#(it's a serious illness and book is seriously sick).

[somber-sapphic]

hii could you possibly do a jj x reader book where reader is in denial abt being ill 🫶

Too Far

〖Summary: You and JJ have a fight about your health. This is my attempt at angst (with a happy-ish ending), just a heads up that I am still practicing so it may not count as real angst and instead h/c.〗

〖Word Count: 〗

〖Pairing: JJ x Sick R〗

〖Notes: Every time I drink caffeine for writing I think it's a great idea because I'll be able to write so much but then I focus on something that isn't writing for several hours. I played too much Toon Blast. Also this is sort of edited but not that thoroughly〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Y/n what the hell are you doing?” JJ asked, her words laden with exasperation. You looked up from the case file and raised an eyebrow. The two of you had been snippy with each other all day, each of your nerves fraying as the days without catching the killer went on. The fact that Hotch had ordered you to the hotel made everything worse, the guilt of not being able to help the victims eating at you.

“You want to check your tone?” You snapped back, the hoarseness of your voice taking a bit away from the punch you meant to deliver. It was probably for the best, the combination of exhaustion, stress, and what seemed like more than just the sniffles was making you bitter. JJ rolled her eyes and walked over to the desk, dropping the CVS bag beside the papers you had been studying for hours.

“Cold medicine. Take it. And seriously, put the file away and lie down.” You rolled your eyes, something that caused an explosion of pain in your head, but it seemed worth it for the passive aggressiveness. You didn’t want her to know how bad you were starting to feel, you couldn’t give in to the pressure of the team, and everyone worked while they were sick. 

Your fever, stuffy nose, cough, and the pressure in your sinuses were not more important than catching a serial killer. Although the fever was really starting to bother you, weighing down your head and making your eyes burn. And your nose hurt from blowing it so often. And your body ached so badly that it felt like your bones were being squeezed. And your throat felt like you had lived off of a diet of lemon juice and broken glass.

“I don’t need cold medicine because I don’t have a cold. Why are you here anyway, I don't need a babysitter. Don’t you have families to interview?” JJ let out a harsh laugh and plopped herself down onto the bed, crossing her arms over her chest in clear frustration. What the two of you needed was a bit of space before a serious conversation but it wasn’t an option given the current situation. 

“Right, of course not. The obvious cold symptoms are nothing, you’re shivering in a 75-degree hotel room because of a nonexistent draft. And believe me, I don’t want to be here right now but Hotch doesn’t trust you alone.” That last comment cut deep and her face clouded with guilt as soon as she said it. She knew it was too far but it only hardened your resolve. 

“Then leave, there are six other people who could be here it doesn’t need to be you.” 

“Why won’t you just admit being sick? Why? You are not helping anyone here, the only thing you’re doing is hurting yourself. Do you honestly think this is a good idea?” JJ exploded, dragging a hand through her slightly greasy hair. She’d been too preoccupied with your health and the case to have time for more than a quick shower. 

“Do you honestly think I want to work like this? Of course, I feel like shit, my entire body is on fucking fire but if I stop working people will die!” You yelled back, tears brimming in your eyes. You’d finally said it out loud. You’d admitted to the thoughts that had been swirling inside of you, keeping you from even allowing people to talk about the way you felt. 

JJ’s face fell as you felt tears that you couldn’t blink away beginning to run down your fever flushed cheeks. You barely had a handle on your emotions before but now the walls had crumbled to dust and you couldn’t take it. You felt so shitty for so many reasons, it was so hot in your skin and you were struggling to keep case facts straight in your head which only upset you further. 

“Sweetheart,” JJ murmured, taking a half step forward. She’d seen you break down before but never on a case, when it happened it was always at home. 

“No! No! JJ we’ve been here for weeks, he keeps taking them and we don’t even know why, we can't tell these people anything. They hate us, they have every right to fucking hate us! There has to be something missing and-and I can't just sit here and do nothing while people are dying!” You were sobbing now, your chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself down. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a tight hug, a self-soothing method that usually worked to calm you down. The switch had been flipped, you were acting on pure misery. 

“Y/n, honey you said it earlier. There are six other profilers doing everything they can to find the killer. You being sick is not your fault but it is something we need to take care of. If you keep going like this you’re going to mess up, you’re going to hurt yourself, there are so many reasons why you need to rest. Come here, lay down, let me take help you. Please.” 

She was right. You hated it, but she was. You were already mixing up facts about victims in your head, there was really no way that you could be of any use right now. The last thing you wanted to do was stop but even worse would be providing false information that would throw the team off the trail. 

Despite your hesitation, it didn’t take long for JJ to get you settled into bed. She was working with the determination of a worried mother hen, moving quickly to check your temperature, feed you some medicine, and put a cool cloth on your head. You huddled under the fluffy duvet, your body already beginning to shut down now that you weren’t forcing yourself to work.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I haven't been fair.” JJ said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. She flipped the cloth on your forehead, sending a wave of cold through your body. You didn’t like it but she insisted that it needed to be there. 

“Neither have I. But I can’t right now. Can we wait until we’re home?” You pleaded, voice exuding weakness. Even if you wanted to have that conversation there was no way it would be productive in your current state. JJ nodded in agreement and let out a deep sigh. 

Nothing had really been resolved. The apologies from both were surface-level at best but at least there was an admission of wrongdoing on both sides. Your jobs had been hard on the relationship, harder than either of you had thought it would be. For now, the discussion would be tabled, saved for a time when the two of you were in a space to have it. It might not have been perfect but it was better than nothing. 

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[alicerosejensen]

Just headcanons with Leon and his daughter who has a chronic illness

Leon x daughter!sick (diabetes, epilepsy or any other severe chronic disease)

√ Hey, Leon carefully guards his child! however, there are not always things from which he can protect his daughter.

√ I see Leon as a very caring father. He will worry if his daughter's knee is torn from a fall from a bicycle and carefully treat her wound and bind it up if necessary. He will also monitor how her childhood injuries are healing.

√ Having seen so many horrors in the world, Leon takes even a simple cold seriously. If the temperature does not decrease even after taking an antipyretic, Leon will prefer to take his daughter to the hospital.

√ Leon hardly knows the symptoms of the diseases, but he noticed an unusual dryness of the skin and the smell of acetone in combination with other symptoms. If his daughter loses consciousness in front of him, it will drive him crazy. All the way to the hospital, Leon will hold her in his arms and kiss her on the forehead or the top of her head.

√ Nevertheless, he will not allow himself to show fear of his daughter. No matter at what age she is diagnosed with it, Leon will be her strongest support. He will learn everything about this disease and his concern will only increase.

√ He is paid very well for risks at work, so the question of money is never acute. Leon will make sure that his baby receives good treatment, which will be corrected by doctors in time and he will repeatedly take her to an endocrinologist and other necessary examinations.

√ Measure your blood sugar level every day and make sure that the insulin injection is done on time? Papa Leon is watching this very carefully. He even keeps a blood sugar control log.

√ Does she need a home education? Leon will study this issue, and if necessary, then no problem.

√ It is important to understand that under no circumstances will he leave his child alone with these diseases. He will never tell his wife/girlfriend to deal with this shit alone.

√ Will take her to all medical procedures.

√ He's such a loving dad. He always convinces his little girl that her illness does not make her inferior. Spends time with her looking for classes available to her.

√ He will definitely not allow his child to be offended.

√ He will turn on her cartoons and lie next to her in the nursery until she falls asleep. Actually, Leon, because of his daughter's illness, can check her well-being even at night.

√ He definitely knows how to provide first aid, but for the sake of his daughter, learn to put injections more carefully so as not to leave bruises and not cause her great pain.

√ Always consults with specialists on any medical issues.

√ Leon will always take care of his child's well-being. This is what he highlights, if nerves or stress affect her health, then he will comfort her and say that no excitement is worth her well-being. For Leon, the daughter is a little diamond, no matter what she is ill with.

√ If a chronic illness is caused by a severe injury (for example, a traumatic brain injury), Leon will literally hate himself for not looking after his child well.

√Again, medications are very expensive, as well as treatment, but Leon is ready to do everything possible so that his child does not need anything. If she gets epilepsy later, Leon will try to always be there to help his baby.

√ Leon will always try to be there. When she is in the hospital, he will provide her with the full care that is possible.

√ It does not matter what kind of disease she has, he will still study the Internet and books studying this diagnosis in order to know better how to help his child.

√ Perhaps his daughter will be banned from playing sports or attending summer camps, depending on how serious everything is, then Leon will try to find a good alternative with her.

√ All medicines will always be at hand.

[courtingchaos]

Rent the Space Inside My Mind

1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Man, remember that picture you found? I wonder how you two decide to deal with that little hiccup...

A/N: I've finally come to the realization that this little fic is a labor of love for me. It's my baby so it isn't ever really going to have a real updating schedule. All of that to say, thank you for sticking around and reading you guys! Not a spoiler but just so you know, the end kind of reads like An End, but I have a lot more planned for theses two. This is just like, and end to the pining.

Also, I know others are reading this, but I'm giving a whole shoutout to @fracturedarkness who has been the best cheerleader for me with this story from essentially day one. Literally a ray of sunshine 😘😘😘

(If y'all want a soundtrack at all, just listen to Hozier's Wasteland! Baby. Seriously it's basically all I listened to.)

Warnings: SMUT! There's smut! Halleluiah! 18+ NSFW Minors GTFO

In sixth grade Eddie had caught mono. It was the first serious illness that Wayne had to deal with since taking guardianship four years earlier. Eddie had moaned around the trailer for two weeks, unable to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. He’d been exhausted and couldn’t swallow right. The fever he’d get at night made him nauseous those first few days and that’s the only thing he can compare this sick twist in his gut to. 

