouth in regret. you internally berated yourself questioning why you, an ordinary mortal, even dared to ask why a goddess would share a dessert with you.

however before you could stutter out an apology, a charming sound tickled your ears. you looked at her only to see a most ethereal sight. a geniue smile graced her face, dilating her already goddess beauty. she looked at you with enlightenment.

“yes, i'd like that.”

you smiled at her as the warmth in your chest from before returned.

──── . ° ♡ pursuit of romance.

from then onward, sif and you had establish a friendship with each other. at first, it consisted of share memories about each other's lost loved one.

she confided in you about thor’s acholoism due to odin treating him like he was a mindless beast capable of nothing else but destruction as if he wasn't a loving husband or a even father that loved his children deeply.

in the beginning, sif rarely talked about her deceased children with you, but as your relationship grows stronger, she trusts you more and allows herself to be vulnerable with you. sometimes, she would visit you cottage and stay past dusk. under the night sky, she would tell stories of magni and modi when they were children with tears streaming down her face. in those moments you could only hold her and encourage to let it all out.

speaking of her children, the closer you got with sif, the cooler you were with thrud who was happy that her mother made a friend after her father's death. thru absolutely loves the fact that you can bake, and often makes requests whenever you visit her mother. sometimes she'll visit you to talk to you about wanting to be a valkerie and eating whatever you make.

when sif sees you being close thrud, a familiar warmth radiates in her chest and a first, she feels ashamed. she discards it as just loving to see her daughter happy but deep down, she knows what she's feeling.

sif didn't want to betray thor or strain her relationship with thrud all over again, so she tried to ignore the warmth that bloomed in chest when she around you. however, there had been moments when she slipped up such as staying at your cottage for longer than usual, hugs feeling a little tighter than before, soft lingering gazes, and even her laugh louder than usual.

at first, you interpreted it as sif trusting you more, to the point of displaying friendly affection. friends are supposed to be affection, right?

as time moved on, there was an inkling of suspension that sif’s affection wasn't as “friendly” as you thought it was. especially after she started randomly gifting you flower crowns and the most elegant daggers you've ever seen. but even so, as to not ruin a good friendship, you kept quiet.

it wasn't until during one of thrud's visits that your suspension was, in a way, confirmed.

“my mother definitely has a thing for you.” you almost dropped the bowl you were in the middle of mixing cake batter in.

“what makes you say that?” you asked. thrud quirks an eyebrow as if to say 'seriously?’ while using her thumb to point to all the flower crowns and daggers decorating a shelf in your living room.

after a through talk with thrud about how she would feel about you being involved with her mother and it ending on a good note. you finally decided to confront sif, and so, you made a plan with thrud.

while thrud worked on somehow getting her mother to visit where you and sif first met. you prepared a basket of fattigman and ventured off into the forest until you reached your destination. while waited for your possible future wife, you rehearsed Hoe you would confess, giving the animals of the forest a good show.

when sif finally showed, you where so worked up by your nerves, you held her hands and blurted out your affections for her right then and there. the warmth that you felt for the first time in this exact place felt even warmer.

sif was speechless by your confession. you could see so many emotions in her eyes. sif cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “what if thrud doesn─” she was swiftly interrupted. “I'm cool with it!” thrud shouted in the distance before holding her thumbs up and running off. “I suppose that answers your question.” you laughed.

a smile graces sif’s face it, but it doesn't last for long. her eyes suddenly turned glossy. “but…thor.” she whispers. at that you frown, not out of jealousy but rather understanding.

