#( this covers a medical issue so sort of tw for that ? just in case )

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part B): Felix

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

They expected him to die soon. Lincoln knows this, without prejudice, as well as he knows anything else about this place. Even if the handler had not introduced Felix with the caveat that they had recently ceased all medical intervention, Lincoln could put the pieces together by looking for twenty seconds at the handlers’ notes from the last few days.

According to the available records, during Felix’s first several months at Belleview, he went no longer than three days between ‘projects,' often with multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Lincoln has not yet researched every experimental tool or drug or procedure that Felix was a part of, partly because some of them were classified and the DOH had yet to access the details, and partly because, in the cases where Lincoln was able to identify the critical components of the trials, his stomach had bottomed out early and he had wound up six hours deep in case files trying to sort out exactly how this had happened.

After Felix's first nine months, they had slowed down with him. There was a three week break wherein Felix was not assigned to any long-term trial before he was pulled again, for what would have been the final time. It was a medical test for a hallucinogenic training drug that lasted nearly two months before abruptly terminating two weeks prior, when, to Lincoln’s best guess, the site had received guidance to stop any majorly illegal activities.

Felix appeared to have been neglected since then. According to the handlers’ notes, he had accessed only two meals a day, a few glasses of water, and, if someone took pity on him, was afforded some assistance in showering and using the toilet. If he didn’t, or couldn’t, eat what was given to him, he would go without eating. “That was part of the gag,” the handler said. “We couldn’t… well, we couldn't actively aid in their... uh, it was technically not allowed. But there came a time when we were asked to let them ride out the end. If they didn't eat, they didn't eat.”

There will come a time, Lincoln thinks now, that Felix will be asked to testify to what happened at this site. There will come a time where some semblance of justice will be served, at least to those who partook in the darkest corners of the system. He will see to it that Felix is afforded that chance.

He takes a breath and enters the small cell, which will need to be repurposed into a bedroom over the next day or so. Felix lays on the floor on his side, curled up as tightly as his frail body will allow. He doesn’t open his eyes at their approach.

“We call him Felix because he’s always smiling,” the handler said. He doesn’t smile now. Even in sleep, he looks scared. He’s covered in bruises, with dried blood smeared across his legs and torso. Lincoln had not caught that earlier, but it couldn’t be new. He’s pale. He swallows, and his body tenses for a moment before he settles back into sleep.

“He’s not actually happy, though,” the handler continued. “He flirts with everyone he sees, just trying to find someone to take him home, we think. He’ll do anything you ask him to, as long as he can understand it. The last couple weeks he’s been up and down, though.”

He’s shaking, and it’s not the light tremble of a scared boy who’s seen too much, but a deep, uncontrollable movement that possibly points to deeper issues.

Lincoln thinks through the side effects of the drug trials. The head of that project, Dr. Michael Gletzer, Ph.D, was a leading researcher in the country, highly sought after by pharmaceutical companies and the former Dean of Medicine at the University of Florida. He is available to speak at length regarding his research. He is not currently under arrest, and, to Lincoln’s understanding, has been cooperative with questioning. He will have to speak to the doctor, and he dreads it.

Lincoln watches Felix sleep for a moment, and the reality of what these men have gone through crashes over him. It’s a crushing weight, and he lets himself feel it for only a moment before he shuts it down and takes a breath, then makes a cautious approach.

“Grab him a blanket?” Lincoln asks quietly. From behind him, Philip moves to the cabinet and begins rummaging through its drawers. Lincoln kneels down next to Felix, his hand hovering over his body. He hesitates to make contact.

“Felix,” Lincoln says. He’s gentle when he finally allows his fingers to graze Felix’s shoulder. Felix’s eyes flutter open, although they are slow to seek out Lincoln. His features are uniformly lined with exhaustion, and Lincoln, for a moment, regrets waking him.  “Hi,” Lincoln whispers.

Felix blinks slowly and tries to sit, but even in that movement, it is clear that his body is failing. He struggles to get his hands under himself, and when offered support, he accepts it without any clear indication that he is aware he’s been touched at all. Still, he looks down at himself and takes an almost unnoticeable inventory of his condition. Philip approaches and drapes a blanket over his lap, and Felix offers a tiny smile in return.

“My name is Lincoln Prescott,” Lincoln says. “Do you remember me? From earlier?”

Felix watches his mouth, his expression tight.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Lincoln continues. “I’m a doctor, I’ve been assigned to Belleview by the Department of Health.” There is little evidence that Felix hears him at all, but he continues the well-rehearsed speech. “As of 9:00 this morning, the contracted worker system is no longer active in the United States,” he continues.

“I don’t think he’s following,” Philip says from next to him. Lincoln nods.

He’s right, of course. “We are working on finding all of the residents of Belleview stable homes to stay in while the infrastructure is built for you to live independently,” he says anyway. “In the meantime, we’re going to stay here as a group and get you all some help, alright?”

Felix nods. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

There is no response, although Felix’s eyes search Lincoln’s, studying him intently.

Lincoln asks Felix how he feels, if he’s hungry, when he ate, how old he is. Felix doesn’t respond. The question hovers just out of reach, whether Felix can and doesn’t speak, or whether he cannot at all. According to the handler, he hasn’t spoken since returning from the most recent drug trial. Prior to that, though, there were no notable concerns with his speech, hearing, or comprehension. Best case scenario, it’s a trauma response and can be worked through down the line. Worst case is that there is irreversible damage to either his brain (most likely), or individual elements of communication (highly unlikely). Both are worth exploring.

Layered upon this, there are the issues of his physical responses. He startles easily but does not pull away. He blinks slowly. His hands are slow to find the blanket and hold onto it. His eyes are red, his skin has a kind of translucent hue. He expected Felix to require more substantial diagnostic testing than they’re able to offer, and it is clear to him that a trip to the hospital for scans is unavoidable.

As Philip sets up the admission forms on the tablet, Lincoln pulls a pair of blue latex gloves on. Felix almost instantly responds, which is ultimately a good sign, as hard as it is to address in the moment. The tremors that run through his body have taken a sort of panicked edge.

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m just gonna look at you, okay? We’re here to help.”

Felix is cooperative as Lincoln takes one of his hands. He squeezes it once then turns it over, examining the bruising and scarring from months of drug use. He runs his thumb across one of the most prominent, likely the site of a long-term IV port.

“Let’s get this off you,” Lincoln says. He is cautious as he presses his fingers under the front of the collar, his touch light as he seeks the release mechanism. When he finds it, and the collar clicks free and falls into his hands, he is both relieved that it was simple enough, and horrified by what he sees. Dark bruises form where the clip sat, with deeper gashes toward the back of his neck where the plasticky-metal dug in during, what had to be, violent altercations. Lincoln runs his fingers along the lines there, but Felix does not react.

He takes his vitals, he does as thorough an exam as he can. There’s a very tender spot on the side of his head, and with the other potential signs of concussion, it shouldn’t be ruled out. Felix is especially jumpy when Lincoln runs his hand down his spine and over his ribs. Some are broken. Felix holds his left arm more gingerly, so Lincoln is careful as he looks checks it. Still, as Lincoln turns it over, Felix cries out, his whole body tense for only a second before he forcibly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry,” Lincoln whispers. Somewhere along the line, tears have formed in Felix’s eyes, and they now threaten to spill. Lincoln isn’t sure exactly how much willpower it takes him to keep them in, only that he does. As soon as his arm is released, Felix cradles it to his chest. 

“Can I look at your back?” Lincoln asks, gentle but assertive in repositioning him.

He’s extremely underweight, with too many vertebrae and too much rib instantly visible. A thick scar runs across one side of his abdomen and circles around his side. There are other scars, less visible ones that almost would be missed by the naked eye, but they’re there. 

Felix doesn’t make a sound when Lincoln examines lower. He watches the wall with a sort of sad detachment as Lincoln runs his fingers gingerly over some swelling in his lower back, then guides him onto his side.

“Almost done,” Lincoln says. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” 

There is no answer, which Lincoln does not mistake for permission, but accepts at face value. He monitors Felix’s breathing, the cadence of the tremors that roll through him, his posture. Philip kneels in front of him, holding his hand and watching his face for signs of extreme duress. It’s the best they can do.

Here, the damage is obvious. Lincoln notes both bruising and tearing, with a slew of fluids, presumably belonging to both Felix and the handlers, dried onto his skin. Lincoln’s stomach turns over as he cleans him up, muttering whatever words of encouragement he can come up with.

The further into this they go, the more Lincoln questions the plan. The likelihood that even in a full service hospital, he would be equipped to manage this, is slim. He pulls off the gloves and helps Felix to sit, then drapes the blanket around his shoulders. 

“You okay?” Lincoln asks. Felix looks very, very far from okay, but the worst is over.

Felix brings his hand up to rest on Lincoln’s arm and squeezes it. It isn’t exactly confirmation of understanding, nor is it a show of okayness. Lincoln would be doing him a disservice by writing the action off as either. But it’s something close to it, he thinks. Lincoln smiles and covers his hand with his own and squeezes it again.

“We’ll get you better, okay?” he says. “Philip’s going to help you get cleaned up, get some food and water in you, set you up with an IV and some medicine to make you feel better.” There’s no recognition in his eyes, but Lincoln continues. “While you get showered, we’ll get you a bed and a TV, or some books, or anything you need.”

Extricating himself from Felix’s grip is a little harder than it was getting into it, but once he’s free, he stands, and Felix’s eyes track his movements. 

“N… n…” Felix reaches after him as he steps toward the door, and Lincoln pauses, turning. There is true panic, for the first time, in his expression. He wants to show you he can still be of use, the handler said. He wants you to pull him.

“Felix,” Lincoln whispers. “I’ll be back for you, alright? I promise you, I will come back." He takes a step toward the door, and the tears that threatened to spill earlier come back in full force. “I need to go check on your friend,” Lincoln says, although there is almost no chance at this point that Felix understands. He kneels down and tries to smile, but he thinks it probably doesn't land. “Philip will stay with you and get you cleaned up.”

He mutters instructions to Philip, and seconds later, he is in the hallway, his forehead pressed into the wall while he takes that whole interaction and locks it into a very, very tight box in the back of his mind. 

He is in good hands. He will be okay. He is not alone, and he is not going to be left to die, and Lincoln will spend the next four weeks making sure that he knows it.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps

[asa-hollandseabrooke]

A S A . H O L L A N D

FULL NAME: Asa Michael Holland HOMETOWN: Swords, Ireland DOB: October 24, 1978 AGE: 45 GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him OCCUPATION: Head Librarian SEXUALITY: Gay HEIGHT: 5'7"

BIOGRAPHY

Full bio under the cut! Please read trigger warnings before proceeding!

TW // Medical malpractice, homophobia, abuse

Asa grew up in a small family home in a town on the outskirts of Dublin. Both parents were devoutly Catholic and the whole family walked to church multiple times a week. He worked summers helping clean up the little church-house in the valley and his father often pawned him off to ‘learn a hard day’s work’ at various places in town. Despite his father having plenty of money and working at a bank in the city, Asa was often treated like he had to provide for his family as well. He wanted to spend time with his siblings but it often fell on him to get a job first, get his sisters to school. There was immense pressure from his family at all times to be the model son.

