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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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The Temple- Chapter 1/?

N’Jadaka x OC

A/N: I thought this was going to be a two parter, but now it’s looking like maaaaybe 3? I’m just now getting back into my writing and forgot how longwinded I can be lol. Enjoy!

CW: short mention of suicidal ideation

Previous chapter: Prologue

3256 Words

N’Jadaka’s eyes blinked open and he was met with yet another day in Wakanda. This one was a little different than all his other mornings there because it was the first time he got to wake up in his own bed in his own quarters (outside of that one day he was king.) N’Jadaka had spent the last three months in a psychiatric treatment facility working on his anger and mental health issues. When he woke up after the civil war he caused he was livid. He had wanted to die on that mountain and unfortunately the feeling didn’t leave him until about a month into his treatment. He felt he had nothing to live for since his entire life’s work had gone up in flames before his eyes. He accomplished his one goal in life only to have it snatched back from him a day later. Everything important to him in his life had been taken from him and he felt he had nothing else to live for, so his cousin, King T’Challa, arranged for N’Jadaka to spend some time at Ithemba Center for Mental Wellness.

He would never admit it out loud, but N’Jadaka was scared to go to Ithemba. He thought his stint as king would have turned Wakandans against him, but it did the opposite. The royal family had decided that transparency was the best policy and did a press conference explaining the entire situation to the people. T’Challa explained what had happened between his father and uncle, what the prince’s life had been like up to that point, and the fact that while he did usurp the throne he did it the right way according to Wakandan law so he wouldn't be charged with treason. The people of Wakanda were shocked, but welcomed their new prince with open arms. He wasn’t aware of the new developments because he was still resting in a healing pod in Shuri’s lab at the time, but when he went to Ithemba he was surprised to find out that everybody already knew him and was more than willing to help him. N’Jadaka hadn’t received that much care and attention since he was a child and he didn't really know how to handle it. It took him weeks to learn how to open himself to others, and it wasn’t until his last month of treatment that he even began opening himself up to the other patients in group therapy.

N’Jadaka’s main therapist was a woman named Ife. She reminded him so much of his mother that he had almost no choice but to open himself to her, crying in her lap during their first couple sessions. Ife had been incredibly patient with the emotional yet emotionally repressed prince, allowing him to work through his overwhelming feelings of anger, sadness, and hurt.

His time with Ife and the other patients at the center had been incredibly healing and he felt like a new man. He still felt like he had a ways to go, and he could tell he needed something, but couldn’t figure out what. His healing didn’t feel anywhere close to being done.

A knock at the door interrupted his morning laziness.

“Ngena.”

In walked the king of Wakanda flanked by two of his Dora Milaje, who he politely dismissed to stand outside the door. He walked across the room and sat in the plush velvet wingback chair by the full bookshelves.

“Sup man?” N’Jadaka barely opened his eyes to speak to his cousin. The bed was too comfortable.

“My apologies cousin, did I wake you?”

“Nah I’m up, this bed just won’t let me go.”

T’Challa chuckled at his cousin’s laziness. He completely understood, the beds were the most comfortable beds he’d experienced in all of his travels and time abroad in school.

“I just wanted to formally invite you to attend breakfast at 9. It’s casual, just family and whatever few friends are staying in the palace with us at the time. M’Baku will be joining us today.”

“The gorilla nigga?”

T’Challa tried and failed to stifle his laughter, which quickly spread to his slightly younger cousin.

“Yes the gorilla nigga.”

“Ooooh I’m telling M’Baku you said that. Better yet, I’m telling Auntie.”

“I’d really rather you not.”

N’Jadaka chuckled and wondered if this is how it always would’ve been if they had grown up together. The thought was more bitter than sweet, so he pushed it aside for the time being.

“Maybe just this once.”

T’Challa grinned at his cousin and he also wondered how life would’ve been had they known each other their whole lives.

“Thank you. Oh and get up, it’s already 8:30” T’Challa stood and walked towards the door.

“These damn beds…” N’Jadaka shook his head and reluctantly flung the sheet back and swung his legs over the side of his bed, completely forgetting he slept naked. He rushed to cover himself in the king’s presence.

“Shit, my bad, man.”

“For…?”

“Nigga I got my dick swinging!”

“You’re sorry for being naked? Wh- oh that’s right. We aren’t puritanical like you are used to in America. Nudity isn't scandalous here, it’s just a body. But I will leave and let you get ready. See you, umzala.”

N’Jadaka stood there shocked. He knew of Wakandan culture, but experiencing it was going to be an adjustment. Just how different were they? They were never affected by colonization so the oppressive white supremacist ideology wouldn’t exist there. He had a lot of unlearning to do and a lot of questions to ask his family.

He eventually shook himself out of his thoughts and made his way to the en suite bathroom. He turned on the shower using the touchpad and the water fell from the ceiling like rain. He scrubbed down in the vanilla chai body wash he had requested and afterwards he covered his skin in shea butter. He walked into his enormous closet and stood there overwhelmed at the choices. His inner child wanted to throw a fit for everything he’d missed out on, but N’Jadaka took a deep breath to center himself before walking over to the section of clothes that he recognized. He was so nervous about breakfast he almost dressed to impress, but then he remembered T’Challa’s words and casual outfit. He grabbed his Lost Tribe hoodie and threw on his favorite black jeans and his Timbs. He swooped all his locs to one side of his head and threw on his gold glasses. N’Jadaka took a deep breath and walked towards the door.

“Chill out...it’ll be fine.”

The guards stationed outside his door directed him to the dining room where he was met with the smiling faces of his family members. Ramonda was the first to notice he’d entered the room..

“Mholo, umtshana!”

She met him for a hug and kissed his cheek. He smiled so hard his dimples looked deeper than ever and he hugged her back.

“Mornin, Auntie. T, Lil Bit, Charlie’s Angel, Big Man.” N’Jadaka greeted his cousins, Nakia, and M’Baku.

Yet again, T’Challa failed to stifle a laugh, which he tried to play off with a cough. Nakia lightly backhanded his chest and sucked her teeth at him.

“Little bit? Don't start with me, bubble wrap!”

“Who is Charlie and why am I their angel?”

“That is not my name.”

Shuri, Nakia, and M’Baku spoke over each other.

Thankfully the queen mother was there to settle the children down right as the food was being brought out. N’Jadaka looked at the table and was surprised to see that Ramonda was seated next to T’Challa and that the only empty seat was at the end of the table.

The king noticed N’Jadaka’s nervousness as he watched him sit down gingerly and take in his surroundings.

“So N’Jadaka, how was your first night in the palace? Our beds are the most comfortable in the world.”

“Auntie, I almost didn’t come to breakfast. That bed had a hold on me.”

“You must come visit my people sometimes. If you think you sleep good here, wait until you have the crisp mountain air-”

“Nah lemme stop you right there. Crisp is code for cold, and I don't do that shit. Sorry Auntie.”

“I don't do that shit either. When I was staying there I shivered the whole time, even with the beautiful furs and blankets! I’m just not built for the cold.”

N’Jadaka grimaced at the mention of his time as a burgeoning world dictator. He was thankful nobody noticed.

He was also thankful for the large platters of food the kitchen staff came and sat in front of them. They passed the food around the table and soon enough there was silence as everyone dug into what N’Jadaka would later describe as the best meal he ever had.

After breakfast, the three men retired to T’Challa’s office while the princess hurried off to her lab, Nakia disappeared, and Ramonda tended to her garden.

“So, N’Jadaka...I wanted to talk to you about a few things-”

“Then why is Mighty Joe Young here?”

M’Baku rolled his eyes.

“Again, that is not my name. Who even is this person?”

“It’s a big ass gorilla.”

“Oh- well in that case…”

T’Challa cleared his throat.

“As I was saying. Before anything, we need to address your crowning ceremony. Obviously you are part of the royal family, but by Wakandan law, all royalty must be officially crowned to be able to hold a title. If you would like to be Prince N’Jadaka son of Prince N’Jobu we must have the ceremony.”

N’Jadaka’s voice caught in his throat and his eyes got misty.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

M’Baku put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you, brother.”

“Good to be here.”

T’Challa fought tears of his own.

“Ok so uh, that’s that. We can hash those details out later. Now, the second thing I wanted to bring up with you is this: M’Baku and Nakia have offered to show you around the merchant tribe here in the city, the river tribe, and Jabariland. Shuri will get you acquainted with the mining tribe, and I will take you out to the border tribe on Wednesday.”

“Aight, sounds like a plan, but I don’t want the surface-level touristy shit.”

T’Challa chuckled.

“Noted. Now, lastly,” T’Challa pulled up a projection of a futuristic yet somehow still modern building next to a basketball court.

N’Jadaka’s stomach dropped.

“What is this?”

“I want to open our borders to the ‘Lost Tribe’ as you call it. Maybe to the rest of the world eventually, but at the time they are less of a concern. In addition to that, I-”

The king was cut off by Nakia entering the room.

“Perfect time, love.”

“Sorry for being late, this baby runs my life now.”

“I’m getting a baby cousin?!”

Nakia looked at him dryly.

“Yes, N’Jadaka, you are getting a baby cousin.”

He peeped her attitude and settled down. If there was one thing he knew in this world, it was never piss of a pregnant woman.

“So the Outreach Centers, yes. I had actually had the idea for a while, but it took the country almost burning down for this idiot to see I was right. T’Challa had the idea to use your old apartment complex as the first Wakandan Outreach Center. Hopefully if it goes well, we could expand to-”

N’Jadaka zoned out staring at the projection. His vision may not have come true in the way he thought it would, but this would certainly be a step towards the betterment of the lives of Black people everywhere. N’Jadaka couldn't help but grin.

“I think we lost him…”

“Cousin!”

He snapped out of his daze.

“Yeah I-I like it. Thank you, this really means a lot. One thing though?”

“Yes?”

“I want it dedicated to my pops.”

T’Challa smiled and zoomed in on the name above the door. It read “Prince N’Jobu’s Wakandan Outreach Center”. Then he took them on a 3-D tour of the facility, ending with the memorial to N’Jobu in room 1401.

N’Jadaka nearly broke down in tears.

“Cool. Thanks, man. For everything. This is…” N’Jadaka took a deep breath. “Just, thanks…”

The other three Wakandans smiled back at him fondly, an occurrence it seemed he would have to get used to.

“I’m glad you like it. Now if you three will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Nakia kissed T’Challa’s forehead and left the room.

“Aight, I need something lighthearted. A nigga is tired of crying. Oh! Actually I got some questions…”

“Ask away.”

“So earlier you mentioned how free and open and shit yall are here...I’m single and haven’t had any in like 6 months so where can I go to find some pussy. Since I’m a prince do I just like, I don't know, have concubines brought to me? I don't know how this works”

M’Baku snorted.

“Clearly.”

N’Jadaka flipped him off while T’Challa answered.

“No, we do not have ‘concubines’ though we do sort of have sex workers, which we can discuss later. You know, it would do you good to read some Wakandan history books...and maybe even some of our sex education material.”

“Ay man, I already know all that.”

“Not the way we teach it. Plus our birth control is better here.”

“More effective?”

“And no side effects. Trust me, you’ll want to visit the library at the end of the hall, cousin.”

N’Jadaka considered his suggestion and made a mental note to check out the library later that day.

“Yes, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two,” M’Baku chimed in.

“My guy, I know how sex works! I’m just curious about the culture surrounding sex. T, you said y'all aren’t puritanical like America...expand on that.”

“Well the list of books I just sent to your beads would be able to cover this in greater detail than I can at the moment, but basically every preconceived notion you have about sex, gender, attraction, etc. has been tainted by colonialism as a means of control over the population.”

“Hanuman…”

“Yeah I know that, I guess I just can’t really conceptualize a world without all that sexism and homophobia and shit.”

“What is homophobia?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused. The cousins answered at the same time.

“When people hate gay niggas.”

“The hatred of, or at least the disdain for, those who are attracted to their same gender.”

“And we ain't even getting into the people who aren't men or women, that shit blows people's minds.”

“Why?”

The cousins continued to explain the outside world to M’Baku for what felt like hours. T’Challa looked at the clock and stood.

“Well gentlemen, as...depressing as this conversation has been, we must get to the council meeting.”

“I need a drink after that. The strongest Jabari mead!”

“Yeah imagine living with that shit for 30 years then coming here. I’m not gonna know how to act.”

“You’ll learn.”

The three made their way to the council meeting and N’Jadaka had never been so bored in all of his life. He started nodding off at one point and M’Baku elbowed him in his side when he started to snore. When it was finally over they parted ways and N’Jadaka headed to the library. He had plenty of reading to do.

He started with the Wakandan history books reading about the lives of his ancestors. His fathers stories had given him a good foundation to build on, but what he found in the books blew his mind.

Wakandans can trace their history for thousands of years, all the way back to the time of the great Bashenga, the first Black Panther. Growing up as a Black American, N’Jadaka had no connection to his mother’s family history because there was no record. When the Lost Tribe was enslaved and brought to the west, they were recorded as cargo, not people. The enslavers didn’t care about their names or where they came from, and when they got to shore their families continued to be ripped apart and sold to the highest bidder. They weren’t allowed to play drums and congregate, they weren’t allowed to read, they weren’t allowed to marry. There was no written record of his people, and the most they could go on was family bibles which almost never went back before the mid 1800s.

N’Jadaka was overwhelmed with the information, so he decided to switch to something else and come back to the history books later. He picked up “Intimacy and Sex” by Ami Nbunda and flipped through the pages. He skimmed the table of contents and was surprised by what he saw.

The first chapter was on anatomy, but it actually included intersex people instead of just focusing on male and female bodies. The next chapter was about loving and respecting yourself and others, but not in the slut-shaming way of the outside world. The next few chapters were on the mental and emotional sides of intimacy, and the last few were on birth control, sexual health, attraction, healthy communication, and more resources.

The prince couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he flipped through the pages. He stopped on a full-color photo of a vulva with all the parts labeled.

“This is for kids? Damn, we really living in two different worlds. America would never.”

He turned the page and saw a to-scale model of the entire clitoris, and his eyes bugged out of his head.

“That shit’s a whole wishbone…”

He continued to read through the pages in awe. M’Baku was right, he was learning a thing or two.

N’Jadaka spent the whole day in the library reading book after book on everything he could get his hands on. If it hadn’t been for his guards alerting him to the time, he would’ve missed dinner. He grabbed the last two books and went to drop them in his quarters before heading to dinner.

“Umzala, have you been in the library this whole time?”

“Yeah man, it’s a lot to take in. I might have to take that sex ed book back to the states.”

“We plan on doing just that at the Outreach Centers. Comprehensive sex education is a necessity, and since your government prefers to keep people in the dark about how their own bodies work it will be our job to educate those who come through our doors. All but the last chapter, of course.”

T’Challa winked and N’Jadaka felt like he had missed something.

“You mean the resources? Makes sense, those books wouldn't be available outs-”

“Not the books, dear, the Temple.” Ramonda chimed in.

��The what? I ain't got that far yet.”

Shuri rounded the corner and N’Jadaka expected the conversation to stop, but no.

“Remember earlier when you asked about concubines and I said we have sex workers?”

Ramonda cut her eyes at N’Jadaka as he nodded.

“Well that term doesn’t quite encompass what they do. They are sexual healers blessed by Bast herself and they reside in the Temple of Healing on the outskirts of the city near the Land of the Dead. They are known as the Daughters of Bast.”

“Now I feel bad for calling them concubines.”

“You should.” Ramonda said as she slapped him upside the head.

“Ow Auntie, damn”

T’Challa was thankful that his mother had someone else to fuss over, and he chuckled.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to pay them a visit. They are healers, after all.”

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #njadaka #the temple #n'jadaka x oc

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

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Chase the Sun

Author’s Note: This is a request I answered for @akusen-kutou, and I hope it turned out as close to what you imagined!

Vikings Masterlist

Pairing: Modern Floki x Reader

Word Count: 2774

Warnings: Language

Floki was feeling old. In fact, it was something Ivar and Hvitserk had said to him earlier during lunch. He cherished the moments spent in the company of the sons of his old friend, and the ribbing shared among them. But that afternoon had been different. The taunts he had received had lingered in a manner most unexpected, like an uninvited guest.

"You boys are starting to look old. You better hurry up and marry soon, or all the good ones will be gone," He teased Ragnar's two sons across the table from him.

"Take a look in the mirror, old man. We're not the ones who are actually…" Ivar paused with a smirk.

"Old," Hvitserk supplied around a mouthful of spaghetti.

Laughter erupted at the table as they tucked in.

At the time he hadn't thought much of it, but something unpleasant had remained with him when he thought about his age and where he was in this moment of his life.

Since Helga's passing in an automobile accident five years ago, he had remained a widower. The first year he had been lost in his grief and had thrown himself into his work. Then one became two, and the idea of finding someone new had been put upon him. His loved ones were only showing their concern, so he tried not to hold it against them, but the idea of anyone else in his life that wasn't Helga was strange. It would have felt like replacing her.

More years had passed, and in that time he had forgotten about being alone and had come to accept it. He embraced tragedy with a quiet aloofness. It never bothered him before, or maybe he had just refused to let it. Helga would be mad that he turned reclusive once again. It was how she found him when they first fell in love, and she had managed her way into his heart while also coaxing him out into the open. Floki knew himself to be bizarre, and maybe even crazy, but he would never apologize or try to change how he was. If others didn't understand him, then he would simply remove himself from their company. It seemed he had slipped back into that old habit.

The night was cold as he walked the streets. The last bits of autumn were clinging to hold on as winter chased close behind. Lights and wreaths were being hung on storefronts as the holiday season began, and sales were flashed in big numbers to lure in the early shopper. Christmas used to be Floki's favorite time of the year, only because it was Helga's. He would construct all sorts of decorations around their home, to the point where it looked like clutter, just to see her smile. Last year he hadn't even bothered with a tree.

He rounded the corner of the block, coming close to the park. It was where he liked to frequent when he had thoughts that he couldn't silence. The stars were more visible when standing under the shade of the trees, away from the streetlights. Floki believed in the divine, a being that was something greater than himself. He wouldn't call it God, and he never attended church, but he felt a deep connection to unseen forces. It gave him hope that Helga was still out there and that the soul was eternal. Their separation was only a temporary thing, something he would have to navigate alone.

"Floki!"

He startled at his name being called and had not realized he had stumbled so far into the park. Retracting from the bush, he stumbled out onto an empty pathway. Just ahead was a wooden bench, and a small lamp that's pale glow pierced the dark of the small pocket of the park he was in. He strained his ears, holding his breath as he tried to listen to the unfamiliar voice.

"Floki, come back here."

He frowned at the command. Should he answer? Who would even know he was there? The voice wasn't ringing any bells. He stepped further onto the path when a large creature came bounding down towards him. Swallowing back a gasp, Floki was pounced on by a lummox of a German Shepherd.

"You're a big one," He managed to say as he pushed back on the snout of the beast that was preoccupied with digging his nose into Floki's coat. A handsome specimen and he was quick to forget his annoyance at being caught off guard as he knelt down to stroke the dog behind the collar. "What are you doing out here, huh?"

"Floki!" He heard the unfamiliar voice call out again in distress.

"Right here," He replied without thought, caught up in his new wild friend. Floki had an appreciation for all living things, and he might have suggested opening a zoo to Helga once or twice. It was a good thing she always refused.

"Oh thank goodness," The voice said, coming from the same direction that the shepherd had sprung out of. He now had a face to go with the voice, and it was one he couldn't recall. Had they ever met before?

"There you are," You said, coming closer to the dog whose attention leaped back onto you from Floki. The shepherd showered you with excited licks across the face as you crouched down. You were laughing from the affection, and Floki felt a sudden disappointment at the loss of his new furry friend. "Thank you for finding him. We've been trying off-leash, but it's not going so well."

"Oh, it was no trouble. He found me," Floki replied as he stood away, feeling awkward and neglected now that the dog had you back.