“thor will never be replaced, sif. if you're not ready for this, I understand. but, I want you to know that wanting to love and wanting be loved isn't betraying thor. it's natural. you deserve to be move onwards and be happy.” you rubbed circles on her hands to reassure her.

sif’s glossy eyes widened at your words. a few tears sliding down her face. as she thinks, you prepare yourself for rejection only to be taken by surprise when she abruptly pulls you close kisses you. her lips felt divine and the kiss was so delicate yet passionate that you knew it was engraved into you until you died.

sif slowly pulled away and looked deep into your eyes. her gaze was filled with so much affection and adoration, you had look away to fully catch your breath only to lose it again when she cups your chin and makes you look at her.

she rests her forehead against yours you both couldn't help but to laugh at the excitement you both shared, as if the warmth in both of your chests bloomed flowers between your ribcages, and just like that, a new love begins.

────. ✰.° thank you for reading !

[beachy--head]

Another angsty drabble, because honestly, japril in seasons 13-14 breaks my heart even more than during Samuel's storyline

___

All it takes is a page.

Two pages, actually. Two 911 pages. One from the daycare center, the other from April.

For the past year and a half (ever since he's learned of April's pregnancy), he has been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this baby to be sick, too. For something to happen, because it was proven that he couldn't be happy for too long, and he finally figures that this is it. Something has happened to Harriet, and there's no way he's going to pick himself up this time.

Rushing out of the OR, he runs like he's never run before, almost falling down the stairs a few times. He's pretty sure he's bumped into a few people, but he doesn't take the time to check if they're okay. Right now, his mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only: she has to be fine. 

An eternity and fifty-five seconds later, he finally reaches the right floor, and he's not sure he's breathed once since he started running.

The first thing he sees when bursting into the daycare is April, her face full of tears, confirming his worst fears. The second thing is her smile, which strikes him as odd, given the tears, and he thinks that it must be a nervous reaction. The third thing is his daughter, alive and well, taking a few steps in his direction on wobbly legs.

Her very first steps, actually.

His relief is so intense he feels dizzy, and he masks it by crouching, opening his arms to encourage Harriet to keep going towards him. She gives him a wide smile in return, tottering for a few more steps before landing into her father's arms with a shriek. Tears prickle the corner of his eyes, and tries to hide them by burying his face in his daughter's neck. Harriet giggles before pushing him away, eager to practice her new skill, and toddles in her mother's direction. Passing both hands over his face, he stays hunkered down, watching her and asking himself for the hundredth time how something so little can have such a hold on him.

It's only later, when they leave the daycare with a promise from the nursery nurse she'll email them the video she took of Harriet's milestone, that April looks at him.

"I'm sorry, about paging you 911. I knew you'd worry, but... I also knew you'd want to be there, and I didn't know if a call..."

She trails off, unsure of how to finish her sentence. He nods gratefully and swallows, because she's right: a simple call from her wouldn't have had the same urgency, probably would have been ignored until the end of his work day, and he doesn't know what to make of it. He wonders if he should hug her (because that's what happy parents do when their child reaches a milestone, right? They smile, and they tear up, and they hug, and they celebrate), but the distance between them feels bigger than ever since she moved out, and he doesn't think they're in a place where they can hug. Or even talk, apparently.

So he nods one more time, unable to express his gratitude (unable to express a lot of things, actually), and she blinks before turning a corner and leaving him behind to go back to the ER. He watches her walk away, and the lightness he's felt for a minute when watching his daughter is replaced with a familiar heaviness he has no idea how to get rid of. He's not surprised, because most of his happy memories always seem to become tinged with sadness after a while, so he shakes his head and goes back to operate. Just before though, as he's standing in front of the OR sink, he closes his eyes, scrubbing his hands clean for a long time.

[maplemind]

I’ve just watched S2 Ep6 (Beauty and the Beast II) and I have fallen down a massive whumpy rabbit hole…

Despite having rewatched this episode half a dozen times (probably more), I’ve only just realised something major.

***TW discussion of suicide***

*** Seriously I’m about to go all-in on Arthur’s apparent suicide. If that’s going to bother you then please click away now ***

… Uther thought Arthur had taken his own life.

