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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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Gala (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, just lots of thirst and suggestiveness Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

Author's Note: Requested by and dedicated to @queenofmean14 Bit cracky and intended to be humorous 😜 Also credit to @broooookiecrisp from whom I pilfered the job details of her modern Anthony.

“He’s here.” Security announced in your earpiece. Not that you needed them to. You knew the Jaguar as it pulled up. So did the line of paparazzi who started to jostle for the clearest shot. But when he stepped out, you didn’t even know your own name. Anthony Bridgerton, CEO of Bridgerton House Enterprises and your boss, was going to make tonight even more difficult for you.

He had talked to you about his planned outfit beforehand, but you hadn’t gotten a preview and hadn’t envisioned it like this. A perfectly tailored velvet tux jacket accented with a diamond bee brooch. Smart shoes, an effortlessly coiffed wave of hair and most arresting of all, a pair of sleek shades that he slid on as he exited the car even though it was long past sundown. An errant corner of your brain replayed some 80’s song lyrics, but you couldn’t deny that the entire look worked. It worked entirely too well for you as your body flushed with heat and breathing suddenly became a task. The man could wear the hell out of a tux.

Granted, he always looked mouthwatering no matter how he was dressed, and as his executive assistant for the span of eight months you had seen the spectrum of his wardrobe. Everything hung so perfectly on his muscled frame, exuding old money power with a currently fashionable touch. Clothes made the man, but you suspected Anthony Bridgerton could elevate a bin bag. It was a visual challenge you had adapted to in your job, over time finding it easier and easier to speak to him without choking on your tongue first. His arrogant playfulness had helped with that and the two of you had built a deep mutual trust, a friendship even. You had bonded in the trenches of corporate crises enough to sling endearing insults at each other and always be blatantly honest. Except about one thing. You could obviously never reveal to him how desperately you wanted to jump his bones. How your blood simmered when his voice dropped to a certain pitch. How you broke into gooseflesh whenever he shook your hand and met you with something caring in his deep umber eyes. The light flirtation you both fell into from time to time certainly didn’t help either. And now with him in black tie, you began to wonder if this job was hazardous to your health.

Tonight was the company’s annual charity gala. A star-studded event at one of London’s best hotels where celebrities and socialites donated funds for the hospitals partnered with BHE. Anthony would give the closing speech and as planned, was the last to arrive on the red carpet so that he would get unencumbered press focus. You had spent the entire day on site making sure everything was prepped to perfection and now you stood at the top of the entry stairs with the other staff, ready to welcome the MVP of the evening. Given the high profile of the event, you had dressed for the occasion too. You would be seated at his table and weren’t going to be photographed looking like an intern. You had found a dress you loved, a shimmering number that showed off your best assets, and splurged on a hair and makeup artist. Maybe your position made you more akin to the prince’s valet but if this was how you got into the ball, you were going to make the most of it.

You watched Anthony pausing for photos, realizing this was one of the rare times you could observe him from afar. He moved with such confidence, back straight and head held high. He would run his fingers through his greying temples or brush a thumb over his stubbled chin while flashing that killer smile and your legs wanted to give out. He knew how to work a camera. It was one of the many awful, wonderful things about him. But if the attention helped raise money for charitable causes it was all worth it. You supposed your undergarments could suffer for the greater good.

As he moved along, you noticed he was licking his lips. A peek of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he faced your direction. He was probably hot under all the camera flashes. But that small gesture was infecting you with heat too. He really needed to stop or you were liable to tumble down the steps and really make a headline. It took all your strength not to fan yourself with the tablet you were holding until at last he ascended and gave you a dazzling smile, falling into step beside you as you moved indoors.

You hovered in his orbit as he was greeted by the first throng of attendees at the bar and you called for a flute of champagne. When he was alone at last for a moment, you pulled him into a quiet corner and offered him the drink.

“Thirsty?”

“Sorry?” He moved closer, inclining his head. He was curiously still wearing his sunglasses indoors. You could smell his cologne. Amber and smoke and spice and it made you want to sink your teeth into his neck.

“Are you thirsty?” You said louder, shoving the glass into his hand as he chuckled.

“Why do you ask?” He took a sip.

What a stupid question. Couldn’t you just offer him some refreshment? Didn’t humans need to hydrate? Now you had to answer him.

“I um…” You wavered. “I saw you. You were…licking your lips out there so I just figured…”

His brows show up over his frames and he grinned. “You’re very attentive.”

Something shot down your spine. His voice was getting close to that register. “It’s my job to take care of your needs.” You reminded him, though you laid on a heavy layer of sarcasm.

“And you are so very good at it.” He rumbled, reaching the danger pitch. Oh god, he was going to assault you both visually and aurally at the same time, wasn’t he? He was going to flirt with you while daring to look like that. He was cruel, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

He confirmed it by stepping even closer, turning so the front of his velvet jacket brushed your bare arm and he leaned down to murmur directly in your ear. “You look incredible by the way.”

You swallowed hard, instructing yourself to inhale and exhale. But that wasn’t really helping because his intoxicating scent was making things worse. You had to keep your head. You had to spar with him or else you were going to melt into the carpet. “So do you.” You pursed your lips and gave him an exaggerated once over as if you were only mildly impressed. “The glasses were a good choice.”

He smiled and you detected something genuine, like he was actually eager for your praise. He tapped the frames lightly. “Useful too. I don’t have to give anyone my undivided attention if I don’t want to. I could be talking to them while scanning the crowd and they would be none the wiser.”

This sounded like the setup for a joke. Something about not listening to you as you conducted him through his schedule for the evening. You were beginning to resent those glasses and you would let him know if he tried to get sassy with you.

“So what are you looking at?” You smirked, waiting for the punchline.

He took another sip of champagne, facing you but now you couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t staring directly over your head. “A beautiful woman who is driving me to distraction.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. The man lived at the office and didn’t really have time for a social or romantic life. He would have to double up and treat a work event as an opportunity for a hookup. Especially at an event as glamorous as this, with so many swanlike women floating around and everyone dressed in their finest, you understood, despite the envy it flared in you.

“Ah, I see. Is there someone I should invite over to your table?”

He shook his head, downed the last of the champagne and set it aside with a decisive clink. “Unnecessary. You’re already at my table.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it took your brain several seconds to even comprehend its meaning. You must have been going mad. Your heart started to pound, fueled equally by embarrassed confusion and ridiculous hope. There was no way. Absolutely no way on earth he could have said what you thought he said. And even if he had, he was just toying with you, right?

“I’m not…” You stuttered, hoping he couldn’t see the blush you felt creeping up your neck. “You weren’t…you weren't looking at me.”

Then your breath caught in your throat as he rounded on you, standing directly before you so your back was pressed against the wall and all you could see was him. He loomed, black velvet and chestnut hair and perfect stubble. That scent was making you feral and now you could feel his hot breath across your skin. You could see yourself in the reflection of his dark lenses, peering up at him like trapped prey. This was how you died. Or lost your job. You were sure of it.

“How would you know?” He smiled wolfishly and tapped the glasses again. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

You were hit by lightning. The gooseflesh rippled across your skin. Your underwear soaked. All you could do was stand there and tremble as he ran a finger idly up and down your arm. You were surprised sparks weren’t erupting out of your skin where he touched you.

“Why do you think I was licking my lips?” He asked in a low voice, finally removing the shades to pierce through you with his dilated, chocolate eyes. “I’m afraid even with the champagne, I’m still thirsty.” Then he did it again, flicking that weapon of mass destruction across his luscious bottom lip and staring at you pointedly.

Your brain functioned enough to realize that he was breathing just as heavy as you were. And that he was opening a door, giving you an option. The option you had been fantasizing about since the day you met him. It seemed too good to be true. You were half convinced you were dreaming in a coma after faceplanting down the steps outside thanks to his appearance. But the prickle of your electrified nerves and the river between your thighs felt real enough to persuade you that you were indeed still in your own body. You were not going to pass this up, whatever it might lead to. Really, you wanted to scream aloud like you had won the lottery.

But instead you whispered, “There’s water in the green room.”

He grinned broadly, creasing that dimple in his left cheek that you wanted to lick right off his face. “Excellent idea. I think we’ll need an emergency private conference to…go over my notes.”

His hand found the small of your back and you prayed that your legs would carry you that far. This was really going to throw off the itinerary but you were good at your job, you could adjust. You smiled back at him. “Whatever you say, sir. I’m here to take care of your needs.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #thirst #met gala #jonathan bailey

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reasonsforhope · 8 months ago

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When Swiss cardiologist Thomas F. Lüscher attended an international symposium in Turin, Italy, last summer, he encountered an unusual “attendee:” Suzanne, Chat GPT’s medical “assistant.” Suzanne’s developers were eager to demonstrate to the specialists how well their medical chatbot worked, and they asked the cardiologists to test her.

An Italian cardiology professor told the chatbot about the case of a 27-year-old patient who was taken to his clinic in unstable condition. The patient had a massive fever and drastically increased inflammation markers. Without hesitation, Suzanne diagnosed adult-onset Still’s disease. “I almost fell off my chair because she was right,” Lüscher remembers. “This is a very rare autoinflammatory disease that even seasoned cardiologists don’t always consider.”

Lüscher — director of research, education and development and consultant cardiologist at the Royal Brompton & Harefield Hospital Trust and Imperial College London and director of the Center for Molecular Cardiology at the University of Zürich, Switzerland — is convinced that artificial intelligence is making cardiovascular medicine more accurate and effective. “AI is not only the future, but it is already here,” he says. “AI and machine learning are particularly accurate in image analysis, and imaging plays an outsize role in cardiology. AI is able to see what we don’t see. That’s impressive.”

At the Royal Brompton Hospital in London, for instance, his team relies on AI to calculate the volume of heart chambers in MRIs, an indication of heart health. “If you calculate this manually, you need about half an hour,” Lüscher says. “AI does it in a second.”

AI-Assisted Medicine

Few patients are aware of how significantly AI is already determining their health care. The Washington Post tracks the start of the boom of artificial intelligence in health care to 2018. That’s when the Food and Drug Administration approved the IDx-DR, the first independent AI-based diagnostic tool, which is used to screen for diabetic retinopathy. Today, according to the Post, the FDA has approved nearly 700 artificial intelligence and machine learning-enabled medical devices.

The Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, is considered the worldwide leader in implementing AI for cardiovascular care, not least because it can train its algorithms with the (anonymized) data of more than seven million electrocardiograms (ECG). “Every time a patient undergoes an ECG, various algorithms that are based on AI show us on the screen which diagnoses to consider and which further tests are recommended,” says Francisco Lopez-Jimenez, director of the Mayo Clinic’s Cardiovascular Health Clinic. “The AI takes into account all the factors known about the patient, whether his potassium is high, etc. For example, we have an AI-based program that calculates the biological age of a person. If the person in front of me is [calculated to have a biological age] 10 years older than his birth age, I can probe further. Are there stressors that burden him?”

Examples where AI makes a sizable difference at the Mayo Clinic include screening ECGs to detect specific heart diseases, such as ventricular dysfunction or atrial fibrillation, earlier and more reliably than the human eye. These conditions are best treated early, but without AI, the symptoms are largely invisible in ECGs until later, when they have already progressed further...

Antioniades’ team at the University of Oxford’s Radcliffe Department of Medicine analyzed data from over 250,000 patients who underwent cardiac CT scans in eight British hospitals. “Eighty-two percent of the patients who presented with chest pain had CT scans that came back as completely normal and were sent home because doctors saw no indication for a heart disease,” Antioniades says. “Yet two-thirds of them had an increased risk to suffer a heart attack within the next 10 years.” In a world-first pilot, his team developed an AI tool that detects inflammatory changes in the fatty tissues surrounding the arteries. These changes are not visible to the human eye. But after training on thousands of CT scans, AI learned to detect them and predict the risk of heart attacks. “We had a phase where specialists read the scans and we compared their diagnosis with the AI’s,” Antioniades explains. “AI was always right.” These results led to doctors changing the treatment plans for hundreds of patients. “The key is that we can treat the inflammatory changes early and prevent heart attacks,” according to Antioniades.

The British National Health Service (NHS) has approved the AI tool, and it is now used in five public hospitals. “We hope that it will soon be used everywhere because it can help prevent thousands of heart attacks every year,” Antioniades says. A startup at Oxford University offers a service that enables other clinics to send their CT scans in for analysis with Oxford’s AI tool.

Similarly, physician-scientists at the Smidt Heart Institute and the Division of Artificial Intelligence in Medicine at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles use AI to analyze echograms. They created an algorithm that can effectively identify and distinguish between two life-threatening heart conditions that are easy to overlook: hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and cardiac amyloidosis. “These two heart conditions are challenging for even expert cardiologists to accurately identify, and so patients often go on for years to decades before receiving a correct diagnosis,” David Ouyang, cardiologist at the Smidt Heart Institute, said in a press release. “This is a machine-beats-man situation. AI makes the sonographer work faster and more efficiently, and it doesn’t change the patient experience. It’s a triple win.”

