#foxglove fixations

[house-foxglove]

Gut of the West

For the past month or two we've been working on a dark fantasy gothic western setting inspired by the lore and storytelling and gameplay of the Soulsborne genre. The setting is a parody of the idealized and mythologized American Wild West and frontier and deals with xenophobia, manifest destiny, and imperialism as its main themes.

The setting itself takes place after the God of the West devours the metaphysical Center of the world and proceeds to attempt to drag and absorb all other directions into itself. It lied to his citizens promising them that if they live a just and holy life and work towards the fate of the West then they may become holier than him and capable of taking his place. But in the process of devouring the Center one of the God's children, known as the Railroaded, sacrificed themself in order to grant their divinity into every living creature in all Directions, allowing for them to actually be capable of overthrowing the godly power of the West by becoming Saints.

In its death throes the Center became one with the rails that the Railroaded's blood was spilled on and created a town known as Refuge where would-be martyrs may rest and grow in strength. Martyrs from all directions may travel by the Cardinal Railway in their mission to gather Sainthood and overthrow the God of State in the West. From the witches of the East, the living dead from the South, the giants of the North, the wolves from Up on High, all the way Down to the devils, all may achieve Sainthood and write the destiny of the world themselves.

We have so much lore set up already and notes and scrawled notes from several notebooks, the notes app, and stuff jangling around in our head lol. We love soulsborne games with our whole hearts and creating a unique setting that explores our own religious trauma and spite towards organized religion and the US's imperial and fascist history has been really a blast to explore.

[notwritinganyflufftoday]

Snippet Sunday

It's Sunday again and it's getting steamy in the public bath's dressing room. I'm a romance writer at heart, so these kinda scenes are so much fun to do

content warning: non-explicit nudity and non-explicit mentions of sex

Faro wastes no time in undressing, folding his clothes neatly and putting them in one of the open cupboards. The more skin he reveals, the more Sasha struggles to avert his eyes. It's what is proper, but Sasha can't pretend he's been raised like a gentleman.

No, when he looks at Faro here and now, naked and appearing almost human there's only one thought on his mind.

If he were just a pretty stranger in a bath house, Sasha would've taken him already.

Now all he can do is stare and hope Faro doesn't notice. Luckily he has his back turned to Sasha, so he drinks it all in, from the perfect musculature of his shoulder blades, braids loosely framing the curve of his spine, to the dimples near his hips that make Sasha's fingers itch with the desire to touch.

He's in trouble, he's in so much trouble.

"Sasha?" Faro looks over his perfectly defined shoulder, expression one of confusion. "Are you not going to bathe?"

"I am!" Sasha replies, his voice booming unexpectedly loudly in the near empty dressing room, "I mean, I will, just give me a mome-"

Faro walks out through the glass doors before Sasha can finish his sentence.

Briefly weak in the knees, Sasha sinks down on the bench and runs a hand through his hair, untying his greasy tresses from his loose ponytail.

He shakes his head, trying to untangle the knots from his hair and in his brain.

Why did he suddenly think such things about Faro of all people? He has seen plenty of people nude before, in and out of intimate encounters, but none of them affected him as much as Faro.

Perhaps it is the fact that he can't lean in for a kiss or wrap his arms around his waist that leaves Sasha pent-up and craving.

If he's fully honest with himself, it's also been a while since he slept with anyone. Usually he'd try to proposition at least someone in every town he visits, but ever since travelling with Faro there's been no time, or flirting with someone ends up with him tied up in ropes and not in a fun way.

Now that they're staying in this place for at least two weeks, there won't be a lot of new adventures to distract Sasha. Hence those pesky desires come crawling out of the woodwork and fixate on Faro.

Sasha breathes deeply in and out as he calms himself down. He tells himself over and over that it was a moment of weakness and he can't let it happen again, because nothing good will come from lusting after a God.

He rushes to undress himself and join Faro in the public bath before too much time has passed, lest he get suspicious of why Sasha is taking so long.

Taglist: @fromthenortheast, @foxgloves-garden, @sarandipitywrites, @northwyrm, @trixierosewrites,

@walkman-cat, @tracle0

[dearlymrme]

I fully support the common headcanon that Primo, our Papa Emeritus the I, is a gardener and a hobbyist plant enthusiast.

But I like this take on it even more. Let’s add on to that headcanon with my own flare.

The Abbey has two gardens.

The outside surrounding garden is open to the public and very wonderful. A nice place to have a picnic and frolic amongst the flowers. It was planted and designed by Primo and the Sister’s who are interested in helping maintain the garden are hired in and specifically tasked to take care of it. The garden is one of the Abbey’s shining attractions and many a newly indicted Sister’s genuinely interested quickly ask for a transfer to be moved to tend to the garden. Not a lot of them know just how much work it is to keep these flowers watered all day, every day, especially in the heat. It doesn’t surprise Primo when most of them give up a few weeks in, complaining about being too hot in the summer.

The private garden is for Primo and Primo only. This garden is cut off from the rest of the Abbey via locked greenhouse and only Primo has the key. Only he and a very select few ghouls are allowed within the greenhouse. Why? Because ghouls are very tenacious little bastards and are pretty hard to kill. Because Primo knows on an intimate level how to care and tend to these plants while avoiding hazards. Oh, also because every plant inside that garden is poisonous. Imagine if you would The Alnwick Garden but a bit more on a minor scale.  Foxgloves, Devil’s Trumpets, Belladonna, Mandrake, etc.

Why the fixation on poisonous plants? Well, first off: I think that’s metal as hell. Secondly: It’s to feed his second hobby. 

Poison crafting. 

Primo is fascinated with poison and what they do to the body. He always studying and trying to come up with some new confound way to silently kill or maybe even torture someone with just a drop of the vicarious liquids he keeps in his storeroom. He has books upon guides of chemical compounds that make up true poisons made to kill, as well as those less lethal plants in small doses that could be used for LSD trips. Opium from the Poppy’s. Aspirin from the small willow tree he has growing. It’s also where the Cannabis is, of course. Not all can be harmful in small doses. Most are but not all of them. 

Unfortunately for him and his two other brother’s one of the poison he’s crafted may have just been the one used to kill them.

[thissharktypes]

Through The Ages - 1

//check out my page for this chapters aesthetic concept board!//

1748 - Klaus

Vapid, Shallow, Vile, Beastly creatures. Swirling colors, heavy makeup, air thick with perfume. His eyes scan over the women gossiping in corners, not so subtly pointing out people and tittering behind their fans. He fidgets, adjusting the porcelain mask on his face, annoyed by the weight, just wanting to go home. Sipping from a sparkling glass he continues watching the mundane things humans fixate themselves on. “Nay! I jest, thou are truly a scoundrel!” The man's attention shifts to a group of younger men, too rowdy and crass for his liking. “Her bosom doth remind me of the finest cream.” they chortle and the man sighs, feeling sorry for the woman that caught their loathsome, so-called affections. He continues sipping the champagne, wishing it would render him completely fuddled, but sadly he wouldn’t feel the bliss of drunkenness anytime soon. 

Again, the crude group pulls him back to their conversation, “I have heard that the maiden has never been touched.” one of the men shrugs, his disgustingly oversized cravat shifts out of his shirt “As all good gentlewomen should be, untainted, pure.” The original man, wearing a deep blue jacket, shakes his head, “Nay Edwards, I heard the mardle, they say she has never been touched in any sense of the word, Clean in name and body.” the group erupts in laughter, the man with the messy cravat, Edward, doubles over, practically wheezing before shifting upright “Thou be an absolute shifter Robert!” he claps his hand on the man's shoulder “You’d have to be dizzy to believe such nonsense spewed from the mouths of these harlots.” another man chimes in “Ay! In mine own home I heard my sisters speak to my mother about the woman,” he fidgets under the scrutiny of the group “They say the maidens father doth not allow his daughter's skin to touch the air, never having been kissed by the sun.” This has the masked man fully turning his head toward the group. Another like us? His siblings will want to hear about the information he had stolen from these calf lollies. 