Between the picture clutched in your fingers and the intense look on your face, Eddie thinks he might just turn inside out. 

“Ed?”

It sounds like an accusation in his ears. You’ve found him out, evidence catching the light where it waves around between the two of you. Forget trying to tell you his feelings, he’s got a date with  buckshot later. 

He takes it back actually, this feels the same as the day you accidentally met his dad. The sudden visit on a rare stint between prison stays. The lead weight of fear and sadness and pure fucking rage making him go cold and numb.

Eddie is so tired of shit going wrong in his life. 

“Eddie?” How do you sound so soft when he has clearly screwed up so bad?

Also, he went for one shower after making a stupid mess and you decided to what, go through his shit?

Don’t start 

There’s a black mood he gets in sometimes. It creeps up his insides, stains him dark. It makes him mean and he doesn’t want to be mean, not to you. Not to anyone really. 

He knows on a deeper level this is his fault, it was only a matter of time before you found the picture. Tucked in books and forgotten in his sheets he’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long.  

“Eddie!” The sharpness of his name jerks his head out of the haze he’s in. Sees your eyes clearly and you’re not mad, in fact he thinks that might be a smile hidden under all the confusion. 

“Where did you get this?” Even and calm. Could you lend him some of that? His throat clicks when he tries to swallow. 

“I think uh, I think I took it. On ha-Halloween. Last year.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, the deep scratch of it. “We were drunk at Hagan’s. I don’t know wh-“

“You took this?” Another wiggle of the polaroid. Your grip on the box of weed is still white knuckled. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a smile. He can’t really tell anymore, the panic settling in firing off all his alarm bells. 

“You weren’t supposed to find it.” He’s so quiet, hasn’t been quiet like this in a long time. Wasn’t even this quiet sneaking into bedrooms. 

You take a step forward and he launches back. Head hits the door frame and if god is real he would let the paneling swallow him whole right now. 

“Why do you have this? Why all the-” you gesture behind you, “why all my shit? You told me you hadn’t seen my Theo figure anywhere and she’s in the drawer with all my shit!” Your voice gets tight, face scrunching up in complete confusion. “I thought I was loosing my stuff but you’re just stealing all of it! My zippo! Eddie what the fuck?!” No, right, there’s the anger. He’s pressed so firmly against the door jam it’s guaranteed to leave marks for a week. You take another step forward and he has nowhere to go, pinned under your scrutiny and words and the waving hand holding his shame. But where your voice was rising in anger, it drops suddenly, slides into something softer. “Why do you have this?”

Yeah Eddie, why do you have it?

It’s a total accumulation of, let’s be real, two years of unrepentant pining. Two years of being a dick and going after easy girls because you were off limits in his own doctrine. Too good a friend to ruin the relationship, and too good a person to ruin with himself. It’s nights spent at the bookstore waiting for you to get off, watching with a burning in his gut as the dipshit college guy you work with tries to edge his way into a date. Blunts and cigarettes shared like kisses between lips he isn’t allowed to taste otherwise. It’s the grappling like two idiots fighting, breathless giggles and rough shoves that end in headlock hugs and usually him tapping out first, unable to stand being in your embrace if it isn’t for keeps. 

“I…” the space in his room is somehow bigger than it’s ever been, leaving him adrift in the chaos of his things and your things and the too thin air that you’re somehow breathing in just fine. There’s a stutter in his chest where he’s not catching his breath, the familiar heat behind his eyes where the tears are trying to rush forward. “It’s just-fuck! It’s such a creep…move I know and I just didn’t want to l-let it go because it was a good night and-and a good picture and your hand…” he’d dropped his eyes to stare at your feet, unable to say his half-assed explanation to your face. “Your hand. On my leg.” Just a whisper. Swings his hand limply toward you. “I just, it was a nice thought.”  His throat is tight and he’s afraid if you keep looking at him he might cry. 

He’s watched you take enough steps forward so you’re practically toe to toe with him. In his peripheral he watches you toss the box behind you onto the bed, your other clutching the evidence lightly taps against his chest and rests there. 

He looks up through his lashes and his hair, keeping his sight obscured like it’ll protect him from whatever you’re about to say. 

“I can’t believe-“ you cut off with a laugh and a shake of your head, that small smile he thought he saw turning back up. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

Eddie’s stomach has disappeared along with the rest of his insides. There’s never been a real foundation of proof for him, just stolen glances he’s caught you in. That lingering look you’d give him, the way you’d hang onto him longer during a hug sometimes. Mostly just blind hope and his own low simmering ego to egg him on. 

“Do you want to know what I did this morning?” He nods, he really does want to know. There’s the smallest drip of warmth trickling down his back with your words. 

“I woke up and I thought about you. First thought of the day.” A deep breath and he can see the pink blooming up out of the collar of his shirt you’re wearing. “I thought about you and I felt so stupid after, for sitting in the dark and pretending that you’d ever-“ You stop yourself again and drop your eyes to stare at your hand on his chest. 

“You thought about me?” He asks and you nod slowly. He’s got an idea about what that might mean. “Do you maybe also have a secret polaroid?”

A break in the tension and you take a step back, laughing. A real one he knows, warm and happy. The photo hits him in the chest where your hand just was, where you’ve just flicked it at him. “How long Eddie?” 

“What?” He grabs for the photo but it flutters to the ground. 

“How long have you liked me?” Your wide eyes and breathless question challenge him. When he doesn’t respond fast enough for you, you reach out and push his bangs away from his face, smoothing them back. His wispy armor is gone and with it, surprisingly, some of his fear. Your eyes are clear and waiting, smile still pulling at your lips. 

“I don’t, I don’t have like, a date. Like, a-awhile.” Eddie stutters like he’s never spoken these words before. Nerves replacing fear when it starts to finally dawn on him: this isn’t going to end in flames.

The hand at his forehead slides down and rests on his cheek. He hasn’t taken a full breath in since you pushed his hair back, never mind now that your cradling his face, but the fear has been slowly melting off his shoulders while you’ve been staring at him and when your eyes trail down his face, it and the sudden nerves all just disappear. 

He feels your fingers flex along his jaw and he finally takes that breath. 

“I’m not reading this wrong am I?” Barely a whisper but he hears you. Shakes his head and opens his mouth to talk but you cut him off, just as quiet, “I don’t want us to make a mistake.” 

“You think this’d be mistake?” The hurt leaks through without his meaning to. 

“God no, Eddie I-“

There’s a bloom of confidence he hasn’t felt before, something that twist up through his ribs and around his spine. “Good.” 

Reaching out for you feels natural. He’s reached out to you a hundred times before but he’s never slid his hands into your hair. Tucked them up behind your ears and pulled you in close, felt you gasp when he brushes his lips against yours. Your hands pull at his shirt where they’re both fisted in the thin material, keeping him close. When you push into him he feels your mouth open, tongue grazing along his bottom lip; white static across his thoughts. 

It’s 10pm on a Thursday night and your kissing him in his room. Wearing his t-shirt and pushing him against the wall while your kissing him. He feels one of your hands flatten against his chest and his heart rockets off and your still kissing him. There’s your tongue again begging entrance and he yields, feels that barbell slide across his own tongue and he’s done for. It’s better than he could ever fantasize. He wants more of it but you just aren’t close enough. He grips at your hair to pull you in, to try and deepen the kiss but there’s no where else to go. You mumble something against his lips but he just swallows the sound and slides a hand down your back till he can get his fingers up under the hem of the shirt, palm laid flat against the small of your back. 

“Eddie.” You sigh his name and he makes it a personal goal right then to get you to do it again. Your hands wander down his chest and he starts his own wandering down your neck, lips finding any open skin he can kiss. “Hold on, Eddie-“

“I’m not holding on for shit.” He says in between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for months.” Your laugh vibrates under his mouth and it makes his eyes roll. “Do you want me to stop?” He pauses under your ear, panting against you. 

“No.” You sigh and shake your head, leaning into his hand still in your hair. “No I don’t.” 

He spends a few more minutes pulling little sounds out of you that he’s filing away for later. Nipping at your skin when you run your hands under his shirt and push it up. 

“Can I?” The question isn’t even finished before he pulls the shirt over his head and throws it behind you on the dresser. “Oh!” A giggle when he lays his hands back on you, hands rucking up your own shirt where he can run his palms over your midriff. There’s no finesse to his kisses anymore, just laying them wherever he can, anything to make you giggle again. He moves his hands higher, pushing your shirt up so he can finally see your tits again. It’s been a whole ass year since your wore your dress and he’s dreamt about this every day since. He kisses the tops of them and is mesmerized by the way they bounce back under his touch. 

“Hello old friends.”

“Old friends?!” When you laugh they move with you and he has to force himself to look back up at you. 

“Yeah, you saw the picture. We’re well acquainted.” He buries his face down in your cleavage and you hear him take a deep breath. “How do you always smell so good?” He’s layering kisses again and you’re trying to move around until you can pull your own shirt off. “Hey don’t rush this, I have this perfectly planned.” 

“Oh, so you left the drawer open on purpose?”

“Absolutely, it’s been my months long plan.” He takes a step forward to force you back one. Eyebrows scrunched together he scoffs, “I almost let you catch me for a while and then it happens by mistakeand I act like it’s the biggest fuck up ever and now I’ve got you shirtless. Listen, I plan campaigns babe. You know I can write ten steps ahead.” He’s walking you backwards till your legs hit his bed, fingers holding onto your belt loops to keep you close. 

“Eddie?” You hook your fingers into the waistband of his flannel pants, pulling down till they shift off his hips. 

“What?” He’s distracted by your fingers sliding around his hips. 