He had always been introverted but starting in high school, he started to rebel, getting angry at his parents and lashing out at them. His father had just started a very high-profile job in the government and his 13 year old son was the least of his issues. Eventually, Asa was sent away to a home for ‘troubled teens’ and was essentially beaten into submission by orderlies and people who did not care about his wellbeing or his mental stability. He was treated like a problem, like an inmate in a prison at the age of 14 and was kept there for years due to his father’s negligence and lies. Saying after Asa came back for a short time once that he was still ‘acting up’. That they had failed and he would expose them if they didn't forge documents to send Asa off to a mental institution.

Through it all, Asa was manipulated into thinking he was the problem. That he had done so much wrong that he was being punished, and would continue to be for the rest of his life- tormented by the Devil. Because of his father's lies, he was in and out of a few psychiatric facilities, given experimental medical treatments, and treated as insane. His father was a constant terrifying presence in his life, always finding a new place to send him off to in Ireland, Wales, and London.

Asa changed the course of his fate when he fled to the U.S. After stealing his father's money, he began to formulate a court case to close down the corrupt most recent institute he had been stuck in - St. Irene's in London, that had given him permanent head trauma from the misuse of ECT. Using meticulous planning and organizing, Asa was able to craft a perfect court case to take down the mental institution, put the doctors in charge behind bars, and win a huge settlement of money.

All the while he worked for a sweet little old lady who ran a large library in Ashmore. He'd been taken in to organize- a quiet and sometimes (unintentionally) unsettling man who had trouble finding any sort of job, given some grace. As she prepared to retire, she let Asa take more control of the library, going from just putting books away to planning library events, running the social media, handling all computer systems, and talking to customers.

Now Asa is the Head Librarian at Ashmore. A weird little man covered in tattoos who some find a little offputting and others weirdly charming. Asa cares about his employees and cares about his job-he's an artist in his free time and has a little historical home in Old Ashmore where he takes care of 5 cats.

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

The OM!SWD characters with an MC who has eating issues

A/N: Hey, so I’m autistic and one of my biggest struggles is with food. I have all sorts of sensory issues and anxiety related to eating, leading to me being diagnosed with ARFID (Avoidant-Restrictive Food Intake Disorder) and developing some health issues like blood sugar dysregulation. I was thinking about how the OM boys would react to this, and since I’m sure I’m not alone I figured I’d drop them here for y’all to enjoy.

TW for eating disorders, obviously. Also not all of these start off pleasant, since the brothers weren’t exactly nice to MC when they first came to the Devildom.

Lucifer

Let’s be honest... he’s a little offended at first. The first meal you shared with the brothers at the House of Lamentation, Lucifer thinks you think Devildom food is gross and that’s why you’re not eating. Gets even more offended if he was the one cooking.

As time goes on, he goes from offended to just plain concerned. Why isn’t the human eating? If the human dies of starvation, Lord Diavolo’s exchange program will be ruined.

Probably takes it upon himself quite a few times to try to get you to eat, and is utterly confused when the reaction is straight up explosive.

Ouch... he did not expect to be punched for putting some dried bufo eggs up to your face.

You’re pretty sorry, but he did activate your fight or flight.

A demon-form Lucifer and a visit from Diavolo later, Lucifer calms down and apologizes. Never tries that again; all around backs off.

As he begins getting closer with you throughout your stay, he starts genuinely trying to understand your eating issues. He takes it much more gently this time, having learned from the incidents during the first month of your stay.

As he starts to genuinely understand, one day he asks you for a list of your safe-foods. When you tell him, he makes a mental note to himself to stock up on them. Ever since then, he’s always kept some of your safe-foods in his jacket pocket in case you need it. You can always count on him to have something for you.

He also made sure to stock up some in the student council room so you could always go in there and get some if he isn’t around.

Mammon

Mammon... really does not get it. Is this human defective?

Makes his fair share of rude remarks about it at first.

Slowly, those rude remarks turn from carelessly insensitive to a way of covering up his concern for you. That can’t be healthy...

The first time you had a blood sugar drop, he absolutely panicked.

The two of you were holding hands and your hands began shaking and sweating like wild, and a concerned look came to your face.

He asked you what was going on, and when you explained the situation his eyes fly wide and he goes full-drive into panic.

You say you need to eat, and he doesn’t hear anything else.

You know the term “speed demon”? Yeah, that’s applicable here.

He’s just a blur rushing down the hallway.

He comes back carrying everything from the fridge and shoving it at you begging you to eat.

He has no idea how medical stuff works, especially for humans, so as far as he’s concerned you could be minutes from death.

He pats your back encouragingly and talks to you while you eat. He does this for the next twenty minutes while you both wait for the sugar to hit your system.

Now he never shuts up about your eating issues. Every time plans are made, the first concern he voices is “will MC’s safe foods be there?!” He’s just trying to help, but you may have to tell him a few times that it’s a liiiittle embarrassing...

Leviathan

He... honestly didn’t notice.

He did find it a little weird that you never snacked with him when you were doing anime marathons together, but that was about it.

He heard his brothers talk about your concerning eating patterns before, but he wasn’t just going to listen to everything those normies say.

He himself can go several days without a meal if he’s busy grinding on events for his games, so he didn’t really think it was a big deal.

The first time he was truly concerned was when you had that blood sugar drop and he saw Mammon dashing to the kitchen.

At first, he was annoyed that Mammon was running in the house. It was practically making the house shake, and he didn’t want to be blamed if Mammon broke something.

He went out and complained to Mammon, only for Mammon to let out a completely unintelligible string of panicked words.

Okay, now he’s CONCERNED.

He made sure to check in with you after Mammon left, and the two of you had a long heartfelt talk.

He had a much better idea of your issues after that talk, and now he makes sure to get your safe-foods for you to munch on when the two of you do anime marathons.

Satan

Satan really didn’t care at first. He just thought you were weird but that it was none of his business.

He did admire your courage in punching Lucifer, though. That at least got him interested, just on a curiosity level.

After the body-swap arc, as he grows closer to you he grows increasingly concerned about your eating habits.

He starts checking in with you every once in a while, asking you if you’ve eaten lately and reminding you to eat.

He tries to avoid dinner dates to avoid making you uncomfortable, instead opting for museum visits, walks around the Devildom, etc.

Eventually he finally asks what it’s all about, and when you explain, he stays up all night researching your disorders.

Seriously, no one can pry him away from his books for like a week.

Akuzon keeps delivering books on autism and eating disorders to the HoL, and everyone’s just like, “Oh, it’s Satan again. Satan, come get your package!”

He constantly pesters you asking how he can help you.

He learns to cook all your safe-foods, exactly how you like them.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus was the first one to realize there was something seriously unhealthy going on.

Just thinking about your diet made him feel his skin breaking out...

He has no idea how you manage to stay so stunning with that kind of diet.

At first, he starts giving you diet advice. When you turn it down, he starts whining about how worried he is.

When you explain it, he really doesn’t get it, but begrudgingly agrees to back off.

Beelzebub

This boy REALLY does not get it.

You went?? 18 hours?? Without eating?? Without realizing???

He has absolutely no idea how you do it.

He gets so worried about you that he starts offering you his food. None of his brothers can believe their eyes.

He gets even more confused when you tell him more about your issues. The idea of being afraid of eating, or eating being an unpleasant experience, just does not compute in his brain.

Nonetheless, he’s there to support you. No matter how baffled he may be.

Despite drooling over literally everyone else’s food, he understands that touching yours is a no-no. Your safe-foods are the only foods in the house that are safe from him.

Belphegor

Like Levi, he really doesn’t notice or care right away.

However, after he’s freed from the attic, his brothers are quick to fill him in on your issues.

Because he tried to kill you, he sees it as his obligation to keep you as healthy as possible.

He borrows Satan’s notes on your condition, and even talks with Lucifer about it hoping for advice on helping you.

He really goes above and beyond, seeing it as his penance.

He helps Beel restrain himself from taking your food.

Always keeps some of your safe foods stocked up in the attic if you need them.

Diavolo

Diavolo was extremely accommodating once he first found out about your issues. He and Lucifer both ensured there was a snack cabinet full of your safe foods in the student council room.

He pulled strings with the RAD kitchen staff to ensure there was at least one of your safe-foods available each day.

He also had vending machines installed all around RAD specifically so you could get snacks. He hand-picked every option available in the vending machines based off what you could eat.

Barbatos

Barbatos is tasked with preparing your safe-foods every time you visit the Demon Lord’s Castle.

He really didn’t get it at first, but once you told him that to you eating food is like him petting a rat, he got it.

He always engages you in conversation while you’re eating to hopefully make the process a little easier. He sneaks in little words of encouragement.

Solomon

You’re the only one who gets a pass to not eat Solomon’s food. Congrats.

Your prize: everyone is jealous.

Luke

Being a kid, Luke has no idea what an eating disorder is, or just what disorders are in general. He’s really confused.

However, if you talk to him about it on his level and explain it in terms he understands, he’s quick to be understanding.

He learns how to make all your safe-foods and makes them for you whenever you come over.

He acts like a concerned parent, always fretting over you taking care of yourself. You get a text a day from him reminding you to eat if you haven’t recently.

Simeon

Simeon is quick to catch on that something is wrong. He noticed your struggles in the RAD cafeteria, and his suspicions only grew stronger at that retreat at the Demon Lord’s Castle.

He actually brought up his concerns about it with Lucifer, but was blown off.

Like Luke and Satan, he also stepped up to the plate cooking your safe-foods.

Like Satan, he also finds non-food date options for you.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

[machinegunbun]

UnConventional Bakers [Pete]

Requested? no

word count? 1.7k

TW? None

A/n: it’s like 80% dialogue bc it’s supposed to be a tv show. whadder ya gonna do

The props department did a wonderful job this season, comedy inspired props sprinkled about the set. Mic stands ended in lollipops, rice krispy stools covered in modeling chocolate, Comedians stood at every station, patiently awaiting directions. 

Conventional Bakers was finally ready for shooting its first season. It was a show about famous people coming together on a baking show and competing. It would have everyone from singers to actors or, in this case, comedians. Every season would be inspired by the careers of the people competing.

“On this season of UnConventional Bakers we are joined by,” the camera took turns panning to each comedian as you said their name. 

“Kevin Hart, Pete Davidson, Adam Sandler and…” you paused for dramatic effect “Fluffy!!!”

The comedians protest coming fast after 

Why’d he get all the excitement?” Adam asks

“Yeah, i’m literally your fiance what the fuck.” Pete adds, laughing “I don’t like that, i don’t like that shit. I got my eye on you Gabriel.”

“Don’t hate me cause I'm beautiful.” Fluffy replies

“Bakers! Comedians, whatever,” you call out, trying to regain their attention, Pete playfully mumbled but returned his attention “if you want a chance at winning you will have to pay attention.”

“Got it, go. No wait… yeah okay, go.” Adam interrupts, causing you to bite back a smile. This would be a long shoot

“For tonight's challenge, you’re in for a treat. Because it’s only the first round, we’ll take it easy on you and allow teams.” muted murmurs fell over the room as they decided who would be on whose team, “Tonight we will be making the one thing a comedian couldn’t live without.” Your co-star, Nicole Byers, continues.

“Weed.” Pete guesses,

“No, their audience.”

“Oh, speak for yourself.” 

“You will be making your very own audience cupcakes. When we say go you will head to your baking stations where you will find step by step instructions on how to make your audience, along with photo references and the clock will begin counting down.” You say

“Go, go, go! What are you waiting for?!” Nicole rushes, you take your seat as they make their way to the respective stations. The teams ended up being Pete and Kevin, Gabe and Adam.

Things were going pretty smoothly, the comedians racing back and forth from the ingredients to their stations as things began starting up. As you look around, you see Pete and Kevin looking confused as they stare at the instructions.