He slips away, leaving the men to their speculations. Slipping through the crowd he spots one of his kin “Brother,” the shorter man tilts his head to glance at the masked man “Ay? What doth thou want, here to spoil my practices?” a sigh comes from behind the mask “I have heard that there may be another of us here, one that cannot walk where we do.” The shorter male taps his finger against the table “I’ll pass the information on to our siblings if I see them, but for now, I believe I have found someone to dine with tonight, go on your way Niklaus.” 

Frustrated, the man stalks outside, needing to get away from the noise, the smells, everyone of his senses being assaulted. Breathing deeply, cherishing the soft scent of freshly blooming rose buds, he feels himself calming. His feet carry him swiftly down the steps, further away from the crowd. Following a small stone path it leads him to a thick hedge maze, roses, foxglove and lavender decorating the grass. He walks deeper, trailing his fingers through the foliage, a scent filtering through the leaves, ever so faintly. As he continues through the maze the aroma gets stronger, a sharp scent of vanilla and cloves. How wonderful. Niklaus smiles, following it, like a child after candy. He breaks through the last turn, his gaze sweeping across a large circular enclosure in what he presumed to be the center of the maze. 

A fountain bubbles quietly and a few chairs and benches dot around the spacious area. Humming can be heard from the other side of the stone water fountain, curiosity pulls him towards the noise, seeing a small frame of a woman come into view. She sways back and forth, trance-like in her musical state. Soft blue fabric cascades down her waist in ruffles and waves, pooling around her feet, delicate strips of lace wrap around her sleeves and collar, pearls studded along the bodice and a sheer veil pulled over her head drapes down the woman's back. Her noises stop, body slowly turning towards the man “Hello.”. Good lord, her voice, like an angel's kiss, a morning doves song, a ray of sunshine. Klaus tips his head at her, taking a few steps closer “Are you here for my party?” she asks, her head tilting back to look up at the stars “I was not aware it was your party.” he circles the woman “Nobody does,” she spins slowly holding her dress up to not step on it “Papa lets me pick everything out,” she closes her eyes and smiles “I am not allowed to attend though.” Klaus raises his eyebrow “How peculiar.” she doesn’t respond and continues spinning quietly “I wish to dance with them one day. I wear my prettiest dresses each time.” she raises her arms as if to grasp an invisible person and begins to waltz by herself “Why doth thou father not permit you to attend?” Klaus asks, intrigued by the woman “He says it is too dangerous for me,” she pauses her movements and faces him “I have a sickness,” she holds her hands up and Klaus watches the tremors run up and down her arms, her fingers twitching “I am weakened, many physics have seen me, none with answers.” her shoulders droop, the gentle shaking takes over her body and she lowers herself to the ground. Klaus takes a seat on the bench beside her “If it is of any consolation, you look exquisite.” she gives him a bright smile “I believe so too! This is my favorite gown, the fabric,” she sighs as she trails her fingers along the lines of her dress “Papa said that it is from Vienna.”.

They sit in silence for a beat, Klaus just watching the strange woman and her odd mannerisms. She really did seem to be in a completely different world. “Are you the one everyone speaks of? The one that does not touch the sun?” he breaks the quiet, making her jump as if she had forgotten his presence “Most likely,” her head moves in the direction of the ball “they like to talk about me, sometimes I hear them from my room, the maids will also tell me the things they hear.” she looks slightly dazed “Some truth in their rumors, my skin,” she swallows “It burns in the sunlight, painful, like knives.” she whimpers as she rubs her arms “Poor child, a fate of pain and suffering.” Klaus doesn’t understand why his heart clenches for this sad thing. Her face changes and she stands “I must go, Papa is looking for me.” she’s gone before he can even ask her name, leaving behind her sweet scent.

[the-ghost-of-the-tulpar]

 hello hello is this thing on? Of course it is

Welcome all to a glimpse of my Eternity!

Ask me any questions you desire and expect to see a lot more of me around this plain of existence in this ship

(disclaimer by me the OP I may not respond to ask very fast and don’t be too spicy lol)

✨mod section!✨

adding a little bit more to this post because of my inherent ability of free-styling my fucking lore

David is a 19-year-old intern who unfortunately died on the tulpar After willfully taking more sleeping medication than he should have

when David is stressed, foxglove vines will grow from him and climb any nearby object

(yes I am painfully aware Fox glove is a shoot flower not a vine flower my hyper fixation is poisonous flowers)

Sometimes at random David will experience a ghostly flashback to what got him to the afterlife via him spontaneously Upchucking a bunch of perfectly dry sleeping pills and in cases where he is stressed prior to it the whole pill bottle will come with it

David is currently dating @/intern-daisuke

yes, I asked the person running that blog before hand because consent is required even for platonic role-play stuff

I will most likely add onto this when I think or add more stuff to David 

[wetcatspellcaster]

I was crying, gasping, my heart was pounding through the whole chapter, and then I YELLED at the Foxglove 💔

The guilt Rose has, and how perfectly Ascended hit her in it, and how cruel it was. It reminded me how in Bleeding Heart and Honest Lie Astarion spared Rose the truth he thought of her at times, he didn't want to hurt her (apart that time with a hag, but he felt so guilty and afraid after, I forgave him) and just how much Ascended doesn't really understand Rose, doesn't know what she wants, what she needs, it makes me pity him, even if I absolutely hate him for what he put her, Astarion, and all their friends through.

It's truly heartbreaking. And written so beautifully, so dynamic, with so much dread and fear and desperation it hurts so good.

Thank you. It was a magnificent chapter.

hi anon, thank you so much for your message! I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter :)

I hadn't really thought about the parallels with other my other fic but it's a nice angle to consider, especially in light of my thoughts about masking in a previous ask where an Astarion who is checking his impulses cares about other people, which means I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing!

I have a lot of pity for the Ascendent, it was the only way I could write him and still find it interesting/enjoy the experience, even when he was doing horrible things! (this is not a moral statement and do not want it to be read as such, it's literally just about what sort of things fixate me as a writer!) I created an incredibly personal monster that embodies a lot of my own fears and anxieties, and as such I do want even his worst moments to be seen as both unforgiveable but also tragic. I hope it will make sense by the end, but I think a monster that knows it's a monster, and then can't find it in themselves to be vulnerable enough to tell other people that and find community, is a very tragic figure!

Thank you for reading the fic, and taking the time to message me about it! :) x

[olivegoblin123]

New Intro! Yippee!!!

Hi I'm Olive, I reblog too much stuff. This blog is aggressively multifandom since I'm too lazy to make separate blogs for everything, and the fandom being focused on can change at any moment since I fluctuate a lot on what I'm currently fixated on (spooky).

Also I like 2000's-early 2010's art and amvs a lot :3, those old edgy warrior cats animations are forever rooted in my brain. Socials: I'm normally not that active on these platforms and some info (mainly relating to my oc's) will be outdated, but yea. Youtube (Not very active) Toyhou.se Artfight

My Tags:

#Olive Posting = Posts that I’ve made

#My Art = Art I've made

#Foxgloved = Non-fandom OC content, emo furries i need to draw more of.

[puppycrowd]

PUPPY CROWD ૮ ˶o ﻌ o˶ ა

it / he / woof / pup / paw ~ canis / will / mutt / tobey

polyfrag did sys of 300+ we are trans masc, lots of xenogenders (please do ask), achillean and polyamorous (capy 13.08.22) (aaron 22.09.24) (sevïk 29.09.24)

🦴 we are bodily 19 and in the gmt timezone

🦴 current fixations: hannibal, psych, x-men

current hosts :

will graham , he they it

adam raki , he they star astro

shawn spencer , he woof

current active fronters :

robert chase , gale dekarios , abigail hobbs , jaskier , charles xavier , scott summers

i wanna give love to polycule :OO!!! geiger sys (sevïk/lyubov/akira/foxglove), pathfinder sys (aaron/rook) and capybara co (capy) <33 all /r

i feel the need to clarify that systems can only be formed through trauma, if you believe otherwise please don’t interact.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 12

We made our way to the farmland, wary of what we might find in the farmhouse where Aldern Foxglove was supposedly captured by these ‘scarecrows’.