You clipped a red leash back onto the leather collar while the shepherd observed you with blind trust. His tongue rolled out of the side of his mouth when you gave him a brisk scratch on the chin. "So what now, Floki?"

Floki frowned. There you went again, and he was certain this time that he hadn't let slip his name. "What do you mean?"

You looked back at him with confusion. "I'm not sure I understand," You said.

Floki did. The realization struck swift as lightning as he looked down at the dog and then back to you. An airy giggle set out from his lips before he could contain it, and he was glad for it. It truly was a funny coincidence.

"Floki," He said pointing to himself, and then at the dog. "Floki."

Your face bloomed into a delighted smile. "That's your name?"

"Yes. I thought we'd met once, and I had forgotten you, but you were searching for this one the whole time," He explained with much relief.

"You know, he got the name completely by mistake. I had meant to call him Loki, but when the license arrived in the mail, it said Floki. And actually both the F and L were capitalized, so the clerk must have hit the F accidentally," You explained in a rushed ramble. "Sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that."

"No, no. I've never met another namesake before, and one with a connection to the Nordic Gods. Loki would have suited well, he does seem to be giving you trouble."

You smiled while Dog-Floki began to scout the area of the park. "Oh yes, since day one. He's a rescue, and actually, we were out celebrating. It's been a year since I brought him home."

"Congratulations. I should leave you two to it then," He said, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Goodnight."

"Wait a minute," You said, and the hint of desperation in your voice stopped Floki in his path. "Did you...did you want to grab a coffee or a tea?"

Floki blinked, and he might have forgotten how to breathe. No one had asked him to do anything like that in years, except for any of Ragnar's sons. But a woman no less, he was startled and a tad fearful at the meaning. He realized a long stretch of silence had passed without him giving you an answer, and you began to grow embarrassed.

"Nevermind, forget I said anything. That was weird of me, I mean we only just met, and you thought I knew your name." You suddenly shut your mouth while pinching the bridge of your nose. "Listen to me rambling. I just, I didn't want to come across as desperate, but I've lived here for two years and I still don't really have a circle of friends to speak of. After my first year, I adopted this guy and then another year has passed and I'm no different."

By now Dog-Floki had returned to your side, staring up at you as if to try and calm your frayed nerves. Floki understood the loneliness you were feeling, even though your circumstances differed from his.

"I don't like coffee," He spoke up and you looked positively stricken. "But I like peppermint tea."

"Really?" You breathed out a hopeful sigh and began to lead the dog by his leash. "Because there's a place close to here that also makes a latte I like."

"Yes," Floki replied, not knowing what else to say. He didn't want to come across as too enthusiastic, but your excitement was contagious.

You signal for him to follow, and he shuffled after to catch up. As he kept pace beside you, Floki couldn't help but observe you closer. He guessed that you were maybe only a few years younger than him. Still youthful, but with enough wisdom in your eyes and smile lines on your face that gave away to the years you had weathered. When you caught him looking in your peripheral, he looked away with an embarrassed flush at being caught.

"What is it?" You prodded.

"Nothing," Floki replied, covering his nervousness with a cough. "You aren't from here you said. Where did you move from?"

"Akureyri. My family is still there, but I came here to work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a recreational therapist. I work with seniors in transition facilities."

Hearing that you worked with seniors made him think back to the 'old' comment again. You must be good at your job, however, as Floki couldn't recall having a fun, free night like this in months. Maybe Ivar and Hvitserk were right. His thinking process caused him to let slip another giggle, and you shot him a curious look.

"Well, what do you do, Floki? I feel like I've been talking too much about myself, and I hate to do that."

"I'm a contractor. Since I can remember, I've always been building things. Instead of growing out of that phase, I turned it into a career," He said with a shrug. "It's nothing impressive really, but I get to be creative. That's all I've ever wanted."

Dog-Floki came around between you both and nudged at Floki's hand until he fit his snout into his palm. Floki heeded the animal's need for attention, petting him back with soft strokes on the head.

"So you're creative, and are good with animals," You said, admiring the affection he was showering on your dog. "Do you have any pets...or children?"

Floki hummed. "No pets, no. My friend's sons are certainly rowdy enough to qualify as animals, and I think of them as my nephews. But no children for me."

His description had you chuckling. "I know how that is. I have nieces and nephews of my own. I hope they think of me as their cool aunt and not the wacky one whose gifts they exchange."

You seemed perfectly not wacky to him. The back and forth conversation continued between you, and Floki found himself giving shorter answers just so he could hear you talk more about yourself. He had forgotten what it was like to meet someone new, and the weightless feeling it caused in his gut.

The main street was a little busier than when Floki had left it, and the air had grown cooler as the night advanced. You pointed ahead to the shop coming up on your right, and you picked up a grin.

"There, Bliss Bakery. They've become a staple in my diet since moving here. I don't mind the extra calories though, it gives me an excuse to take Floki on runs."

Just as Floki was about to open his mouth and reply, someone called out across the street.

"Floki."

Dog-Floki's ears perked up, but this time the voice was familiar and Floki knew it was for him.

"I think those men are calling on you," You said while calming your excited dog.

"A lot of that going around tonight," Floki said as he cringed at the sight of Ivar and Hvitserk making their way over. "Here comes some of those animals I told you about."

You watched the young men approaching with curiosity as they bumbled together, laughing as they went. Floki could tell by the volume of their voices that they had been drinking. Hopefully, they hadn't left their good manners at the bar.

"Hey, you old bastard. What are you up to?" Ivar called.

Floki flinched. So much for his hopes of them having a semblance of decency.

"And who's that with you?" Hvitserk asked, squinting even as they moved closer.

Floki had his mouth opened, about to answer when you chimed in.

"Hi, I'm (Y/N). A new friend of Floki's," You said, sticking your hand out to Hvitserk. "You must be the animals he told me about."

Ivar adjusted on his crutches while tossing Floki a funny look. "What have you been saying about us?"

"The truth," Floki said with a shrug. "I had to convince your father not to take you all to the pound more than once."

There was an eruption of laughter, but Floki wasn't fooled. He could see both Ivar and Hvitserk eyeing you with interest and he could only fret over what they were thinking.

"So, where did you two meet?" Ivar prodded.

"Yeah," Hvitserk added. "I didn't know you had friends Floki…no offense."

"We met in the park back that way," You said, pointing on your tip-toes. "It was about a half-hour ago."

"Of course it was," Ivar muttered.

"We have the same name," Floki interjected, gesturing to the dog who was preoccupied with the two newcomers.

"You and the dog? No kidding," Hvitserk said as he petted the shepherd.

Floki nodded. "So, what are you two doing here?"

"We met some girls for drinks. Figured it was time. We didn't want to--what was it you said--get old?" Ivar smirked while avoiding the cold nose of the dog who was trying to bury his snout against his leg. "We should get going and let you two get back to your evening."

"Right. It was nice meeting you (Y/N). Maybe we'll get to talk more next time," Hvitserk said with a wave.

You nodded. "I hope so."

Floki turned to you, surprised with how your confident answer provided him with reassurance. His nephews hadn't scared you away, and better still they seemed to accept your sudden intrusion in his life. He wasn't sure what he had done to earn you as a new friend in his life, but forces at work must have been smiling down on him.

"You'd really put up with seeing them again?" He asked, feeling his brow furrow.

"Sure, they seem perfectly rowdy but without having to crate train," You breathed with a laugh and Floki joined you. "Here, you take Floki. I'll get our drinks to-go."

You passed him the leash before he even had a chance to reach for his wallet. "Let me pay."

"No, my treat this time. I'll let you get the next one." You pulled on the door of the bakery but halted a moment before stepping inside. "And I'll get us some palmiers. They're my favorite," You said before disappearing inside.

Floki smiled at you through the window. "Mine too," He murmured.

Dog-Floki sat down on the sidewalk by his feet and let out a sharp bark as he gazed up at the sky. Floki followed his line of sight, and it was as if all the clouds had parted to make way for the stars. He couldn’t remember the city sky ever being so clear. When a particular star began to flicker and twinkle, he took it as a sign that from this night until the end of his days, he would no longer be alone. She was still out there and had brought you to him.

"Thank you, Helga."

#vikings #vikings floki #floki x reader #history vikings #floki the boat builder #modern floki #vikings imagine #floki x helga

125 notes · View notes

writerman · 4 years

Note

Psst. Write a hanahaki disease fic for Barduil where Thranduil has it. You gotta write it.

Hey, anon, remember when you requested this probably like a year ago? Yeah, me either...

Anyway, here is what you asked for. I wrote over 7000+ words in a day to finish this asap.

My thanks to @morticia-butler for all the help looking up Hanahaki disease headcanons and an iconic line I simply had to include.

This is a long one so some of it will be under a readmore BUT you can also read all my other Barduil prompts via this fancy schmancy LINK

On to the story!

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8:30am. Thursday. September 17th. Just petals.

The mirror reflected a pale and haunted image back at him while bright and vibrant yellow petals dusted the front of his pyjama t-shirt.

Daffodils.

His favourite. Thranduil, however, had come to detest the sight of them. The sunshine yellow flowers openly mocking him, their bobbing heads in the breeze seen as a gaggle of them laughing almost jovially at his situation.

No point thinking on it in-depth, not when he could temporarily abate the problem.

With such a thought in mind, Thranduil brushed the petals from his shirt into the sink and watched as they swirled in the water a moment before vanishing down the drain into the darkness.

But there would be more.

There was always more.

A soft knock at the bathroom door stilled his hand as he reached for his toothbrush and he turned to see Tauriel watching him with concern.

“I didn’t know you were visiting today, what are you doing here?” Thranduil’s voice was soft as he spoke, though, the lilting sound of surprise cracked his voice for a moment. “Had I known you planned to visit I’d have been ready by now. What are-” Thranduil watched as Tauriel leaned toward him, her hand brushed the fabric of his t-shirt as she plucked a petal still clinging to the fibres.

“Dad, you said this had stopped!” The words rushed out and they were so loud as she held the petal up between them. While it hadn’t meant to come out so accusing, he could hear the dismay that coloured her words, it still felt harsh and Thranduil braced himself for a barrage of instructions to get himself to a doctor.

“It was quelled for some time. The doctor gave me special inhalers that slow the spread but I’ve not had the time to contact the surgery for a refill.” He gestured to an empty inhaler laying innocently on its side by the sink. They had helped immeasurably and the majority of his family had believed the disease was done and gone.

But Hanahaki was not that easy to be rid of, he knew and deep down his family knew that too. It was easier to think he had been cured than to do consider the alternative…

“I dropped by because I wanted to know if you felt like grabbing breakfast?” Tauriel turned from the bathroom door and wandered into her dad’s bedroom, his clothes were laid out already, she paced past the bed and back out into the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs, let’s go out still.”

There was no time to respond and so Thranduil internally agreed to breakfast with his daughter. She and Legolas were the same in that they were strongwilled, always happy to make a decision and happy to make it for someone else too.

They definitely had gotten that trait from him, even if he had mellowed somewhat with age. It was easy to recall his younger days with clarity, he walked tall never a curve to his back because he bowed to no one.

He had been so headstrong and confident, even after his wife had died. People had come to him speaking softly with sincere condolences but Thranduil cast the sorrowful glances aside and carried on working.

That felt like aeons ago now, Thranduil was more in touch with his emotional and mental health now, gave and took the time of others as freely as he should have when he was younger. Thranduil found value in the world where once he would have shunned it.

Turning to look in the mirror, that pale and haunted face stared back but the eyes seemed less empty than they had earlier. Even with his disease there was still hope within him, it was choked and stuttering by the roots of the flowers in his chest and lungs but it was there.

“I can’t give up, not yet.” He whispered to himself.

They ended up heading to Tauriel’s favourite place for breakfast, it was a small family-run restaurant and the food was good. The cheery wait staff did not match the highly polished wood and marble of the place but it felt strangely homely all the same.

It was while Thranduil perused the menu that Tauriel brought up the subject, or rather, the object of his disease to him. A public place so he would not make a scene, perhaps, or rather, she hadn’t thought of the setting and only wanted to relinquish her hold on the burning question she had within for months.

“So, will you at least tell me who it is that did this to you?” Badly worded. No one had passed the disease onto him, that wasn’t how it worked and he knew Tauriel understood that. “Come on, dad. Do they know what they’ve done to you?” Of course, she was angry but why was she being angry with someone innocent in all of it?

While the majority of the time Thranduil was able to ignore these unnecessary outbursts from his children, there were ofttimes when his frustration got the better of him and one of those times was now.

With hands loosely balled into fists resting on the tabletop, Thranduil pinned his daughter with an icy glare that quashed whatever words she had left inside to say on the matter.

“I have told you time and time again, I will not tell you who it is. You know damned well that they are not to blame in this. You’ve seen the diagnosis, even though I’ve asked you to stay out of it, you’ve seen the words ‘ self-inflicted’ on the documents.” He voice was low but the chill in his words caused Tauriel to sit back in her seat and avert her gaze from his.

“I’m sorry-” She stopped when the waitress came over and set down their coffee and a rack of toast. There was time enough between the waitress approaching and leaving for Tauriel to regain her composure. “I’ve read so much about this over the past few months, it might now be onesided that’s all.” She was right but the percentage was low.

Hanahaki disease was such an odd illness to contract, the phenomenon of flowers growing in a person’s chest and lungs due to unrequited or onesided love. The agitation of yearning and pining watered the blooms until the lungs were completely full and the chest cavity would split open with leaves and stems and petals spilling out and killing a person instantly if they hadn’t already died from suffocation.

But that was only intense cases. There were ways to slow the spread and Thranduil was taking measures to ensure he could do such a thing.

Regular therapy was one. His therapist was a wonderful woman who guided him through the process of coming to terms with his unrequited love. They spoke of how to be honest and open with the feelings he experienced and how to provide his own closure.

Though, they had many hurdles to jump. Thranduil didn’t believe in closure per se, to him revisiting something traumatic and uncomfortable merely reopened wounds. They’d spent many sessions focussing on the death of his wife and while it had helped immensely in allowing a belated grieving it ultimately had not helped with his predicament.

But he was not to call it a predicament his therapist had said. To remove the seriousness of the disease was to remove the value of his own life. There were many times she had asked him to look from the outside in and speak on the issues in his life as though they affected another person. It had helped and when things looked bleak or if Thranduil began to brush off the seriousness of his illness he would remind himself that he would not allow someone else to do that to themselves.

The next most drastic step was surgery, but it was a temporary step and it slowed the spread of the disease. Researchers in the medical field studying Hanahaki always implied heavily that the physical manifestations of the disease were caused by the brain and thus Hanahaki was registered as a mental illness.

It was why doctors pressed so hard for those that suffered to seek therapy.

“I won’t be involving the person in this what so ever, Tauriel. Please, I ask again that you drop the subject.” How he had pleaded like this before and how it emotionally exhausted him to see the fear in her eyes every time she visited.

It was all because he knew that one day she feared she’d find him lying dead, a bouquet of blood-stained flowers adorning his chest in a beautiful and grotesque display of the love that had plagued him.

“I understand that you’re scared but I promise you I have no given up. I have an appointment with my therapist this afternoon and with my surgeon to discuss a date for surgery.”

His words seemed enough to placate her for now and she instead busied herself with buttering some toast.

3:00pm Thursday. September 17th. Just petals.

“We spoke about your wife again last week, I noted that you requested we move on from the subject. Why do you feel you need to leave that subject alone?” The room was shaded from the bright Autumn sunshine streaming in from the window.

Thranduil could see the glowing gold around the edges of the blinds and forgot where he was for a moment as he watched it flicker with the shadow of trees swaying the breeze. He couldn’t remember why he’d suggested they move on but it seemed the right course of action to him.

“I just feel we aren’t focussing on the real problem.” When he spoke he made a point to look at her. Maintaining eye contact seemed important at that moment, he didn’t want her to think he was ruled by indecision. “My wife has been dead for years and we have already confirmed that, as much as I miss her, I have come to terms with her death and grieved appropriately.” Too business-like. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth he knew.

The therapist merely ‘hmm’d’ in response and wrote something down. There was the internal battle to struggle with now, to explain himself to her or let her assume something of him that he would, personally, deem incorrect.

“What is it you would like to speak about instead?”

That was the problem, he didn’t really know. The only thing he wanted to ask was ‘How did you get over someone and quickly?’ but there wasn’t really much of an answer she would be able to give.

Magazines for years had offered ‘helpful tips to get over that person that doesn’t like you back!’ and Thranduil had put no stock in their, so called, wisdom. Now they didn’t publish these things, now they would ask you to seek help if you experienced any symptoms they listed on the page.

Distraction techniques had been offered by his family in droves at the beginning when his diagnosis had been revealed. Nothing had actually helped because his mind would often wander to the object of his affection when he was practising a new hobby.

“I think my need to rush these sessions is just because I’m scared of losing myself completely and if I do that, well, you know what happens.” Thranduil gave a half-hearted shrug, he barely lifted his shoulders but it was a shrug all the same and his therapist acknowledged it as so with a nod.

“Everyone is scared of dying, Thranduil. Perfectly healthy people, people who have terminal diseases. Do you want to talk about your fear of dying?”

He didn’t.

They, instead, spoke of newer experimental ideas that Thranduil might have been interested in trying. She wrote out the prescription for the refill on his inhaler and made another appointment for a week later.

It wasn’t often that Thranduil left the sessions more tightly wound than he had been when going in but he at least knew that he’d need something to talk about next week or they’d get back on the subject of his wife and he honestly didn’t think that was helpful.

His next appointment was at the doctor's office, they wanted to schedule surgery but they had needed proof he was visiting his therapist before they would agree. It was a messy and an unfair condition but at least at the doctor's office he could get them to fill the prescription so it wasn’t too much of a wasted trip if they refused his surgery.

1:00pm Friday. September 18th Foliage.

The office was quiet now.

Everyone but Thranduil had packed up for the day and headed out to start their weekends. It was a perk Thranduil had implemented years ago and it had been appreciated, even if it had been created to benefit him more so than his employees at the time.

Nothing was waiting for him at home and there was plenty of paperwork to do so he poured himself a glass of water, took his inhaler and got comfortable at his desk reading through a brief for a new promotion.

So engrossed was he in his work that he failed to notice someone entering the office and only when a takeout coffee cup was set before him did he move his gaze from the files he had been reading to intently.

Looking up Thranduil ceased his movement almost instantly at the sight of his best friend Bard. The afternoon sunshine illuminated his handsome face with a soft golden glow, his brown eyes looked golden as he smiled down at him. His cheery countenance was always welcome and so was his gift of coffee but Thranduil could tell his friend was there with an agenda of sorts.

“Haven’t seen you lately, Thran. You’re not holding yourself up in this office every night until late again, are you?” The concern, it left a shaking and aching hole inside Thranduil and that hole soon became clogged with stems and leaves, give the disease an inch and, well, that old adage.

“No, I just had something to do here but it can wait. Did you need something?” To try and remain relaxed and carefree around Bard was increasingly difficult, more so when he had endeavoured to hide his disease from him as much as he could.

“Hm, well, I just had the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me for a while if I’m to be completely honest.” Straight to the point, no beating around the bush for Bard and he had every right to be concerned because he was correct.

Perhaps it was more obvious lately that he had been trying to avoid Bard for a few weeks. Avoidance was never going to be the answer but this man was why he had the disease, or rather, what exacerbated it. There would never be a time he would place sole or even partial blame on Bard for what he was going through.

“I’m sorry, I suppose I have been caught up in work recently. I’m absolutely not overworking myself before you ask. However, I’ve neglected my best friend and I think I owe you a drink, at least.”

“At least,” Bard repeated in agreement and he grinned, they didn’t move to get up.

Thranduil busied himself with taking a sip of his coffee, it was a blond roast from Michael’s he could tell without even looking at the logo on the side of the cup. All the while he inwardly cursed the tightness in his chest and new shoots began to sprout and buds began to burst into bloom.

