#in my defence i have been physically ill this week

[parasyte-brainrot]

oh mein gott i missed my anniversary date for this account....... 15th November and interest is STILL GOING STRONGGGGGGGGGGGGG

[bestie-enthusiast]

Nothing Like a Collapsed Lung to Spice up the Work Day

A short fanfiction based on the Harbor Town AU created by @cupcakeshakesnake

WC: 2576

Genre: Sickfic?

Summary :

Cutler Beckett's day goes from bad to worse,

and then even worse a few days later.

Cutler had been sick for a week, the bags under his eyes steadily growing and his already fair skin becoming fairer. He was coughing every few minutes and a headache plagued him constantly. In short terms, he was approaching needing to take a, ugh, sick day. But work was as busy as ever, and Mayor Swann seemed even more unwilling to engage than previously, and so he continued overworking himself until an end was reached. 

A rather embarrassing end.

--

Cutler Beckett had woken up much like he did many other mornings, feeling like complete garbage mentally and physically. He forced himself out of bed, resisting the urge to collapse onto the floor in a heap, and dry swallowed an aspirin. It didn’t take him long to bathe and dress, impeccable as ever. A handkerchief was carefully folded into his blazer pocket, a deep red to match his tie… and to disguise the substance that would no doubt cover it by the end of the day.

Despite his best efforts, his illness had managed to attract the attention of Mercer, who was hesitant to drive him anywhere that was not a hospital. Despite this, Cutler still managed to convince the man to drive him to work every morning, although on this particular day he wasn’t heading into the office.

Mercer was waiting outside his apartment like he always was on workdays, critical eyes assessing Cutler’s general appearance and health. Once satisfied, he opened the passenger door, allowing Cutler to slip inside. Mercer got in and started driving, asking where he was going this morning.

“I have a meeting with Mayor Swann at his estate.” Cutler informed him politely, although internally he was grimacing at the thought. Mercer nodded dutifully and they were off. 

It wasn’t that he disliked the good mayor, the man himself seemed nice enough, but he made it as difficult as possible for Cutler to do his job. And he understood, on some level, why the man disliked him so. Even still, it caused unnecessary stress. Cutler muffled a cough into his handkerchief as they approached the town, pondering if the salty air would help or hinder his illness. 

Once they had arrived, Cutler exited the car slowly, plastering on his business-neutral smile and preparing himself for a long meeting full of pleasantries and trying talk. After clearing his throat, he made his way to the large doors, briefly allowing himself a moment to admire the wonderful architecture. He knocked on the double doors, and to his surprise they opened instantly. He was greeted by the young Elizabeth Swann, glaring up at him.

“Miss Swann,” Cutler nodded in greeting, “I have a mee-” He was cut off by the young girl.

“You cannot see my father today, Mr. Beckett.” Swann said firmly. “I saw you cough, and I don’t want my father to get sick.” Cutler sighed, he really wasn’t in the mood to engage with children, more so than other days.

“Miss Swann, I assure you that I am perfectly healthy. I just had something in my throat, that's all.” He told her, making his tone as bland as possible. The nine year old girl disliked him to a great extent, and it was entirely vexing. “If you could fetch an adult, I’d be more than grateful.” He tried to smile, but was certain it came out a grimace.

“Mr. Beckett-” This time Swann was cut off, by her father.

“Elizabeth dear! Who are you talking too?” Weatherby Swann called out, approaching the two of them. He stood behind his daughter, smiling at Cutler when he noticed him.

“Ah, Mr. Beckett. I was wondering where you were.” The older Swann said, perfectly polite but still challenging. Cutler kept his face neutral, if Swann was in an offensive mood than he’d play the defence.

“Good morning, Mayor Swann. I was just telling Miss Swann here that I was due for a meeting with you.” Cutler responded nicely, knowing that any sort of perceived insult to his daughter would lead nowhere.

“I see.” The man hummed, looking down at his daughter. “Elizabeth-” The young girl seemed to have run out of patience, exclaiming:

“He’s sick! You cannot get sick, father. I need you to take care of me.” She looked up at her father with a pout and wide eyes, the very picture of innocence. Swann looked back up at Cutler, eyes assessing, in a likeness to Mercer. Cutler stood there awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. Dealing with children, or their parents, had never been his strong suit. He resisted the urge to clear his throat, knowing the younger Swann would use it as evidence. “Elizabeth-”

“He coughed! What if you get sick too?” “I’ll be fine, Elizabeth.” “But-”

“Run along now, dear.” Mayor Swann said, cheerful as ever, but with a fatherly tone that pushed towards obedience. Elizabeth huffed, glaring at Cutler before stomping away. “Now we have a meeting to get to, don't we?” He said, motioning Cutler inside.

“Indeed.”

---

“-you have to understand-” Swann was saying, but Cutler had lost track of the man’s rambling sentence long ago. He felt a cough building in his chest, he had been fighting them off throughout the meeting but he knew this one would tear through.

“Excuse me-” Cutler said, coughing harshly into the handkerchief he had brought. It hurt- the cough tore through his chest and throat, blood spilling onto the cloth. He leaned forward trying to ease the pain as the coughing fit subsided, discreetly wiping the blood he knew would be around his mouth and folding the cloth neatly. “My apologies.” He said hoarsely, clearing his throat a few times before he looked back up at the older man. Swann looked horrified, his eyes were wide and mouth open in shock and concern. Cutler grimaced, sitting up and hoping to salvage at least some professionalism. Perhaps he should have cancelled this meeting, he had hoped that his cough would have faded slightly, or at least been less intense. Alas, he was never the most lucky individual.

Cutler sipped at the provided tea, smiling slightly at the taste. He’d always loved tea, especially when he was ill as a child. “Shall we continue?” He asked, his voice still rough but less so. Swann seemed to break out of his trance, although he didn’t respond for a few moments.

“Are you ill?” The man asked, and Cutler was thankful when it was anger in his voice and not concern. “With nothing contagious.” Beckett promised, smiling blandy with closed lips. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, and swallowed reflexively. “Shall we continue?” He repeated but Swann shook his head.

“We can reconvene once you are healthy, one should not be working if ill. They could make a careless mistake.” The man was too kind to say anything outright, but Cutler knew when to stop pushing sometimes. 

“Of course, Mayor Swann. I’ll have my secretary let you know when I’m healthily available for another meeting.” Cutler said, not being able to resist the small snarky comment. “Have a good afternoon, Mayor Swann.” He called as he left. Once he was in the hallway, he looked around, ensuring he was alone before he sagged against the wall for a moment. Perhaps he should book a doctors appointment… No. He’s fine.

He made his way out of the house in record time, quickly escaping to the car where Mercer was patiently waiting. He still wasn’t safe, however, as Mercer was just as bad, if not worse, than others.

“All right, sir?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. Cutler swallowed nervously, he felt off.

“Yes of course, I-” He inhaled suddenly, coughing a couple times, but gasped softly when he felt a sharp pain on the left side of his chest. He felt suddenly breathless, choking on his next inhalation. It was a familiar feeling, and he cursed his horrible luck. Why today of all days? At least he had managed to make it through the meeting. He was suddenly grateful that Swann had cut it short. A pneumothorax, collapsed lung. It had been quite some time since he’d aggravated himself enough to cause one, but they were an expected side effect of his condition. Mercer looked at him, concerned as his boss slowly turned blue. “Pneumothorax-” Cutler choked out, inhaling despite the sharp pain it brought. 

Mercer had never driven faster, and Cutler was almost more concerned about how many traffic laws he was breaking than the fact that one of his lungs had collapsed. Not that it was particularly concerning, it had happened before. 

They were at an emergency room soon enough, Cutler had stopped paying attention at some point, so he wasn’t sure which one. He could not recall what happened next, outside of a flurry of motion, he did know that he passed out at one point, only to wake up hours later.

There was an oxygen mask on his face, which he tugged off as soon as he could. Mercer sat in the chair next to his bed, typing away on his phone, which he turned off once he noticed Cutler was awake.

“Sir.” Mercer acknowledged. “You have been admitted for treatment after your left lung collapsed. There is a chest tube in place, please take care not to disturb it.” He informed Cutler professionally, pressing the call button nimbly, to Cutler’s annoyance. Ignoring Mercer for a moment, Cutler pushed the scratchy hospital blanket down and stared at the tube coming out of his body. 

He was about to prod at it when a doctor entered the room, along with two nurses. He was polite to the doctor and nurses, allowing them to check his vitals and poke at the sight of the tube. The doctor was professional as he explained what happened and how long he’d be in the hospital for.

“We would normally recommend a short stay while you recover and then you can return home to continue treatment. However, due to the cause of this collapse, we’re recommending you stay in the hospital for at least a week for monitoring. If there is anyone you’d like us to call, or anything we can do to make this more comfortable, please let us know.” Cutler tuned out the doctor, instead focusing on how he would complete his work in the hospital. Some tasks would need to be delegated, for sure. He sighed internally, what an annoyance. 

Cutler looked up when he noticed that the background noise of the doctor droning had stopped, realising that he probably missed a question asked. “Pardon?” He asked, as innocent as he could. His voice was hoarse, he remarked with a frown.

“I asked if that was alright?” The doctor repeated, looking more angry than concerned. Cutler rolled his eyes and nodded, he just wanted them out of the room. Mercer showed them to the door, a calculating look on his face.

“How did you know, sir?” Mercer asked, curiosity was rare coming from his loyal bodyguard. Cutler smiled grimly.

“Experience.” He said simply, eyes flickering around the room. “Now, where is my work bag?”

-

It was 4 days into Cutler’s hospital stay and he had had more than enough. The  temptation to check out AMA grew even larger when he was informed that a class of children would be coming in to “cheer up” patients. Cutler kindly requested that he would not receive a visit, but the nurse, who disliked him after catching him staying up late working, had given him a bright grin and told him that it would “do him some good”.

So there he was, stuck in a hospital bed, trying to work, when the door creaked open and in popped several familiar faces. His face morphed from annoyance to resignation as he looked into the food-stained face of Jack Sparrow and his crew of other children. 

“Mr. Sparrow,” Cutler greeted, swallowing back a cough. Being vulnerable in front of one's enemies is never a good situation. Not that he was enemies with a hoard of children, but they seemed to have chosen him as a favourite target, and he’d love to avoid giving them any ammunition. 

“Beckett!” Jack exclaimed, raising his sword. The Turner child was quick to defend Cutler, however. Going on some monologue about his father. Cutler just ignored them, intent on returning to his work. And he would have, except Mercer seemed to have stolen his work bag. Perhaps he was in cahoots with that nurse.

Cutler sighed, blinking as he found himself staring at Miss Swann, who was standing directly in front of him. She was glaring at him, completely furious. “Can I help you, Miss Swann?” He drawled, and she furrowed her brow. “I’m listening.” The young girl pulled out a foam sword of her own, pointing it at him with a firm pout. “I’m listening, intently.”

“You lied. You are sick, and you could have given it to my father.” Cutler grimaced; he had pushed that meeting with the mayor as far out of his mind as he could. It was… embarrassing, to say the least. 

“What I have is not contagious, Miss Swann.” Cutler reassured her, “I would never intentionally harm your father.” Although if he could, he would curse his own father to suffer with the illness he was inflicted with. Righteous punishment.

Cutler was about to continue, except a sharp, fiery pain stopped him. He looked down at the sight of his chest tube, where it entered his body was a grubby childs hand, poking at it. He took a deep breath, grabbing the afflicting hand and firmly removing it from his person.

“Are you a cyborg?” One of the children, a child named Barbossa if he was not mistaken, asked curiously. 

“Or dying?!”

“Wind in me sails!”

Cutler sighed, wondering briefly where their chaperone was. Surely they were not here by themselves? “No.” He drawled boredly, inspecting his nails. Perhaps if he did not engage with the children, they should very well leave him alone. There was a brief moment of silence, sweet relief, before the sound of thudding footsteps occurred.

The children all shared terrified looks as they scouted hiding spaces and dove off in various directions. A figure skidded to a stop in front of his room, a James Norrington. Cutler believed the man was a teacher, and he pitied him if he was truly the chaperone of this group of children. The man panted for a moment, before straightening, trying to look as professional as possible.

“Mr. Beckett, you have my deepest apologies for any stress the children have caused. If you would give me a moment to round them up, we will all be out of your way.” Cutler nodded, he had grown tired, irritatingly enough. He was surprised to find himself thankful that the man was taking away the children, instead of annoyed that he had lost track of them in the first place.

Norrington gathered the children in record time; he seemed to know all of their hiding places already, much to the disappointment of the children. He angrily whispered at them for a minute, before they all turned around and gave a begrudged apology.

“Apology accepted.” Cutler smirked, mildly delighted at the vexed expressions the children wore.

Perhaps his circumstances were not always bad, afterall how often did he find such delight?

THE END.

[prof-peach]

Can you tell more about the Lycanroc that you just rescued please?

He came in as an aggressive patient, no one else would deal with him, I got an email from Kukui about a week ago about him, apparently so angry no one could handle him to check his health or wellbeing, and rehiring was out of the question at this point. He occasionally sends me cases like this to save them being put down, so I took the big guy without too much info.

He got sent with a file about a day later, the file had limited information. His name was once Rocco, though he has no response to it, he lived in a dog pokemons hoard, and seemed to be mixed with a lot of other, far bigger, far meaner Pokemon, so he became aggressive as a means of defence, like a lot of pup Pokemon can tend to do when pushed like this. He killed another Pokemon while in the care of this trainer, and thus got moved on, as they deemed him too much to handle. Quite frankly the trainers facilities were questionable, with further investigation Kukui had called Pokemon protection on them, and had 27 other Pokemon taken away from them, all with various different issues, luckily none as bad as this Lycanroc apparently. They got moved on to better homes, and from what I’ve heard, they’ve made good progress.

Now this Lycanroc is a midday form, a bit tatty looking and skinny at this point in time, he’s been with us a week, and has never been walked apparently, no vaccinations, no real core training other than brute force battling. First day in the facilities he bolted and went for Valka my dear vulpix, to no avail. She just picked him up and put him back in the kennel space, didn’t even flinch at him. Day two I made a critical error of trying to get a muzzle on him without Val as backup, damn thing slipped my hold and cracked me with his rocky collar, leaving me needing many stitches, and from the looks of it, probably permanently scared now. I went back after getting sewn back up the same day and confronted him, this time with a more functional team with me to handle him. Got a muzzle on him, got a good look at his body after he tired himself out thrashing around. Covered in fleas, utterly riddled with old bite scars, he was no doubt picked on by the other Pokemon he lived with. He is nervous as all hell, that’s all his behaviour is, fear.

Often aggression from Pokemon is just a way of expressing deep seated fear, nervousness is a real issue with Pokemon who aren’t socialised, who are picked on by other species, and who don’t get exposed to the world around them. After checking him over we left him to chill out, for the first time in his life as far as we know, alone from any other Pokemon, while we decided the best method for healing him, and who would suit his temperament best. I’ve personally got a midnight Lycanroc who came back with me from Galar not too long ago, so I was the one to take his case, being a bit use to the breed compared to the others, plus personal pride didn’t like that he got that hit on me so easily. Perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I don’t like to let this kind of behaviour beat me, so I dig my heels in normally when I get clipped by something.

Day 4 of his stay, he’s snapping at any Pokemon who comes close to the secure unit he’s staying in, Val is with me at all times now to make sure he’s kept in check when I’m not watching. She’s fearless, and he hates it, but now, after 4 days of her being stoic and unnerving, he’s not confronting her, and in turn looking at me with a bit more hesitation. In the Pokemons mind he’s probably looking at her like ‘oh shit you and that human are a team? Well I don’t want to mess with that right now’ and he’s skulking off to the back of his kennel space, instead of going nuts at the fence towards us. Good progress, less confrontational for now.

Day 5 we tried to get a walk in, short lead, muzzle, generally quite controlled, he didn’t like it to start with, but the island has...I don’t know, something oddly calming about it. We took a few laps, and he spent most of it fighting me for control, until we hit the lake, where he seemed to mellow out for a short while.

It’s going to be a long schedule of daily training, constant assertion of the pack and who’s boss, which is me, not him, much to his dismay. He’s got a huge prey drive, and is nervous with other Pokemon, but otherwise he’s just stressed out. I think time here will do him well. We’re working on respect and hierarchy, basic stuff like ‘sit’ and ‘hold’ for the most part. He’s snapped at me since but not as much.

I will try to update folks as he goes along his recovery, he’s not ready for other Pokemon yet, and certainly not one I’d have out and off a good strong lead, without other team mates around. Hopefully we can get him manageable and find him a good home. Building trust between him and other people is the start right now, he knocked me back but didn’t scare me off, and that rattled him, so he’s behaving a BIT better for now. Want to chase Tauros though, like, fiercely.

His fleas are being treated, he’s getting good meals he doesn’t have to fight for, and despite guarding his food (which is understandable) he’s not showing any physical illness luckily.

[curious-menace]

Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.

SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .

i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah

post asswoop riddlers getting loves

Arkham riddler

He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is  bad news.

I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.

when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.

He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.

he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.

he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long. 

Blacklight Riddler

He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough. 

even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.

he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better. 

He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.

He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.

 if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.

BTAS Riddler

he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.

i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care. 

He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.

he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong. 

if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.

He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.

Original Riddler

this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.

actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”

good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.

he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are. 

he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage  him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.

i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient. 

Telltale riddler

this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs

he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.

after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.

i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.

the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.

its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.  

Zero year riddler

INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.

he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has  no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.

he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.

he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just  cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?

one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido? 

he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies. 

nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.

theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”

someone needs to stage an intervention

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

[leomitchellart]

So… about this latest Inktober controversy….

Time to begrudgingly chuck in my two penneth… (Remeber you can always press “J” to skip this post altogether)

As most of you may or may not know, Alphonso Dunn released a Youtube video wherein he publicly accused Jake Parker, and creator of the Inktober challenge, of plagiarising his book. Both of these men are public figures, artists specialising in pen & ink. In the video Dunn looks at the preview pages and flip through footage of Parker’s “Inktober All Year Round” and says they draw many similarities in the illustrations, language and layout that he used in his own book, “Pen & Ink Drawing”. Parker’s book was set to this month. Hense why Dunn only used footage and not a physical copy.