The first scarecrow we came across Krysa set ablaze—but as far as we could tell afterwards it had just been an ordinary straw man. Further up the road, however, we came across two more, which we noted were moving unusually. We destroyed them before they could ambush us. We found exactly what we expected to beneath the scarecrow guise: more ghouls.

At the next crossroads we saw another suspiciously moving scarecrow. Thankfully, before we attacked it, we heard a voice from it, muffled and begging for help. We discussed what to do with the captive—would it be safe to save him or would he turn into a ghoul in moments? We determined his wounds were fresh, and while carrying Ghoul Fever, he was not yet in the advanced stages and could still be saved. So we cut him down and led him back to wait outside the farmland where our horses were tied. But not before another ghoul tried to jump us from behind. Unsuccessfully, as Krysa burned it to death with a single spell.

As we made our way up the hill leading towards the farmhouse, we took note of another scarecrow with drag marks in the ground leading to it, implying another innocent had been tied to a post a little ways away. We also noted four scarecrows down one road, placed suspiciously close together. We decided we would take care of them on the way back, however. For now, we went to help the other victim—the wife of the first man we’d saved—and led her to wait with her husband.

Then we made it to the farmhouse. Inside was ransacked, but there was nothing living or undead waiting within. So we decided to check the barn. We heard the telltale groans of the undead, as well as a familiar voice—or more precisely a familiar pathetic whimpering. There was no doubt Foxglove was within and being held captive by the ghouls. Which meant we needed to save him…if only to clear out the danger to the people and farm animals living here.

We decided to take a pincer formation, Nanel and Krysa stationed at the front entrance while myself and Tabot went through the back door. Nanel made some noise at the front door to grab the undeads’ attention, so that they would all be focused on one side and be caught by surprise when Tabot and I came up behind.

The plan went off perfectly. Nanel and Krysa killed the leader, a ghast, in a split second. The rest followed quickly. One up in the loft even tried to leap at me from above—but must not have noticed Tabot between us until it was sailing over him, its stomach getting split by Tabot’s sword. He’d merely held it up to let the thing impale itself on.

When the fighting was done with we released Aldern. More out of obligation to learn what he might know than out of any love for the man. It seemed he’d only gotten more conceited and rude since the last time we spoke. He made frequent comments that clearly showed he only respected Nanel—or at least the version of Nanel he’d built in his head. He had this weird fixation on how strong and wrathful our companion was, claiming he was everything a hero should be.

I mean no offense to Nanel, as he’s done a lot to keep me alive in the past few days. But I don’t think ‘the pinnacle of heroism’ is what I would call him, especially knowing about Donyoku whispering in his ear. I don’t think any of us really fits the ‘heroic’ archetype. Krysa is chaotic and destructive—not necessarily a bad thing given it’s generally aimed at our enemies—and Tabot is naïve and judgmental, with a clear preference to not try to save those he deems irredeemable. And I’m just an alchemist with a bad leg and a few useful tricks, I neither seek nor embody the title of ‘hero’, despite the events since my house was burned down.

Regardless, Aldern was clearly only going to defer to Nanel. Despite Nanel making no effort to hide his distain for the man, even going so far as to violently lift him off the ground and threaten him when he refused to tell us everything he knew about the ghoul situation.

What we finally got out of him was that he had, in fact, helped with the recent murders. But he was not the Skinshaw Man. His ‘girlfriend’ was. I noted immediately that this must have been Sheyless Vinder, the younger daughter of Ven Vinder and the sister of one of the victims. Aldern confirmed, Sheyless was holed up in his manor and was the source of the ghouls and murders. He insisted he come with us to rectify the situation and get his home back. We were, obviously, less than thrilled at the prospect of him coming along. However he insisted, telling us that he could give us information about the manor and its ‘five ghosts’. He would not give us that information unless we brought him along, and he laughed off threats to his life from Nanel and Tabot, telling us he had worse to fear than mere death. Whoever was pulling the strings would apparently do worse, making him live in agony instead of the relief of a quick death. He would not devolve who this was, saying he only would once he had his house back.

I called a group huddle to discuss, out of Aldern’s earshot. I told the others that I thought it would be in our best interest to keep him nearby, even though I didn’t relish the thought of him traveling with us either. We could get whatever information we needed from him, and if he did anything to hinder us that made him more of a threat than a benefactor, we could get rid of him then and there. I’m not generally one to suggest cold blooded murder, I assure you. But Foxglove was a vile little man who was as likely to stab us in the back as he was to actually be of any use. At best he would likely be dead weight.

The others agreed with my assessment, and after some back and forth we agreed to return his armor and rapier—with the promise that if he proved to be useless in combat we would take the incredibly fine rapier back and make him stay out of the way.

I think, given the circumstances, we were being exceedingly kind. He’d had his hand in the multiple gruesome murders we’d seen in town, and the fact we even gave him a chance instead of turning him in to Sheriff Hemlock immediately was more than he deserved. A Sarenrite saint could not have had more patience and grace than we managed to muster.

That being said, we did tie him back up and leave him on the farmhouse bed while we returned to town for the night. Because none of us trusted him in the slightest, and we were not taking him back to town or letting him wander on his own.

I sincerely hope we do not come to regret this decision.

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 10 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3k

Part 10 - Mors Grano

The days after Avery’s poor attempt of gathering information went by quite eventfully. Not only had Avery and Lestrange almost gotten expelled by Dippet for what they had done, but had received the worst detention you had ever heard of. 

Every day, up until the N.E.W.T.s would start, they had to help Mr Carpe, Hogwarts’ caretaker, to clean every last bit of the castle. Without magic of course. And when they weren’t scrubbing floors, cleaning windows, or polishing trophies, they were copying the school rules on parchment, by hand. The amount of paper they had to fill looked like it wouldn’t even fit into an entire classroom, had it not been rolled up. 

Even if they still wanted to, their new schedule didn’t even give them enough time to trail, or even think about you. They barely had enough time to finish their homework before tumbling into their beds.

You would have felt sorry for them, but Tom’s snarky grin, which he wore every time you saw the two in the hallways, reminded you that you didn’t have to. 

Thank Merlin you hadn’t told Avery much when he had disguised himself as Tom. You had just confirmed that the engagement had been arranged but thankfully hadn’t said anything about your sister. There had been worse rumours going round about Tom and you. 

Camille almost didn’t believe you when you told her what they had done. After a lot of head shaking and “no, they didn’t”s she just stared at you with her mouth open and proceeded to laugh for a full minute or two when you told her about their punishment. 

It was a lucky coincidence that she had found an interest in Ben, as she didn’t mind now that you were spending a lot more time with Tom. She was preoccupied as well by the looks of it. 

After the accidental sleepover, you had stayed in Tom’s dorm overnight more often. Not on accident though. It had become a routine to you, to have another quick chat with Camille after classes, arrange some dates for when you wanted to study together and then make your way to the Slytherin common room, where Tom’s dorm was.

Tom was sitting at his desk when you entered the room, apparently deep in thought and studying the Potions book he had gifted you.

“Alright?” you said when you closed the door.

He nodded as you went up to him.

“Found anything interesting for the Moly?” you asked. “It still looks quite healthy to me.”

“Not really,” he answered and turned towards you. “Nothing specific.”

“Oh, I just got an owl from my parents. ” You crammed the letter out of your bag and handed it to him. “They’ve fixated the date. For the wedding.”

Tom read the letter quietly, his eyebrows twitching slightly once or twice.

“June 30th,” he said.