Current Issues with AI Medicine

However, using artificial intelligence in clinical settings has disadvantages, too. “Suzanne has no empathy,” Lüscher says about his experience with Chat GPT. “Her responses have to be verified by a doctor. She even says that after every diagnosis, and has to, for legal reasons.”

Also, an algorithm is only as accurate as the information with which it was trained. Lüscher and his team cured an AI tool of a massive deficit: Women’s risk for heart attacks wasn’t reliably evaluated because the AI had mainly been fed with data from male patients. “For women, heart attacks are more often fatal than for men,” Lüscher says. “Women also usually come to the clinic later. All these factors have implications.” Therefore, his team developed a more realistic AI prognosis that improves the treatment of female patients. “We adapted it with machine learning and it now works for women and men,” Lüscher explains. “You have to make sure the cohorts are large enough and have been evaluated independently so that the algorithms work for different groups of patients and in different countries.” His team made the improved algorithm available online so other hospitals can use it too...

[Lopez-Jimenez at the Mayo Clinic] tells his colleagues and patients that the reliability of AI tools currently lies at 75 to 93 percent, depending on the specific diagnosis. “Compare that with a mammogram that detects breast tumors with an accuracy of 85 percent,” Lopez-Jimenez says. “But because it’s AI, people expect 100 percent. That simply does not exist in medicine.”

And of course, another challenge is that few people have the resources and good fortune to become patients at the world’s most renowned clinics with state-of-the-art technology.

What Comes Next

“One of my main goals is to make this technology available to millions,” Lopez-Jimenez says. He mentions that Mayo is trying out high-tech stethoscopes to interpret heart signals with AI. “The idea is that a doctor in the Global South can use it to diagnose cardiac insufficiency,” Lopez-Jimenez explains. “It is already being tested in Nigeria, the country with the highest rate of genetic cardiac insufficiency in Africa. The results are impressively accurate.”

The Mayo Clinic is also working with doctors in Brazil to diagnose Chagas disease with the help of AI reliably and early. “New technology is always more expensive at the beginning,” Lopez-Jimenez cautions, “but in a few years, AI will be everywhere and it will make diagnostics cheaper and more accurate.”

And the Children’s National Hospital in Washington developed a portable AI device that is currently being tested to screen children in Uganda for rheumatic heart disease, which kills about 400,000 people a year worldwide. The new tool reportedly has an accuracy of 90 percent.

Both Lopez-Jimenez and Lüscher are confident that AI tools will continue to improve. “One advantage is that a computer can analyze images at 6 a.m. just as systematically as after midnight,” Lüscher points out. “A computer doesn’t get tired or have a bad day, whereas sometimes radiologists overlook significant symptoms. AI learns something and never forgets it.”

-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, March 1, 2024. Headers added by me.

Note:

Okay, so I'm definitely not saying that everything with AI medicine will go right, and there won't be any major issues. That's definitely not the case (the article talks about some of those issues). But regulation around medicines is generally pretty tight, and

And if it goes right, this could be HUGE for disabled people, chronically ill people, and people with any of the unfortunately many marginalizations that make doctors less likely to listen.

This could shave years off of the time it takes people to get the right diagnosis. It could get answers for so many people struggling with unknown diseases and chronic illness. If we compensate correctly, it could significantly reduce the role of bias in medicine. It could also make testing so much faster.

(There's a bunch of other articles about all of the ways that AI diagnoses are proving more sensitive and more accurate than doctors. This really is the sort of thing that AI is actually good at - data evaluation and science, not art and writing.)

This decade really is, for many different reasons, the beginning of the next revolution in medicine. Luckily, medicine is mostly pretty well-regulated - and of course that means very long testing phases. I think we'll begin to really see the fruits of this revolution in the next 10 to 15 years.

#confession I always struggle a lil bit with taking the mayo clinic seriously #because every. single. time I see it mentioned my first thought is mayonnaise #the mayonnaise clinic #lol

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pandemic-info · 4 months ago

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What Is Long COVID? Understanding the Pandemic’s Mysterious Fallout > News > Yale Medicine

Originally published: April 15, 2024. Updated: June 4, 2024

Just weeks after the first cases of COVID-19 hit U.S. shores, an op-ed appeared in The New York Times titled “We Need to Talk About What Coronavirus Recoveries Look Like: They're a lot more complicated than most people realize.”

...

Unlike most diseases, Long COVID was first described not by doctors, but by the patients themselves. Even the term “Long COVID” was coined by a patient. Dr. Elisa Perego, an honorary research fellow at University College in London, came up with the hashtag #LongCOVID when tweeting about her own experience with the post-COVID syndrome. The term went viral and suddenly social media, and then the media itself, was full of these stories.

Complaints like "I can't seem to concentrate anymore" or "I'm constantly fatigued throughout the day" became increasingly common, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. With nothing abnormal turning up from their many thorough lab tests, patients and their physicians were left feeling helpless and frustrated.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has defined Long COVID as the "continuation or development of new symptoms three months after the initial SARS-CoV-2 infection, with these symptoms lasting for at least two months with no other explanation." This deliberately broad definition reflects the complex nature of this syndrome. We now understand that these symptoms are wide-ranging, including heart palpitations, cough, nausea, fatigue, cognitive impairment (commonly referred to as "brain fog"), and more. Also, many who experience Long COVID following an acute infection face an elevated risk of such medical complications as blood clots and (type 2) diabetes.

In April 2024, an estimated 5.3% of all adults in the United States reported having Long COVID, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Data from the CDC suggest that Long COVID disproportionately affects women, and individuals between the ages of 40 and 59 have the highest reported rates of developing this post-acute infection syndrome.

...

Inderjit Singh, MBChB, a YSM assistant professor specializing in pulmonary, critical care, and sleep medicine, and director of the Pulmonary Vascular Program, is actively engaged in clinical trials aimed at uncovering the fundamental underpinnings of Long COVID.

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Through this work, a significant revelation emerged. They observed that patients grappling with Long COVID and facing exercise difficulties were unable to efficiently extract oxygen from their bloodstream during physical exertion. This discovery identifies a specific cause underlying the biological underpinnings of Long COVID.

... Dr. Singh, along with other researchers, is focused on the identification of blood-based markers to assess the severity of Long COVID. For example, a research group, led by Akiko Iwasaki, PhD, Sterling Professor of Immunobiology and Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology, and director of the Center for Infection & Immunity at YSM, most recently created a new method to classify Long COVID severity with circulating immune markers.

Further investigations conducted by Dr. Singh's team identified distinctive protein signatures in the blood of Long COVID patients, which correlated with the degree of Long COVID severity. Researchers identified two major and distinct blood profiles among the patients. Some of them exhibited blood profiles indicating that excessive inflammation played a prominent role in their condition, while others displayed profiles indicative of impaired metabolism.

...

Researchers currently believe that the impairment of a spectrum of key bodily functions may contribute to these diverse symptoms. These potential mechanisms include compromised immune system function, damage to blood vessels, and direct harm to the brain and nervous system. Importantly, it's likely that most patients experience symptoms arising from multiple underlying causes, which complicates both the diagnosis and treatment of Long COVID.

...

The last word from Lisa Sanders, MD:

I’m the internist who sees patients at Yale New Haven Health’s Multidisciplinary Long COVID Care Center. In our clinic, patients are examined by a variety of specialists to determine the best next steps for these complex patients. Sometimes that entails more testing. Often patients have had extensive testing even before they arrive, and far too often—when all the tests are normal—both doctors and patients worry that their symptoms are “all in their head.”

One of our first tasks is to reassure patients that many parts of Long COVID don’t show up on tests. We don’t know enough about the cause of many of these symptoms to create a test for them. The problem is not with the patient with the symptoms, but of the science surrounding them. If any good can be said to come out of this pandemic, it will be a better understanding of Long COVID and many of the other post-acute infection syndromes that have existed as long as the infections themselves.

#covid #long covid #article #research #study #akiko iwasaki #lisa sanders #yale medicine #2024 #june 2024 #summer 2024 #long covid research #inderjit singh

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anteroom-of-death · 9 months ago

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Teacher's Pet part 10

Synopsis: Game is preserved by game. And what games can one play? What about rewards? Our two lovers share some special moments.

A/n: Hey bitches, guess who's back from mental health crisis! Meeee. I love you all and sorry for the inconvenience and lateness!!! Slammed this one out. Quickly. Before the madness leaves me. Yall the best. Thanks

Oh, that man, you thought as you trolled the shops. Furiously as you slid the hangers across. The sound of metal slightly shrieking put you on edge. If you had been not just a post-marriage thing, but the next in a long line of so-called ‘assistants’ or ‘companions’, then you’d be the best damn one he’d ever have.

He wanted to play like he was human, play house with you. Something he never did before, he told you. There was a comfort and a ring of truth in those words. A lie? You felt yourself question. Or was he actually just telling the truth?

Maybe alien men weren’t total pigs like human men…you reasoned with yourself.

So many thoughts were swimming in your mind.

You angrily scooped up a few dresses and made your way to the changing room.

You chose a black number, slightly strappy, mid-length and a lower square neckline. You brought a little cardigan and it would match perfectly. The way the skirt flared gently but still held some grip to your thighs was excellent at providing some semblance of elegance. It hit at your knee, classy.

Now onto shoes…

You got a message from your Doctor, you headed to a café.

It was all very nice. Trite, but felt authentic. His long fingers carding through your hair felt lovely. It felt like a return to what you had back in Bristol. Your mind was calm, placid and you felt a bit better about the whole damn thing.

Like your walls were removed.

Sooner or later, you had to get ready and then the ebb of dark thoughts came back in tiny waves. You got frustrated and just started patting on a thick layer of glitter, and maybe a tad bit too much highlighter cream on.

You caught your reflection in the mirror. You looked manic. Beautiful, but oh-so-fucking-crazy. You toned down things just a tad.

Just a tad, you still wanted to be breathtaking…

You went back and leaned on the bed and caught your breath. You did your breathing exercises and collected yourself and gave one final check in the reflection of the metal of the barrack wall.

Once joining him, the nerves subsided. You mentally wondered if he had some pheromones or something like that. It felt good, though, safe.

The evening began and you went out with nary a hitch.

He took you to see some contrived show about the nature of social media and the ephemeral nature of family. (And murder!) You tried to enjoy it, you really did, but in the dark of the theatre, his face pale enough to reflect the stage light and the fact you could feel an electric current running through the two of you as you leaned in or lightly touched, your mind went slightly south.

The man was too attractive for your own good. And your lack of attention span was driving you to look at his face most of the time.

Thankfully, the play ended.

Performers came out to bow, lights went up and you were ushered out.

He even treated you to a bit of a romantic dinner. Although, he did grumble about there not being a children’s menu.

Almost very human.

You let your entire guard down.

It was impossible to not.

This entire day was disarming. More disarming than yesterday!

Your conflicted feelings fell away more and more. Outside of little trips to London for this whole UNIT thing, you could go back to Bristol. Go back to being (y/n) and Professor Smith. Build something real. Build something tangible.

You loaded yourselves into a cab back to the UNIT head quarters. His hands were also distractions. They felt so cruelly good inside or on you. They were also emotive and caring. Creatures in their own rights.

Suddenly, you felt very brave and extra insane.

You wanted them inside you in this very cab. And damn it! You were going to get your way!

You grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your right thigh, and leaned in to his ear, your other hand lightly toying with his hair.

“Fuck me with your fingers. Here, now.” You whispered, your voice going slightly husky.

He looked at you, a severe look passed and faded before he let out a slight laugh. Soft, but with a hint of something behind it.

“Now, my fawn?” Slightly shocked, but a Cheshire grin came out.

“Right now.” You ordered gently, the whisper came out a more a huff of air than a spoken set of words.

“One moment.” He said, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket. He grabbed something and pressed a button on it. It let a little noise.

“What is that?”

“Screwdriver, it’ll give us privacy. More or less.”

You nodded, a slightly slack-jawed, “Ah.” Escaped your mouth. “Some screwdriver.”

“You don’t even understand the half of it.” He said, as he leaned in to kiss your jaw and placed on hand at the hollow of your throat.

When he finally worked his way to your pussy, he slid with a finger your panties over.

“Already so soaked? Good girl…” He cheesed.

It made your head roll back. In your moment of ballsy control, he somehow made himself the one in charge. A mental flip over…

And you didn’t particularly mind.

Damn him.

You felt that deft long middle finger find your clit. His index and ring finger found themselves in the middle of your folds. You rolled your hips over and your legs parted a little bit more against the fabric of your dress. The circular motions of the finger on your clit driving you a little bit crazy…

You braced yourself against the seat of the cab.

He scooped his fingers down deep into you, pressing deep onto the walls. He kissed you and bit gently at your chin.

You moaned into the top of his mouth.

His long hands had the benefit of him being able to continue his motions on your clit and he stroked the lowest part of your pussy with his pinky finger.

The other three worked you senseless.