There was no chance he could even begin to hazard a cough. It’d look like a cat had swallowed a canary. Or a man that had swallowed his feelings.

For a short while, they chatted idly about what they’d done recently. Bard talked of hating the empty nest syndrome he was suffering now that Tilda had moved out, leaving the family home nothing but a ‘mausoleum of family memories that were visited by a spectre that had helped create them’. It was a dramatic sentence and Thranduil laughed aloud before offering something vaguely sympathetic to soothe his friend.

“Can’t you clock out already, you own the business let’s get out while it’s still bright,” Bard complained as he rose from his seat and wandered toward the large window Thranduil sat with his back to. “The sun is still warm and we could probably walk to the pub instead of taking the car.”

“Walking to the pub suggests that you don’t wish to have a few drinks but one too many.” As much as he hoped he sounded wise, Thranduil knew Bard would have clearly taken it as a challenge. So they were absolutely going to get drunk that night and Thranduil couldn’t have been more terrified of that prospect.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, you’re my best friend and even if we both regret how bad we feel in the morning, age that does that to you, I want to get drunk with you, Thran!” Ah, old age hadn’t fully caught up with Bard yet, he was vibrant and energetic and hot. Gods above was that man gorgeous.

That was where it all began though, Bard had blazed into his life when they were in their early 30’s. Thranduil had just lost his wife and was trying to juggle a career and two grieving kids.

Bard and his wife Anya had helped him. They took the kids to school and picked them up and fed them so Thranduil could… do what? He couldn’t even remember now- he hadn’t grieved that was for sure!

With a 10 year and an 8-year-old broken over the loss of their mother and having no support from their emotionally unavailable father, Tauriel and Legolas had grown up to be quite well adjusted. Though, some of that might have been the therapy they’d gotten as suggested by their school.

It had happened only 2 years later, Bard lost Anya and he was thrown into a situation similar to Thranduil’s and the roles were reversed. Sigrid and Tauriel grew up like sisters and were still close because of how often they saw one another. They bonded strongly over what had happened to their mothers and became each other’s strength when they needed it.

The same happened with Bard and Thranduil, they became close friends. They took the children on holiday together, camping or water parks and spent their weekends finding activities for the kids that they too could take part in.

For a while, it had been just friendship, but then as the children grew up and wanted to spend less time with dad and more time with friends they found company in each other more often than not.

Then Tauriel and Legolas moved out for university, Sigrid and Bain left Bard for the same reason, Tilda was always adventuring with her friends and so when the empty house became too much they would go out.

Dinner, drinks, a walk in the park, catch a movie or two.

Innocent stuff, but Thranduil allowed himself to get comfortable and in letting his guard down he let feelings in that he had tried to avoid from the moment he met Bard.

The problem was when Anya died Bard told Thranduil he couldn’t ever see himself falling in love with another person again.

This was proven time and time again over the years, dates would happen once or not at all with people that could have been his perfect match, and eventually, Bard learned to ignore anyone that tried to flirt with him. A suggestive smile or even a compliment was brushed off as nothing more than friendly and the more unattainable he became the more Thranduil realised he was in love with him.

A terrible turn of events to be sure, and now he suffered daily for it with petals littering his pillows and flowers choking out his lungs.

“Are we going out then?” Bard’s voice cut through the memories Thranduil was replaying in his mind for the hundredth time and how thankful he was when he did. The blooming of the flowers in his chest increased with the thoughts of Bard.

To say no to the request would put a strain on their friendship. Bard had already noticed that he was being avoided and it would do them no good for Thranduil to continue that. So, with a nod, he got up from his seat and grabbed his jacket.

“It is a nice day, let’s walk to the pub then.” Intoxication was the last thing he needed but to keep up the charade that all was fine he’d need to at least try and play along. To play the role of a man in perfect health, body and mind, didn’t seem easy but he had to try.

He would try because he loved him.

10:45am Wednesday. September 30th. Bursting Blooms.

It was classed as routine surgery but Thranduil couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to slice someone open and remove flowers stamen to stem to root. Temporary as it was, he was thankful they had managed to organise it so quickly, his outing with Bard and the subsequent dinner the night after meant that his condition rapidly grew worse as time went by in the company of his best friend.

He’d woken to more petals on his pillow than he had ever seen before and his breathing laboured. Even coughing to free up space didn’t work and instead, he was gifted with near whole flower heads landing in his hands.

The kids were horrified as they watched this because of course, it would have happened while they visited. Which led to him having to listen to endless ‘You should go to the hospital right now.’ in a chorus from them both until he showed them the inhalers.

They sat either side of him in the waiting room now.

Legolas bounced his leg continuously looking around the waiting room for something to distract him. He’d taken time away from University to be there to help with recovery.

Tauriel chewed her nails and checked the time on her phone every couple of minutes as if time flowed differently in a hospital waiting room.

There was no cause for his anxiety to manifest when he was sat between two that were already doing all the work for him. Sadly, he had no words to calm them of their fears because he was just as afraid.

“Have people died from this surgery, dad?” Legolas piped up out of the blue, he sounded so young in that moment and Thranduil felt guilt course through his veins like ice for putting his children through something like this again.

When he didn’t answer Tauriel did for him and she shook her head even though Legolas was focussing more on a poster across the room than on anything else.

“No, because the surgery, while invasive to a degree, only removes some of the plants. They don’t fully remove everything because they simply can’t. Dad is going to be ok, more ok after this than he is now.” Her confidence only shaking by the tremor in her voice and Thranduil hoped Legolas couldn’t hear it.

“Hmm, ok.” Pensive now Legolas falls silent but his leg continuous to bounce but not as animatedly as before. He was not calmed but something in her words convinced him that the surgery would be fine.

Though, he didn’t understand why she would lie to him like that. His son was perfectly capable of looking up the survival rate on his phone, it was low just as low as the rate of people that were cured by expressing their feelings to their heart's desire.

They were approached by a nurse in scrubs.

“Mr Oropherion, if you would like to come this way.”

1:56pm Wednesday. September 30th. Roots.

Someone was gently squeezing his arm.

“Thranduil, you’ve just come out of surgery. Can you hear me?” The same nurse that took him in was now waking him. “We need you to respond to know you’re ok.”

Nothing felt real yet he managed to croak out something akin to an ‘I’m fine’ but that was it. The need for sleep and an excruciating pain rushed over him and he groaned hands gripping the sheets as he waited for it to subside.

“Out of 10, 10 being very painful and 1 being not painful at all how do you feel?” The nurse was holding a clipboard and a pen, they looked down at Thranduil with an expectant look and merely blinked blankly when Thranduil didn’t respond right away.

He needed more time than this to consider everything, on the one hand, he could breathe on the other the pain of being sliced open and stitched back together was awful.

“Ah… 8 maybe?” His whole body shook as he came out of the anaesthetic and all he wanted was to leave his body while it was in this state and return when he was at home comfortable in his own bed with a cup of tea.

His time in the recovery room was short and he was wheeled into a private room where he was greeted with the grim face of his best friend. Bard looked awful, pale and he seemed to have aged 10 years all with concern etched deep into his face.

“You were having important surgery and just elected not to tell me?” It was quiet, so quiet that Thranduil almost didn’t hear him speak. It wasn’t until they were fully alone after someone had administered strong painkillers, that Thranduil finally acknowledged what Bard had said to him.

“I didn’t need more people worrying about me than was necessary. I’m sorry, Bard. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to ask what the surgery was.” If he was honest, he still didn’t want Bard to know and if he asked him then and there he would outright refuse to tell him.

Even if keeping such secrets ended their friendship it would be safer then, the heartbreak of losing him as a friend was all the cure he needed and it would continue to protect Bard from the truth.

“If you had just told me that I could have been here for you from the beginning! Instead, I get a call from Tauriel asking me to come by and sit with Legs because she had to go grab something from home. I had no idea what she was talking about so you can probably expect a gushing apology from her later.” Bard dragged a hand through his dark hair, now laced with silver, as he started to pace.

It wasn’t fair.

Life wasn’t fair but this was kicking a man while he was down!

“I’m sorry, Thran. I didn’t mean to come in and just… yell at you. How are you feeling, are you ok?” Bard moved towards the bed and poured a glass of water out and handed it to Thran who took the offering gratefully and slowly sipped the cold water in trembling hands.

“Why can’t you tell me what the surgery was?” Bard pulled up the visitor chair so he was sad right by Thranduil’s bedside. For a moment he seemed indecisive in his actions until he, apparently, had a moment of clarity and took Thranduil’s hand in his. “Is it… cancer?” The words were uttered almost reverently as though he was afraid to speak the words any louder than a whisper.

Could he lie and say yes?

Oh, how disrespectful he would be to cancer survivors and those who had lost their battle. No, he could not lie and so he shook his head feeling more forlorn with each passing minute. The desperate need to wrench his hand from Bard’s was unbearable, the heat of the man’s hand seared into his skin and he couldn’t think straight wondering how it would be to hold his hand and know he loved him back.

Something inside him grew and already a new bloom began to sprout.

This was too dangerous.

Gods, he was dying and yet he still thought he had a chance with this man sat at his bedside holding his hand whispering words to him like a prayer.

Eventually, he knew he’d had to put an end to all of this.

How he wasn’t sure.

8:36pm Saturday. October 10th. Stems.

The children had just left, left with promises to be there again in the morning but Thranduil waved them away and told them it was not necessary to coddle him in such a way. The look on their faces told him he really had no say in the matter what so ever.

The surgery results were more temporary than he’d have liked, petals had started appearing again after a mere 10 days. With the inhalers they were few and far between but only 10 days of respite. His scars not yet healed from the procedure!

All in all, it seemed to have been a waste of time but at least he was still able to breathe with relative ease, though emotionally it seemed he was breathless. Legolas and Tauriel barely gave him a second alone and were hawks when it came to spotting petals.

At first, they’d been nigh hysterical but Thranduil had calmed them down and explained that these things happened and that he was still able to breathe well enough so there was nothing to worry about.

They hadn’t believed him. Not even for a second but they were distracted enough to come down from the height they’d been at in their worry.

The doorbell rang not even 5 minutes after the children had left and Thranduil assumed one of them must have left something behind, so when he opened the door to find Bard on the doorstep he was surprised but ushered him all the same.

“It’s late, what are you doing here?” Thranduil shivered and pulled the long misshapen and baldy knitted cardigan tightly around himself. It had been a gift from Tauriel, she had knitted it and then proceeded to never try knitting again yet Thranduil adored the huge thing that near drowned him. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

He noticed after a moment that Bard lingered a little too long at the door and seemed frozen by indecision. It wasn’t like him to be unsure of something so Thranduil prodded again.

“Are you coming in?” But Bard wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the cardigan and feeling self-conscious Thranduil wrapped his arms around it trying to cover the large holes, but Bard kept staring until Thranduil actually become protective of the garment and snapped at him.

“What are you looking at?” Much like Tauriel had done before, Bard leaned forward and between his finger and thumb pulled a yellow petal away from Thranduil’s clothing, it seemed much brighter in the gloom of the autumn evening.

It seemed enough for Bard to piece together the truth and he looked dismayed, his shoulders dropped and his head dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look up at his friend.

“Is.. this why you had surgery?”

“Let’s not do this on the steps outside, come in and I promise I will answer all of your questions.” That seemed to put him in motion and with a short nod, Bard stepped into the warmth of the house and Thranduil shut the door.

“How long have you had this?”

Straight to the point, Thranduil had hoped he’d be given the chance to offer tea or something else before Bard started grilling him for answers. Honestly, though, he knew the question Bard wanted an answer to the most and Thranduil didn’t think he had it in him to tell him that, not yet at least.

“Hmm, a year now, maybe?” It had been so long since he had been without the cursed disease and he hadn’t exactly been counting, seeing it was more a count down to his death if he truly tried to rack up the days.

“Is there a cure, will you die from this?” The panic appeared from nowhere and Bard bit his lip as he tried to work out what he wanted to do next, he seemed to want to cross the room toward Thranduil and pace so to put a stop to either Thranduil made him sit down.

“I will make tea and answer those questions when I come back.” One of them had to remain calm, while he would have loved to have thrown away his composure and screamed to the Heavens that life wasn’t fair he didn’t think it would help his situation in the slightest.

When he returned with the tray Bard was stood again but this time by the fireplace looking at the family photos set out across the mantle. They were mostly of himself with the kids, one of is and Bard’s family all together on a camping trip and one of his wedding day.

“Hanahaki, huh?” He must have googled it while Thranduil was in the kitchen, that was fine but he probably knew more than Thranduil would have liked now. “So the surgery you had was to remove some of the flowers… ah, I can’t pretend like I’m not going to ask. Who is it that did this to you, Thran, who is the one that can’t or won’t love you back?” The tone seemed one of incredulity, as though Bard couldn’t quite believe there was anyone in the world who couldn’t love Thranduil.

But there was.

“Does it matter who and isn’t it better to see that I am trying to get better instead of giving up?” Deflect the question by asking a question, the only thing he could do as he poured tea and tried to stop his hands from trembling. “I am doing everything the doctors say I should.”

“Which is?”

“Haven’t you just checked the internet for all of this?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear you say it, that’s all.” The conversation was going nowhere because Bard clearly couldn’t stand not knowing who this person was that had captured Thranduil’s heart and refused to return it.

“I have therapy every week, I have inhalers to slow the spread of the blooms and recently I had surgery to remove the majority of the blockage but the roots are deep.” Such a drastic admission and so unfair to reveal his imminent death so casually.

Taking a sip of tea, Thranduil watched Bard’s face cycle through several emotions before settling on… nothing. Instead of responding Bard merely added some sugar to his tea before lifting it to his lips to drink.

“So, you were just planning on dying without telling me?” The words came out flat as though the conversation was casual yet boring. He had hurt his friend that much he was sure of but there wasn’t really much of anything he could say to soothe him now. Bard had been right, and what Thranduil had thought was caring and helpful turned out to be more selfish than anything else.

“No, I would never do that to you, Bard. I don’t want to keep these things from you but please see this from my perspective. This isn’t something I want to scream from the rooftops- ‘LOOK AT ME EVERYONE I AM DYING BECAUSE THE PERSON I LOVE DOESN’T LOVE ME BACK AND I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THAT!’ why would I want to reveal my weakness to someone? If Legolas and Tauriel hadn’t found out I would not have told them either!” He didn’t like being weak like this, not after a life of being seen as an unshakable strength a rock that you could rely on. Everything was beginning to crumble why would he want to bare his soul now?

“Fine but don’t think I can just forgive you for hiding this from me. After everything we’ve been through together you just fail to tell me that, 1) you’re in love with someone, and 2) You’re dying because of it.” Bard set down his cup a little too hard and pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. “I… I have to go, Thran. I’m sorry.”

He was on his feet in seconds following Bard to the door but the man was already in his car by the time he got out onto the steps to call him back.

“You don’t understand…” Thranduil whispered as he tugged at the cardigan pulling it tight around him against the chill. “I didn’t tell you to save you from the guilt that I know you’d feel.” Of course, the words merely dissipated into the cold night air and the vapours trailing each word rose into the sky before vanishing completely.

At least the universe heard his admission of the truth.

4:00pm Friday, December 11th. Nothing but a memory.

They had given him a clean bill of health.

No roots, stems, stamens, petals, not even a leaf remained. The flowers had wilted and withered to nothing and Thranduil took an easy deep breath as he left the doctor’s office. It was a chilly December evening and he was adjusting his scarf when Legolas nearly bowled him over running into him his arms thrown around his neck in a tight embrace.

“I heard the news! You’re better now for good?!” The excitement in his son’s voice brought genuine tears to Thranduil’s eyes and he buried his face in Legolas’ golden hair for a long month savouring the warmth his son gave.

When they broke apart Tauriel was stood by her car, the engine still running. They must have just arrived as he was leaving. She gave him a cheery wave before climbing into the car to shut off the engine.

Thranduil hadn’t confessed his feelings to Bard and Bard had not confessed his to him. Instead, he had worked hard to understand that sometimes your feelings just were not reciprocated and that was ok.

Platonic love was just as good as romantic love, sadly, he hadn’t been able to speak to Bard since he’d walked out on him all those weeks ago. While he would always love Bard he understood that what he had done was hurtful and if he’d been given the chance he wished he could apologise.

It had never been his intention to hurt his best friend but he had been so caught up in his own pain he had forgotten to consider those nearest and dearest to him. How had it been fair to hide such a horrible problem from those he held dear?

“Have you heard from… him?” Tauriel knew everything now, she’d gotten it out of him not long ago, he was at his lowest and needed someone who might understand. It was not his proudest moment, leaning on his daughter emotionally for support, but she had been steadfast in her support of him that it seemed so easy to tell her everything.

Thankfully, Tauriel didn’t hold the reaction Bard had against him.

“I had been angry just like him too, remember?”

Oh, she had, she had screamed murder in his home, right in the centre of the living room, when she had realised and didn’t speak to Thranduil for days. It was the longest she had ever gone without talking to him before, a whole 6 days until she came around and they talked about what it meant for the family.

But now they were fine, life could resume. Thranduil could live with seeing them without the soft concerned glances Tauriel and Legolas would exchange when his chest grew tight and he wheezed as he tried to grasp a full breath.

If only he could repair his relationship with Bard. There weren’t many he shared his life with and losing someone was extremely noticeable when that someone was fully apart of his daily life.

Even visiting his usual haunts proved useless. There didn’t seem to be a trace of him anywhere and Thranduil was much too much of a coward to walk right up to his door and demand to be let in.

Yet, none of his calls were returned or his texts answered. When Tauriel asked Sigrid if her dad was ok she just shrugged and said he wasn’t doing anything unusual of late, but he had been grabbing a drink with workmates more often.

That wasn’t a cause for concern as Bard had always been the friendly and sociable type.

Whatever was going through his friend's mind he sincerely hoped he would take the time to consider contacting him so they could talk. There were only so many text messages he could send without looking incredibly desperate.

5:30am Tuesday, December 24th. Easy breathing.

A shrieking doorbell and the sound of continuous banging on the door jolted Thranduil awake and he swore loudly as he tumbled out of bed and shuffled wearily down the stairs. Whoever it was had better have a fantastic reason as to why they had to get him up at stupid o'clock in the morning!!

When he pulled the door open to see a rather dishevelled Bard using the door frame to hold himself up the air in Thranduil’s lungs seemed to vanish. He stood motionless for a good 30 seconds before helping Bard inside.

“You absolutely reek of alcohol. What are you doing here?”

There was silence proceeding his question and, at first, Thranduil thought the man had fallen asleep on the sofa where he had collapsed but it appeared he was just thinking of the best response.

“I had to see you.” Surprisingly he didn’t sound drunk and Thranduil considered that the cold must have sobered him up. For his own mental health, he decided against asking him what he meant about having to see him.

“I don’t know about you but the larks aren’t even up yet and I am tired. Let me make some coffee for the both of us and we can see if I can’t get some sense out of you.” As he turned to move Bard’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around Thranduil’s wrist tugging him backwards with ease.

“No, let me speak to you, hasn’t it been long enough already?” A sleep-deprived gravelled tone did not suit Bard and Thranduil could see dark circles around his eyes. Whatever had been on Bard’s mind of late must have had him up around the clock.

“You were the one that decided you’d had enough of me, remember?”

Those words caused the man before him to relinquish his grip on Thranduil’s wrist and he just gave a nod but when Thranduil didn’t move he took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I’m sorry that I made it about me. There wasn’t even a second where I considered how scared you must have been to know that any day could have been your last.”

“Yes, well, thankfully those days are behind me now.”

Like a shock of electricity had gone through him Bard jumped to his feet looking this way and that before having the decency to look genuinely apologetic.

“Did I interrupt your sleep with them?” In the light of the living room, Thranduil got a better look at him and something inside him clicked into place and he had to withhold a groan when he realised he had definitely, once again, fallen in love with his best friend.