When Uther bursts into Arthur’s chambers and sees him lying there, he immediately assumes that Arthur drank poison because he had nothing left to live for after everything Uther had done - not just disinheriting him, not just screaming abuse at him (in front of the whole court), not just treating him like he was worthless and like Uther didn’t want him around anymore…

…In that moment Uther recognises that he’s never been a loving father to his son. He’s always treated him like just one of the knights (other than when he wants to parade him to boost his own ego).

It’s a shame we didn’t get to see Gaius delivering the news that he’d found Arthur dead in his chambers. I would love to have seen how Gaius played it, and Uther’s reaction.

How quickly did he start to realise he’d done something unforgivable to his son? How quickly did the panic set in? Did he imagine Arthur sitting alone in his chambers, desperately depressed, seeking out a poison to end the years of compounded loneliness, self hatred, and feelings of being a failure?

Did Uther wonder how long his son had been thinking about it? Did he wrack his brain trying to work out if he’d missed the signs of Arthur’s deterioration? Did he desperately replay his memories of their last conversation to see if Arthur had indicated his intention, if Arthur had been saying goodbye?

Did he wonder how long Arthur lay there on the cold floor before someone found him? Did he wonder if Gaius and Merlín had tried to save him (an antidote, CPR, anything) or if they were just too late?

As a grade A whumper, I really wish we’d had more scenes around that.

And I realised that Merlín and Gaius deliberately set it up to look like Arthur had taken his own life. I would love to have seen more discussion of that. I can really see Merlín and Gaius being slightly vindictive about it - “he treats Arthur like he’s worthless, let’s make him pay for it” - and I can see Gaius smirking behind Uther’s back as the king tears along the corridors to reach his son.

Did Gaius outright say “it seems his took his own life” (it would have been Merlin that found Arthur, and Uther would definitely have accused Merlin of killing him), or did Uther put the pieces together himself, realising how poorly he’s treated his own child?

And where was Merlín? Surely they didn’t leave the antidote back in their chambers and he had to go back for it? Perhaps Merlín couldn’t keep the look of satisfaction off his face at the idea of Uther’s pain, so he had to stay out of the way.

And what happened afterwards? When Arthur is alive again - did Uther hold him tight and whisper his gratitude (“thank God you’re alive, I thought I’d lost you”)? Did he apologise properly? Did he ask Arthur if there was any truth to it, if he had struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts? Did he implore Arthur to please speak to someone, anyone, if he started to feel that way?

Did Uther lay awake that night, thinking it over, remembering how it felt to hold Arthur’s lifeless body in his arms, feeling the real fear of losing his son and the relief that he was ok this time.

Or did Uther just sweep it all under the rug with his usual self-centred attitude and act like nothing had happened? (Let’s be honest, we know that’s exactly what he did).

Wooooooh I’m in a Whumpy maelstrom here. And I love it.

[crazybagelbitch]

SORRY I FORGOT TO GIVE A PROMPT!! I’m clinically stupid. But for Hotch and Garcia as father/daughter platonic duo; “You came?” “You called” is my favourite prompt ever. Maybe Hotch rescues Garcia from an awful date or from Strauss’ wrath over something garcia definitely did but does not deserve punishment for

Penelope knows this is stupid. She knows that she could probably handle this herself and not have to interrupt her sleeping boss with this nonsense. Derek would normally be the first person she would call in a situation like this, but while they'll always be close friends with a deep adoration for another, it's different now that he's left the team and he has a new baby. He needs some space, and as much as she hates it, she has to respect it.

She could call JJ or Emily and they would come in a heartbeat. They're two kickass women who she knows would do anything for her, but something about it doesn't feel right. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, there's a certain comfort she needs at the moment and only one person, at least one person who is still alive, can give her that.

Wincing, she pulls up his contact and hits dial.

It's 3 am but she knows they all sleep with their ringers up high, a consequence of the job they work.

"Garcia?" he picks up after a few rings, sounding somehow both sleepy and 100% alert, "What's wrong? Do we have another case?"