Since the video’s release, the art community has been very spilt down the middle. The book’s publisher has halted the launch of Parker’s book until the matter can be investigated. Even DeviantArt cancelled their own Inktober event thing (I’ll admit I don’t keep up with these things DA keeps doing). Parker has since released a statement in the matter. Now it’s up to the courts to decide what’s happening next. The video itself is an hour long, but it’s crucial to see it yourself. 

People are, understandably, outraged after seeing it. This seems like a shitty thing to rip-off Dunn - not to mention stupid. Since Dunn is the more popular pen & ink artist with more social media followers and name recognition. Many have called to boycott inktober and condemn Parker. I’ll admit, I was right alongside them at first, at least for feeling outraged. The similarities are there. But if YMS’s Kimba video has taught me anything, it’s that, even if an accusation of plagiarism may be obvious at a cursory glance, sometimes it’s important to take a more critical eye and do more research to learn that things aren’t as cut and dry as they first seem. If there’s a lesson I can take away from the internet as a whole, it’s that no one thinks about the consequences of mob mentality.

The most common defence of Parker is that because they’re both books about pen and ink drawing, then they’re inevitably going to be similar. I’ll admit that, when you pick-up so many art books, a lot of them will cover the same basic grounds of materials, tutorials, strokes, techniques etc. The parts about rendering textures on spheres and cubes isnt new. Look up “texture study” and you’ll see so many examples of artists rendering these kinds of things digitally. I’ve also noticed a common theme of people more formally educated in art pointing out how none of these are original. Everything down to the steps and illustrations are things they’ve learned from years ago. Since I'm a pen & ink artist, inspired by my love of comics, I have quite a few books about inking: Dunn’s included. I own both his books and still highly recommend them. I didn't even preorder Parker’s book. Ironically because I didn't think it could offer anything new that my other books hadn’t already.

While Ethan Becker took the time to cross-examine Dunn and Parker’s books with several others, there weren’t many of the ones I actually owned. So I looked to my shelves to see what I could find. Books like:

“The Art of Comic Book Inking” by Gary Martin & Steve Rude

“How Comics Work” by Dave Gibbons & Tim Pilcher

“The DC Comics guide to Inking Comics” by Klaus Janson

“Making Comics” by Scott McCloud

“Stan Lee’s How to Draw Comics”

I’m sure there’s plenty more examples out there. I was planning to go through all of these and take pictures. But ultimately that’s not the core point of these post. Plus it would’ve taken WAY too long and this post itself, is long enough.

Of course, none of the them are 100% close to Dunn’s in the way they’re displayed. Not as close as Parker’s could be considered. That being said, I know Dunn is trying to claim that he invented these techniques. The nucleus of the issue is how similar they are in terms of order and how these pages are displayed. Some I can chock-up to standard practice, while others seem more coincidental.

If there’s one thing I’m adamant about, it’s that I think that Dunn should’ve messaged Parker first before making the accusation public. Some try to dispute that this would've made it easier for Dunn to be “silenced”, whatever that means; but that sounds a bit conspiratorial to me. Ideally, you confront him about it in private, if he makes any threats or blows you off, get your lawyer on the phone and then make the video. Not only is it the more civil thing to do - but it’s the smarter thing to do. This is a serious legal matter, not just internet drama. While I’m sure Dunn had no intention of tearing Parker down or getting a mob onto him, that’s unfortunately what’s happened. A backlash both from the general artisan community and several companies. Wherein it was left to Parker himself to make this an official legal matter. If Parker’s found not guilty, then this could easily leave the gate open for him to sue Dunn for damages, loss of revenue, defamation of character or whatever else, should he see fit. As could the publishers, given how this affected their sales. Companies responded to the accusation of the video alone, before an investigation could be launched. Sure, it wouldn't be “acting the bigger man” but he’d be well within his right to do it. Dunn showed that Jake has mentioned him before, shown admiration for his career and referenced him in other posts. If it comes to light in court, that Dunn is even cited as an inspiration or source in the book itself, then it’s case closed. 

Then there’s the other possibility that Parker might not have done this on his own, but that he has a team behind the book. If that’s the case, the most I can accuse Parker of is being a hack. I worry Dunn has kneecapped himself for just how badly he’s handled this situation. Made worse by him not having an actual physical copy to assess and just had footage of preview pages to go on. So far, the circumstances don’t seem on his favour. 

I don’t think ill of Dunn. I do think he believes he’s been wronged and no malice in his intentions. I just think he’s made some critical errors on how to handled this. As for Parker himself, I couldn't give a donkey’s doo-dah about him. I’m sure you could accuse me of playing devil’s advocate earlier, but to me, he was the guy who released the annual prompt list. If it really does turn out that he’s a plagiarist and had malicious intent, then fuck ‘im. I never regarded him as an inspiration of mine or paid much attention to him outside of that. It was the community that made Inktober what it is. I’ve never met Parker. Maybe he’s a cool guy? Maybe he’s a bellend? I don’t know.

Granted this isn't the first time Parker has proved himself to be a controversial figure: - Last year people were upset about him trademarking (not copywriting, as many have erroneously claimed) the word “Inktober” and some artists were stopped from selling their related work or zines. Parker would issue a statement: claiming the takedowns were a mistake of “overzealous lawyers” and it’s just a matter of the logo being trademarked. People can sell their Inktober works and even mention they are Inktober-related. Just not use the official logo. On the one hand, from a business standpoint, I get it. It’s the bare minimum you need to do to protect your IP, especially when you have a store. BUT, like most people, I don’t like how, what’s intended as a community challenge, has slowly become more of a brand associated with one man. Hardly a surprise it left a bad taste in so many people’s mouths. But, since it doesn't actually effect anyone’s ability to take part in the challenge, outside of personal principle, I went ahead with it the previous year. 

 - The year before, when asked if one can do Inktober digitally, Parker said the following:

I know some are still bitter about that, but speaking as someone who inks traditionally and digitally, this came across as needless whinging and blowing things out of proportion. Claiming that Jake had derided digital artists and said they were invalid etc etc. Take it from me, challenging yourself to try out different methods to ink traditionally can greatly improve the work you do digitally. It’s like how learning traditional fundamentals of art can still be applied to digital. Plus he never said “No.” he just gave valid reasons about how it makes it a different experience. That said, if you’re someone who can’t afford any kind of inking equipment or pens and only have a selected application to draw on - then none of this applies to you. Just the aforementioned few who took it upon themselves to get angry over nothing. Recently I’ve heard from subscribers of his newsletter that he’s now embraced the idea of people doing inktober digitally, to the point of selling digital brushes for inktober. I’m sure some will call this “backsliding” or “money grubbing” because people aren’t allowed to change their minds or update their statements.

For weeks I’ve been torn on what to do, not being able to solidify one stance over another. One minute I thought #JusticeForAlphonsoDunn then I wonder “Wait maybe I should look again?” to “But wait, those are way too similar!” Having splinters in my arse from sitting on the fence for so long. The longer this went on, however, I began to realise that I can’t take one stance over another. This case is far too muddy and complicated. I don’t have enough sufficient knowledge or evidence. Nor do any of you. We literally only have Dunn’s video to go on. While it’s a good start, it’s not enough to be taken 100% as gospel when it’s the only thing to hand. 

As previously mentioned, a lot of artists have decided to not take part in Inktober at all, or follow different prompt lists. That’s completely fine. A lot of them are based around a specific theme: halloween, kinky stuff, bears, transformers, OCs, Disney or whatever. That has massive appeal. I just can’d do it myself. I prefer the focus on random words, rather than all centred on a single subject; allowing me to be creative with my ideas and execution. I actually did try to make a list of my own random words. Problem is, I worried that because I was choosing my own, I might be subconsciously bias towards certain prompts and not truly challenging myself. Even narrowing down my options was taking too long. In the end…. I’ve decided to just do the official prompts again this year.

For me, that’s what it ultimately came down to. TIME. It’s the middle of September. I can’t afford to wait for the court case to be settled. No other prominent artists I respect have released their own prompt lists. I know there’s been some shitty people who are condemning this choice. Attacking others, accusing them of supporting plagiarism, looking to block anyone who does the official prompts. Even trying to make this a racial issue. Just…. no. 

If someone doesn’t want to take part in Inktober, that’s fine. If someone wants to do the official prompts, that’s fine. If someone wants to do their own prompts, that’s fine.

Don’t go around aggressively making snap judgements or accusing people of taking a side. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. This has been a shit year, let people enjoy something.

If you look at this situation and it makes you feel angry, and you don’t feel comfortable in taking part in a challenge because of it’s creator. I get that, I literally get that. It’s why I haven't done Mermay. And please don’t mention Pinktober, I’m aware of it, but given his insta video on the subject and the things he said, I quickly came to the conclusion that I can’t take this person seriously. I’m sure this might make me seem hypocritical, but how this differs, if only for me, is the sheer amount Inktober means to me. It’s more than a simple challenge. Inktober's the one thing I’ve been most excited about all year. As it was ruined for me in 2019, when I lost my home and I didn't get to complete every prompt. (Long story, I’m okay now). As we all know, 2020, has been an AWFUL year. We’ve got to take whatever joy we can. As I’ve looked longer at the official prompts, I found ideas I’m really excited for. 

Once I started to really dedicate myself to it, it became a massive event. I hype myself up as I prepare for the busy month. Buy in supplies, clean the house and workspace, cook and freeze meals in bulk to save time, printing off a sheet that allows me to jot down ideas as I plan ahead.  Then once it’s done, after so much work, it makes the reward all the sweeter: Ordering a takeaway, celebrating a great halloween night and still rocking those vibes throughout November. Feeling proud of myself for doing it and seeing myself improve my technique, discipline and earning a few lie-ins to make up for the sleep I lost working. I’m like a kid waiting for Christmas. That said, don’t think that there’s something wrong with you when you understandably can’t dedicate that amount time for a simple art challenge. If anything that’s plenty of reason to why you’re smarter than me. You have a life and don’t push yourself too much.

Now, I need to crack on with the preparations. If you want to boycott Jake Parker, just not buying any of his products should be enough. Doing the inktober challenge doesn't bring attention to him, as I doubt most people even know him as the creator, nor does it even line his pockets. I just hate how cancel culture can do such serious damage like this and then try and put pressure on others to act accordingly without even doing any research themselves. 

As long as you’re not harassing anybody. Just do what YOU want to do. That’s fine. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi :) I... really wanna read a fanfic or two but I can't find one I vibe with xD So... do you know one that's not too long (around 100k words maybe), has hurt and comfort, smut (am I allowed to ask about that?? Ahhhh) and a happy ending? Top!lock would be a bonus but it's not necessary. And if it's a nice AU (like... any kind but no crossovers pls), it would be perfect! :D By the way, I found your blog only a few hours ago and I already feel really comfy and Idk, kinda at home here ^-^

Hi Nonny!!!

Welcome to my corner of the Tumblrsphere!!! I’m so happy you’ve found me, LOL, because I love all my followers and friends! <3

First of all, I think it’s super cute that “not too long” to you is “around 100K” LOL LOL LOL!!! <3 That said, I’d argue all my fic recs are fabulous, LOL. But again, I’m stupidly proud of the wonderful lists I’ve accumulated, because it satisfies my organization kink LOL. And yes, you’re ALWAYS allowed to ask for smut here LOL. 

ANYWAY, so I’m gonna use this ask as an excuse to post up a long-overdue part two to my 50 to 100K fic list! But first, here’s some past lists for the genres you’re looking for:

FIC MASTER PAGES: PG1 || PG 2 || PG 3

Toplock (Mar 2020)

Omegaverse

Please Check PG 3 for all my AU fic lists. There’s a lot :)

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words 

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

Fandom Favourites / Popular Fics

I hope those will get you started! So now, here’s the main event!! Hope you enjoy them!

50 - 100 K WORDS Pt. 2 (Novel Length)

See also:

Fics Under 2000 w.

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 2

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 3

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 1 (Short Fics under 20K)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w. || Notting Hilll AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

[jeffersonuggs]

Aaron Burr’s Boyfriends

(Not necessarily boyfriends just close friendship, don’t attack me)

Jeremy Bentham

Philosopher friend when Burr was in europe

While in Britain, Burr quickly formed a close friendship with Bentham, staying at one or another of Bentham’s homes for weeks at a time.

Bentham and Burr shared similar views such as equal rights for women, the end of slavery, while Bentham also espoused a variety of other reform causes: the right to divorce, opposition to the death penalty, and decriminalization of homosexual acts.

Burr is not often classed with major thinkers like Bentham, but their intimacy was real. Bentham even sought Burr’s comments on essays that the philosopher was preparing.

Burr wrote to his daughter Theodosia fondly of Bentham “He is, indeed, the most perfect model that I have seen or imagined of moral and intellectual excellence. He is the most intimate friend I have in this country, and my constant associate. I live in his house and compose a part of his family.”

He [Burr] befriended the English utilitarian philosopher Jeremy Bentham and spoke to him with remarkable candor. “He really meant to make himself emperor of Mexico,” Bentham recalled. “He told me I should be the legislator and he would send a ship of war for me. He gave me an account of his duel with Hamilton. He was sure of being able to kill him, so I thought it little better than murder.” Always capable of irreverent surprises, Burr gave Bentham a copy of The Federalist. -Alexander Hamilton, Ron Chernow

Jonathan Bellamy

Was together in the army with Burr

“He is one of the cleverest fellows I have to deal with. Sensible, a person of real humor, and is an excellent judge of mankind, though he has not had the opportunity of seeing much of the world.” -Burr about Bellamy to his friend Matthias Ogden

“I was infinitely surprised to hear from you in the army. I can hardly tell you what sensations I did not feel at the time. Shall not attempt to describe them, though they deprived me of a night’s sleep” -Bellamy to Burr, 3 March 1776

“Curse on this vile distance between us. I am restless to tell you every thing; but uncertainty whether you would ever hear it bids me be silent, till, in some future happy meeting, I may hold you to my bosom,and impart to you every emotion of my heart.” -Bellamy to Burr, 3 March 1776

“My faithful Correspondent, my best, my, (almost), only Friend, is, alas, no more — J. Bellamy’s Death gave me Feelings, which few Deaths can ever renew.” -Burr about Bellamy to his sister, 8 June 1777

Luther Martin

He was the leader of Burr’s defence lawyer team in 1807, that's when they properly met and became really good friends during the trial (Jefferson accused Martin also of treason for essentially being too close with Burr)

In 1819 Martin pretty much lost everything and in 1823 Burr offered that Martin move in with him and his adopted children. Martin later in 1826 died in Burr’s home

Young Dane

Not really a boyfriend but wanted to add it because I found it funny

“In the public room, however, I have been amused for an hour with a very handsome young Dane. Don't smile. It is male!” -London, 21 December, 1808, The Private Journal of Aaron Burr

When Burr wrote amuse, especially in this context, it often meant that Aaron sex god Burr was getting laid, as per usual...

Alexander Hamilton

Not a boyfriend (unless..) but historians keep shipping hamburr so I wanted to add him as well

“Alexander Hamilton's obsessive hatred of Aaron Burr was based on a powerful, unconscious homosexual attraction to him, as is always the case in such examples of paranoid and obsessive behaviour. The fact that Hamilton was known by his peers to be suffering from “recurring illnesses” i.e. manic-depression, which name is interchangeable with the term schizophrenia, adds further proof to this diagnosis.” “Furthermore, there was clearly a passive, feminine homosexual undertone in Hamilton’s actions at the duel, as he presented himself in a totally helpless physical posture to Burr and waited for the latter to shoot him with a gun, symbolically representing being penetrated by the issue of Burr’s penis i.e. gun. Basically what Hamilton’s actions were telling Burr was “Here, take me, and do what you will with my body.”” -Schizophrenia: The Bearded Lady Disease, J. Michael Mahoney

“He had occasion to pay some attentions to Aaron Burr during a visit Burr made to Boston after the death of Hamilton. He took him to the Athenaeum, and while walking through the sculpture gallery, seeing the bust of Hamilton near him, turned off, naturally thinking it would be disagreeable to Burr to be brought before it. But Burr went directly up to it and said in a very loud tone, ‘Ah! Here is Hamilton.’ And, pressing his finger along certain lines of his face said, 'There was the poetry!’”” -The Journal of Richard Henry Dana, Jr., quoted in Charles Francis Adams’ Richard Henry Dana: A biography (1890)

will probably add more for hamburr but this took me longer than expected and i’m not willing to go through all that gay shit™

[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter four)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Please reblog this post and comment over on Ao3!

Huge thanks as always to my lovely betas @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who put up with my hurting them in this way. 

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With war declared across the kingdom and one of the biggest threats his people have ever faced looming closer by the day, Mollymauk needs to grow up fast. A difficult task, when mistakes of the past keep coming back to haunt him and Caleb.

Warning: this chapter includes a description of physical scars caused by whipping, mentions of physical and mental abuse

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There was a summons waiting for him in his chambers but Mollymauk never saw it. He knew where to find his father.

“Caleb, with me,” he heard himself say as they stopped outside of the king’s council chamber, though his voice felt like an echo in an empty room, “Yasha, stay with Jester for me and my mother, if you can find her. Fjord to the docks, I need information, go and talk to whoever you can to find out what my father won’t tell me. Caduceus, same from the temples please. Beau, I need you to look into the city’s defences and armouries, find me any gaps and tell me how we can plug them fast.”

They all moved quickly, each of them seized with the same fear driven energy he felt in his own nerves. All but his sister, who stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on him and swimming in the candlelight.

“I should go with you…” she began without much hope in her voice.

Molly put his hands on her shoulders, “He...he won’t be in the best of moods, Jessie. Let me speak to him, I’ll come and tell you everything as soon as I know what’s happening.”

Still she didn’t move, trembling slightly like she couldn’t bear to break his hold. When had she gotten tall enough to nearly look him in the eye?

“You’re going to have to go away, aren’t you?” she whispered sorrowfully.