“You’re so full of shit.” He laughs when steps out of his pants and sees you look down, an immediate tilt to your head. Your fingers still against his skin, skimming the elastic of his boxers but he knows you’re staring at the growing bulge. The clever remark he had ready dies in the back of his throat when he hears the quiet ‘hmm’, watches your tongue poke out to swipe across your lips.

“If you keep staring I’m gonna get self conscious.” One hand covers his mouth to muffle the end of his sentence while the other lightly rubs up against his dick through the thin cotton. Somehow he stays upright, mouth falling open under your hand to pant against your palm. 

“You got any other surprises for me Munson?”

Are you talking to him? He can’t get a braincell to function with the heat of your hand pressed against him, barely moving at all. The button on your jeans is about all he can fathom, getting them opened and remembering how a zipper works is next. Your breath bouncing off of his chest makes him shiver and kind of brings some of his brain back up and running. 

“I uh, I got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He tips you back till you sit and he follows close, making you lay down. You laugh when your back hits the bed and you keep laughing, body shaking as he works your jeans down your legs. 

“What’s so funny, giggles?”

“I’m just…this is the first time I’ve had sex in a bed.”

Eddie stops moving and looks up at you from your feet. “I’m sorry, what?” He hopes he’s just hearing wrong, on account of his brain short circuiting a moment ago.  

“Yeah, it’s just always been in the back of cars.” You say it so flippantly, like it’s just a thing that happened to you. “I mean, It’s whatever. I just realized no one’s ever pushed me back on a bed before.” Your grin is hazy when you look down your body at him but he’s stone sober now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to any of those assholes and he knows it. You’re the best thing to happen to him, and somehow you’ve gone this long with shitty car hookups. 

“No.” He shakes his head and pulls your jeans off fully. Slides your socks off and tosses them in the pile of your clothes. “You’re lying, please tell me your lying.” 

“I’m not! There’s so much more room!” You wave your arms next to you like you’re making a snow angle in his sheets. You sit up quick, bracing yourself on one hand to reach behind yourself to undo your bra when he stops you. 

“You don’t have to do that, I can help.” He’s crowded up against your legs where you’ve dropped them both sideways. 

“I know that, I was just making it easier.” His face must drop because you huff at him. “Look, I’m not stupid Eddie. I just, haven’t had the best track record I guess. I just assumed-“

“That I was gonna be like the other guys.”

You shrug. “Yeah, Hawkin’s finest. You know.” 

That’s a little bit of a blow, he won’t lie, but watching you slam up your walls when they’ve been nonexistent all night makes him switch tactics. 

“You deserve better than that.” He swings his legs to the side so he can lean over you, one arm braced against your hip, the other tilting your chin to look at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you pout before, your bottom lip sticking out pink and wet and he wants to bite it. “I’m serious.” He leans in close, lips brushing yours. “Can I be nice to you?” He whispers against you and your face flushes immediately, eyes darting down to stare at the bed. He can’t stop the grin spreading across his face, delighted with how flustered you get. 

“I-you’re always nice.” You mumble, chin fighting to get away from his hand holding you still. 

“I can be nicer.” He closes the small gap and kisses you again, still holding your chin. He can feel your breathing speed up when it ghosts over his cheek where you’re nose is pressed. When he’s certain you won’t pull away he moves his hand to your back, unhooking the clasps one by one. Eddie pulls back to look at you properly, fingers lightly pulling the straps down your arms. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask.” You say, still nodding your head at him anyways. 

“It’s good manners.” He says simply, wiggling your bra off of you, tossing it to join the growing pile. You’ve shifted back to your elbows, further away from him but giving him a better view. None of his fantasies are measuring up to real life. Just watching the way your tits lay when you shift has him practically drooling. He runs a fingertip from between them and down to your navel, marveling at the softness of your skin. Runs that same fingertip over to a hip and you jump just a little. “Ticklish?”

“Maybe.” Your voice is wobbly, chest rising and falling faster. He lays his palm flat against your stomach and runs it up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast and you sigh, letting your head fall back between your shoulders. 

“You are so fucking pretty.” Eddie means it. Even before all the crushing and jealously he could see it. With your head back he can watch the blush creep down your chest and he marvels at that too. 

“Eddie you can’t just say shit like that.” You sound strained from the angle your at. He runs his thumb under the swell of your breast again just to watch you shudder. 

“What, that your pretty?” He leans down to place a kiss on your chest, can feel your heartbeat tick up faster. He’s only got so much restraint before he grabs you up into his lap but he’s trying hard to be a gentleman about it. You deserve that much for your first time. Well, not overall but with him? Eddie’s determined to make you forget about every other guy who’s even looked at you. 

“Look at me.” He’s dropping kisses along your collarbone trying to get you to lift your head up. His hands have been itching to grab your tits but he wants you to stop being shy for a minute. “Please.” He’s trying to kiss up your neck when you finally lift your head. “Can you scoot up for me?” He asks and you oblige. As soon as your head hits his pillow he’s leaned back, pulling your knees back up so he wedge himself between them. He grabs your hand and pulls it up to kiss your open palm and you close your fingers around his cheeks, making him laugh. 

“Will you stop being cute and just touch me?” 

“How?” He kisses down your wrist, watching you get more flustered. 

“I don’t know, whatever you normally do?”

“No, that was with them, they don’t matter anymore.” He makes it to the crook of your elbow before he lets go and crawls over the top of you, getting in your face to stare you down. “What’d you think about this morning, hm?” He’s keeping track of all the little whimpers your making, the way you bite your lip when he makes you nervous. You won’t meet his eye so he follows your line of sight and you huff at him. 

“Stuff, Eddie. Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands and he thinks he can feel the heat radiating off of you. It’s driving him crazy in the best way, he doesn’t think he’s ever had this effect on anyone before. 

“Aw c’mon. Tell me.” He kisses each finger before moving down to your knuckles and honestly, he just can’t help himself anymore when he brings a hand up to knead at your tits, a quick pinch of a hardened nipple and you gasp into your hands. “Was it this?” He pinches again and you wiggle under him, hips jumping up against him and he drops his head. You’re hot everywhere, and the core of you pressed up against him through his boxers is going to do him in if he’s not careful. “If you don’t tell me I’m gonna have to guess and this could be a long night.” He rolls his hips into you to try to get his point across and to try to get some relief. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” You ask, pulling your hands down to just cover your mouth. Your eyes are wide and glassy, pupils big and dark. 

“No, but I want to know what I do in these dreams of yours.” He moves back to your neck to make a path to your chest where he laps at your nipple. “Something like this?” He asks before wrapping his lips around and sucking, tongue flicking over sensitive skin. You arch your chest up and there’s a laugh caught in your moan. He moves over to your other side, nipping at you before mouthing at your other nipple, hand teasing at your hip. He snaps your underwear against you and you let out a quiet ‘ow’ and try to swat at his hand. “Or was I somewhere else?” His fingertips graze under the band and inch down. Your knees pull up tight around him and he’s so close to saying fuck it to his own game. 

“You were-fuck Eddie, you were going down on me.” You get so quiet, the one hand still on your mouth muffling your voice. 

“Oh?” He lets your nipple go with a wet sound, big grin already set in place. 

“If your gonna make fun of me…”

“Absolutely not.” 

You watch him over your hand place a scattering of kisses down till he hits your underwear, giving you one last questioning look before he hooks his fingers in and pulls them down. You’re also starting to feel a little self conscious when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off you. 

Payback

“Ed.” He just runs his hands up your legs, big palms warm against your thighs. He pulls your knees out a little further before leaning down and re-situating himself between your thighs, leaving open mouthed kisses along the inside. You’re torn between wanting to watch him and wanting to cover your face in embarrassment when he makes the decision for you, pulling at your elbow to drag your hand down to his head. He’s got that lazy smirk on his face and you can feel his breath skipping across too sensitive skin. 

“Give you something to hold on to.” You want to laugh but he’s too quick, fingers moving in to hold you open for him. Your head drops into the pillow when he licks a broad tongue from your center right up to your clit, your back arching up and Eddie’s laugh vibrates through you. 

“Oh fuck.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” You can hear the proud smirk in his voice and if you’d like to say something smart back you won’t, too focused on his mouth working you over. His tongue is soft, even when he points it, uses it to prod at your opening and you forget any remarks you might have had for him. 

“Eddie.” You pull at his hair when he wraps his lips around your clit and he groans. You’re stuck concentrating on his mouth until he slides one finger in and you choke on a gasp. He pulls his mouth away and lays his head against your leg, watching you from under his wet hair. 

“Is this what you thought about?” He can see you nod into the pillow, hand twisted next to your head in the fabric while he pumps his hand slowly. 

“It’s what I thought about.” He hooks his finger up, trying to find that soft spot to make you melt. “I think about it all the time.” The grip on your thigh is tight, keeping it close against his cheek. “Ever since you told me about those shitty dates.” 

“Seriously?” You lift your head, eyes half lidded and face scrunched up. 

“I should have nutted up and said something. They didn’t deserve you.” He pulls his finger out and you watch him suck it into his mouth, watch his eyes roll in his head. You groan and he adds his middle finger before he pulls his hand out, spit slick fingers running up over your clit, teasing you before he slides both back in. He leans in to run his tongue through your folds, watching you from under his lashes while you wriggle around and clutch at the pillow. The hand in his hair grips tighter and your legs squeeze up around his ears and he’s surrounded by you, the low chanting of his name keeping him planted in place. He finally finds that spot, feels you shudder under him before you moan, tilting your hips up to chase his touch. 

“Eddie Eddie Eddie fuck!” You keep rolling your hips against his face and he can’t help himself. He’s been pathetically rutting into the mattress listening to you whine and he can’t take it anymore. He taps under your thigh to get your attention, really gets it when he fully pulls away and you look down at him all concerned. “Why are you stopping?” 