“There is no one, the person I was in love with, I’m not in love with them now. It took a long time to come to terms with the fact they did not care for me the way I wanted but I am better because I started to love me more.” Oh, what a liar he was. Yes, he did care for himself a lot more but he was falling right back into the rut he had been not 8 weeks ago.

The second he started spitting petals he was going to wring Bard’s neck. There was no way he was going through all that again!

“There’s no one, ah, good. That means I have a sliver of a chance to ask you out on a date then.”

No, no he wasn’t doing any of this without coffee. As much as he wanted to address every single word the man had just uttered he wasn’t doing this without caffeine and maybe some toast.

Without a word he walked off into the kitchen and, like a lost puppy, Bard obediently trotted in behind him trying to get his attention. No, no, no, he was going to fill the machine with coffee beans and put bread in the toaster then he was going to get the toaster and throw it at Bard’s head!

Whipping round to face him, Thranduil grabs a fistful of Bard’s shirt and pulls him close enough that they are nearly nose to nose.

“You’re telling me that you have developed feelings for me in the past 3 months I have been in recovery?”

Fear was the only emotion in Bard’s eyes and they were wide to the point the whites almost exceeded the iris. It would have been funny if Thranduil hadn’t wanted to throttle the man where he stood.

“Well, I wanted to tell you I loved you as soon as you opened the door but you’re so scary when you’ve just woken up. You’re scary now, please don’t kill me. I love you!”

That was it.

“You LOVE me? Is that so Mr I Will Never Love Again? IS that so?!” There was a mixed bag of emotions stirring up inside him but mostly the murderous intent was winning out. Killing Bard wasn’t really on the cards but he wasn’t going to let the man get away with nearly killing him for over a year even if he had no idea it was his fault.

“You are very, very, very lucky that I just so happen to love you, too.” The iron grip on Bard’s shirt relaxed and he tried his best to smooth the deep wrinkles but it was not to be. Regardless, he had Bard looking at him with a sappy grin plastered over his pale face like he’d been told he’d won the lottery and not the affections of a highly problematic male.

“R-really?”

“As much as it now pains me to say this, yes, I do love you so very much. So much so that my heart could burst if I tried to contain it any longer.” The thumping of his heart was so hard in his chest that he was sure Bard could have heard it if he’d tried. Somehow things were falling into place now with such little effort.

There had been a chance Thranduil would have found himself bitter about the whole thing and shunned Bard’s advances. Revenge should have been high on his list with the grinning idiot before him but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lean in and press a kiss to his Bard’s lips.

“Really, really.”

#Barduil #Bard the Bowman #Thranduil #Hanahaki disease #The Hobbit #AU #Anonymous

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jalapeno-princess · 4 years

Text

Before You Go

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: Mentions about mental illness, depression, anxiety, insecurities

Word Count: 3.5K

Summary: When Got7 has a break during their world tour, Mark rushes back to Korea in order to return home to you. However, when he comes home to an empty apartment, he isn’t too surprised. Although he didn’t know about your condition, you were no longer acting like yourself a couple of weeks before. After reading the letter you left him, he realizes that you were suffering and he never hated himself more for not doing anything about it sooner.

A/N: Hey guys, I got inspired to rush this very sad imagine after listening to the song “Before you go” by Lewis Capaldi and I could not stop listening to it. It’s such a heartbreaking song and I remember seeing a tiktok about Got7 with that song and I actually cried. Hearing that he wrote this song about his aunt who committed suicide made my heart hurt. I’ve suffered from both depression and anxiety for quite some time and at one of the lowest points of my life, I just so happened to stumble across of the 7 most wonderful human beings and my life changed for the better. I’d be lying if I said I don’t have my bad days, but watching their videos or listening to their songs really helps uplift my spirits. I’m so sorry if you have any sort of mental disorder but I hope you know that you are so beautiful and so loved. The pain doesn’t last forever and if you ever need someone to talk to, my messages are always open! And please, don’t make someone the main source of your happiness. It isn’t someone’s responsibility to make you happy. Everyone suffers something we don’t know and the minute that person does something to upset you, it never once leaves your mind and they no longer make you happy. With that being said, read with caution and enjoy.

I fell by the wayside like everyone else I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I was just kidding myself Our every moment, I start to replace 'Cause now that they're gone, all I hear are the words that I needed to say

When you hurt under the surface Like troubled water running cold Well, time can heal, but this won'tSo, before you go Was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? If only I'd have known you had a storm to weather So, before you go

Was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless So, before you go

He knew it was coming whether he liked it or not. Your smile no longer reached your eyes whenever the two of you would FaceTime, your contagious laughter than he loved so much didn’t sound genuine like it used to, you would always respond with short answers to each and every one of your messages.

Mark didn’t have to see you in person to know that you weren’t yourself anymore; that you weren’t happy anymore and he hated that he didn’t realize something was wrong until it was too late. When he first walked in to your shared apartment, he didn’t think that anything was out of the ordinary. It was natural for you to not be at home.

Being a full-time college student with a full-time job took up most of your time and you’ve told him being occupied with all these responsibilities helped take your mind off of his absence. As soon as he walked in to the bedroom, he was quick to notice how empty the room was. Your vanity was cleared of all your makeup and jewelry, the table that your books and laptop occupied was empty and when he went to open your side of the closet, it was empty.

Mark didn’t know if he wasn’t responding to the fact that you were gone because he was in disbelief, because he thought this was a terrible nightmare that he was soon to wake up from or because he didn’t want to accept the fact that you actually left. It took him a few minutes to recollect his thoughts, but once he accepted that this was actually happening and that you took all of your things and moved out, he found himself sinking to his knees and let out the most heartbreaking, gut wrenching sob.

Being a KPOP idol wasn’t the most easiest job out there, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love traveling the world and getting to perform in stadiums and arenas alongside of his six best friends. Other than the rumors made about him, the mistreatment he and the rest of Got7 experienced from their company and the unnecessary hate he’d receive on a daily basis, the only other thing he hated about being an idol was having to go months without being with you; his soulmate, the love of his life, his person.

If Mark had the choice, he’d take you on tour with him. He was happiest whenever he was with you and each time he had to go on tour or travel around Asia for all the different photo shoots or reality tv shows he’d star in, he couldn’t find it in himself to completely enjoy the opportunity in its entirety. The love Mark had for you was stronger and deeper than anything in the entire world including his career.

He’d tell you time and time again that he would give up all the fame and success if it meant getting to spend every possible moment with you. You were his safe haven; his home. Every time something went wrong in his life or he felt like things weren’t going his way, he’d always run to you in search of comfort and salvation. Sure, he’d find confidants in his members and some of his family members, but nobody understood him the way you did.

Nobody knew what to say to make him feel better like you did. Nobody’s embrace and the sound of their heartbeat against his chest made him feel calm and at ease like yours did. It was in that moment of self pity that he realized, he was the reason why you left. When the two of you first met over four years ago, you were suffering from both anxiety and depression at the time.

There were days where you would get sad and even cry for no reason and sometimes you’d end up hyperventilating or feel like you weren’t able to breathe and not know the reason. From the time you were younger, you had a tendency of shutting people out of your life completely before they even got to really know you. Your parents never understood why you hardly ever had any friends, up until the day they got a call from your 8th grade counselor suggesting that you go see a therapist.

Although you hardly ever talked to anybody unless you really had to, it was hard not to hear about the countless rumors about you being mysterious and weird on top of receiving the nickname “ghost girl” because it was as if you didn’t even exist. On the fateful day you were introduced to the devastatingly handsome idol, your life changed entirely for the better.

You were interning at a hospital as a receptionist when he came storming in to the emergency room trying his best alongside of BamBam to help carry Yugyeom inside. It was in that moment that you learned the youngest boy sprained his ankle while practicing some choreography and you were quick to register him in the system and luckily the emergency room wasn’t all too crowded when the three of them arrived.

Both BamBam and Mark stayed in the waiting room for a couple of hours until BamBam decided to get some food for the two of them. When he left, Mark found himself walking over to you with the intention of getting to know you. He was too busy focusing on trying to get Yugyeom medical attention to really talk to you, but once the nurses took over, he got to admire your beauty and took the chance to see if you were interested in going on a date with him. You were extremely beautiful; there was no doubt about it.

Mark had a hard time keeping his eyes off of you and snuck some looks here and there to prevent BamBam catching on to his attraction to you, but once the younger boy was gone, he planned on making it aware that he admired how well you worked under pressure and how you did whatever you could to make sure Yugyeom was in the right hands and that he was going to be okay. In the hour that BamBam was away, Mark learned that you were currently in the process of becoming a registered nurse.

Not only were you going to school full time, but you were also a resident assistant and worked as a receptionist to help pay for medical school. You also got to learn that Mark was a KPOP idol and that he and the rest of Got7 were in your hometown for two weeks for a concert. The two of you immediately hit it off; you fell for his charm, his gentle personality and his gorgeous looks. He fell for your passion, determination, strength and your beauty was just a bonus. In both his free time and yours, you both went on multiple dates.

Since it was his first time in your hometown, you took him to places that you loved visiting and hoped that he would end up loving each and every location just as much as you did. There were a few kisses shared, whispers of interest and adoration for one another, a couple of hugs and many cuddles. You knew you should’ve told him about your mental state, but you were afraid of scaring him away before you really got to knew him.

With everyone who tried to befriend you and actually wanted to be apart of your life, you let them know right off the bat that you weren’t normal. You didn’t want to make friends with someone only for them to judge you for your mental disorders but for some reason, Mark was different. He made you laugh and smile so effortlessly. His smile sent your body in flames. For the first time in a very long time, you were genuinely happy.

A few days before they went to fly to the next country, Mark asked you to be his girlfriend. He told you that he was falling for you faster than he’d like to admit and that he’s never felt this way about anyone before. Deep down, you knew you should’ve said no. He already had so much on his plate; dealing with someone with so much baggage was not what he needed. The last thing Mark needed in his life was to become a babysitter and personal therapist to a grown women suffering from both anxiety and depression. But you couldn’t.

You were selfish. You wanted Mark just as much as he claimed to have wanted you; which is why you weren’t surprised when you found yourself saying yes while immediately smashing your lips against his. Mark informed you that dating an idol wouldn’t be easy, especially since the two of you would be in a long distance relationship; but he promised you that he would try his best to contact you as much as he could and that the two of you would plan to visit each other when time permitted you to do so.

Since Mark was the first boyfriend you’ve had, you weren’t used to the idea of a long distance relationship. You didn’t know what to expect. The idea both worried you as much as the thought of dating him excited you. There were millions of girls who adored him and he was surrounded by so many beautiful idols, actresses, models and singers. What if he realized that he could do so much better than you and that you were a mistake; a brief lapse of judgement he made because he was lonely and you were one of the only girls that weren’t throwing themselves at him?

Your conscience always tried to make you feel bad, no matter how happy you were or how good things were going in your life. Right now, Mark was the only thing keeping you going and you tried your best to push the negative thoughts to the back of your mind, but it was only natural for you to thing negatively. Mark in more or less words was the perfect boyfriend. Even if he was extremely busy, he made it a point to contact you twice a day; once he woke up and right before he went to bed.

If he had more time, he spent all of it talking to you. As much as you would prefer to see him on a daily basis, you could still feel so much love from him through computer and phone screens. When he didn’t have any schedules or when you went on vacation, you’d fly up to Korea or he’d fly down to spend time with you. The more you got to spend time and physically get to see your boyfriend, everything seemed to be okay.

You were so focused on being in the moment with Mark that you didn’t have time to be sad. However, when he would leave, or when you’d have to return back home, you could physically feel your chest get heavy. It was your fault; you made him the only reason for your happiness. You and Mark hardly ever got in to arguments but when you did, it got really bad for you mentally.

Each and every time you’d fight, you would always blame yourself even if it wasn’t even your fault. Mark had a tendency to get jealous and in the first few months of your relationship, you became aware that Mark was extremely protective over you. You didn’t understand where his insecurities came from; if anything you were the one who should be envious and insecure.

You’d see the way he flirted with other idols every now and then. He was also very flirtatious with his fans and you knew it was all apart of the idol image, but that didn’t make you feel any better. As much as you wanted to voice how you felt, you were afraid that it would spiral in to a conversation you weren’t ready for. You were afraid that he would find out about your illness and look at you in a different light. You were afraid that he would finally come to the realization that he deserved so much better than you.

You were afraid of losing him.

Dating Mark had its ups and downs, but you loved him with every fiber of your being. He was your safe haven; your favorite hiding place; an escape from the real world and you knew you’d be okay as long as you had him in your life. Things were going very good for the two of you for the last few years. After graduating from college over two years ago, you applied for a working visa in order to move to Korea and be able to see Mark more often.

He asked you to move in with him before you could even arrive and you were honestly over the moon. Time and time again, you’d find yourself daydreaming about getting to go to sleep in his arms and waking up next to him. He was the definition of a gentleman and made sure to remind you just how much he loved you and thought the world of you on a daily basis. On multiple occasions, Mark would bring up marriage and how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

There was nothing more you wanted in this world than to marry Mark; the only person that meant anything to you; the only source of your happiness, but you were afraid that you’d ruin your relationship somewhere down the line like you ruined everything else. During your entire relationship, you did your best in hiding your mental illnesses; you’d suffer alone and cry whenever he wasn’t around. You would go and see a therapist while he was working; you really wanted your relationship with Mark to last and in order to do so, you had to change yourself to be someone Mark would be proud to date.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that could help you. When Got7 went on tour again, this time it would be for an entire year. You didn’t think you would be able to live without him for an entire year. Sure, he’d have some breaks and return back to Korea every now and then and you could visit whatever country they were in, but it just wasn’t enough. While he was away, the voices only grew louder and so did your insecurities and negative thoughts.

You’re too fucked up to be loved.

You’re crazy for thinking a guy like Mark could ever like you.

He can do so much better than you.

He’s probably cheating on you.

You’re only holding him back from so many things.

If he knew how insane you really were, he’d leave in an instant.

You tried your best to ignore the voices; tried to pretend as if there was nothing wrong with you. Tried to pretend that you could maybe one day actually become normal and be able to live without a care in the world, but that kind of life could never be yours. Mark was a blessing; an angel on earth; a beautiful distraction and you would be selfish if you allowed to let this relationship continue.

The thought of no longer having Mark in your life felt like a stab in the chest. A life without Mark was not one worth living, but you couldn’t keep doing this. You were only hurting him the longer you dated him for. While he was gone, you decided you would pack your bags and leave him completely. It took a few weeks to come to that decision, you were so stubborn and you knew you’d regret it one day, but you wanted to leave him before he could leave you.

Since you were still so in love with him and would probably always be in love with him, you kept in contact with him and did your best to make sure that he didn’t sense that something was wrong. He would call you and tell you all about his day, how much fun the concert was and that he missed you, but he never asked you how you were doing. He always sent you pictures, but he no longer asked for any. You felt as if he was slowly falling out of love with you. He didn’t have to say it and even if he was great with reaching out to you, it felt like you were more like a friend to him rather than his girlfriend.

When you moved out completely and made your way back home, you cried for what felt like hours. If being away from him was already so upsetting, what more now that you were running away from your relationship; from him? You thought it was what was best for him; but it was slowly killing you. There were so many times where you wanted to tell him the truth.

For all you knew, he could be extremely understanding and would want to do whatever he could to help you; yet the chance of him laughing in your face were even higher. Mark had problems of his own and was very vocal about anything that was bothering him. Shouldn’t he have felt as if something was wrong since you never complained once about anything?

You were a licensed nurse, studying to get your bachelor’s degree in a country you weren’t familiar with. You were all alone when Mark was in and out of the country. Wouldn’t he think that there was a chance you were struggling and having a hard time? Even if you didn’t say anything, did he not have the smallest amount of common sense to put two and two together? As the days went by, you no longer felt butterflies swarm in your tummy when you looked at him.

The thought of him no longer made you smile like an idiot. He wasn’t the same man who told you silly hospital puns to get your attention all those years ago. He no longer made you happy and that’s how you knew it was the end. When the only source of your happiness no longer made you happy, there was no point in staying with him anymore. Mark was in a fetal position, crying on the floor for almost the entire day.

Where did you go? Why did you leave? You were just talking to him a few days ago, how long were you planning on leaving for? He wanted to call you to get the answers of his many questions. Did you no longer love him? Did you grow tired of the distance? Were you okay?

When his sobs slowly settled down, he stood up with the tiny amount of energy in his body and went on a search for his phone. He didn’t know what he was going to say to you; but he just needed to hear your voice. He wanted you to tell him something happened with your family and you had to go be with them but that you’d come back later. In that moment of self pity, your last phone call came back like a slap in the face. At the time, Mark didn’t think your words meant anything but now that you were gone, they made so much sense and he hated it. Hated himself.

“You know if one day, we’re no longer together, I want you to know that I will always love and support you. You will always be my person Mark, even if you find someone else and I’m no longer yours.”

Why didn’t he realize the distance earlier? There was obviously something different about the way you would talk and the tone of your voice. It no longer had that sweet, bubbly intonation it used to have. You also never contacted him as much as you used to. Whenever he told you he loved you and he missed you, he felt as if you said it just to say it. Before he could continue searching for his phone, it was then that he saw the tiny little post-it note on his pillow and once he finished reading it, he released an ear piercing scream of frustration.

“Dear Mark,

I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not happy, I haven’t been for a long time. I don’t thing I ever was genuinely happy once in my life until I met you and honestly the only moments I experienced happiness were when I was with you. Unfortunately, nothing made me happy anymore; including you. I felt as if I was preventing you from reaching your fullest potential. I wish you nothing but health and success. I’m going to miss you so much Mark. Thank you for showing me so much love and happiness for the time being. You’re an amazing person Mark and I meant what I said when I told you I’d love you forever. Please don’t come looking for me. It’s for the best.

Sincerely, y/n.”

Would we be better off by now If I'd have let my walls come down? Maybe, I guess we'll never know You know, you know

Before you go Was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? If only I'd have known you had a storm to weather So, before you go Was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless So, before you go

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 angst

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innittowinit · 3 years

Text

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (Chapter 18)

Fic summary:

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

Wilbur and Techno go to school, eat lunch, and go to class B)

Chapter word count: 2209

AO3

School lunches were…..well they were school lunches. No matter how many people they painstakingly explained why they were the way they were to, there were always people that just never seemed to get it. That was fine, neither Wil nor Techno had ever asked for understanding, having learnt far too early that that was a big ask, instead they would gladly settle for respect. All they had ever really asked for was basic respect, all they wanted was for people to accept that they were going to stay together and that, no, Techno was not going to talk to them just because they gave him notes from class one time or helped clean his desk.

Teenage boys didn’t really seem to grasp the concept of respect. When they saw something they didn’t understand their reaction was to mock it, to make whoever was doing it so humiliated and ashamed that they wouldn’t dare make them confused ever again. Again, Techno and Wilbur both had a lot of experience with this, they knew what bullying was like and what was happening right now didn’t feel the same as the kids that had hurled insults at them in primary school. Nothing was physical anymore but it still hurt when they walked past the ‘popular’ group and they could hear the muffled conversations being had about them.

Wil had always been much more of a people person than Techno had, maybe that’s why it bothered him so much more that the fact that they were close seemed to confuse everyone else so much, Techno could tell that Wil desperately craved for a group of friends their own age that understood them and didn’t question it. Unfortunately, people like that were hard to come by.

They had Niki and they had Eret, that’s all they needed.

“It’s a nice place to chill out” Eret hummed as they led the twins out towards the school field, all three boys holding their lunches in their hands as Eret had said that today was a nice day and they’d be having a picnic outside instead. Technically, year 9’s weren’t allowed on the field at lunch anymore, at least not since Quackity (as he had been nicknamed around the school) stole a duck from the lake that bordered it. It was lucky that all three of them were pretty tall for their age, meaning they blended in well with the year 10’s that were playing football on the main section of the field, with the added bonus that nobody in that year really knew them so that meant no harassment.

