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kthynes · 2 years ago

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husband for hire (3)

18+

previously

You tour Lloyd’s home where you lose sleep and gorge on an endless selection of wine. But with misery comes company.

warnings: course language, violence, mentions of blood, heavy alcohol consumption. Mentions of past affiliations and traumas. Sassy reader. Patient soft!Lloyd.

word count: ~2.9k

authors note: thank you to those who’ve been pouring in their support for this little mishmash series. It’s been giving me the right push to write so I love you all to the sun, moon and stars xxx

This has not been beta’d - mistakes are my own

“Wow.” You gawk, blinded by polished marble flooring and prismatic chandeliers. There isn’t a speck of dust floating around. Every nook was pristine, almost uninhabited. Whereas you waltzed in, out of place, from rag to riches. This was meant to be your Cinderella story.

A soft click shuts the door behind you as Lloyd huffs, slowly undoing his cummerbund.

“What do you think?” He perpetuates, letting the pleated sash swish and cut through the air.

“You have a very beautiful home.” You politely add.

“I’m glad you think so.” Lloyd tyrants a genuine smile that is almost saccharine. You wanted to melt into the linoleum that very instant. “Come through, I’ll give you a quick tour.”

You nod, following him like a docile house cat as he turns every corridor with ease. He shows you the Michelin restaurant grade kitchen, the living room, theatre room, backyard, the entourage of house guards outback, your own butler, Jeeves, your maid, Maria. He shows you every closet, cupboard, nook and corner. In return you’re in awe of all the plants, fauna and paintings he’s bought off auction. There’s a room for everything imaginable and now there’s a room for you.

“This is where you’ll be.” He opens the unlatched double doors to reveal a platinum, all white suite.

“I could’ve easily taken the couch.” You state, casually eying the orthopaedic California king that floated in the middle of the room.

“You’re my guest.” He ensures. “You stay where I tell you to stay.”

“Is this where I kneel for the master?” You grit, swiveling to meet your crafty assailant eye to eye. There's that unnerving sass that doesn’t miss a beat. Lloyd knew how to break even.

“Only if you submit.” He sexually deviates in a tone that zings your core.

“Know your place.” You look him up and down before stepping into the room that is far from welcoming and close to an asylum of some sort.

“Sergio will get the rest of your things so that way you’ll feel more at home.” Lloyd explains when you aimlessly wander a barren corner that leads up to an illustrious walk in. You’re slightly appreciative but aghast.

“Wait, what about Cujo?”

“Cujo?” Lloyd tries his hardest not to laugh.

“My blue Merle.” You affirm and he relieves a sound ‘ahh.’ “Y’know, an Australian Shepherd.”

“He’s more than welcome here.” He smiles. It’s fake. Lloyd hates dogs. He’s not fond of Rooster the house cat that slithers through the back gates every so often. But for you the world was liminal. “Anything else?”

“This can’t be forever.” You spar with a sideways look.

“I know and there’ll be an end to all of this. But ultimately that’s your call to make mi Luna.” He simply states, rolling the ball back into your corner. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have some… business to deal with.” He pauses, poker faced.

“Do you think you’ll be OK?”

“In a house all to myself?” You fold your arms across your chest, tapping a foot that is ready to run.

“One is enough company.” He reminds you while unbuckling his watch links. There’s a tiny little smirk gracing the corners of his mouth.

“You’re telling me?” You theorize, disgusted by your own life lasting singleness. Lloyd easily takes to your self deprecating tendencies. He believes you’re perfect and cruel. He’d change the latter.

“Let’s be good alright?” He requests, sounding jovially lighthearted. The gold link watch lands on top of the large oak armoire as a reminder, shifting the silence once again.

“Will I see you?” Did you want to?

“I’ll be around.” He’s nonplussed and you wanted to swing at him. “Goodnight, mi Luna.”

***

You lost count of sheep and wound down a flight of stairs that led you through a dark abyss. The house help was sound asleep while your disquietude kept you awake.

Every step there was a door and past that door there was light shining in from a sheer lined window. In the midst of your nightly conquest you were rocking back a bottle of imported red wine, embittered by the dry, full bodied taste of it all. Lloyd had an exquisite selection of wines to choose from. Mostly unopened and sitting pretty in an above ground cellar. He was a connoisseur and you took advantage, considering the fact that you didn’t drink at the wedding. So why not now!

“Fucking shit.” You gargle after taking another forceful swig. The pint swished in your grasp, echoing through the corridor. Time was ticking to a steady pulse. Slow torture became exodus as you could hear pained, muffled cries coming from one of the many closed doors.

“Please.” They agonize in a symphony you’re too familiar with. “Please.”

Your feet trail up. There’s one door where light pools from under. The pleas become gradual, calling out to you like a siren.

“I promise it won't happen again. Please Lloyd.” The man’s voice cracks. There are many moments in your life that parallel this instance. Your father being the true culprit and successor to the cause. Pain, infliction and chaos. “I didn’t mean for it to happen… those men.. they…”

Your eyes fall shut, brows drawn together. You stand right in front of the door that could shatter upon impact, awaiting your turn with fear and uncertainty.

Something abysmal spins you out. The gallant murmurs are a muck. The soured wine churns in your stomach when there’s a pitfall of silence. You’re so far too self absorbed to notice the door creak open. Someone clears their throat. You flutter your eyes open to see a looming Sicilian man, armored in Dior and Kevlar.

He’s cast with a grave look, squaring you off in militant form. You’re bewildered, paled by the laser-like focus Lloyd has on you from behind the giant. You don’t look at him. How could you?

“Mi Luna.” He husks in a tone so deathly low. Don’t answer, Y/N.

The man who’s kneecapped, huffing and puffing, looks over his shoulder. Your eyes meet and it’s telepathic. He’s grateful, relieved by your unexpected appearance. You scowl through the full effects of costly red wine and audacity, trying to sound somewhat unaffected. You weren’t there for anyone.

“Is there a bathroom around here?” You calmly inquire as if you weren’t caught eavesdropping on an execution. Lloyd’s countenance tightens, anger was a fleeting understatement. But his oversight changes as the fireplace crackles and casts a warm glow, whipping the tense silence into a heated ordeal.

“Two doors down, to your right.” He finally presses. His men soundlessly idled around, not a step out of place. They don’t look at you the way Lloyd does with his smoldering gaze.

You slowly back away, inscribed with disappointment. The heaving man bows his head in defeat, knowing his fate was dealt with. “Andre.”

And in that moment the door was shut on your face. Unanimous to your reservations.

A million thoughts to one.

Your walk back is short when you hear gunshots go off for the first time after a long time. It’s shattering. It’s abrupt. Enough for you to instinctively scamper up a random flight of stairs and fall into a room that’s not yours. Dark walls, light wood furniture, the familiar scent of bergamot infused aftershave. You knew you were entrapped in his room when the harnessing safety lock clicks.

“Fuck.” You jiggle the knob again, not knowing the adjustment and push method. “Fuuuuuck.”

“We’ll take care of the rest, boss.“ Sebastian calmly assures Lloyd who tempers his breathing and studies the lifeless man before him. The last few minutes were a crucial struggle. He had to make sure.

“He’s getting there anyways.” Seb was right. There’s a small halo of blood forming around the head and that was enough to sinister some realization as Lloyd turns to his longtime associate in crime.

“Do it before I get back and make sure my rug stays intact. Got it?” Lloyd was delirious. He ran out of the study before he could acknowledge a ‘yes sir.’

Some part of his possessive, ruddering conscience wanted to make sure you were OK. As fear takes a paralleling whirlwind, you could hear his Italian sharp toed shoes tap up the stairway. It’s no shock that he barges into your room first and doesn’t find you there.

“Y/N!” He hollers down the corridor before pushing open his room door, the final unchecked space. He pauses in mid-action, seeing your hardened resolve at standoff. “I—“ Relief is scornful and there’s no othering after fact.

“Was I supposed to see that?” You point with the half empty bottle in hand, completely glassy eyed. His jaw ticks.

“No.” He answers. “And you won’t have to if you—“

“Oh fuck you. Fuck you!” You scream, letting all the veins in your neck come out for show. Lloyd shuffles on his feet, inhaling a sharp intake of breath while lightly shutting the door behind him. He’s had moments like this rehearsed so talking you down from it wasn’t unexpected. More so gut wrenching.

“Who do you think I am?” He calmly asks in a way that is compliant yet arbitrary.

“Someone better than this, I’d hope.” Why do you care?

“Yeah right. My hands have been covered in blood since the day I was born.” He scoffs, circling the room like a prowling vulture. You open your mouth to interject. He’s quick witted and drawl, stopping dead in his tracks. “Don’t ask me to change if you’re your fathers daughter. Ya hear?”

“That’s where you and I are different. I don’t kill for a living.” You say on your high horse.

“That’s right. You’re just an elementary school teacher with her panties in a twist.” He sardonically responds.

“How’d you—“ your brows furrow.

“I used to work for your father, remember?” He adds, scratching his temple that slightly throbs. “… Always had my eyes on you.” Lloyd mumbles to himself, well under his breath.

“What happened?”

“Everything unimaginable.” You look at him dubiously. He sighs, deflated and not willing enough to further speculate. “Are you OK?”

“Could be better.” You grumble.

“How’s the wine?” He inquires, dropping his gaze to the tip of your fingers that barely cling onto the bottle.

“Good. Could do with another.” You shrug upon inspection.

He chuckles, cocking his head to the side. “Let’s go then.”

You try not to flinch but something so magnanimous kept you drawn in, nodding at his ingenious requital.

“I know just the one that’ll put you to sleep.” He absently adds while rolling up his sleeves.

***

Nebbiolo.

That was the wine pairing that had you half lidded and slovenly dead weight.

The kitchen countertop, made of finite marble, felt cool against your warm, flushed skin. You took purchase and laid your head down sideways while Lloyd kept pouring a steady hand of whisky for himself.

“I’m not drunk.” You hum, watchful of him.

“Good.” He takes his first sip which then turns into a hasty gulp. Another guzzling pour and that’s when you wince. “Wouldn’t want you to be.”

There’s a jab.

“Would you, um, ever hurt me?” You inquire, eyes screwed shut, unbearing the thought.

“No.” His answer is simple but interchangeable. “Although I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’ve seen worse.” You scoff.

Lloyd is remorseful, knowing that his scars were once wounds too. He’s watched your father. Learned the best of the worst from him. Which in turn is why he can’t shake off the ‘death tilt’ — a stunt your father would pull after every kill. It was the same reason why Lloyd couldn’t look at you the same way for the past hour or so. Flashes of his past pained him to inflict the same irreverence. You didn’t deserve to feel the same motions of sadness or guilt like he did. But your tumultuous resignation tells him otherwise.

“I was practically raised in a slaughterhouse, so you never get used to it.”

“Emotional numbness.” He clicks his tongue and refills his glass up again. You frown. “Gotcha.”

“You should take it easy on the Tennessee.”

“I’ll worry about that.” Lloyd hisses, downing another heavy handed peg.

“Fine, don’t listen to your fiancée then.” You huff while propping yourself off the barstool. The room spins when you make the landing, a steady hand grips onto the counter as a safety precaution.

“What’re you doing?”

“Going to bed. Duh?” You shake your head that worsens your state of vertigo.

“Great. Lemme take you up.” He challenges.

“I’m perfectly capable. Thanks.” You watch him guzzle an entire pint in one go, lacerated by his inhumane ability to do so. He finally swings the bottle away from his mouth and hisses. There’s a bit left that he doesn’t bother finishing off.

“That’s not how I see it.” He sniffs, consciously condescending.

“So what? You’re going to constantly be at my neck now?” You muse with disbelief.

“Pretty much.”

“This arrangement,” you pause and shift your focus, keen on knowing. “What’s in it for you… the most eligible bachelor in the tri state area?”

Lloyd makes a face and scoffs to himself. There’s something unheard of.

“You, uh, remember the night of your 21st birthday?” He drags a hand over his face, the bags under his eyes are pulled down when you don’t.

“Vaguely.” You remembered a good time. That’s about it.

“You got shitfaced at a gentlemen's club your father owned and prohibited you from. I had to haul your ass into a yellow cab.” He recites the scandal.

There was heavy intel and a night hunt to get you home. At the time, your father had trusted Lloyd to be on your case, unwittingly being your shadow and protector. He was one of your fathers wordless men who took orders and then fell out. And yet somehow life came in full circle.

“But with you, it never stopped there.”

Ah yes the Paloma incident, Bar 61 and not to mention the Aspen escapade. All major life events that Lloyd has seen and endeavored. It’s no wonder that you were, in fact, your fathers biggest pain in the ass. But Lloyd being this available meant that he knew more about you than you had led on and that, in itself, was unnerving.

“God, how old are you?” You howl, eyes wider than dinner plates. It’s common knowledge that Lloyd’s only a few years older than you. Although he wasn’t about to pull out his I.D for proof.

“Old enough.” He rolls his eyes, tongue in cheek.

“Well I’m sorry I put you through all that.” You stupify, unconvinced. “And thank you for your service but you didn’t answer—“

“Reparations.” He gestures to you and him. A rough sigh escapes your lips. “We’re playing a game here, tit for tat. Might as well have fun with it.”

“Look, we don’t have to do this.” You reiterate, pausing at the foot of the stairwell. Moonlight cascades from the sky roof. Lloyd grins, methodical in understanding your psyche.

“Always doubling down. Nice.” He leans against the railing for support, stifling a burp that comes up.

“I’m just giving you an out.” You parry at half his height.

“Yeah because you’re afraid.”

“And I have every right to be!”

“Well, whatever it is that we’re trying to achieve here, takes a lot of trust and understanding.” He explains. You could hear the reasoning, sound and clear.

“I guess so.”

“Either way, you’re going to have to let me in, mi Luna.” He bows forward, quizzically in tune.

“You need to stop calling me that.” You despised pet names and this one came from the jump.

“Not a chance.” He chuckles in all honesty and it’s a first. “It suits you.”

You lull your head to the side. “Now you’re doing the most.”

“Whatever it takes, right?” He stands upright, obnoxiously grunting in stance.

There wasn’t much to say until he finally looked you dead in the eyes. You’re obliterated by his wildly inquisitive gaze that holds you captive. You felt an unspeakable magnetism that shields you from reality. He takes a small, swaying step forward, off balance and self assured. You tuck your chin in as a way to show some restraint. It’s surmountable that Lloyd’s grown fond of you, becoming soft under the guise of alcohol. If you’d known better you would’ve spiked all his drinks just to hear him hem and haw. But then your sight falters and there’s a permeable scowl on the seam of your lips. He takes notice of this as well.

“What?” He quirks, truly insulted.

“You’re bleeding.” You point to the split brow, jaded with some discern.

“I am?” He touches the wound and looks down at his red tinged fingers. “Damn, didn’t feel a thing.”

“Yeah whiskey does that.” You sigh, “Here let me—“

“S’kay, I’ll take care of it.” He refuses your measly help. “…Now as much as I appreciate your uncalled for concern, my business is my problem.” He flips the script on you and that’s expected.

“Okay.” You agree for the sake of agreeing.

“And one rule opposed to your many rules is that I hurt who I want to hurt. Do I make myself clear?” He convicts on his own obstructed moral ground and for that, you don’t question the puppet master.

“Fine by me, really.” You shrug. “I can hold my own.”

“Disputable.” You’re appalled. Lloyd finds it cute. “Just go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes sir.” You mockingly two-finger salute him. He laughs while trudging up the staircase. Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What?”

“How does it feel to finally submit?” He jokes from the top step, casting a smug grin in your direction.

“Oh fuck off.”

#chris evans #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x reader #mafia!lloyd x you #mafia!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen #series: husband for hire

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lassieposting · 2 years ago

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God though, reluctant single dad Vesemir. Vesemir who openly dislikes children, Vesemir who leaves a kid in the woods with the remains of his dead family even though he knows there's something else out there, Vesemir who refers to baby witchers as "abandoned little tragedies", Vesemir whose response to being told he's to teach them to fence is "Am I being punished?"

And suddenly he's the last wolf left. His whole pack is dead and he's got a litter of already-mutated pups to look after that won't get taken in anywhere else. He's completely responsible for the next generation, and children need so many things. He has to learn on the fly that it's not just feeding them and clothing them and teaching them to fight. It's getting up every night for Geralt's night terrors about the Trial and the Sacking, because he's five and he doesn't know how to self-soothe and nobody else is going to do it. It's watching Lambert hurt himself and the other boys in his rages, because he's so mad at the hand life dealt him and he doesn't know how to handle it, and having to figure out how to teach him to channel his anger some other way because that kind of blind fury will get him killed. It's answering a thousand and one "But why?" questions without putting a sword through Eskel because he wants to be good and that is a quality that needs nurturing even if it's annoying as fuck.

None of this is natural to him. He's not a kid person. He's grieving, too, for everyone he ever cared for and the trust he gave his father figure who betrayed him. He's sarcastic and impatient and he fucks up badly, so many times, with these lonely, traumatised little boys. He has to learn to apologise, and forgive, and love them even though he never wanted them to be his responsibility, even though they've basically taken his life from him - the adventuring, the monster-slaying, the coin and the women and the fame - because raising brats is a 24/7/365 job that keeps him tied to Kaer Morhen. He has to learn not to resent them for a life they didn't choose. He has to learn to make them feel like part of a family, because he can't afford to have them abandon Witchering at the first opportunity.

And somehow, it works. His pups grow up, and become Witchers themselves, and he sends them out into the world and breathes a sigh of relief every time one comes back safe. Grieves as best he can whenever one doesn't. Geralt makes him a grandfather, which is not something he ever thought he'd want even with a Witcher's long lifespan, but he loves the bones of that girl. He sees Geralt trying so hard to do better by Ciri than was ever done by him - he's not sure where the hell Geralt got that from, that soft streak that training never quite beat out of him - and the other boys rally round to help him raise his lion cub as a wolf so much faster than he thought they would, and he knows he did something right. And more than that, he's somehow managed to do away with some of the stigma the generations of Witchers before him passed down. Geralt isn't afraid to be gentle with Ciri. He's kind and understanding and supportive towards her, he has to be reminded not to prioritise her wellbeing over finding Leshen!Eskel, he's calm and patient and comforting when her trauma is playing up. It's such a far cry from the completely detached, "numbers game" attitude of the generations before Vesemir, and even from Vesemir's own attitude towards recruits as a young man. He's done exactly what his mentor asked him to do. He raised better, more scrupulous Witchers. He raised better men.

idk man I just have a lot of feelings about Vesemir after NOTW okay

#the witcher #netflix witcher #vesemir #nightmare of the wolf #breaking the cycle of intergenerational trauma my beloved #the witcher headcanons #the witcher meta #kaer morons

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hyperesthesias · 2 months ago

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Permanently Together

Summary: Patients together in Dr. Caligari's psychiatric facility, Cesare and Jane escaped and attempted to make a new life for themselves. But unable to cope with what happened to them, Cesare leaves in the middle of the night, not knowing he has a son with Jane.

Rating: T

Warnings: Modern AU; PTSD; narcolepsy; hospitals, unplanned pregnancy; muteness; love triangle; references to sexual abuse; psychosis; sleepwalking (...obviously); angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 11,849.

Reading Music: Shake the Disease by Depeche Mode; Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind; Everything Changes by Staind; Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron&Wine.

AO3 LINK

Cesare was always his favorite. Cesare never cried or complained, he never talked back or said anything against the Doctor – he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Cesare was mute, except for on occasion, and even then, the words never really came out right. He stopped speaking when he was a kid, he told me once. He didn’t tell me exactly why, but he said it was the night his parents died, and ever since, the words just won’t come out. It’s never been a problem; we find other ways to talk, he writes, we sign together, we gesture vaguely. It all makes sense in the end. I told him once that I’ve never thought less of him because of the way he struggles. He told me that not everyone is so kind. We both knew that to be true.