“Something wrong, sweety?” you ask

“No, all good over here. Thanks for asking.” Gabe pipes up, you laugh and make your way over to Pete

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I shouldn’t have dropped out of college.”

“How come? What's wrong?”

“I need ⅔   a cup, but there’s not a ⅔  measurement cup.” he says

“Well, if you need ⅔  but there's not one, you just take two--” 

“Don’t patronize me. I got it.” Kevin cuts you off in the middle of explaining, grabbing two handfuls of flour and throwing it in the mixer “There, that should work.” 

You sigh, making your way over to the other stations to check on how everyone else was doing. Adam was doing well, which wasn’t a surprise considering he’s a father and probably does some baking at home.

“Gabe, how are you doing?” 

“Not good, I’m used to eating cake and not making it.”

“Oh hush, you’re doing fine!” You encourage, leaning forward to whisper to him “Kevin just measured flour with his hands, so I think you’ll be okay.”

“Guys, I think they’re talking about you.” Adam yells

“Yeah, I know.” Pete laughs.

“That's okay, cause you know what? Haters gonna hate.” Kevin yells

After making your rounds you sat back down, turning to face a laughing Nicole.

“That wasn’t sugar, that was salt.” She barely squeaks out “They’re gonna be so gross” you nod and laugh along, all but excited for the dishes that would soon be in front of you.

“On that note, can we get some water?” You call out to the team behind you

“And a medic?” Nicole adds

“And a mathematician. You understand this shit?” Pete says

“What? Basic measurements? Yeah baby, I do.” 

Before you knew it the timer had gone off and the cupcakes were sat in front of you. 

“So, these are what your audience were supposed to look like, and this is what they do look like.” Nicole says, vaguely gesturing to the cupcakes

“We- we uh, we took some creative liberties.” Pete says through a laugh

“Well, let’s see what it tastes like.” you say, grabbing one from the crowd and cheersing it with Nicole’s

“Might as well get this over with.” she says, making a clink noise with her mouth, as she does there's another noise too. The rock hard exteriors made a clunk noise. Your jaw dropped as you made eye contact with Nicole, not believing what had just happened

“Wait.” you say, grabbing another and throwing it at the ground with all the force you could muster. It cracked directly in half, crumbs flying across the floor.

“Pete!” you yell, an amused smile painted across your face. Pete laughs, covering his face 

“I have no idea what happened.”he says, picking up the cupcake from the floor

“This is my passion, how did you fuck up this hard?!”

“I have no fucking idea.” he laughs, crumbling it up in his hand.

“I guess we still have to taste it.” you say, grabbing another and cracking a piece off on the table, handing one to Nicole. When you bite down there's an audible crunch that makes everyone in the room wince. You can’t help the expression that overcomes your face as the taste hits your tongue, looking over to Nicole to confirm it wasn’t just you. It wasn’t.

You attempt to open your water, your hand slipping again and again until Pete walks over and opens it for you, feeding you the water as he apologizes through his laughter. It took you a minute of held back gags to recompose yourself, but when you finally did you said,

“Your BLEEP is sweeter than this.” You say, deeply preferring it over the burnt, salty, crunchy thing in front of you.

“Really?” Pete asks, laughing and when you nod your head it only makes him laugh harder.

“Pete, you fucked up Pete.” Kevin says. 

“Dont throw this on him, you’re the one who wouldn’t listen.” You say, looking over to Nicole who had resorted to licking the icing off the cupcake

“Look at what you’ve done to this poor lady. You should be ashamed. It’s gotta be a zero from me” You laugh, more than ready to move on.

“You know what, the icing wasn’t bad,” They began to fight over who had made the icing. “I don’t care, just promise to never do that again. Adam, Gabe, before I take a bite you have to promise me it won’t be like that.” Nicole says, dead serious. They shake their head, letting out little reassurances while choking down their laughter. You take a deep breath before lifting the cupcake to your mouth and taking a small test bite, surely traumatized. 

To your delight, it was actually very good. You smiled and nodded, taking another bite as Kevin and Pete groaned, knowing they’d surely lost.

“I feel like theirs was so bad we can’t even celebrate.” Adam says.

“Yeah, i don’t think we need to add insult to injury by announcing the winners of this round. On to the next?!” You cheer, preparing to announce what would come next.

“For your next challenge, we will be making cupriphon- cupcakeriphones- Okay, the name hasn’t been completely sorted out yet, cupcake microphones!” You announce

“Yes! And because we felt bad for the loser, that’s just in the script so i had to say it, i don’t actually feel bad for you that was disgusting. Because we felt bad for the loser, we decided to give them a leg up. If you look at the stations, two of them have buttons. They’re called the happy heckler buttons and when you press them a timer will be set and either Y/N or myself will go yell encouragement to your teammates until it goes off.” Nicole says

“Awhh, so sweet. Ready? Set? Go!” You yell, watching them scatter to try to find a station.

“Ay, stay back this is mine.” Fluffy says to Adam, haphazardly wielding a knife, momentarily fighting over a station before Nicole reminds them the timer is counting down. They take a look at their ingredients before rushing over to the storage space and grabbing what they need.

You’d managed to get to the decorating stage with little to no issues when you hear Kevin yelling, “Pete! I need your help, I need those long legs pete.” straining to grab something from the top shelf

“Hold on, one second.” He says, glancing back momentarily as he tried to finish decorating.

“Oh shit, you’re already decorating?” Kevin asks as Pete hands him what he needed before walking back to his station.

“Yeah, catch up.” Pete says

“Okay, i’ll catch up, if that's what you want.” Kevin says, slamming his button down in a melodramatic act of sabotage.

Nicole yells in excitement, ready for some action, running over to distract Pete.

“You dick! I thought we were friends.” he says, slamming his own button. You run over, making sure to get in Kevins face as you encourage him, giving him slaps on the back and shaking his shoulders. Things had gotten very chaotic, very fast.

When the four minutes were over you left Kevin’s station for Pete’s, hanging out with him as his cupcakes cooked in the oven. He was bent over in a hug with you, small kisses being pressed to each others lips.

“Doing so good baby.” you mumble, fingers tangled in his hair. Usually you didn’t like PDA, but you had made an exception today because it had been a long shoot and you missed him.

“Way better than last time.” He confirms, remembering last time they had burnt and opting to check the oven.

“Look at that! This aint fair, Pete’s sleepin with the judges!” Kevin yells, making everyone laugh

“You could be too, Kevin.” Nicole winks

“Nicole, you’re both married.” You remind them

“Hey, that's show business baby.” Kevin jokes

When it all came to an end, Adam ended up winning and it was a surprise.. To no one. He was the only one even kind of equipped to win and he rode that all the way to the finish line.

[ootori-sibs]

It's a cycle

Tw medical debt, mentions of death and surgery, implied ableism, implied drug use, classism

"I'm telling you, Souh; these kids don't listen to me."

Yuzuru Souh just sat in his chair silently sipping from his glass of wine, listening to the other man complain.

"Yuuichi gave someone a free surgery because their credit card bounced, Fiyumi's performing surgeries while pregnant," Yoshio paused, taking a sip of whiskey and clutching his cane tighter, "Akito's been stealing anxiety medications for his university friends and Kyoya's been off galavanting with those idiot friends of his. They don't care about what I tell them, it's a real problem, I swear."

At that, Yuzuru had to chuckle, "Yoshio, don't you think you're being a bit hypocritical, old boy?"

Yoshio Ootori glanced up from his drink, looking at the other with confusion and his usual scorn for the world. "Pardon?"

Chuckling more, Yuzuru smiled at his old friend, "don't you remember what you were like when you were their age? You were worse!"

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

Flashing back a good thirty something years, Yoshio recalled following his own father around one of their hospitals. Specifically, he remembered witnessing a woman having a mental breakdown after being told her insurance wouldn't cover a surgery her husband needed. For some reason, Yoshio couldn't look away, although his father had already moved on to a different room. He'd been told not to do anything unless there was monetary gain for him, but something about this situation sat differently with Yoshio. It hurt to see someone like this- sure she was a commoner, but weren't commoners human too?

Yoshio frowned, pulling at the too-tight strap around his wrist. It was supposed to keep him from dropping his cane but it just irritated his skin. He was only 15 and didn't think he was supposed to be witnessing this sort of thing, but if he was to inherit this medical empire, he needed to get over this emotional weakness. He definitely hadn't expected the woman to grab his trouser leg from her position on the floor, begging for him to please just save her husband, he was all she had left. Yoshio didn't know if she realised that he was just a kid, or if she knew that he technically had that power… but he sighed, glancing at the doctor in charge of the man's case.

"Is the procedure necessary?"

The doctor solemnly nodded, "I'm afraid so, his condition is very serious and if he doesn't have this procedure done he could…" he trailed off, suddenly aware that he was speaking to a child, heir or not.

Yoshio rolled his eyes, "he'd die, wouldn't he?" The idea of someone withholding information from him due to his age annoyed him more than anything else, and this doctor dancing around an issue like this was unforgivable in Yoshio's eyes. The doctor nodded in response to his clarification as the woman wailed and the patient just stared at the ceiling, looking lost and not all there. A pause, Yoshio glanced out the door, making a mental note that his father was occupied talking to someone else.

He looked back at the doctor, doing his trademark glare, the kind of look that could terrify even the most hardened men- the only one it couldn't scare was his own father. "How much is the procedure?" Yoshio nodded slowly as a number was delivered to him, "alright, I doubt father will noticed if you let this one slide," he noticed the doctors surprised expression, and the looks on both the patient and his wife, "you're not to tell father your orders, but you are to perform the surgery on this man. I also want it in writing that the insurance company refuse to pay for a life saving surgery, can you manage that, doctor?" He said the last word in a mocking tone, a very thinly veiled threat to the man's livelihood.

The doctor knew better than to question the orders of an Ootori; the heir to the company and the doctor's future boss was not a boy to be quarrelled with. Yoshio knew he had power over the man and couldn't help but feel a little smug when the doctor slowly nodded, "yes sir, of course. I'll get right to it." With that, the doctor left Yoshio alone with the patient and his wife.

She was a pretty woman for a commoner; around twenty, with pretty brown hair and matching eyes, she was a slim woman and had surprisingly nice clothing- although Yoshio wasn't convinced she hadn't stolen them. If he wasn't a teen, he'd say she was attractive, but she happened to be both nearly twice his age and also a commoner, so she definitely wasn't his type. The moment she realized that her husband was going to be alright, she started thanking him, praising him for being so generous. She still hadn't let go of Yoshio's trouser leg and he was beginning to get freaked out by it.

Using his cane to push her away from him, he huffed, "can you not touch me? These trousers are worth about twice as much as your husband's life." With that said, he turned on heel and left. It had been a slight exaggeration but still, he didn't like the idea of her touching him like that so he really didn't think he'd been that rude.

He caught up with his father, who glanced down at him with disdain, rolling his eyes. "I don't know how you can expect to take over when I die if you can't even keep up when I walk? You're not a child anymore, Yoshio, you can't fall behind like this."

"Yes father, I'm sorry father." Yoshio bowed his head, frowning as his father resumed conversation with one of the other doctors, discussing the state of another patient. He couldn't understand why his heart was hammering in his chest like that, he still hadn't fully processed exactly how much he'd just gone against his father.