“That’s only one day after we graduate,” you stated and tried to lighten the mood by joking. “Seems like they can’t wait for the big day.”

He nodded as he gazed into the flames inside the fireplace, a tiny grin pulling on the edge of his mouth before he looked up at you. “Can you?”

To prevent the chuckle that built up inside of you from bursting out, you took Tom’s hand, lightly pulled on it and gestured towards the couch, where you wanted to sit. He closed the Potions book, but kept one finger inside it and took it with him when you led him over.

“Well, I don’t know,” you said as you let yourself fall onto the cushion. “It still doesn’t feel real, does it?”

“True,” he simply agreed. 

“I can’t wait to try on the dress, though. That’ll be exciting,” you went on and noticed him smiling. “And then there’s the most important part, of course.”

He gave you a look as if to say he didn’t know what you meant.

“Elsie,” you explained. “Your uncle will lift her curse completely then. Or so I hope at least.”

Morfin had to, didn’t he? It was part of the pact after all. Tom and you would get married so that they would free your sister. As much as you wanted to believe that the Gaunts were trustworthy, there had been a nasty sting in your stomach ever since the engagement. Would they really give up, even when they had won? They wouldn’t be able to control you anymore afterwards, or Tom, or anyone but themselves. Marvolo’s filthy grin appeared in your head. Would he ever give it a rest?

“He will free her, won’t he?” you asked.

Tom looked into your eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, it’s what they agreed on.”

“But?” you asked. 

“But,” he went on, “You’ve seen how they are.”

An invisible weight seemed to pull on your limbs and the sting in your stomach got more intense. 

“They’ll never let go,” you breathed. “But how-”

Tom shook his head and exhaled slowly. “I have to show you something.”

He gave you the Potions book and opened it at the page where he had put his finger before. “I thought you’d come across it on your own, but as I noticed you wouldn’t… Just see for yourself.”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering what Morfin’s book had to do with anything, before looking down at it. Tom pointed at a recipe, written in scrawled handwriting:

Mors Grano or The Dust Of Slow Death The dust is used to be scattered over an item and will cling to the first person that touches it. Vanishes the second the victim comes in contact, which makes it very hard to be detected and cured. Victims will suffer from a distinctively harsh cough, as well as pain and flu-like symptoms, which will worsen each day, until they become fatal. Average time until death is around three weeks after the first encounter with Mors Grano. In most cases, the victim will lose their life before the appropriate antidote can be given. 

You didn’t bother reading the list of ingredients, as your hands were shaking far too much to even detect another word. You had heard of Mors Grano before. Professor Dippet had brought it up in History of Magic when you had learned about the Passing of Men in 1760. Hundreds of witches had poisoned their abusive husbands with it when the dust had been invented. It had taken years to figure out what had caused such an increased amount of deaths, which happened to involve male wizards only. The potion and most of its ingredients got banned afterwards and you had never heard of another case since.

Until now. It suddenly all made sense. The Gaunts had sent the letter and had coated it with Mors Grano. They had known how to cure Elsie all along and had patiently waited, days and weeks, had let your sister suffer until Father had contacted them. No wonder the owl had given the letter to her, even though it had been addressed to Father. They had specifically chosen her. A ten year old, innocent, little girl. 

You weren’t sure if you had to throw up, or just needed to punch something really hard, but your stomach did twists and turns that you had never felt before. A thin layer of sweat had formed on your forehead and your hands were still shaking.

“They…” you whispered. “And you knew?”

Tom swallowed thickly. “I didn’t at first. But then I came across it when Morfin prepared the poison.”

“And you never told me?” you asked, your voice loud and on the verge of breaking, while you attempted to get up from the couch.

“Let me explain,” Tom said and grabbed your hand. “Sit down.”

“What is there to explain?” you asked, trying to pull away from his grip. “You’ve known for months. Even before your first visit. Before Elsie got sick. And you never tried to prevent it, nor did you tell me.”

Tom’s grip around your hand got tighter the more you tried to get him off you. “I said let me explain. I let you explain yourself when I saw you with Avery, didn’t I? Imagine I just ran away then. Now sit down.”

Finally, Tom’s grip loosened, allowing you to tear your hand away from him. Not knowing what to think or say, you sat down but couldn’t bring yourself to even look in his direction.

“Yes, I knew,” he began with a sigh. “And I didn’t care until I found out what they wanted to use the potion for. But I couldn’t tell you. Or anyone. I still can’t. I’m unable to talk about it. They were a step ahead. Understand?”

The Gaunts were a step ahead. They always wanted to be. Just like on Christmas Day, when they wanted you and Tom to do-

“An unbreakable vow?” you asked with wide eyes. “You had to vow not to tell anyone.”

He nodded. “I vowed not to tell. But I didn’t vow not to show.”

He turned one page inside the book and handed it to you again.

Mors Grano - antidote

Ingredients: 

The skin of a snake

2 fresh Foxgloves

3 blossoms of a Moly

4 drops of Moondew

5 tears of a Banshee

“The antidote,” you mumbled. “Full with an ingredient list and instructions. Morfin brewed it already then? They gave it to Elsie, otherwise, she wouldn’t have gotten better.”

“He didn’t complete it,” Tom answered, apparently trying not to say something that would interfere with the vow.

“He left out something? They gave her an unfinished antidote?”

Tom nodded. 

“The tears?” you guessed, solely because it was the most powerful and rare item on the list.

“I’m not sure. They never let me into his chamber after the engagement.”

“Can we… Can we steal it from him? And add the last ingredient?”

“Marvolo has the flask on him at all times. He’s suspicious, even of Morfin.”

Bloody hell. Marvolo’s paranoia was a real pain. You scanned the antidote again, thinking of all the ways you could get your hands on that potion.

“But I could brew it myself. Most of the ingredients are easy to find. Foxgloves are for sale in Diagon Alley, I’ve seen them countless times. The Moly, we have it here,” you listed and looked at it standing on the desk, finally realising why Tom had tried to keep it alive so badly. “Snakeskin from Nagini. We just wait for her to shed. Moondew and the Banshee tears will be tricky, however.”

Tom nodded at every new thing you had said. “You figured it out.”

Your stomach had stopped squirming at the glimmer of hope you had for saving Elsie. You carefully read the recipe for the antidote again, understanding how long it would take and how hard it would be to get the potion right. If everything went well, it would be finished mid to late June at the earliest. Besides, Slughorn had never taught you such advanced techniques. 

Now that you were thinking of your Professor, it began to dawn on you. “Do you think Slughorn has Moondew and Banshee tears in his chamber?”

“Possibly,” Tom answered. “But do you really want to steal from him after what Avery and Lestrange did? I’m sure he’s got it all locked up in his office now.”

“Well, I have to try. Where else would I get those things from? And I better try soon. The antidote will take months to make as it is and the earlier I start, the better.”

Tom took the book, got up from the couch and put it into the drawer of his desk, closing it shut slowly.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re going to Slughorn then, aren’t we? Come on.”

You followed him out hastily, trying to sort out your thoughts. Frankly, you had not expected to get the ingredients this quickly.

“Wait, how are we going to do it?” you asked, struggling to keep pace. “We can’t just sneak in and grab the things we need. He might be in there.”

“Even better then,” Tom said, not deigning to look at the other students strolling along the hallways. “I talk, you get the stuff.”

As Slughorn’s office was located on the sixth floor, it took some time to get there. Your mind was still racing around the facts you had just been given and you needed to talk about it.

“I can’t believe they made you vow,” you muttered. “Marvolo and Morfin are…”

“Bastards,” he finished your sentence when you stepped from one of the moving staircases to another. “I’m aware.”

“Well, yes they are.”

You were the only people on the staircase, floating higher up towards your destination. Tom looked over his shoulder to double-check if anyone could hear him.

“You know what,” he said pensively. “I actually expected people to ask me what I, or my family, had done to make the engagement happen. Seeing as it was them who got the ball rolling. But everyone suspected you. They all thought your parents bribed us.”

