Be Gentle - Tumblr Posts
ظروف بعض البشر مدفونه في أعماقهم ، فإن لم تعرفها فأكرمهم بحسن الظن .*
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
—Maya Angelou
𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝐴𝑠𝑘- 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑤 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝐴𝑢, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑓𝑢𝑙.
𝑇𝒉𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝒉𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝒉𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐾𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑗𝑛, 𝑤𝒉𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝒉𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑃𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑉𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑦,𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑦 𝒉𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑠.
📬 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 :)
Artist: @kappywilliams
Happy Pride Month everyone! May this month be as perfect as the others to come :)🏳️🌈🏳️🌈♥️♥️
So, I decided to write the fic myself
I mean, it was half written anyways
You’re thirty-three when you shoot yourself in the head on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital. You’ve been holding London by the balls for almost ten years. Rich Brook may have been the (temporary) downfall of Sherlock Holmes, but he did more damage than you anticipated.
Seb has been picking up the slack over the last two years. He thinks that you can’t see the consequences of your obsession, but Seb can be so annoyingly human sometimes. You see everything. It was always going to end like this. But you didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on Seb. He’s surprised you again. Despite everything, he still loves you. He can be so annoyingly human sometimes.
The story can’t pick up again for another five years. You need to distance yourself from your kingdom. The stories of your reign need time to become legends. And you just know Seb is going to hold a grudge about this, he always did have trouble seeing the whole picture.
So, you have five years to spare. Five years to disappear into somebody else, somebody less. It’s all planned out, you’re going to Allen Hall. Maybe you should leave London, but people are so boring and this is the last place they’ll look for you. Seb won’t want to stick around and someone needs to keep an eye of things. Even if it is the distant eye of a broken man determined to change his life by going to seminary and becoming a priest. That really is the last place anyone would look for you.
You enter seminary and it quickly becomes a bit of a game. You’re thirty-three, older than the other prospective priests but you’re used to being an outsider. So, you push boundaries. You never paid them any mind before, why should you start now? You swear more than is acceptable, you talk about your alcoholic parents, you even make up a pedophile brother. (Seb would love that one. You’ll have to tell him about the silence that follows whenever you drop that tidbit). But like all games, you grow weary of this one. Everyone is so fucking predictable. You wish you could just sleep through the next five years.
At long last you're ordained. You do your six months as a deacon and every day you contemplate stabbing the priest in the face. He’s an old fucker. Probably wouldn’t live much longer even if you weren’t there to speed things along with a touch of aconite. He had a weak heart an no one questions the heart attack he suffers the week before your parish assignment comes through. Asking you to take over is only logical.
Things get a bit more interesting after that. Pam really keeps you on your toes, she’s always there when you turn around – you contemplate getting a little bell for her to wear around her neck. The parishioners are a bit of fun. You revisit your game from seminary – push boundaries just to see how far you can push them. And then this batty woman comes and ask you to be the priest at her wedding to the father of her godchildren. You leap at the chance to join them for dinner and that’s when you meet her. There’s something just a bit...off with her. She’s resonating at a different frequency than everyone else – an outsider, like you but not like you.
When you meet her at the restaurant she asks if you’re a real priest; she surprises you. You can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. Yes, you say, I’m a real priest. But, darling, you doesn’t say, I’m so much more.
She’s good, but no one is as good at wearing a mask as you. You read her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness – it’s intoxicating. The chaos she brings would be a work of art, were it intentional. You want to harness it, own it, teach her to wield it like a knife. But that won’t work. She doesn’t mean for any of it to happen – it’s her sister who had the miscarriage, obviously, and the ensuing violence simply the result of sisterly affection. But, God, who gives someone a voucher for counseling? (That’s another thing you’ll have to tell Seb about – that list is starting to get long.)
There are these moments when she slips away. You don’t know where she goes, don’t see the destination. That intrigues you more than it should. It’s more of a testament about your life these last few years than it is of her. But where is she going? It infuriates you that you can’t figure it out.
You have time, and you know how this ends, but everyone else is so very boring; you don’t care that she’ll be just as boring afterwards. You’re exile is nearly over and you’ve missed making the world dance for you. She falls for you easily, so ready to believe how vulnerable and how human you are. It’s so predictable and so beautiful and so fun – the most fun you’ve had since before the trial. (Before you began to lose yourself in Rich Brook and before you began distancing yourself from Seb.) You know how this ends, but why shouldn’t you have your fun?
You’re not going to have sex, you tell her in the back garden, drinking those disgusting canned G&Ts from M&S. That’s a lie, but you almost wish it weren’t. You don’t really like sex – this stint as a priest is hardly your first go at celibacy. Seb is the exception, of course, but that has more to do with Seb than you. And if there is anyone to blame for this mess, it’s Seb. You find yourself furious at him for turning you into such a romantic idiot. You’re Jim Moriarty – you don’t love, you own. But you’re not Jim Moriarty – Jim died almost five years ago and it’s not yet time for him to return. Right now, you’re the broken priest with the broken girl falling in love with you. It’s as hilarious as it is annoying.
And maybe it’s out of spite, or maybe it’s out of boredom, but you’re starting to get a bit tired of this charade. You pry a bit too much, pick at the wounds she tries so hard to hide, and kicks you out of her little cafe. It won’t last, you know, and it doesn’t. She’s runs back to you later the same night. You act the tipsy fool and convince her to bare her soul to you in the confessional. You tell her to kneel and for a second, you’re Jim Moriarty again – back on your throne with genuflecting subjects before you. You revel in her discomfort and to stop yourself from laughing you kneel down and kiss her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing down to the ground.
You fuck her a few nights later. It’s not your worst sexual experience, but she’s not Seb. She’s suffocates you with her emotions and you’re honestly surprised you can even perform under these conditions. She’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with you. And isn’t that interesting? And just a tiny bit disappointing?
You notice it at the wedding – she’s still out of step with everyone around her, but it’s a bit less obvious now. And you knew this would happen, but still, your so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now.
You leave, pretend to be all heartbroken about it, pretend to love her. You even manage to shed a few tears. But you have an empire to reclaim, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all.
You leave, because that’s what people do.
If you get this, answer with 5 random facts about yourself and then send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications. Let's get to know the people behind the blogs! No pressure though 🤍
Uhhhhh letssseee... Jev facts...
I am mixed-handed (different from being ambidextrous) 👐
I have selective mutism and know sign language 🤟
I have caught and released 6 bats, no this was not planned, yes I got rabies shots. 🦇
Much of my writing begins with discord roleplays with one of my partners (the hot androgynous lesbian one) 😚
I have two partners dating me but not each other 💞
I am a drag performer and have looks based off most of my ocs 🫣
My hair is green 💚 and curly
I misread the numbers in the prompt so yall get two extra!
Sharing about myself can make me kinda nervous but I want to get to know people! Drop a comment?
Turkey
So, I noticed a little translation thingy with the word for Turkey in German:
Well, that middle word might seem familiar! The word "Pute" is really similar to alot of "fun" words in other languages. Either spelled or sounds similar.
Even similar to, but not completely as close to
Which brings us to This!
Disclaimer: I'm in no way an expert, but I am just a simple Goof who noticed a mildly funny thingy!