“Good reason.” He stands up and pulls off his boxers, rooting around his nightstand for the condoms he knows are in there. He’s oblivious to you on the bed, sitting all the way up now and staring. Of course they’re not where he left them, instead tucked behind his lamp but he grabs one and climbs back on the bed before he realizes what he’s done. “Oh.” Eddie feels his face heat up when he looks down at himself. “I probably should have done that better.” He’s expecting you to laugh or sigh or say something witty but you just snatch the foil out of his hand and tear it open. You only pause for second before wrapping your hand around him and he’s positive this isn’t going to last as long as he’d hopped. When you roll the condom down he hisses and drops, head falling into your shoulder. 

“You okay champ?” 

He just nods and whines when you give him a few easy strokes, watching your hand move up and down his cock. You’re so much more gentle with him than he is with himself. Eyes half open and mouth hanging he’s sure he looks fucking stupid but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want you to stop touching him. When you scoot closer and pull his face up it takes him a moment to realize you’re kissing him, for him to react and do something. 

“C’mere.” He shakes out of his haze enough to move back between your knees, pulling your hips so your ass is flush against his thighs. He pulls your leg up to hook over his hip, placing a quick kiss on your knee before lining himself up.  He rubs the tip of cock against you, catching on your clit twice and making you whimper. 

“Please Ed.” He doesn’t need to be begged twice, grabs the base of his dick and sinks in slow. Sees your breath catch and your eyes roll, “Oh fuck it.” He bottoms out, can feel you clenching around him tight and hot and gasping and laughing and he looses all composure. Fingers dug into your leg wrapped around him he snaps his hips back and into you, punching out a sharp peal of laughter. He does it again, loves the way he can hear the choked off gasp in your throat. When he picks up his pace you grab at the sheets, twisting them up off his bed. 

“Fucking th-thank you-u!” It’s stuttered out between thrust, your face flushed and twisted up in a smile. 

“You know how many times I thought about this?” He has to talk, if he doesn’t talk he’s going to blow his load and he refuses to let your first time together end before a full minute passes. “Every time I looked at that picture I thought about it. I should have fucked you in that bathroom.” Your nails scratch at his thigh where they try to find purchase. “All the rides out to the lake oh fuck- I should have done this sooner, yeah?” He licks his thumb before bringing it down on your clit, running tight circles around it. Your back arches off the bed and he feels you clench around him. “Is that it? Right there-ohmygod.” It almost sounds like you’re crying his name just before you come, nails digging into his thigh when it crashes into you. He watches you tense up and then collapse against the bed, pliant under him where he starts to loose his rhythm. The heat that reached up fast burns up his spine while he watches you revel in your aftershocks, already trying to grab him down to you. The hazy look in your eyes and that grin you’re flashing him send him over the edge, burying himself with a deep groan, your name scattered between curses. He’s whited out until he can catch his breath, gripping your thigh until he can see straight. In the distant ringing in his ears he can hear your giggle under him, soft like the hands trying to pull him closer. 

“Hey.” Your eyes find his in his own haze, slowly coming back down to earth. “Come here.” Gentle tugs to get him to lay down but he shakes his head, asks for minute. He pulls out to get rid of the condom and disappears into the bathroom for minute, leaving you to roll around his bed. When he comes back he turns off his light. Sees that you’ve pulled the blankets up under your chin, one finger poking out to beckon him back in. “I’m cold.” 

Eddie would like to pinch himself just to make sure this is real. In all of his imaginings he never let himself have this part. The sex was easy to think about but this hurt too much to ever linger on. He finds his pants first before crawling back into bed, snaking a hand around your middle and pulling you into him. He wedges his nose up under your jaw and hums, leaving a few soft kisses in his wake. 

“Are you always this cuddly?” 

“I don’t normally get to cuddle.” You’re both quiet in the dark, hushed tones under the blankets. 

“Huh.” Your fingers tangle up in his hair, nails lightly scratching over his scalp. It sends a deep shiver down his spine and he has a split second where he feels like crying. “Their loss.” He feels the kiss you leave on his forehead and just buries his head further into your neck. You smell like you always do, sweet and deep and now a little like him. He drifts off without meaning to. 

It’s not daylight yet, but his room is lighter. There’s no alarm clock going off next to his head so he looks around, trying to find whatever it is that pulled him out of his warm cocoon. 

Bleary vision in the dark, he can barely make out your form jumping quietly into your jeans. He’s peering at you from under the covers, watching you get dressed. You stop mid jump to pick something up, staring at it before padding over to his dresser and tucking it into his mirror. He’s basically awake when you turn to open his door and he quietly asks you where you’re going. 

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” You clutch you chest and try to search through the dark for his eyes, finally see him when he pulls the sheets back a bit. 

“Seriously, where are you goin’?”

“It’s almost 5. I figured Wayne was gonna be home soon so I cleaned up the living room and like, I didn’t know if I should hang around?”

“You sleep over here all the time.” He slides a hand out from under the covers to make a grabby hand at you. “He won’t care.”

“Well I mean, I’m not usually naked in your bed dude.”

“Then leave your shirt on.” Eddie doesn’t understand what you’re not understanding. “I mean it, Wayne isn’t gonna care. If anything he’ll be happy I stopped bitching about you.”

“You bitch about me?”

“No, I bitched about not having you. There’s a difference. Now come here, I’m cold.” He lifts the blankets up quick, making a sweeping motion for you to get back in. “Plus, he won’t say anything unless you do. He likes you too much to embarrass you.” You’re out of your jeans again and crawling over him, trying to avoid kneeing him. 

“Aww, he likes me?”

“Well I like you too.” You’re barely settled before he’s wrapped around you, leg hitched over your thighs and pinning you down. “What’s that get me?” He’s nosing along your jaw again. 

“Depends what you’re looking for.” 

“Mm. Concert tickets to see Ozzy in Indy.”

“Oh that’s a big ask.”

“I see. How about a kiss?” He pulls back to smile lazily up at you. 

“I can do that.”

❣Tag List❣

@edsforehead @fracturedarkness @munsonsguitarpick @bebe07011 @ali-r3n @cantreadbutcute @eddiethesexy @emma77645

[mohgreal]

true to my word here is my essay on why granny is Good Actually feat. @omenfailure

do not take this TOO seriously but i tried to be a little serious

i dont know where to start, but while granny has been seen as regarded as a "bad horror game" or generally cheap because it's 1) on mobile 2) low graphics 3) no real story — however in spite of this, granny has actually been one of the more impactful horror games, it's almost as impactful as lets say five nights at freddy — not quite, but sorta there. granny inspired a entire movie, "stay out of the house". it also was the cause of that popular piggy roblox game that has 13 billion vists and even has merch with books and plushies and even a collab with dark deception. oh and the yourube kids granny rainbow hello neighbor scary teacher brainrot videos it inspired but lets not dwell on that trauma now

while granny has no real story, (though DVloper's more recent games, the twin one if i recall correctly DO have a more written story just to add). you do have notes scattered around by some rando trying to survive granny, which is a present feature in many horror games (most popular example would be resident evil that does this). granny doesn't really need a story, because you can piece it together or make it up yourself. really though the game is more atmospheric then i see people admit, the entire gray and very "faded" like tone, along with the various toys on the outside and crib, along with it being, well — granny. it's kind of like a play on old nostalgic memories that you only vaguely remember with your grandparents. faded, blurred, grayscales into obscurity, and when you vist them again there's nothing left.

other horror games have done this as well, though i cant name one that does it in this very specific way. apart from that, you have granny herself that is also a part of the rotting/fading like symbolism — her teeth are rotting and she's blind, much like how old people and grandparents in general tend to have their vision fade and their health rot due to old age / sickness. you also have the fact that granny's daughter, slenderina is there when you throw the teddy bear into the crib (notice how the teddy bear has color but the crib doesn't?) and slenderina herself is also very distorted, while her mouth is left agape likely for horror design purposes, it also gives the impression she's despeate, she wants to leave. you also die when you stare into her, but notice how granny is blind?

the general thing is, even when you DO escape from granny, the house is still left there, granny is still there, slenderina is still there(? as a ghost presumably). it's still a way of that memory thing i mentioned earlier, you can stop thinking about your memories and escape the past, but it doesn't change your memories, it doesn't change the past. the way you cant even really see anything outside because of the dark also puts focus on granny's house specifically, forcing you to be there and be present even if you don't want to, because you can't see anything beyond until you get out.

despite granny's design giving off the impression she's ill, dying along with the house — she's strong, impossibly so, she basically runs at turbo speed and whacks you once and you bleed and pass out for a entire day. just seeing granny, you have to panic, you can't look at her, you have to hide; and sometimes even when you do she still catches up to you, she crawls like a spider under the bed to get you, which is a instakill/game over, also adding to the concept and my little theory of granny being a allegory for trauma or just memory in general, maybe even dementia — because avoiding it catches up to you and kills you instantly. this is also present in granny 2 and 3, but you have more then. the house is bigger, there's more people you have to avoid, to hide from, even if it's borderline impossible. oh and grandpa dabs in on of the endings i love you dvloper

there was more but i can't be bothered to type out more enjoy my very delusional take on a mobile gayme

[houserautha]

I've re-read TDE multiple times already and I find some new aspects of the story every time. I especially love how complex Feyd is. He has very cold exterior, but actually is very caring for the ones who deserve his devotion. This caring side of him is also very meticulous and detailed. Like the fact that he remembers the page number that reader has been reading or when he notices that Reader is upset or ill, when he sees that reader has never killed before. He actually is very attentive to other people's emotions, not in the aspect of empathy but in understanding. There is also a lot of honor in his actions. Yeah it is dark and ruthless but it is still honorable. When he deals with Zeev, when he protects the boys from the Baron, when he has regular meeting with common people, when he gives Reader an opportunity to exert her power as na-baroness, when he makes sure she understands that she is magnificient. He doesn't want a weak wife but still will do everything in his power to protect and defend her. I think he respects her because he sees the same honor in her. Let's just say he takes his wedding vows very seriously. Oh and the fact that he is calling her "my jewel"...s o b b i n g. Honestly the wedding ceremony was the most beautiful in a Harkonnen way. The salute is everything.