“You’re so filthy.” He praised you. The ‘r’ in ‘you’re’ drilled inwards.

Your stomach fluttered and flipped around.

You let out a grunting heave. Your hands firmly around his body and gripping the back of the seat. He worked his way against your walls more. Penetrating deeper, still.

Unfortunately for you, the big stupid tower that UNIT had was approaching in the foreground.

He grazed your chest with his teeth and pulled out of you. He took out the screwdriver and it made that noise again.

He paid the driver and pulled you out.

“Now, you be good and quiet through the hallways and I’ll give you what you want.” He ordered you.

You nearly flailed out.

There were still staff and soldiers milling about, as you went towards the lift, some even approached him with questions.

You were still wet and dreadfully turned-on! And twitchy. It seemed painfully unfair, he wound you up just enough to make you literally insane!

You needed him to fuck you.

You could literally feel the absence of his fingers inside you. Like a gaping wound.

Cruel.

The seconds dragged on for what seemed like years. These underlings of his really could drag themselves on! It was wholly unfair. The several Cocktails with St Germaine and Vodka and the level of lust hazing your vision and your orders to be quiet. You wanted to beg him to finish fucking you.

Soon enough you were in the stupid barracks.

“Strip.” He ordered plainly, unbuckling his pants and pulling down his pants and his underwear. His cock already standing at full attention.

You shimmied out of your dress and underwear.

“Kneel.”

You kneeled.

“You’ll get my hands in you if you do good here. I know you will.” His tone was somewhere between an order and a negotiable thoughtfulness. With a tad bit of praise wrapped in.

You really needed him to get you off. It was up there in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. ‘Get the Doctor’s fingers inside of you.’

So you obeyed.

You scooted forward and wrapped your hands around his ass and opened your mouth. You cracked your neck and inhaled. You pressed your tongue down on over your lower teeth and wrapped your upper lip over your top teeth. You slicked your tongue out just a bit more as you worked your way down his shaft.

He stabilized himself in your hair and the base of your neck, guiding you down deeper. He was fully inside your mouth. Gently, but still, he helped you go up and down as you continued to go down on him. A symbiotic, well-oiled machine. He guided you down and you licked and applied pressure.

All while you were still aching. All the need for him intensifying as you just kept clenching your thighs together. As if that’d stop the sensation of want…

This little trade-off was driving you mad!

You licked his entire shaft, swirling your tongue as you both continued the motions. Edging him with the hot breath coming out onto his tip, you clasped a tighter grip on his ass. You slipped down and went to purse your lips around the base…

He pulled himself out of your mouth.

“I’m going to finger you, as you want. Then…’ He said, pulling you up and shoving you onto the bed, flourishing his fingers…”I want to cum inside your mouth later.”

He pushed apart your legs and gave a deep lick to your cunt. Hard, quick, and lingering around.

He was insane! This was the most aggressive he’d ever been with you sexually. He braced himself on the bed frame and peered deep into your eyes as he maneuvered his other arm, and hand, down inside of you. You let out a giant tremble as he lay over you, dragging out the heavy petting and large sweeps inside you.

You gulped.

He somehow managed to get a few fingers inside you, probably because you were so soaked, and you were so nervous and eager to please. Or he was rather good with his fingers.

He played guitar.

Maybe that was why…

Your mind wandered gently away and you wanted to ask him to play for you…

You were so close. The waiting in the halls and him making you service him, really was a dangerous cocktail. A torture device, well fit for whatever this paramilitary organization had in their arsenals…

And here he was, fingers engulfed in your wet heat.

Suddenly you felt a shattering static, and the intoxicating waves of an orgasm and alcohol teamed up against you. You swore you could feel your vision somewhat fading around the edges. You felt rapidly breathless and were slow-blinking away from your orgasm waving through you.

The old man pulled his way up and gently pulled you down. You met halfway between the two.

“Open wide, sweetheart.” He cooed as he gripped his cock, jerking it. “Get that sharp tongue out. Don’t be shy, fawn.” It came out a velvet-wrapped order.

And yet again, you obeyed his orders to the mark!

Warm and salty, he came onto your tongue and tapped himself dry on your tongue.

You never liked the taste of cum, but you swallowed it, you figured that alien cum wasn’t as bad as human cum.

You tried to not gag…

He saw you balking at the taste and pet your hair.

“So good for me…you’re perfect, aren’t you?”

You nodded your head in affirmation.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

After a moment or two in just a lock up, you decided to shower. He joined you, simple, clean fun. Oddly sexless.

The morning came and you woke without a startle for the first time in what felt like your entire life. His one arm was wrapped around you, the feeling of his odd, two-hearted beating thrumming along. Like a white noise machine. His chest was pressed in earnest against your back.

It was the first time you’ve slept with a man, like truly, in the most simple description in years. It felt wonderful.

You didn’t know what time it was, your phone was still in your purse and the room lacked a clock, as far as you could tell. It was also windowless.

You managed to wriggle your way out to go to the bathroom and checked. It was half-eleven. He began to stir.

“Hey, go back to sleep.” You walked over and swooped a bit of his hair to the side. “I’ll go for a quick walk, I’ll be soon.” He rolled over and nodded.

You went out to check your phone, go outside and have a smoke, and prowl about. The hallways were milling with people and soldiers, busy.

You exited and lit up, Petronella was approaching the entrance.

“Hey, I know the perfect place for a brunch.” She exclaimed, clearly happy about the chance encounter.

You quickly dropped your cigarette and exhaled away from her face, remembering her asthma.

After a quick exchange you made your way back up to the barrack. He was fiddling around with some device. You’d like to think he changed his focus the minute he noticed that you entered, but it was a few seconds and he kept running his fingers and a real screwdriver on some screws as he went to look at you.

“So I was thinking that you and I could go to brunch.” You launched the idea. “Could be fun. Way better than a trip to Starbucks.” You added on.

“I could eat.” He announced.

The process to get you both out the door was a bit tough. As you kept find yourselves simply unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He was incorrigible!

But you did it anyway.

It was nice, Petronella came in clutch for you. It wasn’t a place catering to the yummy mummy crowd, nor the drunk hipster crowd. Very cozy. The seats were lush and you got a cozy, semi-cramped corner booth. All coiled up together…

You downed your first Bellini and your dishes were coming out.

You kept yourself from blurting out something.

The second Bellini pried it out.

“So tell me about these past companions…” You finally dropped as you sopped up a bit of oil with a piece of bread, you didn’t need to be completely sloshed yet.

He let out of derisive snort.

“I ran away with my granddaughter from my home planet. She encouraged me to pick up traveling companions when she married an Earthling. It’s been a cycle ever since. Although. I did give up after the last one. Especially after all my memories of her returned…no more companions. No more travel. Rehabilitate my ex-partner from my school days until she’s sane and no longer wants to take over the cosmos and kill off anyone. Catch and release. Teach on Earth until the planet meets it’s fire-y end.” He explained it all so nonchalantly. Boiled down. Reductive.

You nodded along and took a sip of his coffee.

“Never expected you, but, you’re my jealous little secret.” A dark, yet warm grim blazed across his face.

“And….how many….have you slept with?” You circled your pinky around the top of his glass.

“A few, rarely. I’m rather…adverse to sexuality usually. Sometimes it’s the right body and right time. Last one was this woman named Clara, we rubbed off on each other so poorly. She became too like me and I her, she died and I lost my mind, finally in the position I’ve left so many in. Four point five billion years inside of a hell of my creation to try to save her. In the end, my memory was wiped. It was brought back thanks to the ex-partner. You should meet her. One day. Missy is…Missy.” It seemed like his honesty had some subversion but still rang true.

“It’s a huge catalyst for why I’m retired from my endeavors. I’ll help UNIT out, but I need to find some peace. I’m an old man. I deserve a bit of rest.”

“Four point five billion years old.” You nodded, eyes bugged out of your head. “How’d that even work?”

“Oh, my ship is a time machine. She’s the big thing that’s covered in cloth in my office near my windows. She’s a Type-40 TARDIS. But because Clara rejected her resurrection, so to speak, the years snapped back. I’m only two thousand, as I said the other night!”

And here you were feeling slightly insane over thinking him in his sixties previously in the last week…

You scooped your hair put of your own face.

“Can’t fault you for wanting a break. I’m exhausted and I’m virtually just starting out in life. Can’t imagine living that long…” You gave a long hard stare into the distance…

You definitely couldn’t fault him there, having lovers. Or being too jealous. He was so...old…there was no way around it.

You especially couldn’t be worked up over his body count. You probably matched each other in some ways.

That was a lot of unpacking and decentering you had to do.

Your learning was never really done.

After all, you stop learning, you stop living…

“Any more inquiries?” He seemed to be jokingly prodding.

“Just don’t take me…off planet or back in time. Especially back in time.” You pointed to your face as if it were the obvious reason why that wouldn’t work.

“I never intend to.” He promised.

“Good.”

You finished up and made you way out, you took a walk around a park for a while, arms joined together.

It was nice. Like something in your life had finally clicked into place. Safety, potentially love, awareness…all that trite shit.

You couldn’t shake some feelings nor the sensation in your brain that something may be up.

But that was for future (y/n) to deal with. Today was just about relaxing with your man. Being normal. Finally getting something normal.

Maybe you both were being rewarded here.

#personal #i wrote this #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #reader x 12th doctor #you x 12th doctor #12th doctor x you #peter capaldi #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #self insert #teacher student #whouffaldi mentioned #yipee #i have an axe to grind #yayyyy #its my universe and yoire just living in it

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 8 months ago

Note

With the anon’s comment about no one wanting Charles’ medical information, I feel like a lot of the time when things happen in the Royal world anons and bloggers end up going into this in-depth analysis on things when really there’s not as much to it as they’re making it out to be. The theories discussed were about no one caring about Prince Philip’s details or Charles’ but obviously someone was tempted to see if they could find out what was going on with Kate simply because of the public interest and hysteria that’s going on. People have been made curious by the media hype. Plus, Charles made his condition public in the first place. Also, we could look at what happened with the Queen and there was little interest around her specific condition but that’s because the palace firmly went with the story all along (or implied) that it was just old age. Also the fact the Queen and Prince Philip were old so it was expected to see them deteriorating.

But why is there so much more public interest and hysteria about Kate in the first place, when Charles, Philip, and The Queen have gone through very similar things?

All Kate/KP did was make the same statement that they've all made: "The royal is in hospital X for surgery on {body part}. She will be in the hospital for X days. She is doing well."

The statement for the Queen's knee surgery:

The Queen this morning underwent a minor operation at the King Edward VII Hospital in London to remove a torn cartilage in her right knee. The 45-minute operation, which was performed by The Queen's orthopaedic surgeon Mr Roger Vickers, went very well and Her Majesty is expected to leave hospital tomorrow morning. Mr Vickers was assisted by Mr Adrian Fairbank. The anaesthetist was Dr Robert Linton and The Queen's physician, Dr Richard Thompson, was in attendance. The Queen is expected to be fully active again within a few weeks. Her Majesty will rest at Sandringham over the next two weeks and will then resume a limited programme of engagements until she has made a full recovery.

The statement for Philip's hip replacement:

"The Duke of Edinburgh has undergone a successful hip replacement operation. He is progressing satisfactorily at this early stage. His Royal Highness is likely to remain in hospital for several days. He is comfortable and in good spirits.”

The statement for Philip's abdomen surgery:

"His Royal Highness the duke of Edinburgh has been admitted to the London Clinic for an exploratory operation following abdominal investigations. He is expected to stay in hospital for up to two weeks. Further updates will be issued when appropriate. He is in very good health."

The statement for Margaret's lung surgery:

″Princess Margaret underwent an operation at the Brompton Hospital yesterday for the removal of a small area of her left lung which proved to be innocent. Her condition is satisfactory and it’s expected that she will leave hospital within the week.″

The statement for Sophie's emergency operation:

"Her Royal Highness the Countess of Wessex is currently recovering in the King Edward VII Hospital following an emergency operation. The Countess was taken to hospital by air ambulance after feeling unwell overnight. She is expected to stay in hospital for the next few days. The Earl of Wessex has been with the Countess following her operation. I cannot comment on the nature of the operation. Her condition is described as comfortable."

And yet, all this hysteria surrounding Kate. Why?

Misogyny.

It's nothing to do with Charles being more transparent about his condition. In fact, one would argue that Charles had to be more forthcoming because he's the head of state and there's an expectation of duty. Look at how much detail is in the statement about The Queen's knee operation compared to the rest. That's the same amount of detail provided in the first statement about Charles's health issue. He didn't need to provide further detail about the cancer diagnosis; the palace could've just deferred to the original statement that he had to postpone public engagements for recuperation since they never provided a timeline on what that recuperation was supposed to look like other than "short." But "short" can be subjective.