You thought about what to answer for a moment. A sour smile had formed on your face. One that, for all you knew, every woman had worn at least once in her life. 

“A woman's intentions will always be questioned a hundred times harsher than those of a man, Tom. What else is new?”

He pressed his lips together, nodded and kept quiet until you reached the sixth floor.

“Wait,” you said and got a hold of his hand when you had entered the corridor of Slughorn’s office. “I wanted to thank you. For helping me. The book, the Moly and now this. You know you don’t have to.”

He squeezed your fingers lightly in response. 

“Trust me, no one hates Marvolo and Morfin more than I do. If I can make their lives a bit harder, I’ll gladly do it. And besides, I want to see your sister become Quidditch captain one day. That will really piss them off.”

There wasn’t a lot of time to take in Tom’s words, as you had arrived. There it was. The door to Slughorn’s room.

“Get behind me,” Tom ordered. “Make sure he doesn’t see you.”

You did as he said, pressed your back against the stone wall and watched from a small distance how Tom knocked on the door and Slughorn opened it.

“Oh, Tom,” the Professor said. “Good afternoon. What brings you here?”

“Good afternoon Professor. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I have some questions about Avery and Lestrange. I’m trying to sort out some things for Professor Dippet. Would you mind letting me in?”

Slughorn opened the door fully and stepped back. “Of course, boy, of course. Come in.”

Tom had left the door open for you to slip in behind them, which you instantly did. He lured Slughorn to the far end of his office, walking backwards and keeping an eye on you. Slughorn’s potion stock was right next to the entrance, where you knelt down between the shelves, in case he would turn around unexpectedly.

The small drawers weren’t tagged, but you noticed that their contents were sorted alphabetically. As you silently roamed through them, you could hear Tom and Slughorn speak.

“So, Professor,” Tom said. “Do you know if Avery and Lestrange have taken anything else? Apart from the Polyjuice Potion?”

The Professor hummed. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Why?”

Every single one of the drawers was filled to the brim with ingredients, some vials even had completed potions in it, but you still hadn’t seen the things you were looking for. It was a delicate act to go through everything so quickly, while being quiet at the same time and making sure not to miss anything.

“Well, there were some items found. Residues of Moondew and Banshee tears,” Tom explained.

“Banshee tears?” Slughorn asked.

“Yes. We can’t be sure if it was them, but I thought if you missed those things from your supply, the two might have something to do with it.”

“No, everything else is there, I counted it myself,” Slughorn assured. “What baffles me are the Banshee tears.”

Tom was an excellent liar, even though Slughorn would have probably bought anything his favourite student said. The bottom drawer at the penultimate row was stuck. You pulled the handle tightly but it only opened up an inch and gave a screech while it did, making you freeze from fear.

“Did you hear something?” Slughorn asked, his voice echoing your way.

“No, I didn’t,” Tom answered and coughed. “Why are you surprised about the Banshee tears, sir?”

“Well, those tears are rare,” the teacher answered, his head directed towards Tom again. “Very rare and also not very legal, boy. I’ve never seen them anywhere in my whole life. They couldn’t have been from me.”

No Banshee tears from Slughorn then. You pulled out your wand and cast a nonverbal spell to loosen up the stuck drawer. Should have done that right away, you thought to yourself. Eventually, it opened smoothly and your eyes went over all the flasks and their name tags. Mollowsweed, mandrake, maw, mistletoe berry... Moondew. Thank Merlin! There were over ten vials of it in the drawer, so you hastily took out one and put it into your pocket.

You peeked over the counter, locked eyes with Tom, and pointed towards the door to let him know you would leave.

“I see,” Tom went on, his eyes back on Slughorn. “We’ll have to look into that. Anyway, if you do notice some Moondew missing, against all expectations, I’m going to have another talk with Dippet about Avery and Lestrange.”

“I’ll let you know, boy. Thank you.”

“Enjoy your evening, sir.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 25

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised@alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 24

Next Chapter: Chapter 26

Uncle Jem had brought several of the Carstairs family’s old notebooks, and the past week they’d spend studying them to see if there was anything interesting. They’d rescued Grace, but no one had been able to find Tatiana since, nor did they know what they were up against exactly and if they could defeat it. Cordelia believed cortana could kill it, but walking in with no plan would just get them all killed.

Thomas felt like they were running out of time. He hadn’t told anyone yet, but he felt tired lately, much more than usual. For Alastair that was normal, he guessed, Alastair was always tired and therefore Thomas had no reason to complain. Still, it was odd and sudden. Then he’d gotten a bit of a headache, and right now he struggled to finish his lunch, which was already much smaller than what he usually ate. He’d eaten much less than he usually did the past days, truth to be told. He just didn’t have the same appetite. He was feeling a little chilly too, but guessed he should just put on a cardigan.

‘Are you alright, Tommy?’ his mother asked. ‘You’ve been eating so little lately.’

‘Just nervous, that’s all,’ Thomas said.

The thing was, Thomas didn’t usually eat less when he was nervous. If anything he ate more, he’d always been a stress eater. Instead he figured he was coming down with something. Someone else might just have said, ‘I think I’m getting sick, I’m going to rest a bit’, but after a childhood of frequent illness and worrying parents Thomas couldn’t get the words over his lips. He’d make sure to rest a bit more, he told himself. But he didn’t want to worry anymore, and he especially didn’t want his parents to start taking care of him like they used to when he was young.

Instead, he returned his attention to Alastair, who had long finished eating and gone outside to read. A ray of sunlight fell on his cheek, illuminating his warm golden brown skin. His eyes were fixated in a journal so old it looked like it might fall apart any moment. Not in Alastair’s careful hands though. He was holding the journal with meticulous care, so no damage would come to it. With his free hand, he pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, but it was not yet long enough to stay there so it fell back in front of his face. Back in school, Alastair would slick his hair back with hair gel, always perfectly in order, not a hair out of place. Thomas, who usually took a comb through his hair and left it at that, had wondered where he found the time. Now it was falling in soft wavy locks over his face. At school Thomas would never have guessed Alastair’s hair was wavy, but it was loose now and Thomas had grown to love gently running his fingers through it. He’d always loved Alastair’s dark hair, he thought. Alastair had shown him a picture from when he’d dyed it blonde, and although that looked alright, Thomas thought his dark hair was much more beautiful.

‘Anything interesting?’ Thomas asked, sitting down on the bench next to Alastair.

A gnome came up to his feet. Thomas and his mother had been feeding them to gain their trust, and not long since the gnomes had learnt that Thomas meant a chance for food. He guessed there were still plenty of cookies he didn’t feel like eating at the moment anyway, but he also wasn’t motivated to go into the kitchen and get anything. Thomas guessed resisting that adorable smile was good practice for when he got pets.

‘Nothing yet,’ Alastair said. ‘But I think I’m getting to the part that described that witch. It might give us some clues about what else Lucie can do.’

‘Have you discussed with Cordelia where you’ll live after the summer?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair had confided in him that even if his mother managed to get back the house and could go and live there, he was considering moving in with uncle Jem for the time being. His father’s house held too many bad memories, and Thomas could understand it would not be good for his recovery to live there again. Alastair had not yet made a decision, but Thomas thought it might be good for him.

‘She has not yet decided what she’ll do,’ Alastair said. ‘She is a bit young to live without her mother after all. Besides, with our mother pregnant it would be better to have someone with her. If she doesn’t get the house back, I presume she would stay with Risa and with me gone there might be enough space for Cordelia as well. But I’m almost nineteen, I figured it might be time to move out. Even if I’m moving in with another relative instead of getting my own place.’

‘That’s just practical, living on your own would be expensive. Besides, Jem won’t be another parent, will he? So you’ll still get to practice your adulting skills in a relatively safe environment. Does Jem live far away from your mother?’