Doctor Caligari was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but he was an expert at hiding it. Not that anyone really cared about an orphan like Cesare, or a psychotic like I was. It’s easy to get lost between the cracks when people aren’t looking out for you to begin with. But we got each other through the harder years – through the abuse, and the lies and manipulation, through the trial and sentencing. It didn’t matter how bad things got, Cesare and I believed each other, we were real.

I was sent to Doctor Caligari by my father for a bad case of general anxiety, and left with acute psychosis and more trauma than when I first went in. There are a lot of things I won’t talk about, but however bad I had it, Cesare had it worse. He was his favorite. There were mornings at the hospital when Cesare would tell me, in his own way, that he felt different – that there were patches from the night before that he remembered, and some he didn’t. He eventually decided, after some bits and pieces started coming together, that it was better he didn’t remember everything completely. I told him he was lucky – I remembered everything.

After the trial, the Doctor’s patients – who were still alive – were awarded monetary compensation for their misery. Nothing, no amount of money, could ever make what happened any better. It was almost an insult. But when I asked Cesare what he wanted to do with his newfound riches, he told me he wanted to do everything in his power to put the past behind him. That meant going to school. We were both in our early twenties at the time, most of our peers were already graduating. Everyone felt so far ahead of us, but then again, not everyone was locked in a hospital with a murdering-rapist-doctor, so I guess we deserved a little slack.

I went with him to university, I didn’t know what else to do. Cesare had dreams, he had goals – he knew exactly what degree he wanted and what he was going to do with it: he was going to get a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts and become a graphic designer. He was always drawing, every minute he was awake, which sometimes, wasn’t that often. The stress of school flared his narcolepsy, and at times he missed classes or slept right through them. But he kept going, he kept fighting. He wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way – ‘Not anymore’, he said.

But me? I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t want anything to do with my father; he and Caligari were friends, and my father trusted him to do the right thing. But after everything, after telling him that I was getting worse, after him telling me that it always gets worse before it gets better…He didn’t understand. And Caligari made sure I couldn’t communicate the way I needed to – that I couldn’t get help. It wasn’t my father’s fault. But at the time, I was still just raw and angry.

I opted for a business degree. It seemed the easiest degree to get besides psychology – and there was no way either me or Cesare were going anywhere near that department, even within a ten foot radius. I went through the motions, did my work, got an internship at a consolidation firm, joined a golfing club, every day hoping that things would feel better, that one day I’d wake up and feel like Elle Woods instead of, well, me.

We got an apartment together. We slept in separate rooms. Cesare didn’t like being touched after…everything. I couldn’t say I felt much different.

When you look back on things, everything feels so much clearer – you can see the upward progression of change. But when you’re in it, it feels so linear, so stagnant. But I was happy then, we both were. Living with my best friend, finally focusing on something other than everything that had been done to me. He made life make sense again, he was a constant and a joy. Everything felt new again, everything felt brighter – even the mundane. Even the sooty city air felt fresher. It was good. I just wish I’d been able to feel how good it was in the moment. But that’s the curse of healing: you can’t tell it’s happening as it happens. You just have to wait. Wait for things to scab over while you’re going through the motions. But you can’t ever stop doing the motions. Or you’ll stop altogether.

Cesare started to burn out by the third or fourth year. He denied it, but I knew him. I knew him well enough to know the look in his eye when he wasn’t feeling himself.

‘I can’t ever stop,’ he told me – half in sign, half in oddly formed words. ‘If I stop, then everything will catch up to me. I have to keep running. I can’t stop running.’

“Running is just going to make you tired,” I said.

“Jane –” he always says my name. It’s the one word he can get out with clarity. ‘What else am I supposed to do?’

“Take care of yourself.” We were sitting on the couch, my legs were resting over his, his tablet on my knees. As the years went on, we became more intimate with our physical barriers. “I’m not telling you to stop, Cheese. I’m just saying you need rest.”

‘I’ve had enough of rest. I can’t stay awake.’

“I don’t mean sleep. I just mean don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He sighed and looked away from me. “Jane…” he shook his head.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m not trying to argue.” I ran my hand through his hair, and he turned back to me. “I love you. I don’t want to see you suffer.”

He took another breath and nodded as he held my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I love you, too,” he said, as best as he could. The effort makes it all the more sincere.

He slept next to me that night. It was cold, neither one of us like being cold – it feels sterile and oppressive. It feels better waking up next to someone you feel safe with, and I was happy he felt safe.

The next morning was better, I could see he felt a little lighter. He told me he was playing hooky that day and was going to skip classes. He’d run out of eyeliner and asked to borrow mine; we went shopping together. Menial tasks are more healing than people give them credit for, especially when they’re with someone you love. The opportunity to do something normal when you’ve felt and been so abnormal for so long is one of the more reaffirming things for a broken person. He smiled a lot that day.

There has always been something so beautiful about Cesare. His effortless laugh when swatching eyeshadow palettes, as I tease him and tell him how pale he is — like white cheddar Cheese. The way his eyes take in everything around him, like a bird observing the world from far away. I stood and watched him choose peaches from the produce aisle, and I can’t recall seeing anyone so beautiful; so gentle with something so tender in his hands, he brushed it against his face and smelled it, almost like he was kissing it. He leaves a softness wherever he goes.

A lot of people don’t know what to do with softness. They’re told softness doesn’t survive – that it’s anathema to endurance. But they’re wrong. Softness is the only way to survive. It’s the only way you don’t break under the pressure and the torment. Only the soft survive. Everyone else just lingers.

This was especially clear to me. Once I was good enough at golf, I was invited into a golfing group from my consolidation internship. It was a business opportunity, I told myself. And it was. It was also a chance to reassimilate into the real world. They were nothing like me, and it felt like learning an entirely new language, new mannerisms, as if I were morphing into a different species. But it just felt like I was straying away from what I loved – who I loved. I continued this uphill trend of opportunities, and meanwhile, Cesare seemed to get worse by the week. He started falling behind in his studies, and the more he fell behind, the less motivated he was to keep going.

He started self-destructing. Especially with smoking — ‘It’s the painless way to die’, he told me. We argued a lot. We never argued before that. He told me once that he was worried he’d never be good enough for me – I told him that there wasn’t anything anyone could do, anyone, that could make that true. I remember his face as I said it; like I’d reached into his heart and pulled it out, like I’d placed a kiss on its raw flesh. Everything Caligari had done to him, everything that he’d been made to do, was finally catching up to him and he couldn’t run fast enough to escape it. I couldn’t hold that against him.

Suddenly all of our plans together seemed more distant than they were when we’d first conceived them: that somehow we’d go into business together, I’d manage a company and he’d design for it; that we’d move somewhere else altogether and finally start even fresher; that maybe we’d get married, that maybe the way we loved each other now would only grow.

I wanted to stay, I wanted to sit with him through however long this agony would stay weighted on him like a blanket. I told him that.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

‘I know you won’t,’ he said, ‘But I want you to. I’m not getting better. I won’t be the one to bring you down with me. You deserve better than that.’

We were in bed together. Completely in bed together – vulnerable and coming down from the high. It wasn’t the first time we’d been together, but it was the last.

He was gone the next morning. His essentials were gone, his tablet was gone…The photograph of us at the fair, the first time we’d done anything outside the hospital in years, was gone. I tried filing a police report, but there was nothing they could do, he left on his own, and he’d all but told me that he would. I tried looking for him, I went to all the spots he loved: the cafe on the park corner, the library on the other side of town, the mall with the really big fountain he loved. But no matter where I looked, he wasn’t there. A part of me – however small it may have been – started to wonder if I’d made him up. That Cesare didn’t actually exist, and that he was actually some fantasy that helped me cope with everything that’d happened. That his leaving meant my mind didn’t need him anymore – after all, I was two months away from graduating, I had a full-time job at the firm waiting for me, I had friends, everything in my life seemed on the up and up. Maybe this was the final part of healing.

But Cesare was real. I knew he was. That doubt was quickly squashed. His soft curls, the feeling of his fingers between mine, the way he’d look at me whenever something stupid happened and it wasn’t appropriate to laugh, the stains of his lips on the rim of his favorite coffee mug. All of it was real. And all of it was gone.

I graduated, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to stand next to him, I wanted to celebrate together. I focused what little energy I had on setting up my career, and looking for him however and whenever I could. Especially since I found out I was pregnant.

It was hard. It was really hard. Especially when the postpartum depression hit. But I did it. The money from my consulting job helped, but it couldn’t replace Cesare. His son looks just like him. Black baby curls, and electric blue eyes. It’s like my genes didn’t even try. He’s beautiful, and the most precious gift Cesare has ever given me. I named him Aaron.

I never stopped looking for him. But at some point, I think I realized I wasn’t going to find him. I’d hired a private investigator, and kept her on retainer, but whenever I checked in, it was always the same thing: she couldn’t find him, it was like he’d vanished without a trace. He didn’t want to be found. My only hope was that he was still alive, and that he was happy. That all that running led him to somewhere he could feel…better. Maybe not at peace, but at least better.

Some friends from the firm set me up on a date with a guy in a different department. He was sweet, conventionally handsome, he liked kids. His name was Francis. We started seeing each other more regularly, but I didn’t love him. Not the way I loved Cesare. But I figured I would never, ever love like that again. And this was what people were supposed to do…It was part of going through the motions: find a good guy, settle down. Or just settle.

Aaron was two at the time. I didn’t introduce him to Francis for a while, not until clear boundaries between us were established. Not until I really knew who he was. I asked the private investigator I’d been using to look into his background, and everything came up clean. As long as he knew that sex was off the table, and that I wasn’t going to be sharing any details about what happened to me those years ago. That Aaron wasn’t going to call him any variation of ‘Dad’. I expected him to run the other way, I’m sure a lot of men would have. But he stayed. I don’t really know why.

We had fun. He was good for Aaron, he took him to the park on the weekends, we went to the zoo and aquarium together. He liked to cook dinner at my house, and after I put Aaron to bed, sometimes we’d stay up with some wine and watch old movies until he went home. It was everything any woman could want. Like I was living the perfect life.

Again, those thoughts crept in the back of my mind: that maybe I hadn’t left the hospital at all, that all of this was some sort of delusion created by some drug-induced stupor by Caligari. That I was lying on a gurney somewhere, being violated in who knows how many ways.

I’d stare off into space sometimes, those doubts and worries arresting my conscious thought.

“You okay?” Francis would ask, trying to look for my eyes.

I’d snap back into reality, and nod like I always did. “Yeah – just…thoughts. Memories.”

He looked so casual, sitting there on my couch. His wine glass dangling in his hand, his other arm wrapped around the backrest, legs crossed. Like he’d never had a care in the world. I know that’s unfair. We all carry burdens, we all have demons. Some of us just have more than others. Comparison is the thief of joy, and there was a part of me that was jealous of Francis – of how carefree he seemed. How all of them seemed: my friends, my coworkers. Appearances are deceiving, but all of us strive to feel the smile we’re putting on. No matter how many, or how few, our demons are.

I called my father for the first time in over six years years. He burst into tears on the phone. In that moment, I realized there wasn’t anything he needed forgiveness for, it was just that I’d needed space. I told him I loved him, and in that, I think I forgave myself.

He wanted to meet his three year old grandson as soon as possible, and we set up a date. I told Francis that it was something I needed to do alone.

“If you change your mind, if you want someone to be there with you, you know you can always ask me.”

“I know,” I told him. But I had no intention of asking him.

My father was so overwhelmed with emotion when he met Aaron, he couldn’t keep his eyes off him; all he wanted to do was hold him. Aaron didn’t seem to mind. They got along like a house on fire. In them, I saw the way my father was with me when I was a child. I hoped that I could pass on the gentleness he showed me, and refrain from his mistakes – that I could always protect him, even when I couldn’t.

“He looks just like him,” father said, and touched Aaron’s soft cheek.

“He really does. He’s got his smile, too.”

“I can see that,” he laughed, and tickled him. “Does he sleep well?” He nodded, and watched as Aaron fussed and squirmed, wanting to play on the floor; he set him down, and stroked his hair as he wandered off to another part of the room play with the books I’d brought.

“He’s a perfect sleeper – I’d expected the opposite. But so far no signs of sleep attacks.”

“Very good,” he said as he watched him. “You’ve heard nothing from him, then?”

I shook my head. “He’s gone. I think…maybe gone for good.”

“It’s not your fault, you know. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.”

“I know…I think. Even if I know it, I’m not sure I believe it. He was…really depressed, Dad. I don’t know if he’s even alive. I don’t know if he…”

“What have you told him of his father?”

“That his father is a good man. That we love each other very much. We were best friends. That he works in another country. I know it’s a lie…But I can’t bring myself to say anything else. Francis is a good man but…he’s not Cesare. He’s not his father.”

“If you’re not in love with him, you need to let him go.”

I shrugged. “He makes me laugh. He’s…stable. He’s…”

“What you should be aspiring for?”

I nodded. I didn’t realize how much I missed being understood by my father.

He leaned back and sighed. “There are many ‘shoulds’ in life, Jane. Not all of them are worth pursuing.”

“Here I thought you were going to tell me I should just move on.”

“No. I would never tell you that. I know how much Cesare meant to you. I know how much he still does – I can see it. Have you told this ‘Francis’ about him at all?”

“No. I…haven’t spoken about him. To anyone, really. Up until now.” I felt a pain growing in my throat and I swallowed it hard. “It’s like if I don’t talk about him, then I don’t have to face the fact that he’s not here.”

He nodded again. “How you grieve his absence – I’m not saying that he’s gone…permanently – but his absence has left a wake; how you grieve that is entirely up to you. I know it’s not my place, we’ve only just begun to speak again, but I think that talking about him might help you feel more grounded.”

As much as I didn’t like the psych-speak, he was right. Stuffing it all down wasn’t helping. I decided to take up journaling. There was no way in hell I was seeing a therapist, and I still didn’t want to tell Francis about everything, even about Cesare. But I had to get it out somehow. Journaling helped with that. I had somewhere to redirect everything, somewhere I could talk about our relationship without being overanalysed.

The great thing about getting promoted is that you can dress however you want. I was made head of the consulting department and I started wearing my kimono cardigans again, rather than grey pantsuits and pencil skirts. I started feeling like myself again.

Aaron was perfect – he loved painting, he loved reading; I taught him sign in tandem with speaking, and it was one of the best things I’d ever done in my life. He rarely fussed because he had a way to communicate what he needed, and by his fourth birthday he was a conversationalist. So curious, so gentle. Also very funny. My kid is funnier than I am.

Francis proposed a few weeks after Aaron turned four. I hadn’t been expecting it. I know a lot of women see signs, they anticipate it, they wait for it. I didn’t know it was a step he wanted to take. I thought what we had was good – it was enough. I don’t know why I said yes. I think I kept waiting for the rush of love and excitement, I kept thinking the rose colored glasses were something that would evolve, that one day I’d wake up and be a fairytale princess. That that would be the mark of how far I’d come.

But it never came. And I was realizing that I just had to be okay with being numb. That that was how my life was. That the part of me capable of feeling giddy and excitable was left in the halls of that hospital somewhere. That I wouldn’t feel anything different than what I did now, and that it was as good as it was going to get.

So I said yes. And I planned a wedding. I took my father dress shopping, I chose the first one I tried on, because it looked decent on me, and the price tag didn’t make me gag.

“Are you happy?” my father asked me.

I didn’t answer right away. I had to assess it first. But I nodded.

“Are you…not upset?”

It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders when he said it, and I nodded again.

“Being ‘not upset’ isn’t the same thing as being happy, Jane. Happiness and contentment are emotions in and of themselves, they aren’t only the absence of conflict.”

I was still in that stupid dress. It squeezed me in all the wrong places and it looked like a fabric store puked all over it. He held me and I put my head on his shoulder. “What else am I supposed to do?”

He put his hand on my head and kissed me. “Do what will make you happiest – do what will keep you from regret.”

“Aaron – he’s so good with Aaron.”

“And so are you,” he said. “If you’re going to part ways, do it now before Aaron is older.”

He had a point, I thought. Do it now before he really understood what was happening. But I needed time to think about it. I asked the shop to put the dress on hold, and I took time to think about the ways in which I cared about Francis, and why. I told him I needed a break from planning, that I needed to close the deal I was working on first, and then I’d get back into it. He told me it wasn’t a problem. Nothing was ever a problem for him.

It wasn’t completely a lie, I was in the process of restructuring a clothing company. There were a lot of moving parts, and I was responsible for many of them, including hiring and firing a few people; a wedding wasn’t something I wanted to think about on top of all that.

I had a meeting with the head of the company, along with several of their department leads, and I was invited to their headquarters abroad. With their restructure they wanted to downsize their graphic design department, and it may have been my loyalty and bias, but it was one section I wanted to leave intact. The head of public relations didn’t like me because of it, I’m guessing they wanted to personally absorb the funds that would have been ‘reallocated’. But I didn’t budge.

I visited a few times, feeling like an outsider every time. It’s one thing when your work is acknowledged as much-needed help, it’s another to be seen as an invader. I was on the verge of another anxiety episode, I could feel it. Everytime I went into that office, it felt as if eyes were watching me, like I was entering a dark, haunted forest, looking for a way out. But I was newly promoted, I couldn’t show any sign of weakness – I’d worked so hard for the job I had, that to balk and say I wasn’t up to the task wasn’t an option. I had to find a way to be okay with the stress. I had to keep going, just until the deal was done – and I could put it all behind me.

Every day was about surviving the next. Aaron and Francis had come with me abroad, and together they went sightseeing. I told him to go without me, I didn’t want Aaron to miss out on adventures because of me. At the end of every day, the two would meet me in the lobby of the headquarters, waiting for me with the driver to take us back to the hotel we were staying at.

I bated my impatience, the pain in my feet, and the raging headache that wanted to crack through my skull everyday, just to make sure I didn’t take it all out on Aaron. He didn’t deserve that, he didn’t know what was going on. As far as he was concerned, his mom worked in a castle, and bossed people around like a queen. He’d run up to me everyday and throw his arms out yelling ‘Mommy!’ like it was the first time he’d ever seen me. How could I be annoyed with that. I’d wrap him up in a hug, and rock him back and forth until the headache settled, and we’d all go back to the hotel. Francis was staying in a suite next to ours, and was up every morning to make sure we were ready for the day.

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight,” Francis said and helped me put on my cardigan.

“What’s the occasion?”

“A celebration of your success,” he said.

I scoffed, almost unsure of myself. “I haven’t closed the deal yet. I wouldn’t celebrate too early.”

“I have every confidence in you.”

I turned and looked at him. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you have confidence in me?”

He put his hands in his pockets, taken aback, and gathered how to answer: “You’re a strong woman, Jane. You’ve gotten through some of the worst that life has to offer, and you’ve managed to make a life for yourself. And for your son. That’s worthy of every confidence a man can muster.”

I believed him, despite myself. “Thank you,” I said, and suddenly wanted to be done with the conversation I’d started. I kissed Aaron goodbye, as he told me all about how he and Francis were going to see a tiny museum on cheeses. I only laughed, but it was almost as if I could hear Cesare laughing with me.

I used to call him Cheese. When we first met, I was doped out of my mind, barely able to hold onto what he was telling me as he introduced himself. Between the suppressants and his difficulty speaking, all I could gather about his name was that it sounded something like ‘Cheese’, and it stuck ever since.

I carried that memory of him with me for the rest of the day. It gave me the strength to enter the building, with the knowing that I belonged there. Looking back on that time, on where we’d been – the common room of the hospital, where he finally had to spell his name out for me with a crayon – it all felt so far away, and yet it still clung to me like a sheath.

I was still seen as enemy number one, but I had the courage to lay down the terms, and insist on what I knew was best. I was exhausted by the time the day was done, and was ready to head back to the hotel and collapse.

But as I walked through the halls, my eye was caught by someone in the distance. Their head was down, they were preoccupied with a tablet in their hands; it was a man, dressed all in black, with soft, messy hair. My mind, playing tricks on me, conjured the image of Cesare in place of this man. Until I realized – as he looked up, as I saw the sharpness of his features, the dark circles under his eyes – it was him.