All of this is exactly why I can reciprocate readers feelings of heartache because of him, I hate that he has been hurt, a lot. It's kind of helplessness because there is no undo button, but I am here for their revenge.

The angst after the fall of the Atreides is unbearable. My heart aches for the Reader but at the same time for Feyd... You can feel the pain both mental and physical for both of them. It's kinda sick and twisted but in a natural for them way.

I love the banter between them as well, it's subtle but delicious, like the moment in the tub when he proves that he doesn't wrinkle.

I actually adore all of the details that you put in about the Harkonnens bodies, that they clot easily, don't wrinkle, black cum ...all of it is so fitting. I just love your Feyd 🥲

All of the above is just how I see Feyd's character and I may have made up a lot of things which you hadn't intended to, I am sorry for that.

Thank you so much for your work ❤️‍🩹

Omg no, I think you nailed everything about him so perfectly. He is such a complex character to me and I’m glad that multiple facets of his personality have stood out to you because I take very serious care of his character🥲

I think, yes, he’s callous and perhaps a lot bloodthirsty but he’s also been raised to be a leader and attentive to other people. Obviously in the books the Baron plans to put him as the ruler of Arrakis because he’s much more diplomatic than Rabban and I wanted to express that in this fic. He’s a monster but he’s also cunning and perceptive and intelligent and (sometimes) charismatic. And he would never actually say it (I don’t think he even completely understands how he feels) but he just really loves his wife🤧

His whole life everyone has expected him to be a certain way or a certain thing — a weapon, the father to the KH, a political pawn, but reader just sees him as he is. She doesn’t want to change him and she doesn’t ask him to be someone that he’s not. And that’s very freeing to him.

Anyway, it makes me so happy to hear that you’ve read TDE more than once and have found something meaningful in it every time. Thank you for reading my silly little thots about Feyd-Rautha and for supporting me with your kind words❤️

[alwayschasingrainbows]

My new headcanon: Emily Starr and Teddy Kent's soulmate connection started even before they met. They believed that they saw each other for the first time in Sunday school; but neither of them was present there at this time. If they saw each other, it was only a dream or a vision.

Now, here is where this idea came from (all quotes are from the book - Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery):

"Emily was secretly not averse. She had seen Teddy Kent but once, at Sunday School the day before he was taken seriously ill, and she had liked his looks. It had seemed that he liked hers, too, for she caught him staring shyly at her over the intervening pews several times."

But, it wouldn't be possible. From Emily of New Moon we know that Emily had been sent to the school almost immediately after moving into New Moon:

"THAT first Saturday and Sunday at New Moon always stood out in Emily’s memory as a very wonderful time [...] It had been decided in family conclave that Emily was not to go to church that day.

“She has nothing suitable to wear,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “By next Sunday we will have her white dress ready.”

One can argue that Sunday School does not equal mass and of course, that's right. So, it is not impossible (although, due to the lack of the proper clothing, very un-Murray-like) that Emily might have been sent to the Sunday school, while not attending the church service.

But... firstly, if that was the case, Montgomery would have described this Sunday event. It would have been Emily's first meeting with other Blair Water's children - even if they hadn't been unpleasant, there would be a lot of staring at ill-dressed little girl from New Moon. These glares would have probably pierced Emily's sensitive soul and make her a lot less excited over the perspect of attending a regular school.

Secondly, most children wore their best clothes for both church and Sunday school.

Thirdly, Aunt Elizabeth hadn't said a word about attending Sunday School, when she decided Emily wouldn't go to the church:

"No, you are not going to church to-day. You can wear the black dress to school to-morrow. We can cover it up with an apron.”

It seems that the only reason Aunt Elizabeth allowed Emily to wear her black, cheap dress to school was because it would have been completely covered by the apron - yet Emily hadn't seen that hideous item of clothing until Monday. So, I believe it's quite safe to assume she didn't attend either school, either church service this first Sunday.

Emily's first day of school takes place right after Sunday: "Aunt Elizabeth drove Emily to school the next morning."

There, again, it is Rhoda Stuart, who is a reason I believe Teddy couldn't have attended Sunday school as well. Rhoda tries to befriend Emily on that first day and tells her:

“Oh, everybody in our class has a beau. Mine is Teddy Kent. [...] Teddy wasn’t in school to-day—he’s been sick all June."

It is, of course, possible that Teddy might have attended the school (and Sunday school, for that matter), while sick. It might have been something quite insignificant at first; a cough, runny nose, other symptoms of cold. His illness might have gotten more serious only the Monday of Emily's first day of school.

But still, Rhoda's use of words suggests something else: that Teddy was unable to attend either school, either church, for the last few days (or weeks) of June.

Besides, Emily would have probably noticed that Teddy had looked a little under the weather (if Rhoda described him as being "sick" for at least the last few days), yet, when she remembers seeing him for the first time, he seems perfectly healthy and allert:

"He was very handsome, Emily decided. She liked his thick, dark-brown hair and his black-browed blue eyes, and for the first time it occurred to her that it might be rather nice to have a boy playmate, too."

Of course, one can argue that both Teddy and Emily went to Sunday school that day; she, in her cheap black dress, somehow not attracting attention to herself; he, with his runny nose or a fever, somehow still able to notice the new girl and smile shyly at her.

Emily might have thought Teddy was very handsome, even if he had looked a bit sickly; he might have noticed her even despite his illness.

But I like the idea of Teddy and Emily sharing their uncanny bond even before meeting each other. He might have dreamt of seeing her in the church, while he was laying feverish in a bed; she might have had a vision of attending the Sunday school while, in fact, she never went there, but spent her Sunday in Cousin Jimmy's company.

Neither of them ever asked others about it; they both believed that it had really happened.

In a way, it would have been another "I knew I loved you before I met you" moment. It might have also explained why, despite spending a decade away from each other, despite not talking or writing for years, their bond was still so strong.

Not to mention, there were other examples of their uncanny connection: Teddy hearing Emily's voice calling to him that night she was locked in a church, the Flavian, Emily's dreams of Teddy (not being able to find him, while chasing after his signal; the dream of Teddy of old times, just before learning about his engagement to Ilse).

Most probably: it was just LMM's small mistake... which I turned into a headcanon. I am aware of this. Well, what can I say.

[beyourowninspiration16]

As someone who is disabled, frequently ill and often has to take to bed for days on end due to incurable ailments, I wish there was more representation in books and media.

And not just as glamourized plot devices.

I'm sick of seeing a movie where the entire plot is romanticising how sh*t it is to be sick, or showing how valuable your illness actually is in a convoluted way, or using the entire book/media to show that you're actually lucky, others have it worse and whatever

Look at Kaz Brekker. He's disabled. But the entire book/show is not about that. It is simply a fact of his character. It adds and takes away nothing from the plot. But it adds everything in representation.

I can name so many productions that utilise illness and disability as an asset to a character, or conversely a detriment. Instead of it being just a fact of life.

This would especially make sense in terms of longterm injury in fantasy. Maybe they're immortal magical soldiers who heal incredibly fast, but give them a shoulder that never quite mended right. An ankle that fractures or sprains easily. A deformed nose. You can't seriously expect me to believe that these characters got out of wars with just sexy scars.

And why can't we have a protagonist in any genre where they just happen to have asthma. Or have a serious intolerance to dairy. Or gets bad migraines. Or has chronic back pain. Endometriosis. Even bad hay fever. Or a frequent habit for catching stomach bugs.

It doesn't have to be major. But representation of illness, disability and injury can make a world of difference.

It can make a character more beloved, for showing humanity and for being relatable.

I'm not saying that movies shouldn't be made about specific illness and disability, so much so that they are the plot. I'm not saying that. I'm saying they need to be done right, and we need to lose the stigma that someone who is disabled or has a longterm illness is less capable of being a functioning protagonist outside of the illness plot.

Dramatisation and glamourization of illness is damaging. It's harmful, and does not uplift disabled or ill people.

If someone has a longterm illness, or is disabled; they do NOT want to watch or read something that makes an example of them. They want to feel represented in a book or show, or movie, where their illness or disability doesn't matter.

So, give us a character that has IBS. Or tourettes syndrome. Or is deaf. Or autism. Or ADHD. And NOT make them the token side character.

Give us a protagonist who is disabled or chronically ill, and PROVE to small children and preteens that they are just as worthy of being a main character in their own lives.

Because right now and up until now, everything in literature and the media is telling them that the most they can be is a token representation in a side character, and an example where their illness is the entire plot.

It is telling them that they are not worthy of their own story.

Yes, there have been more representations in fiction, even of autism and mental illness. But they are still either glamourised, or pushed to the side. Or both.

And it's not acceptable.

Illness and disability is not glamorous. It is someone's life. It can be painful, and difficult, and often disgusting even to oneself.

And to have someone glamorise it in media and fiction is incredibly insulting. It is demeaning, undermining, and dehumanising.

People with illness and disabilities often don't have the cliche happy ending you see in fiction. And I don't mean that to be cruel, or pessimistic. I say it because often times it is realistic, and in the case longterm illness and disability, it is simply a part of their life, unfortunately.

But the opposite is not an unhappy ending. The stereotyped happy ending is only a fantasy, because these things just go on. And to have a cliche happy ending just incorrectly educates others about the experiences of chronically ill and disabled people's.