The next day, Yoshio was as quiet as he usually was, but anyone would have been able to see his thunderous expression and the fact that he was even ruder than usual. He wasn't angry, he had no reason to be. What Yoshio was feeling was actually panic, at the idea that he'd gone against his father like this. Heir or not, he still shouldn't have done something like that. It wasn't the same as hitting a nurse with his cane when she messed up someone's medications, or threatening to lose the teachers insurance information if he didn't change his A to an A+. This was serious, this was a matter of just under ten thousand yen, which was a drop in the ocean for the Ootori group, but was definitely large enough that someone might notice it missing from their records.

Yoshio spent the entire day, worrying over how long he had left until someone told his father. He was going to be in so much trouble and he knew it, he didn't even know why he'd decided to do that… he didn't even know those commoners. Perhaps he was simply mentally weak as well as physically, father seemed to think those were correlated. And although they often were, Yoshio didn't think that was the case, he knew his mental fortitude was strong- that had just been a moment of weakness. Or so he hoped…

Nevertheless, he hadn't expected Souh to hop over to him during music class, sliding a seat over and sitting in it backwards. "Hey. Ootori, right? I noticed you weren't really paying attention to your violin, which isn't normal for you- you're usually very good at it. I'm not saying I usually listen to you play, I'm just saying that everyone knows your top of the class in, like, every subject? So this is really weird and I'm worried there might be something going on. So, what's on your mind?"

"Pardon?" Yoshio raised an eyebrow, putting his violin down and looking this boy up and down. This young man was the Souh family heir; their company dealt in insurance as well as other things, so Yoshio knew him from many social events where his father had interacted with the Souhs. He would expect this idiot to know who he was as well, so clarifying his name was rather rude, as far as Yoshio was concerned. This kid had greasy, slicked down brown hair and braces. Important family or not, Yoshio didn't want to associate with this kind of boy; he was only bad news. Souh was known for being a womanizer and Yoshio found that very disgusting- the moro! couldn't even sit in a chair correctly!

Souh just smiled at him, clearly not aware of the situation he was putting Yoshio in. "Well I was just asking if there was anything on your mind, since you seem a little distracted. I'm sorry if I talk too much; my mother says I need to learn 'decorum'- whatever that is, right?" He then laughed, clearly expecting Yoshio to join him.

"Your mother is right." Was his response, turning the page on his sheetmusic as he quietly observed that he was behind. "I don't have any information for you, I apologize. Was there a particular reason you chose to bother me today? Other than your own taste for gossip?"

"Aw come on, Yoshio- can I call you Yoshio?"

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, well anyway- you got me!" He held up his hands in a surrendering motion, "mother told me that father had received a complaint about the way his company handles insurance, and that it came directly from you! She told me I had to ask exactly why you had a problem with it. Lame huh?"

Growling under his breath, Yoshio cursed that doctor. He could have sworn he'd asked for that question to be anonymous. "I did not place any complaint. I merely asked for the insurance company to clarify that they were declining a life saving procedure for one of the patients I came across while touring a hospital with my father. I find it very unprofessional that you chose to ask me this under the guise of polite conversation."

"Father declined a life saving operation for someone?" Souh looked strangely hurt by that idea, his eyes already looking wet.

Yoshio groaned, crossing his arms. "I didn't say that, Souh, pay attention. I said that his company declined it, so clearly someone under him made some form of mistake, I just wanted it in writing." Souh looked a little less upset now, so Yoshio hazarded a smile, "is that alright with you, Souh?"

Souh looked so pleased with that smile, or at least by Yoshio's words. "Yes, thank you Ootori!" He held out a hand to Yoshio, still beaming like an idiot, "do you want to be friends? I noticed you didn't have any."

Glancing down at Souh's hand, and feeling the cut from his comment, Yoshio's gaze narrowed, meeting Souh and turning his expression to one of hesitation and instinctual fear. "Why don't you ask me that another time? Possibly without the insult to go with it?"

Any idiot would hear the ice in Yoshio's voice, and he felt no shame in the fact that people glanced up from their music when they heard it, the room getting undeniably quieter. Souh looked like a kicked puppy at this point, staring at Yoshio with that looked to be an expression of hurt on his face. But any moron would know to back away at this point, and that's just was Souh did; retreating back to his own instrument like the kicked dog he was.

Was Yoshio unnecessarily rude to him? Of course he was. Did he care at all? Not a smidge. As far as he was concerned, Souh deserved every word he'd said. It wasn't like the boy had anything to do with Yoshio, he was just a nosy busybody. The fact that Souh was also an heir to a powerful company didn't matter to Yoshio; there was noone on the same level as him. People only ever cared about revenue- he didn't think they realised that he was the one holding the powers of life and death in his hands.

What other 15 year old can prescribe drugs? What other teenager can order doctors around like it's his job? Yoshio couldn't think of anyone else who could do everything he did, and that thought made him smile. There was no one in the world like him, and he wanted to keep it that way. A 'friend' would only keep him shackled to another person, and if he agreed to be someone's friend on their terms… well he'd be the dog in that situation wouldn't he? If Yoshio wasn't going to have any allies at all, he'd be the one holding the leash.

Yoshio Ootori, 15 years old and already perfect. The only thing stopping him from inheriting his father's company that very moment was the fact that he was still uneasy around death and didn't think he could handle killing his own father- and that was the only thing stopping him. He had everything else he needed, even grown men with companies were afraid of him. He'd heard the term 'maniac' thrown around now and then, especially now, when people discussed his conversation with Souh. Yoshio had read up on what that was, and he couldn't exactly say they were wrong, but that just made him smile. They feared him, and that just meant he was doing his duty correctly.

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

Pausing for a moment, Yoshio conceded, nodding. "You might be right there, but I never had friends like Kyoya does. I simply didn't have time."

Yuzuru sighed, sipping his wine. "You didn't have any friends because you were an asshole, Yoshio."

"Kyoya's an asshole." He defended himself, "I simply ordered him to befriend your son for business reasons."

Sighing, Yuzuru pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well I tried to befriend you in highschool, Yoshio- multiple times. It was your own fault you didn't have any friends."

"I'm not jealous of him, Yuzuru. I think he should stop the galavanting around with those friends of his."

"Have you ever seen him so happy?"

Yoshio paused, staring down at his cane, the handle engraved with the family crest. Family meant everything to Yoshio; he'd done everything in his power to copy his father's way of doing things and did his best to teach his children to do the same. He didn't think he'd ever done anything to make them happy… the most he'd ever done is when he let Fiyumi arrange her own marriage, and when he didn't arrange anything for his sons. Mostly because he remembered how scared he was when his father told him he had to get married.

Seeing Kyoya happy… it made Yoshio annoyed for reasons he couldn't explain, but it also made him happy for reasons he also couldn't explain. He was silent now, and Yuzuru was just watching him calmly. Yoshio was angry, how dare Yuzuru try and talk to him like that, try and read him like that, try and tell him how to raise his children like that! Yoshio was fully aware he was looking for a distraction, but quietly seething over Yuzuru taking to him was better than worrying if he was a bad father to his children.

[prinxlyart]

First, your headcanons give me life. Second, oh man, that whole graveleaf thing with Willow. We saw the Blight parents' reactions, but I can't help but wonder how her girlfriends took that news (Amity especially...)

Oh man you know how to hit where it hurts most huh?

TW: depression and thoughts of suicide

***If you are struggling with depression and/or thoughts of suicide, please see a medical professional right away.***

I think Willow may have revealed this to her girlfriends years before she’s admitted it to the Blight parents. I think during one of her worse days when they’re all about 15 or 16 she ends up staying home from school one day and not answering Luz or Amity’s texts which scares them shitless, but like, it’s Willow. Whatever she’s up to she can probably handle, she’s one of the most powerful witches they’ve ever known. She just usually answers them and it scares them to know she’s not answering.

It’s not until after school lets out that they go to visit her and one of her dads answers the door only to give them a sort of tired, resigned look and explain that she’s probably asleep, but they can go check on her if they want.

They find Willow in her bed with the lights off and the covers pulled over her head and Amity seems a little confused but Luz knows exactly what’s going on because she’s been in this exact situation before. Luz just whispers a hello to Willow and sits down on the floor next to the head of Willow’s bed and leans up against it and pats the floor next to her for Amity to join her. I think they all sit in silence for a while before Luz tries to see if Willow is actually awake.

Willow’s been awake the whole time, just silently crying. Her pillow is wet with tears but she struggles with answering Luz or even making any noise. Depression can really suck all the energy out of you. When Luz tries to peel back the covers from her face, she doesn’t even have the energy to keep the covers there and just lets Luz unveil Willow’s depression to two of the most important people in her life. Luz let’s out a small sigh and climbs into Willow’s bed with her, just sorta draping herself over Willow and whispering in Spanish (something Willow doesn’t understand but recognizes later on as something Camila does when Luz is having a breakdown of her own). Amity is frozen, just staring at her girls in confusion and fear because she doesn’t know what brought this on.

After a while I think Luz is able to maneuver herself and Willow into a position where Luz can sit down properly with Willow’s head in her lap so she can just pet her hair gently and hum quietly. Amity doesn’t really know how to help beyond holding Willow’s hand and interlacing their fingers. It takes roughly an hour before Willow is able to make any sound at all.

(Willow’s dads check in on them to make sure they aren’t up to any funny business with their daughter and just relieved to see Luz and Amity gently taking care of Willow.) One of them brings the girls some water and Luz manages to convince Willow (with Amity’s help) to drink some water before trying to talk.

Willow eventually asks Amity to turn on the lights and begins explaining everything to them. She’s so scared that somehow this will make them not want to be with her even though rationally she knows that wouldn’t happen. She’s mostly scared of how Amity would react; her depression stemmed from their original friendship breaking off the way it did after all.

She can’t really look either of them in the eye. She’s grateful in that moment that Amity already has her own issues with eye contact but is able to communicate with their linked hands. She’s grateful that Luz understands what sort of mental space she’s in and sits behind her to cradle her. For the first time in a long time, despite how horrible she feels, she also feels safe and loved.

She knows she’s hurting Amity with what she’s saying about how her depression came about. And Willow’s trying hard to make sure it doesn’t sound like she’s pointing fingers. But she can feel Amity’s fingers tensing in between her own and tremble and she can feel Luz’s tears on the back of her shoulder where her face was resting as she listened to Willow speak. She knows she’s hurting them by telling the truth, but Luz encourages her to keep going. Her steady presence at Willow’s back is like a security blanket for Willow. She feels safe in Luz’s arms no matter how terrified she is in the moment.

It’s dark outside by the time Willow finishes explaining. The whole time Luz was either playing with Willow’s shirt or her hair or putting gentle kisses to the back of Willow’s head (that made her feel much better, oddly enough). Amity however, looked like she was going to throw up. She was pale and shaking and had tears streaming down her face but refused to move or speak until Willow was done. When she was done, Amity couldn’t really speak. Any time either Luz or Willow asked her anything she would simply shake her head, her tears still flowing freely.

Emira ended up getting a scroll text from Luz asking if she could bring an overnight bag for Amity to Willow’s place. When Emira tried to tease her about it, Luz replied so somberly that Emira knew immediately something was up. She didn’t tease and let Luz know that she and Edric would cover for Amity (also reaching out to Skara asking to cover for Amity too in case their parents thought to try to reach out to her). Emira arrived at the same time Eda had on her staff and they just shared a look of concern as they waited for one of the Park’s to answer the door.

It was a really scary night for all three girls in Willow’s room. The Park parents made sure to check on them every so often and made sure they had food and plenty of water, but ultimately let them be. They fretted the whole night of course, pacing either in the living room or in their bedroom once it was time for bed, but eventually fell into restless sleep. Both knew that if the girls needed them they’d need to be alert and awake.