A cold chill went through me at the thought that the psychosis was back – it was always my fear, that whatever Caligari had done to me, that it’d caused a permanent change, and that remission from it would only ever be temporary. I was stressed, I was tired, it was only a figment of my imagination, a comfort to keep me sane despite the circumstances. That’s what Caligari used to tell me, as he drugged me and kept me under a haze.

But I didn’t feel like I was under a spell. He looked real. He walked to the elevator, still looking at his tablet, only glancing up to press the down button. I found myself gravitating towards him, as if I was being pulled to him, and I thought I might wake up at any moment – that all of this would vanish –

“Cesare –” I called out to him.

His eyesight snapped up, searching for the source of the voice that called him. A panic seemed to grip his face, what little color was in his face drained, and his bright blue eyes darted this way and that – until he saw me –

“Jane!” he dropped his tablet, and pushed through the people alarmed at his sudden speech. Water was already lining his eyes as he stood in front of me, and he took my arms and held me, touching me, my face, my hair, my hands – the same as I was doing to him, both of us trying to make sense of what we were seeing. He picked me up and swung me around, his face buried in my shoulder. “Jane…” he said again, the breath taken from him, he was shaking, suddenly overwhelmed. ‘I’m sorry…’ he attempted to say over and over again.

I shook my head, holding his face in my hands. “You’re alive – you’re alive.” No one else existed at that moment except for us. We could have been standing in an empty room, without eyes that watched us, that puzzled and wondered, or that judged. It was just us. All we saw was each other.

‘I’m alive – I’m alive now,’ he said through shaking hands and tearful sounds. ‘I’m alive now that you’re here. I never should have left. Forgive me.’ He brought my hands to his lips and kissed them. “I love you,” he said.

My fingers fanned out to caress his features, and he took my face in his and kissed me. Damn who saw, or what they thought. It was a moment that felt more real than life, and sweeter than any dream. He took my hand afterwards, and guided me to the elevator where he retrieved his tablet, and pressed the down button again – rapidly.

‘What are you doing here? Tell me everything,’ he said, still shaking. ‘Come home with me, I promise I’ll explain everything.’

“Hans!” his boss called from behind us. “Where are you going? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

‘I’m going home,’ he signed, and quickly got into the elevator the second it rang, with me in tow.

“I’ve looked for you – for so long, everywhere,” I told him.

‘I changed my name. I moved to a different country. I was running. From myself. From everything.’

My hands went to his face again, brushing the hair from his eyes, seeing what new little lines made their impressions in his rough skin. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

He sighed and made a diffident shrug and half nod. ‘I found something different. But the same. I needed to get my head right. I looked you up –’

“Oh, you did. Cesare – there’s something you need to know –”

‘I think I just got myself fired for kissing and kidnapping the consulting guru,’ he laughed. ‘I saw how successful you were. I debated whether to reach out to you, but I didn’t want to take away from all that you’d worked for.’

“You could never take anything away from me. You’ve given me everything.”

‘I hate myself for leaving. For being a coward. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness – and try to make up for the time I’ve wasted.’

“Cesare – “ I took him by the arms, trying desperately to get out the truth before the bell rung and the doors opened, but it was too late.

He looked at me, curious at my forcefulness, and furrowed as we shuffled out of the elevator to allow another patron to take our place. His hands were about to ask me what was wrong, when the sound of running footsteps caught his attention.

“Mommy!” Aaron sprinted towards me, arms outstretched waiting for me to pull him into an embrace, just like I always did.

I did it instinctually, but my voice shook as I spoke. “Hi, baby.”

Cesare was as pale as a ghost. It looked like the wind could’ve blown right through him. He froze, motionless, unable to take his eyes off of Aaron. He finally looked at me, and he knew. I didn’t have to say a word. It was as clear as day. I was holding his son.

Francis wasn’t far behind, but his pace lightly quickened when he saw the tension that began to grow and move between me and the man standing next to me as we exited the elevator – as my hands released their grip on him, and held my son instead. The picture Francis was seeing was vastly different from the truth, but I couldn’t say I blamed him for his desire to protect me and Aaron from a potential conflict.

“We need to talk,” I told Cesare.

He was still frozen there, watching the face of his son stare back at him.

“Hey, babe,” Francis came on the other side of me and put his hand on my back. “You ready to get going?” he looked at the man beside me and started to put together pieces of his own.

It took me a while to find my voice, but I nodded. “Yes – why don’t you and Aaron get a head start to the car.” I set him down and ushered them onward.

“I can wait here for you,” Francis said, still watching Cesare with a sharp eye.

“No –” I looked up at him. “I need you to wait for me at the car.”

Out of all the times I needed him to trust me, I needed it to be then. And he did, for the most part. “Alright, we’ll be outside. C’mon, buddy,” he picked Aaron up and walked out of the building; but I could see him waiting just outside the door, not in the car. Waiting in case he needed to intervene.

I can’t imagine what it must’ve looked like to him. Watching the two of us sign back and forth frantically, arguing and despairing behind the soundless glass.

Dinner was cancelled. Francis brought over take out and a bottle of wine after I put Aaron to sleep in the bedroom of the hotel suite. I couldn’t sleep, something told me Cesare couldn’t either. It’s like I could feel both of us awake in different parts of the city, sitting motionless, ruminating and contemplating. I was afraid he would leave again.

“Do you want me to call the police?” Francis asked after we’d finished dinner, after half the bottle was gone. He was careful with how he said it, real quiet, as if he didn’t want to startle me.

I was surprised nonetheless. “What? No, why?”

“It must have been hard to see him again.”

“It was. Really hard. But…why would you call the police?”

“He’s Aaron’s father, isn’t he? The man…who hurt you?”

I took a breath and poured another drink. “No. Cesare would never hurt me. He’s never hurt me. Cesare was also…a patient,” I said and poured a little extra.

“But he is his father.”

“Yes.”

He nodded and poured another drink for himself, too. He hesitated a moment as he leaned back, but he decided to speak anyway: “What happened, Jane? I know I promised I’d never ask – and I haven’t. But today was…different. Today changes a few things.”

“It does,” I said. “It changes a lot.” He waited for me to answer. It took me a long time. There was so much to say, so many things I deliberated on whether or not I should share, in the end I just told the truth:

“He protected me,” I said. “He’d been there, at the hospital, longer than I had, since he was a child. Since the car accident that killed his parents. He was there, in the car when they were killed. That’s when he lost his voice. He was transferred to a psychiatric facility after he was given a clean bill of health by the hospital. Mutism wasn’t well understood, it still isn’t. I always thought there was a physical component as to why he couldn’t speak, on top of the emotional; that maybe the accident damaged his ability to speak, and that maybe that’s where his narcolepsy came from, too — that, and the post traumatic stress. But he never told me. I’m not sure he really knew, either. The pediatricians thought he would heal better in a safer environment, I guess – and he didn’t have any other remaining family. Doctor Caligari came highly recommended, he was supposedly a pioneer in his field. It seemed like a good fit.

“We were in our teens when we met. We were the same age. I started seeing…the Doctor in one-on-one sessions because of my anxiety. I was going off to college in a few years and my father wanted me to have additional support. He knew Caligari. They’d worked together in the past. What neither of us knew was that he was drugging me, little by little, with the medications he prescribed. He gave them to me with the intention of causing side effects. To make me crazier than I was already. No – I…I wasn’t crazy. Not at first. I was a teenager. Scared. Normal. I wasn’t crazy.

“But that didn’t last, I guess. The side effects induced psychosis. I was unstable. And at Caligari’s recommendation, my father agreed to send me to his psychiatric facility. I begged him not to. But he trusted him to do the right thing. It wasn’t his fault.

“I spent years there. So had everyone else. Some survived, some didn’t. Caligari liked us both – but Cesare was his favorite. He had…a particular interest in the science of sleep, and the power of suggestion. Cesare was a narcoleptic and a sleepwalker. He liked seeing how much he could get Cesare to do when he was asleep. What, exactly, he could get him to do. Anything from violence to sex. He’d use him as a research subject on sleepwalking and narcolepsy, and then publish the research under the pretense of using lab animals.

“I think he kept me because he liked the power of having his friend’s daughter held captive, without him knowing. It made him feel powerful. He…did things. But Cesare did what he could to protect me, to keep Caligari’s eye off of me and onto him, instead. Cesare wanted to protect me because he respected me – he liked that I didn’t want him to change, he liked that I understood him. A lot of people get frustrated with his inability to speak, or they don’t try as hard as they could to understand what he’s trying to communicate. It was never an issue for me. I didn’t mind taking the time to listen and learn what he was saying. He taught me how to sign. We spent a lot of time together, a lot of time. We loved each other. There wasn’t any doubt of it.

“Caligari kept me as drugged and docile as possible so that I couldn’t call for help. I tried – more than once. Sometimes he would let my father see me, the two of us partitioned between glass. He wanted to taunt my father without him knowing. It was all just a power play. I tried to tell my father what was happening, but he didn’t believe me at first. Caligari had ruined my credibility so thoroughly that my father tried to calm me down by saying ‘it would be a difficult adjustment, but that everything would be okay in the end.’

“But years passed and I was only getting worse, and Caligari wouldn’t let my father see me anymore, until he insisted. I begged him for help one more time. I knew it would be my last. I don’t know if he believed me completely, but he knew something was wrong. He told Caligari he was going to start motions to get me released. But he couldn’t let that happen.

“He sent Cesare after me. In his sleep. Instructed him to kill me in the night while he had me drugged and restrained. Had I been anyone else, I know he would’ve done it. But he loved me.

“I watched him – there, but not present – as he came over me with a knife in his hand, ready to kill me. He had no idea what he was doing. But something inside his eyes – still dead asleep –, it clicked when he saw me. And he dropped the knife. He became frantic, and I tried to calm him down, so that Caligari wouldn’t hear him. We had a very small window, I thought, where maybe we could escape.

“He obeyed me instantly. And I realized I had immense power over him. Because he loved me. I instructed him to undo my restraints, and that we would run together – but it had to be quick. He again obeyed me, and as I started to stand, I realized I wasn’t going to make it. Caligari had pumped me with enough tranquilizers that I wouldn’t be able to move while Cesare killed me, but that I’d be awake enough to feel it. I wasn’t able to run. I shook Cesare until he woke, I begged him to run without me.

“By the time he realized what was happening, that we had an opportunity to disappear, he told me he’d rather die with me than leave without me. He wasn’t leaving me behind, he said. He carried me, dragged me, pulled me until we were on the outside grounds of the facility.

“Caligari quickly realized his plan had failed. He set dogs on us, but Cesare never stopped running, he never stopped carrying me and pulling me with him. It caused a terrible commotion. The alarms went off, the security was sent out to find us. Other patients started revolting. A fire broke out in the riot – it was the middle of the night, but I still remember the flames were as bright as the sun. We ran until we couldn’t anymore. I still have the scars on my leg from where I was bitten by one of the dogs.

“The fire department came, we heard the sirens coming up the road. When they saw the state we were in, they took us to the hospital. When they put out the fire, all of Caligari’s research was exposed. He’d attempted to flee, but when an investigation was opened, it didn’t take long to find him. They caught him trying to leave the country.

“Cesare and I recuperated at the hospital together. One of the last things I remember from that night is reaching out to him on the gurney next to mine – trying to see his face past both of our oxygen masks. The next thing I remember after that is him sitting next to me in the hospital courtyard a week later. I remember the way the flowers looked – more vibrant than I’d ever seen them, the sky more blue than I ever noticed; I remember seeing his face, as if there was a film that’d been removed from my eyes. He looked cleaner, crisper, his skin more porcelain than grey, his hair brighter and looser, rather than dull and flat. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I knew I’d love him in every lifetime, no matter when, no matter where.

“There was a trial. Cesare and I both had to testify. I didn’t think it was fair. We’d already been through so much, and we were asked to give even more. Cesare had to fight for an interpreter, and I offered to do it, but they needed an official neutral interpreter, which we had to wait for.

“My father wanted me to stay with him, but I told him no. I was too angry at the time. He paid for an apartment of my choosing instead. He just wanted me to be safe. I think he was trying to make up for everything. Cesare had nowhere to go, and I invited him to stay with me at that apartment, I’d gotten a two bedroom for us. He didn’t want to impose at first – he didn’t want his presence to bring up anything I wanted to forget. I told him I never wanted to forget him, and he agreed. It was awkward at first, we kept to ourselves, not really sure what to do, how to be. But we just needed time to unravel all the wrapped steel that’d been sheathed around us. Until we were left exposed: just ourselves. Things became more natural after that. We fell in love all over again. It was like getting a second chance. But we all heal differently.

“After the trial, we were awarded a settlement. We used it to go to school together. And in the fourth year, two months before we graduated, Cesare left. He had become extremely depressed. He didn��t want to ruin my opportunity for a better life, he said. He didn’t want to weigh me down. But I would’ve carried him, the way he carried me.

“Aaron is so much like his father,” I sniffed and tried to keep my tears at bay. “Not just the way he looks, but his heart. He’s gentle, kind, smart, like all the best parts of us both. I looked for him for so long. But…I guess he didn’t want to be found. I guess he wasn’t ready.”

“Did he know you were pregnant when he left?” Francis asked.

“No. I didn’t know either. But I know that if he’d known he never would have left.” I swallowed, my breath hot and wet. “Today was the first time we’d seen each other since then. We spent more time together than apart, and it felt like no time had gone by at all. He looked happy.” I tried to hide the shaking in my voice.

I could see him referring to the events earlier in the day: the look of shock on Cesare’s face, the desperation in the way we communicated, my doubt of Francis’ confidence and love. He knew I didn’t belong to him, that I never had – that even though we’d been parted, I’d always belonged to Cesare.

He thought carefully, and finished his glass. “You two set up a time to talk?”

“Not exactly. I’m afraid he’ll run. Again.” I finished my own and stared at the droplets of red that gathered at the bottom.

“He won’t,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“He sounds like a smart man. He knows what he’s lost. He won’t risk losing it again.”

“You have a lot of faith in people,” I said.

“I have faith in good people,” he answered and looked at me. He set his glass down and stood, he held out his hand and helped me to my feet, where he held my arms. “You are a good woman, Jane. You always have been. No matter what’s happened to you. It doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change who you are.” He kissed my temple, and when I looked at him as he pulled away I saw a sadness in him that I’d never seen before. “I would have loved you,” he said.

“I know.”

Francis left my hotel suite, and I heard him shut himself into his own. I still couldn’t sleep. I lay on the couch, watching the morning sun come through the edges of the curtains. I could feel Cesare doing the same somewhere far away.

I was woken by two little hands on my face.

“Hi, Mama,” Aaron’s sweet voice called me.

“Hi, baby,” I brushed his hair out of his face. “Mama’s staying home today,” my voice was still muffled with stuffed and swollen sinuses from the crying I’d done in the night. “Want to do something fun?”

‘Yes, fun,’ he signed with his little smile.

“You wanna watch movies and eat popcorn?”

“Movies and candy,” he giggled.

Oh, what the hell, I thought. “Alright, but good food first for breakfast.”

We stayed home and watched adventures, and ordered room service for snacks. Francis came by for lunch and brought us something healthier to eat than chocolate. He stayed to play with Aaron; that sadness was still there on his face, and it looked as though he would miss my son. He was better to me than I deserved, especially since he knew my heart had never been invested in the relationship he wanted so badly with me. It hadn’t been fair to him, and I realized my father was right. I should have let him go sooner.

He didn’t stay long, but told me he would bring by dinner as well. Despite the fact that I wasn’t in love with him, I appreciated that he didn’t bolt, that he planned to stay at the hotel for the duration of my visit, and that we’d figure everything else out when we returned home. I didn’t know what I was going to do. But it was nice to not think about the past or the future that day, and instead just be present with my son while we enjoyed ourselves. I was luckier than most. And I was luckier, still, than most patients who escaped Caligari, and all of them who couldn’t. I try to be ever cognizant of that.

The day was winding into evening, and dinnertime was approaching. I was sitting on the couch with Aaron, while we joked and told stories, while he showed me the souvenir he got from the cheese museum. There was a knock at the door, and I told him to wash up for dinner.

I opened the door.

Cesare was on the other side of it.

He was trying not to shake visibly, but he was failing; I could see the trembling in his clothes, in his hair, the water along the lashes of his eyes. I could see it, because I instantly felt the same.

“Cesare…” I gravitated towards him, and quickly stepped aside. “Come in.”

He did as asked. He was holding with him a flower stalk and a plain blue gift bag. But when he stepped inside my suite, he suddenly seemed unsure of what to do with himself and his offerings. He stood in the center of the living room, noting the children’s toys on the coffee table, the mess from the afternoon’s snacks and litter. His eyes, wide and pale, finally turned and found mine. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he signed, and found himself having walked in a stiff circle.

“You didn’t,” I said. “We were…” I trailed off, not sure what to say. “Dinner should be here soon.”

He nodded. Then looked around again, noting the absence of his son. ‘Where is he?’

“He’s washing up. He’s in the bathroom.”

He nodded again. ‘I wanted to apologise for making a scene yesterday,’ he started, and approached me; he handed me the flowers: a stalk of baby’s breath. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.’

“You reacted the way anyone would.” I took the flowers and held them to my heart. “I should have been quicker to say something.”

He shook his head. ‘That fault isn’t on you. That fault is mine.’ He handed me the gift bag; a plain, soft teddy bear was inside of it. ‘I should leave…I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he said again.

“Please don’t –” I stopped him.

‘I don’t want to interrupt dinner with your fiance.’

“He’s not my fiance. Not anymore. He…never really was.”

Cesare didn’t move.

Neither did I.

He couldn’t stop the tears anymore, and they were flowing freely down his face. ‘I want to be here – I want to be with you. I want…to be with him. I didn’t know – I didn’t know –’

I set the flowers and bag down and held his face and brushed away the tears, helpless to my own. “I know.”

‘But I know now – But you’re getting married –’

“I’m not getting married,” I told him again. “I told Francis. I told him everything.”

‘Everything?’

I nodded. “Everything.”

He relaxed into my touch, and placed his hands on mine as he sighed, looking into my eyes. I felt the rush of all the time we’d spent apart in his eyes; I felt him reach his soul into mine, reaching out to me, hoping I’d reach back. ‘Take me wherever you go. Take me. I don’t want to let go this time. I won’t let go.’ He brushed away my tears.

‘I won’t let go,’ I signed back.

Cesare choked back a sob and smiled. I hadn’t seen him smile since before he left. It had been so long. He gathered himself, and tempered his tears as he motioned to the other room. ‘What is his name? ’

“His name is Aaron,” I told him, and showed him the sign I made for his name. “He’s perfect,” the rush of adrenaline and quiet sobbing came out as shuddering laughter.

‘Of course he is,’ he said, ‘he’s yours.’

“He’s ours.” I spoke and I signed, needing him to know its weight and tenderness.

He cupped my face and kissed my head, trying desperately to contain his emotion.

“Mama!” Aaron called as he ran out of the suite bedroom and showed me his clean hands.

I fixed my face quickly, and Cesare turned to do the same, wanting to make a good first impression for his son.

“Aaron,” I called him over and kissed his fingers. “Do you remember me telling you that Dad works in another country?” He nodded, sceptical, looking from me to the tall figure behind me who was still turned away from us. “Well, Dad doesn’t need to live in that country anymore. Dad can come home now. Dad is home now.”

“Is he Dad?” he asked, trying to see what he looked like, to compare him to photographs I’d shown him.

“Yes he is, that’s Dad.”

Cesare turned around, gathering his courage, and knelt to Aaron’s level. He looked at me, hoping I would translate, but was surprised when Aaron signed to him first.

Aaron tapped him on the arm and called his attention. “Where did you go?” he spoke and signed.

The relief on Cesare’s face was palpable when he realized that he’d be able to communicate with his son. But a perplexity took it over quickly when he also realized he didn’t have an answer. He glanced to me again, unsure of what to tell him. ‘I had a lot of work I needed to do,’ he signed, unconfident. ‘But I’m done now. I can be with you and Mom forever now. I don’t ever need to leave again.’