Eret had led the twins to the very back end of the field, all the way to the rocky border of where the lake began, only stopping when he reached an old oak tree that’s trunk was considerably wider than any of the boy’s torso’s, taking his seat on top of his coat against the tree’s bark.

“What’s up with you guys today? if you don’t mind me asking, if it’s personal or anything that’s fine,you’re just not normally this….touchy? With each other. I probably worded that bad but you understand what I mean right?”

Wilbur nodded and then glanced to Techno for permission to tell the story, who simply shrugged in response. Both boys took their seats next to the tree and began unwrapping their lunches as Wilbur sorted out the events in his head, everything had happened so so fast and in slow motion, seemingly simultaneously, giving it a hazy and confusing feeling to try and look back on. He supposed that’s just how panic attacks felt in hindsight though, the adrenaline would make things feel fast and stressful of course, while the long reality gave it a much slower feeling than what was true.

“Techno got stuck in a shed yesterday” Blunt. It was easier to simplify it, Wilbur realised.

“Huh? How’d that happen?”

“I got in a fight with these boys who live near us, Techno got overwhelmed and left, the door got stuck and I freaked out. I dunno I didn’t realise i was being more touchy than normal but if i am it’ll probably be because I’m still a little bit shaken up I guess”

The fact that it had been brought attention to made everything seem a lot more obvious, suddenly he felt far more self conscious about having held Techno’s hand all day, about how he skipped music in favour of sitting with his brother in French, hell, even about how he had shifted himself when they sat down so that even when they were eating their knees were still touching. He hadn’t wanted to admit it but all the thoughts of whether or not he was ever going to see Techno again had culminated into a big ball in his stomach that seemed to grow whenever Techno stopped touching him. The reassurance that everything was okay was so so important to him and even if it was embarrassing to realise that he had been clinging onto his twin the whole day, he had known Techno long enough to know that if the touch was getting to be too much, he’d let him know, otherwise he’d just let him burn out all the anxiety until he was sufficiently reassured that nobody was planning on abandoning him.

After what had happened yesterday, Phil had called up their therapist and booked an ‘emergency session’ (Wilbur didn’t think it was an emergency but appreciated it nonetheless) so they could have a professional help work through what had happened. As much as he’d like to provide everything his brothers could ever need all by himself, he was mature enough to realise that some things couldn’t be handled by a 16 year old boy, he loved his brothers to bits and that’s exactly why he wanted them to have every chance needed to get better; the idea of them having to wait multiple days until their usual appointment made him feel a bit sick, they’d gone through something incredibly scary and they deserved to feel at least a little better before then. Said appointment was scheduled to be directly after school today so he wasn’t too stressed about clinging onto Techno for a long time anyway.

“Oh i didn’t realise it was something like that, sorry for bringing it up” Eret sighed, clearly a little guilty after having seen Wilbur try to decide whether he wanted to let go of Techno and be scared or stay and be clingy. He seemed thankful that the decision had ended up being to stay ‘clingy’, he wasn’t sure how he’d deal with it if he put Wilbur through all of that again just from a poorly worded comment.

Techno shook his head, glancing about a bit before deciding that nobody was paying them any mind. “You’re fine.” He muttered, patting his hand on Eret’s shoulder and tearing off a corner of his sandwich, popping it in his mouth afterwards, chewing a bit before talking again. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. Wil’s gonna be fine”

With a little nod, Eret visibly relaxed, of course it made sense to trust Techno on this topic far more than his own instincts, he’d known Wilbur far far longer and they did everything together. The confirmation that whatever damage wasn’t permanent seemed to provide some kind of comfort to him.

There it was again, Techno thought, that immediate acceptance. No questioning. No badgering. Nothing. He knew well enough that there were aspects that Eret didn’t fully understand since he hadn’t lived their life but the fact that he never once tried to press them to talk more than what they were comfortable with, or ask exceedingly personal questions like some people did, it just made Techno, at least if not Wilbur too, feel very seen and heard.

Many times in the past they’d been ‘friends’ with people who were really just using them as some kind of badge or token like- ‘oh look at me! I’m so nice I managed to get the weird kids to talk to me’. It always made Techno sick to his stomach when he realised someone he had trusted would betray them like that, to simply use them and nothing else. Techno was sure that Eret was not like this, he was real and down to earth and good, everything about him screamed trustworthy. At least now they had a good, real friend, who both of them were incredibly thankful for.

“Oh shit” There was a beeping noise coming from Eret’s phone, causing him to chance at the screen and groan “I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you later i guess if we have any classes together”

With that, she packed up her things into little ziplock bags so they wouldn’t spill in her bag and closed everything up, backpack swung onto her shoulders before she waved and jogged back to the main school.

---

School was pretty uneventful the rest of the day, after lunch they had had science (or Techno had science and Wilbur refused to go to his own classroom) and Techno’s violin lesson.

“I’m not going anywhere y’know?” Techno sighed as they waited in the empty corridor for his teacher to show up, Wilbur latched onto him like a lost puppy.

“I know but every time you go behind a door or anything my head gets so loud and it feels like you’re gonna get stuck again. I don’t wanna annoy you, it’s just hard”

Techno sighed and pat Wilbur on the head, he wasn’t really up for a long conversation right now considering that even though the corridor was empty, it could quickly become not empty.

“You don’t annoy me, Wilbs”

In all honesty that was only half true, of course he would never have any strong feelings of anger and annoyance at his brother when he was only doing what was necessary to feel safe but when he was being grabbed and prodded at all the time, there was admittedly a part of him that wished they’d been brought up normally. In any case, any anger that came from Wilbur getting clingy at times was never directed at Wil himself, instead it was more so towards their parents for causing the damage in the first place.

“I’ve got both today? Oh that’s just great, go on in boys!”

Techno was brought out of his mind by his violin teacher walking up, a kind smile on her face as she greeted them. She had been one of the few people who accepted them for them from day one, of course at first she’d been a little hesitant considering she was only being paid to teach one boy but once Wilbur explained that he didn't even own a violin and he was just there because they did not split up she seemed to be fine with Wil sitting in during the lessons. Plus, it was a lot easier having someone who could translate Techno’s little shrugs and grunts.

Taking his violin out of the case, Techno situated himself in front of the music stand, flipping his folder to the piece they had been working on recently, Wilbur pulling up a chair and holding onto one of his belt loops, not wanting to grab his arm or anything big like that right now since playing the violin kind of needed your arms.

“Are we carrying on from last lesson? Getting lots of practice in at home, I hope!”

Techno nodded to both questions, he hadn’t really practiced as hard as usual but the week had been eventful so that was fine.

“Okay then, can I check if you’re tuned up? and then we’ll get started”

Leaning against the wall shortly afterwards, Techno handed the woman his violin, giving Wilbur a sympathetic smile when he saw the boy staring off into space. Surely he had places he would rather be than listening to Techno play his music, he didn’t even play the kind of music Wilbur liked! God. Times like this reminded him why he shouldn’t give up, it reminded him that getting help wasn’t going to ‘break’ the special bond they had, instead it would only strengthen it since they’d both have the freedom to do what they like.

“There we go!” “..Thanks”

The rest of the lesson was best described as peaceful, as different as Techno’s Classical violin concerto’s were to Wilbur’s indie guitar songs, he really did love listening to him place. There was a certain calmness that resonated whenever he did so, a wave of serenity that only painted his face whenever he was completely engrossed in a piece. The music was always things Wil would never go out of his way to listen to and if it wasn’t his brother playing he was sure he wouldn’t have such a strong connection to the music but right here, right now, listening to the careful notes was almost like a compulsion, beckoning him to stare at the dancing bow that was being pulled against the strings in a complete virtuosic pattern.

And so, as the beautiful music decorated the air, Wil decided that everything was okay, no matter how messed up they were, everything was going to be okay.

#sbi #sleepy bois inc #wilbur soot #wilbur #technoblade #fanfic #fanfiction

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nami-writes · 4 years

Text

Humans Don’t Come Back - Detroit: Become Human

i saw this fan art a while ago and, well, i couldn’t resist writing fanfiction based off of it bc i love connor but i also love hurting him, so that’s what i’m gonna do here. enjoy the feels B)

Numb.

Connor felt numb.

He was sitting on the bench in Riverside Park, two weeks after Hank’s death, and he felt nothing.

Or, rather, he felt something. He just couldn’t seem to let it through.

It reminded him of what being nothing but a machine had felt like. Feeling emotions, knowing he’s feeling them, but pushing and shoving them back down so they wouldn’t show. Fighting to hide them, to drown them and cover them up with only thoughts that related to his mission. It had almost become instinctual, his natural reaction to even the slightest signs of emotion; of deviancy.

He realized now that part of the reason why he did that was out of fear.

Fear of becoming deviant, fear of being found out, fear of being sent back and deactivated and destroyed and killed.

He’d always been afraid of feeling.

He remembered when Sumo died three years after the revolution. Soon after he moved in, Hank had made him see a therapist, another android, and helped him make progress on learning not to be so afraid of and opposed to feeling. Even if he didn’t know how to, he’d done his best to support him through anything and everything and he’d been the one to catch him whenever he fell too far.

But all of that progress had been lost when Connor first noticed the symptoms that Sumo was dying. Hank was in denial at first, but they had both known what was coming.

The following weeks, Connor had almost reverted back to how he’d previously been. Hank saw how he was so willing to do anything for him, from chores and housework to paperwork and reports and he’d let him do what he wanted for the first couple of days, but it didn’t take long for him to get fed up of ordering him around like he was still just a machine.

What he hadn’t seen, though, was Connor trying his hardest to keep himself together. Before, he’d built walls to keep emotions out and he’d been trying to break them down, but now, he was afraid of the negative emotions drowning out the positive ones. No emotions were better than too many negative emotions, so he needed something, anything to distract himself so the walls wouldn’t fall and crush him under their weight.

His therapist had told him he was suppressing his emotions as a coping mechanism but he still fought constantly to keep his LED blue so Hank wouldn’t worry, though it occasionally glinted yellow.

But when it came time to euthanize Sumo, he and Hank remained beside him and he couldn’t help his LED turning red.

He’d never dealt with loss before.

Before Hank and Sumo, he’d never been attached to anyone enough to be able to process the grief. And when he’d realized he was going to lose one of them... he’d had no idea how to handle it.

It wasn’t any different now.

No, that was wrong.

Now, his LED spun a constant yellow, flickering red every few seconds, because there was nobody to worry about it.

Now, he’d lost both of them.

Now, he had nothing else to lose.

What was left for him now?

Hank had put him in his will and left everything he had in Connor’s possession. Technically, he still had everything.

But losing Hank felt like he was left with nothing.

Sitting on the park bench, he began to reconstruct what had happened there a hundred years ago. He felt his LED flash red when he watched Hank’s outline form beside him but ignored it.

This memory wasn’t one of his favorites, but it was one way to remember him, and he would never let himself forget him. He remembered every part of it perfectly.

┌ ┐

DATE: NOVEMBER 7, 2038

EVENT: COLE DISCUSSION & THREAT

◻ RECONSTRUCT

└ ┘

RECONSTRUCTION 0/1 EVENTS

INCOMPLETE ANALYZED

⍇ ▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ ⍈

He watched his own outline walk up beside Hank’s and replayed the audio he’d saved from this exact moment.

“Nice view, huh?”

He looked out toward Ambassador Bridge, remembering how its lights had reflected faintly off the river. They were off now, but at night, they certainly did look nice.

“I used to come here a lot, before...”

Past Hank drank from the beer bottle he held in his hand and it hurt to watch. His alcoholism had been part of the reason he’d died sooner than he should’ve, at 153 years old, while the average life expectancy was 161-164. He’d convinced him to stop drinking after he moved in and made sure he took care of himself, but it seemed even that hadn’t been enough to reverse the effects of years of alcoholism and an unhealthy lifestyle.

He’d give anything to get those remaining 8 years with him.

Hell, he’d give anything to just get one more day with him. An hour would suffice. He’d even take a minute if he could.

“Before what?”

At the time, he’d guessed that Hank was referring to Cole’s death.

“Hm?”

“You said, ‘I used to come here a lot, before.’ Before what?”

He’d still chosen to tread carefully, as he knew it was a sensitive topic.

“Before...”

Hank had told him later on that this was one of the moments before the Cyberlife Tower incident where he really considered opening up.

“Before nothing.”

He watched himself turn to face him, crossing his arms hesitantly, unsure if his next question would be appropriate.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions, or is it just you?”

If it didn’t hurt so much just to remember Hank’s voice, he would’ve wanted to laugh at the sarcasm he remembered dripping from his voice.

“Why are you so determined to kill yourself?”

The question stung even him now, but he was just glad that wasn’t how he’d died.

“Some things I just can’t forget. Whatever I do, they’re always there, eating away at me. I don’t have the guts to pull the trigger, so I kill myself a little more every day.”

Hank’s outline turned to look at Connor’s.

“That’s probably pretty difficult for you to understand, huh, Connor? Nothing very rational about it.”

That was true; he hadn’t really understood at the time. But now, he understood better than he ever wished he could’ve.

He’d spent the past three weeks avoiding Hank’s room. Hell, he’d spent the past three weeks avoiding their house. Or... his house, now. He hadn’t been back in exactly two weeks, three days and eleven hours. Instead, he’d been walking around for days on end, just trying to distract himself, trying to get away from reality.

He’d considered staying with Markus for a couple of days, but decided against it. Markus had lost Carl three years prior, at 169 years old, and Connor didn’t want to worry him or be a burden on him. Besides, he didn’t need a place to stay. He could withstand the weather and he didn’t need to eat or sleep.

Markus had moved on two and a half years ago.

But Connor wasn’t strong like he was.

He was weak. Weak and pathetic. He couldn’t even go back home after three weeks because he couldn’t handle it.

He hadn’t even gone to any of his therapy sessions because he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

All he could do was walk around, seeing the exact same things over and over again, in a feeble attempt to stop the memory from replaying in his head on a constant, never-ending loop.

He hated how having a perfect memory allowed him to remember everything exactly.

”Hank? Are you awake yet?” Connor called from the living room, sitting on the couch with the TV on. By this time, he was usually up already and making coffee for himself, but sometimes he slept in, especially because of how old he complained about being. However, Connor had made it his responsibility to make sure he maintained a regular sleep schedule.

He got no response.

He sighed and stood up. “TV off.” Hank was lucky he’d retired a decade ago. If not, he’d have been late for work today. Connor had stayed, though, and, throughout the years, worked his way up the ranks to a Commander. He still had a couple minutes before he had to leave for work, though, so he’d take the time to wake him up. Besides, he needed to change into his uniform. He could do that after he woke up Hank.

He made his way to Hank’s room and knocked on the door, just in case he was awake. “Hank?”

Still no response. Definitely asleep.

But he had a strange feeling. A bad feeling.

He opened the door and saw Hank laying in bed, but—something was wrong.

He wasn’t breathing.

He took a few hesitant steps inside, as if he couldn’t believe what his systems were telling him, then ran to his side. ”Hank—no, no, Hank, come on!”

He felt for his pulse.

Nothing.

His LED was solid red and he could already feel the artificial tears building up quickly, threatening to spill at any moment. His systems were operating as fast as he could make them; he showed no signs of movement, he wasn’t breathing, and he had no heartbeat. He’d died about ten minutes ago so CPR had a 0% chance of making any difference and neither did any of the other forms of medical assistance he had registered.

He’d been gone too long for anything to bring him back.

”No—no, no, no, come on, please—please don’t go, Hank, I-I don’t—I can’t—“ His voice broke and he finally broke with it.

He shook himself out of the memory. He didn’t want to remember the rest. He didn’t want to remember how pathetic he’d been, how broken he’d been when an ambulance finally arrived.

He could still feel the same devastation and fear and dread he’d felt when he found his body. He still remembered the desperation, how he wanted so badly for there to be some way, any way to save him, to bring him back, but he knew it was hopeless.

It had been three weeks, and he could still feel the sorrow and anguish he’d felt the moment he’d realized that Hank was truly gone.

All he wanted right now was for Hank to hold him in his arms and tell him it was gonna be okay.

But humans didn’t come back.

Maybe that was why he was walking down the empty street where the Chicken Feed food truck had stood for over a century. Of course, the owner, Gary Kayes, had died, even before Hank did, despite being three years younger. Connor had been there to help Hank cope with his death. Nobody had been around for a long time to replace him, so it remained abandoned in the same spot it’d been in before the revolution.

He scanned the area and a single information tab appeared on the sidewalk. When his eyes flicked over to it, it expanded.

┌ ┐

DATE: NOVEMBER 12, 2038

EVENT: FIRST HUG FROM HANK

◻ RECONSTRUCT

└ ┘

RECONSTRUCTION 0/1 EVENTS

INCOMPLETE ANALYZED

⍇ ▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ ⍈

Hank had hugged him often after the revolution, but this one had always been his favorite because it had been the first.

His LED flickered to red when he saw Hank’s figure again but he ignored it. Instead, as he played the reconstruction, he retraced his steps exactly; a futile attempt to make the memory seem at least a little bit realer. He still remembered Hank’s smile; the first real, genuine smile he’d seen from him. Hell, it might’ve been the first smile in general he’d seen from him.

He watched Hank’s outline take a few hesitant steps toward him, then stop.

Then, as the outline approached him and closed the distance between them, Connor closed his eyes and tried to let himself believe that, even if for just a moment, this was real.

#writing #fanfic #one shot #dbh #dbh connor #dbh fanfic #cw major character death #cw emotional repression

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ellenstranger · 3 years

Photo

How does it feel when you feel like a monster since childhood? From childhood to this day, the feeling of some kind of inner animal does not leave me. From childhood I was attracted by dark characters and themes: Medusa Gorgon, witches, vampires, devil, dense forests, spirits. I remember that as a child I was very sorry for Satan because God does not forgive him. It was easy for me to find a common language with animals because they seemed to me understandable and honest, unlike people. I vaguely remember myself from the age of 4. But full awareness began to come at the age of 6. Even then I began to notice something dark in myself. I didn’t feel it as evil, but as something natural, bestial. I understood how to manipulate people and was very smart. I often disagreed with the definition of good and evil that I was taught. My parents were Christians. Mother was especially religious and always taught that a person should be humble, kind and sacrificial. This was very contrary to what I saw in nature, society and myself. Already in my early youth, I asked questions like “But in nature there is a lot of cruelty, anger and dishonesty. If God created the world and man in his own image, then God himself contains what we call evil. “ I did not accept these contradictions. For me, even then it was meaningless and divorced from reality. My parents had no authority in my eyes. In truth, they never loved me. Often my mother blamed my sisters and me for being the cause of her misery. I don’t remember parental hugs and kisses. I don’t remember any praise or words of support. All I remember is coldness, anger and accusations. I felt that I was a mistake. The feeling of loneliness and detachment from everything human became my armor. Neither adults nor children were perceived by me as sources of truth. All my conclusions I made on the basis of observations and analysis. Gradually, anger grew in me. I was pissed off by all this hypocritical virtue of society. I understood why you shouldn’t decide everything with a fight or why there is often no point in revenge. But I did not understand why it was necessary to imitate kindness, joy, etc. I didn’t like smiling on photographs. I could look at them viciously from under my forehead or grin my teeth. With age, I just started taking pictures with an emotionless face. As I said, from childhood I was cunning and manipulative. My mother called me a demon when I was 8 years old. I felt that my parents did not like me. This made my anger uncontrollable. I deliberately told them about their weaknesses and took pleasure in their pain. Most of the time I myself experienced only pain, fear, anger and emptiness. I did not understand why I exist, who needs me and what is the point in everything that happens. During puberty, I was very withdrawn, but a terrible rage boiled inside me. I dreamed of how to hurt someone physically, even how to kill someone. As a result, I took out all this on myself: I cut and burned my skin. When I was a teenager, my parents divorced and my mother died of cancer. I lived with my grandmother. She became the second person in my life from whom I felt love and warmth. I also had one of my younger sisters with whom I had a very warm and strong relationship. It was during that period of my life that I began to feel hope, joy and other positive feelings available to normal people. I guess I was lucky because I did not do any stupid things and eventually adapted to society. I have a college education, job and relationship. But all this did not pass without a trace. I’m a psychopath. Yes, I am this demonized evil character from which they always want to portray a maniac and a psycho. I have borderline personality disorder with severe hysterical and narcissistic features. My therapist said that only my high intelligence and relationship with my sister and grandmother saved me from becoming a full-fledged monster. Because of my high intelligence, I have a high level of self-criticism and can assess my behavior more or less adequately. Having a good relationship with my sister and grandmother developed my empathy and love. But despite all this, I am an extremely evil, cruel and abusive person. I am undergoing therapy to learn how to productively interact with loved ones. But I always think that in ancient times people like me survived better than other people. I have leadership qualities, a strong and disruptive character. The problem is that I don’t know how to live comfortably and accept love. I don’t know how to enjoy it. I feel like a wild beast trying to live in humans. What is considered a disease in the modern world was once a mechanism for survival in harsh conditions. If you are the same as me then welcome to my blog! picture by Tomek Pietrzyk

#me #psyhology #childhood #mental problems #social #living with bpd #agression

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yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

written in 2 hours for $5

my friend: so, in your story, you say that Jon went to see a doctor who DIDN’T diagnose him with anything, despite him thinking all of his employees were trying to kill him...I will give you $5 to write this conversation

me: what’s your venmo.

under a readmore as to not traumatize Bukowski with sloppy depictions of therapy.