Molly opened his mouth, then quickly closed it, realising for the first time that she was right. He was the crown prince. He would have a battle command. He who deliberately breezed through the palace in see through silks, flirting and joking and glittering his way through everything and actively avoided being taken seriously so no one would think to look too close and see the cracks underneath. He was going to have to lead an army.

He made himself take a breath in, working his lungs like a set of bellows. Judging by the look on Jester’s face, she wasn’t much fooled by the smile he pinned in place.

“We’ll sort it out,” he said firmly, squeezing her shoulders, “Go find mother and look after her for me, you’re the only one who can make her smile.”

He caught Yasha’s eye as she put an arm around Jester and led her gently back down the hallway. The smile slipped off like an ill fitting dress. Things were very, very bad and there was so little that any of them could do about it now.

Molly turned to the heavy oak doors and sighed. The rest of the night up until this moment felt like some dream, something he’d read about in a fairytale once. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the last taste of freedom and joy or if it only made it hurt worse.

As his shoulder, Caleb edged a little closer, reminding Molly that as still and dead and silent as everything felt, he wasn’t alone. His heart ached to know what he’d been about to say as they’d danced together but he knew now it was the silly, selfish want of someone who didn’t have to keep a broken kingdom together with his fingertips.

But Mollymauk was glad to have him by his side right now.

The news didn’t seem to have roused the king from any slumber. He was at the head of the council table, blue eyes sharp and aware, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth. His council members were the ones who looked like they’d been dragged from their beds, clucking and squawking over each other in robes and hastily thrown on cloaks, faces slack with sleep and fear.

“Father,” Molly cut through the clamour with a strength in his voice that he didn’t feel, “You and I need to talk.”

“It would seem that way,” his father answered, effortlessly casual, “Clear the room. My son would like to be brought up to speed.”

It happened quickly, it would seem that no one was eager to linger here. Once they were alone, Molly made himself look the king in the eye and squared his shoulders.

“The Jagenoths, father? You couldn’t have picked a less bloodthirsty kingdom to antagonise?”

The king’s eyes were piercing as they fixed on him and he gave a dismissive grunt, rising to go refill his goblet from the flagon of red that was always kept close at hand.

“Precisely what this kingdom needs right now. More jokes and witticisms from it’s heir…”

Molly flared, “Apologies, father. It's so hard to keep track of what you want me to actually take seriously and what you’d rather keep me blind to.”

His father’s shoulders tensed, his voice deadly quiet and movements precise as he looked out through the window over the restless city, “Is this a conversation you want to have now, son? Right now?”

“No,” Molly admitted, catching the brief warning glance from Caleb at his side and forcing himself to calm, “The conversation I want to have is how the fuck we’re at war all of a sudden with absolutey no warning. I mean, for crying out loud, father, the Jagenoths were at the fucking harvest ball this year.”

“Do you now, Mollymauk? You wouldn’t rather slope off to your apartments with your colourful gaggle of friends and pretend this all isn’t happening? I could leave this all to my seasoned generals...”

Molly swallowed hard, feeling an old tremble run through his fingers. Gods, it shouldn't have been as tempting as it was. Beside him, taking advantage of the king’s turned back, Caleb gave him a steady nod.

“No,” Molly’s voice was firm, “You either take me as your heir- all of me, even the parts you don’t like- or you let me go. And being your heir means having your trust. Do I have your trust, father?”

The pause could have been a lifetime for how heavily it weighed on Mollymauk’s shoulders. But eventually, the king turned, his face unreadable.

“I have had several...investments in Shady Creek Run over the years. Ones that have turned sour of late and apparently the Jagenoths aren’t willing to settle it like businessmen. They would rather settle it with blood and steel.”

Molly gaped at him, “What kind of investments are worth invading a kingdom?”

His father simply looked at him with that same inscrutable expression, waiting. Eventually the realisation bled into Molly’s mind and his shoulders slumped. There was only one kind of business that was done in Shady Creek Run.

“You’ve been smuggling. You.”

“Now, son-”

“No!” Molly’s dismay could pass enough as reckless bravery that he bulled over his father, unwilling to listen to another word. He shook his head, stunned, “You, who’ve been going on and on at me for so long about upholding the godsdamned family honour, have been working with fucking pirates and smugglers? Have mercy, father, are you a king or a crime lord?”

“Hold your damn tongue!” Babenon snapped, face hardening, “Remember who you speak to son, with that tone of self righteousness. You know nothing of what I face every single day to keep you in your finery,  the things I’ve had to do to keep the walls of this city standing! You know nothing of being king!”

Molly flinched, he couldn’t help it, bending under the weight of that voice and those eyes. Beside him, he felt Caleb tense and shift his feet. And suddenly, Sorah was there, looming from the shadows that had cloaked her, fingers flexing in warning.

Molly swallowed and bowed his head, the bravery collapsing in on itself, hollow after all, “Forgive me, father. I...I just fear for what’s going to happen now. For my city and my friends. I’ve heard stories of the Jagenoth, of Lorenzo. They say he’s ruthless.”

“He’s all you’ve heard and more, son,” there was a softer, more satisfied tone to his voice now he’d won, “But so is your father. Do exactly as I say and we will make certain he never sets eyes on Asarius.”

Molly nodded, crossing his hands behind his back and feeling the ghost of a stinging slap against one cheek. I’ve never doubted how ruthless you are, father. I just never imagined you were so foolish.

“Perhaps I have been unfair to you, son,” Babanon mused after a long pull from his goblet, “Your leash has been kept short of late while I waited for some sign you had truly grown out of your immature ways. But your interest in the city’s charitable needs and the love you’ve won from our citizens could be of use to me, especially now our kingdom must close ranks against these invaders. This is the energy I needed to see from you...if I direct it in the correct manner.”

Molly’s eyes flickered up to his father’s.

“It is time for those swords to become more than pretty ornaments at your hip, I think. Our master at arms speaks highly of your skill and you have a close knit group of allies who trust you. And with a fine Volstruker at your side, one our good friend Ikithon values so highly, you could cut quite the intimidating figure, a pretty show of our house’s strength..”

Molly frowned, doubtful, “We’re going to barter with the Iron Shephard?”

“Babenon Dosal does not barter, Mollymauk,” the king’s smile became something hungry, “We are going to crush him.”

There was so little time to think.

Molly felt like he was barely holding on, thrown from one emergency council session to another, bounced between strategy meetings and drill training, from an argument about supplies to one about conscription. Things went by in scattershot fragments he could hardly hold on to. It was all just worried eyes, tight mouths, questions no one dared ask. He found himself making rousing speeches in front of formed up soldiers that just two days ago had been dyer’s apprentices, washerwomen, pot boys and stablehands. And in a week’s time, if he couldn’t find a way through this, they would be corpses.

The days until they rode out turned to smoke on the wind. In simultaneously no time at all and more years than he thought he’d ever seen, it was the eve of their departure. Tomorrow morning, the city would watch them ride out of the gates, throw flowers and wave the royal heraldry, call them heroes, all while either ignorant of or willfully blind to the fact that every tragedy this war would fall on them was because of the people they cheered. It was that, rather than any nerves, that made his stomach clench in nausea.

The prospect of the goodbyes he now had to make didn’t help.

Molly took his time down the steps to the courtyard. A cold wind was blowing, as it had seemed to ever since the news came, and he shivered in the training clothes and the sheen of sweat he wore. His mother, at least, was wrapped in fur as she stood by the carriage, the hood pulled low over her face. Few people were supposed to know of her leaving, lest it be too obvious that the king was planning for the worst, for all the bravado and easy confidence in his speeches.

“You should be in the carriage, mother,” Molly said gently as he approached her, close enough that he could see the glint of her eyes under the fur, “No need to be out in the wind.”

“I have more to worry about than the weather, little amethyst,” Queen Marion turned her head slightly to look at him as he stopped at her shoulder, “You have been in the practise yard again?”

Molly shrugged, “I’m packed and ready to ride at dawn. Not much else to fill the hours and Beau always tells me a minute’s worth of practice can make the difference in a fight.”

He’d hoped to give her some courage, some confidence in his ability to protect himself, but in the shadow of the hood her handsome face turned tight and anxious, “Are you sure you can’t be left as castellan? Surely your presence is needed here…”

Molly smiled grimly, “Jester is every bit as capable as I am. She’s so much smarter than everyone gives her credit for.”

“I don’t doubt her,” Marion shook her head, “But allow a mother her selfish wishes to keep her children out of harm's way.”

Molly reached across the distance between them and squeezed her hand inside the folds of her cloak. No matter the circumstances of his birth, no matter how frayed and difficult things grew between him and the king, Marion had never once treated him as anything but a beloved son.

“I’m of age, mother. Now it’s my turn to selfishly protect you. You’ll be safe back in Nicodranas...it must at least be some comfort to see the city again?”

“I have wanted to return for a long time,” Marion sighed, her tone careful with the weight of all her marriage had become behind it, the arguments and the distance and the coldness, “But not like this.”

“I’ll see it one day,” Molly promised, “Soon. After the war, even, I’ll come and get you and you can show me and Jessie all of it.”

Her thumb ran over his scarred knuckles and she smiled the kind of smile a mother gave her child when they were telling her some fancy, “I would like that...where is Caleb? I so rarely see you without him these days.”

“He went to go and collect our maps from the library. We’ll be going into the forests and even with Caduceus on hand, it’s best to have the routes laid out,” Molly explained, trying to smile comfortingly and sound jovial, “We’re only looking to loop around the border and turn back any other raiding parties. Father’s the one riding to face Lorenzo head on. Likely the war will be won and done by the time we catch up with him. We’ll find the old man throwing victory feasts in the ashes, no doubt.”

Marion’s expression didn’t change. She never had been taken in by his affectations the way everyone else seemed to be.

“Just promise me you’ll come through safely,” she murmured, “And...keep Caleb by you. The two of you are stronger together.”

A pinkess rose on Molly’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, “Mother…”

“Just promise me,” Marion sighed, “I worry about you less when I know he’s with you.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, “I mean, he’s my...he’s my guard. He was trained for things like this. Where else would he be?”

Marion made a soft noise that was neither agreement or dissent, “Yes. His training. Of course.”

“Get on the carriage, Mother,” Mollymauk groaned.

At least she had a smile on her face as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, even if it couldn’t last as he helped her onto the carriage and stood to wave as it disappeared through the castle gates towards the docks. As soon as she was gone, a mournful kind of quiet seemed to settle around the place.

One down.

Jester’s bedroom was right next to his own, it always had been even though the royal apartments allowed for much more of their own space. They’d just never wanted to be any further from each other.

When he knocked and pushed back the door, he saw her at her desk under the window. Whenever something was upsetting her, his sister could usually be found painting. But this time, as he came closer, he saw it wasn’t paper and well worn watercolours spread around her. It was account books, ledgers, dusty old things she’d clearly dredged up from some corner of the seneschal’s office.

“Trying to put yourself to sleep?” he hummed, standing behind her chair.

Jester sighed, the edge of her cheek that he could see past her hair flushing pink, “I’m just...I’m going to be in charge after you and father leave tomorrow. I want to make sure I do a good job.”

Molly sighed gently and passed his hand over her hair, “You will, Jessie. Father wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t trust you.”

She made a rude, rather un-princess like noise, “He has no choice. Mama’s gone and tomorrow so will you…”

“He could ask me to stay,” Molly said firmly, deftly pulling her hair back into a braid, “Mother could be staying here in the castle. But he isn’t. He’s putting our capital into your hands because he knows how smart you are and how much you care. He knows you’re the kind of princess the people need right now.”

Under his fingers, Jester shifted and sighed, eventually unable to bear it any more and whirling around, launching herself upwards and clasping her arms around him hard enough to hurt.

“It just won’t be the same without you,” she whispered thickly.

Molly swallowed hard to keep his own tears out of his voice, “I’ll miss you, Jester. But it won’t be long until we see each other again, I promise.”

He let her tremble and sniffle for as long as she needed to, before pulling back to kiss her head, right between her horns.

“Come now. I’ll miss the whole bloody battle, the route father’s got me taking all around the borders. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Jester repeated. Molly hoped he’d sounded more convincing than she did.

“And no putting TravelerCon down as an official holiday while no one’s looking,” he teased, jostling her lightly, “Or if you do, make sure it’s when I’m back.”

Jester giggled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve before flushing lightly pink and dropping her gaze from his, “Okay...um...make sure Beau and Yasha come back safe for me?”

Molly smirked, “Oh? What makes you say that, little sister?”

“Shut up!” she punched his arm, fighting a smile, “Just do it.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “Though it’ll more likely be the two of them dragging my skinny ass out of trouble.”

“Good...and stick with Caleb.”

Now it was Molly’s turn to feel his cheeks warm, “Have you and mother been talking about me by any chance?”

“I’m not saying anything! I’m not making a single connection between you and him riding off to war together and the fifty million smut books that start in pretty much exactly the same way…”

Molly wrinkled his nose, “Please do not tell me how you know that.”

“Worried I stole yours from under your pillow?”

“You little…” he flicked her nose lightly before the real emotions began to well up through the cracks and he didn’t have the energy to maintain his smile any more, “Caleb’s...he’s just been hurt so bad, Jessie. And so much of it is because of me. If I put him through anything like that again, I couldn’t forgive myself.”

“That implies you forgave yourself last time,” Jester raised her eyebrows before her expression softened, “And what happened wasn’t your fault. Caleb loved you back, it went bad because of that asshole Ikithon and...and yeah, because of father.”

Molly grimaced a little, feeling the weight of those bad memories on his already frayed patience, “I just don’t want to cause him any more pain. What they did to him...he’s not the same Caleb from ten years ago. Trying to force him to be won’t do anything but hurt him more.”

“True,” Jester allowed, “But he also isn’t the Caleb who arrived at the gate six months ago, is he?”

Molly bit his lip, “No…”

“And you’re not Molly from ten years ago. So why can’t the Molly you are now and the Caleb he is now fall in love with each other?”

Molly opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head, “I...I just don’t see how it can be that simple. With father and Ikithon and now all of this.”

Jester frowned, “And when you’re king? And they’re gone?”

Molly felt a tightness in his ribs, the ache of want trying to force its way up through old hurts. But the idea that there could ever be a world where the kind of hate and the kind of evil that had pulled him and Caleb apart didn’t exist wasn’t one he dared hope for. How could he, when he was too much of a coward to stand up to it? When he was being raised to put on a crown and keep it all going?

“There might not even be a kingdom for me to inherit if I don’t focus on what’s in front of me,” he shook his head firmly, “I can’t think about it right now.”

Jester seemed to deflate a little but the knowing look didn’t fade from her eyes, “Fine. Focus on coming back safe.”

He ruffled her hair, “You know I will. I’ve gotten this far flying by the seat of my pants, haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” Jester smiled up at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “Just don’t do anything too stupid.”

“A novel concept for me. But for you, Jester, I’ll try.”

He wasn’t planning on sleeping that night but Beau had explicitly barred him from her training ground, saying that if she saw him there rather than in his bed then Lorenzo wouldn’t even get the chance to run him through. Telling her that they’d be riding the wrong bloody way for that to happen didn’t seem to change her mind about the threat.

So he’d bid Caleb goodnight, again feeling everything unsaid between them pressing in at the edge of his words and telling himself another time. Now he lay on his back in the middle of his expansive, empty bed, waiting for a restfulness that he knew deep down would never come, staring at the ceiling until his eyes blurred and unfocused. His fingers itched for the smooth leather of his sword hilts but now, every time he imagined picking them up, he would see them lunging forward of their own free will, slicing through flesh and jarring against bone, blood running down their curved steel. He tried to imagine actually taking the life of another person, facing a foe not made of magic or sand and trying to summon the will to snuff out their existence as easily as blowing out a candle.

All Mollymauk could feel was a sickness in his stomach.

He rolled over, sighing as he pulled the blankets tighter around him to fight off the shivers. He couldn’t decide if the soft, dry sobs he heard were his imaginary victim’s or his own inside his mind, echoing back from a future he didn’t want.

Until he realised it was neither. They were coming from behind the hidden door and the veil of magic, they were coming from Caleb’s chamber.

Molly sat up, tail twitching, blankets slipping down to pool around his hips. His instinct was of course to run to him without hesitation, to slide in next to him and hold him and listen while he said all of the things he could never say outside of the circle of his arms. But that was what he would have done before.

Jester’s words came back to him. They weren’t the same Molly and Caleb and maybe, as they were now, they’d never be able to build something like what had come before. But he still cared for him, deeply, and he wasn’t about to lie there uselessly while his friend sobbed in the room next door, not after he’d comforted him before.

He pulled a robe on and padded quickly over to the door behind the tapestry, the stone floor cold under his bare soles between the thick carpets. Only he could enter without Caleb’s permission, the magic was designed to let him through as the one who’s life Caleb was bound to. But still, he knocked, hardly about to barge into the only space in the entire world that was Caleb’s alone.

His first knock didn’t stop the sobs, he had to try again and louder before they choked off and a voice came, raw and quiet.

“Mollymauk?”

“Caleb,” he answered, mouth pulling down at the fear in his friend’s voice, “Please let me in?”

“You...my prince, you should be sleeping…”

Molly sighed, resting his forehead against the stone door, “Caleb, I want to. Please?”

After a long pause, the door slipped from its seamless place in the wall, pushing inwards so Molly had to quickly right himself to avoid ending up in a heap on Caleb’s floor. The cell was pitch black, only the ragged, panicked breathing to guide him towards the pallet his friend slept on.

“Shh, Caleb, it was only a dream,” he moved slowly, giving him every chance to draw away and cling to his space but he didn’t.

One moment there was musty air under his hand and then there was soft hair, clammy, sweat soaked skin. Caleb didn’t pull back, he didn’t flinch. Giving thanks for that much, Molly awkwardly fumbled in the dark until he was sat on Caleb’s narrow bed, scratchy wool under his other hand, shaped to the trembling pair of legs underneath it.

“Just focus on breathing, okay?” Molly whispered, stroking the hair he knew was that deep, coppery red even if he couldn’t see it, “It’ll fade, I promise.”