I'm not saying people who are disabled or have longterm illnesses are all always miserable, and I'm not saying that they will never recover, or even improve. I'm saying that it is just another part of their lives, for better or for worse.

And sometimes it doesn't NEED fixing. You don't need to fix a disabled person, you need to fix the world around them. The world needs to adapt to the people living in it. And fiction needs to adapt to the different characters. Otherwise it gives the impression that only perfection is valued and acceptable. There are no perfect protagonists.

So, happy endings are unrealistic, because it's just life. There are good days and bad days, like anyone else in the world. It will always fluctuate.

But it DOESN'T need to be tied up in a nice, neat bow.

[kujiba]

do you read books? I do!! I only started this year thooo my first ever serious book was crime and punishment by fyodor Dostoevsky who absolutely destroyed me at the end... i started it at i think month 3 or 4 (sorry i dont bother memorizing months 😀) and then i read 1984 which was awesome and the epilogue i think was just a little sneak peak of George orwell's thoughts 💀 seriously what was he into !! Third was it ends with us. Bc i saw my ex bsf reading it and i read the first chapters w her and said hell yeah ill try this some other time!! Worst mistake. I even drew my horrified expressions at the blank between chapters... i even write full arguments on the page of how absolutely braindead the mc is...... "we laughef at our son's big balls" anyways next is no longer human by osamu dazai which at first didnt make me feel anything but the end was shattering and i realized what the story is rlly about!!! Im rn reading the setting sun by osamu!! It isnt as good as NLH but im expecting some sick twist at the end!!! What is this word vomit

🦊

If only I have money... I'm stuck at reading online novels!!

[chaotic-history]

Voltaire's Lettre de consolation, 1728

"The quadrature of the circle and perpetual motion are easy things to find compared to the secret of suddenly calming a soul agitated by a violent passion. Only magicians claim to stop storms with words. If an injured person, whose deep wound showed parted and bloody flesh said to a surgeon: 'I want for my skin to be fused back together, and hardly a slight scar to remain from my wound,' the surgeon would respond: 'That is something which depends on a greater master than me; time alone can repair what a moment has destroyed. I can cut, excise, and destroy; only time can fix.'

It is likewise with wounds of the soul; men hurt, inflame, torment; others want to console and succeed only in provoking new tears; time heals in the end.

If we therefore put it in our heads that, in the long run, nature smooths over the deepest impressions in us; that we no longer have, after a certain time, neither the same blood flowing in our veins nor the same fibers which agitate our brains, nor consequently the same ideas; in a word, that we are no longer physically the same person we were before; if we seriously reflect on this, it will do us a great help; we will be able to hasten the moments in which we need to heal.

You must say to yourself: I have suffered the death of my parents, of my friends; after having my heart pierced a long time, I was then left in a deep tranquility; I felt after a few years a new soul forming within me; that the soul of twenty-five does not think like that of twenty, nor that of twenty like that of fifteen. Let us then, through the strength of our spirit, put ourselves as much as we are able in the place we’ll one day be; let us anticipate in our thoughts the course of the years.

This idea supposes that we are free. The person who asks for help undoubtedly believes themselves free: for there is a contradiction in asking advice that we believe ourselves unable to follow. We act, in all our daily affairs, as if we were well convinced of our freedom: let us carry ourselves the same way in our passions, which are our most important affairs. Nature did not want our wounds to be healed in one single moment, for us to pass in an instant from sickness to health, but wise remedies certainly hasten the process of healing.

I know no stronger remedy for sicknesses of the soul than the strong and serious application of the mind to other things.

This application diverts our animal spirits: it often renders us insensible to bodily pain. A person who is applied, who exercises themselves in playing beautiful music, who is penetrated by the reading of a good book which speaks to the imagination and the soul, feels a quick softening of the torments of an illness; they feel also that the sorrows of their heart lose little by little their bitterness. We must think of anything but what we want to forget; we must think often, and almost always, of what we want to preserve. Our strongest chains are, in the long run, those of habit. It depends on us to disassemble the chains that bind us to unhappy passions, and to strengthen the binds that chain us to more agreeable things.

This isn’t to say that we are the absolute masters of our ideas: far from it; but we are not absolutely slaves, and I believe that the Supreme Being has given us a small portion of his freedom, as he has given us a modest drop of his faculty of thought.

Let us then put the little strength we have to use. It is certain that in reading and reflecting we increase our faculty of thought; why should we not likewise increase this faculty which we call freedom? There is none of our senses, none of our abilities, to which we have not built an aid. Would freedom be the only human attribute that humans cannot increase?

I imagine we are among trees laden with delicious yet poisonous fruits, which a growling hunger leads us to pick: if we feel too weak to see these fruits without touching them, let us find, and this depends on us, terrains where these beautiful fruits do not grow.

Here is some advice which, like so much other advice, is perhaps easier to give than follow; but also, it is a great illness, and the one who is languishing can alone be their own doctor."

[hamstermastersamster]

As I often am when I'm rotating in The Bad Place, I'm drawn to old loves and nostalgia for comfort, which is why I'm currently rereading the Dragonriders of Pern series.

I've already made my peace with some of the more eyebrow-raising scenes in my childhood beloved books (Anne was a 2nd wave feminist in the 60s, what can I say), but I'm up to Moreta and, oh my god it hits so different after the pandemic. AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY.

Titular protagonist Moreta, dragonlady of Pern. Such a Pernese legend that they wrote ballads about her that would be sung for generations to come.

And only now do I somehow see that she's a fucking idiot.

Seriously! She's Fort Weyr's healer, would have become a Master Healer if she hadn't become a dragonrider first. But she touches a mysteriously dying runnerbeast without any caution or even washing her damn hands afterwards (something she later admits to herself she only did to impress her new boy toy Alessan).

THEN because she doesn't want to face the fact that she may be infected, she instead questions the judgement of the fucking Masterhealer of Pern in calling a quarantine and flits about interacting with everyone as if nothing bad could ever happen. Her whole justification for this is "dragonriders are healthy, we simply won't get sick". WHAT. I'M SORRY?! You're a HEALER?! Do you know ANYTHING?!

The Pern setting is a little dark ages in the sense that, despite this being far in humanity's future, Pern's population has effectively regressed and forgotten a lot of science (and gender equality . . .). But even so, we can't pretend the healers don't know enough to understand the basic dos and don'ts of serious illnesses.

We know this because there is one person besides the Masterhealer who takes the situation seriously. And that is Sh'gall - Fort Weyrleader. He is rightly anxious about the prospect of a pandemic, he responsibly social-distances himself from other people in the Weyr because he knows he may have been infected, and he furiously enforces the quarantine, destroying his already utter lack of popularity.

And everyone, including the narrative, take the absolute piss out of him for it. Oh, silly Sh'gall! Such a worrywort. So over the top. Talk about exaggerating the risk. What a whiny pissbaby, says Moreta internally in not so many words.

Even after his concerns prove true, nobody acknowledges it. It's just "Oh well, it's done now, Sh'gall. Deal with it," from Miss I'm-Such-A-Great-Healer-I-Spread-Pandemic-To-My-Entire-Weyr.

Lmao.

Well, Sh'gall, it is years too late but I see you now. The title of this book should actually be Sh'gall: Smartest Dragonrider of Pern.

Let's hope the rest of the book redeems Moreta because at the moment I cannot like her anymore xD

[fereldancore]

I suffer from this illness, I have had it for most of my life. Sometimes I cannot talk, sit up or eat. On good days (once a week, or not even once a month during a bad flare) I can walk slowly down the road with my wheeled walker and visit the book shop and thrift shop, then sleep for the rest of the day and deal with pain, dizziness and lethargy for the rest of the week.

The fact that so many people do not understand the seriousness of this illness is utterly dismaying. It is serious enough that people die from complications of ME/CFS and are able to access euthanasia in some countries. It is not a mental health issue or depression- I am a super happy optimistic person, but I am still very sick!

Just because it is not understood doesn’t mean it is real. There is a big difference between post-viral malaise and ME/CFS, people recover from the former. The optimistic recovery rate for diagnosed ME/CFS is about 5% and most of these are children.

[libbee]

Life themes: yours and mine.

🌸For anyone who resonates

I was watching a youtube channel of a woman who posts her life. It reminded me of my teenage years and early 20s years when I was too naive and careless like her. I would make drawings, cards, record songs and really dedicate myself to people I cared for. I would not think consciously of what I was doing and just followed my heart. Somehow when I got at a low point in life, I felt like I was depressed and started living my childhood again. I would tell my childhood stories and venting as a joke but later i realized that it was no jokes it was serious trauma. Then began a long journey of internet research and contemplation on human psychology and mental illnesses. Obviously, now my perspective was changed. I started looking for underlying faces, ulterior motives, signs of manipulation and really take lies seriously.

But somewhere in my heart was a bitterness "why me?" If other women can do the same things as me but flourish, have smooth lives and socialize, then why was I bumping into detours and psychological pain? For eg, some woman can post picture of her award on social media and be proud of it. But if i do it, i would feel intense regret and shame "what if i am imposter?" "I am so entitled and narcissistic" "i am just lucky, my good karma will run out then I will face failures" "There are so many girls who worked harder than me but did not get award" and so on. A cycle of self destructive thoughts and not under my control either.

Later, I read that it was my unconscious telling me I was on the wrong path, one that was not determined for me. What we see in other people's life is not necessarily meant to work for us either. Other people do have softer life paths and imitating them will do you no good, if your life has been darker than average. Life is not black and white, some days are really nice, some memories are really nice but if you think that the downsides outweigh the upaides then it is time to rethink if you are making some mistakes, that is if you are walking the path not meant for you? Simple example, some person can do love marriage all fine, but you keep getting into heart breaks, does this mean you need to go by arranged marriage route? Or, some people can succeed in business all fine but you seem to make losses, does this mean you need to go by job route? Or, some people can eat carbohydrates all fine but you seem to get sick from too much carbs?