Fortunately, the girls didn’t end up needing them that night. Granted, they were up until nearly 3 AM talking everything out (once Amity was able to speak again), but it never got to the point where anyone felt like they needed an adult to intervene. Luz remained quiet for the most part, oscillating between her girlfriends as she comforted them when they needed her to most. She would throw her two cents in every so often whenever the topic of mental health was addressed; she couldn’t speak to their shared history but she could speak to depression and mental disabilities.

By the time they finished talking (or were too tired to keep going) it was late enough that if they stayed up any longer, they’d see the sun rise. Luz and Amity took turns getting changed for bed in the bathroom and they all snuggled up in Willow’s bed (kind of a tight squeeze in a queen-size bed but they made do) and slept until nearly noon. They woke up to the smell of Willow’s dads cooking something that smelled intoxicating (Willow’s favorite breakfast) and all three enjoyed a good breakfast together in relative silence. Once their stomachs were full and they were properly awake again, they went back to Willow’s room to finish talking.

Willow and Amity felt lighter than air after the spine-chilling talk they had the night before. Luz was thrilled that her girls had managed to so thoroughly clear the air between them, but her heart felt extremely heavy afterwards. She knew you couldn’t just “fix” depression with one Good Talk and a romantic relationship and it hurt her to know that Willow had been silently suffering the entire time she’d known her. She made sure Willow knew that if she ever started to feel like she was getting back to such a low place to just call her. Luz would always make time for her, no matter how late and no matter how busy she may be. Amity assured Willow the same was true of her with some caveats. As much as she wanted to be able to just drop everything to be able to comfort her girlfriend if needed, their relationship was still a secret from Amity’s parents. She didn’t want to risk them finding out and somehow making good on the threat they’d made nearly a decade ago.

From that point on, it took a lot of work and a lot of talking for all three of them to come up with good systems for when one of them was feeling low, but they eventually figured it out. Once Amity was living with her siblings, she sought out her own therapist to start working through, well, everything, but she was able to come to terms with the concept of forgiveness and accepting your faults and mistakes and how they don’t actually make you a bad person.

It takes a long time, but they figure it out. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they need space. But they figure out a flow that works for them and their relationship becomes that much stronger as a result.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Supernatural Diseases - Humans

Note: Please message us if you plan on using these! We just want to coordinate to make sure there’s no doubling up at the same time.

General:

Humans are susceptible to most diseases, both supernatural and mundane. 

Tinneas Sidhe: A condition mentioned in Gaelic folklore where contact with the magical effects of fae or fae flora such as hungry grass or a gancanagh’s happiness drain lingers far longer than usual, and might even become a chronic condition if not treated in the early stages. This can present in a number of ways but often requires magical intervention to completely cure, with “ingredients” from the fae species that caused the issue.

Grave Chills: A disease typically contracted from undead creatures or locations heavy with necromantic energies. The sufferer feels a very literal chill of the grave that won't seem to go away even when in extremely hot environs. Some report being afflicted with hallucinations of deceased loved ones. Bathing in holy water a few times is a quick fix for this, but it will dissipate on its own after a couple of weeks.

Soul Instability: Affects mediums, exorcists, and spellcasters - if an individual spends too long in the astral plane, they put themselves at risk of not being able to get back into their body, which is left vulnerable to the regular world. They may need to seek help, all the while trying to keep their soul safe from the inherent dangers of the astral plane. Magic intervention is needed, and one can reduce the likeliness of happening again with regular anxiety-coping mechanisms.

Aura Reader:

Reader’s Spoonerism: Presenting with no obvious clinical signs, Reader’s Spoonerism causes aura readers to see the wrong auras on the wrong people and species. This means that a calm and collected person might have a red aura, or a fae might have the aura of a kitsune. This is very confusing for the aura reader and it can even take some time to identify that it’s happening. Reader’s Spoonerism tends to come and go like a common cold and will resolve on its own over time.

(Chronic illness TW) Soulsight: The aura reader’s powers gradually intensify, eventually causing everything to be covered in auras. This is visually painful and confusing, and can cause headaches, nausea, and even fainting. If not treated, the aura reader will eventually go blind and only be able to see in auras. While it’s possible to recover from this point, it is not a certainty, and will require multiple treatments of eyedrops made from fungus grown on a leshy. 

Aura’s Knot: This disturbing condition causes all auras to look like muddled messes. The reader will no longer be able to discern anything from auras, as they all look like lifeless brown puddles and knots. While there are no physical symptoms associated with this condition, it can cause psychological distress and even depression. It can be cured using a lotion made from the guts of supernatural creatures of varying colors mixed together (typically red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet).

Empath:

(Chronic illness TW) Mirroralgia: Empaths are supposed to only feel the emotions of others, but those who come down with mirroralgia -- transmitted by clingers on occasion -- also feel the physical pain of those around them. Any injuries taken around the afflicted empath will also hurt them, and any preexisting pain will be felt as if it’s their own. This can be an incredibly painful disease and can even cause death, if someone near the empath happens to die. Empaths can live with mirroralgia for years, or even their whole life, and it isn’t progressive, but in a town with as many deaths as White Crest, every day with it is a gamble. Once the sickness is identified, most empaths will choose to eliminate it by undergoing an elaborate ritual with the help of spellcasters.

Contrario Affectus: Empaths normally feel the emotions of others, but contrario affectus turns that on its head. This contagious bug causes the empath’s abilities to dull during the first couple of weeks of sickness. During the next few weeks, any person the empath has physical contact with will then begin to feel the emotions of the empath. The cure is simple: any analgesic. This can take months to resolve on its own, so typically the empath has to track down everyone they had contact with to identify who needs to be treated.

Barlow’s Funnel: This rare virus grants empaths the ability to drain the emotions of others. It tends to come on gradually, with the empath and those around them not realizing what’s happening at first. Eventually, those the empath spends the most time with will start feeling numb and emotionless, no longer enjoying things. As the virus worsens, the empath will start feeling an insatiable compulsion to intentionally drain people of their emotions, leaving innocents completely numb. The virus is able to remain inside the host indefinitely, but can be cured with mass consumption of nutritional yeast. Once the virus is gone, the emotions taken from others will be returned to them.

Medium & Exorcist:

Persephone Syndrome: Caused when a medium doesn't have enough living contact -- their life is unbalanced with dealing with the affairs of the dead, and they’ve become too invested ghosts’ (after)lifes. The medium’s abilities strengthen, but they lose the ability to see or hear living individuals, perceiving themselves to be alone with only ghosts for company. The medium will eventually become disoriented and confused, thinking themselves to be “haunted” by people they cannot see, when in reality it’s just living people. The cure involves isolating themselves from all ghosts for a couple of months and/or drinking a potion made primarily from the zombie necroplasm (goo from zombies), but can be difficult to diagnose and may require forced intervention by members of the living.

Spectris Oculis: A rare disease caused by staring at a poltergeist for too long (generally for 6+ hours). This condition causes the medium or exorcist’s eyes to glaze over, making it hard to focus on anything, and eventually blinding them over time. In the final stages of the disease, the eyes rot and fall out of the head. This can be treated with medication made out of chickcharney dung and squonk tears. While you can stop the eyes rotting and falling out at any stage in treatment, if the blindness has progressed too far, it is irreversible.

Resonance Inversion: Most ghosts fear exorcists, but exorcists who contract resonance inversion as a result of one too many exorcisms gone wrong, draw hordes of ghosts and demons toward them. The exorcist’s aura becomes a “magnet” that draws in nearby ghosts and other dangerous creatures, and nothing seems to lessen this. Exorcists with this condition will also cause more and more entities to swarm around them if they try and cast out a spirit. The best tactic for short-term survival is to use wards and other good luck charms to keep various demons away, but in the long-term, the exorcist will require psychic intervention to restore their aura back to normal. 

Soul Scrappies: More ghost than sickness, soul scrappies are small, malevolent spirits that latch onto the soul of an exorcist during an exorcism (or, rarely, a medium during a seance). The soul scrappy impacts the exorcist's psyche and can cause them to act differently than normal, though they don’t quite understand why. It can also impact the exorcist’s ability to successfully complete exorcisms. Typically, this can be caught early if the exorcist affected can sense ghosts, and the spirit can be sent packing with a mini exorcism.

Hunter:

Apoleia Dynamis: This psychosomatic condition can cause loss of supernatural hunter abilities, including a decrease in super strength, coordination, and immunity to quarry. Typically, this is brought on when a hunter completely loses faith in what they are, their cause, themselves, or anything else that tethers them to their abilities. The first sign of Apoleia Dynamis is often fading strength. Over time, this can cause hunters to become quite sickly, and it’s most easily reversed by treating the root cause -- a crisis of faith. 

Static Interference: Thought to be viral in origin and non-contagious, Static Interference causes hunters to begin emitting signals other hunters can feel, while also sensing all hunters as their target. This means that a slayer would “register” as a werewolf to beast hunters, while sensing other hunters as vampires. While confusing (and sometimes leading to lethal mistakes), this typically clears up on its own over time.

Achilles’ Bane: This disease of unknown origin causes hunters to take on the weaknesses of what they hunt. Wardens become sensitive to iron and lying, slayers to sunlight and holy objects, and beast hunters to silver and the thrall of the full moon. Though these weaknesses aren’t as extreme as they would be in their quarry, this can still cause considerable pain, discomfort, and psychological distress. While Achilles’ Bane sorts itself out over the course of a few months, it can also be cured via magic ritual with the assistance of a spellcaster and the species the hunter targets.

Spellcaster:

Uncontrolled wild magic: When the energy of a spellcaster passes through another magic-user, traits of it can be left behind, often presenting in uncontrolled outbursts of the preferred magic of the other spellcaster. This is almost always temporary, but can be cursed with a cleansing ritual that includes both parties involved and the entrails of a torple.

Hecate Inpass: A spellcaster who tries to do too much, spreading themselves too thin, can come down with a case of Hecate Impass, where their magic becomes fractured and unreliable. Rather than becoming good at all of the types of magic they were studying, they become good at nothing. This can even result in temporary or long-term loss of magic. This can be resolved by the spellcaster limiting their scope, and in more extreme cases, forfeiting some of their knowledge in a magic ritual or with the use of brain biters.

Too Familiar: The bond between a spellcaster and their familiar becomes too blurred, causing the spellcaster to take on behaviors and/or qualities of their familiar. If left untreated, it can result in the spellcaster bouncing back over the bond, and getting trapped inside their familiar (and, possibly, the familiar getting trapped inside of the caster). Often caused by linking with one’s familiar for prolonged amounts of time. Due to lack of documented information about the condition, it’s often resolved by killing the familiar. However, some records show that it can be also cured with the bite of any transformed shapeshifter (if a werewolf, the caster will not become one themselves, but details are scarce so there may be uncertainty).