He felt Caleb nod, one of his hands coming up to lie over Molly’s, clinging to it the way a drowning man would cling to driftwood. It happened quickly and easily after that, like falling asleep. Who moved against who, it was hard to say, like the transition moment between there being space between them and not hadn’t happened. Like Molly had always been embracing Caleb, had always had him weeping softly into his shoulder while one hand’s fingers interlaced with his own.

It felt like finally exhaling.

It would have lasted as long as Molly could make it, if his other hand hadn't eventually slipped down from Caleb’s shoulder to his back, intending to stroke slow, easy circles there just as he’d always done when they’d held each other in the night, as they’d done the first time they’d kissed, as they’d done the first and last time he’d felt Caleb’s body gently press into his own and everything had made sense.

It would have lasted forever if Molly hadn’t done that. If he hadn’t felt the raised, puckered scars under his palm.

He froze, breath catching in his throat. Caleb knew immediately what had happened and tried to pull back, tried to pull the blankets up over his torso but Molly moved faster, hand slipping further to feel just how many there were, how raised and poorly healed and angry they were, before their embrace was broken.

“Caleb,” Molly’s voice was low and level, “Turn on the lights, please.”

He saw the dark shape that was his friend shake it’s head, heard his miserable whimper.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay calm, measured, “Caleb, you’re safe with me, I promise. I just need to see. It isn’t an order, I’m only asking you to please trust me.”

If he had asked him to leave at that moment, to forget everything and shut the door behind him, Molly would have gone and he prayed Caleb knew that. Without so much as a word, the bare, unscented candle by the bed ignited and, trembling, Caleb turned his back on Mollymauk.

It took everything he had not to make a sound at the ruin of Caleb’s back.

Scars crossed over other scars, the messiest, most tangled delta of rivers Molly had ever seen and he understood now why he’d never seen Caleb without a shirt on since his return, they would have been impossible to hide otherwise. They were raised, almost blistered around the edges, horrible jagged things that had clearly been salted before they were given any treatment.

Molly didn’t need to ask what had made them. Or who had done it.

“Please don’t be angry, your highness,” Caleb’s voice was thin and reedy, again slipping into the cadence of an actor, albeit one who feared execution if his performance didn’t satisfy, “It was my fault, they only whipped me when I was bad.”

“Caleb,” his voice broke, eyes stinging, “Gods, what could have been worth doing this to you? No matter what they might have said, this was not your fault, this was their sick idea of punishment…”

“No, it was, it was my fault!” Caleb trembled, “They told me and they didn’t listen, they told me and I still opened the letters-”

Something inside Molly froze and splintered, “The...the letters? The letters I wrote you? They got you whipped?”

They’d been a desparate act from the beginning, he’d known that. But he’d just been so heartbroken, so wracked with grief and tortured by his own thoughts of what they must have been doing to Caleb at the Academy, what blood price he was paying for their one night together. The letters and the gold he’d pressed into merchant’s palms to have them smuggled into Rexxantrum and past the impenetrable walls of the Academy, he’d been realistic about how likely it was that they’d ever get into Caleb’s hands. But he’d just been unable to sit and do nothing, to imagine Caleb thinking he’d been forgotten. After a year or so, he’d stopped, fearing the worst and unable to keep the hope alive.

And all the while he’d been writing those awful scars across his back.

“I shouldn’t have opened them, they told me after the first one, it was my choice,” Caleb wept, “I had to learn, they said…”

“Gods, Caleb,” Molly tasted bile on his throat, “Why...why did you open them? Why didn’t you write back and tell me to stop, I would have stopped, I never, ever wanted to hurt you more, oh gods…”

Caleb pushed a hand through his hair, unable to answer for a while before his shoulders slumped in defeat. The scripted tone of his voice fell away, like a thin mask crumbling to dust, “I...I missed you so much and reading your words, it helped me keep a hold on myself. It stopped me losing who I was entirely. I didn’t want them to stop.”

It was strangely easy to sound calm now, the fury brought an odd kind of clarity, a separation he welcomed in that moment, “Thank you for showing me your scas, Caleb, hat was very brave of you. You stay here and get some rest.”

“Where are you going?” Caleb turned, still shaking with tremors that ran through his body endlessly.

“I’m going to cut Trent Ikithon’s throat while he sleeps,” Molly replied simply, like he was telling him he planned to take a spring hunt tomorrow, “A pity to give him such an easy death but can’t risk it.”

Caleb groaned, staggering up and grabbing his arm, “Molly, please, no…”

It was so hard to hear him over the crackling fire in his stomach, “It won’t take a moment, Caleb, I promise.”

“You can’t! You have no idea what kind of magic he has, he’ll hurt you!”

“He can fucking try,” Molly’s calm was cracking, the fire spreading, “I won’t suffer that bastard to take another breath under my roof, not after everything he’s done to you. First the crystals when you were just a kid and now this? I’m done, he crossed the line a long bloody time ago.”

“But your father…”

“My father can go fuck himself!” Molly roared then, the rage snapping up and wresting away the last of his composure, bouncing his voice off the walls, “He’s as much to blame! He feeds that monster like some kind of pet, he funds him and gives him that tower room to do gods know what! He’s lied to be, he’s hurt people, he’s made so many people miserable for his own gain and he wants me to be just like him! Well he’s getting exactly what he wanted.”

He moved fast enough that Caleb couldn’t keep him in place. Once again everything was rushing past him like some great hurricane, the only thing he could be certain of was the swords he took from the wall, their reassuring weight. Now he actively imagined blood running down their edge, beading on their wicked tips like rubies. He told himself how right it felt and the anger roared it’s approval.

But then Caleb was in front of him, hands on his chest, eyes wide and terrified, “Mollymauk, I’m begging you not to do this.”

“This is how my father would settle this,” Molly snapped, eyes blazing.

“But you’re not your father.”

That alone reached through the fire inside him and brought him out into the cold. Startled back into his own mind, Molly took a deep, shuddering breath and let the swords fall from his grip, now slack and useless. They hit the floor with a muffled thud.

“You’re not, Mollymauk,” Caleb continued, relief flooding into his eyes, “You’re none of them, you’re different. And that’s why you’re the only hope any of us have. You were my hope, back then, back when they were doing everything they could to break me. And now...now you’re the kingdom’s hope. And they can’t lose that.”

Molly’s face crumbled, shoulders starting to shake, “I just hate what they did to you…”

“Me too,” Caleb murmured, “But day by day I’m pulling myself back from it and it’s all thanks to you. I just need time, Molly, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he whispered, even as his voice broke, “I can wait. As long as you need me to.”

This time it wasn’t Caleb holding him or him holding Caleb. They held each other, as tightly as they could, clinging on as the dark tide rose around them and everything changed outside the door.

If they were granted a tomorrow, Molly promised himself, they would make it a good one.

[jenwhitner]

( ADELINE RUDOLPH. SHE/HER. CIS WOMAN ) Did I just see ( JENNIFER WHITNER )? This ( TWENTY SEVEN ) year old ( VETERINARIAN ) has been living in Chicago for ( EIGHTEEN YEARS ). Some say that they are ( TENACIOUS & COMPASSIONATE ) as well as ( VOLATILE & INSECURE ). If they had a theme song, some might say that it would be ( ALL THE TIME by MOOSE BLOOD ). All I know is that I can’t wait to see what they bring to the Windy City.

hellooooo, it’s lauren, back with my second character. this is jennifer! she’s one of rowan’s older adopted siblings, and she’s one of those people that acts super tough and a little distant at first, but she’s a sweetheart really, i promise. @hocstarters​

‏‏‎ ‎

INFO:

full name: Jennifer Ahn Whitner

birth name: Ahn Ji-hyun

nickname(s): Jenny, Jen

birthplace: Daegu, South Korea

birthday: 25th June 1993

age: 27

zodiac sign: Cancer

gender & pronouns: cis woman, she/her

sexuality: Heterosexual

physical: 5′6, brown hair, brown eyes

occupation: Veterinarian

‏‏‎ ‎

PAST:

( tw: death; car accident; child neglect; bullying; mental illness )

1993, Daegu, South Korea. Ahn Ji-hyun was born to a newly-married couple, who cared for her well and loved her dearly. Her early childhood was great, and she had plenty of friends. She showed a love for animals and nature early on, and developed a habit of picking up and bringing home any injured animals she found, wanting to help them. She also loved literature and art, spending hours covered in paint or listening to her mother tell her stories.

But, tragedy struck when Ji-hyun was 5 years old, and the family were involved in a car accident when returning to their home after a meal out. All the members of the family were rushed into hospital. Unfortunately both of Ji-hyun's parents eventually succumbed to their injuries, but, Ji-hyun managed to pull through. She spent a few weeks in the hospital recovering from her minor injuries. Somehow she had managed to walk away with only cuts and bruises, a concussion and a few broken bones. The couple had no other family that were able to take care of the now orphaned young girl, and she was taken to a foster home. The memories of the accident haunted her, and she had night terrors regularly, waking up in a cold sweat and gasping for air. It caused her to withdraw, and she became quiet and reserved. She was placed into therapy to try and help her deal with the loss of her parents, and eventually she began to show signs of improvement. Art was one of the things that helped her to express her grief and loneliness, and she continued to improve her painting skills over the years as she used it as her main emotional outlet.

When Ji-hyun turned 7, she was adopted by an American couple. Knowing absolutely no English, Ji-hyun was terrified of leaving Daegu and her friends behind to go to a completely new country. She begged the adults in the foster home to not make her go, but they promised that she would be safe and have a happy life, and would have more opportunities in America then she would have in her home country. So, reluctantly, she moved to Rockford, Illinois with her new family. Her name was legally changed to Katie, but she continued to refer to herself by her Korean name.

But, things didn't turn out the way that Ji-hyun had been told they would. She was enrolled in school, but the language barrier proved to be too much. Despite having special tutoring in English, Ji-hyun couldn't seem to learn fast enough for her new parents liking, and they were disappointed in her. Thus began the neglect. Because they couldn't communicate properly, her parents began to ignore Ji-hyun out of frustration, adopting another child and spending all their time and affection on their new son. Her teachers soon began to notice that Ji hyun was turning up to school dirty and hungry, and called social services who then got involved. By the time she turned 8 years old, Ji-hyun was back in foster care, this time in Chicago.

The experience left his distrustful of other people, and she kept herself very guarded, not speaking to anybody about personal matters and never showing signs of any emotion unless she was safely locked away in a room by herself. Her faith in humanity was gone, and left her bitter and cold towards the world even at such a young age.

A year passed, and Ji-hyun settled back into the routine of a foster home, until one day a new couple came along. A few weeks after meeting them, the news came that the Whitner's were going to adopt Ji-hyun. Yet again, she was scared and dubious. In her head, before even going to the family, she was expecting it not to last long, so she was stand-offish with the couple and with their other adopted children, not wanting to form any connections out of fear that they would end up being severed in a short time. 

It wasn’t until a few months into this new chapter that Ji-hyun finally realised that she was now in a safe and loving home, with people that cared about her and wanted her to have a good and happy life. The realisation came from such a small gesture on the Whitner’s part, but a huge one for her. They asked her what she wanted to be called. So, not wanting to completely lose touch with her birth name that had become her only sense of identity over the years, and the only connection she had to her biological parents, she chose the name Jennifer. Her parents agreed to her keeping her surname, using it instead as a middle name. Thus, Jennifer Ahn Whitner became her legal name. 

Despite knowing that she was finally in a safe space, that didn't change the struggles that Jennifer dealt with during school. The Whitner's did their best to help her learn English, but the kids at school picked on her because she was different and because she couldn't communicate with them properly. 

Nevertheless, Jennifer was very intelligent and excelled in all other areas of her education, and eventually she became good enough at English that she could hold a full conversation, thanks to her parent's consistent tutoring and support, and the help of her adopted siblings. Once she got to high school, language was no longer an issue, but her accent was still prevalent. Kids were cruel, and the bullying continued. This drove her to develop depression and anxiety, and she became withdrawn and quiet. Throughout her dark times, she carried on painting, finding solace in art.  Yet again, she began therapy and threw herself into her studies, deciding that she wanted to become a veterinarian. She went off to college, and here she flourished. As she grew older, she became more confident in herself and her abilities, and finally started to develop a bit of a social life again. But, she still kept herself guarded, a defence mechanism that she just couldn't bring herself to let go of. It was hard for her to make friends because of it, but those who persevered and finally broke through her tough exterior are still close friends of hers to this day.

‏‏‎ ‎

PRESENT:

Recently graduated from veterinary college, Jennifer lives in her own apartment and works at a local animal clinic. She still keeps in contact with her foster parents, visiting them regularly and also maintaining strong relationships with her foster siblings.

She has continued on with her art, but only ever as a hobby. Her friends continue to push her to try and pursue it as a full-time career but she loves her job working with animals, and doesn't want to give that up. Despite that, she does commissioned work for people on the side, but because her job is so demanding already it's a rather rare occurrence.

‏‏‎ ‎

PERSONALITY:

At first, Jennifer can come across as rude and uninterested, but this is just her way of avoiding letting people get too close. It will take time to break down that tough, uncaring exterior she puts on, but once it's done, her true personality will come through. She can be volatile and insecure at times. She struggles to trust people and let them in, and rarely talks about her biological parents or her first foster family. The memories still haunt her from time to time, but she does her best to focus on the positives. 

She returns to Daegu to visit her family as often as she can, and still speaks in her native tongue often, finally being proud of her Korean heritage and wanting to celebrate it rather than hide it to save herself from other people's judgement. 

Her temper can change quickly when she feels vulnerable or threatened, and can be quite harsh when she's in a bad mood. She bears grudges for a long time, and if anybody upsets her she won't ever forget about it. She may forgive, but the relationship will never be the same again. At times she is also overly-sensitive, and small comments made can stick with her for a long time and cause quite a big impact on her, and leave her questioning her worth and abilities.

But, Jennifer is very compassionate. As seen from an early age, she has a very nurturing personality, and will look after anyone and anything that needs help. This quality is what makes her so good at her job - her caring nature and love for animals combined makes her a brilliant veterinarian. 

With strangers, she can struggle to initiate conversations and it takes time to gain her trust, but once it’s done and she lets people see the real her, they will have a loyal friend and someone to lean on and be loved dearly by.

She is also incredibly tenacious, and once she puts her mind to something she will see it through no matter how difficult it may be at times. 

Reassurance and small gestures of affection are her love language, both for herself and for others, so she will go out of her way to remind the people in her life how loved and important they really are.

‏‏‎ ‎

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

closest friend(s) - these will be the people she’s most comfortable around and can be completely herself with. they probably know a little bit about her past, but not the whole story

colleagues - fellow veterinarians, or other staff at the clinic

neighbours - she has her own apartment, so there’s a few options for neighbour type connections

ex-boyfriend - will have been during college years, can have ended on good or bad terms, could even still be feelings there if we wanna get real angsty with it

past hook-ups - again, probably during college years, can be awkward or not, i don’t mind

enemies - people that she doesn’t like or don’t like her, or someone from her past that did something to really upset her and she’s holding a grudge still

[magickrosegalaxy]

So this is a very long story that happened around 2 years ago now, but the events started about a year and a half previous. So I hope you’re prepare for a hell of a read.

To lay the ground work, I’m an empath so I’m already incredibly sensitive to other beings around me. At the time I was living with my mum, sister and boyfriend of 3 years. My mum, sister and I are all witches whilst my boyfriend at the time was a serious atheist who did not believe in the paranormal in anyway and would often mock it.

It hard started with the sensation of being watched in the bathroom. The first time I thought it had been my boyfriend trying to scare me like he’s done in the past, but it started to unsettle me the more I would turn around and he wouldn’t be there.

Then I began to feel watched in other places; the hallway, the stairs, the kitchen until in began to happen all over the house. Especially in my bedroom. Who ever it was used to stand and watch me from the end of the bed or loom right over my face. I couldn’t see then but I could feel them.

Nobody else could feel or sense him, they didn’t believe this fear I was having. They didn’t realise that whatever it was had picked it’s target and was masking itself from everyone else. Feeding of the fear and isolation it was giving me.

Eventually it came to the point where I neither slept nor ate. And in the last 6 months before it all kicked off I had become severally ill and clinically depressed (It’s worth mentioning here that I already have preexisting mental conditions and disabilities and this had caused the worst low of my entire life).

About 3 months before the events came to its crescendo my sister got tonsillitis with an infection on top. Being unable to breath we took her to the hospital, this was around 3/4am. When they was at their most active. I had been down stairs looking after my sister when my mum screamed from upstairs. Bolting upstairs I found her sobbing heavily. Full body tears.

She explained that she was fine and that these weren’t here tears. She had been coming out of her bedroom when she had seen this brilliant flash of white and this overwhelming sorrow had come over her and she had started crying. It actually took a solid 1 hour and 20 minutes to stop crying. I knew that what had happened was whatever had been feeding on me, had come for my mum whilst her defences were down in her panic for her child. And something had protected her, original we had all thought that it was my brothers whom had died some 20 years ago, but it just never quite fit.

The final turning point came when when everyone became worried for my health as I was working 40-50 hours a week on rapidly declining physical and mental health. So my grandparents had gone away for 3 weeks and had asked me boyfriend and I to house sit and care for their cats. Which worked well for me as I had recently been signed off from work due to soft tissue damage after a fall at work. The first week and a half was bliss, no watching or feeding. I began eating and sleeping again.

And then one night I felt them. Watching me whilst I lay in bed. The fear had rolled over me and forced me out of a dead sleep. At first I thought I had imagined it and that it was just my anxiety playing tricked, but after a few more days my suspicions had been confirmed. It had followed me across town to another house.

Unable to take anymore I went to see my mentor and beloved friend. (For purposes of identification I will be referring to peoples names via initinal) S had been guide to me when I had lost my faith and since then we had shared a very strong bond. S has two shops, a store/cafe and a market stall. I had found her at the market stall and she read instantly that something was wrong. And I just broke down, sobbed and told her all that is going on.