I make a list of all the things I did in past and whether they were mistake ❌ or correct ✅? If they worked out correct for me then that is meant for my life theme but if it was mistake for me then I would not do it again. One more thing is to use tarot to ask question and write down cards that come up then in future reflect if this decision was mistake ❌ or correct ✅ for you? Eliminate mistakes and repeat correct decisions. This strategy is same as told in many self help books.

Basically, individual life theme differs between people. You are not living the life I live, although we both are interested in astrology. It might take some practice to figure out life theme but I think it can help some people who are prone to chaotic decisions making.

[fenrirchainedd]

// personal rambling on my lycanthropy / how i self id i've been feeling strange recently in regards to my lycanthropy, however i feel it's likely best to not overthink the specifics. rambling to get it out of my system, not being precise with my words. though, i would say i wouldn't personally describe myself as a clinical lycanthrope anymore, just a lycan, or a werewolf, in isolation. maybe holothere would be more accurate? [/rhetorical question] i feel it often has less to do with my mental illnesses or psychotic symptoms, and these days isn't so disabling. this is not to say i don't struggle around the full moon with some aches and pains and a rise in instincts and struggles with self restraint. i'm just sick of trying to double book keep something i think doesn't need it anymore. i don't think i'm getting much help out of doing so. i'd prefer to focus on the part of my lycanthropy i get joy out of, coming to understand myself and my relationship to it, and managing the adverse parts in ways that suit me, or what have you. somewhere between clinical lycanthropy, and just therianthropy. or maybe just serious / "classic" therianthropy? who knows. also, i'm a werecat / cat beast person half of the time anyway, and that's somehow related to my lycanthropy. parttime werewolf, parttime werecat? always more work to do, more to figure out. sort of bitter toward my younger self for not exploring my lycanthropy more, but i understand why he didn't. things always change. maybe i could benefit from taking myself less seriously, lol.

// it'd be nice to know if others related in the notes, but preferably don't rb or give me unsolicited advice [ any advice, really ]. personal posting, you know how it is with these things, will block you.

[storyreader01]

Therese lay in their bed, feeling awful. Her head throbbed with pain and her throat was raw and sore, and she had lost count of the tissues she had been using. Carol lay beside her, rubbing her back gently.

"I'm sorry," Therese muttered weakly, feeling guilty for getting sick. "I know you were going to take me out to dinner tonight."

Carol brushed Therese's hair away from her forehead. "Shh, It's fine. We can always reschedule."

Therese shook her head, coughing and wincing at the pain in her chest. "I just feel awful. I don't want to ruin our plans."

Carol smiled and kissed her forehead. "We'll figure something out. Just focus on getting better, my love."

Over the next few days, Therese's illness only seemed to get worse. Her fever spiked high and her body ached all over, making even the simplest tasks feel like mountains to climb. Carol watched over her constantly, checking her temperature, bringing her water and medication, and making sure she got plenty of rest.

Rindy, Carol's young daughter, came to visit one afternoon, and she was quick to notice how sick Therese was. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking up at Therese with wide eyes.

Therese managed a weak smile. "I'm just a bit under the weather, Rindy. But I'll be fine soon."

Rindy nodded, a serious expression on her face. "I'll take care of you," she said, determined.

And so she did. She brought Therese books and blankets, played games with her, and even brought her a cup of tea - something that she had seen her mother do countless times before.

As the days wore on, Therese's condition remained precarious. She struggled to keep food down and couldn't seem to shake the constant ache in her head and chest. Carol grew more and more worried, even as she tried her best to stay positive for Therese's sake.

One night, as they lay in bed, Carol whispered to Therese, "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

Therese reached out and took Carol's hand, feeling the warmth and comfort of her touch. "It's just a cold," she said, wincing at the cough that wracked her body. "I'll be better soon."

But despite her optimism, Therese's condition only seemed to worsen. She slept fitfully, waking up often with chills or sweating from a fever. Carol was constantly by her side, her voice soothing as she murmured words of comfort.

And then, one night, as they lay together in the dark, Therese's fever spiked higher than ever before. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her breath coming in short gasps, and she knew something was seriously wrong.

"Carol," she said, her voice weak and trembling. "I think you need to call the doctor."

Carol listened to her breathless, raspy voice and knew that Therese was right. She quickly dialed the number for the emergency room and explained the situation. Within moments, an ambulance was on its way.

The next few hours were a blur of activity. The paramedics checked Therese over, her fever dangerously high and her breathing labored. They rushed her to the hospital, where she was given IV fluids and medication to bring her fever down.

Carol stayed by her side through it all, her heart pounding with fear as she watched her girlfriend struggle. She wondered if Therese would make it through the night.

But even in her weakened state, Therese was a fighter. She worked with the doctors to get the help she needed, pushing through the pain and discomfort to get better. And after several days of intense treatment and rest, she finally turned a corner.

Carol breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Therese slowly begin to recover, her color returning and her strength slowly coming back. She knew that they had been through a difficult and scary time, but she also knew that their love had sustained them, no matter what.

And as they lay together, surrounded by the familiar comforts of their home, Carol knew that they would face whatever came their way - together.

archiveofourown.org/works/47719237"

[smqazi]

DEPRIVATION OF THE RIGHTS OF THE PRISONERS

IN THE SO-CALLED ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN, 

WHICH BY DEFINITION IS NEITHER ISLAMIC, NOR REPUBLIC, 

UNFORTUNATELY! 

ACTUALLY, IT IS AN AUTOCRATIC DICTATORSHIP RULED BY A FEW CHOSEN FEUDAL LANDLORDS, A LEGACY OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.

THE NEW PDM GOVERNMENT OF OLD PAKISTAN IS GUILTY OF 

VIOLATION OF INTERNATIONAL LAW. BY THE WAY THEY ARE 

DEHUMANIZING H.E. IMRAN KHAN, THE FUTURE PRIME MINISTER OF NEW (NAYA) ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN, IN SHAA ALLAH!

It goes without saying that Islam caters for the physical and the psychological fitness of prisoners. In Islam, prisoners, like all other members of society, have their rights. They should be treated with care and get the due educational and religious courses that help them improve psychologically and be good citizens after they get out of the prison. While in prison, they are not to be tortured or the like. 

Focusing more on this issue, here is the fatwa issued by Sheikh Muhammad Saleh Al-Munajjid, a prominent Saudi Muslim scholar and lecturer: “Islam pays great attention to the matter of prisons and the circumstances of prisoners. It is rare to find anything similar to this in any place or time. The jurists discussed in their books the rulings pertaining to prisoners, their circumstances and how they should be treated. This concern stems from the Islamic concern for the protection of man and respect for his humanity. 

To make the matter easier to understand and to make the rulings more clear, the scholars divided the subject-matter into two parts: the rulings pertaining to the personal health of prisoners, and the rulings pertaining to health care in the place that is used as a prison. 

Rulings pertaining to the personal health of prisoners 

1.The jurists discussed the matter of imprisoning a person who is sick in the first place. Do the authorities have the right to imprison a sick person? The answer is that this is a matter of ijtihad (legal reasoning), and the final decision rests with the judge who must weigh up the reason why this person is to be imprisoned, the seriousness of his disease, and the possibility of taking care of him in jail. 

If sufficient health care is available for this sick person in prison, and he is not suffering a serious illness that could kill him if he is detained, it is permissible to imprison him. If such care is not available, the judge may hand him over to someone who can treat him and guard him, without releasing him completely, until it is possible to imprison him again. 

2.If a prisoner becomes sick while in jail and it is possible to treat him there, then he must be treated without bringing him out. Doctors and servants should not be prevented from going in to see him, treat him and serve him. If lack of treatment leads to his death, criminal charges are to be laid against those who were the cause of that, and they are to be punished. 

The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) passed by a prisoner who was in chains, and he called out, “O Muhammad, O Muhammad!” He came to him and said, “What is the matter?” He said, “I am hungry, feed me. I am thirsty, give me water.” The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) commanded that his needs should be met. (Narrated by Muslim). 

And no doubt medical treatment is what the sick person needs. But if it is not possible to treat him inside the prison, he must be taken out to a place where it is possible to treat him, under the supervision of the jail or whoever is delegated to the task of watching and guarding him. 

With regard to these rulings, the jurists do not differentiate between physical illness and psychological illness (true psychological illness, that is, as opposed to the made-up psychological illness or the regular psychological illness which many lawyers use as a means of getting criminals let off). 

Hence the jurists (Rahimullahu ‘alaihim) stated that it is not permissible to lock the door on the prisoner—so long as there is the certainty that he will not run away—or to put him in a dark room, or to harm him in any way or to do anything that will make him terrified. His relatives should not be prevented from visiting him, because this will have an effect on his health and psychology. 

3.It is prescribed for the authorities or their representative to set up a special medical wing in the prison to take care of the prisoners’ health needs. This will spare them the need to take them out to public hospitals and expose them to possible insult and humiliation. 

4.Prisoners should be allowed to see their spouses and to have intimate relations with them, if there is a suitable place for that in the jail, as a protection for them and their spouses. 

5.The jurists stated that it is obligatory to enable prisoners to do ablution and purify themselves, which is undoubtedly an important protective precaution against sickness. 

Rulings pertaining to health care in the prison 

The place that is used as a prison should be spacious, clean, well-ventilated, lit by natural sunlight, and furnished with the necessary facilities such as washrooms, etc. It is not permissible to gather such a large number of prisoners in one place that they will not be able to do ablution and pray. 