[princesircastic-archive]

so remember how I was having a super shitty day? well, here’s why

warning: long rambling post 

last year - August 22nd/23rd, I was in hospital. I was taken to accident & emergency via the advice of the non-emergency phoneline, where I was subsequently left in agony for five hours before I was finally given a competent doctor who knew how to correctly administer painkillers (seriously, the first idiot missed a vein and pumped my soft tissue full of morphine instead. which, by the way, hurt like hell). But I won’t get into that horror show of an experience - just laying the groundwork here. it was discovered that I was suffering from gallstones, which I’d brought up to my doctor a year ago and told it couldn’t possibly be gallstones because I was only 25, despite the fact I made it clear my mother suffered them at the same age. but doctors know your body better than you, obviously, so of course I was an idiot for thinking it. mm. yeah. 

before I was discharged from hospital I was told I’d need surgery to remove the gallbladder to avoid further problems like this, and that I’d hear from the hospital in 4-6 weeks for that surgery.

it was three months before I had to ask my doctor to find out what was happening with it. I’m very much aware that people get bumped down the list because of emergency surgeries, and I’m cool with that - it can’t be helped. which is why I didn’t think twice when I hadn’t heard back in that timeframe, and why I didn’t immediately think anything of it when three months had gone by. it was only early this year that I discovered something had gone wrong.

basically, someone at the hospital fucked up. they were supposed to put me on the waiting list for the surgery and arrange everything, and they didn’t. maybe they got distracted and forgot, maybe they lost my information, who knows what happened exactly - but they fucked up. that is the important thing here. They. Fucked. Up. 

when I finally discover this, I’m sent a letter to put myself on a waiting list to see the consultant surgeon. not for the surgery itself, mind, but to have the same conversation I’ve already had with a surgeon. the waiting list is three months long. I speak to my doctor and she says she’ll write to the hospital to stress the urgency of my case, and to put myself on the waiting list as a back-up. only when we go back to do that, there are now no available spaces left. wonderful.

whilst we’re still working out what to do, I get a letter telling me my clinic appointment at the hospital has been cancelled. what clinic appointment? this was the first I’d heard of it, but apparently I had one on June 12th that no one had bothered to tell me about - and now it was cancelled. okay. sure. at this point I’m thinking maybe they’d put me on the list for an appointment due to my doctor’s letter, and they’re respecting the urgency and bringing my appointment forward, so I await the new letter to tell me when my rebooked appointment is. is it next month? next week? 

no. it’s actually the same date as the cancelled one, only two hours later. what the fuck, right? yeah. I wasn’t pleased. so fast forward to today, June 12th. Ten months since I was admitted for emergency care in the hospital, ten months since I was told I was going to have surgery and I’d hear from them in 4-6 weeks. I spend all of five minutes with the consultant surgeon I’ve had to wait half the year to see, and she tells me I was never put on the waiting list like I should have been, and now that I am going on it, it’s six months long.

Six months. for a surgery I should have had ten months ago. and the only cases she can put as emergency or priority are cancer patients. (whilst I totally respect that, of course, I’m more than a little pissed off at that. I might not have cancer but this was the hospital’s error and not mine and I shouldn’t be punished for it).

I can’t even be put down for any cancellations because I’m a full-time carer and I need a good few weeks’ notice to make necessary arrangements for at home, so I’m stuck at the bottom of a six month waiting list. because they fucked up ten months ago. 

now just in case it isn’t obvious why this is such a problem (beyond the fuck up and having to wait six months), and for anyone who doesn’t understand what gallstones are or what they do, I’ll just explain for you-

ever heard of kidney stones? yes? and how they can be incredibly painful and dangerous? gallstones are very similar. they’re not quite as painful as kidney stones, but they’re not a fucking walk in the park either. I have a naturally high pain tolerance (example: I had major surgery and shocked/confused all the nurses after because they kept offering me pain meds I didn’t need), and I screamed myself hoarse for those five hours until someone gave me morphine correctly because of the agony I was suffering. yeah. it was bad.

what causes gallstones, you might ask? no one really knows yet. they can guess at some triggers, but there’s no definitive cause. gallstones are thought to be caused by an imbalance in the chemical make-up of bile inside the gallbladder. this helps digest fats, for example - which is why one of the suspected triggers for gallstones can be fatty foods. but these vague triggers mean attacks can happen anytime, and anywhere, without warning. I’ve suffered them whilst at conventions in London, which was terrifying in itself, and whilst I was on holiday in Amsterdam. thankfully so far only the one has been serious enough to send me to hospital.

I can do absolutely nothing to stop them

even minor attacks will put me in bed for the entire day, and more serious ones can essentially cripple me for 2-3 days afterward because of the pain and muscle cramping that occurs. you can imagine how this might make life difficult, especially when I’m a carer for a disabled person. my diet is already fairly restricted bc I have several other issues and a lot of foods have negative effects on my health, but now I’ve spent the last ten months in particular constantly worrying if what I’ve eaten is going to trigger an attack. the stress in itself is having lasting negative effects on my health. I haven’t been right since before August last year. it’s even given me some serious body issues that I can’t shake off (and have resulted in me hating 99% of cosplay photos taken of me for various reasons).

I don’t have the money to go private. I have to rely on the free healthcare that is already struggling because our government are complete fuck-ups and liars. I’m aware that because of this, even though I’m on the list, it could be a year before I get my surgery because there are always emergencies or patients who are deemed more urgent than me. I know how hospitals work. I know the shit decisions that have to be made by the people in charge of surgical admissions. I have to live another 6-12 months under this constant fear and anxiety, all because the hospital fucked up.

I’m writing to a service that helps and advises patients to see if I can get something sorted, but I’m not hopeful - and once I’ve had the surgery, my mother has assured me she’s going to make a formal complaint. I doubt it’ll amount to anything, but by now it’s the principle of the matter. 

and then some idiot tried to run me over and had the audacity to imply I was at fault for it. it’s okay. I told him to go fuck himself.

[lucahqs-blog]

❛ ✶  —  did you see LUCA MARTÍNEZ walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the TWENTY-ONE year old JUNIOR . from what i know , they are studying HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY while minoring in ILLUSTRATION and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + DIPLOMATIC but also - NON-CONFRONTATIONAL , which makes since because on their instagram ( LMHQS ) it says they are a LIBRA . when i see them , i think of LONG 2AM ROOFTOP CHATS, 100% GREEK & DEAD POETS SOCIETY CHAOTIC ENERGY, MESSY ROOM COVERED IN ART & PROJECTS, DOG-EARED TEXTBOOKS, CIGARETTE SMOKE. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that [  REDACTED ] , but don’t tell anyone i told you that .

hello, loves !! this bean goes by rue ( she / her pronouns ), and i’ll be playing this Mess™, luca ( with fc by froy gutierrez ). below you can find his bio, enjoy ! + disclaimer: there are mentions of mental health and cancer, so please read at your own discretion.

biography

When someone hears the name Martínez, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. And who wouldn’t? With the father being a State’s Attorney and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. In the public eye the Martínez family was flawless. Diana was the always supporting wife who thrived in raising money for fundraisers and showing off her cooking skills and David was being a husband who brought home piles of money and was devoted to his family. Everyone wanted what they had. Luca Martínez was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. The Martínez family are one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and Luca’s parents were no exception. He grew up learning how to be charming and handsome, and aware of his superiority over those of inferior to him. Luca’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restless at various fancy parties and dinners, while his father kept him from all the treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. Luca’s father was always cold and emotionally isolated from him; only after a perfect son to show off to the world.

He has brother, who is three years younger than him, named Nathaniel. His relationship with his brother, however, is a bit estranged just like with their father. As much as he loves his brother and wishes they could see eye-to-eye, sometimes they tend to butt heads often. Whether that might mean your typical sibling arguments or full-on blown out fights, they just cannot seem to see get along.

As a young, restless little child, Luca sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. His friend taught him that there was such thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of Greek mythology, and he learned that his father had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. However, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. Since then, Luca kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself. Unfortunately, as time went on, Luca grew up to become a lot colder and more isolated like his father—leaving the feeling of pure joy of meeting that friend he met long ago, had vanished. With his family situation being completely dysfunctional and rottenly horrible, he never experienced what being happy was all about.

Sometimes calling someone selfish is a gross exaggeration, but in Luca’s case its right on-point. Eventually in his early teens he became distracted, always preoccupied with his own affairs and matters of interest. Whether it was schoolwork, his multiple and usually explosive relationships, or his many existential crises, Luca was one for waving people away and turning the conversation back on himself. This was not necessary out of narcissism or some hidden agenda: Luca genuinely does not know who he is. Perpetually fidgeting and restless, it is not uncommon to see him rapidly flicking a cigarette lighter, or playing with his hair, or bouncing on the balls of his feet. In high school he was brilliant: it was that simple. He was the golden boy. Prone to spilling into intellectual spiels - and labelled a know-it-all - he internalized everything, memorizing tiny details, eyes skipping here and there. His intelligence is among his most useful traits and is by far the thing he values most about himself. Much of his ego is built around the confidence that he is effortlessly smarter than almost anybody he encounters. Knowledge is power, and he weaponizes his superior intellect, using his brains more than brawn to protect himself and intimidate the people he does not care for.

Although his parents were the bane of his experience 100% of the time, his mother was not all that insufferable when she had her moments away from his father and not trying to be this pristine ‘perfect’ woman beside her husband. In fact, throughout his childhood she often encouraged Luca’s belief in extraordinary things and hoped he had carried it throughout his life growing up. His mother had always made him promise to have courage and be kind to others, for—as she explained to him—kindness has power, and that she would see him through all the trials that life could offer, in life and death.

Cancer/mental illness TW—when he was thirteen, his mother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. Upon hearing the news, Luca’s whole world clasped. Not only was he at a pivotal stage in his life where everything was changing and becoming more stressful ( becoming a teenager, starting high school, going through puberty ), the only important person who had actually showed him any kind of love in his life had be claimed by the deadly disease altogether. So many thoughts and feelings were going through his mind at the time, that he ran himself physically sick and had experienced his first panic attack. He has since been medically diagnosed with panic disorder. Thankfully, the cells on his mother’s cervix were diagnosed at precancerous stage and the doctors were able to treat it because it developed and spread. However, that didn’t and doesn’t stop Luca from being in a constantly state of panic every time his mother so much as feels pain or coughs due to irrelevant reasons. The entire year had changed him and his family for a while.

He is now attending Beaumont University currently in his Junior year studying Human Physiology and minoring in Illustration. The university is his parents’ alma mater and he joined his father’s former fraternity after he was convinced it would be a ‘father-son bonding experience’ to have shared the same Greek house. Not to mention, his family has pretty decent ties at Beaumont, making Luca pretty well known become his parents. Sure, his family is wealthy, well known in the socialite community, and has basically grown up with this sort of life from an exceedingly small age, but to say he actually cares about all that crap is an overstatement. He is nothing like some of the spoiled and entitled students at his school and rather vibe with himself than gossip about the latest trend.

Despite issues with his own family, Luca has a lot of personal of his own he deals with. He is capable of enduing tremendous hardship. Though he may not handle difficulty in the healthiest or best way, often repressing emotion, he mostly like emerges on the other side. He does not know how to express his emotions in a put together way, but rather fumbles it all up and starts to ramble. Rarely opens up because of this. He usually distracts himself from his insufferable emotions with hobbies such as playing the piano, painting, and reading some of his favorite classics. After he moved out the house at eighteen to pursue college and became more independent, he started to come into his own style with his wardrobe. To put it simple, he is like a hippie dippy child of the universe.

No joke. No seriously, his place at home and his dorm is full of sensual shit and art. It is getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. Catch him rocking the Greek philosopher and Dead Poets Society aesthetic around campus. He strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself—not just through photography and painting—and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. Because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. His appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of hipster shit. His clothes can be very flowy like, but don’t let that fool you. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you. His hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

[asa-hollandseabrooke]

A S A . H O L L A N D

FULL NAME: Asa Michael Holland HOMETOWN: Swords, Ireland DOB: October 24, 1978 AGE: 45 GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him OCCUPATION: Head Librarian SEXUALITY: Gay HEIGHT: 5'7" TIME IN ASHMORE: 5 years

BIOGRAPHY

Full bio under the cut! Please read trigger warnings before proceeding!