Aaron looked at him, taking in his face, looking him over. When he seemed satisfied enough — that the man in front of him looked just like the man from the framed photographs at home, and the photo albums on my bookshelves — he accepted what he saw as truth. “You look like Dad in the pictures,” he smiled and touched his face.

He nodded happily. ‘Yes! I’m Dad – I’m your Dad.’ I’d never seen him smile so big, I’d never seen him so happy.

Aaron threw his arms around him, and squeezed so tight I thought they’d both explode.

Cesare wrapped his arms around his son and kissed his head. He rocked him back and forth, nestling his face on his soft baby hair.

There was another knock at the door, and I went to answer it. I dried my face as best as I could, knowing it was useless anyway.

It was Francis this time, with the dinner he’d promised. He greeted me with a gentleness, but quickly saw past me and into the suite. He saw Cesare and Aaron in an embrace, how happy they were.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said and handed me the bag, with that sadness still on his face.

“Francis –” I stopped him. “Thank you.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Be good to yourself, Jane. You’re too hard on yourself. You deserve better than that.” He began to walk away. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

Cesare heard Francis at the door, and reluctantly released his son and stood. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he told me, and followed him out into the hallway.

“Where’s Dad going?”

“He’s going to tell Francis thank you,” I said.

“Francis brought dinner now?”

“Yes he did. He’s very kind, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Francis is nice. Is he going to have dinner, too?”

“No. Dinner will just be you, me, and Dad tonight.”

“I’m happy Dad is back now.”

“Me, too, baby.”

I set the table and watched them through a mirror hung in the hallway as Cesare ran after Francis. He caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He began to sign, but was interrupted –

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any sign language.”

Cesare pulled out his phone instead and typed: ‘Thank you. For taking care of my son. And the woman I love. Thank you isn’t enough.’

“It’s plenty. She’s a good woman. And you’ve got yourself a good kid.” I wondered if that was Francis’ subtle way of admonishing him for his supposed abandonment.

But Cesare didn’t seem to take it that way. They exchanged pleasantries, and he came back into the suite to share dinner. Aaron clung to him the entire time and asked a million questions, each of which his father answered patiently and as best as he could. I tried to keep his routine as best as possible, but he was wired with excitement and emotion; so after bathtime the three of us went to the bedroom and continued to talk until Aaron was too tired to stay awake. I tucked him in as he fell asleep, and Cesare and I moved to the living room; we talked all night, the pair of us were emotionally spent. But happy.

We talked about all the plans we used to have – how they changed, how they stayed the same. We still wanted to work together. He loved what he did, and I loved having a position that gave me more flexibility. We still wanted to get married.

‘Do you want more kids?’ he asked me; we were sitting on the couch, his arm around me, his long legs propped on the coffee table.

“No – definitely not,” I laughed. “One is enough.”

He chuckled. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s perfect. It’s just…hard.”

‘I’m here now. You’re not alone.’

I curled closer into him, as if I could crawl into the space between his ribs and lie there.

‘I hope you didn’t have any difficulties with the pregnancy. I hope you had help.’

“No. I was okay. After he was born was a different story, though. I was lucky to have some friends from the company, older women who knew what I was going through, they helped me. They got me through a lot. Once was enough for that, too.” But I stopped, overcome with a feeling and a memory.

He felt me squirm, and he looked at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

“It’s just…I guess it hasn’t only been once.”

‘What do you mean?’

“At the hospital…There was a time I thought I might’ve been pregnant. But I wasn’t sure. I was so nauseous all the time. I thought it might’ve been the drugs he was giving me at the time. He’d just switched them to something else. But I just wasn’t sure.”

‘Did you have your period?’

“It was really late. That’s why I thought I’ve might’ve…”

He stopped and thought for a while, and I suddenly regretted saying anything at all. I felt like an idiot to overwhelm him. But we’d always been able to talk about everything together, especially memories – things that we’d forgotten, and suddenly remembered. By habit, I went back into that dynamic almost immediately. But he didn’t stop me.

‘By him, or by me?’ he asked.

I shook my head. “I wasn’t sure.”

He nodded, and held me closer. I felt a tension in his chest, and he looked away; I could see the strain in the muscles of his jaw – he was angry. But his hand was still gentle around me as he stroked my shoulder.

I knew he wasn’t angry at me, but at the past – all of it. I still felt bad for saying anything.

He turned back to me, with a scoff and a brow raised with disgust. ‘It was probably the medication. If you’d been pregnant, he would’ve kept the baby and done something to it.’

I scoffed with him and looked up at him. “I hate that you’re right.”

He kissed the top of my head. ‘We are going to be okay now,’ he said. ‘I know it. We have control of our lives. More than we ever have before.’ He paused and sighed. ‘I never should have left –’

“Cesare –”

He stopped me. ‘I never should have left. But I’m more capable now than I was. No matter what happens – all of the good, and all of the…not so good – you won’t be alone anymore. You never were. I’ve always been here. And I always will be.’ He brushed a tear from my face.

I nodded, feeling that pain in my throat again.

‘I’ve faced hell with you. I’ve done my time in purgatory. I’m ready to face heaven with you, too.’

I held onto him, my legs over his now, my hands gripped into his shirt. I didn’t want to let him go. And I didn’t have to.

He held me the whole night.

He stayed there with us at the hotel for the remainder of our stay. They tried to fire him for kissing and kidnapping the consulting guru, but I didn’t let that happen. He quit anyway – he wanted a different job, he said, something not so corporate and soulless. Something where he could really stretch his creative legs, without so many bosses and rules hanging over his head.

After I finished closing the restructuring deal, we worked out the logistics of him moving back with me. I had a large house back home, and there would be enough space for all three of us to have separate rooms. With my connections, he could have any graphic design job he wanted. He said he wanted to work from home. It was better for his mental health, and better for my schedule. He could bond with Aaron, and I didn’t have to worry about picking him up after preschool or kindergarten. It was like we fit together seamlessly – like we were better for each other than we had been before.

I told Aaron that Francis and I weren’t going to be going to be seeing each other anymore, but that he was still a good and kind person. The last time I saw Francis was at the airport when we got home, when we all parted ways. He asked to be transferred to a different location of the company, I think it was for the best, really. My life was turned right side up, but his was turned upside down. I never meant to hurt him.

My life started over, better than it had been – better than it had ever been. The way it was supposed to be. Cesare and Aaron became closer than I could have hoped. Aaron brought out a side in him that granted him permission to play and enjoy life. It allowed him to give himself, in a way, all of the things that he was denied as a child.

Cesare still has the occasional cigarette, but not for the same reasons, and only when he gets really stressed, like with a deadline at work. Or when Aaron started sleepwalking. That scared him. It scared me, too, but not as bad as it did him. Aaron had just started kindergarten and had stressors of his own, which I guess triggered the genetic component of sleepwalking.

“Most kids grow out of it,” I reassured him.

‘I didn’t,’ he half signed with a cigarette in one hand.

“Who knows what he did to keep you that way. Besides you haven’t had an episode in a long time, right?”

He nodded, and took another drag. He kept the cigarette between his lips as he signed: ‘I’m always afraid of what’s going to happen when I go to sleep. I don’t want him to feel the same way.’

“He won’t,” I said. “Even if he doesn’t grow out of it, he doesn’t have the same history we do. Your fear will not be his.” I touched his arms, and brushed his hair from his face. “He has two parents who love him very much, who would do anything for him, and who can provide for his every need. That’s half the battle. He will be okay. Because we’ll make sure of it.”

I felt him start to relax, and he removed the cigarette from his lips before he took a deep breath of cleaner air. He looked at me, into my eyes, and he knew I was right. He nodded.

“We will be okay. Because we can make sure of it now.”

He nodded again, and this time pulled me to his chest.

“We’ll be okay.” This time, I finally believed it.

So did he.

I got to go wedding dress shopping again. This time with both my father and Aaron. I chose the sixth dress I tried on, something that felt loose and that I could move in; it had a beautiful gauze train. I felt like a bride – like a queen. I felt like myself. Aaron and my father’s excitement solidified my choice, and the price wasn’t too bad, either.

We got married in a park, just the three of us, and my father. We didn’t need anything else. Just the people who loved us. Just each other.

He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen: elegant and bright, in his black tuxedo and with his beaming smile when I came down the aisle. He dipped me when we kissed. It’s my favorite photograph of us.

We have movie nights, and we cook together. We bicker about which pasta sauce to get at the store, and which is the right way to fold a fitted sheet. He helps Aaron with his homework, and picks him up from school. I bring them to company parties, and introduce them as my husband and my son. And every time I do it, I have to try not to cry.

My house became a home, and the three of us created a routine that worked well for all of our needs: we have separate rooms, we have a no screens after eleven policy; we limit alcohol, and we give each other space when we’re overwhelmed. Because we still have our struggles – God knows we’ll have post-traumatic stress for the rest of our lives. The trick is working with it, not trying to get rid of it. And not taking it out on our son.

We discussed – at length – getting Aaron therapy for all of the change in his life, and eventually we found someone we trusted. We read so many reviews.

‘If only online reviews had been a thing back then,’ Cesare joked.

I laughed. “I think you just dated yourself.” But it felt good to hear him say ‘back then’, to rub the salve of humor on something that we could acknowledge as being in the past.

Everyone heals at different rates. But it doesn’t mean healing doesn’t happen at all. Sometimes it just takes time. And patience. And a lot of change.

Aaron is eleven now. He’s starting junior high school soon. He’s going to be as tall as his father, I can tell already. He likes going with us to buy new eyeshadow palettes, and he doesn’t care that his father and I share clothes. He likes wearing kimonos, too. And he wears eyeliner like his father. He’s bright, and compassionate; he’s creative, and he’s never known pain. That’s all I could possibly ask for.

We’re an odd little family. We look different, we sound different – our roles are different. But it doesn’t matter. Because we’re happy. And we’re together.

And that’s what counts.

#i wrote this as a writing exercise initially #the cabinet of dr. caligari #the cabinet of doctor caligari #das cabinet des dr. caligari #cesare the somnambulist #cesare #jane olsen #cesare x jane #vintage horror #german expressionism #*

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frostmoths · 4 months ago

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Might regret posting this. cw alcohol, suicide ideation

Let me preface by saying I wrote this, and a much more emo version before, over the course of a week, and I’m feeling a little better now. It comes and goes. It's everything I’ve been handling since late May, and I want to open up about it.

I have extreme depression and recent happenings have tipped the scale to make me nearly non-functional. I started therapy and medication a year ago because of the world’s most passive-aggressive rejection. I’m way worse now. I’m on my third med and if what happened Sunday (I was very ill) was a side effect, I’m going to have to quit it too. I don’t believe in antidepressants as a cure-all and I’ve only been conceding because I’m tired of wanting to lay down and die. Not kms necessarily, just stop hurting. Though I’ve got like 10 bottles of various prescription insomnia meds which don’t do any good on their own, so maybe if I take them all at once

One weeknight in early June I tried to drink myself to passing out and forgetting what broke my heart. Instead I threw up and went to work the next day hung over. And it was an embarrassingly small amount to drink. Just that it was cheap and I had it on an empty stomach because I was too enraged to make dinner. I haven’t had alcohol since. I dumped out what was left.

My idiot father, who has dementia, has taken to dragging his guns around everywhere because he’s paranoid they’ll be stolen, and gets angry if he's confronted about it. I’ve alerted several authorities but unless my mother complies, nothing will be done. She won’t because she’s also insane. In May I had a full nervous breakdown expecting me or my cats to get murdered. It was probably the breaking point for my short-lived girlfriend dumping me two days later. Once again my shitty family has ruined any chance of happiness for me.

When I saw a pistol on his chairside table the other day, instead of blind panic, I felt nothing. I kind of hoped it was loaded and he’d do it, so everything would stop.

My new house is a shitshow and I got ripped off. I have approximately 6 hours a week to work on it and zero help so I’m still not moved in. At this point I hope to sell it after a couple of years of improvements (if I can afford them), get my money back, then maybe flee this godforsaken country and go live in the mountains in. Fucking Iceland. idk. My mother promised assistance for certain things and took it back because that’s what she does. I’m about ready to cut her out of my life.

I can barely eat without getting sick in one way or another. I no longer enjoy things like cooking, EDM, watching anime, and, worst of all, writing. Last month I started poking at [redacted]’s outline as a way to keep my head above water, only to realize it’s way more vague than I remember and that some parts make no damn sense. This is a thing I’ve been bragging about for 3 years as proof that I know what I’m doing, so I feel like a fool. I deleted everything I ever posted about it on my sideblog. I’m tempted to wipe what’s started off AO3. Tempted to delete the entire account tbh, too many memories which are too raw right now. I’m not a skilled writer and the pros (plural) were right to call me out on it last year. And this has been the one thing about myself I was confident in my entire life, that I was banking on making a career now that I finally, finally have my own house with peace and quiet, and now I can see I was fucking delusional. I give up.

My therapist says I have trauma and that I never healed from what happened in 2020 (not Covid-related). I can only see her every 5-6 weeks because she’s that booked. She said she argued with administration because she can't focus on her current patients but they keep throwing new ones at her. Kind of like my job. Everyone everywhere is overworked.

To cope I’ve been indulging in something that’s frowned upon — not a substance abuse thing, but an ethical thing? I guess? Among creatives. I don’t care because it helps me. My psych and my therapist both told me to seek supplemental therapy in between appointments. I think they had something more like b*tterh*lp in mind, but that’s a proven pyramid scheme so lol no thanks. Psychology books and imaginary friends it is.

My employer is closed today and tomorrow for the holiday, and I’m on vacation next week. Much-needed extended time off for me. If I don’t make headway on the house then I don’t know what. I didn’t want to spend my one week off a year moving in the middle of fucking summer during the worst heat on record. At one point I had much more pleasant plans but that’s no longer happening and I can’t think about it. I can’t, but I still do.

I wanted this house to be my success story. Having worked hard, she rescued herself, escaped her toxic family with her fur sons and flourished creatively, healthfully, and romantically. All was well. The reality is that I was likely conned as a first-time single homebuyer and I'm so mentally ill now that I may not be able to meet the demands of maintaining a 70 year old house with nonworking appliances I can't afford to replace, let alone my own well-being. How did I get myself into this.

There's one last-ditch effort I can make to pull myself through, but not properly until I move. It sounds like a lame excuse and it probably is, but whatever. Better later than never. However, I tried this last fall, went too hard too fast and burned out after 4 months. I threw a lot of money away doing it. I keep hearing push yourself, go intense, you'll never get there with baby steps but I also think you have to take baby steps if you're starting from zero because otherwise you'll burn out? I'm so tired of conflicting information everywhere. One tells me one thing, another says that's wrong. I can't trust anyone.

There are a couple of other things I’m looking forward to trying more than exercise. Which are probably less healthy for me. Who is going to stop me. hashtag yolo

I keep telling myself it won’t be this way forever. Just like summer. It comes around once a year, it feels like death, and then there’s relief. But it’ll happen again and again. Just like summer. You have to adapt.

I'm glad pride month is over. I don't know what I'm supposed to be so proud of.

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michelleelizabethtanner · 2 years ago

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Related to your psychology of Brio post - why do you think so many fans put Rio on a pedestal? Seems like a lot of fans across the spectrum ignore his humanity (and villainize Beth for doing the same thing). What is it about that guy that makes people so rabid? Gimme your headcanon

Ahhhh, Anon, you’re here with the difficult questions. 😂😂😂 First of all, I appreciate that you liked my Brio Psychoanalysis enough to have a follow-up. So thank you for that! I always feel absolutely insane with the amount of thought I’ve given these characters. It’s gotta be unhealthy!

So, I haven’t really seen a whole ton of opinions from people who I know and can comment on with any amount of reliability. The majority of people I interact with have not vilified either character. Do you not like Rio, Anon? It’s fine if you don’t. He and Beth are both flawed characters so I can get behind criticisms of both of them. But if you were to twist my arm as far as the whys…

Rio is a charming character. He’s a handsome, charismatic man with power. He appeals to many demographics. He’s just the love interest we all want, isn’t he? He’s a trope. Perfectly imperfect. Obsessed with his love interest and willing to forgive her the greatest faults. A man of honor who lives by a personal code. Someone who can be both ruthless (in just the right ways and with just the right people), and unbearably soft (in just the right ways and with just the right people.) He’s intense and reclusive, but can’t seem to stay away from ✨his one true love✨. He’s a patient teacher, a loyal supporter, a generous and skillful lover (we are led to believe.) He’s a fantasy.

Beth, on the other hand, is not made for universal demographics. The show’s target audience is supposed to be able to relate to her and aspire to her. She’s a different kind of fantasy than Rio is. So much about her was made to represent “what women are or want to become.” But Beth also is blind in so many ways. She doesn’t see so much of her own power and privilege. So for demographics who don’t see themselves as a Beth, who don’t live the life she does, who were kind of left out if the show’s target audience, it’s likely difficult to muster up empathy for her when she places herself into her own difficult situations the majority of the time. And then she decides that her life is unfair and that Rio has to pay for it. And he keeps on pandering to her. Over and over, despite it all. Yes, he is also a flawed character, but the disproportion between what he offers her and what she offers him is pretty glaring.

I personally forgive them both all flaws. Because I love them and they’re my babies. I feel like the show gave us enough crumbs of backstory and characterization to infer their trauma and understand why they are the way they are. I love them for their trauma. Idk what that makes me. Some sort of weird voyeur who likes to dissect people’s emotions and get inside their brains. (Which I do 🤷‍♀️ I know my flaws.) I put them both on a pedestal. There’s so much potential to them and so much they can learn about themselves and each other.

#brio psychoanalysis #they’re both a fantasy #just not everyone’s fantasy #good girls nbc #brio #asks

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sincelastsession · 5 months ago

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I understand that I'm a difficult and complex patient and when I say difficult I mean I'm not the easiest person in the world to treat and I don't try to not be treated I'm just saying it's hard to figure me out and it's hard for me to figure me out it's hard for me to explain and communicate.

And I don't exactly think that any therapist has ever enjoyed being my therapist.

Feel like a lot of people give up on me and I'm hoping that doesn't happen

And just because I know a lot about therapy because I've been in therapy for so long does not mean thatI know how to execute those things and then I do have pretty terrible executive dysfunctiand going on right now and most of the time

And sometimes I feel like if I just was able to get a nerve block that worked that was like successful that I would be able to experience and enjoy life and I might not have some things going on it might just all be because of trauma and stress and PTST shit I don't know though

But I always feel like time blind or like a pressure to be on time and to focus on time and it stresses me out

I had to tell my dad that I needed to talk to him about like 6 different things he was trying to tell me aboutAs if I was gonna remember everything he said verbatim and I couldn't and I kept asking him please text it to me or email me that information so I can put it somewhere where I can at least go back and find it and read the information if I need it and it took me a few tries for him to understand that I am not gonna remember anything he verbally tells me when I'm overstimulated for whatever reason.

And the problem is I have been overstamulated for what feels like most of my adult life it's just gotten worse and I have these meltdowns and these automatic reactions and I get angry and I text and I get reactive abusive and I can't stop I have not been able to stop.