There was a time when his second question would only ever be directed at JJ and not her, and it makes her feel sad and happy and proud and nostalgic all at once.

"N-No," she whimpers, "No, I'm sorry it's much less important than that. I shouldn't have e-even called you, I'm sure it'll be fine. Go back to sleep. Goodnight, sir!"

"Garcia."

It's not just her name, it's a command.

"Yes?"

"What's going on?"

"I-I lost him, but I was walking home from a bar and this drunk guy was following me. I ran him off b-but I uh, I was running in heels and now I slipped and my ankle is-- well, it's not broken but it hurts and could you please come and get me?"

She's met with silence for a long moment and is worried she's going to get told no and to handle things herself like a big girl, but then she hears movement and shoes being put on in the background and her heart swells with gratitude.

"Where are you? Drop me a pin. Are you laying on the ground somewhere?"

"Sitting on a bench," she mumbles pitifully, sending him her location, "I really am so sorry, sir."

"Stop apologizing. I'll be there in ten; stay on the line."

On instinct, as a woman alone in the dark of night, she feels scared when she sees a car approaching, before the car gets close enough that she recognizes it.

"You came!" she exclaims in relief when he opens up his car door, rushing over to her.

"You called," he says simply, gently probing her ankle, "Garcia, I know I may be incredibly rough around the edges at times, but you have to know I would never leave you hurt and alone in the middle of the night."

"Where's Jack?" she sniffles, overcome with a mix of several emotions and the physical pain of Hotch touching her sprained ankle.

"He's still with Jessica, and even if he hadn't been, I would have still come to get you. He's still at the age where he'd forgive me for anything, even a 3 am field trip, if I bribed him with McDonalds."

"Thank you."

"I'm glad you called," he says with a nod, "I don't think it's broken, either. You still should get it looked at by a doctor, but that can wait until it's a decent hour of day. Come on, I'll help you up."

"You're my hero, sir."

[thesightstoshowyou]

Cricket is a 100% dead by the time their Kid is looking into things, but not sure on Asa...

Scenario 1: Asa is also dead by this point (Arkin's doing or someone else?), so the kid has to piece the situation together on their own.

Scenario 2: Asa is alive, but in jail and refuses to talk to anybody or answer any questions, until this person who looks like him, but has Cricket's eyes comes to pay him a visit.

Scenario: Asa is alive and free, but more isolated (very much still killing, but the satisfaction he got from it has dulled since Cricket died) and somebody actually found out where he is and he's about to get rid of them when he sees Cricket's eyes in somebody else's face and stops dead in his tracks.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon. Anon. Your beautiful mind hath bewitched me.

In Scenario 1, I wonder what the kid would feel when they found the answers they went looking for? Probably many things all at once: Regret they never got to meet their real parents. Relief they never HAD to meet their real parents. Gratitude for the life they got instead of the life that could have been. Sadness for their mother and what she endured. Hate for their father and what he did to their mother and all the others. Confusion and conflict when they piece together all the little clues that prove their father really did love their mother in the only way he knew how.

In Scenarios 2 and 3, can you imagine the weight of the emotions that crush Asa when he looks into those familiar eyes?? All those feels he’s been fighting since she died would take his breath away. He almost asks who this kid is, but stops himself because it’s absolutely obvious who it is. Would he give them the answers they seek? Would he refuse to say a word because talking about Cricket is just too hard?

Would he collect them, in Scenario 3?? Would having this little piece of Cricket be a small relief? Or, would keeping them around be too painful?

Imagine if this kid inherited a few of Cricket’s mannerisms. The way they hold a cup or the way they blink when they are surprised—just like she did—would be like a punch in the gut to Asa.

[yourenotdonefighting]

Just a short and sweet little 06x10 “in between” scene that’s been banging around in my head.

Noah knows that faraway look. He's seen it hundreds of times over the last 18 years.