Okay, that ordeal was over with. Jon hated health services. He never went to the doctor if he could help it. It was easy to avoid it, since Elias gave as little healthcare as physically possible, and Jon was of the personal opinion that he never got sick, anyway. Sickness was a state of mind, and Jon’s mind was not in that state. What was a cold but your body temporarily acting funny before going back to normal? Absolutely nothing, no matter what Martin wrung his hands and insisted about. If Jon got the flu, he threw up in the toilet and then went back to work. RIP to the influenza virus but he was different.

Jon sat anxiously in the waiting room of the counseling clinic, struggling to recall if his mother was depressed or not.

Like, Jon would personally be very depressed, if he had given birth to Jon. He hesitantly wrote it in, then scratched it out, then scowled at the very nuclear family centric medical history section of the patient chart, then went through the usual rigamarole of feeling self-pity over being an orphan. Finally, he settled on just writing in a big question mark in the mother and father sections. He wrote into the side that his Grandfather and two of his Uncles had schizophrenia, which had to be useful in some sort of way.

The waiting room for the clinic wasn’t empty, even if that would have made Jon feel better. A tired looking Hispanic woman clutching her purse sat on one couch, an elderly man clutching a cane sitting in an armchair with his wife browsing a magazine beside him. Boring, banal, bothersome. Jon wasn’t like these losers. He wasn’t a weak-willed person who…accused all of his coworkers of murder plots…to the extent where one of his subordinates threatened him into going to a therapist. That hadn’t happened. To him.

For the record, it wouldn’t have worked if Martin hadn’t been so good at disguising what a manipulative bastard he was. Jon didn’t know people could make their eyes that big. Or that people could be so talented at gathering evidence of workplace harassment, enough that even Elias would be forced to exact some sort of disciplinary action against him. Had Martin always been so terrifying? His ranking on the ‘Possibly Wants To Kill Me’ scale jumped a few notches, but was forced to drop down a few notches due to Jon admitting that someone who wanted to kill him probably wouldn’t blackmail him into therapy.

Probably.

He briefly detailed his diagnostic history (none), detailed his list of previous surgeries and health conditions (none, save the anemia in uni), and briefly gave a list of childhood trauma (none that anyone would believe, although he found himself hesitantly writing down ‘Foster system, parental incarceration, orphaned’, as if that was a real trauma or something instead of stuff that just happened to him that had no effect on his brain whatsoever).

He finally got to the difficult section, the one that always tripped him up and made him sweat. He breezed through the demo questions (Black, male last time he checked, younger than he looked) but stared for an uncomfortably long time at the sexuality questions. His pen hovered over heterosexual, but his Mental Georgie (meaner than the actual Georgie) yelled at him until his pen hovered over bisexual instead. But that wasn’t quite right either, was it? Bad memories of scrolling desperately and shamefully through AVEN at 2am last year flashed through his mind, but asexual wasn’t on the list. He marked in bisexual, although he didn’t think it counted if he’d never had any…relations with male presenting people, although it didn’t quite fit.

Under alcohol use he very proudly put none, feeling both smug and embarrassed over being smug over it. Under drug use he also was proud to put none. Then it asked for his history and, like, whatever. He hated this list. It sucked. Jon didn’t like admitting to the coke he only did three times. Or was it four? That he could remember.

Under the ‘Have you ever been hospitalized’ question he put yes, then he remembered that they had technically diagnosed him with alcoholism and depression so he had to go back and put that down in his diagnoses, then he had to put down that he had attempted suicide a few times. Jon felt uncomfortable about nameless strangers knowing this, when he had never told anybody and had never been planning on it. It was a secret he would take to his grave, but he was telling this piece of paper, apparently. Hopefully nobody looked at this.

Under the section for ‘why he came in’, Jon decided honestly was the best policy. He wrote down carefully, in precise letters, ‘I do not need to come in but my subordinate (who may be plotting murder against me) blackmailed me into it’. There. Honesty was the best policy.

Finally the accursed intake form was over, Jon was able to hand it to the nurse he suddenly imagined looked very judgmental, and he was able to flip aimlessly through the three year old magazines on the glass tabletop flanking a piece of calming abstract art. He would never admit it to literally anybody in his life, but he enjoyed the voyeurism of celebrity gossip. He loved learning things about people that were supposed to be private, that nobody was supposed to know. It wasn’t a real secret if he learned it off TMZ, but it felt like one, and that was good enough. It was none of his business who was dating who or who had cheated on who, but that was part of the fun. Jon’s thirst for knowledge was absolute. But, still, nobody could ever know about this. Georgie had laughed at him for a week when she found out.

Still, the magazine was wrong. The pop star wasn’t cheating on her boyfriend with her bodyguard. She was cheating on her boyfriend with her college roommate. Jon didn’t remember exactly where he had read it, but he knew it was true. Must have caught it on a reddit thread or something. Jon snorted. They should really polish up on their fact checking.

After what felt like hours, but in fact was twenty-two minutes and forty seconds exactly, the nurse called Jon in. They took his height (still too tall), took his weight (ugh….), and took his blood pressure, which seemed to alarm the nurse, who asked him if he had a family history of hypertension. He just explained that his job was very high stress.

“Ah,” the nurse said, and made a note on his clipboard.

“The previous holder of my position was murdered,” Jon said helpfully, “and I think one of my employees did it. Either that or my boss. That, or various supernatural entities, but generally I’ve been doing a pretty good job of holding those off.”

“That’s so interesting,�� the nurse said, making another note on the clipboard.

Then he was directed into the actual therapist’s office. Not his therapist, or at least he didn’t think so – the way they explained it to him, and the way the twenty internet sites he’d compulsively researched said it worked, was that he would get an intake with a trainee, who would then refer him to a therapist that worked for him in the building. It made sense, although very little about this entire process really did. Jon hated doctors. What were therapists, but doctors who made less sense, and did not respect science?

The intake therapist’s office was overly calming. There was an incense diffuser in the corner, a tea station set up in another corner, and a comfortable looking couch facing a chair. There was a coffee table in the center filled with fidget toys and candy, along with some stuffed animals and other comfort items with some books, and Jon awkwardly shook the hand of the young woman who opened the door for him and sat down on the far corner of the couch.

She introduced herself as Angela and had a bright white smile. Jon wondered if she had ever killed anybody. Her hair was glossy and black, she seemed to be Hispanic or thereabouts, and exuded a trustworthy and competent yet friendly air. Jon did not trust her.

“So, Jon,” Angela said, once they both settled down. “I’m just going to give you a quick run-down of this process. I’ll interview you based on your intake form, we’ll come up with a case formulation, and I’ll refer you to a therapist with our clinic who can help you out. You indicated that this is your first time seeing a counselor?”

“Uh, yes.” Jon clasped his hands, then his knees, then sat up very straight, then slouched. He now understood why the fidget toys were there. “But I really don’t want to see a therapist. I just told someone I’d come in here, so here I am. I can leave right after this.”

“Who asked you to come in?”

“Martin. Uh. My employee.”

She made a note in her notebook. “Does he only know you from work?”

“Yes.”

“So your employees have been noticing some behavior from you at work that lead them to ask you to come?” Angela asked delicately.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“What kind of behavior?”

Well, sure, make him think about it. Jon clenched his trousers a little. “I’ve been…well, according to Tim, I’ve been stalking them a bit. Which, perhaps, from a certain point of view, I’m willing to admit to. Also going through their desks. Some verbal accusations. Apparently, I’ve been difficult to work with lately.”

Scribble scribble scribble. “What sort of accusations?”

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” Jon said firmly. “I’m just trying to find out who. I’m exploring every option. Nobody is above suspicion. I know it seems…I know it doesn’t seem very usual, but that’s the situation.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

God, has he ever. “They’re willing to collaborate with me, but there’s only so much they can do,” Jon said seriously. Even if they had confidentiality, which they had explained to him as he came in, he could hardly admit to Basira doing something illegal for him. “But we are working on it together. At least some officers on the force take murder investigations seriously.”

“Alright. If you don’t mind, I’m going to refer back to some questions that we asked you on the sheet. Just a little more detail on them.” Angela looked down at what he had to assume was a print-out of his answers on the intake questionnaire. “It says here that you have a family history of schizophrenia?”

“Yeah,” Jon said blankly, “what does that have to do with anything?”

She looked further down the list. “And…a history of alcoholism and drug abuse?”

“Yes, technically.”

“Alright.” She leaned backwards and opened a file cabinet, rifling through it before withdrawing a piece of paper and passing it to Jon. Jon hesitantly took it, scanning the paper. “Can you fill this out for me quickly, please?”

Jon read the questions.

Do you ever hear or see things that others cannot?

Well, yes, Jon experienced many supernatural phenomena that others could not perceive. He checked off yes.

Do you ever struggle to trust that what you are thinking is real?

Frequently. He just knew his mind was being manipulated by the mysterious Watcher. Plus there was that business with Sasha. Something’s off about her.

Do you ever get the sense that others are controlling your thoughts and emotions?

That occurred in dozens of Statements, plus his own life. Yes.

Do you struggle to keep up with daily living tasks?

Tim did tell him that he didn’t shower enough…

Do you feel that you have powers that others cannot understand or appreciate?

Jon thought blankly of all those times that he asked people questions and they almost…had to answer. He checked yes for that too.

Etc, etc, etc.

Jon looked up from this test. “Are you under the impression I’m schizophrenic?”

“I can’t make a diagnosis yet,” the therapist said delicately. “Why don’t we talk after you finish the screening.”

Jon silently passed it back to her, after checking yes on almost everything. She scanned it quickly.

“Hm.”

“Look,” Jon said awkwardly, knowing that this probably looked bad, “I know that I may come off as a paranoid lunatic, but the supernatural is out there and is targeting me personally. I think I may work for it, honestly? Do you ever feel like an accountant for evil in your day to day life, or is that just me?” Jon paused a beat, and found that his hands were shaking. He was scared. Why was he scared? “I always feel something watching me. Something – something in the walls. I’m sitting at my desk, it’s late at night, and nobody’s around, but sometimes when I do my work…I feel something looking over my shoulder. It hates me. It wants to hurt me. I don’t know why I know it, I just do. Something invisible in the walls is looking at me, and nobody believes me when I say it’s there but I know it is.” He found himself speaking faster, almost as if he was begging her to understand. “When you look at a – at this couch, you know it’s there, right? How would you feel if everybody started telling you that it wasn’t there? That what your eyes and ears and body was telling you was fake? You’d feel like it was everybody else who was crazy, not you. Even if your eyes were closed, if you reached out your hand you could feel it. No matter what you might tell yourself, or what other people might tell you, it’s real. It’s there. You can’t deny it. I’m not crazy. It’s there. Something is watching me. You don’t – you don’t have to believe me. But I’m right. And you’re wrong, if you think it’s not.”

Angela stared at him.

Then she stood up, clutching her mobile. Jon realized for the first time that it was ringing. “I’ll be right back.”

She left the room, holding the phone to her ear. Jon felt it was somewhat unprofessional for a therapist to walk out in the middle of a session for a phone call. Maybe it was important? Her husband was in the hospital or something? It was none of his business.

Jon tapped his toes. Stared at the wall. There was a poster with a sloth on it that said ‘Hang In There!’. He was hanging in there, all right.

He wondered if he was crazy. If it even mattered.

Jon had always had nobody but himself to rely on. Well, maybe Georgie, once upon a time, but he had burned that bridge. At the end of the day, it had always been him. In that gutter where he had almost drowned in his own vomit, it had just been him.

If he couldn’t trust his own mind, who could he trust? If even his own faculties left him, he had nothing. No friends, no family, no support. Just him. If Jon lost his mind, if he went completely crazy, then there was nobody to pick up the pieces ever again. For the first time since coming in, Jon found himself scared. Would he have to take medication? Would it make him dumb? Jon would rather be crazy then dumb.

The door opened, and Angela returned. But there was something just a little different about her, something Jon picked up immediately. Her eyes were – almost glassy, almost not present. She had been such an attentive, active listener before, but now she seemed far away. Her gait was a little stiffer than it had been previously.

“Bad news?” Jon breached awkwardly.

“Nothing to worry about,” Angela smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes. How strange. She sat back down in her chair, posture perfect and prim. “Well, I took a look at your sheet, and I have some good news for you.”

“You – you do?” Jon asked, thrown off. Doctors never had good news for him. They always seemed to think he was a medical freak of nature who was alive only through an act of spite against god.

“Of course. You don’t seem to have any kind of mental illness. Honestly, I just think your problem is that you’re stressed at work.”

“I – so you don’t think I’m schizophrenic? Despite answering yes to almost every question on that test? And having family members with schizophrenia? And being a black male in my late twenties, the highest risk group?”

“Yes.” Angela smiled prettily at him. “I think it’s just a matter of adjustment. You’re a transitionary phase in your life, Jon. You’re moving from one role to another. I think all you have to do is accept your new role in life, and your problems will sort themselves out.”

“I – yes. Yes, of course.” It was like a huge weight had been taken off his chest. Jon felt so relieved. Nothing was wrong with him. His mind was still his own. He wasn’t crazy! “You’re right. I’m just stressed. Thank you so much, doctor. I feel a lot better about this now. I knew Martin was just overreacting.”

“Martin’s always overreacting!” Angela laughed. She stood up from her chair, clearly signifying the interview was over despite him only being there for less than ten minutes. “Have a great day, Jon. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, doctor. I promise I’ll work on – just calming down a bit. Wow. What a relief.” Jon stood up too, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers before shaking her hand. “I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

“What’s crazy,” Angela said, “but a state of mind? The world is already so bizarre and usual, Jon, it’s strangest to be sane.”

“I – okay?”

Jon left the doctor’s appointment feeling very good about everything. Maybe the doctor’s had been a good idea. He would have to thank Martin.

Wow. Now that was a crazy thought. Thanking Martin! Hah!

Jon went home, feeling very good about his life and his trajectory in it.

For the very last time.

#takes place in bbc verse but can be read independently if you want #actually secretly contains spoilers for that story but you can't really tell #tma #the magnus archives fanfiction #my writing #the magnus archives

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melodiouswhite · 4 years

Text

Quiet

(Lady Summers, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde struggle to cope with their immortality, as their loved ones pass away one by one. But they find comfort in their friendship.)

Most people found that with the end of Victoria's reign, it was finally time for progresses that hadn't been made before.

It was December 1926 and many things had changed.

While she was all for progress, she was a child of the mid-19th century and this new era seemed so foreign to her. So fast. So fleeting. So different.

Women had won the right to vote.

Medicine progressed like never before.

The Great War had ravaged the whole world just a few years earlier and changed everything.

She still could see the scars. In form of shell-shocked soldiers, of people who found no work, because of the poor economy, of invalids, who were reduced to begging in the streets.

She had more patients than before – most of them traumatised from the War.

She had buried herself in her work as a therapist. It was all she had left.

For Lady Summers, the beginning 20th century was a time of grief. After decades of wearing no mourning attire, she had returned to wearing nothing but black.

Her villa, which she had loved ever since she had moved in, had grown quiet.

While she hadn't aged a day, her servants had and most of them had passed on by now. The fact that most of them had been her half-siblings made this even more painful.

Philippine had been the first to go.

The night nurse had always been of delicate health. So it had been no surprise, when she had succumbed to scarlet fever (proving once again, that scarlet fever was no children's disease).

Her older sister Julie had died a few years later.

One day the Frenchwoman had styled Lady Summers' hair not with her usual braids and fourragères, but with a fashionable, beautiful and complicated style. It had been the last time – a farewell gift, maybe. Aoimoku was now the one to do her hair, as the Countess hadn't hired a new stylist. It just wasn't the same.

After that, they had died like flies. Some of the losses were worse than others.

The worst was Marie.

The cheerful and hardy Austrian day nurse had been one of her closest servants and the oldest of her half-siblings. And she had been her closest confidante, even closer than Aoimoku. But tough has she was, she had been the last of her deceased servants to pass on. Just a month ago, she had died at the age of 80 – the only one of her servants to die of old age so far.

Lady Summers had sat beside her elderly younger sister's bedside, as she had died.

“I know that you have lived a long time, but it still seems too soon”, she had whispered.

Marie had laughed faintly: “Now, now. Don't be sad, because it's over. Be glad, because it happened. I'm content. It was … a beautiful life. Being your nurse … and your little sister … was more than just … a great honour. It was a gift from Heaven.”

And with a last feeble squeeze of the Lady's hand, she had fallen asleep forever, smiling.

Just the memory made the Lady's heart bleed.

Of her over a dozen servants, only three were alive now: her butler Sameer Singh, her first lady-in-waiting Kurogawa Aoimoku and her driver Sean O' Connor.

Sameer, just like herself, hadn't aged a day. She attributed that to his Rakshasa heritage. He was more demon (or spirit, or whatever those beings were) than human. But it was a comfort, that he would always be there, her loyal butler.

Aoimoku was 71 years old now, but still held herself with a unique grace, elegance and nobility. The wrinkles and the grey strands in her raven hair had in no way tarnished her beauty.

Sean had gone from being her coachman to being her chauffeur, as Lady Summers had traded her coach for a car. Probably better. He was 76 now and his hands were too stiff from rheumatism to hold reins. His red hair had grown thin. Lady Summers dreaded the day when she would no longer hear his cheerful singing and see his goofy smile.

The only other one of her half-siblings still alive, was Alma, who was now sixty years old, but had never been part of the household. The half Irish, who had once caught everyone's eye with her fire red corkscrew curls, ice blue eyes, red lips and tall and slender figure, now looked more like a crazy old witch (she was even keeping cats – Aoimoku hated them).

Lady Summers sighed.

There were other losses she hadn't recovered from – maybe never would. Coping with loss had never been her strong suit.

Most of her friends and family had passed away as well and each loss had been painful.

Of course her former father-in-law, Lord Summers, was long gone. He had lived on to eighty-two, a feisty and kind old man.

Her brothers-in-law were also gone, the last tie to her first husband.

“Say hello to my darling copperhead from me”, she had asked his oldest brother Edward, the last of them to go – a hardy gent like his father.

He had responded with a toothless laugh and a twinkle in his eye (so much like James): “Will do.”