‘Completely different part of London, but still in the city,’ Alastair said. ‘Easy to travel to university from there. It’s a big house, so I’ll really have my own space and get to take care of myself, with Jem still there in case I can’t. I’ve lived there until I was about six. When I was still happy, there are no bad memories tied up to that place. I thought maybe I could be happy again there.’

‘Where does Jem live exactly?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair gently put the notebook away, closing it carefully and putting it down in his lap. He took his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, showing him a screen of google maps with a marker where Jem lived.

‘Oh, that’s not far from where my parents live,’ Thomas said. ‘Only a few stops with the metro. We live close to the station.’

‘I didn’t realize. Well, that’s convenient. Makes it easy to have sleep overs or go out together if we don’t live too far away.’

‘Precisely,’ Thomas said. ‘Would you like to go for a walk when you’re finished here? A short one, I am a little tired. But I’d like some fresh air.’

Alastair carefully bound up his notebook and put it on the table inside with the others, before coming with him.

‘It’s safer to bring Lucie,’ Alastair said. ‘In case we get trapped in between again.’

Alastair had a point, although Thomas would like some time alone with him. He was so busy at work all the time, ever since Jem had arrived he was preoccupied with the journals. Thomas missed their walks.

‘Alright, we’ll walk to uncle Will and aunt Tessa and ask her and Cordelia to come. I’m curious if uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily are coming this way too. Jem said they were struggling to find a babysitter.’

‘Right, for little Alexander,’ Alastair said.

‘And Christopher,’ Thomas added. ‘My other cousin. He’s almost seven now.’

‘What’s he like?’ Alastair asked.

‘Different from Alexander, that’s for sure,’ Thomas said. ‘Alexander is a menace. Sweet, but fierce and hyperactive and if you don’t watch him for two seconds he’s swinging from the curtains somewhere. Christopher… he’s not as wild. He’s curious and is obsessed with science. He likes to do simple experiments, and we sometimes have to keep him from setting things on fire. I’m not sure he realizes “Don’t try this at home” applies to him as well. Fortunately, putting on a science show on tv usually keeps him from blowing anything up. Usually, my sisters and I babysit them when necessary, but he also adores uncle Henry, who is an inventor.’

It occurred to Thomas that Henry was Charles’ father. Sometimes children did not resemble their parents, he guessed. It had been a bit of a shock for everyone to learn that Charles had been Alastair’s former lover. Even if not everyone knew how awful he’d been to Alastair, they all had pieced together how much older Charles was. His father most of all had been horrified, since he’d known Charles since he was a baby. Thomas suspected he’d go confront Charles himself if Alastair hadn’t asked him not to. He knew Alastair was still ashamed of his past relationship and was still trying to make sense of it all. Thomas was glad he’d found trust in him and his parents, even if Thomas suspected Alastair still kept the worst of it to himself. Who could blame him? He wasn’t sure if Alastair finally believed his parents cared about him now, but at least he seemed to trust them which was a big step for Alastair. His mother had told him about her past and how she’d gotten her scar in an attempt to let him know he could talk about it and she understood.

‘As a child I had a phase where I liked science too,’ Alastair said. ‘I think I often had phases like that with different interests. When Cordelia and I were very young, we both loved architecture and played with all sorts of building toys and legos together. I also really liked math for a while. Then the animals from the forests in Devon. I lived there for a while in a small village. I think that’s when I grew a bit obsessed with hedgehogs.’

‘Christopher has been obsessed with science for some time now,’ Thomas said. ‘But we’ll see how it goes and what he’ll like in the future. He’s being assessed for autism and ADHD. He’s a sweet kid, but he struggles socially. Not a lot of friends unfortunately. I honestly think he prefers my company over his peers.’

‘I know what that’s like,’ Alastair said. ‘To be the child with the weird interests and never fit in with other children.’

‘You lived in Devon for a while. What was it like there?’

‘The scenery was amazing. The forests there are beautiful. The people… not so much, I prefer London.’

‘I lived in the countryside for a couple of years too when I was little, for my health. I think where I lived the people were nicer, more involved than in the city.’

Alastair made a face. ‘Not when you’re foreign and your mother wears a roosari. The people in Devon are mostly white. I don’t think Father really considered that when he moved us there, it was mostly about him. They might be kind if you’re part of their group, but they’re hostile to outsiders. Fortunately, we moved back after a couple of years.’

‘Ah, of course,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He felt stupid for not considering that earlier.

‘Well, people are racist everywhere. But at least in London there are more people of color and people are at least used to the idea that not everyone’s white.’ My mother still gets dirty stares and comments for her roosari, but she’s not the only one who covers her hair. So while in Devon, I much preferred to spend my time in the woods looking for hedgehogs than with other people. I guess I still do.’

Thomas felt a bit numb in his head, shivering even if it wasn’t cold at all. Perhaps going for a walk wasn’t the best idea, but he wanted to spend some time outside just the same. He should have brought something warm to wear, was all. He wasn’t really sick, it was just not as warm as he’d expected. But Alastair wasn’t shivering at all, he seemed to enjoy the sun on his skin. Thomas did too but it didn’t bring him any warmth.

‘You need to go back for a cardigan?’ Alastair asked. ‘There are goosebumps all over your arms.’

‘Oh. No, I’ll be fine.’

Thomas felt faint in the head and by the time they made it to the Herondale’s house, his vision became a little blurry and he collapsed against the door. He was awfully nauseous yet didn’t feel like he was going to throw up. Alastair noticed his sudden movement and his reflexes were quick. He tried to catch him.

‘Why are you so goddamn heavy, Tom,’ he groaned, trying and failing to stop both of them from crashing into the door.

Leaning against Alastair and the door, Thomas pushed himself upright again, blinking a couple of times until he felt he could stand on his own feet again. Alastair’s soft fingers went from his cheek to his forehead, and Thomas immediately recognized what he was doing. It was the same thing his parents and sisters had done his entire childhood. If they didn’t have a thermometer at hand, they’d feel his forehead, his neck, and determine if he was allowed to go anywhere. Alastair was going to determine he was sick and then all that was left was for everyone to tuck him into bed and start taking care of him. Thomas had hoped to avoid that.

‘You’re burning up,’ Alastair said. ‘You should not be going outside, much less for a walk. Come, we’re here anyway, I’m sure you could use the couch.’

Alastair led him inside, one arm around his waist and the other in his hand, and packed him in blankets on the couch, fetching a thermometer and some paracetamol.

‘Alastair,’ Thomas said, trying to piece together words through the headache and light headedness.

‘Just let me get this,’ Alastair said, pushing the thermometer into Thomas’ ear.

‘Alastair,’ Thomas repeated.

’38,6,’ Alastair said. ‘Tom, you have a serious fever. Why didn’t you say anything? I’ll make you some tea, just relax.’

‘Alastair!’ Thomas yelled, startling the boy.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Please don’t. I can make my own tea, I can take my own temperature,’ Thomas said, trying to calm his breath. ‘I hate it when people take care of me. I told you about my sickness as a child. I don’t want things to be like that again, I don’t want to be taken care of. So please, don’t. Just let me do it.’

Alastair sat down next to him. ‘You were about to walk into the woods with a fever. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.’

‘Yes. I am stubborn. I didn’t realize it would be so bad. But please, let me make these mistakes by myself. I don’t want to be treated like a sick child again.’ Thomas paused, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He didn’t realize this would make him so emotional. ‘I always loved that about you, how you believed I could take anything. How you didn’t treat me as if I was fragile because I was small and used to get sick.’

Alastair sighed. ‘I was an ass to you, Tom. It had nothing to do with respect, or thinking you’re strong.’

‘I know, and it did hurt sometimes. But I loved that you believed I could take it. I knew you didn’t mean any of the things you said, and with me, it was always a bit more light hearted, teasing perhaps.

But you never forced me to go to bed and rest when I did not want it. Matthew grew up around me being sick all the time, and I think he learnt from a young age that I was fragile and to be taken care of. James too. But I never wanted that. I’ll rest, I promise. But I’ll make my own tea, alright?’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. You can make your own tea. Make some for me as well?’