TW // Medical malpractice, homophobia, abuse

Asa grew up in a small family home in a town on the outskirts of Dublin. Both parents were devoutly Catholic and the whole family walked to church multiple times a week. He worked summers helping clean up the little church-house in the valley and his father often pawned him off to ‘learn a hard day’s work’ at various places in town. Despite his father having plenty of money and working at a bank in the city, Asa was often treated like he had to provide for his family as well. He wanted to spend time with his siblings but it often fell on him to get a job first, get his sisters to school. There was immense pressure from his family at all times to be the model son.

He had always been introverted but starting in high school, he started to rebel, getting angry at his parents and lashing out at them. His father had just started a very high-profile job in the government and his 13 year old son was the least of his issues. Eventually, Asa was sent away to a home for ‘troubled teens’ and was essentially beaten into submission by orderlies and people who did not care about his wellbeing or his mental stability. He was treated like a problem, like an inmate in a prison at the age of 14 and was kept there for years due to his father’s negligence and lies. Saying after Asa came back for a short time once that he was still ‘acting up’. That they had failed and he would expose them if they didn't forge documents to send Asa off to a mental institution.

Through it all, Asa was manipulated into thinking he was the problem. That he had done so much wrong that he was being punished, and would continue to be for the rest of his life- tormented by the Devil. Because of his father's lies, he was in and out of a few psychiatric facilities, given experimental medical treatments, and treated as insane. His father was a constant terrifying presence in his life, always finding a new place to send him off to in Ireland, Wales, and London.

Asa changed the course of his fate when he fled to the U.S. After stealing his father's money, he began to formulate a court case to close down the corrupt most recent institute he had been stuck in - St. Irene's in London, that had given him permanent head trauma from the misuse of ECT. Using meticulous planning and organizing, Asa was able to craft a perfect court case to take down the mental institution, put the doctors in charge behind bars, and win a huge settlement of money.

All the while he worked for a sweet little old lady who ran a large library in Ashmore. He'd been taken in to organize- a quiet and sometimes (unintentionally) unsettling man who had trouble finding any sort of job, given some grace. As she prepared to retire, she let Asa take more control of the library, going from just putting books away to planning library events, running the social media, handling all computer systems, and talking to customers.

Now Asa is the Head Librarian at Ashmore. A weird little man covered in tattoos who some find a little offputting and others weirdly charming. Asa cares about his employees and cares about his job-he's an artist in his free time and has a little historical home in Old Ashmore where he takes care of 5 cats.

[a-magpie-witchling]

Depression repellent soap!

TW: mentions of depression and suicide thoughts/attempts

This post is dedicated to my friends who are still struggling. Mama Rami loves you, deeply and truly. Keep fighting.

I’ll document briefly my experience living with depression since I was a toddler in italics. If you’d rather just skip this part and get to the soap, I get it. I’ll mark it with a title.

I feel I need to say something before just throwing out there a magickal aid to keep depression at bay. First of all, remember this is NO SUBSTITUTE FOR ACTUAL MEDICAL TREATMENT. Magick is a little boost. A push. It won’t change anything unless you complement it with corporeal actions.

So as you may or may not know, I’ve been struggling with depression since basically my birth. One of my earliest memories is of a suicide attempt at age 4.

Lately my life is finally looking bright. I found a job I love that pays like shit, but hey, it’s mine, I’m great at it, and it makes me happy.

My love life is a drag but I feel really good about it. I always basically jumped from one relationship to another and now I’m close to two years of being single and it’s been a very good couple of years.

However, this doesn’t mean my depression doesn’t like coming and going. I try to keep myself away from a maniac episode, but I’ve been exercising and having fun. I’m not “cured”, nor I’ll ever be. But the future, maybe for the first time ever, looks promising.

I had hit rock bottom something close to three years ago. I was keeping a calendar recording all my suicidal impulses, as some sort of countdown.

And that’s when I decided I could either get help, or die.

I never really believed in therapy. All psychologists and psychiatrists always only seemed to me like morons who didn’t really help AT ALL and just sat there milking money from me or my insurance.

In what could have been my final hours, I decided that if everything was lost already, so why not try one last time? I mean, I had already decided to kill myself, had chosen the perfect method, had timed the perfect moment. I had a couple of days left. Why not try to get professional help at least one last time?

The last psychiatrist I saw prescribed me prozac.

It changed my life.

I won’t go deeply into detail. After all, you know what happened. I’m clearly not gone (or am I!? zombie blogging hurr durr) and although things might not be “objectively” better...

My life is good... My life is so very, mundanely, good.

I sang in the car today coming back from work and I stood under the sun and I smiled to myself.

I feel things. I feel bad and happy things. But I can FEEL.

I know they always say the same, that “life gets better”. That’s not true. Life sometimes is objectively shit. But we... we get better. We see the same cesspool of hypocrisy and don’t think it’s pointless. We feel we can make it through today, that we have the energy to spare, to live.

Find help. Reach out. There are people who want to help you. We want you to live and not just breathing in and out until you can’t anymore, we want you to live for real. There’s a good life waiting for you.

Don’t be afraid of using medication to balance your brain chemistry. 

You’ll get better.

Today I found a shard of blue glass and I thought it was pretty and kept it in my pocket.

It was just a shard of blue glass but I found it beautiful and worth having.

With its million small good moments in the storm of all things awful...

Life is still worth living.

Some days, however, I’m more tired than usual. And I’m not ashamed to say I need a little boost. I won’t pretend depression isn’t a ghost that haunts you. Some days I don’t have the strength to realize how beautiful my little miracles are.

I’m no longer on prozac, so my brain is on its own to keep its balance.

Of course, a little magick always helps.

How to make my depression repellent revitalizing soap

You’ll need:

A bar of soap of your preferred scent that you associate with happiness, energy, strength, etc.

Sun water.

Rose water.

A yellow candle.

An orange candle.

Crystals or stones you associate with your preferred intent: I used unakite (I associate it with spring and I did this ritual during Ostara), pink quartz (self love), amethyst (balance), clear quartz (purification), Himalayan pink salt (purification), rhodochrosite (vitality and self love). I also highly recommend you use citrine since it’s associated with sun and happiness.

Something to carve the soap with, like a nail or a knife.

One of these sigils by @sigilathenaeum​ I personally used this one:

Let’s get started.

So you can basically skip the whole process and step straight into the carving part, forget about the waters and whatnot, choose different crystals or not choose to use them at all, simply carve and we’re good to go. But I insist this is the most important step:

1) Choose the right soap.

I shit you not, I spent 20 minutes in the hygiene aisle in the supermarket choosing the right soap. Pick one that’s gonna represent exactly what you feel you need to keep your depression at bay. There are dozens of possible scent and color combinations, pick THE RIGHT ONE. Try to make this budget friendly too, because sadly this soap will run out eventually (although I have a little trick to prevent that) and you’ll probably have to get more.

I personally chose a delicious orange and lemon glycerin soap. It was like $1 and smells amazing.

I had never performed a spell for myself before this one, but I’ve made this soap for other people with other issues before. If you’re gonna be adapting this spell to prevent anxiety I’d recommend something like lavender scent. If recovering from trauma, eucalyptus, mint or aloe are good options. A bad break up or need a self-love boost? Rose or floral scents. Feeling unsafe? Cinnamon or spice.

However, the most important thing is that you like the scent! No, more than that. 

IT’S IMPORTANT THAT YOU LOVE HOW THIS SOAP SMELLS ON YOUR SKIN. It’ll be a protective layer that’ll cover your whole body. Make sure you like it!

2) Carve the sigil in the soap bar, not too deep.

I used a nail, but a needle, a knife, even a pencil, they can all work. Soap is really easy to work with!

3) If you care about moon phases, I’d recommend you perform this spell under the waxing crescent phase (after the new moon, when it starts shining again, it represents growth and improvement) or the full moon (it represents plenitude and prosperity). 

4) Perform the spell.

Anoint your candles and cast your circle if that’s your thing, light them. Align the crystals and stones around the bar. You can carve the soap at this moment, but I personally did it beforehand. Place the crystals over the soap. Rub a drop of rose water and/or sun water around the bar. I used my crystal bell to bring lightness and joy into my soap. Do your thing, you know how this works. Intent, chanting if you want it. Do it for as long as you feel you must. REMEMBER TO GROUND AFTER PERFORMING ANY SORT OF SPELL.

5) Try it out.

When you use the soap, the sigil will be erased because of the water and the friction. It’ll melt into your skin and into the soap. If you don’t use a glycerin soap, it could take one or two baths, but eventually it’ll settle there completely.

6) When you need it.

Use this soap when you feel you need it. If you need it every time you shower, use it. If you feel you need it once a month, that’s alright. 

7) Do it as many times as you need to... or not!

WHEN YOUR BAR IS ABOUT TO RUN OUT, MY TRICK IS GETTING THE SAME KIND OF SOAP (you don’t have to, I’m just picky like that) AND FUSE THE LITTLE BIT YOU HAVE WITH THE NEW BAR. This will transfer all the properties to the new bar without needing to repeat the spell every time.

8) Store it.

Keep your soap somewhere dry. If you don’t have a soap case, you can use just a regular plastic bag.

9) Remember to wash behind your ears.

Happy cleansing!

PLEASE REBLOG. IF NOT YOU, SOMEONE ELSE COULD NEED IT.

-Semiramis, the Magpie Witchling

[milehighcity-rp]

“I’m from New York, therefore I’m just naturally interesting.”

Name: Jamie Stessin

FC: Alex Gaskarth

Age / Birthday: 29 / 19 October 1987

Job: Owner of Patterson’s Boutique

Apartment: 606

Personality traits:

+ Creative, Empathetic, Innovative, Witty

- Cynical, Difficult, Fickle, Neurotic

tw: abuse, mental illness

There are only a few things about his birth that Jamie is sure about. The first, is that he was born on June 19th, 1987. The second is that he was born at the Community Hospital in Los Angeles. The remainder is shrouded in mystery: he doesn’t know what his birth mother wanted to name him, or even if she wanted to name him at all. You see, Jamie’s birth wasn’t a happy or planned—but a major accident. His birth mother worked sporadically as a topless dancer, and had conceived Jamie during a tryst with one of her random johns. It isn’t known what sort of pressures Jamie’s mother was under, but she wanted nothing to do with her child. She signed away her rights, and after spending only a couple nights in the hospital, she left against medical advice, disappearing into the night.

Jamie was cosigned into the hands of the state almost from the beginning, and an adoption agency was assigned to the case in hopes to find him a loving home. It didn’t happen immediately, and because of this, Jamie was eventually placed into the foster care system. He doesn’t remember very much of his time in the care of the state, because he was very young. He has fuzzy memories of numerous other children and the pale gray walls, but that was about it. Jamie is glad he doesn’t remember very much about it, but at the same time, he also wasn’t there very long, because he was almost six months old when Jamie’s life changed for better and for worse, and his adoption by the Stessin family was finalized.

The Stessin’s were a fairly normal family from St. Louis, Missouri. Gavin Stessin was a doctor who had his own private practice, while Irene Stessin was a stay at home mom. With two older sons under their belts, the Stessin’s had wanted to add a third to their family, but had been unable to conceive naturally. This was how Jamie came into their lives. Jamie can’t remember the first time he laid eyes on his parents—to him, they were his parents from the very beginning. There was a lot of love in the Stessin household, and Jamie learned early on how special he was to the whole entire family. His parents weren’t the type to keep secrets and hide documents up in the attic. No, as soon as Jamie was old enough to ask questions, his parents did their best to explain that he was adopted. He was not brought into their life the same way as his older brothers, but he had been brought to them nevertheless and that was all that mattered.