S put me in touch with her paranormal medium friend B. I called B on the phone and he felt it was incredibly pertinent that he get to our property with his partner as soon as he was available in 3 days time. The moment B and L walked in the what had been following me became insanely angry, furious at what was happening.

My mum stayed with me whilst I talked to B and L about what had been happening. L used her abilities and told me she could see a figure in a dark hood, almost like a monk. During this my mum started sobbing again, the sadness had come over her and she felt like she could not breath.

She said his name was James, and he was a preist. He had been murdered by that monk for falling in love with a woman from his parish. They had planned to leave and marry but the church was furious when they learned of this and had killed him for his ‘sin and betray of God’

It took work but with the help of B and L but mum eventually got James to move on to the next plane where his love was waiting for him. The moment James had passed the monk (how we were referring to him) became enraged. I remember screaming in fear and repeating over and over how his mad that you had taken his toy away.

It took four different blessings and several protective spells and banishments and a lot of will power to banish him. I don’t remember much but I was told I had fainted, the monk had tried feeding on me, sucking out my power in an effort to fight back. When I came to I could feel he was gone. I felt like I could breath for the first time in just over a year and a half.

About a week or so after the visit for B and L a news arrival was released about an abbey that never been registered or kept on file with the church. The local parish did some digging and learnt that this abbey had been home to an order of a brotherhood of monks that were kept quiet in the churches history. This brotherhood were not scholars but essentially a hit squad for those that they considered extreme sinners. Such a preist who had abandoned his vow to God for a woman.

And it had been one of those monks that had tortured me. To this day I still have a crippling fear of the dark and silence.

But that’s my story.

Oh on a side note, we have a resident house ghost. A young boy named Jamie. He like to play games and tricks and always takes the Mayo out of the cupboard. But Jamie had been pushed out during all these event. The darkness and evil of the monk had sent him into hiding but a couple of days after the banishment we found the Mayo sitting on the countertop again!

[gstqaobc]

CBC THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, October 23, 2020

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

The lessons of becoming Diana in The Crown

(Ollie Upton/Netflix)

For Emma Corrin, preparing to take on the role of Diana, Princess of Wales, in The Crown was something of a psychology lesson. The 24-year-old actor assumed the part knowing full well those watching her arrival next month in Season 4 of the Netflix drama will already have well-established impressions of a member of the Royal Family who grew from "Shy Di" to one of the most photographed celebrities and fashion icons of recent times. Those existing impressions made assuming the role “incredibly daunting,” Corrin said in an interview from London. It helped once she got the script and saw the story. But there was also considerable work with a coach on “understanding the psychology behind a lot of what was happening.” And a lot of what was happening to Diana was “incredibly unnatural and quite intense,” Corrin said. At the age of 19, Diana Spencer moved from an apartment she shared with friends in West London into Buckingham Palace after her engagement to Prince Charles, the heir to the throne and a man 13 years her senior. Diana thought “it was going to be the best event of her life and that they were going to live happily ever after, but then [she discovered] he was with another woman,” Corrin said. Along with that, there was the pressure that comes from being a royal in the public eye.   “All of these are very extraordinary circumstances, really, for someone to be operating in,” said Corrin. “These things that she was exposed to come with a whole lot of pressures that affect someone’s mentality, and that was really interesting.” Even so, there are still all those impressions viewers will have before they catch their first glimpse of Diana when the new season of The Crown starts streaming on Nov. 15. And what if Corrin’s portrayal doesn’t match those impressions? Does that matter in trying to create a successful portrayal of such a well-known person? Not necessarily. “If you talk to actors who have to play a real person ... especially somebody that is so world famous and familiar as Diana — [the challenge comes] because audiences are expecting that actress to look and sound just like the real thing,” said Bill Brioux, a longtime television columnist and commentator. He looks no further than the actor holding the central role on The Crown for Seasons 3 and 4 as an example of overcoming that challenge. “I think Olivia Colman [as Queen Elizabeth] has shown that you don’t have to be a carbon copy, that you might capture a nuance or an essence of someone,” Brioux said. “Certainly, Colman spent a lot of The Crown looking surprised and perplexed, you know, aghast at times.” And we certainly aren’t used to seeing the Queen looking that way in public. “So I think it will be interesting to see how Diana is received,” Brioux said. As she prepared for the role, Corrin said she became overwhelmed “by the amount of factual information out there about her and also … the thought that I would be portraying someone so well-known." Corrin said she “started work on her mannerisms and her behaviour and figuring out why she did the things she did or what she would feel about certain situations that I was going to be acting. “ Corrin also spoke to Patrick Jephson, Diana’s private secretary. “He knew her very well and was able to provide a lot of insight, which was wonderful.” With Diana, Brioux suggested, there may be more pressure on an actor than if the portrayal was of a person not so well-known. “People all have their own expectations of Diana in their minds,” he said. “You’re going to disappoint a lot of people no matter what you do, so hat’s off to this actress for taking it on. “I think that there’s potential, though, if you come close, to get a lot of rave reviews because everyone knows the subject and that’s how they’ll judge it."

For more on Corrin’s experiences preparing for the role, click here.

A rare day out for the Queen — and no mask

(Ben Stansall/Reuters)

Royal visits can typically give the royal guest the opportunity to see some cutting-edge technology or to meet individuals being recognized for their work or volunteer efforts in helping others in their community. But Queen Elizabeth’s first major public engagement since the coronavirus pandemic struck in March offered more than a chance for her to visit a new defence research centre west of London and check out the latest in explosives detection. The visit to Porton Down, where scientists are also helping in the response to the pandemic, seemed designed to offer a larger symbolism. “I think it was a really important message for her to send that even though … we’ve been in lockdown and we’re facing new restrictions, the Queen was still able to meet people involved in the COVID response,” Roya Nikkhah, a royal correspondent for the Sunday Times newspaper, told the CBC’s Renee Filippone. Still, the visit, which the 94-year-old carried out alongside her grandson, Prince William, sparked questions — and criticism — because neither of them was wearing a mask at a time when Britons must wear face coverings in stores and other indoor spaces. Those involved in the visit were physically distanced, and Buckingham Palace said safety protocols were followed. Reuters reported that staff at the research centre had been tested for COVID-19 before the visit. “Every precaution that could be taken was taken,” said Nikkhah. “That’s why the Queen didn’t have to wear a mask.” Royal author Robert Jobson told the Daily Mail that Elizabeth was sending a “message of confidence to the people.” “She’s going back to work, she'll go about her business in the usual way, but without taking chances. She is reassuring the public that things must go on as normal, wherever it is safe to do so.” The Queen has spent much of the time since the pandemic struck in isolation at Windsor Castle, considered to be her favourite residence. She has returned there recently after spending a few weeks with Prince Philip at Balmoral Castle in Scotland, and a shorter period on her Sandringham estate northeast of London. Throughout the pandemic, Elizabeth has conducted official duties via video or over the phone, and made two appearances within the walls of Windsor Castle — one for a considerably scaled-down recognition of her official birthday in June, and one to bestow a knighthood on Capt. Tom Moore, a 100-year-old honoured for his charity fundraising. Still, it’s unlikely there will be many other outings like her trip to Porton Down anytime soon. “I think [it] was probably a bit of a one-off,” Nikkhah said. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing a lot more of her on public engagements.”

A new portrait for Canada

(Chris Jackson/Getty Images/Government of Canada)

There is also considerable symbolism on display in Queen Elizabeth’s new official Canadian portrait. While the portrait is new to the public, the photo itself was taken more than a year ago, in March 2019 at Windsor Castle, by royal photographer Chris Jackson. He shared it on social media late last week. In the portrait, the Queen is wearing her Canadian insignia as sovereign of the Order of Canada, Jackson said, along with the Order of Military Merit. The diamond and blue sapphire necklace and earrings she is wearing were a wedding day gift from her father, King George VI, in November 1947, and were worn during her five-day trip to Canada in 1990. Jackson said on Instagram that it was an “incredible honour” to have the opportunity to photograph the Queen for the portrait. “I’ve been lucky enough to have visited Canada many times now with members of the Royal Family and have the fondest memories of the people I’ve met.”

Royally quotable

"My family and I knew nothing about it and were at a loss to know how we could help alleviate the terrible pain she suffered."

— Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall,

reflects on her mother’s death from osteoporosis

26 years ago, and went on this week to note the “huge strides” made since then in treatment and research into the disease.

Royals in Canada

(Hans Deryk/The Canadian Press)

When Charles and Diana came to Canada in late October 1991, it was the last trip they made to the country together. And in ways it was two visits in one for the couple, whose collapsing marriage was under intense media scrutiny at the time, as they went their separate ways for much of the seven-day sojourn.

One stop for Diana in Toronto took her to Casey House, a hospice for people who have AIDS.

“Diana had just begun to venture into the issue of AIDS, then repellent to much of society, but it was still surprising that she chose to see a hospice full of very ill people rather than some less harrowing AIDS setting,” Casey House founder June Callwood

wrote in Maclean’s magazine

after Diana’s death in 1997.

Callwood had a mixed view of Diana, but that visit to Casey House, where she sat and visited with hospice residents, left a lasting impression.

Diana “wanted nothing less than to change the world for the better,” Callwood wrote. “And perhaps she did. On that lovely afternoon … she made everyone at a small AIDS hospice in Toronto feel worthwhile. That’s quite a gift.”

Our friends at CBC Archives have taken a closer look at the 1991 visit, which was also the first time both William and Harry went with their parents on a foreign trip.

Royal reads

1. Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, says she

avoids speaking about controversial topics

in an attempt to ensure she doesn’t put her family at risk. She also says she’s been told that in 2019, she was the

“most trolled person in the entire world.”

[BBC, The Guardian]

2. More than 60 years after Queen Elizabeth gave a pair of swans to a city in Florida,

it has sold off three dozen of their descendants

in a bid to ease a crisis in overpopulation of the birds. [The Independent]

3. Thirty years after Diana laid a ceremonial foundation stone for a cancer hospital, her son William

did the same

. [The Daily Mail]

4. Dutch King Willem-Alexander says he

regrets going to Greece for a holiday

after he and his family were criticized for taking a trip during the pandemic. [BBC]

Cheers!

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

royalfascinator@cbc.ca

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

[kiruuuuu]

I had the pleasure of talking this through with you, @cerosin​, and the end result is.... definitely unhealthier than your initial request, but I hope you’ll like it anyway :) I also certainly took my time with this, thank you for waiting and thank you for the request 🖤🖤 (Kapkan/Glaz, Rating E, angst fluff + smut, ~4.6k words)

.

He can tell when it gets bad again.

Obviously, there are the spontaneous bursts, attacks he can neither predict nor prevent and therefore has to react on the spot, but those have receded: the people around them have learnt how to avoid triggering anything, and Glaz has learnt how to remove Kapkan from these situations efficiently. No, this isn’t about sudden, blind panic, not about shortness of breath or wild eyes. This is about the prickling right below Glaz’ skin; like a constant stream it erodes the sense of safety that’s built up over weeks or, if they’re lucky, months. Erodes the complacency like it’s dust settling in bit by bit, undisturbed and growing. Glaz has stopped minding boring. Because boring implied a routine, and calmness, and freedom from -

From the alternative.

From what’s happening right now.

If anyone asked, he’d reply that he feels safe no matter what. That he’s in control, and even if he’s not, that he knows how to regain it; after all, he senses it coming as it accumulates slowly, yet not so slow he doesn’t notice. He’s safe, even if he wakes up to a sharp jab in the side or a hand around his throat, because he can deal with it. He’s safe, even if temper flares hotly at him like an open flame, because he knows it might lick him, leave a stinging burn, but it will never consume him.

He justifies himself to this non-existent asker, someone on the outside, a concerned citizen. He does this a lot, conducts conversations like he’s Plato writing a dialogue between his teacher, Socrates, and someone unimportant, someone only necessary to play dumb and prompt the next wall of text. Glaz goes into great detail until this imaginary person is convinced. He wonders what this says about him.

So yes. He’s as confident as ever, though he takes the warning signs seriously. He listens to the tone rising in volume with each passing day, powerless to stop it but capable of manipulating it.

.

“You’ve already asked me twice what I want for breakfast so stop fucking talking about it”, snaps the love of his life, a man who leaves him breathless in so many ways each and every day.

Glaz doesn’t mention how Kapkan has failed to give a straight answer so far, and instead defuses the tension with a bratty: “Guess I’ll just feed the leftovers to the neighbour’s dog then.”

He can basically hear Kapkan perking up at this, even if his back is turned. If possible, his lover would eat meat for literally every meal, and heated up for breakfast, he’s even more unable to say no. “You know I’d eat it out of her bowl if necessary”, he grumbles, the fire having died down as quickly as it reared up. Glaz has gotten extremely good at appeasing him over the years.

“I’ll take that as a yes then”, he summarises and tosses the scraps in question into the microwave. Self neglect is one of the largest red flags Kapkan wears on his back whenever it gets bad, and it’s the one Glaz will combat head on. It’s the one he’s allowed to mention as it doesn’t scream you’re abnormal, you’re ill, you’ve got issues – instead, he can disguise it as stress, something easily forgettable, low priority. As such, it’s easiest to deal with as he can remedy it immediately: suggest taking a bath together, which is something Kapkan never refuses, or he offers to cook, pretends he’s not feeling well and needs company so Kapkan joins him in bed early. Once there, his lover falls asleep quickly, but left to his own devices, he’d stay up till morning.

No, he doesn’t need to babysit him, Glaz informs his imaginary interviewer politely yet firmly. Kapkan can and does take care of himself. But if he can facilitate it, why shouldn’t he? He receives more than enough in return. Kapkan would die for him in a heartbeat, he knows this because it almost happened before, he’d do whatever Glaz demands of him, he’s a reliable presence in Glaz’ life, loving, supportive, strong. Their infatuation is mutual and not diminished by demons which are not Kapkan’s fault.

It’s difficult to predict how this episode will go. Some cumulate in a fight, be it verbal or physical, others peak unnoticeably and then ebb until Glaz nearly forgets about the whole thing, can’t imagine a universe where they aren’t the world’s most perfect couple. People often don’t appreciate their health until they fall ill. Glaz has learnt to fiercely appreciate the days on which every smile is teased out gently instead of requiring heavy machinery to surface.

.

They met in Spetsnaz, a perceived eternity ago, and by all rights should’ve separated unscathed instead of their lives intermingling the way they did in the end. Glaz’ hand to hand was rubbish and Kapkan consistently disappointed in him, leaving them both frustrated with each other, yet not to the point of memorability. Kapkan should’ve remained that morose instructor with the hard set to his mouth, and Glaz his largely incompetent yet well-meaning student of which he’s probably had plenty. Nothing about him was remarkable – nothing about either of them, really –, until some people fell ill and some others got married, and suddenly Glaz was accompanying his fellow Spetsnaz on an extended hunting trip. As if Glaz had been fifteenth in line for the throne and fate removed all fourteen in between, and now he was at his coronation, not entirely sure how he got here.

It wasn’t the two of them alone, of course, a few acquaintances and curious souls went with them, but overall not enough people to comfortably hide one’s personality for an entire month. This is when Glaz noticed that Kapkan, when talking about his passion, was easy to look at. The glint in his otherwise piercing pale eyes was contagious and Glaz inquired a lot more about hunting in general and Kapkan’s experience specifically than he’d originally intended.

Usually, Glaz falls easily, almost at the drop of a hat. Someone smiles at him wrong, someone does him an unexpected favour, and he’s gone. Lost. If this happens, it’s fleeting. But when it takes him a while to even realise he’s staring and hovering, it means it’s serious.

They require five years to get together.

During that time, they keep invading each other’s life almost by chance, end up assigned to the same place or on the same mission, and the grin he receives when they meet once more is a genuine one. Glaz longs for more and ever more: a laugh, then a touch, time spent alone, time spent alone that’s timeless and neverending in their minds. Every new bit which he almost wishes into existence he treasures and keeps it close to his heart so it warms him during the time between their meetings. This is how he thinks of his days now – either real, actual events, or merely waiting. When Kapkan isn’t there, reality loses its focus.

He doesn’t remember the words leading up the kiss and it’s something he regrets to this day. Vaguely, he recalls words too brazen and brash for his otherwise quiet, timid character, though they probably were nothing but innocent to others. But Kapkan – Kapkan understood, Kapkan who’s known him for years and can tell it’s unusual for him, and he let it happen. Despite nothing coming back, Glaz wasn’t under the impression of his flattery to bounce off the hard exterior, rather he noticed it penetrating the roughness, finding holes in its defence. Kapkan soaked it up. He refused to dance but admired Glaz’ efforts nonetheless. And so they kissed.

Kissed in full gear, the relief of an uneventful mission flooding their systems, perched in the snow next to each other and lost in conversation instead of paying attention to something their colleagues had under control anyway. A routine extraction, no support needed, and Kapkan pulled down the cloth hiding his lower face when Glaz offered him some warm coffee, and then their lips are touching, their breath visible in the icy air and Glaz’ shoulder killing him over this odd angle.

Despite going home alone that day, he got no second of sleep. His heart wouldn’t calm down, and neither his thoughts. I’m the happiest man alive, he thought, clear as day and not a doubt in his mind.

.

“Strip.”

It does have its good sides. Two, as far as Glaz is concerned: Kapkan sticks to him like Velcro to wool, knowing nobody else can keep him in check the way his lover does. The worse it gets, the more excuses pop up to stay at home, to go out alone, to take Glaz along. He doesn’t mind switching topics and reading body language like a hawk if he can hold Kapkan’s hand in return, witness his dry wit and remarkable patience.

The second positive side effect is linked to the first. Being around each other constantly leads to certain things.

Glaz takes his time because he knows Kapkan likes it this way. He follows their established routine and discards his sweater first without revealing any skin on his torso. The motion exposes his arms, which he flexes subtly – he doesn’t need to cast a glance at his lover to know his eyes have strayed from his face. His t-shirt is next, showing off his chest and the ridges of his abs through controlled breathing and contracting his muscles at the right moment.