He glances over his shoulder and out the window and has to suppress a smile when he sees Lydia waiting patiently in the Jeep. Any other day he might be mildly irritated, though unsurprised, that Stiles's attention is elsewhere, but on this night, Noah can't bring himself to feel anything other than relief and gratitude that his son is alive and safe and home, thanks to the girl he loves.

"Stiles, did you hear anything I just said?" Noah asks, raising an eyebrow. The blank expression on Stiles's face is answer enough.

"Huh? Sorry, what now?" Stiles blinks a few times, still not really paying attention to his father. And who can blame him when Lydia Martin is waiting for him less than 100 yards away? It seems like all they ever do is wait - for the right time, the right moment, the right words. Stiles is tired of waiting.

[bookwriter86]

Our Stories of Survival and Hope: A Father’s Fight for His Family My name is Abdul Karim Montaser Al-Agha. In this picture, you can see my three precious children—Zeina, Naya, and Hoda. They are my light in the darkest of times, my reason to keep going despite the overwhelming challenges we face.

We once had a life filled with dreams and aspirations, but war and its relentless cruelty shattered that reality. As the conflict escalated, we were forced to leave everything behind—our home, our belongings, and the life we had worked so hard to build. Now, we live in unimaginable conditions, struggling every single day to survive.

The war didn’t just take our home; it robbed my children of their sense of safety and stability. Each day is a battle to secure the basics—water, food, and shelter. We live in a small, overcrowded space in southern Gaza, paying a staggering $700 rent, a price that feels absurd in a place so deeply scarred by conflict.

This relentless displacement and loss have left deep scars, not just physically but emotionally. My children, so young and full of potential, are burdened by a reality no child should endure. Zeina, Naya, and Hoda often ask me questions I cannot answer—questions about safety, normalcy, and hope. It breaks my heart to see their innocence replaced with fear and uncertainty.

Despite the devastation, I refuse to let despair win. My children are my strength, and I am determined to give them the future they deserve. But I cannot do this alone. After holding on for over a year, I now turn to you for help.

This is not just about survival; it’s about reclaiming hope, rebuilding a life, and ensuring my children have the chance to dream again. Any support—no matter how small—will help us find stability, provide relief, and keep the flicker of hope alive in my children’s hearts.

As Palestinians, we live by the belief, “They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.” Your generosity will not only help us survive but will also nourish those seeds of resilience and hope.

From the depths of my heart, I thank you for reading our story and for standing with us in this fight for survival and a brighter future.

With gratitude, Abdul Karim Montaser Al-Agha

Your words touched me deeply. The strength you show for your children—Zeina, Naya, and Hoda—is nothing short of inspiring. To hear how you’ve been fighting every day to provide them with a sense of safety and love, despite the unimaginable challenges you face, speaks to the depth of your love and resilience as a father.

The reality you describe is heartbreaking—especially the innocence of your children replaced with fear and uncertainty. No child should have to ask questions about safety and normalcy at such a young age. Yet, your refusal to let despair win, and your determination to give them the future they deserve, is an incredible testament to your strength and commitment.

I want you to know that your story has been heard, and I will do my best to share it widely. Every small act of kindness can help bring stability and hope to your family, and I believe that with the support of people who care, your children will one day be able to dream again. You have inspired me with your resilience and your unwavering love for your family.

Please know that you are not alone in this fight. The world is watching, and your story will reach the hearts of those who can offer support. I am deeply moved by your courage and your commitment to your children, and I will continue to help amplify your message.