Gabriel John Utterson, her oldest and best friend in England, had passed away of old age fifteen years ago. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, his lover(s), had been left behind to grieve.

But the worst loss was Dr. Lanyon.

Her dear soulmate.

Shortly after the incidents in 1886, they had entered a morganatic marriage with Queen Victoria's permission.

But he had been a bit older than her without having her immortality.

And he hadn't wanted to be immortal either. She had accepted and understood, but it still had broken her heart.

He had passed away in 1910 at the age of 80.

He had been long ill before, so it had only been a matter of time. He had died awake and promised her that, if rebirth really existed, he would meet her again one day.

“Auf Wiedersehen … my lady, my love, my wife …”

It had been sixteen years now and her heart was still as shattered as it had been back then.

Lady Summers didn't know the future, like her dear half-sister and her old friend.

Lanyon had always kept his promises, but the lady just didn't know, when “one day” would be.

It could be tomorrow or in a hundred years and the thought was unbearable. Worse, her old friend Johann (who now called himself John in response to the anti-German sentiment) had implied, that it was closer to being a hundred years.

So the only thing she could do was wait … and grieve.

It was so quiet in her house… so empty.

It was unbearable.

“Sahib?”

Her butler's voice tore her out of her spiral of depression.

Sameer truly had the best timing.

“What is it, Sameer?”, she asked.

“Doctor Jekyll is here to visit you”, he announced.

Suddenly she felt a surge of relief.

“Show him in then.”

The butler left the room and returned with a tall, blond Englishman.

Dr. Jekyll hadn't changed at all – he was still the dignified, handsome gentleman she had met more than forty years ago.

“Hello, Henry”, she greeted him and stood up. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

They had been on first name basis for a long time now.

“Actually, I think I do”, he replied smiling. “Hello, Luise. I would ask you, how your day has been so far, but your facial expression sort of gives it away.”

She chuckled bitterly, but invited him to sit down.

“Do you want some tea and cake?”, she asked. “It's tea time anyway.”

“Yes, please.”

Sameer saw this as his cue to make his way down to the kitchen. He returned with a full tablet for his mistress and her friend, before seeing himself out.

“Do help yourself”, she invited, “My new cook is quite a good one.”

Dr. Jekyll was obviously a bit apprehensive, when he tried the muffin, but his face brightened up quickly.

“Oh, they're scrumptious!”, he exclaimed, “Your butler must have a really good eye for picking your servants.”

“He certainly does”, the Lady agreed. “Then again, he is part Rashasa. They can see and are aware of things that are beyond human comprehension.”

Dr. Jekyll chuckled: “I remember how you and he identified the impurity in my special salt. Speaking of which, I have never thanked either of you. Had you not found out, what was different in my first badge of salt, ohhhh boy! I don't know, if Edward and I would have learned in time how to properly share control of our body. Sooner or later he would have overpowered me without even wanting to and without the proper formula, I wouldn't have been able to transform back. And what's more, you two helped me learn to shift without my formula.”

Lady Summers nodded: “Yes, that was fortunate. Don't forget to thank him personally.”

Suddenly she sensed Mr. Hyde stirring inside Dr. Jekyll's conscience.

“Did somebody say my name?”, the androgynous, guttural voice piped up.

Dr. Jekyll just rolled his eyes, but the Lady smiled lopsidedly.

“Hello, Edward. Did you sleep well?”

“Eh, it was okay. Hi, Luise.”

“Speaking of sleep”, Dr. Jekyll spoke up again, “How has yours been?”

She sighed and didn't answer.

It wasn't necessary.

After more than forty years, the Doctor knew her so well … and he was one of the few friends she had left.

His face became sombre. “It's so quiet here without Marie.”

“It is”, she whispered. “It really is. Without all of them … and so empty …”

She didn't bother keeping her act up and broke into sobbing.

“I … I miss them so!”

Soon his arms were around her and she was crying into his shoulder.

Lady Summers didn't cry often. It just wasn't in her nature.

But she had been strong for too long now.

It seemed to be the same for Dr. Jekyll; at some point she felt his body shake and knew that he – no, she could hear Hyde sob too – that they were crying with her.

This way they sat, hugging each other and crying together.

They wept for their lost loves, their dearest friends and all the other familiar faces, which had one by one faded away, wept because they could never follow (they had promised to Gabriel and Hastie, that they would never end their own lives), because almost everything they had once known and loved was gone and because all they had was each other.

Sure, there were the three alchemists and Victor and Adam and they all knew the pain of losing someone dear. But these five had chosen immortality; they had wanted it, had strove for it.

Luise and Henry had never wanted to be everlasting, had never asked for this cursed existence.

When they finally stopped and withdrew, a glance at the clock told her, that they had wept for three hours.

“Are you feeling better?”, he finally asked kindly.

She nodded and blew her nose. “A little. And you?”

“Me too”, he replied.

“Me too”, Hyde echoed from inside Jekyll's head. “Holy shit, we three really needed that, huh?”

“Indeed so”, the Lady sighed. “Listen, you two, I have never apologised.”

Dr. Jekyll tilted his head in confusion. “Apologised for what?”, he inquired.

“For doing this to you”, she explained softly. “It's my fault that you're ageless and immortal now. I know, you never asked for this cursed existence.”

He smiled gently. “Hey now. We know you didn't mean to. In this moment, our life was at stake and if it hadn't been for your blood donation (and that of Gabe and Hastie), Edward and I would have died. And maybe … maybe it was supposed to come to this. Maybe it was fate, that Edward and I should remain on this earth and keep you company, my friend. Anyhow we're both glad that we can finally return the kindness and sympathy you have given to us all these years.”

“Couldn't have said it better”, Hyde agreed.

The Countess chuckled hoarsely.

Dr. Jekyll patted her hand. “You know, I'm glad that we three are together in this. I know what loneliness feels like. But when you and I can just sit together as old friends, the silence becomes so much more bearable.”

Finally she smiled back. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

A knock on the door made them look up.

In the doorway stood Sameer, with a table cloth, and the Lady's new nurse, holding a carafe of water.

“It's time for dinner”, the butler reminded his employer and laid the table.

The day nurse nodded. “And we saw you crying earlier, so we thought you might want some water afterwards?”

Lady Summers laughed: “Thank you two, that's quite considerate. We could indeed use some food and drink. Ah, and bring a second set, Dr. Jekyll is staying for dinner.”

The two servants nodded and saw themselves out.

Dr. Jekyll turned back to the Lady. “Isn't your new day nurse the granddaughter of your hairstylist?”

“Indeed”, the Lady confirmed, “She even looks a bit like Julie. But in her personality she comes more after her grandaunt Philippine.”

The Doctor chuckled: “Mademoiselle Desmoulins never truly left you, did she?”

“No”, the Lady answered fondly. “She didn't.”

“And you know what? Perhaps your butler is right about the reincarnation thing. I think someday we will see them all again, in one form or another. We just have to wait for that to happen.”

His trusting smile warmed her to the bottom of her soul.

Yes. They just had to wait.

All of their friends and loved ones would return one day, because true friends never truly left.

And then Luise's and Henry's homes wouldn't be quiet and empty anymore.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #ocs #loss #grief #mournin #comfort

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thornedrose44 · 5 years

Text

Hero (Chapter 7)

aka Kara gets the therapy she deserves...

ao3 link

“Were you aware during that time?” Percy asked; he had let the topic of the destruction of Krypton lie for now, Kara’s reaction to the loss of her home was intense and defensive to the extreme. It was obvious that this event had been the key trauma that had defined her formative years and had heavily shaped the woman she had become. It was also apparent that Kara had never really allowed herself to face it, choosing instead to bottle it up and push it down.

Percy couldn’t really blame her for being closed off and unwilling to really talk about it; he didn’t want to imagine how he, let alone his young grand-daughter who couldn’t be much younger than Kara had been at the time, would handle the loss of their home planet and being sent to an entirely new world and culture where they were unwelcome by the majority of the population.

He had taken the first step, broached the topic and started to lay the foundations of trust and communication that should hopefully mean that when Kara was ready to really talk about it, she had the tools at her disposal to do so.

With that in mind, Percy had given Kara a few minutes of quiet reflection for her to feel suitably in control again before moving swiftly on and shifting the conversation onto ‘The Phantom Zone’ which had set off alarm bells in the doctor’s head due to how quickly Kara had brushed over it. Twenty-four years of slumber would have taken a toll on any person but Percy had reason to believe it wasn’t as simple as that, that it was in fact far worse than Kara tried to lead him to believe.

“Aware?” Kara repeated, her brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to work out exactly what the therapist was suggesting.

Percy tapped his pen against his pad of paper thoughtfully as he re-worded his question, “Conscious, might be a better word… Were you conscious during your time in the Phantom Zone?”

Kara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers curling around the edge of her dress and shuffling the material between her fingers. “Uh… no… yes… kind of.” Kara muttered cringing as she whizzed through every available answer but not deeming any of them suitable. “It’s hard to explain.” She finally settled on, her shoulders caving forward in defeat.

Percy frowned at the reply, realising that what might be the main blocker for Kara to confront this particular issue was the lack of appropriate vocabulary. Even though he had spent less than two hours with the blonde it was easy to tell that there was a perfectionist lying beneath the surface, which made her feel self-conscious and afraid of failure. He needed to encourage her that if she couldn’t find the exact right word that it would still be okay, that it didn’t have to be perfect for it to be understood.

“Well, if you’re willing to try, I will endeavour to do my utmost to understand.” Percy affirmed, staring Kara straight in the eye and trying his utmost to convey his sincerity.

Kara didn’t reply immediately, her lips pursed into a thin line in a vain attempt to prevent fumbled words from escaping. Percy continued to wait patiently, refusing to so much as shuffle in his seat even though his slightly wearing joints required movement to prevent them from seizing up. He needed Kara to know that she could take her time, that she could get it wrong and then correct it without being nitpicked for it.

“It was kind of like being asleep but not…” Kara eventually said, her gaze flickering off to the side as she relived memories she probably wished to fully forget. “It was…” Kara huffed out a disconsolate breath, her face scrunching up in concentration. “You know that moment when you’re just starting to wake up, and your body still feels heavy and you don’t quite have full control of your limbs yet?”

“Hypnagogia.” Percy supplied without thinking about it.

Kara’s head jerked back slightly in surprise, taken aback by the word that sounded like a mixture of a cough and a sneeze, “Huh?”

“The state between wakefulness and sleep.” Percy explained.

“Oh right…”, Kara muttered in understanding before raising an eyebrow at the light embarrassed blush spreading across Percy’s face.

“Sorry, I’m a doctor with a love of crosswords, I couldn’t help myself…”, Percy coughed out apologetically, before gesturing with a wave of his hand, “Please continue…”

“Hmmm…” Kara hummed, a flash of a smile appearing at the doctor’s awkwardness before vanishing almost instantly as her mind returned back to the heavy memories that sucked every ounce of joy from her system like a parasite.

When Kara spoke next her voice was soft, yet distant, the tone of voice one might use to lull a small child to sleep. It was rhythmic and level, kind of empty and emotionless so as not to pull someone back from the slumber it was trying so greatly to encourage. “And your mind is also trying to desperately process what’s real and what’s not because you’ve been dreaming vividly and it all felt so real… And now you’re not quite sure who you are or where you are because you’re not in your normal bed and the flash of images you seen when you try to open your eyes look nothing like your bedroom and…” Kara trailed off, lulled into a trance-like state by the memories fuelling her words.

“Aware but not fully conscious?” Percy whispered, not wanting to yank Kara back from her thoughts too harshly, instead trying to guide her back to reality.

Kara blinked slow and heavy, “Something like that…”

Percy took a deep breath, eyeing Kara’s restless fingers as he said carefully, “Twenty-four years of confusion and immobility, many people would struggle to recover from something like that…”

Kara’s eyes suddenly became steely and focused, her expression turning blank and guarded. “I don’t think about it.” Kara replied sharply, her fingers shifting away from the edge of her dress so that she could cross her arms protectively over her chest, but almost immediately she began tapping an arrhythmic pattern on her bicep and her legs vibrated up and down anxiously.

“Are you sure about that?” Percy asked knowingly.

“Yes.” Kara huffed out, her head turning off to one side as she murmured dismissively, “It happened a long time ago.”

Percy hummed neither in agreement nor disagreement, “Whilst there is some truth in the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, I find that that only works if the person is giving the wound the care it requires at the same time.”

Kara frowned and a familiar crease appeared between her eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming as Supergirl you don’t often need to worry about the long term care or effect of physical injuries?” Percy reasoned; though he tried his utmost not to make assumptions in his line of work, preferring the patient to tell him themselves or having gathered enough evidence to feel certain in his theories, they were often an unfortunate necessity to progress conversations and subsequent treatment.

“No, usually a few hours under a sun-bed sees me back to fully healed.” Kara answered, and Percy momentarily reflected on how quickly she’d become comfortable sharing the details of her secret persona but he then realised with a start that to her it wasn’t a secret persona, it was just who she was. Percy swiftly made a note to explore further the impact that multiple secret identities could have on a person. “I’ve had a few cases where it may be a few days but… that’s about it…”, Kara continued, oblivious to the thoughts and ideas that were whirring away in the background of her therapist’s mind.

It was these distracting thoughts that meant Percy’s attention was lax, leading to him slipping up, the immediate reply tumbling from his mouth and only managing to catch the name at the last possible second, “You must have seen with Le-”

Kara’s sharp inhaled breath was the only outward reaction to the passing, barely there reference to the L-Corp CEO.

“You grew up with a human sibling?” Percy course corrected, beyond grateful that Kara seemed willing and eager to latch onto this switch in focus. “Did Alex ever break a bone or get a particularly nasty scrape when she was younger?”

“Yeah,” Kara nodded, an obvious memory springing to mind by the way her eyes glanced off to the side to aid recall, “when she was learning to ride a motorbike, she had an accident. She wasn’t quite in control and had to veer sharply to avoid hitting a car.” Kara’s expression darkened, a flicker of the fear she had presumably felt at the sight of her sister injured flaring up even after all these years - Percy finally appreciated how deep the bond was between the two sisters. “She had bad grazes all up her leg and had broken her wrist.”

“Right.” Percy nodded, pleased to have a more accessible example to work with, “After falling did Alex leave the injuries as they were?”

“Leave them?” Kara repeated tentatively, confusion apparent in the deep lines across her forehead and around her eyes.

“Did she get up and carry on as if nothing had happened?” Percy asked, adding clarity to his question.

“She wanted to but Eliza and I took her to the hospital.” Kara rolled her eyes affectionately, clearly remembering her sister’s stubborn behaviour with a level of fondoness.

Percy hummed in understanding before continuing with the mental exercise he was guiding Kara through. “Were the grazes presumably cleaned to prevent infection and her arm set in plaster to ensure it healed correctly?”

“Yes.” Kara confirmed easily.

“You could argue that time would have healed those wounds eventually.” Percy pointed out casually.

Kara’s lip curled in obvious disagreement, “Her injury could have gotten infected or her wrist might not have healed properly.”

“Exactly.” Percy said with a proud and comforting smile that he hoped put Kara at ease and made her receptive to what he was about to say. “Just because time does help doesn’t mean it should do everything alone. It doesn’t mean it will heal properly. In some cases time can do more damage, letting it heal into the wrong shape and as such cause more pain trying put it right later on.”

Kara stared at him blankly, absorbing everything what he had told her and working through the example he had given her on her own. Steadily, Kara’s blue eyes went downcast, her body seemed to curl inwards and when she spoke it was a mere whisper of a question, “Did I heal wrong?”

“No,” Percy assured instantly, staring Kara straight in the eye, his voice strong and definitive, “though I think you may have left time to do all the heavy-lifting.”

Kara swallowed thickly, and switched her gaze back to her hands that were tracing seemingly random patterns on the sofa cushions. “Is it going to hurt?” She asked quietly, “Fixing everything much later on?”

Percy sighed, not willingly to lie to his patients in any way, “Did it hurt your sister when they cleaned out the wound on her leg?”

Kara went utterly still for a fraction of a second as her breath caught in her lungs before being expelled as a simple, “Yes.”

#kara danvers #supercorp #Kara finally gets the therapy she needs #supergirl

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seth-kate · 5 years

Note

"We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was. I will not give you up this time" - perfect by Ed Sheeran. For Jonsa.

The twinkling lights hang high under the canopy of the pavilion and shine under the dancing couple, bathing them in a warm glow. Robb and Margaery look sickeningly in love as they twirl together to the slow melodic music and in the crowd there’s a few sniffles from Catelyn and Margaery’s grandmother. But Jon doesn’t feel like crying into a handkerchief- he just feels empty.

The stout glass of brandy and cola meet his lips and he takes a swig as he lets his eyes rest on his best friend who is now holding his wife close to his chest. He had agreed to be best man because ever since he was little he and Robb had been as thick as thieves, but he hadn’t thought of the fact that at this wedding the past would be resurrected so vividly in the form of a blush pink dress and red hair.

Sansa Stark.

The woman who had taken his heart when he was eighteen had walked down the aisle with a smile and a bouquet of cherry blossoms in her hands and had joined the other bridesmaids at the top of the chapel. Jon had stood with Robb on the opposite side of the altar with a thumping heart and eyes that had taken her in, in awe. He hadn’t seen her since he had broken up with her almost seven years ago. He had broken her heart, he knew that, but in some twist of irony she had taken his with her and had never returned it. He was a hollow being without her. But leaving her had been for the best.

“Hey” he hears behind him and he tears his eyes away from the dancing bride and groom and to the man shadowing his side.

“Hey Sam” Jon greets his friend with a feigned smile. Sam eyes the drink in his hands and Jon guesses he’s wondering how many he’s had tonight. Jon has lost count himself.

“You look miserable” Sam comments and Jon has the audacity to laugh.

“Thanks, mate” his glass is brought to his lips again and he drinks- wholly and deeply and he finishes the glass. He can feel the whirl of it course through his veins and he’s sure he’ll wobble if he starts walking.

“It’s because of Sansa, isn’t it?” Sam asks him and Jon looks around to see if anyone is in earshot. Jeyne Westerling and Myrcella Baratheon stand beside them but both are too intent on watching the married couple’s first dance to pay attention to what the men next to them are saying.

“Sam -”

“Go talk to her” his soft voiced friend inputs but Jon shakes his head.

“No way Sam, she hates me” he tells him sternly and he thinks of how all day she has avoided him greatly. Sansa hasn’t even looked his way or attempted to talk to him- she must hate him. The memory of her crying at the train station as he’d left her swims back into his mind and he wishes then that his glass was full.

“She doesn’t hate you. You didn’t see the way she was looking at you” Sam tells him, a soft sad look in his dark eyes and Jon feels his heart clench in his chest. Had she really been looking at him? He just hadn’t noticed.

“I’m going to get another drink” he murmurs over the soft music and he turns around before Sam can even answer him. He’d been right before- he did wobble a little as he started walking. But he didn’t care, he wasn’t the only drunk person at the wedding.

The air outside was the kind that made you sweat instantly- the clammy density of it filling Jon’s nostrils and taking away his breath for a short minute. His suit jacket and dress shirt suddenly feel heavy without the cool breeze of the indoor air conditioning and he shrugs it off and swings it around his shoulder as he walks.

He doesn’t walk too far before he sees her.

She sits under a tree, her blue eyes staring at the water that bubbles in the stream beside it and the moon hangs low above her, casting her in a silvery glow. Her red hair is now taken down from it’s stylish up do and fans across her back in those thick copper curls Jon used to love playing with. He used to spend hours in the morning running his fingers through it while she traced patters on his chest with hers. They’d been young, and Jon didn’t know how much he had truly been in love with her until he had let her go. He was eighteen and dumb and immature. He was twenty five now and he was probably still dumb, but he knew as he looked at her sitting there that she was the woman he wanted to dance under a pavilion with, just like Robb was dancing with Margaery.