Edit: I fixed the {body party} typo. 🤦‍♀️

#ask #brf #waleses

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silicacid · 1 year ago

Text

List of healthcare workers killed by Israel attacks on Gaza since October 7, 2023

Physicians:

Dr. Omar Ferwana, a Professor and former Dean of the Islamic University of Gaza Medical School and an andrologist, Gaza

Dr. Aya Ferwana (Dr Omar Ferwana’s daughter), a family medicine specialist, Gaza

Dr. Medhat Saidam, a senior burn and plastic surgeon, Shifa Hospital, Gaza and MSc in Burn Care alumnus from Queen Mary University of London

Dr. Mohammed Dabour, a consultant pathologist and dean of pre-clinical medicine at the Islamic University of Gaza Medical School

Dr. Tamer Al-Khayyat, an anesthesiologist and intensivist, European Gaza Hosptial, Rafah

Dr. Mahmoud Al-Khayyat, an internist in Rafah and Dr Tamer Al-Khayyat’s father

Dr. Razan Al-Rakhawi (Dr Tamer Al-Khayyat’s wife), an obstetric and gynecologist, Emirati Women’s Hospital, Rafah

Dr. Sereen Al-Attar a consultant obstetric and gynecologist at Nasser Hospital, Khan Younis and an Assistant Professor at the Islamic University of Gaza Medical school

Dr. Saeed Drabieh, a urology resident, Shifa Hospital

Dr. Mohammed Al-Samarai, Iraqi volunteer intern physician

Dr. Rafat Abou Foul, radiologist, Beit Hanoun Hospital

Dr. Amal Al-Maqadma, family medicine specialist, Rafah

Dr. Ibtihal Al-Astal, intern doctor, Khan Younis

Dr. Duaa Awad, emergency medicine doctor, Al-Aqsa Hospital

Dr. Moath Nabaheen, emergency medicine doctor, Al-Aqsa Hospital

Dr. Youssef Jadallah, intensivist and anesthesiologist (based in Germany, from Gaza but was visiting his family)

Dr. Inas Yousef, emergency medicine doctor, Al-Aqsa Hospital

Dr. Israa Al-Ashqar, anesthesiology resident, Shifa Hospital, Gaza

Dr. Abdallah Ashour, emergency medicine doctor, Nasser Hospital, Khan Younis

Dr. Hamam El-Deeb, orthopaedic surgery resident, Shifa Hospital, Gaza

Dr. Munther Abu Sariya, consultant pediatrician, Mohammed Al-Durra Pediatric Hospital

Dr. Doaa Shammout, pediatric resident, Rantisi Hospital, Gaza

Dr. Baraa Abu Elaish, intern doctor, Gaza

Dr. Abdlallah El-Helou, general practitioner/internal medicine doctor, Indonesian/Beit Hanoun Hospital

Dr. Muhannad Ezzo Afana, general practitioner, Gaza

Dr. Mohammed Refaat Mekki,

Dentists:

Dr. Ahmed Al-Hourani

Dr. Nada Mahdi

Dr. Ibrahim Al-Dali

Dr. Bilal Lubbad

Dr. Marwa Swelim

Dr Areej Eid

Dr. Tawfiq Al-Farra

Dr. Abdallah Baghdadi

Dr. Jameel Tarazi

Dr. Maysoon Al-Nuweiri

Dr. Mona Dughmush

Dr. Noha Dughmush

Dr. Mamoun Afana

Dr. Mohammed Afana

Dr. Anis Mekki

Dr. Tasneem Abdulnabi

Medical/dental students:

Bisan Halasa

Shaimaa Saydam

Abedelrahman Abu Shammala

Nour Al-Ashqar

Yaseen Al-Akhras

Osama Abu Safia

Duha Dughmush

Haneen Al-Shannat

Abdallah Abu Jayab

Zainab Azzam

Mohammed Abu Jiadan

Medical Scientists:

Prof. Salah El-Din Zanoun

Prof. Ahmed Al-Dalo

Prof. Ameed Mushtaha (Head of laboratories department and blood banks

Nurses:

Mohammed Lubbad

Mohammed Al-Azzaiza

Ahmed Moshtaha

Rami Lubbad

Somaya Temraz

Mohammed Rafat Gomaa

Osama A'eed Abu Safiya

Saber Al-Nimnim

Mohammed Hamad

Mohammed Al-Baz

Suleiman Abu Zour

Badr Mohammed Abu Daqah

Shaimaa Rayan (Midwife)

Maryam Abou Daher

Kefah San’allah

Walaa Adwan (Midwife)

Rawaa Al-Thalathini (Midwife)

Samah Rasheed (Midwife)

Rida Al-Masri (Midwife)

Ibrahim Abou Isaac

Amjad Abou Ouda

Ibrahim Al-Farra

Aya Al-Shrafi

Tamer Al Efesh

Momen Mansour

Asmaa Al-Asar

Feras Ftaiha

Diaa Bardaweel

Rana Shalaby

Itemad Miqdad

Zainab Al-Sharafi

Hamdan Malaka

Suheer Jbara

Hassan Al-Hennawi

Sabha Al-Sherafi

Azmi Al-Jamal

Yousef Al-Shareef

Hadeel Fanqa

Emad Esleem

Enas Al-Zeen

Heba Salamah

Nuha Esleem

Amro Masoud

Hanya Qudaih

Mohammed Al-Moqayyed

Ali Nasrallah

Tariq Abu Obaid (cardiac perfusion specialist)

Ahmed Al-Nuweiri

Abdulrahman Shaheen (Ziada)

Ahmed Mahmoud Alrann

Dr. Yahya Abduljawad Juda (Public Health, nurse)

Haytham Tawfiq Alnabih

Loai Alzuhairi (Nursing student)

Saleem Abu Zour

Waleed ElMahalawi

Rola Althalathini (Midwife)

Duaa Ashour

Amer Elramlawi

Safa Zeino

Saja Doghmosh

Moayad Ezzo Afana

Ramadan Doghmosh

Moemen Arab (Nursing student)

Oun Nofal Ashour (Nursing student)

Paramedics (EMS providers):

Marwan Abou Raida

Hatem Awad

Khalil Al-Sharif

Ahmed Al-Dahman

Yousri Al-Masri

Ahmed Abdel Rahman

Mohammed Al-Ghaliz

Mohammed Ali

Iyad Salim

Abdelrahim Abou Baid

Alaa Abou Ghanima

Naji Al Fayoumi

Mohammed Qateet

Tareq Ashour

Mahmoud Abou Mashayekh

Nafeth Al-Natour

Mahmoud Othman

Mohammed ElOmour

Ibrahim Matar

Yasser Alnaseri

Physiotherapists:

Ahmed Al-Masri

Ahmed Sameh Abou Herbeed

Shaimaa Sbaih

Mayar Al-Wahidi

Ahmed Ashraf

Shahrazad Al-Akhras

Nour Ibrahim

Pharmacists:

Ahmed Al-Jerjawi

Aziz Elfarra

Afnan Al-Astal

Shereen Abou Jazar

Eman Abu Al-Jalil

Safaa Hasouna

Ibraheem Meqdad

Mohammed Ali

Maysaa Khader

Nisreen Al-Dammagh

Sally Al-Aydi (Pharmacy student at AlAzhar University)

Mohammed Al-Shannat

Lina Abu Mualaileq

Noor Ibean

Haneen Albasyouni

Amira Dahman

Rawand Albanna

Khaled Abu Ma’ala

Amal Mekki

Abdullah Altartori (Pharmacy student at AlAzhar University)

Asmaa Abu Salah (Pharmacy student at AlAzhar University)

Mohammad Alshami

Lab technicians/clinical microbiologists:

Natheer Shaban

Asmaa Hijazi

Rawan Yassin

Alia Al Hinnawi

Maryam Kabaja

Nahid Abdullatef

Mohammed Abu Karsh

Mohammed Shabaan

Riham Elkahlout

Ismail Sharaf

Taiseer Alghouti

Abdulmohsin Abu Alrous

Duaa Jad Allah

Optometrists:

Omar Khorsheed

#gaza genocide #gaza #palestine #183 healthcare workers

36 notes · View notes

houseofbrat · 3 months ago

Text

04 JUNE 2024: US Weekly, "Inside Kate Middleton's Recovery: She 'May Never Come Back' in Royal Role We Remember (Exclusive)"

According to the second source, Kate’s team is “reevaluating what she’s going to be able to take on when she comes back,” noting, “She may never come back in the role that people saw her in before.”

[...] The reprieve is a welcome one for the couple. “The announcement that the royals won’t be able to work as much has been unexpected, but it will allow Kate and William to spend more time together,” says the second source. “They’ve been reconnecting and are closer than ever.”

05 JUNE 2024: Tom Sykes of The Daily Beast, "Kate Middleton ‘May Never Come Back’ as She Was: Report" [archive link]

In remarks likely to displease the palace, which has sought a blackout on reporting about Kate’s health apart from official updates, the outlet added that Kate has been spotted out and about with family and on her own.

06 JUNE 2024: William attends D-Day 80th Anniversary celebrations in France.

07 JUNE 2024: NY Post, "Kate Middleton not pressuring herself to see anyone amid cancer battle: ‘Doesn’t care truly what anyone thinks’" [archive link]

“Kate’s recovery is a one day-at-a-time thing,” an insider told Life & Style. “She’s not putting any pressure on herself to do anything or see anyone because deadlines in a situation like this can make the recovery way more stressful. She doesn’t care truly what anyone thinks.” [...] And while her home life seems to be as strong as can be — especially after insiders said that she and William are now “closer than ever” — the same can’t be said for her royal duties at this time. A source claimed this week that Princess Catherine “may never come back in the role that people saw her in before.”

08 JUNE 2024: Emily Prescott, Daily Mail, "Princess Kate rewards 'Girl Friday' Natasha Archer for her loyalty with new top job as senior private executive at the Palace" [archive link]

In a move that has been interpreted in Royal circles as a reward for her loyalty, Ms Archer has been appointed to the new role of senior private executive assistant to Kate and William. Ms Archer, 36, updated her profile on the LinkedIn career website last week to reflect her upgraded status. Previously she was a PA and stylist, and was pictured carrying Kate's bags on and off planes for Royal tours. Ms Archer's promotion follows reports that she personally collected The Princess of Wales from the London Clinic after her abdominal operation earlier this year. After that, the mother of two was brought into the innermost circle of select friends and family members who have been supporting the Princess through her private cancer battle. Sources say Ms Archer, who is married to Royal photographer Chris Jackson, has been dedicated to her employer. She has been inseparable from Kate in recent months, often assisting her as she travels to and from hospital appointments. Now she will have a title and salary that reflects her trusted status.

09 JUNE 2024: Reddit post stating Kate had been seen at the St. Regis in Houston, Texas.

10 JUNE 2024: Rumor then starts that Kate is being treated at MD Houston Cancer Center on Twitter.

Houston Chronicle posts an article with a response by Kensington Palace to the rumor. [archive link]

A rumor that Kate Middleton is being treated at the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston is false, according to a Kensington Palace representative. Speculation about the princess' location has grown since she announced her cancer diagnosis in March. She began preventative chemotherapy in February, according to Kensington Palace, with no estimated date of when she might return to public duties.

11 JUNE 2024: Tom Sykes of The Daily Beast, "No Timeframe’ for Kate Middleton’s Return to Royal Duties: Source" [archive link]

Another source, an old friend of the family, said that they thought it would be “bizarre” if Kate appeared on the balcony at Trooping the Colour this weekend having declined to appear for her own regiment a week before. “I think this idea that Kate is suddenly going to pop up on the balcony on Saturday is far-fetched,” they said. “It would be wonderful, of course, but more than slightly bizarre given that she bowed out of the Colonel’s review.” [...] The Daily Beast has reported that Kate may not be seen publicly until next year, while the Daily Mail reported that Kate’s friends have said “we might not see Catherine again until the autumn—and only then if she has recovered fully.” Us Weekly alleged that the Princess of Wales’ team is “reevaluating what she’s going to be able to take on when she comes back.” The palace has dismissed such reports as speculation. Her office has reiterated that she needs “space and time” to convalesce.

13 JUNE 2024: Richard Eden of the Daily Mail writes about Andrew and Royal Lodge:

There has been some suggestion, it is true, that the Prince and Princess of Wales and their three children could move into 30-room Royal Lodge. The Waleses currently live in four-bedroom Adelaide Cottage at Windsor. However, a source close to William and Catherine tells me they are very happy there and have no wish to leave. In due course, they will occupy Windsor Castle. ‘The last thing William and Catherine would want is a load of controversy about their getting another big house,’ says a friend. ‘They already have their large home at Kensington Palace and their Norfolk property, Anmer Hall, in addition to Adelaide Cottage. There was a fair bit of criticism of the cost of renovations to their Kensington Palace home and they would not want to go through all that again.’

Tiktoker said she saw Kate shopping with Charlotte and Louis. [archive link]

Kate Middleton was reportedly seen on a shopping spree with two of her children, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis, at a popular clothing store. The claim has been made by a TikTok user @lolchesss, on the video platform, who saw the Princess of Wales out and about with her younger ones, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis. However, she clarified that she didn’t take any photos or videos in a bid to respect her privacy as the future Queen of England continues her public absence amid a cancer battle.