It’s slow, this ritual of theirs, deliberate, hides nothing. Glaz feels more and more naked in more ways than one, as if he’s laying his soul bare together with his body. Undressing is too profane a word, can’t come close to denoting what’s happening between them. He bathes in Kapkan’s attention, normally is indifferent about his own body but now takes pride as he’s being desired – a conscious action for its own sake. Kapkan wants him. It’s a state of being rather than a base need.

He isn’t unaffected. The more fabric lines the floor, the warmer the air gets: Glaz is sweating in the cool bedroom, cheeks reddened and his excitement visible, even more so once he’s fully nude. He breathes hard and dares not meet Kapkan’s gaze. This isn’t about him, after all, this is about obeying and allowing Kapkan to let off steam and an exercise in control. This is how Kapkan convinces himself he’s in control. He needs to be, desperately. And challenging him on this is the last thing Glaz wants.

“Lie down.”

The command is sharp yet leaves Glaz’ skin unmarred: he’s used to this, even looks forward to it when he begins noticing the change in Kapkan’s behaviour. Complying is natural, the sheet a cold relief under his heated body. He expected to be ordered to suck him, which is the most common request he receives in moments like these – he likes drawing it out but Kapkan usually can’t wait to be inside him, so he rarely gets to blow him under normal circumstances. Right now, when it’s about showing off the power he holds over Glaz, Kapkan doesn’t mind dragging it out. Quite the opposite.

“Hold these.”

A twitch between Glaz’ legs, he can’t tell from which body part (or maybe both?), because he knows what these words mean. He doesn’t have the peace of mind for this, he’ll fail and it’ll all be over, he already knows this. Not once has he passed this challenge, not once was he able to see it through to the end, resulting in a heavy throb in his crotch for the rest of the night until he could take care of himself without Kapkan knowing. It’s the sweetest torture, but torture it is nonetheless. He’s sure he’ll disappoint his lover.

Regardless, he lifts his hands until he can put his fingers together, letting Kapkan place objects between each pair of fingertips. Tonight, they’re bullets, threatening to slip out and fall onto his belly immediately. Whether or not he’ll be satisfied today relies entirely on his ability to hold them, restrain himself from sudden movements, concentrate until it’s over. If even only one drops, Kapkan will stop.

His tongue is hot, scorching hot, and velvety smooth, and Glaz’ eyelashes are fluttering. He stares at the bare ceiling, praying to an unknown deity for strength and presence of mind, and then he’s enveloped whole. His body shakes with his stuttering in- and exhales, but he keeps the ammunition where it is. For now.

This is what it must feel like when he services Kapkan. Hardly more than teasing, only just enough to keep his pleasure climbing and climbing, however minuscule the progress. Glaz cherishes every centimetre he slips further into the wet heat and curses it simultaneously. His mouth is struggling to produce sound as it doesn’t seem to know what’s appropriate; no moans escape him, his gasps are aborted and all that leaves his throat is a pained gargling, almost unwilling because he wants this so bad, wants to enjoy it yet has to stop himself from losing to the overwhelming pleasure.

Only when Kapkan sits up does Glaz realise how tense he is, that every muscle in his body was painfully taut. Bit by bit, he relaxes consciously, fighting back the memory of how it felt to be touched, licked, loved like this in order to focus. One of the metal objects has shifted, so he corrects it. Just in time before a hand closes around him.

The callouses on their own do nothing for him, but paired with perfect technique and the knowledge of all his sensitive spots, it’s nearly too much. Glaz moves into the motion, lifts his hips in the hopes of a speedier resolution, cursing inwardly when the rhythm slows to a crawl in response. Kapkan isn’t making this easy for him, that’s the whole point. The ministrations cease again for a moment, Glaz’ thighs are lifted, his legs bent, and this time, when he feels a tongue exploring him, it’s further down.

He squeezes his eyelids shut. This is too much. He can’t bear it. His toes twitch with pangs of discomfort, but when the hand returns, the mixture tilts into nothing but pure bliss. With every lick, his hands jolt, and he’s somehow still holding on to the bullets, without knowing how but not caring, not when he’s being opened through nothing but Kapkan’s mouth. He can feel his breath ghosting over his skin.

When he can’t take it anymore, he seeks other outlets. He digs his heels into the mattress, throws his head left and right, moans and whimpers and keens at the digits probing deep while a slick muscle tugs on his rim and a tight grip brings him closer and closer. He’s shivering as if it was below zero, and still his fingers don’t budge. The centre of his universe are these five gleaming items, and fanning out from there is deep elation emerging from inside him. Moving isn’t against the rules, so he writhes and rises and falls, strains upwards and downwards and rides towards his climax with chattering teeth. He can’t lose himself or everything will be in vain. But he wants to, oh does he want to.

His orgasm shatters him. His back curves as soon as the first wave hits him, and there he remains, right on the zenith, the sensations hardly fluctuating – instead it’s a steady stream of impossible pleasure and relief flooding him and his rigid form. He’s so tightly coiled that he presses out the bullets from between his fingertips, the warmed metal falling to his stomach and mixing with the long stripes painted onto his own skin, but he couldn’t care less. It’s monumental and leaves him shuddering for a minute afterwards, still revelling in the intensity of the moment.

Sinking back into the pillows, it’s as if a spell has been lifted. Kapkan regards him with a mixture of pride and smugness, warming Glaz’ heart: gone is the no-nonsense stare, the hard set to his mouth, the roughness in his touch. They smile at each other, a soft palm trailing over Glaz’ hips and thighs, and all he wants is to sleep curled up against this man whom he knows so well.

“Turn around”, says Kapkan. And though there’s a gentle hint in his voice, it’s obvious he won’t accept a no.

He doesn’t ask whether it’s alright for Glaz, because he’d let him know if it wasn’t. They’re both aware Glaz would speak up, meaning his compliance directly implies permission. This unspoken rule makes a lot of things easier.

No preparation needed, Kapkan has worked him open with his mouth and fingers already, so he slides right into the sensitive and overstimulated hole. Up to the hilt. Glaz’ whine is lost in the pillows.

“You’re beautiful”, Kapkan whispers and Glaz feels it in his throat, balls his hands into fists and clenches them around the sheets because he won’t be shown any more patience this evening.

Despite the discomfort, he likes this, too, the rawness of it and the glimpse he gets of undisguised emotions. In between sharp snaps and hard thrusts, Kapkan compliments him, each of his words melting Glaz below him, and the kisses now and then mask the loud noises. He doesn’t dare reciprocate, keeps his vocalisations garbled and takes it without moving, drinking in the growls and not commenting on the teeth burying into his skin. They’ll leave marks, he knows this.

This is what Kapkan’s composed attitude from before hid, this is what he really feels. Glaz would never deprive him of this, no matter how uncomfortable it is, because it’s one of the purest displays of Kapkan’s love. He can’t get enough of Glaz, doesn’t seem to know what to do with all this affection he harbours, so now and then it spills over. It’s reassuring. Their feelings for each other are this strong.

While Kapkan showers, Glaz gathers the bullets and lines them up on the bedside table. Reflecting the soft light from outside, they shimmer like golden stars.

Glaz is aware they might use them to end someone’s life.

.

This time, the climax announces itself. Like a freight train, it makes itself known from quite a distance away, whereas Glaz is chained to the tracks; he’s got a date and even a time when he’ll be able to stare into the conductor’s eyes. He realises with horror that he’ll have to ride this one out, no way around it: Kapkan is scheduled for the exercise and found out before Glaz did, eliminating the possibility of approaching Harry about it. His defence would’ve been weak yet honest – in the moment, Kapkan will act and react exactly like his intensive training ingrained in him, no doubt about it. It’s the after which causes Glaz considerable anguish. But re-assigning him would draw his attention and then Glaz would bear the brunt of it personally and not by association.

Kapkan has been getting worse for a while now, his light, restless sleep a good indicator for rising agitation, and as soon as he hears about the exercise, he knows. No way around this either: he knows. Stubborn as he is, he’ll walk right into it expecting a different outcome, will deny any parallels locked in his mind between watching his colleagues go down, not knowing where the shots were coming from, expecting to be next, and experiencing much of the same in a controlled setting. I know it’s not real, he says, and then a different voice must pop up in his mind later: But this was. Remember? Let me remind you.

Glaz is fully aware of what will happen and Kapkan too, and still inaction is his best option. He distracts him with little sessions of having Kapkan describe a mutual acquaintance or friend while drawing exactly what he says and then prompting outraged chuckles when he presents the final result. He cooks every day, either breakfast or dinner, and Kapkan lets him. This is what worries Glaz the most, because he’s sure Kapkan can tell he’s walking on eggshells around him, and instead of calling him out on it, he accepts it quietly. Seems to appreciate the kid gloves. He’s never done this before, and it’s terrifying.

Two days before the scheduled catastrophe, Glaz finds himself in the kitchen, staring at the open cutlery drawer and catching himself wondering where he should stow it all. It takes him a long while to realise he’s crying, and even longer to understand why – Kapkan is in good hands tonight, out with people Glaz knows he can trust, and he’s had a relaxing evening involving a long bath, a good film, and delicious leftovers. He should be feeling better than he did all week, yet it’s achieved the opposite effect: all the pent-up tension is flowing out of him in salty droplets now that he doesn’t need to be painfully aware of his surroundings at all times. His joints are aching and he’s shivering; stress has caught up with him as well as all the thinking he postponed to less rainy days.

He thinks about how eerily calm Kapkan has been. How much he has postponed as well.

Slamming the drawer shut, he heads straight to bed and ignores the icy tendrils curling around his limbs, even though they only recede once Kapkan has joined him hours later.

.

The next morning, his outburst and physical discomfort become crystal clear, though the newfound explanation does nothing to quell Glaz’ dread. He’s ill.

Neither the first time nor the last he’s dragged himself into work despite a fever, though most of his co-workers care enough to point out his paleness. Staring back from the mirror is an ashen-faced shadow of a man drenched in sweat, and though it’s probably only the flu, the implications are far-reaching. Depending on whether he gets better today or not, he won’t be able to work tomorrow. Or accompany Kapkan. Cushion his fall.

At the end of the day, it seems an impossibility – concentrating on anything requires much more brain capacity than he has to spare, and keeping himself hydrated and fed is a task so monumental he can’t possibly shoulder it twice. Barely does he notice Kapkan shoving him into the shower to wash off the uncomfortable clamminess left on his skin, and the next time he’s lucid, he’s in bed with a jug of water on the nightstand. He must’ve been forced to take some medicine as the aching isn’t as bad anymore, he no longer feels like shedding his own skin and the pounding in his head has subsided. Like this, he can hardly depend on himself.

The air is fluffy snow on his skin, impeding his movements and causing his teeth to clack together as he fights his way to the living room, intent on spending every minute he can in Kapkan’s presence to soothe them both. All he gains, however, is an angry snarl and a manhandling the way he came – his lover isn’t having any of it. Still. He remains by Glaz’ side and he probably has his own pitiful whining to thank for it. Throughout the rest of the evening and the night, whenever he wakes up, there’s a solid presence behind his back. And even if Kapkan barely sleeps himself, he stays right where he is.

.

Waking up to an empty bed is a blow Glaz could do without. He feels better – marginally –, but what sends him into a full blown panic is the realisation that it’s out of his hands now. However Kapkan reacts today, he won’t be present to absorb the shock, and he can’t figure out the best course of action when he’s ignorant of what happened. Calling someone else to inquire in detail seems messy as it’d get them talking, meaning all he can do is wait.

So he waits.

Waits like someone on death row, barely touches the food Kapkan placed next to the refilled jug and skims the books next to the food listlessly. And waits. Waits for the inevitable jingling of keys, steps which might be soft or loud or disorientated, maybe the calling of his name. Several hours, he waits for it and when it happens, he’s still not ready.

“How do you feel?”, is Kapkan’s only question as he helps Glaz up, wraps him in a spare blanket and changes the soaked sheets.

He takes an eternity to answer. “Better”, he says through the headache and the shivering.

A stern glance. “You’ve always been a horrible liar.” And that’s that.

They spend the evening next to each other once more, Kapkan devouring his dinner while awkwardly perched on the mattress and reading something on his phone, and Glaz still waits. It’ll happen. It can happen any moment now, he knows this, knows the exercise took place as he got a text about it, and so he waits.

He recovers over the weekend and returns to work on Monday. They went for a few walks which left him weak but sharper-minded due to the fresh air, but as much as he scrutinises the mild-mannered man by his side, he finds no indicators of a lurking rage, simmering deep below. He knows it’s there. He knows it will surface in some way, maybe not directed at the environment but inwards.

Kapkan showers without a reminder. He brings Glaz meals and drops a comment about Glaz’ schedule being so messed up he doesn’t even know when to eat anymore. He tries to draw a squirrel for half an hour and only stops because Glaz is dizzy from laughing so much.

Gradually, he stops waiting. Healthy again, he knows he can deal with it whenever it comes, and so he focuses on the present.

And it never happens.

.

About four months later, Kapkan snaps at a grocery clerk for something insignificant. He leaves Glaz drooling, panting, shuddering and wholly satisfied that night after two hours of rigorous teasing. The next day, he jumps a foot in the air over someone dropping their phone.

A few people ask Glaz whether Kapkan is alright. He just smiles and assures them that yes, he’s doing fine. No, he doesn’t need any support. Yes, he’s got it all under control.

This time, he doesn’t need to justify himself to anyone made up.

That evening, he develops a fierce headache. It turns into a migraine so bad he can barely walk, so he whispers to Kapkan that he’s going to bed early and no, he doesn’t need to join him, he’ll be alright, he doesn’t need anything, and still he’s encased in strong arms not five minutes later and forced to swallow a pill which he instead hides under the mattress. He suggests some ice cream might help, and a shoulder massage, and miraculously, he feels much better the next morning.

When he enters the kitchen, Kapkan is whistling to himself, horribly out of tune and unconcerned who might hear him. He only whistles on good days.

“Better?”, he greets Glaz with a tone implying it’s Glaz’ own responsibility to remain healthy, but pulls him to his chest regardless, carding a hand through his hair gently. He’s soft. When Glaz nuzzles him with his nose, he lets out a low chuckle which reverberates in Glaz’ own torso. He’s never felt this safe.

“Yes”, he mumbles against warm skin. “Much better.”

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Sick Blake Sequel

This is a sequel to this fic: https://blake-belladonna-defence-force.tumblr.com/post/189125020952/aw-i-love-sick-aus-xxx-dude-you-have-a-serious

Also, check out this awesome art from @frankielucky who was kind enough to draw a scene from it! It’s exactly how I saw it in my head! Thank you so much, dude. I’m still freaking out at how gorgeous it is.

https://frankielucky.tumblr.com/post/189128746948/because-blake-belladonna-defence-force-s-works

Also, I included a personal headcanon; the only reason Yang tells puns is because they make Blake giggle like the adorable dork she is.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yang sat by her partner’s bedside, concern washing over her. The medics had informed her that, because of Blake and her tendencies to overwork herself with little to no sleep, it had caused her Aura to weaken. A low Aura unfortunately left huntsmen and huntresses vulnerable to illnesses. And Blake was extremely sick.

Yang knew that she cared for Blake a lot. She had worked her way into Yang’s heart quickly. Yang still wasn’t sure how much she cared. She was still sorting through those emotions herself. But she at least knew that seeing her partner in such a state tugged at her heart strings. Blake was not one to let people take care of her. She was hardheaded and hotheaded. She had an attitude and knew how to take care of herself. The fact that she couldn’t showed just how sick she was.

“Mmm.” A quiet, pained sound came from her partner and Yang glanced up at her eyes just as they opened. “Y-Yang? Where am I?” Blake rasped before coughing violently.

“Woah, easy. Deep breathes, Blake.” Yang soothed, gently caressing her friend’s hand. “You’re in the Beacon infirmary. You’re really sick. You need to stay here for a few days where they can keep an eye on you.”

“Wha- But classes-“ “You’ve been given an exemption for the week. You’ll rest, heal up and be back on your feet soon. Thankfully, rested Aura can do wonders.” She gently interrupted. “The girls and I will take turns staying with you and taking notes for you.”

Blake let out a groan and run a shaky hand through her hair. But a panicked expression crossed her eyes as she felt the fur of her ears and Yang immediately rushed to reassure her.

“It’s okay. Ozpin’s dealt with it. Nobody will breath a word.” Yang said, gently reaching over to rub her friend’s shoulder. Blake relaxed slightly, not strong enough to argue. “Besides… if they tried to start something, they’d have a very…” Yang paused for dramatic affect as Blake gazed at her. “Yangry partner to deal with.” Blake letting out a weak giggle made Yang smile softly. Yang had never overly been one for puns. She preferred sarcasm and dry wit. But when she discovered, by chance one day, that her partner would almost always giggle adorably at them, she made a point to make them as often as possible. Just so she could hear Blake laugh. Even if the puns were sometimes so bad that they were physically painful.

“Dork.” Blake mumbled affectionately, reaching out for Yang’s hand. Yang was happy to oblige. It no longer surprised her how physically affectionate Blake was. The girl regularly squeezed Weiss’s shoulder, ruffled Ruby’s hair and headbutted Yang’s shoulder so it was difficult to be surprised. But apparently Blake had a couple tricks up her sleeves when it came to surprises because Yang found herself being lead into a hug.

Yang blinked a few times before gently hugging Blake back as the faunus nuzzled into her neck. Huh. A sick Blake was an affectionate Blake. Even more than usual.

“Somebody’s cuddly.” Yang teased softly, cheeks warm, as she pulled back and fondly ran her hand through Blake’s hair, carefully avoiding the sensitive cat ears that were currently pinned against her head. Blake hummed and leaned into her touch, a drowsy expression in her eyes. The poor girl looked ready to pass out.

“Hush. You’re warm… and safe.” Blake slurred groggily. Yang felt her heart melt.

“Yeah?” Yang cooed gently as she continued to play with Blake’s hair. It seemed to be soothing for the other girl.

“Mhmm. You’re, like, my best friend, you know. I… trust… you...” Blake mumbled, trailing off as sleep took her. Yang found herself feeling extremely sentimental. Blake kept her emotions to herself a lot. So to hear her speak so openly about her fondness for Yang… it was a little overwhelming.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Yang whispered as she leaned forward to kiss Blake’s forehead before sitting down, shifting her chair closer so that she could reach Blake’s hair easily. Even in her sleep, Blake made a soft, contented hum and leaned into her hand.