There has been no pill or practice that has worked so far I'm willing to try some things But don't get mad at me if I tell you I have done that multiple times and it did not helpBecause this is not the first time I have spoken to a therapist and ask them for help about this and been unsuccessful

I would love to be successful

I don't think anybody realizes how tired I am all the time either and I'm probably having some thyroid problems but my indictment knowledge is a stupid idiot who won't listen to me about my own body and what medicines work for my body and have worked in the past and help me think

And I'm about to blow up his inbox on my chart because why the hell am I not on thyroid medicine if my thyroid was low I have hypothyroidism currently and I'm not on anything for it and that's probably fucking with my head as well

And then not to mention all the physical disabilities that I have and the pain that probably doesn't exactly help any of this situation

And I feel like I'm on top of shit mountain and shit mountain just getting taller and taller and fucking taller and it's so hard to clean up all the shit on shit mountain and I just want off of shit mountain

I just want a helicopter to come and take me off of fucking shit island off of the mountain off of the shit Volcano that I'm scared is going to erupt at any point in time

And it's so frustrating it's hard it hurts I hurt

I hurt in my heart I hurt with my physical disabilities I hurt with my Mental disabilities I hurt with my memories and I don't get many breaks from the pain

And right now I'm pretty upset with my partner because he said he was going to make time to call me today and talk to me because he knew it was gonna be a hard day for me and maybe he had a hard day as well but I'm still hurt about that

And people keep telling me oh you seem like you're doing so much better and I don't see it I really don't I don't understand I am literally doing worse I am having a flare and I'm probably having a physical body flare of my immune system issues and I have so much shit to take care of and all I want to do is just magically have enough money to just run away and go to the Netherlands like I was supposed to do for my birthday last year and that never happened and it didn't happen this summer when I was gonna go and people at this point probably just think I'm lying about it But luckily Ashley is really chill and just tells me you know when you're able to comeJust let me know and we'll figure out a good time to fly you out and all of that and I'm like okay cool so that's less pressure on me about it but I'm still mad because I desperately need a vacation

And my mom asked me if I wanted to go to biloxi and check out this casino and stay in biloxi for the weekend and I got upset with her because yes I need a vacation no I don't want to fucking go to biloxi but cause I don't want to be reminded of certain things but but yes also I do want to go but no I don't want to deal with my mom's bullshit and I don't know what to do

I'm not trying to be a brat and I know that everything or a lot of what I say sounds bratty and reads that way and I don't know how to change it to make it look better and I'm so tired of trying

I am tired of trying I don't want to quit but I'm fucking tired I really do need a God damn vacation and I don't need just like a 2 day vacation I need like a real vacation

I have actually had a real vacation in a very long time

I've gotten to go out of town to visit a friend but now he won't even fucking talk to me because he's seriously dating somebody and he's out from the country and their girlfriends get really possessive and fucking insaneIf they talk to other women as friends which I think is the dumbest shit ever and I don't know if he's alive or dead because he won't answer my text messages and I'm talking about Mike that lives out in abbeyville and his father died and I've been trying to check on him and talk to him and he just ignores me and my text messages and I don't know what happened and I don't want to call his mom and find out that he's dead or something

It really bothers me that a lot of people I know are doing really well yet I don't know how they're doing really well I have no fucking clue how they're good at the things enough to make the money they're making I have I doesn't make sense because I know these people and I'm like what sort of fucking witch craft are you doing to be able to do that I don't understand other people it's like I feel like I'm having to study them all the time

And I don't know if I'm even cut out to work like other people work because I have to get my brain straight in order to do that in order to somehow figure out how to make money and be fun actually independent and I wish I could be this lovely ethical slut that could be a financial dominatrix then do all the sex work and dress in these beautiful clothes and be very confident with their body and all of this other shit but I'm not I'm just a fucking autistic Traumatized little grammar of a person and I don't know what to do

Like it's so hard for me to just do basic things currently

Like I need to take a bath I took a shower this morning but I really need to get some Epsom salts andAt take a soak and then I need to drain the bath and run it out and then I need to take another bath and do a whole like regimen

But what I've been able to do is just take a bath and take a shower and wash my hair very basic self-care is all I've been able to do latelyesterday I wasn't even going to eat I had just given app on the idea of eating I wasn't hungry I couldn't make myself hungry the idea of food made me want to vomit and then finally I got the munchies and ate some food and felt a little bit better And thenI ended up staying up till 5 AM and freaking out again and then I went to bed and I got up at 10 AM And then I took a shower and then I sat around and mentally prepared myself to deal with my dad today and then I went and got a burger and I ate my burger and then I went to therapy and dad was not how he normally is he had his mask on real well andNothing went at all like I expected which is fine because nothing ever goes how I expected to be andFor me and for my brain and for how I took it it did not go well and now I'm not even fucking remembering parts of it which is disturbing and worrisome to me andI don't even know what I was gonna say because I'm super duper stressed out right now and I just keep talking and I can't shut the fuck up and it's just like compulsory and I don't know what to do and I'm having really painful Charlie horses all over my body or I guess painful muscle locking cramps andI probably should smoke my medical weed and take care of that and go to bed but my brain is wide awake And I want to do so many things and this happens every day where I get all these ideas to do things and I'm like yeah I'm gonna do the thing and then I never do the thing

And making a list is fucking pointless a list is just a self-destructing thing for someone like me I it doesn't matter if I have it in my head it doesn't matter if I have it on paper it doesn't matter if I have 15 alarms set with the list it doesn't work with my brain and I wish it did I wish I could be a super duper organized person and keep a planner my sister keeps a planner and I don't know how she does it I have no clue I don't know how people do that I don't know how people stay organized because I can't stay organized to save my fucking life

Like gun to my head and tell me to organize my shit and I would just tell them to go ahead and pull the trigger because like it's just not happening I'm not good at it I don't know what I'm doing but you know what's hilarious

I'm really bad at cleaning up after myself and taking care of myself but I'm really fucking good at doing that for other people

I'm also really good at dressing other people but I'm not good at dressing myself

I am also pissed off because I haven't had the ability to make any new artwork of fuck and I have no use and I don't even know if I enjoy art anymore and I don't know if I have any passions and I don't know what I want to do with my life and I have no idea if I'm ever going to end up and a relationship other than the current one that is good and fulfilling for me

And I want all the things that I see that my friends have and it looks like it came so easy it looks like they had such an easy time doing it or it looks tremendously hard and impossible for me to do

And I'm so scared I shouldn't be scared to live my life but I'm terrified all the time I'm scared that someone's gonna pop out and be mad at me and that's gonna hurt and I'm scared to get hurt and I'm already hurting and I don't want any more hurt

And I'm seeing my sister turning to me and I can't stop it and no she's not exactly like me but I see a lot of the same things happening and it's because of the way my dad is abusive towards her and what he thinks is okay to treat her like but also she has some serious problems

Like I know sometimes people smile when they're nervous or they have like a weird emotional response like that's kind of a normal thing that just happens like I laugh at funerals because I don't even know what else to do I get so overwhelmed by grief and instead of crying after I've been crying for a while I just start hysterically laughing and I have to fucking excuse myself so people don't think that I'm a bitch

But my sister since she was very small has always gotten this dead eyed look on her face and grinned when she was doing horrible shit to me

And when my father is extremely abusive he makes the same fucking face even though they're not blood related it's the same sort of whatever I don't know I can't diagnose that

And no one believed me until my sister got a little bit older and my mom started to notice

So I got punished for years and tortured by her 15 years younger than me for years and she doesn't remember any of it and if she does she thinks it's funny and I don't even know

I don't even know how I had a time jump from like 7 PM and now it's 1 AM and I haven't even been typing that long I know that other things have occurred since then but I feel like there's missing time and I don't know if it's just time blindness or just associative issues or if I am in desperate need of a vacation and sleep

I mean I don't know what I need I don't know anymore

I do and I don't

I just find that life is incredibly hard and I'm tired

I'm so tired I'm not at risk or anything don't pick up the fucking phone please dear God but you know I'm tired dude I'm really tired

And you know my dad has promised me so many things and one reason I'm so angry with him and so frustrated with him is because he promised me so much and I didn't even ask for it he just told me Hey I'm gonna do all this stuff for you and he got my hopes up and then I found out that he doesn't know how to manage his money and I have noticed that my mom doesn't know how either and They fucked up and all the money that was supposed to go to helping me or helping me go to college etcWent to adopting my sister and my dad getting a new car and my mom needed to pay bills with inheritance money that she swears wasn't inheritance money but my uncles are like no your grandmother loved that to you and your sister and your mom used it and they both don't like my mother and my uncle who is a priest flat out was just wasted on the phone the other day when I was asking him a question and he was talking shit about her but I couldn't fuss at him because he's An uncle that actually does kind of care even if he doesn't understand but he was also shit face drunk and I wasn't going to argue with a drunk priest uncle because I've already done that before familyAt family gatherings and he's just sprayed me with holy water and recited parts of the Bible like a fucking Dick

I wish I could talk to my schizophrenic uncle. It is so nice to talk to other people who are actually mentally ill and do understand family dynamics that are insane it's refreshing because yeah they aren't understood very well either but we understand each other

And I really hate this whole idea of autistic people having to fit in with normal people and the world is just not built for us it's not andIt's just not built for different minded people at all

I mean my psychiatrist in his PA talk to me about how I'm incredibly smart and I have all this stuff going on in my brain all the time and the world's not built for people like me and they told me that you know my intelligence and my ability to think about certain things in certain ways is like a super power and yeah I get that it's a little bit cringed to call it a superpower it's more like a curse to me because damn I wish I was dumber I wish sometimes I was just dumb as a box of rocks and could just have a job and go through life having a job And big a dumb dumb and not havingA fucking care in the world because I see like people that are questionable if they're not like a bunch of animals in a trench coat or like people that look like they secretly eat glue and crayons as a snack and I'm like how in the world do these people get through life walking around acting like ignorant dumb fox and I'm having problems with like basic shit like making sure that I brush my teeth and brush my hair and bathes And it's stupid and I'm so angry about it

And I'm mad right now that my hips hurt and my back hurts and I can't do anything about it unless I go to the urgent care and get some anti-inflammatory shots in my ass because otherwise I'm gonna have to lay in bed for a few days and I don't want to do that and I want to do a bunch of other stuff but I'm exhausted and I have to take a break and I don't want to take a fucking break

And I don't know why I always feel like I'm in a frantic rush like I'm the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland screaming we're late we're late

I don't know what I feel frantic sometimes and I guess it's anxiety related or I don't know

I miss my grandmother's so fucking much I really do

They understood me and my uncle understood me and he still alive and I would really love to visit him but nobody will let me and I don't know how he's doing and I'm just sadd I want to know my odds and my uncles and not be treated like shit

I wish I had a tighter knit group of friends and a better support system Travis is wonderful and all but since I've been hanging out with him other people are acting weird because they're not understanding that he's sober because they haven't seen him in a long time and a lot of people think that we're dating and I had to correct so many people at the metal show and it was not fun To be like yeah that's no that's my brother you know no thank you he's really great though and you should definitely talk to him if you're interested but I am not interested

And the thing is sometimes I look at him and I try to be interested I really do because he's nice enough to do there are some things about him that I really don't like but I know he would be good to me but I'm not attracted to him in the way that I would need to be I don't see him like that he's like a brother today he literally farted at me and then ran out the room like an asshole Or a brother I don't know

But like it was just weird everything's weird I just want to be back where I was going to shows and socializing and God damn I miss having sex it's been so fucking long and it takes so long for me to have a connection with somebody to do that and maybe I just need to get laid

Maybe we just need to figure out a way to get me laid without me losing my mind maybe I need to have a one night stand that's really good or something but I'm not that kind of person no I was cursed with demisexuality and it takes me a long time to like somebody and jump into bed with them or I have to be horribly comfortable around them I have to feel at ease

I don't even know if I like sex anymore

Like if this is too much information you can just skip over it because I'm gonna keep talking about it I can't really Get myself to pleasure myself anymore and when I do it's more of like a compulsive thing because I feel like I just need to get off and go to sleep it's not something that like I'm enjoying anymore and I don't like this

And I had to talk to my GYN because I have never had a traditional orgasm like I'm supposed to and so the Doctor was like well there's a procedure we can do where we can inject plasma into then you'll have orgasms and I'm like that sounds really cool we could try that if I can afford it but like I also get these awful sists and The doctors figured out what's causing it however there's been no treatment for it because they want me to lose weight but I have thyroid issues and even if I Stick to a diet and exercise it does not help me drop weight until my metabolism is working correctly and if I'm in hypothyroid then it's not working and if I'm in hyperthyroid then I drop weight or super fast and I don't know right now I can hear my Neighbors screaming at 1 another and it's Driving me Insane because it's Really late at night and I shouldn't be able to hear people screaming at each other from 2 Doors down Inside of their apartment

And I told my dad that I would be willing to stay short-term in a downstairs apartment somewhere safe and quiet if I didn't have neighbors above me that stamped around or at least the noise was muffled a little bit because people get on the roof above my apartment to fix the AC units for the apartment surrounding me and some people just climb app there and party and I can hear them when they're walking app there and it's so Loud and scares the shit out of me every single time Since the time I moved in

So I don't know if having an upstairs neighbor is tolerable for me and I do not want to make things hard on my family and I already feel like a huge burden

And there was a time where my dad was doing nothing but calling me an imposition For weeks he was doing this I wasn't serious pain I had a back injury I was using a Walker to move around and he was being abusive to me severely and telling me I was faking everything while I was crying in pain't struggling to get up the stairs and he just drove off and left me by myself to figure out how to do things and I had to pay my ex-boyfriend to stay with me when my father and my mother could have done that where my sister could have done that and all I needed them to do was just fucking call EMSIf I fell and my doctors have been telling my parents to move me to a downstairs apartment and get me some sort of help when my back is fucked up If they can't as my family help me

Because I was always taught that family is supposed to help family and be the ones that you can talk to about anything and be closest to and that's why I don't want to give up because I want that and I was lied to

There's just so much I'm finding out at 37 about the way people think and work and just operate and I don't understand it doesn't make sense to me I don't get it it's not clicking in my head

And people are like well if you know it's not clicking in your head then shouldn't you be able to figure that out and I'm like no but because my brain does not work like yours and I don't think like that and I could try to think like that but it doesn't make it click into place

It's just like I don't understand why my partner being my dominant and helping me get things done by tasking me works but it does and I don't know how he can magically put me in subspace and I feel completely relaxed and safe and like I'm being protected and then I'm given Like long distance after care a little bit of a chat or he'll check on me the next morning and see how I'm doing and nobody else Has ever really been able to do that with me and Figure out how to loop hole my brain But he does and he's good at it and sometimes I ain't like hey I really need help today because I can't fucking function

And if he has the time then yes we do that and if he doesn't then he lets me know but usually he won't leave me with nothing he'll at least tell me ZI can wear my collar and tell me to find something to keep myself busy until he can do something for me or Whatever.

You know he wants me to find a partner here and I'm looking and it's just really hard because it's not like I can really be dating people here actively right now and letting them get to know me when I'm still figuring shit out and in therapy for all my crap and about the only person that I would be willing to sleep with currently is my ex-boyfriend who does not seem to be interested in whatsoever but I could be wrong because I can never tell when somebody is interested in me it's confusing as fuck people have to like directly tell me hi I like you I would like to have sex with you I would like to date you etc like otherwise I'm fucking clueless

I hate this so much

I hate the incessant compulsive need to just process all this shit constantly for pages and II don't know if it's helping me or not

I mean apparently according to my psychiatrist this is actually a good thing for ptsd but I don't know

I'm not noticing the good things that other people are about me and I don't know what that is Like I don't know what is changing for the good and they tell me that like I'm doing so much better and then I'm like I don't know what the fuck you're talking about dude

Also completely off-topic since I'm not really staying on topic anyway but completely fucking off-topic out of left field I need to talk about something well I'm thinking about it

So I used to hang out with Matthew on Sundays and Father's Day was Sunday and Matthew still follows me on TikTok and liked quite a few of my reposts during probably the time he was supposed to be hanging out with his kids and wife for Father's Day stuff and I feel that he probably would rather be here with me but he chose to not divorce his wife and Stay together with her for the kids benefit which is stupid in my opinion but I understand that his kids come first but I still think that a divorce Would not hurt the children and no I'm not talking about Matt in New Jersey I'm talking about Matthew who was a transperson and They use heat they pronounced and they wanted to be more feminine but unfortunately they were kind of built like a Jack marine and it just wasn't like a girly style that they wanted to try and say they just presented as masculine and male and I have discovered that I am attracted to people who are male to female trans or or I am sometimes attracted to Stone top lesbians though I have never gotten to experience any sort of intimothy other than with Matthew who was a sexual so the intimacy was only just cuddling and they caught me off guard 1 day when they just gave me the world's most beautiful Wonderful kiss and the last time I saw them in person They went to leave because one of their kids was very sick and in the hospital but before they left and walked out the door they ran back over to me and they kissed me and And then the next thing I knew his wife was calling and it all blindsided me because he told me he was looking for a lawyer to get into force but it turns out that he had gotten a house with his wife and they had been going to couples therapy and he had just neglected to tell me for 4 fucking months out of years of a relaxing spin time together type relationship Z He just didn't want to hurt my feelings by letting me know what was going on

He didn't think that his wife was smart enough to figure out that he was coming over to my apartment and I wanted to be left out of the drama because I had heard the way that she spoke to him and it was horribly abusive and I was always under the impression that they were separated and in the process of trying to divorce and I was lied to you and that hurt really bad and I did get an apology and I do believe that they are sorry And I miss them desperately and I can't reach out any more than I have because it's going to get him in trouble because his wife is really awful and the only reason he's with her and chose to stay with her is for their kids and sometimes I hope that he will change his mind and divorce her and show up at my doorstep And sometimes I think about well maybe he will wait until the kids are 18 and then say fuck you to her and come back to me but then I put that on a shelf for later and I walk away from it because it hurts so much

And last night I met the most beautiful Woman who was definitely male to female at med city ballroom I believe she works there and I wanted so badly to flirt with her but I didn't know how and she was so pretty and It was so interesting because she had a very strong masculine deep voice but she looked very very feminine like she started her hormones very early or something and if she had spoken in a woman's voice I would've never known because usually you can kind of tell by facial structure and body build but no not with this person And It makes me want to go back and see her again but I don't even know her name

And one thing that Matthew told meWhen I discovered that I likedMale to female transpeople he was aggravated by that and what he was aggravated about was that I wasn't interested in dating a transperson that had bottom surgery I was interested in transpeople who aren't interested in bottom surgery who want to date women who want to have sex with women but are still trans and women themselves And I was told that this was wrong and I don't understand how that's wrong and it made me cry becauseIt's just a preference it's not anything that's like a fetish for me it's just what I don't see how that's wrongAnd who knows I maybe would date somebody with bottom surgery but I could never be sexual with a woman that way because I have had a horrible trauma and I am not interested in female genitalia at all I don't even like my own but I don't want male genitalia that I'm aware of

I experienced romantic attraction I experienced sexual attraction I think pretty sure I am I guess pansexpaul and Demi sexual. I don't know whatever labels and terms else I would identify as

I mean me myself I don't really know if I identify any certain gender but I just use she her pronouns because it feels easier because it just feels really complicated if I want to use other pronouns and having to tell people but I don't even feel the need to do that and people don't generally believe me when I tell them that I'm not straight or people think that I'm a lesbian because I don't exactly dress feminine or really give off feminine energy to them

And I really do wish that I could be somebody but I don't really feel like somebody I just feel like a part of a brain with was a body and I don't even know if this is me or part of me talking and II don't know

And and there's so many lives I want to live and so many things I see and it just doesn't seem possible

I wish I had some sort of aesthetic and style for myself I wish I had some sort of cause play type identity that everybody else seems to have

They seem to know what they like to wear and know what looks good on them and they can flaunt it and pull it off and they look great and I feel gross and it doesn't matter if I'm thinner because I have been thinner I've never been skinny but I've been thinner and I still look stupid and things that I would try on and I've been bigger than I am now and I look terrible and the clothing that I would try on and I don't really have very many clothes to wear I just have like 2 pairs of pants and a bunch of old ass shirts with holes in them and It's really not great

And my mom gives me clothing and when I wear it it looks like old lady clothing of course because she is an older lady and it ages me and I want to wear leg a crop top but I look stupid wearing them because I don't look like the fat girl models that look good in those clothes