14 JUNE 2024: Kate announces she will attend Trooping the Colour:

Additional commentary regarding Kate's public statement:

(William made a separate statement regarding Kate's "start to engage with the work and projects," as he was not part of Kate's statement.)

Eleanor Hayward, The Times, "Kate’s ‘bad days’ from chemo will be brutally familiar to others" [archive link]

Kate is having preventative chemotherapy, also known as adjuvant chemotherapy. This is when drugs are given to “mop up” and destroy any cancer cells that are lurking in the body after surgery — to prevent cancer spreading or returning in future. Often patients undergoing preventative chemotherapy receive lower doses than those having it as a primary treatment, reducing the extremity of the side-effects. The length of chemotherapy varies from cancer to cancer. Professor Bob Phillips, professor of paediatric oncology at the University of York, said that the timeframe for chemotherapy treatment was “hugely variable”, adding that it was “traditionally between four and six ‘cycles’ of chemo, each cycle lasting 21 days and consisting of a day or few days of chemo”. He added that there would then be “time for the body to recover from it”, while the chemo keeps damaging the cancer cell. Phillips said: “Generally speaking, the healthier someone is before cancer treatment, the closer to optimal the amount of chemo and the gaps between chemo can be. Generally, the younger someone is, the healthier they will be.” [...] He added that preventative chemotherapy can “be given at lower doses and therefore be easier on the patients."

15 JUNE 2024: Kate attends Trooping the Colour and stands on the balcony for the flypast.

Allison Pearson creates a fire storm with her piece, "Our Fair Lady: Princess of Wales’s selfless display was the tonic that Britain needed"

Two words: Thank you. Thank you Princess of Wales for being an absolute trouper and attending Trooping the Colour on a cold, grey day when lesser mortals with your illness would have stayed home, tucked up in their jim-jams. Thank you for sacrificing the privacy that is so much needed to get you back to full health. Thank you for such a show of support for the King, who is not a well man, on his official birthday, and for giving a boost to the wider Royal family – which has sorely lacked star power since you withdrew from public life in January to have major surgery. Thank you for channelling the gamine beauty of Audrey Hepburn in that wow of a white dress with a jaunty, outsize, stripy black-and white bow. You are Our Fair Lady.

16 JUNE 2024: Kensington Palace releases a new photo of William and three kids for Father's Day.

21 JUNE 2024: Kensington Palace releases a new photo of William and three kids for his 42nd birthday.

(No photo was released for Kate's birthday in January.)

Tom Sykes, The Daily Beast, "William and Kate Will ‘Encourage’ Charlotte and Louis to Not Be Working Royals" [archive link]

They were speaking after a report in the Daily Mail said William not only agreed with his father King Charles’ drive to slim down the monarchy but would go even further. The report cited a friend as saying: “When the older members of the family retire, (William) won’t be inviting anyone else to become working royals. It remains to be seen if he will even want his two younger children to be working royals.” The source said of the report, “It’s absolutely true. The option isn’t there for George, of course, but the children have been kept at arm’s length from royal life. They are exposed to the minimum possible publicity, and that is a deliberate strategy to let Charlotte and Louis choose their own destiny.” [...] Critics, of course, will argue that if the couple don’t want the children to take on formal royal duties, they should stop promoting them, and the royal family should stop using them to market itself. The children are often featured in Wales family photos (most recently their Father’s Day snap with William, and Wales promotional videos, such as those released after Trooping the Colour, which featured the kids extensively. Prince Louis’s facial antics have made him a superstar, and similarly Princess Charlotte is seen as a commanding big sister.

22 JUNE 2024: Kensington Palace releases a photo of William, George, Charlotte, and Taylor Swift:

25 JUNE 2024: Sophie, The Duchess of Edinburgh, is seen wearing the Lotus Flower Tiara, which was previously worn by Kate from 2013 to 2022, at the state dinner for Japan. The Lotus Flower Tiara no longer appears to be in the possession of (or loaned out to) Kate.

03 JULY 2024: William attends the Order of the Thistle service in Edinburgh with King Charles & Queen Camilla.

04 JULY 2024: William spotted on a scooter at Windsor Castle.

06 JULY 2024: William attends the Euro quarterfinal between England and Switzerland.

People magazine (US) announces that William will star in a documentary about his short-lived effort, Homewards, this fall. [archive link]

The Prince of Wales' Homewards program, dedicated to ending homelessness, will be featured in a compelling two-part ITV documentary series that will air on ITV1 and ITVX this fall. Titled Prince William: We Can End Homelessness, the series will chronicle the first year of this five-year initiative. Viewers will follow Prince William, 42, as he launches Homewards across the U.K., capturing the stories of individuals currently facing homelessness and those with lived experience.

Last day of school for George, Charlotte, and Louis at Lambrook School until Wednesday, 04 September 2024.

Kate sends a "personal message" to Andy Murray on Twitter.

08 JULY 2024: Ellie Hall publishes "The Disappearing Timeline of Rose Hanbury" for Vulture (New York magazine). [archive link]

As far as royal scandals go, the Rose-William story barely registers on a list that includes the far more sordid (and substantiated) stories of the previous generation of Windsors, such as Squidgygate, the now-King Charles’s infamous tampon comments, and the whole Fergie toe-sucking thing.

The Telegraph posits that The Duchess of Gloucester may present trophies at Wimbledon in Kate's absence. [archive link]

The Duchess of Gloucester has been earmarked as a likely candidate to present the Wimbledon trophies this weekend if the Princess of Wales is unavailable, as she continues her recovery from cancer treatment. All England Club Chair Debbie Jevans told Telegraph Sport in the build-up to the Championships they would give the Princess “as much flexibility as possible” in determining whether she is able to fulfil her ceremonial duties as Club Patron on finals weekend, including leaving a decision until the morning of the women’s final on Saturday.

TIMELINE:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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wingsoverlagos · 7 months ago

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Hi, wingsoverlagos! Love your blog from The Bruce McMouse Show' Paul to your posts on magic Lewisohn. Thank you a lot! And not that it matters but I thought about you when read this comment on youtube (by @DrAnne-mc8er, who tells nice and seems truely stories about her family, especially on her unkle worked with The Beatles in 1969, and her own childhood near Paul, John, George and Ringo),

'… I've kept written diaries my whole life, which our youngest daughter is in the (necessarily) very long process of putting in date order with my help. These go way back to the early 50's, and include things which (now) seem so innocent and naive. Like when John knocked me off a swing in the local park, and when John and Paul had a real fight over a pair of £2 roller skates, both refusing to give up the one skate they each were holding on to for dear life! LOL Obviously this was when we were all still teenage kids fooling around.

Yes, I was contacted by a lady well over a year ago from "the office of" Mr Lewisohn in London, which to be quite honest, I thought was an arrogant way of him going about things, and I said so to the lady. Anyway he called back to "personally apologise". I should probably clarify that I'm now well into my seventies, and have a number of health issues. Yet rather than come up and see me at home in Liverpool, Mr Lewisohn assumed that I would be so keen to be in his book, that I would take the 3 hour train journey, to go and see him (or an assistant) in London, stay overnight if necessary, and then "hope" that anything I would say about the early days, might make it into his planned book. ALL at my own personal expense!

Needless to say I told my husband what Mr Lewisohn expected, and I also phoned Paul to tell him (in no uncertain terms) what I thought of the man. Frustratingly, our daughter who's here now, has just said I can't say what Paul said to me over the phone, here in a public forum. So that's as much as I can say. Well, other than I chose NOT to take the delightful Mr Lewisohn up on his offer! (I'm angry with him now all over again, just recalling what the arrogant sod expected me to do!) But anyway greenatom, you now know the story behind all that.

PS - Our daughter's gone home, so I'll quickly tell you that Paul said he'd talk to Richie (Ringo) about everything, and would phone me back. Anyway in the meantime, Barb phoned me and said Richie was furious with this Mark Lewisohn about what had happened, and that he should "stick his effing book where the sun don't shine!" LOL Then Paul phoned me back the same evening, and said he'd been round to Richie and Barb's (which of course I knew after chatting with Barb earlier), and said it was entirely up to me. but that he and Richie, both felt that I should tell Mark Lewisohn to "eff off". So I don't know for certain, but I think Paul and Richie might have temporarily fallen out a bit with Mr Lewisohn. Not just because of how he spoke to me, but mainly because as Paul said over the phone, the book is supposed to be about The Beatles. Not what the lads got up to as kids individually. Sorry for writing such a stupidly long reply, but take care anyway, and please stay healthy and wear a mask x' From https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hv2EkzqUb8&lc=Ugy-Dnq03NdsYhh6xTB4AaABAg&ab_channel=YouCan%27tUnhearThis

Thank you so much for reading my posts, and for sending this message along! The comment thread in question is very interesting and sent me down quite the rabbithole. I wanted to believe! But I fear this person's story doesn't line up on close inspection.

The thread in question is at the top of the comment section on this video on the You Can't Unhear This Youtube channel. It's from the user "DrAnne-mc8er" who claims to be the neice of Bob Moog, of synthesizer fame. The thread is over 100 comments long with many replies by Dr. Anne. In addition to being the neice of Bob Moog, she claims to have known Paul and George as kids, being a couple of years younger than them, and to still be friends with them to this day. She says she has many handwritten journals starting in the 1950s and, most pertinently, she claims to have been contacted by the office of Mark Lewisohn. Her story goes that a research assistant of Lewisohn contacted her; Dr. Anne thought it was rudely done, and Lewisohn then conteacted her personally to apologize. She came away with the impression that he was full of himself, and then spoke to Paul & Ringo, who confirmed that Lewisohn was bad news.

Obviously, this story was like catnip to me. Having beef with Mark Lewisohn is such a specific thing to lie about, I thought, would anyone bother to add this detail if they were simply LARPing as someone celeb-adjacent? Still, there were some details that gave me pause. Dr. Anne said, for instance, that John was a devout christian at the time of the Maureen Cleave interview, which...lol. But one very wrong assumption doesn't necessarily invalidate her entire story. She also said that George Harrison had done uncredited backing vocals on London Town, which sounds improbable, but idk, you never know???

So I decided to dig in to see if anything she said held water. First, I image searched her profile picture (crazy how using a basic google function makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes), and the results were somewhat encouraging: the picture was indeed of a Dr. Anne Cremona, a psychologist. Further digging showed that the real Dr. Anne and the commenter Dr. Anne both professed to have at least four children. On the flip side, Commenter Dr. Anne purports to live in Liverpool, while Actual Dr. Anne practices in London. Not a realistic commute, eh?

But the story truly fell apart once I looked into Bob Moog, who I previously knew nothing about aside from the fact that he was the Synthesizer Guy. Commenter Dr. Anne said that her mother was Bob Moog's younger sister, who had moved to the UK in 1938. She named her grandfather as Robert Sr. There are claims with all of these problems, not the least of which is the fact that Bob Moog seems to have been an only child. I read the first few chapters of a biography of Moog--(Switched On by Albert Glinsky)--which provides plenty of detail on Moog's family going several generations back, but doesn't mention any siblings.

The second issue is the timing: based on this commenter's story, she would have been born around 1944 or 1945. Bob Moog was born in 1934. If he somehow had a younger sister who went unmentioned in his biography, she would have been at most three years old in 1938, when she purportedly went to Liverpool--with a non-parent guardian, as Bob Moog lived with both his parents. This sister would have been ten at the oldest when "Dr. Anne" claims to have been born.

Then we have her grandfather, Robert Sr. Bob Moog was actually the first Robert in a long line of Georges. His dad was George, his grandfather was George, and his great-grandfather was, I think, Georg. There may have been another George thrown in there.

So it seems like this commenter is just doing some high effort LARPing. The thing I'm left wondering is whether or not this commenter is actually Dr. Anne Cremona. If it isn't, they didn't just pick a random picture for their troll account, but used her name as well, all while incorporating details that seem pulled from her life. There's the number of children for one, but the commenter also sprinkles in some psychology talk.

What's the deal? Is this an actual psychologist doing some dedicated trolling (the comment chain spanned a time period of more than a year) with her actual name and picture? Or is this a troll impersonating an actual psychologist as part of their neice-of-Bob-Moog routine?

Thank you for sending this my way, @tavolgisvist! It may not be the genuine article, but I had a lot of fun digging into it. The Mark Lewisohn Tipline (my askbox) is always open!

#the added detail that dr. anne cremona formed a special interest group #for women in the uk in the field of psychology #guess what field ml's wife works in...#coincidence? almost certainly

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seriiousgiirl · 2 years ago

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Through the Darkness (part.2/2)

Severus Snape x wife!Reader

Summary: After an accident, Severus' wife has lost her memories and partly her sight. Buried in the past and his sadness, Severus does his best to cope, grieving the past you both share and getting to know the "new" you and maybe… Fall in love again.

A/N: Please before reading, Part1 is here!