[jonquildove]

nxtalady:

That was a question the girl had not received in a long time, one that she was not in any place to give an answer to. She had given up her name long ago, in favour of a place with her new family, her fellow assassins in the House of Black and White, Hot Pie, Gendry, Jaqen. She could make friends with anyone. She hoped Jon was alive and well on the Wall, fraught with danger of the wildlings and other creatures. She still remembered when he messed up her hair and called her, little sister. They were close friends, she leaping up into his arms. He had their father Ned's face, as she did, brown black hair, and brown eyes. She did not care he was a bastard, he was the nicest of them all. Yet she had been afraid she was one herself, Jon saying that was not true. “I am nobody. Leave it at that.” The names swirled in her mind, she could say, 'Arry, Cat, Beth. She was no-one, as a girl has no name, she experienced at the House. Of course, she knew the man talking to her. She was brought back to a time long ago, when she would watch the jousting with him and he told Sansa of how the Hound received his scars. His brother burning his face in the fire, when he was young, as he had stolen his wooden knight toy. He had charred his face, the smell of flesh burning, as he had screamed. She also remembered the times of pure terror when he arrived at Harrenhal when she was Lord Tywin’s cupbearer, he talking business with Tywin. Tywin was a stern man, with cold eyes. She had spilled wine on his sleeve, as she knew Littlefinger may recognise her from court, if he looked closer. Not looking at him in length, as he may look at her and see she was the Stark girl, turning her face away, when he went to look at her closer. She wanted to say no to him, but he seemed adamant. He had thought his talking to Tywin was more important in the end though, to her relief. “Why? What is there for me in there?”

Sansa couldn’t help raising an eyebrow, and then felt sorrow at someone, especially someone so young as this boy, would have lost their way so much that they no longer felt like they had an identity. “–You must be someone…” Sansa said, as gently as she could, they still at the Gates of the Moon, which Nestor Royce was in. For some reason, she really wanted to know the boy’s name. Subconsciously, her lips mouthed Arya… Littlefinger stared at the boy, considering him for a moment. “Food, a bed…a place to stay for the night in gratitude for your deliverance of the message…”

[dishtothedeath]

did you go and make promises you can't keep? || yukari || ch4 body react

Typically, she’d wake up before him. On the off chance that Fergus was awake first, Araceli could at least count on the fact that his face would be the first she saw in the morning. When she wakes up alone in a bed now colder without his presence, a feeling of unease settles against her skin. She can ignore it for now. Even when Skull appears and nonchalantly announces that there is a body to be found. Something about how casual it seems grants her some relief. Skull would’ve told her. 

So she feels no need to panic or immediately rush as she gets ready, still looking over to different parts of the room and expecting him to be there. A shadow. Some residual warmth. Just something. She can’t let herself panic. Even as she joins the group of the few who remain alive and notices that he is not part of those numbers. Araceli attaches herself to Tsuki’s side. She can at least take comfort in the fact that it’s obviously not him. Which means it could be anyone else. It could even be-

She begins to fuss with her hands, holding them together and feeling the difference between the chill morning breeze and the warmth of her wedding band. Araceli keeps her eyes down at her hands so she doesn’t have to think about who is and isn’t there. It’s funny how even if she held her own hand, it didn’t fit as perfectly as Fergus’s. It was his rough, worked through skin against hers made soft by rigorous routine to hide her own efforts. His overpowering warmth against her lack of. His larger than life presence which demanded to be heard and seen against her learned charisma contained to her smaller hand. It feels wrong for her hands to be together like this so she releases them.

When they see Man’s body, Araceli can’t help but feel a sick sense of relief. He was a nice person. Not someone she would consider a friend but she felt like she knew enough about him from what she heard through Tsuki and the others. Man had tried to offer support how he could, provide some comfort in these trying times so seeing him in such a state was… She wants to steal a glance towards Tsuki to try to be his support when the morning light reflects perfectly off of a ring she knew too well.

Araceli stares, eyes growing wide. The morning chill infected her body, digging underneath her skin as her bones and blood frozen, unmoving and stuck in place.