Death of her indeed.

[meandmydisease]

Masking



It’s been a while since I posted a personal post and they certainly haven’t been frequent. This wasn’t because nothing happened, quite the opposite. Instead I would write posts and they’d never leave my drafts. Too much happened and I couldn’t get my thoughts on paper to my satisfaction. My depression got worse and nothing I wrote seemed to make sense. 



As a defence mechanism I usually become more and more of an actor when I feel bad. This works against me when I am trying to be honest, like I try to be on here. Suddenly it feels as if I’m overreacting, whining and moaning. And I convince myself that others have it much worse, I shouldn’t complain.

I’ve realised that my therapist isn’t seeing this, nor is she really helping me on the points I actually requested. However, my depressed ass still feels guilty for looking for another therapist. Now, that will finally change and not because of me.

See, I recently met the specialist my doctor requested for a second opinion and for the first time I think I was really seen. He didn’t fall for my happy-go-lucky routine, making him the first person in a long time to see through it. Mere minutes into the meeting, he called me out on the discrepancy between my words and my body language. He soon appeared to have a better grasp on who I am and what I need than the doctor that has been with me for years now.

He apologised for the subpar assistance I’ve received so far, agreed that at my age I should not be this bad and promised to keep working until I felt significantly better. 
A day after first speaking to him, I started new meds. A week later, my pain went from a 9 to a 4. It’s currently at a 2. I haven’t been at a 2 in almost 10 years. I feel (physically) amazing.

Now, my health is still a mess, but there is hope. There is room to breath. And I wonder if he really sees how much that means to me. In addition he has requested a specialist medical therapist for me. There is a bit of waiting list, but he thinks this might be a better fit for me. This therapist knows a lot about my illness and the limitations it brings. So they can take that into consideration as we work on my depression, anxiety, inferiority complex and overall mental mess.



I haven’t been hopeful in a while. But right now…I might dare to dream again. Who knows, 2021 might just be my year.

[looselucy]

Caged

June 15th It had been exactly a year to the day since we’d lost Rita Hunter. A whole year. I didn’t know where the time had gone.

The anniversary of her death was an instinctively reflective day, enough for my dad to finally voice something I knew he’d been thinking for the past twelve months. “I can’t live here.” He told me. “I know.” I acknowledged calmly. “I understand. I think… I think that’s what’s best for you. Not being here, I mean.” We’d woken up early that Monday morning to go down to the lake together, contemplate everything that had happened over the past year, get away from it all and experience a little peace before the day really began. I was proud of the conclusion he’d reached, as much as it hurt. It wasn’t long after she’d died that my dad had moved back to Rosebury, attempted to start his life over, but I could see he hadn’t been happy. I’d really thought it would have been what was best for him, and he’d thought the same thing, but a year on we both knew that wasn’t the case. “She’s everywhere.” He told me, looking out to the lake. “Around every corner, every crook. I see her… everywhere. She was my whole life here and… I don’t think I can be happy living here. I’ve got too many memories of her and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling like I’ve just lost her. I need to be happy and accept that she’s not here anymore, and I can’t do that in Rosebury.” Other than how much closer we’d gotten over the past year, I knew that he hadn’t gained much by being back there. All those fears he’d had about visiting our tiny village when she was still alive were realised and intensified by her death. They shared too much in that village, and everyone had known them as a unit; a year on and people were still giving him these looks, through kindness and sympathy and love, but even so. It must have been so draining for him, to constantly be viewed as though there was someone missing from his side. There was no room for progression in Rosebury. Not for him. “I wish it was different because I’ve loved having you back,” I sighed. “But I get it. It’s probably for the best, in the grand scheme of things. Do you know… where you wanna go?” “Not really. Close but… somewhere new. Fresh start.” The past year, for me, had felt like a time of growth. It had been my fresh start, somehow. Things had been calm. It had been amazing to have my dad back, to remind ourselves of our bond in a way that wasn’t largely focused around my mother’s illness. And as much as I’d have loved to have both her body and her mind back with us, her passing meant that we had been able to heal and move forwards in ways we never could when she was still with us. And even things like our money worries were no longer a pressing issue, meaning general day to day stresses that we’d had before were no longer troubling us in our daily lives. A weight we’d wished to keep had been lifted. “Well, I’m really happy for you.” I smiled to my father, sensing his relief for having finally aired his feelings. “We’ll get looking. Find somewhere perfect. But don’t go too far.” “I won’t, I promise.” He chuckled. “You sure you’re still happy here? You could come with me.” “I… I love it here too much. I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. I’m really happy here. I’m gunna miss you, but… I can’t leave Rosebury.” “I don’t know why even asked. I knew the bloody answer.” “I’m very predictable.” I chuckled. “But very happy, so… I’ll stay here.” “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” And though a year had passed, when I closed my eyes at that moment, the gentle breeze tweaked tenderly at my skin, and I could almost feel my mother sat there with us, her tranquil spirit sitting at my side. One year on, and I felt better than I ever thought I would have 365 days earlier.

“Morning!” Louis cheered as I walked into the shop, already in there and setting up everything for our day. “Hi!” I chirped back to him, closing the door behind myself. “You’re here early.” “Well, I knew you were heading out with your dad this morning so I thought I’d come in and get everything sorted for ya.” “You are literally an angel.” “How was it? How you feeling?” He asked as I walked to sit behind the counter. “Um… Yeah, it was nice, y’know. Felt good. Nice to just have a while, reflect and everything.” “I bet.” “And my dad finally admitted it.” “Shit.” His eyes went wide. “That he wants to leave?” “Yup.” We’d discussed it between us a few times because it hadn’t been hard to spot the adjustment troubles my dad had faced, and he had been open and honest about his struggles the entire time without fully admitting he no longer wanted to live there. Louis and him had developed such a lovely bond over the past year, one that had always been there due to how long he and I had been close friends and the ties between our families, but it lovely to see them form an adult friendship completely of their own accord. Louis had been so incredible to me, my whole life and especially over the last twelve months. “Shit. That’s good, right?” “Really good. M’really happy for him. It’s the right choice.” “Agreed. Oh, well fuck me, this is good. I was expecting you to come in feeling really down.” “It’s the opposite. I’m as pleasantly surprised as you are.” “Shall we celebrate with a brew?” “Yes! I’d bloody love one.” “Alright, back in a minute. The logs need doing, by the way.” “Nooooo, not the logs.” I groaned as he scuttled into the back room. “Anything but the bastard logs.” I settled down for the day, grabbing the laptop to begin work on the dreaded logs but still happy to be in work. Even so, it only took a matter of moments for my mind to drift, the files loading as my eyes coasted around the shop. Things had felt quant for quite some time. Rosebury had always been a quiet place, possibly uninteresting for others yet perfect for me, but there seemed to have been a normality and serenity in recent months that hadn’t really been there for quite some time beforehand. I knew that was largely to do with Harry and his absence from my life. For a long time, he’d been my everything; my centre, my focus, my exhilaration, someone who provided and catapulted an incandescent and unprecedented amount of affection and passion and excitement into my life. Life couldn’t have possibly felt quant and quiet with that sort of force being such a constant, and since he’d gone, that certain zest had dissolved, vanished before my eyes and left me with an existence that felt simple, calm. I didn’t even necessarily view it as a bad thing, but it was so apparent in my day to day life and everything I did. He still crossed my mind often, unexpected and uninvited. Often it was a memory, plucked from corners of my mind that I had attempted to cloud, yet despite my efforts every image remained agonisingly clear, as though only minutes had passed since he was mine. I’d think about mornings with him, how it felt to wake already in his arms, how green his eyes had been with the rising sun searching through his window as though it was looking for him specifically, as drawn to him as I was. His eyes would shine when he looked at me, smiling wide as soon as he saw my face. His smile spurred further recollections I’d struggled to omit. I’d think about his classes, how strong he had made me feel, the way he’d smirk at me through the crowd in this certain way, thrilled to be sharing a secret with me. I’d think about his art, the way it had felt beneath the tips of my fingers. I would think about his habits I’d grown to hold dear, like his love for local beers and how he liked to bake, the way he would call me boss. I’d think about his love for those self-defence classes he’d held, how he’d pay extra attention to the older ladies, how he was actually passionate about the results he saw from the lessons he taught. I’d think about the plants in his room, how he liked to have something to care for. And though I’d tried to forget, I’d still find myself thinking about his lips and about his voice, how it was gentle yet firm, how it had burdened me with words of reverence and devotion that continued to torment me. But it wasn’t simply memories that haunted me, it was this latent idea of what we were or might have been. It was worries over his wellbeing, questions of where he was, how he was. The thought of how he’d now been out of my life for even longer than he was in it made me shudder. It pained me to face the fact that even still, I missed the electricity he’d brought to my life. He had always been a storm. “One cuppa tea,” Louis pulled me from my thoughts, walking back out onto the shop floor. “And two chocolate biscuits.” “You’re a star.” He’d barely managed to put our brews on the counter before the door burst open, the bell chiming and Libby running excitedly up to him and leaping into his arms where he caught her as quickly as he physically could. She wrapped her legs and her arms around him like she hadn’t seen him for fucking years. Niall and Lin followed close behind, sliding in just before the door closed, not half as excited. “Morning, all.” I clucked. “Morning, you.” Lin grinned as Niall pressed his palms on the top of the counter so he could elevate himself up and across to plant a big kiss on my cheek before landing back on the floor with a thud. “What’ve I done to deserve your company this morning?” “We wanted to see how you are.” Niall told me with a smile, his tone filled with a thoughtful concern. “How was it?” “Nice, y’know. Really nice. M’feeling loads better.” “Good. That’s good to hear.” “All the better for seeing you lot. Thank you for coming.” I then turned my head to Libby, who by that point was kissing Louis with everything she had. “Oi, you two! Love-birds! I know you’re smitten but this is verging on inappropriate.” “You’ve been like this for weeks, you can chill out now, by the way.” Niall joined in with my good-natured scalding. “I’m worried that by the wedding it’ll practically be live porn.” “Ewwww, Niall!” She cried, getting off Louis so that she could hit his arm, hard, trying to bury her smile. “That’s disgusting!” “So’s your tongue down Louis’ throat, but here we are.” The two of them started scrapping with each other as they often did whilst myself, Louis and Lin began to catch up, like we hadn’t only seen each other less than 12 hours earlier. It had only been a few weeks since Louis had proposed to Libby, and the two of them had been completely inseparable ever since. Not that they weren’t beforehand, because they absolutely were, but since he’d popped the question their antics had intensified tenfold. I think Libby had been the only one of us who hadn’t been expecting the proposal, to be honest, and she’d been showing her gratitude with exuberant desire ever since he’d asked her the question one bright Sunday morning, waking her with a speech about how much he loved her, a subtle and beautiful ring, and a Full English Breakfast. He knew exactly how to get a yes out of her. “STOP ATTACKING ME, I HAVE NEWS!” Niall eventually cried, holding Libby at bay by her face, his palm pushing right against her features. “Y’know Sean?” “Pub Sean?” Lin clarified. “Gay.” He nodded; eyes wide, obviously very excited. “No way.” I gasped. “Yup. He’s gay as fuck and I’m gunna ask him out.” “How do you know?” “He told me. When you all left the pub last night, I stayed and we got chatting and he told me. Said he came out when he was travelling.” I recalled the time when Chloe had told us they’d slept together and how poor it had been, and suddenly that made so much more sense. It gave an entire reason behind his apparent lack of care when they’d been together, introduced all these complexities that made it perfectly plausible. Frankly, it must have been difficult for him. I’d never been able to fix things with Chloe. Not really. We weren’t on bad terms, but we’d never been able to get things back to the way they were before she was with Sam. We’d spoken about it, aimed to get things back on track, but it had never happened. The fact she was so often in his company didn’t help, because even though I was okay with him too, I certainly didn’t want to spend any time with him and neither did the rest of our friends. Things had just dwindled gradually until being in her company became a rarity. As much as I missed having her around, it felt like it was for the best. But the bottom line was that we’d lost two people from our little group of friends over the last year, and it was noticeable. “Well, good for him.” I smiled. “But don’t just ask him out because you feel like he’s your only option. Know what I mean?” “That’s definitely not why. He’s fit.” “True.” “And he seems decent.” “He’s well sound.” Lin chipped in. “I’ve known him for years, he’s top. I think you’d be suited, to be fair.” “If he’s top and he is a top, I’m onto a winner.” He lifted an eyebrow suggestively as he finally let go of Libby’s face, receiving a mixture of laughter and groans from the rest of us. “Reyt, so I wanna buy some wine for if I do ask him out and he says yes and then we get a little drunk and end up stumbling back to my place for some sex. Do you have anything for that situation?” “Yes, we have a wine for that specific scenario.” Louis sniggered. “Wanna look downstairs?” “Let’s.” “I’m coming with!” Libby chirped, grabbing hold of Louis’ hand and accompanying the two of them in their search for the perfect wine. With a smile, I rolled my eyes and shook my head, turning to look at Lin as immediately picking up on how nervous he looked, concern wiping the smile off my face. “What’s up?” “Nothing.” He defended. “You sure?” “Uh.. Y’know, it’s just… With Libby and Louis. Chloe and Sam. Niall and Sean, hopefully. I… I was just wondering if you wanted to… Y’know- I was thinking maybe you and me could… Well… I dunno, I was wondering if I could take you out. Some time. Maybe.” He sputtered. I can’t imagine that the look that masked my face then instilled any hope in him at all. I imagine it was quite the opposite, if anything. I couldn’t make sense of his words. Lin wanted to take me out on a date. “Wait… are you joking?” It was an uncomfortably long time before I managed to blurt those words. “Um… No, m’not. No, I… I’ve kinda wanted to ask you out for years. I was just… scared about ruining stuff. So, no, I’m not joking.” He suddenly panicked. “Unless you’re gunna say no, in which case I wasn’t even serious and it was all a big funny joke at your expense and I definitely have not wanted to ask you out for years.” “Holy shit.” I hadn’t seen it coming. Not at all. Not even with the assumptions Harry used to adopt when it came to Lin and his feelings towards me. I’d always thought he was being ridiculously paranoid, overthinking my friendship with Lincoln because he’d never had anything similar himself, but it seemed he’d genuinely picked up on something that had been downright imperceptible to me. “But… I don’t… We’re not… What?” “Oh shit. I shouldn’t have asked.” He sighed, resting his elbows on the counter and hiding his face in his hands. “No, oh my god, no don’t feel like that! It’s fine, it’s good,” I reached and took his hands in mine. “I’m just… surprised! Like… I mean, what the fuck?” “I know, I know. Like, it’s weird, I know it is, and you’re like my best mate and this doesn’t take away from that, at all!” He looked up to me. “I just… Do you ever worry that you might be missing out on something really good because you’re so fucking settled? Like there’s something amazing and you’re missing out on it because there’s a fear there? I don’t want that. I don’t wanna be like that. And… I dunno. I just think the fucking world of you and if we don’t try, we don’t know. Does that make sense?” It did make sense, as strange as it all felt. It made sense. Fear so often held so many people back, stopped them from reaching for the things they desired. I could strongly sense that Lin wasn’t necessarily saying he’d been secretly in love with me for years, more that he cared for me a lot and there was an attraction and maybe we’d been missing out on something more and we hadn’t given ourselves the opportunity to explore possibilities. He could see all these people around us falling together in a wonderful way and he’d started asking questions. I understood that. “It makes sense.” “So I thought we could maybe… have a date or something. See how it is. Because you never know.” “You never know.” I agreed. “Is that a yes?” “It’s a… I’ll think about it. It’s not a no, by any means, I just… I think I need my wrap my head around it.” “That’s fair. I feel like I dropped this on you from nowhere.” “You did. You’ve fucked me up for the rest of the day.” I chuckled. “Sorry. It’s awkward.” He cringed. “It’s not awkward. We’re not gunna let it be awkward.” I spoke with confidence. “We’re gunna… see what happens.” “That sounds good.” He exhaled, easing. “Thank you, by the way. I was ready for that to go down like a lead balloon. But it’s kinda like… a bog-standard balloon, which is much better. Kinda deflated, but not lead.” “You’re a fucking idiot.” I sniggered. “Correct.” We heard footsteps, so he shut up, standing back upright and aggressively rolling his shoulders in and attempt to straighten himself out and appear relaxed and nonchalant to the rest of them so they wouldn’t guess he’d literally just asked me out, not that any of them would have ever thought he had. Surely that wasn’t a conclusion any of them would have ever reached. “Did you find the perfect wine?” I asked Niall, keeping my voice bright to distract from how uncomfortable Lincoln clearly was. “I did! This is the wine that gets me laid, I can feel it. I’m calling it shag-wine from now on.” “It’s on the house.” I cooed. “Good luck.” “I love you so much.” He headed to the door. “C’mon, you two. Let’s leave these two fuckers to do some work.” He was out the door in seconds, Libby and Louis sharing a sweet goodbye that was as dramatic and wistful as expected. “Let me know.” Lin turned to me, spoke quietly. “I will. I promise.” “Thanks. And sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.” He whispered a few shy goodbyes before following Niall outside, quickly followed by Libby, who leaned over to pinch my cheek for no apparent reason before leaving. It was only when I was out of Lin’s company that his proposal burst back into my mind rather belligerently, his words accompanied by a substantial headache. I gripped my eyes shut, hoping to think of anything but. “So did he ask you?” Louis grinned, retrieving the tea he’d made before we were interrupted. “Huh?” “Lin? Did he ask?” “Wait? What? He told you he was going to ask?” I gawped. “Wait, no, are we talking about the same thing?” “He asked you out on a date, right?” “What the fuck? He told you he was gunna do that?” I squealed. “Well, you know how it is,” He rolled his eyes. “I’m the emotional support one, aren’t I? I dunno how it happened, but I somehow became the mother of the group, so people talk to me about this shit.” There was a warmth about Louis that I could not understand, but he was right; he was the one we all went to when there was anything we really wanted to discuss or anything we felt we needed to open up about. He had this wonderful energy that made him so inviting. Not only that, more often than not he gave wonderful, honest advice. There were secrets that I had kept so close to my chest that I hadn’t even found the strength to tell him, of all people. Something stirred in me then, an abrupt desire for that to change. “I didn’t know what to say.” I sighed. “I feel bad, but… I dunno! What the fuck, I just wasn’t expecting it!” “Kinda knocked me for six too, to be fair. But, I mean… he’s fucking sick. He’s a top lad.” “The best.” “I say do it.” “Oh god. I dunno. I dunno how I feel. I don’t wanna ruin anything.” “Wasn’t I exactly the same about Libby?” He said quite solemnly. “Yeah but I feel like you were always secretly in love with her. And once you got past the denial, boom, sorted.” I huffed. “I’m pretty sure I’m not secretly in love with Lin. Like, I’m really confident on that.” “But you don’t know! Maybe like… kiss him. Test the waters.” “I can’t even picture myself kissing Lin!” “I get that, I do. No pressure, or anything, but like… don’t rule it out, know what I mean?” “Mm.” “Do you feel like there’s something specific holding you back?” This was my opportunity, my gateway to tell him something I’d been holding in for 20 long months. It had been almost 2 fucking years since the first time I found myself in Harry’s bed and I hadn’t told anyone other than my dad about us. When things first started, the whole point was that it was a secret, something between us that no one else needed to know about. Following that, when we were together, I was conscious of how he felt, the pace he wanted to move at, what would make him comfortable, so I stayed quiet. Then it ended and he left and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. The cut he’d left was deep, and the idea of talking about him when things came crashing down seemed like salt to the wound. I didn’t want to tell the story of us when all we’d become was an ending. But now the wounds had healed, and the salt would no longer sting. It would merely glide over the scars he’d left. “Um… I… Um… Okay, there is something. It’s… Well, I was sort of… I was with Harry. Remember Harry? Yeah, of course you do, that was stupid. Okay- When Harry was here… we were… Together. Me and Harry… had a thing.” I think I was hoping for an alarmed look of absolute shock and disbelief, but that’s not what I received. Instead, he grinned, took a sip of his tea to try and hide his chuckles. Everything was blowing my mind. “I was wondering if you’d ever tell me.” He sniggered after some time. “What the fuck, Louis? How do you know everything?” “I just do.” He shrugged. “I pick up on these things. You two had a big energy. Huge. I figured.” “You didn’t say anything.” “Well neither did you! What was I supposed to do? And I didn’t know if anything was actually happening, I had no proof. I just knew at the very least you wanted to fuck each other.” I sniggered over his blunt delivery, almost relieved that he’d had some kind of idea that something had happened between us. I’m not sure why I felt that way, but it was like there was less to explain, less questions to be asked. I didn’t like talking about Harry, but it felt good to break that secret. “Does everyone know?” I panicked. “Don’t think so. I think you girls were all so keen on fucking Harry when he first got here that no one really thought anything of it.” “Well… Yeah.” I sniggered. “That’s probably true.” Louis was much more observant and tuned in than the rest of them were. Me and Harry had been surprisingly good at keeping things between the two of us rather inconspicuous, so it didn’t really surprise me that Louis was the only one who had caught on. “Was it serious?” He asked. “Uh… I think I’d say yes and he’d say no. I dunno, it got pretty fucked up… towards the end.” “Did it end because he left?” “I think he left because it ended.” “Shit.” “I told him I loved him and-” “Wait, you loved him?” Finally, he seemed shocked by something I’d said. “I… Yeah. I did, yeah.” “I didn’t realise it was that serious. Well, I knew you were good friends but I guess I figured it was just sex.” “I think he felt the same way. Because I told him I loved him and he freaked out and said it hadn’t meant anything to him, and the next thing I knew he’d fucked off back to New York.” “That’s shit, m’sorry.” “Yeah, well,” I shrugged, tried to loosen up. “Shit happens.” Though he appeared in my mind like a damn migraine more often than I knew he should have, I knew also that time had helped to heal and conceal wounds that Harry had left behind. I guess I’d expected talking about him to hurt, to drag agony back into my heart, but it didn’t. I’d become almost numb when it came to him. I’d had to force myself to forget, move on, not be haunted by a name and a face and a love that wasn’t supposed to ever be in my life in the first place. He was a malfunction, a glitch we’d experienced in our attempts to find the true meaning of our lives. We were never supposed to be. It was better to be numb than to admit the magnitude of feelings he had thrust upon my heart. “It’s his loss.” Louis said, and I rolled my eyes. “Nah, I’m being serious, Alf! He’ll fucking live to regret that, m’telling ya.” “I can’t say I agree, but I’m glad you think so.” “So… Are you not over it? Is that why you’re not sure about Lin?” “There’s a million reasons I’m not sure about Lin.” I wheezed, wanting to lay myself down on the floor and groan for the rest of the day, or at least until I made a decision. “I’ve known him since I was seventeen. I’ve known him for almost eight years. I’m twenty-five in a few months. I… I just feel like if something was supposed to happen, it would have happened already.” “But for the majority of the time you’ve known him… you’ve been with someone else. You’ve been with the wrong people. Sam and then Harry. Maybe the right person was here the whole time, you just weren’t looking.” “It’s so easy for you to say when you and Libby worked out so well.” “Yeah, it is easy. That’s exactly the point.” He said. “Look at how it worked out for me.” It was a risk, but maybe it would turn out to be one that was worth taking. Maybe the risk would bring me exactly what I needed, wanted, craved. Maybe Lin was perfect for me and I’d been too busy falling for the wrong people to even give him a chance. I’d never thought about it before that day, but suddenly I found myself thinking that if I didn’t at least try, I might always be asking myself the question – what if? “I do think the world of him.” I admitted exasperatedly. “Of course you do, he’s fucking amazing. Good hair.” “Such good hair.” I laughed lightly. “You could do a lot worse than Lincoln Crosby.” “I know I could. I know.” My voice and my disposition were both flattened. I adored Lin. I truly didn’t have a bad word to say about him, my only concern was that there was something deficient when it came to the two of us in a romantic sense; something that meant no matter how much we loved each other, we would never be able to fall in love with each other. That was something I needed to find out. But it was like every time I really considered it, allowed myself to think about saying yes, Harry’s face would appear in my mind once more, subconsciously trying to pull me away, keep me from trying things, holding me down, making sure I remained as miserable as I had been since he’d left. I deserved to move on. I deserved to try something new, and I refused to keep being held back and restrained by a boy who had cut me free a year earlier. He had taken flight, and sometimes it felt like I had remained completely grounded. It was as though he had given me the wings and simultaneously locked me in a cage. It was time to set myself free. “You okay?” Louis sounded somewhat concerned, eyes trained on me, likely seeing the cogs working in my head. “Mm.” He took a few moments, as observant and conscious as ever before he spoke again, reminded me just how well he knew me, how easily he could figure me out. “The Harry thing really fucked you up, didn’t it?” I looked to the ground, my stomach churning. “You really loved him, didn’t you? And he just left like…” “Like I’d never meant anything to him.” I said what I felt he couldn’t. “You did. I know you did. He told me you did.” “What? When?” “Uh… I think it was when you first went to see your mum again, and he went with you. I grabbed him for a chat before you went, kinda asked why he’d put himself forward the way he did. I mean, we’d all known you for so many years, we’re all so close. I wanted to know why he’d stepped up.” “Wh-what did he say?” “He was kinda… trying to be blasé about it, like it didn’t mean much, but then… I remember him saying he’d do anything for you. I remember it like it was yesterday. So…. No matter what happened, I know he cared about you a lot, Alfie. And I know it’s hard to see that sometimes, but he did.” Hard didn’t even come close. It was fucking impossible sometimes. Because he’d left. He’d told me that we were just fucking and he’d left; despite everything and despite the reasons he’d moved to Rosebury in the first place, he’d altered his entire life to get away from me. It was near fucking impossible to be conscious of the good parts when the bad had began feeling so much more dominant in his absence. I owed it to myself to see what romance may be like with someone new. I needed to move on from him.