TW: Injuries, memory loss, partial blindness

-Severus' POV -

“Severus?”

He immediately looked up at you. He didn't like the way his name sounded so empty in your mouth. The way your face didn't look as alive as it used to. Your sparkling eyes that he adored so dearly, were now as gloomy as a rainy day. Your lips, like two rose petals, no longer wished to bless him with one of your sweet smiles.

He missed you greatly. Your kiss, your breath on his skin, the feeling of intimacy...

You were there, in front of him, and yet the distance between you was impossible to bridge. You were at the same time so far and so close, but in the end, always out of reach. And like a mourning, Severus had taken time to face the harsh reality that you were no longer his wife. The one he used to know, to grow with, to care for. And yet despite everything, it was impossible for him to cease loving you. And that was the most painful part.

“Yes, love, do you need me for something?” He hated the way he couldn't stop himself from being tender with you. Love… And yet, you weren’t his love anymore, he called you love like it was your rightful name.

"I want to go into the garden. Can you please guide me?"

He stood up before he could even answer so obvious was it. "Yes, of course." Every opportunity he had to be close to you, to have an excuse to touch you was craved by Severus. Placing his hands on your waist, he helped you stand up.

It had only been a few weeks since you returned from St Mungo's, and your body was still prone to the pain of your injuries. Not to mention your eyesight, still blurry and defective. To make up for this (and his sadness), Severus spent most of his time brewing potions of various kinds, in the hope of helping you improve your condition. But, no matter what, you needed him. Whether it was for moving around the house that you used to know by heart, to eat or to entertain yourself. Now it was impossible for you to do anything without his assistance. Severus was your eyes, the one you had no choice but to trust. But at no time Severus complained. He was patient with you, because deep down he had hope that everything would go back to the way it was.

But, in the end, it’s not the despair that would destroy Severus, it was hope. But he was willing to take the risk.

Severus then took you by the arm like a gentleman and led you to the garden. It was the summer holidays, which meant that classes were over. That left you a few months to at least get back into better health, and to regain your eyesight. Before you, Severus had always hated the long summer break, whether it was in his youth, when he had to return to his parents' house, where he suffered horrible abuse from his father. And then later, sunk in his loneliness.

After a lifetime of darkness, you were after all, the light of his life.

The summer was hot, the smell of flowers was heavy and everywhere. Despite the small garden in your London home, you have managed to plant a lot of flowers over the last years. And if up until now you had been in charge of taking care of them, it was he who had taken over. It was simply impossible for Severus to let the flowers that were so dear to your heart die, they were like a part of your old self. A testament to the life you used to be sharing.

"I really like this spot..." You let out a quiet sigh.

Severus laid his gaze on your usually tense face, every time he had taken you into the garden you seemed to at least enjoy being alive. He sat you down on the small front porch and sat beside you.

“Me too, Y/n.” He replied in a rather quiet voice. Most of the discussions between the two of you have been like this lately. It was painful to witness the chemistry you used to share, fading away. Severus's daily life was now filled with long silences, and although they were mostly comfortable, the sound of your laugh was now a distant memory and he absolutely deplored it.

"Severus..." The sound of your voice seemed hesitant. "Can you tell me in detail how you fell in love with me?"

Your question was valid, and yet Severus found himself speechless, even though he had been desperate for weeks to talk about the history of the two of you. Up until now you had denied the past, not wanting to know anything. He had begun to take it badly, the lack of questions you had for him, as if you weren't trying to find out who you were, what you both had.

"Falling in love... Is not rational. I could not justify my actions and affection for you. You were the biggest paradox of my life, and you still are today. I didn't expect it to be you..." He saw that you nodded. As if to say that you were both listening to him and understanding his words. At the same time, the last memories you had of him were of the scared young boy attending Hogwarts.

"I did not want to fall in love, I was scared. But at some point you smiled, and, merlin... I gave up all my beliefs for you.” And even if Severus was cautious to not disturb you with his emotions, he couldn't help but speak with great endearment. “I fell in love with you because of a million tiny things you never knew you were doing.” He paused before resuming, “I fell in love with you, and you helped me fall in love with myself. After years of suffering…”

The new silence that settled in hurt like stabs in his heart.

“Thank you.” Your voice was strangely vibrant, “I was pretty sure that’s how you know you’re falling in love with someone- When you want the good and bad, when you want everything, regardless of the past, of how horrible, how dark. You want it all, because at the end of the day, it’s still them.”

Severus was once again at a loss for words. You spoke as if you knew. As if you knew the horrors he had committed under the Dark Lord’s order. He'd been brave enough to share it with you once, but he wasn't about to reawaken that sharp pain again. He was already dealing with the grief he was feeling with the current situation.

But part of his mind remained fixed on the idea, you had spoken, as if you knew. Maybe deep down, your beliefs were always the same.

“My feelings for you were deeper than love.” Severus ended on this note, “And although I may not be yours today, I can’t be another’s.”

"Severus... Can you tell me how we came to meet?"

Severus put down his fork, his eyes resting on your figure sitting opposite him on the other side of the table. He was a bit surprised to hear you start a conversation, as meals are usually spent in silence. He had nothing to discuss with you, and neither did you. But lately you seemed more curious, and you dared to ask him questions. Questions about your past life alongside him, and Severus was always willing to provide you with background.

It might be twisted, but talking about you was a way for Severus to remember that all of this, at some point, had been genuine. You had loved him, trusted him with your secrets. The love you both had shared had been right and he had experienced it.

Today, all that was left was you as an empty shell. Empty eyes, and empty feelings.

It was twisted, how Severus couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact you weren’t the same. How he just couldn’t stop loving you, letting you go, accepting the reality you were, no longer in love with him. Because unlike in the past, you hadn't fallen in love with him at first sight either. Once again.

In the end, it felt as if you were indifferent about him. That you showed no interest in understanding him, even though he desperately needed it. He needed you, to be able to cope. He felt that every day that he was locked up here with you, brought back a darkness within himself that he hadn't felt for a long time.

It was as if his sun was gone, and yet you were still there. Just different.

"We met again after the war against the Dark Lord, after he was defeated." He began his explanation, choosing his words perfectly so that everything remained clear in your mind, without revealing unnecessary details.

Severus still had to explain how you ended up half-blind, devoid of your memories and injured at St Mungo's. You are aware about your role in the wars, your affiliations with the Ministry as an ex-Auror and your part in the Order. How you were a fierce woman, a fighter… How later, Severus was the one who sent you to this fight, asking you to help the others.

Not a day had gone by since the accident that he wasn't wracked with guilt, and yet at no point had you ever blamed him. You had accepted reality far too easily for his taste. And maybe if you had decided to hate him and fault him, he would have been able to move on.

And yet, you never held it against him.

"It was a point in my life when I was lost, alone and abandoned. I was immersed in darkness, unable to see a future outcome in which I would be happy... Or simply, I could be alive." He frowned, thinking back on it all was difficult, but it was worth remembering. "We met when the Order decided to reunite, after all the events. You were there, I was there, faith had brought us together in this instant. You knew what I had done, and yet..."

He paused, feeling his throat tighten up dangerously. He didn't like being so weak against you, but whether it was your old self or the present one, there was a strength in you, in your being that made him open up easily.

“And yet… You smiled at me.” His voice was filled with tenderness. He couldn’t help it when he was recalling the memory of you.

Severus sighed, "No one has ever smiled at me in years, no one has ever looked at me as if I were a person with rights, with the right to have done wrong. In an instant, with a simple gesture, you removed a weight from me that I had been carrying around for years."

He hadn't noticed it, but his eyes had left your form when he mentioned the past you, avoiding looking at your face. Maybe because he found it hard to believe that you were still there, that a tiny part of his wife was perhaps still inside you. Looking at you, he who loves you so much, has become painful.

And when he finally decided to rest his eyes on you, you were crying. Not to the point of bursting into a flood of tears, it was silent. The tears were gently running down your cheeks, flowing out of your blind eyes.

“Love, did I say something wrong?” He inquired, quite worriedly.

“I may not see you, Severus, I can’t see the pain on your face. But I feel you.” You start slowly, "I'm sorry to deprive you from this love… As I’m deprived of my memories. But, for the moment, I can't give you what you want from me."

Severus observed how your face contracted in sadness. And it hurt him to admit that the first sincere and intense emotion you showed since the accident, was sadness.

"You know... I'm scared, and I'm in a state of pain. And the only one I have is you, and I wouldn't want it to be anyone else. But please, Severus, try to understand what I'm going through as well."

Your words strike him like thunder, as if he too had been blind, and unable to see the truth. The problem wasn't that you didn't want to learn about your past, or even give a chance to grow and learn how to love. The problem was, he had practically forgotten that you had to deal with a lot of issues on your own before you could get on with your life. He was angry at himself for going down the wrong path again because of his selfishness.

“Severus, stop being so hard on yourself. I’m not angry at you, but you need to understand that.”

And without even needing to express himself, without even needing to see the expressions on his face, you understood his inner feelings. You had always understood him anyway, in contrast to the others.

He nodded slowly “I will Y/n”, he was going to make that effort for you.

“Severus…?”

He immediately looked up at you, surprise on his face. You stood in the doorway of your bedroom - well his bedroom, out of respect, Severus had put you in the guest room. The way your voice called to him sounded more vibrant. In fact, since the two last discussions, things between you had improved. You weren't his wife yet, but Severus was more than pleased to watch your health return, and especially to see your face coming alive with a variety of expressions.

The relationship between you both was a comfortable one.

“Love, how did you get here?" Severus got up from the bed, pulled the blanket off him, placed the book he was reading on the bedside table and came over to assist you. "Where do you need to go?" He noticed that you were holding a book in your hand.

You laughed sweetly, and merlin, he loved the sound. “You know I have legs, don't you?" You playfully said to him, "And then, even if I don't have a vision. I'm starting to memorise the house, well more precisely... The location of your room. The path from mine to yours."

Severus hated the way his cheeks get crimson at your statement. He felt like a teenager, like he was falling slowly in love with you all over again. The way your loose hair cascaded over your shoulders, your simple, delicate nightgown against your figure. He hadn't had a chance to see you like this for a while, and the sight was divine.

"And I wanted to know if you could read me this book? I'm having trouble falling asleep..." Your voice was strangely shy.

“Of course, everything for you love.”

Severus took you by the arm, and guided you to his bed. You were now used to your condition, and with an improvement in your eyesight, you were able to handle yourself a little better. He observed you settling into the bed he occupied with relative ease, as if you were used to it. As if you thought it was your rightful place. And again it was a sight he hadn't had a chance to witness lately.

He indulged a bit in it, before joining you.

At times, it was as if internally you could remember the years of memories that were stolen from you. The more time Severus spent with you, the more he noticed some new details. Habits you'd picked up when you were married, together. You remembered his food tastes, his morning habits, his favourite piece of music…- His past. Things you were supposed to have forgotten.

However, you never picked up on any of this, blaming it all on luck. He couldn't figure out if your brain was actually able to draw out your old memories. Severus was unable to understand the emotions in you, you had always been the paradox of his life, and lately you were more so than ever.

Severus took the book from your hands, and made himself comfortable and ready to start reading it for you. It had already happened several times, he had developed the habit of reading stories to entertain you. Either it was in the garden, shielded from the sun by the shadow of the tree you were both resting on, or in the living room, while drinking tea.

But never in such an intimate setting. Being intimate with you was strange, almost forbidden. The fact that you no longer shared the same deep feelings he had for you, made those kinds of situations awkward in his opinion. After all, you were the first and only person in his life to have felt affection for the obscure man he was. Mutual love was important to him, above all else. And since you had expressed your feelings on the matter, Severus had given you time to heal yourself both physically and mentally. Before trying to get you back.

However, it would be a lie to say that it was difficult for him not to think about it. He missed you terribly, and more often than he cared to admit, his thoughts drifted to how your hands on his body used to soothe him, please him.

He began to read, and it was quite obvious that under the vibrations of his voice, you were naturally calming down. Your head rested gently on his shoulder and you closed your eyes. Enjoying the moment, his voice, all that he could offer you in these conditions.

This went on for a while, until he felt your breath becoming steady. Closing the book, assuming you were finally asleep, he was about to take you back to your room.

"You have mentioned several times, now and then, our relationship. Why do you speak of me- of us, in the past tense...? It’s like I’m dead… I know I'm not the same person anymore, but… Is it because you no longer love me?"

He did not expect to hear you speak and yet, your words shot right through his heart. “Love, no… I would never.” He answered straight away, as if it was painful for him that such an idea came into your mind because of his words. That he no longer loves you…

"It's just... That I don't want to upset you, you've been through a traumatic experience, I don't want to add to the hassle." Severus sighed, slightly angry with himself. “I'm still here, loving you silently.”

“Then, you are missing me?” You asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes, I miss you very much and you are in my thoughts each and every day.” Severus confessed, somewhat against his will, he didn't want you to feel guilty about anything. He can't force you to have feelings for him.