I just don't my body shape as bizarre

All the things that are flattering come in ugly colors and bad patterns or it's too expensive to buy and the sewing machine I was given because I was like fuck it maybe I will sew my own clothing well nobody knows how to work it and I was promised my other grandmother's sewing machine but my mom is letting abusive alcoholic man probably use that or she's like squirrelled it away and says she's gonna use it someday but if you saw how absolutely filled to the brim her house is of just boxes of stuff that she's going to get 21 day it's sad because the hoarding disorder she has is Very sad and her need to constantly get more things and buy more food because she felt sheaker app with scarcity even though both of my uncles are not like this at all and they told me that she got everything she wanted growing app and she would throw tantrums if she didn't and she never really got in trouble and they got a brunt of the abuse from my grandfather and according to my oldest aunt on my father's side he's always been out of control And strange acting since he was young and he's done some fucked up things and I looked up things and I don't know who to believe

Anyway circling back to my sexuality I don't know what to do anymore about dating

Like I'm happy with Matt but he's right I do need somebody that's here. Unless he decides to just move down here I don't have anyone. Sometimes I think he gets a little drunk and talks about wanting to move to New Orleans and retire and live here with me and that sounds like a wonderful thing andI know that he really wants to marry his primary partner who already has a husband and that's not something he can do and not and I consider him my primary partner but he wants me to have a partner here and I understand that but I haven't found anybody that's acceptable and I would consider dating my ex-boyfriend again because he's sober now andYou know he would always apologize to me about all the awful shit he did and I let him get away with and all that and I was like well you know verbal apologies don't generally make me feel any better because I've had you know my family apologized to me for hurting me and then they do it over and over and over and over and over again and apologies begin to mean nothing to me and the only thing that means something to me is seeing a change in a person And them doing the work and proving it to me and I do wonder if that's something he chose to do for himself or partly because of me orIf maybe I just contributed to it by putting that in his head when I was talking to him about how you know apologies are great but I'm tired of having apologies and not saying any changes like maybe that clicked in his head 1 day or I don't know maybe somebody else magically convinced him to get silver I'm not sure

And I love him and I know about all the stupid shit he's done like shit that no other girl would put up with but it's not really a big deal to me

And he's fucking younger than me and I don't know if that's a good idea even my partner is 2 years younger than me

I wish I could like Travis I just don't though and it's really aggravating I can't make myself I've tried I've tried to get myself attracted to him and I just can't do it I know everybody really wishes for that tap but it's just not going to that I can see

And I have spoken to a lot of really cool nice people and they seem interested in me but no one ever tells me if they are andI don't know what I'm doing anymore

And I'm really lonely like my partner tries his best and today he was supposed to be here for me he knew it was gonna be a hard day and all of that and he wasn't here for me and it hurt andI don't know if he had a reason or if he's just fucking forgot because he's an alcoholic and he needs to get his shit together but you know I promise not to fix him but he also let's me know whenIt's OK for me to call him out on bullshit and I'm pretty timid about calling anybody out on bullshit other than I'm late unless they are hurting somebody I love and care about

And I wonder if I do actually love and care about myself and that's why I am so vicious and protective of myself and I do wonder if that's why I'm so vicious and protective of people I love if there's like a correlation between that if that makes sense I don't know but like I never really thought about if I loved myself or not because I don't really know what myself is I just know that myself Never got protected it never got Justice for what happened to her and she needs somebody to protect her or she's going to get hurt Again and we can't do it we've been trying and I don't know where she is We look for the course self all the time and sometimes she's then she disappears and I don't know because it's real bizarre because I'm part of her I am her but then I'm not and We don't know what's going on with that I don't know what's going on is what I don't know if it's me or if I'm crazy or I mean I don't have like pretty much given up even reading about this sort of stuff because it is so confusing

Like how do people go about Not being broken into pieces because I feel broken in a million little pieces and you know it's really weird if you have me do handwriting my handwriting changes constantly and it's really weird it's like script and print and the styles change and It's really bizarre and you know I see the paragraph that I wrote wee and I'm like who the fuck is we but I know that there's a wee because I know it's just I don't understand how to explain it

I don't like talking about it because I don't want some other diagnosis so a Doctor can treat me like I'm crazy and tell me to quit smoking weed and take me off of my anxiety medicine when I actually need those things for pain and all sorts of other reasons

And I've already explained the purpose of those medications so I don't need to go over that and you No somebody has to protect her

Nobody protects her

And I'm scared that everybody's going to find out that I'm not like them

But I also don't know why I care

I don't know why I can't just say fuck it

I don't know why there's just no Justice for all of the bad things that happen I don't know why people don't follow rules I don't understand that I don't know if this talkie part of me is an altar or me or a disorder or just PTSD or 80 HD

I'm not correcting that we can all figure out what that means I'm pretty sure

You know I always suspected that I had some sort of disassociative disorder and my mom's even made comment about like how I always was spacing out especially when they were arguing but I don't understand why they never stopped are you and once they noticed that it was causing me to great distress because who the fuck does that to a kid what the fuck is wrong with grown ass adults why do they do that in front of children I wish I could slap the faces of every single fucking person that does that And then like chokes slam them into a wall and tell them that they're gonna fuck up their kid to hell if they continue and they shouldn't be fucking parents if they're going to continue acting like that

You know I could have really hurt my sister and my family doesn't know that I could have really really hurt her when she attacked me and I had so much trouble trying to fight with myself and parts of myself it's all to hold it together and just like shove her ass out of the way and try to block the hits that were being thrown and all the bullshit she was screaming at me and I tried really hard to reason with her And I thought about putting her in a hold where she couldn't get loose and I could just make her take a little nap on the carpet and she would be fine but I didn't want to hurt her Or cause her any more distress and my dad told me that it wasn't about the candle for her that she was just pissed off because she had a bad day at work and that makes me even angrier now that I know that it had nothing to do with the candle for her because I thought it was all about the stupid fucking candle

No she's just immature and a little asshole and she just decided she was gonna try and beat me up

I grew up with people that would go to the person they hated's house and if their parents weren't home they would go in the house and drag them outside and beat their ass on their own front lawn

I grew up with gen x people.

I ran around with my best friend Going to fucking trap houses and I'm not bragging about it it's not cool the things that I experienced I rode around in the back of the car with her getting stoned as hell while her boyfriend and baby daddy and her friend's boyfriend and baby daddy wrote around and sold crack and the only reason that I know what a crack rock looks like is because they showed me and it looks like a block of parmesan cheese it's wild and now I know as I call it Certain slang names and I've never done it I've never touched it I've never actually physically touched it because I know that shit can soak in through your skin and people don't realize that Also I mean it's made with lake household chemicals and that's pretty fucking gross

But also I have definitely smoked a Blunt that had Coke in it before and I did not know it and It made me incredibly sick it did not get me fucked up it just made me sick and want to fucking die and I thought I was dying but I didn't and I would never want to touch it again

And then one time my mom's shitty alcoholic pet boyfriend whatever the fuck he is got me some weed because I didn't have anybody to get it from and it was laced with cocaine and PC P and I smoke that and it was a large bag of it and he said it was Mexican weed and I really do think that it fucked me up and the reason I know what it was laced with is because I was waking up in puddles of sweat and smoking entirely too much constantly and then one evening I had an auditory hallucination about being in a ballroom with leg you know like bridgerton style and this was before bridgerton existed and it was like mentally in my mind's eye I could see everything and physically I was just laying in bed But I could hear the talking and the music and it was beautiful but it was also terrifying and so I asked my dad to go get me a Drug test and I pissed tested myself and it popped for those 2 things and I was horrified so I had him get rid of it and everybody was like I would have taken that that's hilarious oh my God do you know how expensive it is to get PCP and I'm like why in the world would you want to do those drugs

Like why would you want to do PCP?

Like you know how anti psychotics can cause people all sorts of problems yet that drug can wreck your brain for the rest of your life and I worry that that's what happened was before I moved out of his house right before I moved in with Lucy and Don't know if it did something to me and changed me. I do know that it can profoundly change people and it can cripple them and fuck them up beyond belief

And then one time I smoked opiumThat was in a Blunt and I thought it was really weird that everybody else was nodding off and faded and I was wide awake and like Hey guys Hey hey I don't fucking hurt this is the best thing ever who wants to go on a long walk with me andWe're all so fucked up and I was just pain free.

I never did that again though

I was always scared of doing other things

I did try the stupid gas station weed before and all it did was give me an awful fucking headache back in the day when spice was popular

I was like fuck that

And then I used to go get dackeries a lot with Kelly and I would ride with her so she could go get her pills and I would help her find fucking hose clamps.

But I never took those medicines unless I was prescribed them for paying for myself for my own problems because I wasn't interested and how they made me feel I'd just liked having no pain but I never had an addiction to them that was never an issue I've never had like any sort of addiction issues

And I guess I'm lucky about that but sometimes I look at the vodka that lives in my refrigerator and I think about just getting wasaid because I just want to

And sometimes I look at alcohol and beer in the store and I want to get it and I don't have any sort of drinking problem or anything but there's so much history in the family of drinking problems that I don't know I don't want to tempt fate but sometimes I do want to go out and have drinks and get drunk and I don't really have anybody to go out and party with and Justin Was a person that I was going to be comfortable doing that wasn't till he got really fucking weird and we are still technically friends but I have been ghosting him because I can't really handle a lot of his behavior which is very similar to my father's behavior that I finally figured out what bothered me.

The thing is like he really likes me or at least he thinks he does but what I noticed is he likes the idea of me and not actually who I am and he had problems with who I am when I tried to show him who I was currently and he didn't like that and I'm just like well I'm not going to morph myself into the perfect little tradwife for you sorry that's not going to happen And then him insulting my partner really pissed me off and I've already told him off about it

Because what did he think that he was going to pretend to be Polly and then start dating me and then push Mat out of the picture

And the last time we spoke he was just like well I've been thinking about you in the most leg try hard flirty way and I was like you internally I wanted to say it out loud but I just didn't and I didn't even respond to it over the phone call and I just changed subjects because it's just like I don't know what I'm supposed to do cause I don't like him like that he knows it and he's still pushing even though I have put his ass in friendzone or whatever the fuck you want to call it people are like Always bitching about friendzone and terms and crap like that and it's just like oh come onEverybody knows that technically friend zone is just like you liked the person but you don't like the person enough to fuck them or date them so they're just a good friend because they're a nice person you don't want to like not be friends with them and then it just makes things complicated if the person can't just stay within the boundaries and he crossed my fucking boundaries by messaging me to ask how I was doing when I told him that I would message him when I was ready to talk and feeling better and I'm still not feeling better and he has continued to message me and I don't really Want to reply right now and he can just live with that or he can fuck off

And I don't know I think I'm just gonna stop for the evening I'd have plenty of other things to talk about and I think you know it's time that we have out decompression time and go to sleep

AndI don't know sometimes it just really feels like time is bending because it goes fast and then it goes slow and then it doesn't make any sense to me at all and thenI just start thinking about you know how the Earth and the universe is just not locally real and how all of that works and all these lake theories that it keeps me up at night but not in a bad way because at night I can just quietly do what I please on the computer and I can comfortably eat without feeling embarrassed or shamed and it doesn't trigger my eating disorder And I can smoke weed and not be bothered and I can do you pretty much everything except make loud assNoises because I don't really want to disturb my neighbors or I might be like enjoying myself loudly singing or something but you can hear through the fucking walls

So like generally I just watch Korean dramas and whatever shows that look good on Netflix and prime and I might also be playing like a Sims game and I might be having like 60 tabs open with 6 different rabbit holes of research I'm doing on some sort of niche subject that I have become hyper fixated on and then suddenly I'll be like I'm not interested in this anymore and I'll close it and then I'll be like oh no where did that go and I'll never be able to find the fucking webpage again and you know there's just So much information and I want to absorb all of it.

I have some videos that I have not posted that I'm going to post here

I found them to be very interesting and it really explains somewhat how I feel you'll and I haven't really looked at any disassociative disordered TikTok's but I was considering doing that to see if there is anything relatible to show you but most of the ones that I save are about like other mental health issues or narcissistic abuse or whatever that I very strongly Agree with and understand that I want other people to see and understand and share

I don't like that my dad has put me on a time crunch that I'm going to have to change phone proviters and you get a new phone and start paying a bill for that and he's acting like I can't just give him money for the family plan that we're on and I'm like are you planning to die soon and he doesn't look good like he'll eat it lose weight but he has no muscle it looks like and I'm like Hey I want to ask him hey you know is are you fucking dying are you going to die soon do I need to go ahead and start grieving now like I already grieved a little bit when I was on the contact but you know I quitBecause my mom would tell me about the awful shit he would say about me behind my back and the shit he would say to her and it made me mad and I was just like fuck him

And you know same thing with my sister who's just being awful to my mother and it's weird because my mom will be nice to me but then you'll turn around and be really nasty to me and you know next session it's probably going to be about things I do that she doesn't like.

I never really hear or see my parents act genuine.

It was weird as hell to see my father act the way he did today.

Chelsea said he looked scared when I asked what his facial expression was.

I was pissed that he was late.

I still don't understand what he needed to talk to you about first and why.

I left that choice up to you.

I can't go back in time. I should have said no. I should have just gone in together.

I started to panic when he went in there with you.

My father, the person that literally hurt my neck connective tissue and I had whiplash pain for weeks. I have evidence. I could send him to jail.

I didn't bruise and didn't think to take pictures of the red marks on my chest from my sister before they went away but she admitted she did it and not even about the candle

Who does that?

Now I'm angrier because it wasn't about that. She was just mad and had a bad day and wanted an excuse to fight.

I regret not fighting back or calling the cops now.

I regret not beating her ass to teach her a lesson.

Fuck her.

She didn't apologize and she's partying and getting stoned and drinking having fun not giving a fuck about what she's doing to others around her.

If she ever puts her hands on me again like that I will defend myself.

But no I'm being nice. I got her a bag with plan b and condoms and narcan and fentanyl test kits. I'm still trying to be a good big sister.

I'm trying to just be a person.

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getmemymicroscope · 2 years ago

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This movie, much like Badla and Dobaaraa, is another Spanish movie remake starring Taapsee Pannu. However, while Badla was pretty good (albeit predictable, and a direct copy) and Dobaaraa had it's moments (also possibly a direct copy, knowing Bollywood, though I haven't seen the Spanish movie yet), this movie (again, also possibly a direct copy, though I haven't seen the Spanish movie) is ...

I don't generally read, or care about, critics reviews about movies because, well, quite honestly, critics are more about 'bashing' things that don't fit their specific sensibilities of what a 'good' movie should have, whereas I just want to be entertainied.

However, there are two reviews I came across that I think really sum up how frustrated I was with this movie (to the point of literally cursing out how stupid our main character is).

First,

This is purely a plot convenience to endanger Gayatri, but it makes little sense given her state of mind to this point. Before the surgery, she was convinced that the unknown person she believes killed her sister was following her and was able to enter her house at night. Staying in a fully staffed hospital is obviously safer, so her insistence on recuperating at home is absurd.

Second,

Gayatri’s decision to shift to her sister’s house after her major eye surgery and not stay in the hospital seemed unconvincing. She had no solid reason to do so. The track of Deepak and Chander also leaves viewers puzzled. Gayatri bumping into furniture and throwing things around because she’s losing her eyesight becomes laughable after a point.

That scene, where she - after thinking (multiple times, no less!) that she's being chased and that someone's in the house and after going through some traumas that have left her alone - decides that the best way to recuperate from a surgery that has left her in a state of "you can't take the bandages off your eyes for days" is to go and stay in that same MASSIVE house, by herself, is fucking ridiculous, stupid as hell, and done entirely for plot purposes. No one in any sense of mind would have made that decision - but she has to make it, because if she stays in the hospital, like she should, nothing after that would happen. And the doctor, who needs to have his license revoked, is just like "yeah, okay." (Not to mention, does he not do any background checks on any of the people hired to work with these patients?) I was half tempted to turn to movie off right then or, maybe worse (maybe not), throw my remote at the screen. ... And, honestly, I probably should have, because everything after that moment was a shitshow. Even before that - she has the episode where she's going blind, right after the boyfriend disappears - and she decides that, though she can't see, she's going to drive home! And as her vision keeps getting worse on that drive, she makes no effort to pull over or get help - she just keeps driving until she crashes. She's lucky no one died because of her stupidity, but honestly - that's her entire character. She's so dumb in almost every decision that you, very early, just get annoyed of her.

And then they keep showing her running into things and throwing things around, which - well, maybe you shouldn't have gone back to that mansion alone, maybe? You're so annoyed of her as soon as she decides to go back to the house that you can't even sympathize with her - because all of these bad decisions she's facing (killer aside, but that's a different thing) are being brought on by her own fucking stupidity (and, in the process, she even makes things easier for the killer by making stupid decision after stupid decision). Much later, when switching the teas, she doesn't even notice that they look different; she's pretending to be blind, he's not - of course he's going to notice that she switched them.

His whole story arc, and the bit with his mother, is ridiculous. The whole bit with the boyfriend, honestly, is also ridiculous - both initially, when they treat each other like annoyances; then when he disappears; and then with the "reveal" of his truth. Like, I'm not denying it was probably better done in the original movie, but that's the issue with some of these Bollywood remakes - like, change things up a bit. You're allowed to make some changes! (Just make good ones; not bad ones that totally clash with the later plot points you've refused to change, like happened in Forensic.) I will keep pointing to Evaru, the Telugu film inspired by The Invisible Guest, as a direct comparison to Badla, the Bollywood film directly copied from The Invisible Guest. It is possible to change the story and yet keep the same general gist. Bollywood just sucks at it (or, well, refuses to try it).

There is some good filming (again, maybe copied from the original?) where, as our protagonist is losing her vision (and eventually totally loses it) and our view in the movie pretty much is limited to just what's in front of her. It's not as well-handled as the Tamil movie Kuttrame Thandanai, where our protagonist has tunnel vision and we are limited to that same sort of tunnel vision to see only what he can see; in fact, here, it's more of an attempt to just obscure anything except her so we can't get a handle on who is around (and, therefore, what the suspense will end up being). But it is still a cool effect for the movie.

It's just unfortunate that, for the sake of plot only, our character has to be such a mindless idiot that you're too busy waiting for the movie to end to truly relish it.

When the entire reason for something happening is "the plot requires this to happen this way," there's a problem. Because our characters should be acting like normal people, with the plot happening around them - not the plot dictating what they have to do next so that the plot can continue.

This is up there amongst the most frustrating Bollywood movies of the year, for sure.

#movies #gmmm does bollywood #movieblr #gmmm does movies

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studiojeon · 3 years ago

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use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | - Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee).

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed.

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish. “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes.

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better.

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you.

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face.

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly.

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips.

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way.

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion.

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on?

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week.

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker.

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way."

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while.

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either.

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out.

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside.

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you.

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know".

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right.

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?"

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though.

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t.

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

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thunderheadfred · 3 years ago

Text

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

#hawks #takami keigo #hawks headcanons #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #gender neutral #smut #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fred writes #no idea why I’m writing these #guess I’m just in a Mood

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multific · 4 years ago

Text

Match Made in Heaven

Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Requested by: ateliefloresdaprimavera

Summary: You meet Dr. Hannibal Lecter after your boss sent you to therapy following a traumatic event.

From the first day you walked into his office, you had a feeling he likes you.

Dr. Lecter.

He always had that expression on his face. Similar to yours.

But you couldn’t quite put your finger around it.

He was also the very first person to look into your eyes. He could hold eye contact with you, others couldn’t. Whenever they looked into your eyes, they always quickly looked away, down or behind you instead of right into them.

But he didn’t.

He kept his gaze right at you. You felt like he was reading you like a book. However you learned that it wasn’t true. Not by the way his eyebrows flicked up a little whenever you revealed something about yourself.

He found him quite charming. He was handsome, tall and very intelligent.

After your workplace got robbed the other month, your boss insisted on getting you into therapy.

Although it was more traumatic for the robber, you didn’t argue with your boss.

She recommended Dr. Lecter to you, saying he was a fantastic doctor and you would get over the “trauma” in no time.