Prohibitions in disciplining or dealing with prisoners 

1.Mutilating. It is not permitted to punish a prisoner by cutting off any part of his body or breaking any of his bones. The Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) forbade mutilation of prisoners of war and said, “Do not mutilate.” (Narrated by Muslim). 

2.Hitting the face, et cetera. This is prohibited because of the humiliation involved. By the same token, it is not permitted to put chains on prisoners’ necks or to lay them on the ground to whip them, even if this is the hadd (Islamic punishment) prescribed for them, because this involves humiliation and harms their health and bodies. 

3.Punishment by fire, strangulation or holding a prisoner’s head under water. The exception is in cases of qisaas (retaliation) and where the punishment needs to fit the crime. For example, if a person has committed aggression against another by burning him, it is permissible to exact retribution against him in the same manner. 

4.Starving prisoners or exposing them to cold, or feeding them harmful things, or preventing them from wearing clothes. If a prisoner dies because of such things, his jailer may be executed in retribution qisaas or be required to pay diyah (blood money). 

5.Removing prisoners’ clothing. This is prohibited because it uncovers their `awrah (private parts) and exposes them to physical and psychological illness. 

6.Preventing them from relieving themselves, doing ablution and praying. It is obvious that this is harmful to the prisoners’ health. Examples of Muslims’ concern for prisoners The Hadith mentioned above shows how the Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) issued commands that prisoners should be cared for and their needs for food and drink met. 

The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) often used to hand prisoners over to his Companions and urge them to treat them well. 

The Rightly-Guided Caliph `Ali ibn Abi Talib (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) used to inspect the prisons, meet the prisoners in them, and inquire about their circumstances. 

`Umar ibn `Abdul-`Aziz (RadiyAllah ‘anhu), the fifth Rightly-Guided Caliph, used to write to his employees, telling them to see how the prisoners were and to take care of the sick among them. 

Caliph Al-Mu`tadid (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) allocated 1500 dinars of the monthly budget to be spent on the needs and medical treatment of prisoners. 

When the Abbasid Caliph Al-Muqtadir (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) imprisoned one of his ministers, Ibn Muqlah, and the minister got sick. So the caliph sent the famous doctor Thabit ibn Sinan ibn Thabit ibn Qurrah to treat him in jail, and he urged him to treat him well. The doctor used to feed him with his own hand and treated him very kindly. 

At the time of the Caliph Al-Muqtadir (RadiyAllah ‘anhu), the minister `Ali ibn `Isa Al-Jarrah wrote to the head of the hospitals of Iraq at that time: “I have been thinking, may Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) grant you long life, about those who are in prison. With their large numbers and rough accommodation, they are not free from disease. They are prevented from doing things which will benefit them and meeting with doctors whom they can consult about the sicknesses they are exposed to. 

So you have to appoint doctors for them who will go in and see them every day and take them medicine and drinks, and who will go around to all the jails and treat the sick in them and prescribe medicine for them.” This care lasted throughout the reign of al-Muqtadir, al-Qahir, al-Radi and al-Muttaqi.”

________________

[drmaqazi]

RIGHTS OF PRISONERS IN ISLAM

It goes without saying that Islam caters for the physical and the psychological fitness of prisoners. In Islam, prisoners, like all other members of society, have their rights. They should be treated with care and get the due educational and religious courses that help them improve psychologically and be good citizens after they get out of the prison. While in prison, they are not to be tortured or the like. 

Focusing more on this issue, here is the fatwa issued by Sheikh Muhammad Saleh Al-Munajjid, a prominent Saudi Muslim scholar and lecturer: “Islam pays great attention to the matter of prisons and the circumstances of prisoners. It is rare to find anything similar to this in any place or time. The jurists discussed in their books the rulings pertaining to prisoners, their circumstances and how they should be treated. This concern stems from the Islamic concern for the protection of man and respect for his humanity. 

To make the matter easier to understand and to make the rulings more clear, the scholars divided the subject-matter into two parts: the rulings pertaining to the personal health of prisoners, and the rulings pertaining to health care in the place that is used as a prison. 

Rulings pertaining to the personal health of prisoners 

1.The jurists discussed the matter of imprisoning a person who is sick in the first place. Do the authorities have the right to imprison a sick person? The answer is that this is a matter of ijtihad (legal reasoning), and the final decision rests with the judge who must weigh up the reason why this person is to be imprisoned, the seriousness of his disease, and the possibility of taking care of him in jail. 

If sufficient health care is available for this sick person in prison, and he is not suffering a serious illness that could kill him if he is detained, it is permissible to imprison him. If such care is not available, the judge may hand him over to someone who can treat him and guard him, without releasing him completely, until it is possible to imprison him again. 

2.If a prisoner becomes sick while in jail and it is possible to treat him there, then he must be treated without bringing him out. Doctors and servants should not be prevented from going in to see him, treat him and serve him. If lack of treatment leads to his death, criminal charges are to be laid against those who were the cause of that, and they are to be punished. 

The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) passed by a prisoner who was in chains, and he called out, “O Muhammad, O Muhammad!” He came to him and said, “What is the matter?” He said, “I am hungry, feed me. I am thirsty, give me water.” The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) commanded that his needs should be met. (Narrated by Muslim). 

And no doubt medical treatment is what the sick person needs. But if it is not possible to treat him inside the prison, he must be taken out to a place where it is possible to treat him, under the supervision of the jail or whoever is delegated to the task of watching and guarding him. 

With regard to these rulings, the jurists do not differentiate between physical illness and psychological illness (true psychological illness, that is, as opposed to the made-up psychological illness or the regular psychological illness which many lawyers use as a means of getting criminals let off). 

Hence the jurists (Rahimullahu ‘alaihim) stated that it is not permissible to lock the door on the prisoner—so long as there is the certainty that he will not run away—or to put him in a dark room, or to harm him in any way or to do anything that will make him terrified. His relatives should not be prevented from visiting him, because this will have an effect on his health and psychology. 

3.It is prescribed for the authorities or their representative to set up a special medical wing in the prison to take care of the prisoners’ health needs. This will spare them the need to take them out to public hospitals and expose them to possible insult and humiliation. 

4.Prisoners should be allowed to see their spouses and to have intimate relations with them, if there is a suitable place for that in the jail, as a protection for them and their spouses. 

5.The jurists stated that it is obligatory to enable prisoners to do ablution and purify themselves, which is undoubtedly an important protective precaution against sickness. 

Rulings pertaining to health care in the prison 

The place that is used as a prison should be spacious, clean, well-ventilated, lit by natural sunlight, and furnished with the necessary facilities such as washrooms, etc. It is not permissible to gather such a large number of prisoners in one place that they will not be able to do ablution and pray. 

Prohibitions in disciplining or dealing with prisoners 

1.Mutilating. It is not permitted to punish a prisoner by cutting off any part of his body or breaking any of his bones. The Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) forbade mutilation of prisoners of war and said, “Do not mutilate.” (Narrated by Muslim). 

2.Hitting the face, et cetera. This is prohibited because of the humiliation involved. By the same token, it is not permitted to put chains on prisoners’ necks or to lay them on the ground to whip them, even if this is the hadd (Islamic punishment) prescribed for them, because this involves humiliation and harms their health and bodies. 

3.Punishment by fire, strangulation or holding a prisoner’s head under water. The exception is in cases of qisaas (retaliation) and where the punishment needs to fit the crime. For example, if a person has committed aggression against another by burning him, it is permissible to exact retribution against him in the same manner. 

4.Starving prisoners or exposing them to cold, or feeding them harmful things, or preventing them from wearing clothes. If a prisoner dies because of such things, his jailer may be executed in retribution qisaas or be required to pay diyah (blood money). 

5.Removing prisoners’ clothing. This is prohibited because it uncovers their `awrah (private parts) and exposes them to physical and psychological illness. 

6.Preventing them from relieving themselves, doing ablution and praying. It is obvious that this is harmful to the prisoners’ health. Examples of Muslims’ concern for prisoners The Hadith mentioned above shows how the Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) issued commands that prisoners should be cared for and their needs for food and drink met. 

The Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) often used to hand prisoners over to his Companions and urge them to treat them well. 

The Rightly-Guided Caliph `Ali ibn Abi Talib (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) used to inspect the prisons, meet the prisoners in them, and inquire about their circumstances. 

`Umar ibn `Abdul-`Aziz, the fifth Rightly-Guided Caliph, used to write to his employees, telling them to see how the prisoners were and to take care of the sick among them. 

Caliph Al-Mu`tadid (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) allocated 1500 dinars of the monthly budget to be spent on the needs and medical treatment of prisoners. 

When the Abbasid Caliph Al-Muqtadir (RadiyAllah ‘anhu) imprisoned one of his ministers, Ibn Muqlah, and the minister got sick. So the caliph sent the famous doctor Thabit ibn Sinan ibn Thabit ibn Qurrah to treat him in jail, and he urged him to treat him well. The doctor used to feed him with his own hand and treated him very kindly. 

At the time of the Caliph Al-Muqtadir (RadiyAllah ‘anhu), the minister `Ali ibn `Isa Al-Jarrah wrote to the head of the hospitals of Iraq at that time: “I have been thinking, may Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) grant you long life, about those who are in prison. With their large numbers and rough accommodation, they are not free from disease. They are prevented from doing things which will benefit them and meeting with doctors whom they can consult about the sicknesses they are exposed to. 

So you have to appoint doctors for them who will go in and see them every day and take them medicine and drinks, and who will go around to all the jails and treat the sick in them and prescribe medicine for them.” This care lasted throughout the reign of al-Muqtadir, al-Qahir, al-Radi and al-Muttaqi.”

_________________