[kabhi-haath-pakad-k-tu-mera]

The Circle Of Life

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying--when you realised it a long time ago. Harry's journey as he deals with Cancer. Diary fic. Haphne. IWSC Season 1 Final entry. Hogwarts JP!

Written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship Season 1

Round: Finals!!!

Theme: Dittany which means healing, mentally, emotionally and physically and also injury (as you can't be healed if you're not injured). The theme is shown here as Harry trying his best to recover from cancer.

Year: Year 7

School: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. JP from Hogwarts!

Prompts: Potions (object) [additional]

Emerald (colour) [additional]

St. Mungo's (setting) [main]

Special Rule and Link: The special rule here is used by Showing 'birth' both Harry's own birthday, and his grandchild's birth. As for the link, In this fic the link is again Harry's birthday, as we're showing his feelings on his birthdays through different stages of his life, this being the last one. Mentions of infertility.

Word Count: 2190

***

14th January 2060

8:35 p.m.

Diary,

Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. It's funny, really. We know we're all dying but rarely does it ever truly sink in. But in my case, I've had the pleasure of having realised this way back at the age of seventeen. I hadn't thought I'd get out of the Forbidden Forest alive again, especially if I were meant to die in the end, and so I had submitted to my sentence. I was as surprised as anyone at my continued living, I assure you, and with the amount of downright stupid things I've done in my lifetime—fighting Voldemort some five different times, riding thestrals, wandering into acromantula nests, and then contemplating becoming an auror before Daphne talked me out of it—I've already outlived my expectations, so I don't think it bothers me too much that death has come to claim me now.

Daphne and Hermione would both glare at me for saying that probably, and Sothis, Jacob, and Lily would frown. Acquiring blood cancer does not necessarily mean death, especially since it's a muggle disease, but at the age of 80, I have my doubts. Wizards might not be as affected by muggle ailments, but this is cancer. It's been nearly ten days since I've written to you, as you might have noticed, and that was because of the numerous tests they conducted and reconducted at St. Mungo's. I've had to quit teaching at Hogwarts because of this accursed illness. Those of my family who haven't had much exposure to the muggle world didn't realise just how serious cancer was, and they were rather unconcerned—it's a muggle disease, wizards always recover from muggle diseases—but Hermione knew exactly what it was, and how serious, and she passed this information to both Ron and Daphne—even when I begged her not to—who told others. So now, everyone is extra polite around me, and extra careful. I hate how everyone looks at me like I might shatter at any moment. Even Malfoy's started acting differently again, and it's just so frustrating!

I just want everyone to get back to normal.

Harry James Potter

***

8th February 2060

8:15 p.m.

Diary,

My health has gotten worse instead of better. Last week, I began coughing violently and realised that I was coughing blood. My body hurt. I also had a temperature and felt dizzy. Daphy took me to St. Mungo's as soon as she saw my pitiful state. I was kept there for a whole day while the healers ran tests and took samples. While the wizarding world doesn't use injections, their methods of extracting blood hurt just as much. The healers only let Daphy see me during around dinnertime after they thought me stable enough. Daphy was by my side the entire night after that, holding my hand, helping me eat, and then finally settling me down for the night. I hadn't seen her that tired in a long time, diary, and it was ... unsettling. I wonder if I'm being too selfish in not really caring if this cursed disease takes me down. Daphne would be shattered.

Hermione and Ron were there at the hospital before I woke up the next day, considerably late and still feeling pretty shitty. The two of them and Daphne were talking to a healer, and none of them had realised I was awake. I could only catch a few phrases of their conversation—flu, immune system, careful—but the grim expressions on their faces told me that whatever it was, it wasn't good. The healers sent me home with instructions to take some fifty odd potions every eight hours and to exercise regularly, but not so much that I overexert myself.

I was too tired the next three days to pick up a pen to write, let alone go for a walk. But yesterday, after Daphy and I got back from the walk she had coaxed me into going for, we came home to a pleasant surprise in the form of Lily and Sebastian. Lily has always been big on surprises, but the one she gave us yesterday was the best surprise I have gotten in a long time. They're expecting their first child in July! After a number of failed tries, Lily and Sebastian had both given up on trying to have children, but that right there was proof that miracles do happen. Daphne was so happy, she had tears in her eyes. So did I. For a moment there, I think all of us present in the room were a little misty-eyed. It took a little effort to digest that bit of news, happy as it was because our sweet little witch had grown so old so fast. Wasn't it just yesterday that I had first held her in my arms? She was finally going to be a mother now! I am happy as can be, of course, but I wonder if I'll be able to live long enough to see my grandchild in this life.

I really hope I do.

Harry James Potter

***

18th March 2060

8:00 p.m.

Diary,

I don't think I'd be able to stand a single more piteous look directed toward me, even if my situation is miserable. I feel tired all the time now, even though I've been taking all my potions on time and have done all the exercises that the healers had told me to do. My body still hurts sometimes, and I feel utterly useless. The healers in St. Mungo's still take samples of my blood to see if my condition is getting any better.

They don't say so to my face, but I'm only getting worse. It is clear by the looks they direct towards me, in how Ron and Hermione both always say goodbye to me at the end of the day as if it were their last goodbye, in how Daphne strokes my cheek at night when we're both in bed and tells me to stay strong for her. I wish they'd just tell me, so I don't have to go through everything pretending to be blissfully unaware.

Sothis and Jacob came to see me today. I hadn't seen them since my birthday last year. Sothis lives in America now with his family and practices as a curse breaker while Jacob has been wandering around the world with Lorcan Lovegood. They were upset when they'd been told of my cancer, of course, but today I truly saw how much my sickness really affected my family. If I had been my old self, I would not have wanted them to see me like this, but times have changed. At least I'm not in St. Mungo's because I wasn't able to fight a common cold.

I really do want to get better.

Harry James Potter

***

21st May 2060

8:40 p.m.

Diary,

Things have begun to look up for me now, and I feel I've gotten a little better for the past few weeks. I don't feel as tired anymore, and Daphy does not have to force me to get out of the house. Daphy could not be happier about this. I've begun working on a book to keep me occupied. This was Hermione's idea—to write a book on Defence Against the Dark Arts from my experience as a professor and what I learnt when I was still studying for it. That I have fought the supreme leader of the dark is an added bonus. I think the one single perk of being sick is that the children come to see me more often. The others came around too, recently—the Weasleys, Neville, Luna. It felt nice to see them all after so long, but it felt a little disconcerting that this might be the last time we saw each other. I suppose that was the reason they made the visit in the first place, to see me again while they still could.

In other news, I am in the news again. The Daily Prophet found out about my illness somehow, and it was all anyone talked about for the last week. Daphy and Hermione both blew up over the staff of St. Mungo's because no one else would ever leak any information to the Prophet of all people. Astoria, who works there, is having the board conduct an entire investigation to find the gossip.

Lily had her first contraction while she was here with us. It was a false alarm, the baby is due in the second week of August, but it felt strange and surreal. Everyone was excited though, Lily especially, even if she complained non-stop about her backache. Things are looking up, finally, and everyone, the healers included, think that I'm going to get better quite soon.

I hope I do.

Harry James Potter

5th July 2060

8:40 p.m.

Diary,

While my health had been stable enough for the past two months and was inching towards recovery, it has now gotten worse again. The healers think that I've been exposed to an infection which my body is not able to fight off. The incessant pain, the omnipresent tiredness have both returned with assorted bottles of potions that taste like sewer water.

I was kept at St. Mungo's for a week, and the healers were still reluctant to let me go home because apparently, my immune system has become so compromised that even the mildest of bacteria or virus could be the cause of my death. It wasn't until Hermione had reasoned with them that I was more likely to be exposed to pathogens—whatever those were—in a hospital than back home that they let me go. I've been told in no uncertain terms to take all my potions on time and to get plenty of rest. The worst part is that I am to avoid the outdoors completely, so no more walks or anything. Daphne looked defeated yet determined.

When they thought I wasn't listening, they also told Daphne and Hermione to keep the visitors to a minimum, so people coming to see me is also out of the question now, although Lily did come here the other day, so I guess the kids are allowed.

I had thought I was getting better, but now ... they don't say it to my face, but their pitiful expressions make it clear that my days now are numbered. I hope I get to see my youngest grandchild before I die, though. They aren't here yet, but I love them already.

Harry James Potter

***

31st July 2060

8:45 p.m.

Diary,

It's my birthday today, but so much has changed since last year. I was teaching at Hogwarts happily. People weren't scared of sneezing around me. I was cancer free. But most importantly, I didn't have a new grandson who looked exactly like me. His eyes are the same emerald green as mine, and he has a small tuft of jet-black hair, although I really hope he has better luck with it than I have had.

From what Daphy tells me, Lily had been visiting when her water broke. I don't know the exact details of what happened since I had been in St. Mungo's since the past week, but everyone panicked except Daphne, who had gone home for a while to shower and eat after leaving me in Hermione's care. She calmly called for a mediwitch from St. Mungo's and made preparations to transport Lily to the hospital for the delivery.

The baby was two weeks early, but still very healthy. He had curious green eyes, and the memory of how he looked at me with interest when I first held him is still fresh in my mind. I did finally get to meet my grandchild—Lily's first child—and I couldn't possibly be happier. If I were to die now, after I've seen my grandchild, I'd die happy. My princess had finally started a family of her own, and the baby looks just like me. He's a tiny and beautiful baby, and I am so proud. Lily and Sebastian are both beaming. They named him after me and Sebastian's father—Harry Alex Grahams.

I love him.

Harry James Potter

***

Daphne closed the diary shut on the morning of August the 2nd with tears rolling down her eyes. She put it beside her on the padded carpet she was sitting on and drew her knees closer to her. Harry had to go, leave, just as Lily's first child was born, just as he had turned 81. It was painfully sad. Lily had cried through the last night, and it had taken Daphne all she had in her to not join her in it and to comfort her instead. She took in a deep breath. Harry was right, though. The child was beautiful and looked painfully like him. At least she knew that he had died painlessly in his sleep. Happy. Content. His suffering had ended, and he had had the joy of holding his grandson in his arms. He had been happy. That was all that mattered.