The Stessin’s lived in Glendale, a middle class neighborhood in St. Louis. Because of this, Jamie was free to do as he pleased. His childhood was happy, and is filled with memories of riding his bike up and down the street, playing catch in the yard with his dad, and large birthday parties thrown at the local park. Jamie was an outdoorsy kid. He loved to be outside and it was almost impossible to get him inside sometimes. But he could also be an incredibly sensitive and broody child, and one of his very first passions was drawing. He loved to draw—color, paint, sketch. No matter what the form, he loved to do it. What would later turn into his interest in fashion began as a child: he loved the way fabrics felt and looked, and he was definitely guilty of being the type to yank at his mother’s jewelry when he was especially young. When he sketched, he tended to draw all sorts of outlandish things, unaware that he was designing clothes. Obviously they weren’t things that could be practically created or even worn, but it showed that even early on, Jamie was entranced by creating things.

But the happy times didn’t mean that Jamie’s life wasn’t without it’s troubles. Even as a young boy, he parents described him as sometimes difficult to deal with: a happy smiling boy that could turn into a screaming monster at the drop of the pen. No one knew it yet, but things would only get worse as Jamie got older: Jamie’s birth mother had dealt with a myriad of mental health issues throughout her life, and Jamie was predisposed towards his own issues. Indeed, despite having been placed into a happy and normal family, it didn’t negate the fact that Jamie would face his own struggles and traumas as he grew up. One of these traumas would occur fairly early in Jamie’s life. When he was eleven, Jamie was finally able to join the local youth baseball team. He was so excited about it: Jamie loved getting to play baseball with his friends, and often his entire family showed up to watch him play. He always had a lot of fun, but most of all, Jamie worked hard to impress his coach. The coach of the baseball team worked hard to make sure the team succeeded, and all the boys liked him. The thing is… the coach seemed to like the boys, too. He took a particular interest in Jamie, and while part of him liked the attention he received from the older man, part of it made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Sometimes Jamie can still feel his hot breath, stinking of liquor in his ear. This continued for over a year, but things ended when the coach committed suicide shortly after being arrested for molesting another boy on the baseball team. It was only once he was gone that Jamie worked up the nerve to tell his mother what had happened. His mother looked at him—it wasn’t disappointment, but it was something else entirely. It just make Jamie feel sick to his stomach: dirty and used. A new coach eventually replaced the old one, but Jamie dropped off of the baseball team. His parents enrolled him into therapy, but it didn’t seem to do much good. From that time forward, Jamie wasn’t the same happy little boy he had been before. As he withdrew into himself, Jamie focused more on more on his drawing. What had been a hobby transformed into a way for him to cope, creating clothes and designs to escape the miserable world he was in.

As Jamie grew up into a teenager, his moods became more difficult to handle. While he did his best to cope with what had happened, it wasn’t easy. On top of a therapist, his parents hauled him to see a revolving door of psychologists and psychiatrists before they finally settled on a pair that seemed to know what they were doing. The psychiatrist diagnosed him as suffering from depression and suggested medication. Jamie’s mother was concerned at first, but she had also noticed how her happy son had transformed into a black pit of despair, constantly worrying and anxious about the littlest of things. She eventually relented and Jamie was placed on a low dose of an antidepressant and a tranquilizer. It was the beginning of Jamie’s journey with medication: but at first? It was positive. He began to notice the darkness lifting, and his mood improved. He was no longer a nervous mess, and after having spent a year and a half being home schooled, he was ready to give public school a second shot. His parents enrolled him at Webster Groves, the school which both of his brothers had attended. While Jamie had always been incredibly close to both of his brothers, things were definitely strained in the aftermath of his molestation. Jamie always felt like the lesser of the three of them—while his brothers were incredibly outgoing and still managed to enjoy playing sports, Jamie felt broken to them. While the medication did help him adjust, Jamie wasn’t sure he would ever enjoy playing baseball without thinking about what had happened. It was easier to just give it up completely. He enjoyed going to sporting events and dutifully went to his brother’s football games, but being on the field just made him anxious. But instead of grieving the loss of what might have been, Jamie focused on his artistic pursuits. He continued to draw, and even joined the art club. But aside from drawing, Jamie was interested in making what he created come to life. He had always been interested in fashion, but the idea of actually designing clothes himself seemed even more cool. With the money from his part-time job at a local diner, Jamie invested in a sewing machine and began teaching himself by making alterations and taking things apart to stitch them back together. Jamie devoured magazines like they were snacks—not just fashion magazines, but others, too. He loved reading Kerrang and seeing some of things people wore on the front covers.

Jamie was a natural. It wasn’t exactly the manliest hobby to have, but being in front of the sewing machine or cutting fabric actually calmed him. He would even do small alterations for his mother, who to her embarrassment had no idea how to sew. While Jamie was nonplussed about having such a hobby, deep down he sometimes felt silly for having an interest in what might be considered a girlish thing. As he grew into puberty, more than ever, Jamie felt the need to reassert his masculinity—not just because of the trauma he had suffered, but also due to the fact that he felt broken. While his brother’s were getting on with their lives—meeting girls, going on dates, and doing all the other sorts of things that most teenage boys would die to be doing, Jamie had no interest in any of it. Girls were just fine: Jamie thought they were great, even. But that spark just wasn’t there. It took Jamie a long time to come to terms with his sexuality—and even now, there is still a hint of resentment. He sometimes wonders if he hadn’t ever joined the baseball team as a young boy, that perhaps he would have had a normal life like both of his brothers. But that didn’t mean that Jamie’s teenage years were lonely. He wasn’t unattractive and found plenty of willing suitors. If he was looking for sex, that was easy enough. It was the actual emotional connection that Jamie found hard to forge. He’s not necessarily needy for affectation, but he is quick to respond physically. It’s much easier to fuck someone than to open up to them emotionally. Jamie came out to family when he was sixteen. It wasn’t a terrible experience: it wasn’t as if they weren’t supportive, but he can’t remember them completely happy about the relevation. His mother gave him the same weird look she had given him whenever he had told her that the coach had been touching him.

Yet somehow, Jamie managed to get on with his life. He graduated from high school without a mark, and finally seemed to be moving past everything that had happened. He was still on medication—there had been some adjustments, more of this, less of that, this instead of that, but everything was stable. He was also still seeing the trio of specialists, but he felt better about his life than ever. He was designing small pieces of clothes on his own, and had even been accepted into the Parson’s School of Design in New York City. But there is no way everything could be so perfect without a twist, right? Exactly. It was around Jamie’s graduation that his mother began to have her share of health issues. She had issues over the years—headaches, dizziness, fatigue, a loss of balance, but it had always been chalked up to something minor and she was sent on her way. It was the summer after Jamie’s graduation that the family finally received confirmation of what was wrong: Jamie’s mother had a brain tumor. Because of the location of the tumor, it was deemed inoperable—but everyone was confident that it could be treated with chemotherapy. Jamie was at a loss, and debated putting off college, or even attending a nearby school instead, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it. He would go to school and he would go to school now. She would be fine and she would see him over the holidays. Jamie agreed, and with a tearful farewell he departed for the next chapter in his life in New York City.

His mother was right. He saw her against at Thanksgiving, and at Christmas. In New York, he truly thrived. This was a city of artists and bohemians. And on top of that lofty label, it was also the gayest fucking city in the whole entire world. For once in his life, Jamie felt at home in his skin. There were no bad dreams or worries. He truly felt as if he had come home after a long vacation. He loved attending Parsons, too, and felt like he was really getting a chance to hone his skills. When he wasn’t in class, he was doing his best to get out and explore the city with his group of artistic friends. There was even a part of him that felt like he might take up baseball again, if only for fun. But everything came crashing down Jamie’s sophomore year. It was April, and he received a frantic message while in the middle of one of his practical exams. His mother had passed away. It hit Jamie like a tidal wave. He had spoken to her just in the past weak, and while things had gotten worse, the doctors had remained incredibly optimistic that chemotherapy was the way to treat it. But now none of that mattered. His mother was dead and there was nothing to do about it. Postponing the rest of his finals, Jamie returned to St. Louis to attend his mother’s funeral. It was heart wrenching. All the work he had done to bury the emotions he and to move past what had happened ten years ago seemed all for naught. Jamie began sullen and withdrawn in the aftermath of his mother’s death. The specialists tried everything—more therapy, more medication, different medications—but nothing ever seemed to have an effect. Everything culminated towards the end of the summer. Instead of returning to Parson’s for his junior year, Jamie voluntarily committed himself to the Metropolitan Psychiatric Center in St. Louis. It wasn’t that something happened, but even at his lowest and most irrational, Jamie knew that something had to be done.

Jamie ended up remaining at the psychiatric hospital for three months. It was grueling and difficult, especially in the beginning as they attempted to stabilize him and rework his medication regimen to find something that would work for him. Aside from meeting with a therapist and having one on one sessions, Jamie also partook in group therapy. It was painful to deal with some of the things that had been bothering him in the wake of his mother’s death, but it was helpful to be around others that could understand where Jamie was coming from. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel as if he was making things up. It was during his treatment at the hospital that Jamie was formally diagnosed with having post-traumatic stress disorder. It was hard to face the fact that he was actually suffering from something, but at the same time, it was good to be able to give his suffering a name.

Jamie went back to New York after he was released from the psychiatric hospital. He father wanted him to remain nearby, but Jamie was adamant to get on with his life—after all, it was what his mother would have wanted, right? He picked up where he had left off at Parsons, having deferred a semester to seek treatment. Despite returning to the city, Jamie was still careful to be mindful of the fact that he had a chronic mental illness. It sucked, but for the first time in his life, he took it seriously—taking his medication diligently, attending appointments when required, and even attending group therapy with others who suffered from PTSD. Like when Jamie had first been put on medication, he slowly but surely noticed a difference in his outlook. He was once more able to embrace the city that truly felt like his home. He threw himself into the work for his degree, picking up a summer semester so that he would even be able to graduate on time. The Parsons school had done good for Jamie’s talents, honing his natural talent into a skill that was out of this world. By the time he graduated in 2009, Jamie had found a position working for a small fashion house. It wasn’t Zac Posen or Dior, but it was definitely a start.

Jamie’s position at the fashion house was menial at first—he spent the first year decorating the studio and designing accessories. But he was eventually allowed to submit designs for collections, and soon he was recruited into the actual position he had dreamed of doing—designing clothes. Maybe his work wasn’t getting shown at fashion week, but the fact he was actually able to put clothes out there that people enjoyed and bought—that meant a lot to Jamie. Jamie remained at his position at the small fashion house until 2015 when it was forced to close it’s doors due to financial issues. It was sad, but Jamie at this point in his life was able to cope with what had happened. He also felt like it was time to make a change—with his designs Jamie had made a bit of a name for himself, and he had several offers not only in New York, but across the country too. One offer was the most enticing—it came from an old flame who lived in Denver. They had endured an off and on relationship, but he had always been supportive of Jamie, even after the relationship ended. He suggested staking out on his own. It wasn’t New York, but the idea of going out on his own was incredibly intoxicating. Jamie agreed and he moved out to Denver. With financial backing from his friend, on top of his own savings and a loan from his father, Jamie plans to open up the first Stessin Boutique in Denver, Colorado.