Already blaming himself, Severus thought that he had gone too far in his confession. That the distance between you, which he had been trying to close, would grow wider again.

And yet he felt your arms searching for him in the small distance separating your two bodies. Then, with a delicate gesture, you took him into your embrace. "But, Severus, I am still here." You repeated the exact same words he had just spoken. You whispered in the hollow of his ear, as if you wanted only Severus, of all people, to know precisely that.

Severus closed his eyes too, it was true, he was angry at himself for making you feel unwanted. Since the accident, he had only made mistakes. And yet you held him in your arms, as if you wanted him to understand that none of this mattered to you. As if you still accepted him, despite his flaws. Like you always have done.

As usual, he had made the mistake of taking refuge in the past at the expense of the present. Suddenly he felt a sense of gratitude for your injuries, your loss of memory... Because it was a reminder of how it could have been worse. You could have died in the explosion, in that mission he asked you to take part in.

However, you were still here, next to him, alive and breathing.

That night, you both fell asleep in the same bed, in the embrace of one another. Severus hadn't slept this well since you came back.

He was at peace.

“Severus!”

Severus enjoyed the way you called his name, with a new sense of enthusiasm. It was different from the way you used to call him, but he found this new way rather endearing. He could not hold back the edges of his lips from lifting up in a faint smile. It had been a journey from the time you said his name in the hospital, the time, when he was only a stranger in your lips.

“Yes love, do you need me for something?”

“I just noticed that my vision had gotten better." You suddenly said, as if you had never noticed it before now.

"And how do you know that?” He sarcastically replied,

Severus was a sarcastic man, but with you, it was more a way of cracking a joke. Especially since he was amused by the sight of you right now. The way you moved your hands in front of your eyes, as if you were gauging a new environment. It made you look innocent and charming, like a young person learning about the world.

He couldn’t resist you.

“I can make out your face…” Your eyes fell on him, and unlike usual it was as if you were aware of his features.

Usually your eyes were empty, and you stared at a point in the distance, so as not to strain your vision too much. This time your eyes were slightly alive and animated.

"It's still a bit of a blur, it takes effort, but I can make out your face a bit better." You explained to him what you saw, what you perceived of him. And with a thin smile you added, "And, wow... You're handsome."

“I’m old.” He corrected you, almost despite himself. It wasn't the first time you complimented him, either in the past or the present with your blindness. But his mind couldn't wrap around the idea that you found him beautiful, genuinely. It had always been difficult for him to accept it. "And you are partially blind, your brain must be fooling you to make me to your taste."

However, you laugh away his worries. “Severus, I must have fallen in love with you for reasons other than your wonderful character." Your voice was light, “You are already to my taste, even if I lost my memories. I’m still the same… Deep down.”

You had a point.

"And then, you must have noticed too... That sometimes I can remember certain details, that my intuition leads me to act the way I used to. Tell me you noticed it as well." You emphasised the second part of your sentence,

“I’ve noticed love,” He confirmed somewhat hesitantly,

"This is because you are talking to me about our past life… It makes my brain feel like it's searching for buried, secret pieces of information. And if at first it terrified me, I learned to accept that everything I had lost was in fact there."

Severus felt his heart quicken, and at this information he felt a surge of hope.

“However,” You began slowly, and he felt his heart drop as quickly as he had become enthusiastic. "I don't know how long it will take me to get back to the way I once was. Maybe months, maybe years, maybe never..." You sighed, "But I don't want to wait for that miracle to happen in order to love you again. And I hope you will also learn to accept the person I am today..."

Severus approached slowly, a habit he had developed so as not to startle you. But he knew that this time you could see through his actions. So, as if you were waiting for him as well, you reached for him, ready to accept his touch and affection.

“I’m already am, love. I want you to be mine. Either you are my wife, my partner, or simply trying to find yourself.”

You needed him lately, for his assistance, but Severus understood that this time, you only needed to feel safe in his arms. To be close to him.

“Severus…?” You asked, quite unsure.

“Yes, love?”

Severus turned to you, leaving the cup of coffee he had poured for himself while waiting for you at breakfast. You called his name, as if he was a stranger again, as if you weren't sure it was him. And your face, so sweet, seemed to be shaped by different kinds of emotions. "Something's bothering you?”

He did not have time to worry for long. He felt your body slam into his, your arms holding him tight. "You are so beautiful, I could cry…” And then your voice broke, a sob replaced your words, you cried. Severus was confused, he didn't understand what you were trying to say so desperately.

And then you raised your head to him, your eyes met, and he understood. The way your pupils, even when filled with tears, lit up at the sight of his face. You were seeing again. Severus did not smile often, but the smile that graced his lips was full of relief, love, fondness... He could not afford to contain his emotions. Not since you could finally see him.

"Now that I see you, how can I look away?" You gently smiled,

Severus felt an eruption of feeling inside him, your smile flipped his whole world upside down for a second time. At that moment, what happened between you two was intense... Like 'a collision between two stars' was how you liked to categorise the love at first sight you felt for him, and it was perfect to describe how he felt about you at that moment.

The sky was full of stars and yet, he was only looking at you, as you were only looking at him.

His lips found yours, the impact was just as violent as the love he carried. You were loved, passionately, and he wanted you to know it. He wanted you to feel his heart, his soul, his sorrows and joys. His long months of waiting for that special spark to come back between you two. Breaking the distance that had settled besides you.

His lips danced feverishly against yours, Severus relished the taste of your lips, chasing away all the negative and evil thoughts he had brewed within him over the last months. The feeling of your lips, which he had forgotten, returned almost too vividly, every time your mouths met. It was as if you were placing stars on his desperate lips. However, there was nothing sweet about his kiss, it was raw, sheer desire. He wanted to devour you completely.

He had missed you, he had found you, and he wanted you once again. Over and over.

The way you reciprocated the kiss, allowing his tongue into your mouth so easily. Severus knew, you were longing to feel his love as well, finally ready to receive it without any fear. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was yours and you were his.

Breathing heavily, he reluctantly ended the kiss. His eyes fell on you again, you were beautiful. Your expression is always the same after a kiss, soft and delicate, and at the same time messed up.

“Severus, I’ve never finished falling in love with you.” You whispered. “I may never get my memories back, but I want to create new ones by your side…”

He had fallen in love with you once, then twice. You had fallen in love with him once, and then twice. It was time to experience love together, once again.

#severus snape #snape content #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #severus snape x you #fanfic

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vulpes-fennec · 2 years ago

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Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 4)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: Feyre and Nesta have bargained with Amarantha! What's Elain going to do?!?

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Thursday, March 14th, 1889

***Elain***

Feyre and Nesta didn’t stop giving her furtive looks until they sat her down for a serious conversation over yesterday’s afternoon tea. And now Elain knew why.

“Nesta and I will be joining Prythian’s Fantasia for the next half year,” Feyre had announced, stirring cream and sugar into her tea as if it were any other day. “We made a deal with the ringmaster: Amarantha will cure Mother in exchange for our service.”

“How?” Elain had sputtered. Nothing—nothing—had helped Isabella Archeron’s illness, which seemed to worsen with spite.

Nesta’s heavy sigh preceded Feyre’s answer: “Magic.”

Elain could believe magic existed. Her gift of reading the future was part of the occult, was it not? But the idea of a magical circus…well, stunning performances did not equate to proof of magic.

“You do not seem surprised,” Feyre observed.

Elain shrugged. “I am skeptical…but I am more concerned with where is Prythian’s Fantasia going.”

“The circus will tour England…then head to Paris for the Exposition Universelle,” Nesta replied, switching into French for the last bit of the sentence. “Feyre will be the magician’s assistant, and I will be participating in the aerial silks performance.”

“What about Mother?” Elain asked. “What about the upcoming season? We ordered all our gowns already. And when Father gets back…none of us will be home…”

“That is why we need you to stay and care for the household…ensure Mother is taking her tonics and manage our correspondence from the other families,” Nesta responded swiftly. Her sister’s gaze dropped down guiltily.

“You will be gone…for months?” Elain’s voice was barely above a whisper, her initial excitement quickly dashed. “And you did not care to include me in this arrangement?”

Feyre was the more apologetic sister. “We will be sure to write, Elain. And Amarantha will give us the curative after a month, which means Mother will be back to health in no time at all.”

“I do not wish for you to write,” Elain had said stiffly. She had spent the afternoon baking scones and preparing the little sandwiches, but now the food was less than palatable. “I wish to join you both.”

“Traveling is far too dangerous,” Nesta said. “Do you think we are going on holiday? Feyre and I will be working. We do not want you to go hungry, or sleep in the cold and damp. Staying here is easier, Elain. And safer.”

“But I want to go to Paris!” Elain had cried, feeling like a petulant child.

“Nesta is right,” Feyre had added. “The journey ahead is uncertain…and what talents could you possibly bring to Prythian’s Fantasia? Gardening and baking are not useful in a traveling circus.”

Elain had glanced at her sisters, shocked that both were in agreement for once. “When do you depart?” she had asked, feeling discombobulated.

“Tomorrow morning,” Nesta had said with finality, clearly assuming Elain was agreeable with their plan of action.

But Elain was livid, and far from agreeable when it came to this issue. How could her sisters leave her behind? Feyre knew damn well Elain wanted to travel to Continental Europe her entire life. And how could Nesta, of all women, assume Elain needed protection from the big scary world? Of course they would expect her to stay home, for she was the Archeron sister that was most well-adjusted to London society. Of course it was alright for radical Nesta and bold Feyre to gallivant England unchaperoned, but the thought of soft and sweet Elain doing so would draw gasps of horror!

Elain called an early night, unable to bear watching Nesta and Feyre pack when it should have been her in their positions. Guilt gnawed at her: it would be their last night together for a while, yet Elain could not bring herself to spend a minute longer with them. Not that it would make much of a difference, for the Archeron sisters had never been particularly close..

But it simply wasn’t fair!

Whatever happened to taking charge of her own destiny? The fact that she had a premonition about a mysterious man in Paris seemed a good sign to leap out of her comfort zone. Elain did not want to shoulder the burden of excusing her sisters’ prolonged absence to her mother. And telling Isabella Archeron her two daughters had left high society for a traveling circus would be a death wish.

Which was how Elain found herself hastily packing after Feyre and Nesta bid her a stiff goodbye in the morning. Dresses, shoes, cosmetics, hats, and gloves were haphazardly stuffed into massive carpet bags. Elain bundled out the door, paying the family carriage driver a generous sum for his discretion.

The big top had been taken down, but the circus performers were still packing up their camp. Feyre and Nesta had to be in there somewhere. Elain’s palms dampened gloves in a mixture of anxiety and thrill—no longer would she sit back and wait for life to happen!

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Elain’s voice was shrill as she ran towards the camp as fast as her daintily slippered feet could carry her. The large cases she lugged in both hands made her gait even more awkward.

In her haste, Elain did not notice how wet and muddy the grass was. Her ankle slipped; she went down with a screech. Cases went flying, her hat turned askew, and her gloved hands sank several inches into smelly gunk. It seemed like the whole camp had come to a stand-still as everybody watched Elain struggle to stand.

“Elain? Elain!” Feyre cried as she rushed over, picking up the muddy cases for her sister. “What are you doing here?”

Elain stood, red-cheeked with embarrassment. Her creamy pink dress was sodden and now stank of filth, her cheeks were splattered with mud. But at the sound of Feyre’s voice, she straightened and indignantly replied, “I don’t want to be left behind.”

“Elain, you must return home,” Nesta ordered, striding over to them quickly. “This is foolishness.”

“What is going on here?” Amarantha’s voice sharply rang out over the crowd of people. “My goodness, who is this pathetic creature?” The ringmaster assessed Elain’s now-filthy form with obvious distaste.

“I’m sorry, Amarantha,” Feyre apologized quickly. “This is my sister, Elain.”

“She will be leaving now,” Nesta added meaningfully, grabbing the last clean patch of fabric on Elain’s elbow and tugging on it. Elain disentangled herself subtly, but Amarantha noticed it.

“Leaving?” Amarantha arched an eyebrow. “Why, it looks like she was planning on joining us.”

“Yes!” Elain cried breathily. “I wish to be with my sisters.” She ignored Nesta’s glare. The crowd of circus performers had grown larger, though, and Elain shrank slightly under their bold stares. This was not the first impression she wanted to make.

It could not be any more obvious that Amarantha was judging Elain’s clumsy feet, her gloved hands, the timid roundness of her shoulders. Elain held her breath, fearful of being turned away.

“I know just the role for you. You will be our fortune-teller. We lost our last one thanks to…an unfortunate accident.”

“I am afraid I do not have any experience in the occult,” Elain blurted out defensively, so taken aback by the accuracy of Amarantha’s assignment. It was partially true, though. Experiencing sporadic visions was one thing; being skilled at “parlor tricks” or channeling specific readings was another. Still, Elain mentally kicked herself for spurning the offer.