Alastair settled onto the couch while Thomas went into the kitchen to put on the kettle, still wrapped in a blanket. He was too cold to go without it. While waiting for the kettle to boil, Thomas realized Alastair did have a point, he could barely stand upright. Still, he was determined to at least do this. If he wanted anything later, he could always ask Alastair. He picked out a selection of tea bags for Alastair and put in a herbal teabag for his own. Thomas didn’t believe herbal tea cured sickness, but it was worth a shot.

He settled back on the couch, wrapped the blankets back around himself and took two paracetamol, hoping that would at least lower the fever.

‘I really can’t believe you think of my being rude to you as something positive,’ Alastair said. ‘I made fun of your height all the time.’

Thomas shrugged from underneath the blanket. ‘I never minded when you called me pipsqueak or wee little Thomas, or, I don’t know, you had plenty to say.’

Alastair raised an eyebrow. ‘You certainly took your revenge.’

Thomas tried to find a comfortable position on the couch, blankets around him. Alastair did have a point with the paracetamol, and Thomas took two. Hopefully they’d lower his fever.

‘Perhaps I’ll start calling you pipsqueak,’ Thomas said. ‘The name suits you much better now.’

Alastair made an undignified sound. ‘I’m not that short.’

‘You’re plenty shorter than me,’ Thomas said. ‘I always kind of liked it, pipsqueak. It sounded sweet even if you meant it to be hurtful. Sometimes I feel like you never really did a good job at being mean anyway.’

‘I never wanted to hurt anyone,’ Alastair said, ‘and I did have a bit of a weak spot for you then. I can be even worse than what you’ve seen, but I save that for bigots.’

Thomas put his hand on Alastair’s cheek. ‘I always thought you were holding back on being mean, even if you could still be quite vicious. But pipsqueak is mine now.’

Alastair looked mortified. ‘I guess I can’t stop you, can I?’

Thomas lay down on the couch, head on a pillow. Why were all these blankets so small? His feet were still cold and he’d have to find a solution for that. Really, blankets should be made for tall people. Nobody short would complain about having a bit of leftover blanket.

‘It’s concerning, that you’re getting sick after all these years,’ Alastair said softly.

‘It’s nothing,’ Thomas said. ‘Everyone gets a fever every once in a while.’

‘I haven’t had a fever in years. Colds, at times, but rarely a fever,’ Alastair said.

‘You don’t get the flu?’ Thomas asked.

‘Not that I remember,’ Alastair said. ‘But I figured that’s just the age, as a child I would get the occasional fever like all children do, and I imagine I’ll get them again when I’m older.’

Thomas had gotten the flu a couple of time over the past years. Never anything serious or with abnormal frequency, but it had sent the entire family into a panic whenever it happened.

‘Please don’t tell my parents,’ Thomas said. ‘That I’m sick, I mean.’

‘How did you plan to keep it from them?’ Alastair asked.

‘Well, I was hoping I’d be better by the next morning,’ Thomas said. ‘I could sleep over here and then when I’m better pretend nothing happened.’

Alastair was skeptical. ‘I really don’t think you’ll feel better that soon, even if it is a normal flu.’

Lucie and Cordelia entered the room through the garden door, Cordelia turning her sword back into the familiar necklace. ‘Those are a lot of blankets,’ Lucie pointed out. She was right, and Thomas moved them around a bit so at least the biggest blanket would cover his feet, reaching up to his waist.

‘We wanted to revisit the ruins,’ Cordelia said. ‘See if there’s anything else that can give us information on Tatiana or the thief of souls. I was wondering if you would be coming.’

‘Thomas is sick,’ Alastair said.

‘Don’t stay behind on my behalf,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘You sure? I would gladly stay here with you.’

‘I think I’m going to get some sleep anyway,’ Thomas said. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself on my behalf. Go, I’ll still be here when you get back.’

‘Get well soon,’ Lucie said, putting her arms around him briefly. ‘You know how the tv works in case you want to watch a movie.’

‘I’ll be alright, Lu. Good luck with your mission.’

Thomas wanted to believe he had just caught the flu. Bad luck, nothing more. But perhaps that wasn’t the case. Perhaps he wouldn’t get better. Perhaps this meant they were running out of time.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Hello, if you don't mind, how would I fare in EU? I'm a optometry (optitian) student in my last year, and very introverted. However with my friends I'm quite loud, but I'm the sort of person to not contact friends for months because I forget to. I'm a Christian, and really into knitting, crochet and other crafts like that. I keep starting projects and never finishing them. I am prone to keeping my head in a stressful situation, but once it's over I will panic.

For every line you write in the new journal, there appears between it and the previous a new line of writing. This secret between-the-lines addition is handwritten in peacock blue ink, in cursive that is difficult to parse. At first it seemed to echo your own journal, not in content but in tone - someone talking to themselves, to a journal, to an absence. You have continued for several pages, curious to see each new line,  and learned the other has a passion for plants, a love of foxglove in particular, a garden they care for. They don’t answer your questions when you first begin to write them, so it’s not that kind of enchantment. But as time goes on, and the other’s writing turns more and more towards bitterness, and a fixation on small but unforgiven slights, they begin to ask after you in turn - who is the text in black ink, can you understand me, who have you told??? Even now they can’t seem to read your questions, but you fear that soon they may, and they increasingly seem like someone you don’t want to know.

[boatem-kinnies]

mod intros - mobile ver

Mod Pix [🏴‍☠️] - Owner of the blog, she/he/neos, system host + e!pixlriffs kin (plus more i dont feel like listing) and resident our flag means death thinker. i will not be sharing my main blog

Mod Grim [🧨] - plural they/it/terra/chem. we are the Grim Track system! we are kin & are hyperfixated on mcyt currently!! our main blog is @grim-track

Mod Foxglove [🌲] - it/vae/snow, 19, L/Empires Scott and c!Ranboo kin (among others), not comfortable sharin my main, but my general kin blog is @zeros-alcove !

Mod Scott/Ren [🌈] - comet/daze/vamp/blo/bi/he, 16, c!scott, c!rendog, c!grian, and c!karl kin (and more)! i’m just your friendly neighborhood gay simp. Kin blog is @flowerhubbys

Mod Boatem [⛵] - collectively any neopronouns. monopoly mountain system, polyfragmented + autistic and horribly hyperfixated on mcyt /pos. also the mod of @boatem-kinhelp

Mod Apple [🧃] - Xe/Xem Plural They/Them, Were the Apple System [Also called the Appy System by some of the littles here!] We've been fixated on TMA and MCYT recently! And we keeping kinning characters our source! Our main is @empiresblrmybeloved - Feel free to message for our sideblogs though!!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Alrighty so I'm gonna go out on a limb and request Overstimulation fics. As in sensual not sexual because with the holidays coming up I wanna read about the boys curbing meltdowns from Too Much™ so I can feel better about my moments

Hey Lovely!

AHHHHHH hmmm. I’d like to read some too... I did a search of my TO READ list and here’s what I found that might work? Feel free to add your own, Lovelies!! I have to add a new tag to my fics as I reread them now, LOL

OVERSTIMULATION / SENSORY ISSUES (TO READ)

The Doctor's Reward by CarmillaCarmine (E, 3,124 w., 2 Ch. || Quarantine / Self-Isolation, Doctor John, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Prostate Massage, Overstimulation, Autofellatio, Come Swallowing, Masturbation) – Sherlock decides that John needs a reward after a day of working from home. Part 11 of the The Johnlock Utopia (Holidays and Celebrations) Series

To Show You a Night by songlin (E, 3,731 w. || Sensory Deprivation, Blindfolds, Anal, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm) – Sherlock's never had an orgasm before. John crafts a solution. "I forgot how badly I wanted to fuck your mind.”