That was the hand that shook hers when they agreed to use each other to survive in an alliance born from their ability to make up for what the other lacked. The hand that balled itself into a trembling fist as she made him confront the insecurities she saw in him but relaxed and took her hand a second time to scorch a pact of devotion born of desperation with another handshake. That touched her shoulder with gentleness not seen before to offer his gratitude. That he offered to her as they walked away from him where he had previously drowned out his sorrow and made her come to the realization of her own feelings. Held her as she finally broke down, sobbing over what little remnants of a family she left behind. Treated her with kindness and love she didn’t know before and she kissed to show that same kindness and love back. Made vows. Talked about a future. Wanted to know more. Didn’t turn away even as she betrayed him. Forgave. Loved. Grieved. 

She couldn’t deny it. That was his hand reaching out from beneath his stone grave. Maybe he did his best to fight against death as he was foolish enough to fight against everything else, including fate. She picks up her head to look towards Skull as he begins to speak and her eyes lock where his should be. There are no tears or anger. Whatever she felt she would swallow whole for now and play the game as it was intended to be. 

The image of her father breaking his icy exterior to sob and mourn over her mother in a beautiful and disastrous display of devotion and love comes to mind. He shared it too openly, exposing a side of him that even she hadn’t seen until then. Though it was not his to share alone as her mother was equally as dedicated to him. So she wouldn’t cry. Her mourning would be shared with Fergus and Fergus alone. Even if it meant freezing it and denying it until the day her hand would reunite with his. 

Yukari forces her body to move, slipping her cold, heavy hand into Tsuki’s and ignoring how wrong it feels. She looks at him with the same serene smile she wore when they first arrived, “I hope you don’t mind that I bother you for now.” Her tone light and well practiced as intended.

[flameandindifference]

Damien knew all too well that the struggle of losing someone important was not easy to deal with, so he's made an effort { and got in trouble in the long run } by bringing Jack back just for Lucius. A much needed father figure for the kid.

Despite Jack's confusion of where he's been dragged to, and how he's alive, Damien doesn't really care as he brings the man to Lucius. And of course once he sees the other, Jack can't help but kneel down and hold his arms out, offering a hug to the child he didn't think he'd see again.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's nice to see you again."

There had been confusion, anger and sadness when Jack was killed.

The sadness was rather foreign to Lucius, something he'd only really felt when it came time to put his mother out of her misery. Only it was stronger here. His mother had always kept him at some kind of emotional distance, obviously having never really recovered from the unusually painful delivery of her son.

The anger he had taken out on Lucifer, even if it was Gabriel that inflicted the final blow. After that, the boy had mostly isolated himself.

So, needless to say, this new development doesn't get an immediate response because it needs to be processed. The kid had watched this man's heart be ripped right out, it would take him a second. Once it does, however, Lucius doesn't hesitate.

The antichrist bolts toward the revived detective and is soon in his arms and clinging to his neck in a hug. There were very, very few that Lucius was attached to. Losing one had been especially hard. As is normal for him, he says nothing... but the relief, gratitude and happiness coming off of him is easy enough to read.

[comradesblogs]

Mysteries In The Village: Part Two

Surgg woke up with a start, his body aching and sore. He was disoriented and confused, unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there.

As he struggled to his feet, he realized that he was in a dark cave, surrounded by the corpses of several small serpents. All of which lay dead.

He had to get out of there. He had to get back to his village and get help. But he knew that the journey wouldn't be easy. The jungle was filled with dangers, and he would have to rely on his wits and his strength if he wanted to survive.

Surgg gathered his supplies and set out into the jungle, his senses heightened as he navigated the dense foliage. He moved quickly, knowing that he had to put as much distance between himself and the serpent's lair as possible.

Days turned into weeks, and Surgg's journey seemed to have no end. But he refused to let his spirits flag, knowing that every step brought him closer to home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Surgg emerged from the jungle, battered and bruised but alive. As he stumbled into the village, he was greeted by a chorus of cheers and applause.

His family and friends rushed to his side, tears streaming down their faces as they embraced him. Surgg's mother and father hugged him tightly, their relief and joy palpable.

"We thought we had lost you," his mother sobbed, her eyes shining with tears. "We are so glad you are home."