“Well? Simply make things up,” the ringmaster waved her hand condescendingly. “As long as the circus visitors are satisfied, you will be of use to me. And do tidy yourself up before we board the train.” Amarantha flashed Elain a gleaming white smile that possessed no warmth before she turned away.

Nesta sighed and motioned for Elain to follow her through the camp. Elain kept her head down, careful not to embarrass herself again. There was a feeling of unease writhing in the pit of her stomach like a black worm. It was distinct from nerves or embarrassment…the sensation was akin to a warning bell.

Elain considered herself an open-minded, friendly lady, who didn’t have qualms with many people. But there was something peculiar about the way Amarantha assessed her, and she didn’t like it. No, Elain did not like it at all.

“We were lucky enough to have our own caravan,” Feyre said, interrupting Elain’s musings. “Come, let us put your cases inside.”

The caravan was painted in a rich green with ornate gold detailing. Glass windows and beautiful lanterns hanging by the door, as well as the fold-down wooden steps of polished dark wood, elevated the caravan’s standing beyond a covered wagon on wheels.

“It’s so small,” Elain commented doubtfully.

“It’s much bigger inside, you will see.” The door swung on well-oiled hinges, revealing an unusually spacious setting. The first thing Elain saw was a copper tub—for bathing—positioned opposite a wooden table complete with green-cushioned wooden chairs.

“At least we can stand upright here! Look, we have a bathtub,” Feyre explained excitedly. “Towels and soaps included. We can heat the water on the stove.” A small iron stove was situated in the caravan’s corner, its black slender chimney extending up and out of the wooden roof.

It was beginning to dawn on Elain that, while the caravan was better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground, nothing would compare to the comforts of home. Since the maids always drew up warm baths upon request, tending a flame and heating up water bucket by bucket would be a harsh wake-up call to reality. Elain wasn’t even sure she could strike a match.

An elegant wardrobe stood next to the tub, facing an upholstered sofa with plush velvet pillows. Thick curtains kept the sleeping area separate: the back end of the caravan was taken up by a large bunk bed.

“I took the top bed already,” Feyre said, pointing to the top bunk where a circular window offered views to the outside world. “And Nesta took the bottom one. But there’s a separate bed on the side for you.”

She had never been confined in such close proximity to her sisters. Elain’s bed was built into the caravan, with extra storage underneath. Across from her bed sat a small counter with a marble wash basin, and an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Her cruddy face reflected back at her, pale and disheveled. Her first adventure started off on the wrong foot, but she made it, didn’t she?

“It’s quite nice,” Elain finally said quietly. “Home sweet home for the next few months.”

Saturday, March 16th, 1889

***Gwyn***

Birds of a feather flock together. Any stranger would have taken one look at Daphne’s auburn and Gwyn’s coppery-brown hair, their pale skin and willowy statures, and assumed them to be relatives. Gwyn had learned several key facts about the fire performer over the last few days. One: Daphne’s son, Lucien was 26. Just two years younger than Gwyn. Two: she hailed from Ireland, somehow surviving famine and political turmoil. Three: she was married to Beron Vanserra, the sour-faced, Spanish escape artist. Based on Gwyn’s limited observations of the two, Beron was hardly deserving of Daphne’s warmth and goodness. In fact, Daphne seemed to shrink back within herself whenever she was in her husband’s proximity.

Prythian’s Fantasia, Gwyn also learned, was transported from town to town via the great English railway system. Tents were taken down and bundled neatly, caravans were rolled onto flatcars and strapped down, and the performers bundled into carriages.

When they boarded the train to Bristol two days ago, Gwyn could have sworn some odd emotion passed between Daphne and an older man. The man was around Daphne’s age, with earthy brown skin and hazel eyes like that of a wise owl. Gwyn had seen him several times, for his muscled thighs and foreign features were unmistakable around the camp.

“Who is that gentleman?” Gwyn had whispered to Daphne as they sat down in the carriage. “The tall, dark one who just passed us by?”

“Ah…that is Helion,” the lady murmured, looking down demurely. “He assists with the lights during the performance.” From the way Daphne’s fair cheeks mellowed out with color, Gwyn presumed there was more to the story than Daphne would divulge. But she didn’t want to pry when Daphne had just warmed up to her.

Tomorrow would be their first show in Bristol, and Gwyn was currently assisting the circus hands in setting up the music hall. An open-air tent of forest-green fabric had just been pitched. Signage was carefully hung. Polished boards were neatly aligned to form a sizable dance floor. The stage would be elevated by pushing together massive crates, artfully concealed by luxurious curtains and decor.

Amarantha had taken Gwyn into Prythian’s Fantasia to fulfill a singer position in the music hall, but Gwyn had been stationed at the ticket booth for the last few nights with no indication of reassignment. Gwyn was itching to move on from the rote task of checking tickets. She wanted to sing!

Everyone listened whenever Gwyn began singing. Her mother had always spoken of merrow or morgen heritage from their Irish and Welsh ancestors, something Gwyn had always dismissed. Sirens were pure myth; and Gwyn had never seen the ocean, nor felt any draw towards the vast seas. But even she could not deny that her voice was unusually rich and magnetic. Catrin incessantly encouraged Gwyn to audition for London’s high-end music halls, but Gwyn much preferred to offer her talents free of charge at the local church choir.

Sweat beaded Gwyn’s brow as she pushed against the massive crate. The church would never accept her now, after all she had done—been forced to do—at the brothel…and Catrin. Catrin would never get to hear her perform at a music hall ever again, not even this one—

Gwyn’s foot slipped in the mud. A pair of scarred hands positioned themselves next to her, assisting with the crate.

“Careful.” Azriel’s voice was flat, but his hazel eyes were wary. “Severe flooding occurred in Bristol this week.” The corded muscles in his forearms flexed as he easily pushed the crate into the proper position.

“Thank you,” Gwyn replied, wiping her brow. “Are you looking forward to the performance tonight?”

“I am always prepared.” Not exactly answering her question. But from the daggers that were sheathed along his belt, Gwyn had no doubt that Azriel practiced everywhere he went.

“What are you doing here?” Tamlin, one of the circus musicians, rounded the corner with a hammer in his hand. His emerald gaze was fixed on Azriel, and Gwyn could have sworn Tamlin’s imaginary hackles were raised like a cornered dog.

“Someone could not be bothered to quit their hammering to lend her a hand, so of course I had to assist,” Azriel replied shortly, his eyes narrowing with mirrored distaste. His scarred hands hung loosely at his side, within close reach of his daggers.

There must be some history between Tamlin and Azriel, Gwyn decided, for Tamlin had been nothing but cordial towards her, Daphne, and Tarquin. First Daphne and Helion, now Tamlin and Azriel. Prythian’s Fantasia, it seemed, held an unusual amount of secrets under its glossy tents and sparkling performances.

“Tamlin.” A clear, powerful voice rang out as the magician strode into the music hall with feline grace. Tamlin’s expression soured even further. “You have a new performer assignment for the music hall.”

“You do not give me orders, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled as Rhysand smacked a thick stack of papers against his chest.

Rhysand smirked, his inky black hair the polar opposite to Tamlin’s golden blonde. “They’re Amarantha’s orders, not mine. I do feel sorry for you, Gwyneth, that your new colleague is acting like an uncouth beast.”

“Me?” Gwyn squeaked. It was the first time the magician had interacted with her, and she was surprised that he knew her name. His handsome face was even a bit unnerving to look at, for it was cold as the morning frost.

Rhysand’s violet eyes flicked towards her, faint amusement shimmering. He produced another stack of papers out of thin air and offered them to Gwyn with a courteous bow. “Amarantha has reassigned you to the music hall, as promised. Do inform me if Tamlin gives you any trouble.”

“I would rather be a beast than a bootlicking turncoat,” Tamlin threw back coldly at Rhysand’s retreating back. Bootlicking turncoat? What happened between Tamlin and Rhysand? Gwyn was vaguely aware of Tamlin saying something about practice times, before realizing Azriel had disappeared as well.

***Feyre***

The magician’s tent was far too easy to spot amongst the multitude of colored tents in the circus camp: it was midnight black. It was the key to getting her questions about her shadow capabilities answered. Of finally meeting someone who was like her. Years of wishes on evening stars culminating in this very moment.

“Be still, o beating heart,” Feyre whispered to herself as she approached. To her surprise, the top of the magician’s tent was left open, bathing the space in sunlight. And there he was, leaning casually against a tent pole and fiddling with his top hat. The magician looked up slowly when she stepped across the threshold, like a cat waking up from a luxurious nap.

He was still dressed in black, albeit in a more simple pair of pants and neatly creased shirt. Onyx black hair carefully combed and styled across his forehead, and his tan brown face close-shaven. The magician clearly maintained an impeccable appearance even while off-stage.

“You must be my new assistant, Feyre Archeron.” Feyre’s breath hitched at the smooth purr of voice, shaping the syllables of her name as if he was savoring sweet wine. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

“And you are…?”

“Rhysand,” the magician replied matter-of-factly, as if he was mildly offended she didn’t already know his name. He prowled towards her, mouth curving with an almost intimate smile. “But you may call me Rhys.”

“You are from Wales?” Feyre tracked his movements carefully, unsure of how to act around her new mentor.

“My father is from Scotland, actually.” Rhys halted in front of her, close enough to border on impropriety. Dear lord—his deep blue eyes were hypnotizing. Already she was mentally tabulating the color combinations she could use to recreate the color of his eyes, for they were an unusual shade of violet. Like the color of amethyst gemstone mixed with sunset’s indigo.

“I see.” Feyre doubted the validity of that statement, for Rhys’s brown nose and aquiline nose implied otherwise.

“I heard you arrived here with not one, but two sisters. What is a darling like you doing in a circus like this?” Men who called ladies “darling” on the street were exactly the types of men Feyre rolled her eyes at. So why did she shiver with delight when Rhys said it?

“My mother is very ill,” Feyre explained, tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. “I sought Amarantha for help.” And you are the first person I’ve met who possesses the same gifts, she added silently.

Rhys’s brow creased slightly, and his sensual gaze chilled. “So you made a bargain with Amarantha.” Displeasure was laced in his tone.

“Only six months of service for a healing potion. But since my mother’s condition is dire, Amarantha will give me the potion after a month,” Feyre explained, unsure of why he was frowning.

“There is no such thing as only six months,” Rhys muttered, more to himself than her. While he appeared lost in thought, Feyre took the liberty of studying Rhys with an artist’s gaze, parsing every plane of his face, the details of his relaxed body. Surely a handsome man like him was married, right? It would be criminal—and alarming—if he wasn’t.

The edges of Feyre’s attention span suddenly thinned and wavered, as if her thoughts were being scrambled up. Raw power thrummed in the air, thick enough to taste. Rhys tilted his head, darkness quickly evaporating into satisfaction.

“What do you know about magic?” A double-edged question: was he inquiring about her skills with magic tricks, or was he somehow referring to the strange shadow capabilities she possessed?

“Little enough for me to seek the master himself,” Feyre responded gamely.

His beautiful mouth smirked as he closed the distance between them. Feyre leaned in, presuming he was about to kiss her…but Rhys’s hand brushed a lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear, producing a small silver chain with a delicate silver cross instead.

“How did you do that?” Feyre blinked in crest-fallen confusion.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Rhys offered her a sly smile. “Allow me.”

Feyre could only nod slightly, heart hammering in her chest as Rhys positioned himself behind her. She pressed her lips together tightly when his hands brushed the nape of her neck, lest she let out an inappropriate moan. How could such a simple touch bring forth such pleasurable sensations that traveled right down to her very toes?

His fingers delicately scraped her skin again, as he slipped the silver cross under her collar and out of sight. The gesture was chaste, yet the sensation of intimacy hung heavy in the air. “I advise you to keep that cross on at all times…for your own good.”

“...What?” Feyre needed to remember to breathe.

“It’s protection,” he replied simply. “Identification.”

“I am not keen on wearing something around my neck like a dog,” Feyre objected, feeling even more confused.

“Then consider a gift from your mentor.” Rhys stepped back in front of her, putting a regretful amount of distance between them once more.

“Mentor, are you? If I am to be your assistant, I think I should be privy to at least some of your secrets.” She smiled back teasingly, fingering the delicate chain. Violet eyes regarded her with molten intensity. Feyre smiled even wider. Good…it seemed Rhys was just as taken with her. It would be such a shame if he found her uninteresting.

“If you wish to know some of my secrets, then let us begin your training.”

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this update! Maybe it took you 5 minutes to read it, but it took me several hours to write it. Would you rather read a paragraph of words an AI strung together over a fanfic with fun headcanons and character analysis, or published writing?

I hope your answer is no, and I hope you will show the same respect to artists by NOT supporting or reposting AI art, especially on TikTok. Artists spend YEARS honing their craft, so propping up AI art is the equivalent of supporting plagiarism. I'm tired of seeing people defending their use of AI images over genuine art in their fan edits because AI "look perfect". ACOTAR fandom, please do better.

#prythian's fantasia #elucien #gwynriel #feysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #feyre archeron

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