***

You felt some form of connection with Dr. Lecter. He seemed to be very fond of your perfume and when you decided to play a trick on him and change it to a cheaper one, he seemed rather displeased.

The next appointment, he bought a brand new bottle of your perfume, he said.

“I think a lady like yourself deserves to not have to wear such cheap perfume.”

You were impressed. He did really pick up on the smallest of things.

And now, he invited you over for dinner.

He told you that he often consults with the police so, someone will be there with you.

Shame, you would have loved to have a nice date with him.

“Jack, this is Y/N Y/L/N. And Ms. Y/L/N, this is Jack Crawford.”

The night went on pretty well and normal. You all ate, drank and talked. You learned that Jack was an FBI agent, who worked on special cases. And as you noticed he had just enough in him to let a few secrets slip.

“Have you ever heard about the Chesapeake Ripper, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Heard a few things here and there.” you said taking a sip from your glass.

“And what do you think?”

“Well, from what I saw, Chesapeake Ripper, certainly has an interesting...style. Quite fascinating in my opinion.”

“You find a cereal killer to be fascinating?”

“I sure do. Other killers leave the bodies behind like they were nothing, but this individual displays them. In a way, it’s art, their art.” you said smirking.

You could tell Jack was shocked by your answer. But he quickly moved to a different topic.

“Thank you very much for the dinner, Dr. Lecter, it was delicious.”

“Please, outside my office, just call me Hannibal. We are friends after all.” he smiled and you smiled back. He placed your coat onto your shoulders as you said goodbye.

Two things you were sure after that night.

One, Hannibal was possibly the most charming man you have ever seen and you wanted him. And two, it was definitely not rabbit he just served you.

***

During your appointments with Hannibal, you never talked about that night. But, after the dinner the other day, you were more confident.

“I’m ready to talk about the day which caused me to end up here, Doctor.” you said just as you stepped into his office. Hannibal closed the door behind you.

You placed your purse on the chair before sitting down on the comfortable leather seat you always sat in.

“Why now?”

“I just feel like I’m ready.” you said with a smile, crossing your legs.

“Don’t let me stop you then.”

“I think I mentioned to you this before but I work in a jewelry store. I worked in the evening, closing the store when a man came in with a gun and demanded the jewelry. My only thought were that a dirty pig like him doesn’t deserve to even be in the presence of such delicate diamonds and riches. So, I refused.”

“You refused to had over some necklaces while being held at gun point?”

“I sure did. And they are not some necklaces. Each one is special, handcrafted. Why should one person struggle for months or years to put together such a treasure so that another filthy one could steal it?”

“What did you do? I remember in the news that the man was never found, what happened?”

“Would you like to hear the official story, or the truth?”

“I suppose they are not the same.” he said raising a brow. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find you attractive.

“Not entirely no. I worked in that store enough to know the blind spots. Where the cameras cannot see. And once I had him there, all I needed is to take his gun. I am not saying I killed him, Doctor. Just for the record. But what they said in the news is true, he was never seen after the incident. Police thinks he ran away after I refused to cooperate.”

Hannibal for sure understood what you were referring to. Yet, his face didn’t move an inch. But you could tell just how interested he was.

“You certainly made sure to keep your treasures safe. But does a man’s life worth diamonds?” he was toying with you, so you decided to just go for it.

“Of course. Such a low-life, wouldn’t call him a man really. But his heart certainly tasted nice...Figuratively speaking of course.”

“Of course.”

You noticed a smirk grow on his face, it made you smile.

You just knew, this was only the beginning of an amazing friendship and possibly even more.

Hannibal wasn’t the kind of person who would be fooled easily. That’s why he tried to be cautious around you.

But he slowly started to notice things, things about himself.

Every morning, if he had an appointment with you that day, he would spend extra time getting ready. He quickly noticed which colours you preferred on him, so he made sure to wear suits of those colours.

His obsession only grew meeting after meeting.

He noticed the change in your perfume, and since he wasn’t fond of the new one, he went out that day and bought you a new bottle. The lady in the shop thought he was purchasing it for his wife.

The breaking point however was the day you told him about the night of the robbery.

He had a suspicion about you, but you only confirmed it.

Hannibal saw that as more than a confession of crime.

It was a confession of trust.

You trusted him with your secret. And he certainly didn’t plan on losing that trust.

***

Not long after that, you decided to stop your appointments. During your last appointment, Hannibal suggested a date, which you agreed to.

And from that day on, you became more than patient and doctor.

Hannibal was very careful around you. At first he thought you were trying to trick him, but by the way your eyes shined whenever he placed some new dishes in front of you, he knew you weren’t pretending. A sane woman would never eat someone’s liver the way you did, not with knowing where it exactly came from.

But you proved yourself to him.

And so, he decided to take you to his basement. Showed you his real side. A side only his victims saw.

And you loved it.

Not only did you get to see a new side of the man you adored, but the whole place was amazing. You remember kissing him so feverishly down there, you didn’t even make it out only a few hours later.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was completely obsessed with you, but you were just as obsessed about him.

A match made in heaven...or rather in hell.

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My taglist is open!

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank You for reading my story!~

#hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal imagine #hannibal imagines #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal series #hannibal series imagine

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wonlouvre · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: child trafficking, child labor

a/n: just a disclaimer, i am not that well-versed when it comes to investigations and trial procedures at the court. please do correct me i make a mistake. i hope you enjoy this new part! i think we have about three or four chapters left. ANGST is on the next part :’(

seven: if you can’t believe | masterlist

“On April xx, 20xx, at approximately 10:30 in the morning, two unidentified males entered and held hostage the Emergency Room of the Royal Hospital. The nurse in charge of the information desk said that the two males approached the desk and asked if there were two boys (their identities are yet to be confirmed) admitted to the hospital. They claimed that they’re their guardians and wish to have them discharged and transferred to a different hospital. Based on their description, the nurse confirmed that there were two boys who came to the hospital earlier in the morning. However, the nurse informed them that they are not cleared to be discharged yet as per doctor’s orders and if they wish to discuss with the doctor-in-charge, they can. They only need to present IDs or any documentation to prove that they are indeed the guardian.

They did present IDs however, it was not valid and accepted by the hospital. The two males started demanding to see the two boys and insisted that they will recognize who they were. At that point, the nurse said the two males’ were beginning to raise their voices. The nurse asked them to calm down and wait patiently for the doctor-in-charge to arrive. That’s when the two males pulled out handguns and threateningly pointed it at the nurse.

The Royal Hospital’s security was alerted and immediately called the Royal Police. The hospital’s security was able to distract the two suspects until one of the police officers fired a shot. Fortunately, no hospital staff and patients were harmed. It is yet to be identified how the armed suspects were able to enter the hospital undetected.

The Royal Police cannot release the names of the suspects and any other details as the investigation is still ongoing. However, we are looking at the direction that this could possibly be a case of child trafficking and the two suspects are perpetrators.

Please be rest assured that we are committed to solve this case and hold everyone involved accountable. We ask the general public to only believe verified information and wait for the official statements that the Royal Police will release accordingly.

Thank you for your understanding.”

You’re both crestfallen and angry. This paper would probably rip apart from the way your hand is deathly gripping it. It’s never easy to read and hear about crimes committed against innocent people. It’s never easy because they don’t deserve to go through the torment, harm and trauma. You wish you could avoid it, but it would be wrong and unfair to the victims. So no matter how heartbreaking or uncomfortable it is, you read and you listen because you have to be aware of it. You have to know and not turn a blind eye because they deserve to be heard and fought for.

This black and white statement of the Royal Police is nothing but horrible. How did the kingdom let this pass? For a kingdom that’s so proud of its enforcement of strict laws, how did this crime happen right under its nose?

It weighs on your heart and ever since you’ve taken hold of this piece of paper, you don’t know how to continue on with the day anymore. You lean your head against the backrest and stare up the ceiling. You breathe in and breathe out, getting yourself together to think, to function.

Something is telling you that there is more to this hostage taking at the hospital and this case of child trafficking. And you desperately need to know. You’re already aware that the authorized and concerned people are doing their job already, but why is it drawing your attention?

You release an exasperated sigh and massage your right brow. It’s been twitching due to the boiling anger inside you and you just want it to stop. The only way for that to happen is to find answers. Picking up your phone among the pile of papers, you dial the number of the person you’re sure that can give you any information, big or small.

First ring. Second ring. Thi---, “Your Highness.”

You’re quick to your feet the moment he answered. “Hey Seungkwan. How have you been?”

Boo Seungkwan is the man to call. A persistent and assertive prosecutor and person in general. Definitely one of the brightest classmates and lawyers you have ever met. It’s no surprise that he’s hired by the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office as a prosecutor. He knows what he’s doing and more than doing, he knows how to fight to the end.

He actually wanted you to join together and you considered the offer. However, due to your position in the kingdom, you realized that practicing in private is more suitable for you.

“Well,” he says and pauses, “I have been better. How about you, Your Highness?”

“You know that you can call me Y/N, right?” You remind him, offering a smile even though he won’t be able to see it. “We went to law school and passed the exams together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, not a big fan of throwbacks. “To what do I owe this phone call anyway?”

“About the recent statement of the Royal Police, is there anything you’d be willing to share with me?” You requested and faced the window that’s overlooking the city.

You hear him chuckle on the other line. “I knew you’d ask. You do know that I’m risking my job as a prosecutor because I can’t say no to you right?”

“Is it something… big?” You ask nervously, biting the insides of your cheek.

A beat of silence passes and you can tell it is without having him say it. You think your heart is going to explode anytime soon.

“Big or not, it’s a case and a crime,” he retorts. “But this is something that Their Majesties need to brace themselves for,” he continues, warning laced on his voice. “It can shake the cabinet as well because we can tell that one, and if not, some of them are involved.”

There it is. The cold hard truth. There was nothing else to say. It’s more than obvious that the kingdom’s cabinet has been compromised and it will blow right at your family’s faces. You don’t even need to doubt it. But still, your blood runs cold at the thought.

“Thank you Seungkwan,” you say and breathe out a defeated sigh. “Let’s meet for coffee some other time.”

You hear him say “anytime” and then end the call.

You toss your phone back on the table and cross your arms as if you’re trying to hug yourself. Your eyes are out of focus and your mind has questions that need answers. This case is not even about protecting your family’s reputation anymore. It’s about your family protecting its people, its children, from this.

You’ll probably never forgive yourself if you and the rest of your family have failed to do its promise and duty.

“Your Highness?” Jeongyeon knocks on the wooden door and calls for you, pulling you back to the ground. “Are you ready to go?”

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. You don’t remember having errands outside the office today.

Jeongyeon notices your confusion and says, “Your monthly checkup is today.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind,” you say and quickly gather your things so that you can leave now. “Thank you, Jeongyeon.”

She nods, understanding what you meant. She keeps the door open and waits for you to pass through.

What the hell am I going to do? You ask yourself. A million thoughts has started running inside your mind from reading the statement up to finding out that this case could potentially be a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate that the Royal Family failed to prevent. Every day, there are crimes that get tried and solved in this kingdom. But for this particular crime, it doesn’t happen every day and it shouldn’t be in the first place. But, your kingdom must have grown complacent because here it is, a ticking time bomb that will explode anytime soon.

How did this happen and who allowed this to happen?

“Your stress levels are quite high compared to your previous check-up, Your Highness.” The doctor gives you a knowing smile after reading the results of your tests today.

“It’s because of work,” you make an excuse and return his smile with a sheepish one while scratching the back of your neck. “I think.”

The doctor tried to muffle his laughter, but you can hear him snicker nonetheless. He just nods and mutters an, “alright,” and proceeds to write down the results and updates of this consultation.

“Although there is nothing to be concerned about, I still advise you to take things slow,” he once again points out the reminder that he gave from the first time you got admitted. “Remember, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

You nod and purse your lips in a smile. “I promise I’ll try.”

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, but lets it go in the end.

“I think we are good,” he says and leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Let’s go back to your yearly check-up, like the usual.”

“Thank you for your time.” You stand up and reach your hand out to shake his. “I’ll see you next year, then.”

The doctor replies with his smile still intact, “I will be here.”

You think about taking the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to your apartment. You suddenly don’t feel so good and present, for lack of a better word. You just want to think alone, away from any distractions.

On your way out to the door, you pull your phone out from your bag to call Jeongyeon. This floor of the hospital is private and reserved only for your family. It’s something you’re not proud of and you should probably talk to Their Majesties about it. You sigh and hold your phone to your ear as you proceed to the elevator. You're only a few steps away when a familiar voice makes you stop.

“Hey.”

You jump in surprise, almost dropping your phone and bag. You turn around and you’re not so surprised anymore to see a grinning Wonwoo with hands inside the pockets of his white coat. With a roll of your eyes, you finally relaxed your tensed shoulders and walked towards him.

He meets you halfway and holds his hand out. You happily take it, making it easy for him to tug you close to his chest, bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist. Just like that, his breath against your skin made all your worries vanish.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, distancing from him but not letting go.

“I knew that you’d be here,” he answers, keeping his hold on your arms. “Had to see you.”

You scoff and give his shoulder a light shove. “Shut up. We were inseparable until our last day at your hometown and yet you still want to see me. Aren’t you sick and tired of my face yet?”

He pinches your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose. “Of course not.”

“Well, I’m leaving,” you announce and let go of him, reluctantly (as always). “You should probably get back to work.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you move any further and drags his hand from your arm to your hand, swaying it from side to side as he whines out, “But, I’m on my break. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t really give in easily and it takes a lot of persuasion before you actually do. Jeongyeon can’t even convince you to stop going home late. But with just one request and pleading eyes, Wonwoo has you standing inside his office.

It’s spacious, but a tad bit messy. There is lots of paper. In fact mountains of them, which you are very familiar with already. A wall of books is on one side of the room while three respective desks are on the other side. There’s a window, which is good, you can see some natural lighting. And of course, a small pantry for coffee and snacks.

Wonwoo offered his chair for you to sit on as he prepared you something to drink. You still look around and try to keep yourself occupied. Your eyes trail on his desk eventually and you can’t help but smile. If every corner of this room is in disarray, Wonwoo’s desk seems to be the only area that is not. There’s nothing much on it except for a jar of pens, pencils and highlighters, a notepad and some bookmarked books.

“You’ve met Soonyoung, right?” He asks, coming back with two warm cups. Coffee for him and tea for you. “I share this office with him and another doctor.”

You nod and take a quick sip. You noticed that it’s almost lunch time on the clock above the door and wondered, “Is this all you’re going to have for lunch?”

“I had some cheeseburger earlier this morning, so I’m good,” he answers and leans against the edge of the desk. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

You smile and shake your head no.

Then, it got quiet.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you think Wonwoo can sense something else by the way his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something more. He sips on his coffee one more time before placing the cup down on the table. Afterwards, he takes matters into his own hands and swivels the chair you're sitting on by the armrest towards him, catching you off guard.

His actions almost made you drop your drink and you thought for a moment if you should punch him again. “What are you doing?”

Wonwoo just gives you a mischievous smirk before leaning down to kiss your lips. Your eyes dilate in surprise while the rest of your body freezes. You’re just thankful you’re already sat on the chair, otherwise your legs would give up and you’d fall. When you don’t resist, his kiss deepens, demanding. But it didn’t go any further than a few more pecks here and there. You let him be until he decides to pull away, but not without giving one last long smooch.

“What was that for?” You ask, suddenly shy.

Wonwoo just nonchalantly shrugs. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

“You startled me!” You hiss and slap his arm.

Wonwoo has started to take pleasure in seeing you all flustered and shy. He finds it cute and he’ll take every chance he gets just to see it. But he knows there’s something bothering you and he’s hoping you give him the chance to hear you out.

“Talk to me,” he says while crouching, almost sitting down on the floor to meet your height. “What’s on that brilliant head of yours?”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words but give in nonetheless, “It’s the hostage that took place previously. There’s a new update about it.”

Wonwoo exhales and moves to massage your thighs. “I read about it briefly earlier.”

You nod and let the silence engulf the two of you once again.

“Listen, the kids they we’re talk---”

“Wonwoo!”

You jump when the door of the office suddenly bolts open with two unfamiliar boys dressed in hospital gowns running inside. They’re quickly followed by a panting Soonyoung who gives the two of you an apologetic smile. Wonwoo immediately stands up as they excitedly dash towards him while chanting his name.

“We heard you were on a break, can we play now? Please?” The little one, which you assumed was the youngest, pleads and hops in the hopes of Wonwoo carrying him. The other one, who’s much taller, does the same but he’s only clinging to his arms.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Your Highness,” Soonyoung says (you’re sure he’s teasing) and gives you a salute. “These boys never get tired and I have no idea how.”

You stand up from the chair too and try to get a good look on the boy’s faces, but you couldn’t because their attention is only on Wonwoo.

“We’ll play, alright?” Wonwoo tries to calm them down.”But I want you to meet someone special first.”

Your heart skips a beat meanwhile Soonyoung’s jaw drops in a silent squeal.

“They were the kids from the statement,” Wonwoo warrily says while making the boys face you.

Statement?

Your heart skipped one moment and the next it dropped to your stomach. You didn’t expect it to be them. You really hoped it wasn’t them. You don’t even know how sure you are that it’s them. But when you finally meet their eyes, these boys don’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore.

It’s them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly concerned by the sudden downcast of your face.

“Wonwoo...” you weakly whisper.

They’re one of the children adopted from the orphanage.

“Can you ask the orphanage if they can give us a copy of photographs displayed at their gallery?”

A phone call has never felt so dreadful. You can’t help but bite your nails as you listen to Jeongyeon adhere to your request. A lump has already formed on your throat and you don’t even know how you’re going to swallow it.

You slide your phone back to your pocket when Jeongyeon said she’d get back to you shortly. You turn around from where you were standing and see Wonwoo and Soonyoung playing with the two boys. It’s bittersweet. For one, you’re glad they are free and happy and on the other hand, it doesn’t sit right why they have to go through terrible and unimaginable things just so that they can be.

And it doesn’t help that it all happened here.

Wonwoo told you how they got to know them and how he had asked the hospital to keep them here in the meantime, in coordination with Social Services of course. He didn’t need the hostage taking or the police’s statement to know what’s going on because his guts already told him the moment he saw the state of the boys. But then again, what happened only confirmed what he feared the most.

Wonwoo deviates his attention to you and notices your lost gaze. By the looks of it, he’s aware that this is bothering you. He gives Sam’s hair a ruffle before standing up and walking to where you are.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching his hand out to softly squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you affirm, but the palm against your forehead doesn’t seem to agree. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay,” he tries to soothe your distress with his hand cradling your face. “I mean, it’s not. But, it’s not your fault.”

Why does it feel like it is?

You couldn’t ask him that out loud so you just give him a nod instead. Wonwoo knows you’re hesitant to believe him and he doesn’t like it. He takes your hands and squeezes them.

“Look at me,” he commands and when you don't, he lifts your chin up himself. “I’m confident this will be solved in no time. Have faith in your people and yourself, hmm? ”

“Okay,” you answer and that makes Wonwoo smile.

Okay. You’re going to stop wallowing in your own uncertainty. You draw your eyes back at the boys and at this moment, you promised that punishment will be inflicted to everyone responsible for their suffering.

No matter what it takes.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo fluff #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagine #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo seventeen #seventeen wonwoo #fic: ifliys

261 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

Note

hey Steph, really adore your blog. I saw your ask about s3 and s4 John and his anger. do you have any pics that deal with that? I think his anger is caused by his jealousy. he loves Sherlock and is deeply insecure about S's love for him. I'd love to find some fics that actually deal with all of that. thank you. x

Hey Nonny!!

I DO!!! Been waiting for another ask to finally get this list up and out! Hope you find something you enjoy on this one! <3

ANGRY / CRANKY JOHN

See also:

Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose.

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John's bedroom is now a research library. It's not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They're friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it's not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It'll be fine.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John's danger days.

Extraordinary by ardenteurophile (T, 2,739 w., 7 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Romance, Second Person POV Sherlock, Pre-Slash) – Sherlock tries to understand his preoccupation with one Doctor John Watson - the one case he can never solve.

BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company' by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It's a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w., 1 Ch. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John's conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,' Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.' And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5, 798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalize Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn't count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 28,347 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF / Pre-S3 Divergence, BAMF John, Anger, Fighting, Sex, Bed Sharing, Stalking, Case Fic, John’s Past, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crime, Mythology, Darkness) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. Sherlock finds that coming back is not enough to fix all of the damage that he caused by leaving. A post Reichenbach, post reunion re-discovery fic.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

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

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

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

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

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

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

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

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #angry john #cranky john #my fic recs #long post

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today-only-happens-once · 4 years ago

Text

out of focus

title: out of focus

word count: 3955

summary:

The actions of a Fire Nation admiral during a meeting causes some problems for Sokka. The words of that admiral causes some problems for Zuko. They try to take care of each other.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Zuko freezes, the rag half-out of the bowl and his other hand still bracing Sokka’s (not quite holding it… far too gentle to be holding it). “What—uh. I, uh.” Zuko stops. Takes a breath. Tries again. He still doesn’t look up at Sokka. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Warnings: burns (description of), violence, threats of violence, discussion of canonical child abuse, characters curse but no curse words are written, character is non-permanently injured, yelling/arguing, trauma

A/N: me? writing a zukka AtLA fic and posting it an hour short of midnight? Apparently, it’s more likely that you’d think.

Read on AO3

Zuko has the patience of a saint, Sokka thinks to himself.

It’s an unusual thought, he realizes. A year ago, if you’d told Sokka that he’d come to think of the Banished Prince as ‘patient’, he’d probably have thrown his boomerang at you. A year ago, Zuko was one of the most short-tempered people he knew. A year ago, Zuko was the face of the enemy.

A lot changes in a year.

Sokka barely stifles a frustrated sigh. The attempt does not seem to go unnoticed by Zuko, who glances at him quickly before the corner of his mouth twitches with something like amusement. The meeting had been going on for hours, and Sokka can’t help but feel that very little progress on the treaty had been made. It wasn’t for lack of trying, Sokka knows, but war leaves messy problems in its wake. He knows that both the literal and metaphorical shrapnel left behind by a century of conflict can’t be swept away in a night or a week or a month.

It doesn’t make these meetings any easier to sit through.

“I want immediate release of all prisoners of war,” an Earth Kingdom ambassador demands.

“I second that,” Sokka hears his father--sitting across the table from him--add, a bit more calmly but no less firm. “I have men in those prisons that haven’t seen their family in a decade.”

“Of course,” Zuko replies at the same time a Fire Nation soldier snaps, “absolutely not.”

Zuko levels a hard look at him. “Admiral, people who were arrested as prisoners of war have no need to remain so after the war has ended.” He looks to Hakoda, then to the Earth Kingdom ambassador. “I’ll draft that mandate tonight and will ensure it’s circulation as soon as possible.”

“This is an outrage!” The slam of a fist against the table makes Sokka’s hand fly to the boomerang strapped to his hip instinctively. The admiral is on his feet.

“Admiral,” Zuko says, his voice steely as he rises from his own chair. The Fire Nation soldier cuts him off.

“Where is the justice for the Fire Nation families whose sons and daughters were slaughtered by those criminals?”

“Admiral--”

“I remember a time when you cared about Fire Nation soldiers! And it’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten, seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror--”

“Enough!” Zuko snaps. “You will watch your tongue or you will be escorted out. You approach insubordination.”

“You are a child,” the admiral sneers. “Though one that ought to know a thing or two about insubordination, given your father’s attempts to brand you with a permanent reminder of its consequences--”

“Warriors!”

“Then again, he always was twice the leader you will never be. Long live the Phoenix King!”

Sokka sees the warning signs—the slight shift of weight, the clench of the man’s fists—and leaps to his feet. “Zuko--!”

“Sokka!”

There’s a blinding light and scorching heat. Sokka feels something slam onto his shoulder and he dives instinctively for cover as the familiar roar of a fireball explodes in front of him. The flames are bright and lick around him, and Sokka throws a hand up to protect his face. He blinks the spots from his vision as he yanks his boomerang out of his belt.

Zuko is standing beside him, his stance ready and his hand outstretched, having evidently dispelled the fireball that had been launched at him. Sokka leaps back up to his feet and hurls the boomerang in his hands towards the Admiral, hitting his hand right as he moves to launch another attack and forcing it to go wide. A burst of flames slam against the wall to the left.

The room is in chaos.

Sokka barely hears the shouts of alarm and curses over the roar of dying flames. He sees his father, already on his feet, diving underneath a bolt of red fire. Across the room, the Earth Kingdom ambassador jerks their hand. There’s a rumble in the ground before it rises and anchors around the Admiral’s feet, holding him in place.

Sokka sees the admiral’s gaze meet his own and narrow. The Fire Nation soldier bares his teeth in a snarl, his fist shooting out. Before Sokka can blink, Zuko steps in front of him, dispelling the flames just as the door ricochets open. Two Kyoshi Warriors flood in and in a series of quick strikes, the admiral drops. Awake, but limp.

Sokka thinks idly that he’s grateful that Ty Lee taught them how to block chi.

“Your father should have killed you that day!” the admiral shouts as he’s dragged through the doors. “He showed mercy on your pathetic, worthless—” the door slamming shut cuts him off.

The silence that follows makes Sokka’s ears ring. He can still feel stale adrenaline coursing through him, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For a moment, nobody moves. Zuko awkwardly clears his throat.

“Apologies for the, uh, disruption. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Firelord Zuko,” Hakoda assures him, but there’s something odd in his father’s expression when he looks at Zuko that Sokka doesn’t understand.

Zuko says something in response, but Sokka doesn’t catch it. As the adrenaline bleeds out of him, his muscles relaxing, Sokka realizes that his fists are still clenched. Sokka forces them to relax, and hisses as it sends a jolt of hot pain through his left hand. When he looks down, he realizes that the skin on the top of part of his hand near his knuckles is a blistering, angry red.

Sokka’s hiss doesn’t go unnoticed. Zuko looks at him over his shoulder, his brows drawn together in confusion before his eyes fall to Sokka’s hand. Then, they go wide.

Zuko turns back around suddenly to address the room, his back straighter. “We will adjourn the meeting for the afternoon. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

“Firelord Zuko—” an ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe protests, but Hakoda interrupts him.

“I think we could all use a breather, Kovrik. Coming back tomorrow with a clear head is a good decision.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Sokka is finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. His hand hurts, and it’s taking every last drop of his willpower and pride to grit his teeth and swallow back the whimper that wants to push up his throat. It’s not until Zuko’s face is taking up his entire field of vision that Sokka realizes everyone but the two of them and his father have left the room.

“Let me see,” Zuko says quietly, then curses under his breath when he looks at Sokka’s hand. “Where’s Katara when you need her.”

“Do you have anything that can help?” Hakoda asks from behind Zuko.

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replies, his brows still furrowed in concentration. “Though it’s not quite as immediate as waterbending healers. But it should help with the pain, and prevent infection. Follow me.”

Sokka feels Zuko take his elbow and guide him out the door of the meeting room and down the hall. He’s distantly aware that Zuko is moving quickly—not quite a jog, but only barely shy of it—through a network of corridors. His hand feels like it might still be on fire, and Sokka looks down at it again just to be sure that’s not actually the case. He tells himself that he’s endured injuries more painful than this. The broken leg was worse, he thinks, though it does little to actually help with the burning sensation in his hand.

He’s vaguely aware that Zuko says something quickly to two guards that are flanking a set of doors before he rushes in. Sokka looks up and realizes it’s Zuko’s chambers. He’d only been in here a couple of times before, largely while Zuko was still recovering from Azula’s lightning strike in the weeks following the end of the war.

“Wait here,” Zuko tells him before disappearing through another door on the far side of the room.

“You had good reflexes in there,” Sokka hears his father’s low, soothing voice speak up. He’d had almost forgotten he was there. Hakoda moves the chair that had been beside the bed closer to Sokka in a clear direction to sit down.

“Lots of practice,” Sokka replies as he sits. He hisses a little again as his hand flares and grits out a swear behind clenched teeth.

“Easy,” Hakoda says softly. He places a bracing, comforting hand between Sokka’s shoulder blades. It’s grounding, and he’s grateful.

“Wish Katara was here,” Sokka tells him, echoing Zuko’s comment from earlier.

“I know. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s coming to Caldera for a while. She’s still in Ba Sing Se with Aang.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Her magic water comes in handy though.” Sokka gives his father a tight smile. “Get it? Hand-y?”

Hakoda snorts just as the door opens again. Zuko has his arms full of a large bowl, his hands fisting a few vials and some bandages. There’s something pinched about Zuko’s expression, and the way he doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes as he kneels in front of him feels odd. The bowl is full of water, Sokka realizes, as he sets it on the ground and begins to empty the vials into it.

“Can I see your hand?” Zuko asks, and the question—for some reason—catches him off guard.

Sokka blinks. “Yeah. Sure.” He grimaces as he places his hand in Zuko’s, but the excessive gentleness surprises him so much that Sokka almost forgets that his hand hurts.

Zuko was many things, but Sokka can’t remember a time—even after he started to get along with the Fire Prince—that he would have described Zuko as gentle. But his grip on Sokka’s hand is careful. Almost excessively so.

Zuko hums in the back of his throat as he inspects the burns. “I don’t think it’ll have permanent damage,” he says quietly. “But I still need to treat it so it doesn’t get infected. It… might hurt, a little. But then it should feel better.”

“No permanent damage. That’s good,” Sokka says. He swallows, and nods. “Okay.”

For a long moment, the only sounds that fills the room is the quiet splash of water in the bowl as Zuko submerges the cloth rag again and wrings it out. Sokka lets his gaze float around the room.

Zuko has left it mostly bare. There’s a portrait of Iroh and a woman that Sokka remembers being the Fire Lady—Zuko’s mother—hanging on the wall near the headboard of the bed. On the dresser beside it is a drawing that Sokka did of the group of them months ago. He sees a pile of papers on the desk across the room. He thinks one of them has Aang’s signature at the bottom, but it’s too far away for him to know for sure.

Bright, painful heat searing his hand slams his attention back to Zuko in front of him and Sokka yelps, yanking his hand away. Zuko grimaces, retracing his own hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding more earnest than Sokka expects. “This part is painful, but it’ll stop hurting in a minute.”

Sokka fights to pull his breathing back under his control. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Right,” he manages, his voice tight. “Right, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it hurts.”

Something about that line—and about the fact that Zuko still hasn’t met his eyes since returning from the other room—drags Sokka’s thoughts back to the conversation in the treaty meeting. There were several things that the admiral had said to Zuko that Sokka didn’t quite understand. He could only remember pieces of things said, but they repeat in Sokka’s head like disjointed pieces of a puzzle that he can’t quite make fit together.

seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror… insubordination… your father’s attempts to brand you… consequences…

Sokka’s gaze falls back to Zuko, dutifully bowed in front of him. There had long been pieces about Zuko that Sokka had found puzzling. Things about him that didn’t quite fit together. Sokka considers himself a person pretty good at figuring out how things worked together, and that extended (with less success) to figuring out how parts of people make up the sum of their whole.

Zuko, though… Zuko had always been something of a mystery. But as the words of the admiral ricochet in his mind, there’s a picture beginning to come together that is still just a little too hazy, a little too out of focus, to fill in the spaces that Sokka felt were missing.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Sokka’s brow furrows as Zuko presses the rag to the back of his hand again. Sokka realizes that his hand has stopped hurting, but he’s too preoccupied with what Zuko said to pay it much mind. “After the stuff at Ba Sing Se? When you went home?”

“No, I, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “Before that. Before… yeah. Earlier.”

Your father’s attempts to brand you…

“What happened?” Sokka asks. The way Zuko’s shoulders seem to tense doesn’t escape his attention, and there’s a part of him that wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. But it also feels like a question that once asked, is too late to take back.

Zuko pats Sokka’s hand dry with another towel and begins to gingerly wrap a bandage around it. He keeps his gold gaze steady on the work. Sokka keeps his gaze steady on Zuko.

“My uncle allowed me to attend a war meeting where they were talking about some battle strategies to use against an Earth Kingdom battalion. There was a general that wanted our newest fleet to serve as a distraction while we mounted an attack from the rear,” Zuko begins. There’s something off about his voice, though. Something detached and careful. He keeps wrapping the bandage. Around and around and around.

Sokka frowns. “That’s not fair,” he says. “Your newest recruits? They’d be slaughtered by an experienced battalion like that.”

Zuko sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he says in a low voice. “And that’s what I told them. I wasn’t thinking. I just… yelled at him.” Sokka opens his mouth to disagree—it sounds like Zuko was thinking, unlike anybody else at that meeting—but Zuko cuts him off as he secures the end of the bandage to Sokka’s palm. “My father didn’t… take it well. I was challenged to an Agni Kai, and I thought I would be facing the general in it, so I accepted.”

Zuko gathers the bowl and empty vials as he stands, crossing the room to set them on the edge of his desk. Sokka stands up slowly as Zuko does so. The pieces that had been out of focus for so long are starting to come together, and Sokka feels his stomach rolling with a leaden weight against what he can sense is coming.

“No…”

“It wasn’t the general,” Zuko continues, his voice so quiet that Sokka is sure he would have missed it if it hadn’t been dead silence around them. “It was my father.”

“You faced your father in an Agni Kai?”

“Not exactly. I…” Zuko stares down into the bowl of water beside him, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t fight my own father. Instead, I begged him for forgiveness. I was met with a fistful of flames.”

Zuko gestures vaguely at his face, and Sokka’s blood turns to ice.

“He…” Sokka’s throat closes, cutting off the rest of that sentence. All this time being chased by Zuko—all this time being friends with him—and he’d always assumed that the scar was the result of a training accident, or a fight with a firebender he lost. Sokka thinks bitterly and viciously that the second assumption wasn’t far off but his own father—

“I was banished after that,” Zuko says, and his voice is hollow and empty and wrong. And he finally, finally, meets Sokka’s gaze. “I was told to bring the Avatar back and all would be forgiven, or to not come back at all. That was before you and your sister woke Aang up from the iceberg.”

Sokka stands very, very still. He glances down and realizes his hands are trembling. He curls the non-bandaged one into a fist to get the shaking to stop. “How old were you?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why—of everything he could say—that’s the question that tumbles past his lips, but he feels like it matters.

“Thirteen.”

“Thir—” Sokka cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand across his mouth and swallowing hard. “Thirteen. Tui and La, when I was thirteen—”

Sokka breaks off again, his throat closing, his gaze falling to his father. When Sokka was thirteen, his father had left to go fight in the war and told Sokka he couldn’t come along. He’d protected Sokka, and though Sokka had found his way into fighting in the war regardless a few years later, he knows his father had only been trying to keep him safe. The idea of his own father striking him—let alone with a fist full of flames to his face—was incomprehensible.

Hakoda doesn’t look back at Sokka. His gaze is trained on Zuko, and there’s something in his eyes that Sokka doesn’t quite understand. But he’s seen it before. It was the same look Hakoda wears when he hears other water tribe soldiers recount war stories. The late-night ones. The ones where their voices betray the weight on their shoulders and tremble with the generations of nightmares on their backs.

Sokka takes a sudden, faltering step forward, and Zuko instinctively tenses. Sokka freezes. “Zuko…”

Zuko shakes his head. He coughs a little, as if trying to clear his throat. “Anyway. That’s—that’s what the admiral was talking about.”

“You…” Sokka tries again, his voice carrying just the barest hints of hysteria. “You were his kid.”

“Yeah, well.” Zuko’s gaze meets Sokka’s again. “He spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t.”

“Zuko,” Hakoda speaks up, his voice a low, soothing rumble to Sokka’s trembling nerves. “I… hope you understand that you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know, sir,” he replies, sounding steadier than Sokka feels. Sokka feels a little like the ground has shifted beneath his feet as he stares at his friend across the room. Zuko continues, frustratingly calm. “It… I didn’t at first. It took me a long time to understand that it was wrong of my father to do that. But I know now.”

“Where is he?” Sokka demands, flushing with a sudden and intense fury.

Zuko blinks, looking taken aback by the vehemence charged through Sokka’s voice like a steel rod. “Where’s who?”

“Ozai.”

“Sokka, what are you gonna do? Fight him? He already lost.”

“Against Aang, not against—did Aang even know?”

Zuko’s brow furrows and he rubs the back of his neck. “Um. I guess I don’t know. I never told him. I… never told any of you.”

“Yeah—and what’s that about, huh?” Sokka demands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Sokka,” Hakoda warns, but Sokka’s words are already bubbling up throat and spilling past his lips, hot and bitter and angry.

“What, did you think we wouldn’t care? That it wouldn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko waves a hand towards the window that overlooks the courtyard. “My father already lost to the Avatar, Sokka. The war is over. The fighting is over. Aang took his bending. And that—I don’t know about you, but that’s the best, most justified end to his legacy I can think of.”

Sokka is still shaking. He can’t explain why. He knows, logically, that Zuko is right. He’s right. But Sokka can still feel his hands shaking, can still feel his heart hammering in his ribs with the urge to run something through with sword, can still feel the way his eyes sting with tears he won’t let fall. Sokka clenches his jaw and rips his gaze away from Zuko out towards the window, where he can see the sun setting on the horizon and painting the palace courtyard in an orange light.

“Wherever he is, I hope he rots,” Sokka says finally, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. “He deserves worse.”

Sokka looks back at Zuko, whose gaze is a little wide. He looks… taken aback. Sokka cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you disagree—"

“No,” Zuko replies, shaking his head. “I just… Nothing.” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Sokka doesn’t understand why, just like he doesn’t understand why it uncoils the tight knot of burning anger in his chest.

Sokka takes a deep breath. Wills himself to relax. It helps… a little. There’s a beat, and then Sokka hears his father take a step forward. “Thank you for helping Sokka’s hand, Firelord Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, and Sokka swears his cheeks take a faint pink tint as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh, of course, sir. And… just Zuko is fine.”

Sokka glances over and sees Hakoda smile, inclining his head. “Understood.” He looks to Sokka. “I should draft a letter to Bato tonight to update him on the treaty. Will you be okay without me?”

Sokka rolls his eyes teasingly. “Yeah, dad. I think I can manage.”

Hakoda squeezes his shoulder, nods to Zuko again, and quietly slips out of the room. The silence afterward seems to stretch, and Sokka feels the lingering tension bleeding out of him as he looks at Zuko, who quietly shuffles through the papers on his desk. Sokka watches him for a beat, his gaze lingering a little on the scarred tissue across his face. Sokka swallows.

There are other questions Sokka thinks he could ask. Like why—after doing that—Zuko was still so bent on returning home to his father. But there’s a part of Sokka that thinks he maybe understands.

Spirits know that he understood what it was like to crave the approval of your father.

“Hey,” he says, and Zuko’s gaze snaps over to him. “I… thank you for telling me. I… know that wasn’t easy, and… it means a lot that you trust me with that.”

“It… it wasn’t a question of trust, you know,” Zuko replies quietly, averting his gaze. “Not telling you, I mean. It was just—”

“I know,” Sokka says, and means it. “But I also know what it’s like to have things you don’t necessarily… want to relive. So it means a lot that you told me.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches again. He takes a deep, slow breath. “Thank you for listening,” he says.

“I like to think I’m a pretty good listener,” Sokka teases, shrugging.

“You are,” Zuko says, with far more sincerity than Sokka felt was warranted for what he’d meant to be a joke. Sokka blinks at him, and Zuko clears his throat, ducking his head a little. “I was thinking of getting some tea. There’s a place just outside the palace. It’s not as good as Uncle’s, but um. Did you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Sokka replies with a small smile. “I could use a cup of tea.”

#avatar the last airbender #zukka #zukka fanfiction #zuko fanfiction #zuko #sokka #not ts #we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to give you this fic for an unrelated fandom woops

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