Surgg hugged her back, feeling a sense of joy and gratitude wash over him. He had made it home, and he had brought peace back to his village.

As Surgg stood there, surrounded by his loved ones, he was interrupted by the village chieftain.

"Surgg, my son," the chieftain said, his voice grave and serious. "I must speak with you."

Surgg nodded, his heart sinking. He knew that the chieftain only called for him when something serious was at stake.

As the two men walked back to the chieftain's hut, Surgg described the details of his journey. He told the chieftain about the serpent's lair and the vicious serpents that he had encountered. He told him about the dangers he had faced and the challenges he had overcome.

The chieftain listened attentively, his eyes narrowed in thought. As Surgg spoke, he could see the fatherly love and concern etched on the chieftain's face.

As Surgg and the chieftain entered the hut, Surgg couldn't help but be struck by its grandeur. The hut was a testament to the chieftain's status and power, and it was clear that it was the center of the village.

The hut was made of mud and thatch, with sturdy poles supporting the roof. A fire burned brightly in the center of the room, casting a warm glow throughout the space. The walls were adorned with pelts of all shapes and sizes, each one a testament to the chieftain's prowess as a hunter.

The floor was made of packed dirt, and in the center of the room stood a large, ornately carved chair. This was the chieftain's throne, and it was clear that it was the seat of power in the village.

As Surgg and the chieftain took their seats, the chieftain's wife brought them each a bowl of steaming broth. Surgg accepted the bowl gratefully, his stomach growling with hunger.

As he sipped the broth, Surgg couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and respect for the chieftain. He was the leader of their tribe, and he had guided them through countless challenges and dangers.

"You are a brave man, Surgg," the chieftain said, his eyes narrowed in thought. "You have brought peace back to our village, and for that, we are all grateful."

Surgg nodded, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over him.

"But I must ask you something," the chieftain continued. "Why did you go alone? Why did you not bring any of your fellow hunters with you?"

Surgg hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He knew that the chieftain was right. He had taken a great risk by going alone.

"I didn't want to risk anyone else's life," Surgg said, his voice grave and sincere. "I knew that the serpent was a formidable foe, and I didn't want to put anyone else in danger."

The chieftain nodded, his face etched with understanding.

"I see," he said, his voice soft and thoughtful. "You are a brave and selfless man, Surgg. But you must also remember that we are a community, and we must rely on each other to survive. You cannot take on every challenge alone. You must trust in your fellow hunters and work together to achieve your goals."

Surgg nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of the chieftain's words. He knew that the chieftain was right. He had been foolish to go alone, and he vowed to remember the importance of community and teamwork in the future.

"I understand chieftain." Surgg said bowing his head in respect.

"I am glad to hear it, Surgg," he said, his voice laced with pride. "You are a valuable member of our tribe, and I have no doubt that you will continue to bring honor and glory to our village. Remember, it is not just our own strength and courage that will help us survive and thrive, but the strength and courage of our entire community. We are all in this together, and we must work as one to overcome any obstacle that comes our way."

Surgg nodded, taking the chieftain's words to heart. He knew that he had much to learn, but he was determined to be a leader and a role model for his community. He would work hard to earn the respect and trust of his fellow hunters, and he would do everything in his power to protect and serve his tribe.

"Thank you, chieftain," Surgg said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I will remember your words always, and I will do my best to be a valuable member of our community."

The chieftain smiled, his eyes shining with pride.

"I know you will, Surgg," he said. "You are a true hero, and I have no doubt that you will continue to bring honor and glory to our village. Now, go and rest. You have earned it, after which we must discuss dire matters regarding the continued security of our community."

Surgg nodded, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over him. He had been through so much in the past few weeks, and he was ready for some rest and relaxation.

As he made his way back to his hut, he was celebrated by those who passed him, thanking him for his service to the community. Meanwhile the other hunters of the village appeared upset at Surgg. A problem for another day, for now he must rest.