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writerman · 4 years ago

Note

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

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

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

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

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

On to the story!

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

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

Daffodils.

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

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

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

But there would be more.

There was always more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

1:00pm Friday. September 18th Foliage.

The office was quiet now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would try because he loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were approached by a nurse in scrubs.

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

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

Someone was gently squeezing his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t fair.

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

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

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

Could he lie and say yes?

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

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

This was too dangerous.

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

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

How he wasn’t sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is.. this why you had surgery?”

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

“How long have you had this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was.

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

“Which is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least the universe heard his admission of the truth.

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

They had given him a clean bill of health.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

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

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

“R-really?”

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

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

“Really, really.”

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

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funkymbtifiction · 4 years ago

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How I Write, How I Dream: ESTP Edition

Mod: An ESTP asked permission to submit this, since she noticed I do not have an ESTP ‘How I write stories’ description in the archive to match this series. What follows is in her own words.

ESTP: How I Write, How I Dream

So this submission is like 6+ years late topically, I think, but it’s an understatement to say I get side-tracked easily. First I had to be self-aware enough to actually determine my type with confidence, and then I had to remember to write this up. Hopefully it’s an edition that’s better late than never – in any case, I thought it might be fun to contribute, given the frequent lack of Se-dom voices in things like this.

I’m aware that I might be in a comparatively small group as a regular ESTP writer, let alone one familiar with personality typology, but I wrote my first short story at nine for a 4th grade assignment, and then my first full story/intended book when I was eleven, (both of which I immediately proceeded to act out on the playground), so it’s sort of always been a part of my normal retinue of hobbies/coping mechanisms/diversions/distractions. Usually I find that I write the most when I’m bored or otherwise dissatisfied with my real life – sort of using it to spice things up with more exciting events, even if they’re regrettably fictional. I also suspect that I use writing to experience all the interesting things I find myself unable to physically do, at least for the moment – not unlike what your ISTP contributor described. I think sometimes that I use it to subconsciously work through certain concepts, too, until I understand them holistically. It’s like it gives me a way to actually engage and interact with a philosophical concept through tangible expression – through embedding it into [fictional] human behavior. Like how I understand the nuances of the concept of apostasy better for having walked through the plot of Silence (2016) with Scorsese than I would have if it was still just a definition in a theology textbook. Application helps me. (I also had a counselor a while back who told me that I used my writing to work through the emotions I hate to process in real life, but I was never wholly convinced of that or the connection of my plots to my real life events, so jury’s out, I guess.)

When I was a kid, I liked to read a fair-ish amount. Spies were oftentimes my favorite topic, but I also wanted eagerly to be one and owned probably every kid spy gadget ever manufactured for sale at the Spy Museum in D.C., to which I dragged my parents practically every weekend so I could crawl through air vents, etc. However, my favorite children’s series of all was actually the Ingo series by the late Helen Dunmore, which provided me with exciting, nature-based, and [mostly] emotionally satisfying adventures in my lifelong favorite unpredictable environment – underwater. (I also dragged my parents constantly to our local aquarium.) As I got older, the frequency of my reading dropped, and I now find myself usually pulled more towards nonfiction.

[Note – I just realized a lifelong quirk with me and books. I’m sort of ridiculously set on *seeing* the books I own. I mean, I know what I own, but I still constantly get out every book I own on a particular topic just to see them all at once. It makes the knowledge more cohesive for me to concentrate it visually, I guess. Even just the covers. Anyway.]

My writing habits are kind of awful – in that, like alluded to above, I pretty much only write when I either a) am seized by a great idea, or else b) have nothing better to do. I have little ambition to actually publish or anything like that, regardless of encouragement, and I prefer to think of my writing as just a diversion, an amusement for myself alone (though I do crave minimal approval, as I do in anything). In any case, as soon as the pressure of a schedule is attached to my writing, it drains of all joy for me. Much like your ISTP contributor described, I think I hover somewhere between plotter and pantser, depending on the story. Too much planning leads to my feeling like I have no incentive to actually write it, as I’ve already experienced it, and too little leaves me spinning aimlessly with no real direction. I write both prose and screenplays, and the rule seems to hold true for both, overall. Also, whenever I have a problem in my plotting or characters or whatever, I find that I have to step away, go be busy with something else, sometimes for a long while, and when I come back everything just falls into place. I guess unconscious Ti and/or Ni finding solutions? I’m not totally sure how/why that happens.