The Catherine Wheel by Ghislainem70 (M, 3,762 w., 1 Ch. || Sensory!Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, PWP, Romance) – A Johnlock first time. Sherlock has sensory sensitivity. Can Doctor John Watson help?

Isolation by Nova-chan (T, 9,281 w., 11 Ch. || Drama, Angst) – Sherlock in a sensory deprivation tank.

Crimson Hymns by brilliantlyburning (E, 48,982 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S3/TAB, Angst,  Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Methods, Demisexual Sherlock, Boxing, Pining, Sensory Processing Issues, Drug Use, First Kiss / Time, BDSM, Mary is Not Good, Parentlock, Proposal, Happy Ending, Beekeeping, Violence, References to Addiction, Poetry) – He laid his head over John’s heart, eyes level with his silver-rough scar, and listened to the crimson hymns beating beneath the surface. He imagined flowers blooming in his own chest: veins weaving intricate patterns on petals of thin muscle engorged with blood, sinew for stems and tendons for roots—the flowers would be poppies, maybe (addictive) or foxglove (deadly yet useful)—twining gleaming blood-red around the porcelain bone of his ribs. In his mind’s eye the gruesome bouquet all tied together on the left side of his chest, the stems bound together in heartstrings and the flowers fed by the rhythmic contraction of ventricles. It’s yours, he imagined saying to John—from the vena cava to the mitral valve to the arteries it is yours.— Or, the Love Song of W. Sherlock S. Holmes.

In Absentia by SeaweedWrites (T, 79,273 w., 39 Ch. || TRF Divergence, Major Character Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Realism, Car Accident, Traumatic Brain Injury, Hospital, Sherlock in a Coma, Physical/Psychological Rehab, Sensory Issues, Heavy Angst, Drama, Sherlock Whump, Biog Brother Mycroft, Depression, Nightmares, Panic Attacks) – Sherlock sends John a mysterious text. While John waits for Sherlock to come back to 221B to explain, Sherlock is involved in a terrible car crash, and everyone's lives are irrecoverably changed. Will Sherlock survive? And the bigger question for John- If he does survive, will he ever be the same? Part 1 of the In Absentia Fics and Information

Sensory Science by sussexbound (E, 80,017 w., 24 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, ASMR, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, John’s PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety, Friends to Lovers, Drinking Problems, Nightmares, Depression, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage/Orgasm, Phone Sex, Frottage, Coming Untouched, BJ’s, Rimming) – John Watson has been invalided home from Afghanistan and is struggling with anxiety, depression, PTSD and insomnia, when an old friend from med school recommends something that might help: An ASMR YouTube Channel run by a friend. One session in and John is hooked, not only by the way the ASMR seems to calm him after nightmares, and help him sleep, but also by the mysterious man who runs it.

Periodic Tales Series by 7PercentSolution (T/NR, 253,510+ w. across 18 works | Series WiP || Autistic Sherlock, Sensory Processing Disorder, Case Fics, Chemistry, Kidlock, Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Issues) – Lots of science, lots of case fic! This is Sherlock as chemist, using the periodic table of elements for many different reasons. Each story is centred around one particular element, in two parts. One focuses on aspects of Sherlock's childhood and events in his life; the other part shows how that has influenced his abilities as the world's only consulting detective, demonstrated through a case fic that shows off his deducing skills. The stories are not long (1-5 parts in length) and are in more or less chronological order in terms of Sherlock's life.

Unwind Series by illwick (E, 697,027+ w. across 33 fics || Light BDSM / Power Dynamics, Dom!John/Sub!Sherlock, Switchlock, Hair-Pulling, Snsory Deprivation, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Handcuffs, Overstimulation, Forced Orgasm, Prostate Milking / Massage, Rough Sex, Biting, Food Sex, Consensual Kink, Sex on Everything, Chair Bondage, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Oral/Anal, Fingering, Sex Toys, Captain John, Establish Relationship, Bratty Sherlock, Greedy Sherlock, Military Kink, Uniform Kink, Gunplay, Roleplay, Shower Sex, Oral Fixation, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Facials, Dog Tags, Edgeplay, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesomes, Homophobia, Size Kink, Past Relationships, Past Drug Use, Double Penetration, Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Panties) –  John and Sherlock unwind after a case.

[superautism64]

foxglove : occultist, horror fanatic & lover of scary things 🌹

hello ! I'm fox. I also go by koko & kin names ! he/they pronouns. (I'm not comfortable with sharing my irl name so please don't ask)

I'm a coreless DID system who's autistic, adhd & mentally ill. I also have brain damage so please be patient ! I'm mixed race & jewish. I'm physically disabled and use a cane as well !

I have a lot of special interests and since this is my dumping account, that's all I really post about !

tags:

special interest tag - my autism fixation tag

hyperfixation tag - my adhd fixation tag

the fox howls ;; txt tag - textpost tag

(blank) speaks - whichever name is in the blank, is whoever is fronting to make the post !

fox posts - general posting tag

my art tag - tag for all my art

familiar ;; irl tag - posts of me in the flesh. includes (but not excluded to) d/a's

cc tag - tag for my comfort characters

my ocs - tag for my original characters

boreastillae - my original story tag

kin tag - tag for my kinnie nonsense

little me things - just general stuff that is the body as a whole

vent - my vent tag, though I don't post in it much

- note : colour tags ("neon yellow tag", "brown tag", "yellow tag") are tags for my abusers & toxic people in my life ! u can add these to your filtered tags if u don't wanna see anything on that

[questionedturkey]

More Talbot headcanons! I love yours.

okay! time to write another essay about the orange juice gremlin xD i actually did research for this lord help me

1. Talbot is DEFINITELY entitled. I think he actually thinks he’s hot shit. And I mean, he’s not exactly WRONG. He’s a child prodigy and was plucked straight out of college and knew exactly what he wanted and what he needed to do with ENDLESS ambition to discover untapped human potential. Especially considering how fucked getting a medical degree in the 1830′s was and assuming he timed himself right and went as soon as he could he started his preceptorship at 18, went to college at 19, and graduated at 21 (because you had to be 21 to graduate) and he became head chemist in 7 years, motherfucker was 28 are you kidding?? He didn’t even get real proper thorough medical training and he created a chemical that let people work harder and not need sleep in 1845!!! He’s brilliant!! Keep in mind, i think he does genuinely care, and the feelings of people matter to him to at least some degree, but he thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bead, which hadnt even been invented yet skjdbgsd

2. He loves flowers. Aside from the obvious pustula flowers, he just in general loves them! Especially foxglove, which he knows basically everything about because of his fixation on it as a kid. But i think if a romantic partner gave him flowers as a gift even as a man in the 1800s he’d be fucking delighted especially if they were weird or had weird properties if you ate them or some shit sdkjbgsd He keeps some flowers he picked in a vase in his workshop that he takes care of every day :) 

3. He values himself only by his knowledge. I think what lead to his self experimentation and eventual downfall was his frustration that he was hitting roadblocks with working with the pustula nectar. I think that not only infuriated him but it was incredibly damaging to his self esteem because he was so used to being told he was a genius and special and was capable of discovering anything. He’s a gifted kid with burnout 1800′s edition. Especially considering how sparse test subjects were. Capturing killers and experimenting on them wasnt sustainable considering that he had to inject himself with Blight to be strong enough to even do it, but once he did the experiments the killers would be super charged and would now be an even match which is why they always escaped, so after he did his tests he had to immediately DIP or he’d die, and like his lore established The Entity does not heal him, and I think he wouldnt be sure enough to know if The Entity would bring him back if he died. So when there’s no test subjects... and you’re desperate for answers because its all you think you’re good at... turn inward. I mean... imagine how it must have felt to not be able to understand how to unlock doors between worlds with the serum after ALL OF THAT. everything that you’ve done and sacrificed in the pursuit of human enlightenment. Damning yourself to eternal torture. Hurting all those people, even if they were all enemies. How do you live with yourself? maybe you dont.