“Sansa” he finds himself saying, and her name sounds so familiar yet foreign when he utters it aloud. He hadn’t said it much in the past for fear that he was breathing life back into the painful memories. Her eyes find his in the dim light and for a second they just look at one another, unmoving and not talking, but just looking. She’s the first to look away and he feels a shiver run through him as she does.

“Jon” Sansa says softly, and Jon finds he can not stop himself from walking towards her.

“You not enjoying the night?” he wants to kick himself after he asks such a fickle question, but he swallows thickly and sits himself on a large rock near the edge of the water. He can still hear the music playing from the tent not so far away.

“I just needed time alone” He doesn’t miss how she stressed the alone part, and the submissive cowardly part of him wants to stand up and leave. But he won’t. This time he’ll stay.

“I meant to find you earlier, to catch up” it’s a lie, and it tastes like one as he talks “how’ve you been?” Her blue eyes are hard and cruel as she throws them like daggers towards him. Perhaps she does hate me, he thinks. He remembers then how they had been filled with tears that night he had turned around and left her at the train station.

It’s over Sansa, he had said to her, I can’t do this anymore.

Please Jon, I love you, she had cried. But Jon hadn’t said it back. He wants to say it now.

“How have I been?” she draws her words out purposefully, each syllable a knife in Jon’s side “how do you think I’ve been?”

A stupid question he had asked, but he can’t take it back now. He knows she’s been miserable since her father died, and how she’s felt alone and desperate and how she had sought the help of a therapist. He’s learned all this from Robb, but even with that knowledge he hadn’t been brave enough to reach out to her.

“I’m sorry, Sansa” he apologises dumbly and she shifts on the ground as she stands. The ends of her blush pink dress are now stained brown and green from the earth, but if she cares about her gown being ruined she doesn’t show it.

“Your apologies stopped meaning something a long time ago” her words cut him deep but the brave part of him makes him stand too, and her snow white arm is grasped in his rough hand as he pulls her back.

“I am sorry” he desperately tells her, his whole body shaking. Perhaps it‘s the brandy talking “I’m sorry for what I done to you. I’m sorry that I broke your heart, I’m sorry I was a piece of shit. I was young, and stupid and I made a mistake that’s haunted me every day since. But you were better off without me”

“Why do men feel that they have to make decisions for women?” she growls at him, ripping her arm from his touch “I could have made that decision myself! I could have found out for myself if I wanted to be with you! But you didn’t give me that choice! You left me! And I loved you, Jon Snow. I loved you!”

“I fucked up, I’ll admit that. But we were teenagers, Sansa. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was heading to college, I was moving away and I finally thought I had everything sorted but you were messing all my plans up. When I was with you I wanted to stay, and I didn’t care about college or careers I just knew I loved you and I was scared” his words are a rush and Sansa looks up at him, wide eyed and trembling just a little.

“You loved me too?” her voice is quiet and almost a whisper and Jon feels a tremor roll through him when the red leaves above them whisper with her.

“I didn’t know what it was then. But I know it now” he tells her, but she shakes her head.

“But….but I tried to get in touch with you. I missed you terribly but Arya told me you’d moved on. How could you have loved me when you were with someone else?” He wants to tell her how he’d met her in a bar, how he’d approached her drunkenly because of her red hair. She had reminded him of Sansa, in his drunken blur. But when he was sober he understood they were nothing alike. He wants to tell her, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone as much as I love you. No matter who I’m with” is the answer he gives her instead.

“Jon” her voice is shaky but soft and he can see that tears form in her eyes as she looks at him.

He doesn’t know who makes the first move, but when he feels her body press to his and her lips on his lips he decides it doesn’t matter. She kisses him so lovingly that he’s afraid he’ll set aflame with the heat of it. Her back is pressed against the bark of the tree and once again the leaves rustle above them, making Jon shiver against her. He wants to go back in time and tell his younger self to never let her go, to never break her heart. But he knows that’s impossible and he’ll only drive himself mad with the what ifs. Instead he holds her close and hopes that by doing so he’ll make all her broken pieces click together again. He was so young and so dumb, and hadn’t been smart enough to realise that in her arms he had all he had ever wanted.

But as she sighs against his mouth and runs her fingers through his hair he knows. And he’ll never let her go again.

#jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsa fic

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takadasaiko · 6 years

Text

Breathe Again Beneath the Flames: Chapter Seven

FFN II AO3

Summary: Nez meets Solomon in the field for intel, Tom and Howard make an attempt at an honest conversation, and the Hargraves find something to truly unite them when they receive shocking news.

Chapter Seven

There had been a time when he had trusted her with everything: his life, his secrets, and even his company. She had been the one that had chosen to break away with him, to risk everything with him. The one that had given up a budding career in espionage because a little boy with big, blue eyes had become the center of her universe and the same one that had mourned with him when that little boy had vanished from their lives.

Howard hadn't known what to expect when he took Scottie to see Tom. He knew he didn't trust her now, but if he were honest he wasn't even sure he knew her anymore. She was determined to convince him that she hadn't been the one to take down his plane, that she was on his side with this. She had offered to combine their resources on the investigation into Ian Garvey and had made good on that by asking to send Nez in to meet with Solomon for an update. It could all be a game, a ploy. She had always been good, but the tentative truce that they shared at the moment had left them in better standing with the board and that had to count for something.

The one thing he was relatively certain he could rely on was that she would fight for their boy.

"I don't envy Tom's position between the two of you."

Howard snorted a laugh, not moving from his place in the doorway. Nez moved around him, leaning casually against the wall and offered the man in question a quick wave. Tom nodded, acknowledged her presence from where he was in the middle of physical therapy, Scottie chatting with the therapist next to him.

"She's a force to be reckoned with," he acknowledged, letting his gaze slide over to his most trusted operative. "It goes without saying that I need you to be careful with Solomon."

"Any reason I wouldn't be?"

"History."

"Like yours and Scottie's?"

"Ha," he grumbled and saw her smirk. "We're working through a web of lies, half-truths, and secrets, Nez. I need you focused."

"I'm focused. Tom's become…. family."

"I know he's earned your loyalty, but Solomon's is only to Scottie. Be careful."

She nodded and Howard loosed a breath. Nez pushed herself off the wall. "I've got a flight to catch. Just… don't start a war while I'm gone, boss?"

"Do my best," he promised. He was left leaning alone for several long moments, watching his son struggle through the therapy. He was doing better. Physically, mentally…. Howard knew that Nez and Dumont had been sharing intel with him, and as much as he wanted to keep him away from it, he wouldn't sit back and do nothing. That wasn't in his nature and never had been. The best hope they had was to curate the information he received, allowing him to feel useful in the investigation without pushing himself. It was a delicate balance, but one that he was relatively sure that Nez understood the importance of. Like she'd said, Tom had become family. He knew those words weren't uttered lightly with her.

Movement from across the room caught his attention and he saw Scottie making her way over. "He's made so much progress just in the last handful of weeks."

Howard quirked an eyebrow. "Taking credit for that?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were teasing me," she murmured in response, a hint of mischief in her dark eyes. Her expression sobered after half a beat and her voice softened. "I just mean that between his success here and the information Nez and Dumont have been feeding him -" Howard gave a short sound of acknowledgement at that one - "it's only a matter of time until he pushes harder."

"I've been think about that too."

"I think if we're going to continue with our present course of action that we need to be on the same page."

"Isn't that what's happening right now?" he asked warily.

"Howard, you and I have been working at this for months now. This isn't a business deal, this isn't an operation. This is our life."

"Get to your point, Scottie."

"Let's have dinner tonight. Just you and me. We'll-"

"Let me stop you there. My concern is making sure Tom gets out of this alive and as intact as he can be. Anything else is secondary and, Scottie, I'm not interested in giving you a chance to make a power play."

He didn't give her a chance to respond or to provide all of the excuses he knew she would have stored away. Little by little she had been trying to work in deeper and he would be damned if he let her get her claws into him again. There was too much at stake.

"What is a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?" a voice purred behind her and Nez Rowan smirked just a little.

"Some asshole said it was a good place to meet," she answered and turned on the bar stool to find that same asshole grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Hiya, Mattie."

"Nez, it's been a while."

She let her gaze drift down the length of his tailored suit. "You seem to be holding up just fine. Did you really think that would blend in in this dump?"

"My, working with Howard has made too judgy," he chuckled. "You haven't even tried their wings yet."

"Wings?"

"Mm." He motioned at the woman coming around the other end of the bar. "Lily, dear, we'll be at my table."

"Sure thing, Matt. Can I get you anything?" the waitress offered.

"The wings, apparently, and whatever's local on tap. It goes on his tab."

"Oh does it?" Solomon asked with a grin and flung his arm around Nez's shoulders, directing her towards the table in the corner. She was about to slide in across from where he appeared to have set up camp, but instead he pulled her into the booth with him. "Trust me. You'll like the view a lot better in about five minutes," he murmured directly into her ear. It would look like a flirt to anyone watching and she flashed a smile for show.

"What do you have for us?"

"Why, you have somewhere to be?"

"My flight in a couple of hours."

"He is keeping you on a tight leash." He leaned, digging his phone out of his pocket and he punched in the code before showing her photos of a dock. He flipped through them and Nez saw the same woman appearing every few shots.

"Who is she?"

"Li Zhou," he said very lowly. "She's responsible for coordinating and overseeing the Nash Syndicate's incoming product from all over the world."

"And you think you can use her to get to him?" Nez asked.

"One of my paths in. You know me, I like to keep my options open."

"The only one left standing," she mused and watched as the bell on the door drew his attention.

"You could set your clock by him," Solomon mused and scooted over ever so slightly.

As Nez followed she realized she could see through one of the decorative holes in the back of the booth in front of them. The seating arrangement made more sense now. "Is that-?"

"Yes it is. Not that he's done a great deal of any interest yet. They do say patience is a virtue."

Nez settled back and out of the line of sight through the small hole. She leaned in so that she could speak quietly. "You know, Tom thought he could be a cop. He said that he knew he'd run something through a federal database."

"What, Keen didn't see the badge as the man was gutting him?"

Nez snorted, but she didn't have a chance to respond as the waitress brought the wings and beers, replacing Solomon's mostly empty glass. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do," Solomon promised with a wink that had her rolling her eyes and laughing at him.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Nez asked, Not able to hide the amusement from her voice.

"I've been told I'm charming." He stole one of the wings.

"Really? They live long enough to say it?"

"Well, they would if they did," he chuckled and he motioned at the basket of wings. "C'mon, you're not leaving until you try them."

She shook her head and grabbed for one of the sauce covered wings. "I've missed you, Mattie."

"I know." He laughed when she jammed her elbow into his ribs, and when he spoke his voice was too soft for anyone but her to hear. "I've missed you too."

He tapped his knuckles against the door of the tiny little room that Howard had claimed as his office, drawing his father's attention to him as he did. Clear blue eyes darted up, softening just a little as they recognized the visitor. "Tom, everything alright?"

"Yeah, just wanted to see if you had a sec," the younger man managed and Howard nodded immediately.

"Of course. Come in, sit down. Did you make it all the way over here without the cane?"

Tom felt his lips tilt upward on one side only and he leaned his head a little as he spoke. "Don't tell the doctors," he murmured and it took a moment, but he thought he saw the barest of smirks on Howard's face. He sank gratefully into his seat, watching him, and there was something about the way that he was studying him. There was curiosity there, but there was also hesitation, almost like he was stopping himself from going to far with it. "You know," Tom ventured after a long moment, "Liz likes to tease me about how focused I can get. She says that if I'm zeroing in on something that an explosion could happen and it'd never rattle me."

Howard chuckled softly at that. "I could see that being the case."

"Yeah…. I never really put a lot of thought into where I got that from before. It just was part of me. It's kept me alive over the years, and after these months, I think I have you to thank for it."

His father didn't respond that that, but there was a shift in his gaze and sat back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable point.

"I'm just saying," Tom continued, "that as good as it can be and as many times as it has saved my life in really tight spots…. Liz taught me there's more than just that."

One grey eyebrow quirked up. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm working too hard, Tom?" he asked, amusement lining his voice.

The lopsided smile returned and he turned, rolling his eyes just a little. "I'm trying to figure out where I belong in all of this. You, Scottie… I don't know. I'm just wondering if you're so focused on whatever enemies you're after that you're seeing them when they're not there."

"So not working too hard, just paranoid."

"Comes with the job."

"It does," Howard said slowly, "and sometimes it sharpens the sense to danger."

"You still haven't told me what it is about her past that makes her so dangerous."

He watched the shift in his gaze and he hadn't thought Howard could close off any more. It was strange, but he'd retreated even further since Scottie had come to the base. If he loosened up around her while they were out, Tom had no way to know, but there he was stern and locked down. He was nothing like Scottie had once described him once.

Brilliant, playful, charming, a terrible flirt.

In the time that Tom had seen his parents, these people that he'd thought had thrown him away most of his life, he'd only seen them try to sabotage each other, torture each other, and outwit each other. There was nothing of what Scottie had described or that wistful look that she'd had while describing it, but Tom did think that he recognized the look that Howard held onto. He'd seen it in Liz's eyes years ago when she was convinced that it had all been a lie.

"It's complicated."

"I have an IQ of 173. I think I can manage."

Howard chuckled at that. "This never had anything to do with your intelligence, Tom."

"Just about the secrets you guys keep." Tom sighed, slouching down in his chair. This was the man that hadn't hesitated to tell him that he thought the Scottie running Halcyon wasn't the same Scottie that he'd married. He had made sure that he went on an op to prove to him that the tech was real and spun a story about a double without blinking an eye. If he believed it or or just needed to use Tom then, the younger man still wasn't entirely sure, but there was certainly something different about the way he went at his secrets about Scottie now. He kept them closer, like a promise he didn't dare break. In a way it reminded him of Reddington and his damn suitcase full of bones, but like Reddington, there was always a better than even chance the past would creep back in and cause trouble for the present. Another quiet breath left him. "It's not like Scottie's exactly forthcoming about it either, so at least you can agree on that."

"Another thing you come by naturally then?" The amusement faded just a little as Howard leaned forward, his gaze focused on his son. "Alright, Tom. You've spent some time with her here. She knows who you are now. Do you trust your mother?"

He didn't answer right away, letting the question weigh on him. It wasn't an easy one for him or for Howard, he knew, and it deserved an honest answer. Especially if he was hoping for one in return. "Trust is something that has to build," he said carefully.

"Something else Liz taught you?"

A soft smile pulled his lips. "Yeah, she did. Hard learned, but we got there."

"I'll tell you a secret, son. You and Liz are the outliers in our business."

"Maybe, but even if Scottie is angling at something, dinner won't kill you. Maybe it'll give you a better idea where you guys stand."

He watched Howard watching him for a long moment and finally the older Hargrave raised his hands, palms outward like he was surrendering. "Alright."

"Yeah?"

"I may not trust her, but I do trust you. If you think this will help, we'll give it a go."

Tom blinked, a little surprised he gave that easily.

Howard stood, rounding the desk. "I've never been good at this, Tom. Trust or…. well any of this. Scottie and I are both good at playing the parts, but it gets… muddled when thing get real. I know I don't say it well, may not even show it well, but you…. You've grown into a better man than either of us could have ever hoped for. I want you to know that."

"If she turns out to be using us both I'm never gonna live this down, am I?" Tom asked with a short laugh.

It took a moment for Howard to catch up to the tease flashed an actual full smile. "No."

Tom grinned, the expression feeling strange after so long, but not wrong. He still felt the weight of missing Liz and Agnes in every breath he drew, but the last weeks had helped. He finally felt like he was making progress, both physically and with figuring out where he stood with Scottie and Howard. He couldn't say he trusted them entirely, there was too much there, but he was starting to, and that was further than he would have ever thought the could get at the beginning of this.

Scottie was fairly certain that Tom was responsible for changing Howard's mind. How he had done it so quickly - or even why - was still a mystery, but not one that she felt the need to unravel before sitting down with Howard that night.

She hadn't been sure what to expect from the dinner. Howard had been vague, saying that if she really felt like they should meet then it should be that night. They flew out for a board meeting bright and early the next morning. So when she rounded the corner into the room connected to the kitchen and found a bottle of wine and a nice dinner set out she was more than a little surprised. And suspicious, but that came with the territory. "Did you cook?"

"I didn't poison anything," Howard promised lightly as he worked at the cork.

"Did you think I would?" Scottie asked, her heels clicking lightly as she moved to the table. Her dark gaze swept over it. He hadn't cooked like this in years, and if he had it certainly hadn't been for her.

"Maybe not intentionally."

"That was one time," Scottie argued and she saw the teasing look in his eyes. No, this was not at all what she had expected.

"Have a seat. I promised Tom I'd be civil and I intend to keep my word to him on that."

"This is above and beyond civil, Howard," she murmured as she pulled the chair out and sat down.

He tipped the wine bottle so that it poured into the glasses, but didn't say anything until he took a seat. "Nez met with Solomon. He has eyes on Garvey."

"One of his leads is panning out then," Scottie murmured, cutting into the chicken on her plate.

"I can't express how important it is to approach this with caution."

"Really? I was thinking about the direct approach to take down the man with a Marshal's badge to protect him."

Howard chuckled at that. "He really is a lot like us," he mused. "Tom, I mean. We were discussing focus earlier and he said that Liz used to give him hell over it."

Scottie smiled behind her wine glass. "I remember when he was little how it was a game of which one of you was more stubborn than the other. He would sit outside of your office until you came out or he would fall asleep. He refused to go to bed until you told him goodnight."

She watched Howard's expression soften at the memory. "Stubbornness from me, snarky nature from you…. imagine if we'd raised him," he took a bite from his plate.

The images played over in her mind and Scottie pushed at them. "Has he told you how he grew up?"

"In the system for a while. McCready took him after that."

Scottie bristled. Tom hadn't spoken to her at length about his upbringing, but between what she already knew about the St Regis organization and the few things Tom had said, she knew that the strange childhood he might have had growing up with his parents would have been a ray of sunshine next to what he went through with the man he still referred to as Bud.

The conversation halted as her phone buzzed and she reached for it.

"You may be the only one with a signal in the whole base," Howard mused, his tone just shy of accusing.

Scottie gave him a taunting smirk before glancing down at the text.

"Scottie?"

It took a moment for her to realize she was staring blankly at the phone. "Elizabeth Keen is awake," she breathed out, feeling her chest tighten and she looked up to see Howard's expression mirroring what she could only imagine her own must look like.

A long moment passed before Howard repositioned himself in his seat. "Tom's not ready."

"No." She looked at the phone again as if somehow the message had changed. "If he finds out there won't be any stopping him."

Howard nodded, taking a long drink from his glass. "Delete the text. Wipe it yourself. This doesn't leave us."

She nodded in agreement, one quick glance at the words before they were cast out into nothingness. They had to be careful moving forward. If he found out too soon, this would all go wrong faster than they could stop it.

Notes:

Oh the Hargraves. Making bad life choices, but at least they're making them together?

I wanted so badly to make a preview set for Jennifer showing up, because I was very excited to see her when that scene laid out in this chapter. I didn't expect her nearly this early, but if I'm honest, that's been the story of Solomon's arc for me. 'Oh, well okay, if that's how you want to take it I guess we'll go there' lol. I was going through my notes yesterday evening on the writing to make sure I hadn't missed anything and realized that a plot point I thought was still a ways out needed to happen either within the chapter I'm currently writing or the next one at the very latest to make everything work our. I love how it's all coming together.

I hope you guys are having a great Wednesday and that the show doesn't shatter us too badly tonight. Please feel free to leave your thoughts! Your feedback seriously makes my day.

Next time:

Tom gets a gift that will allow him to push his limits a bit more and Liz meets Scottie Hargrave.

#the blacklist #au fanfiction #Breath Again Beneath the Flames #Tom Keen #Scottie Hargrave #Howard Hargrave #Matias Solomon #Nez Rowan

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