As my inclusion of screenplay format may suggest, I experience my stories in an incredibly visual way. I think sometimes that my narratives come across very much like movies, with all the requisite limitations and usual lack of character introspection. I feel like I pretty much focus on the observable actions of my characters – I find describing any kind of extended rumination highly unnatural, at least most of the time. Even my planning is highly visual. I have a tendency to graph, chart, draw, and plaster my options all over the walls. It’s ridiculous sometimes, but in many cases I just have to be able to see them all next to each other, even if there’s no other information provided. Like my books, mentioned earlier. It helps clarify my plot choices in my mind. It’s also a quirk/weakness of mine that I am often entirely dependent on outside images for descriptions. I need to find a real person, place, or thing to base my fictional ones on physically if I hope to have any kind of concrete knowledge to allow description. Again, it helps solidify them/it in my mind.

I have another weakness in my writing that often results in much incredulous laughter – I’m often entirely blind to any hidden meaning or symbolism in my own writing. I might get the vaguest sense of something being a good line, but be unsure why until my ISFJ friend starts praising my deep, archetypal references and crafting – and then staring at me when I clearly have no idea what she means. It’s happened several times by this point, and though it makes me laugh, I’ll just blame it on the subconscious inferior Ni. I pretty much never have any kind of goal of being symbolic or laden with deep meaning. If I were ever to try that, I think it would massively stress me out.

In terms of editors, beta readers, or whatever else we want to call those who give solicited criticism – that’s just what I need/want. Criticism. For the most part, I’m incredibly thick-skinned about my writing and would be absolutely fine if someone told me that it was utterly terrible and the whole thing needed revising down to the very concept. That may be because I think many of my concepts are lackluster to start with. But nothing frustrates me so quickly as readers unwilling to actually [and harshly] criticize. I always tell them that I want him/her to rip it to shreds. I mean, that’s the only way it’ll get better. (I’ve made mistakes before by assuming that other writers feel this way, too – my sister did not appreciate my input.)

I write almost exclusively dramas these days, I guess, though of varying subtypes. (I also maintain the availability/ready accessibility of about 10+ stories at any given time of active writing. I bounce between them sometimes based on what I’m feeling like at the moment or what I have a new thought about.) I have a sort of historical drama thing that takes place in the 1680s, a modern drama prompted by a premise of genetic engineering, a Most Dangerous Game kind of hunting/weapons thing, a detective story in the immediate aftermath of WWII, a classic deserted island story, a thing involving the phenomenon of stigmata… the list goes on and shifts constantly.

However, while I’ve typically enjoyed writing, here’s the omnipresent rub – engaging with it for any great amount of time makes me really unhealthy emotionally. I’m pretty sure that after like two or three days primarily working on a story without other overriding priorities, or like six or seven with those scattered distractions, (at best), I’m plummeting straight down to my inferior functions. My historical stories do this even more quickly, because they oftentimes seem to require more mental effort. I get super irritable, drown in self-loathing, start to think that everything real that I want is never going to happen – it’s really not good. The fact of the matter is that while writing is a fun diversion oftentimes, I go insane doing it for too long, because I need to get out and engage. (Thanks to my pesky Se-dom, daring to ask for more than just incessant fidgeting.)

When I do write, however, I’m known for my in-depth research, my character-driven plots, lines some people in my life seem to think are witty or something, and emotional depth, believe it or not. I’ve been complimented on it, as well as my tendency to accurately portray mental/emotional illness. I don’t know. I’ve never thought I was overly talented at such things, but then again, I never paid much attention. Even this write-up has been hard – analyzing my writing like this. It’s not a strength of mine to scrutinize my own habits.

After all, I’m busy – I have to go blast Maroon 5 as I jump off a 20-foot wall yelling, “Parkour!”

I am an ESTP, remember? ;-)

#estp #writing #how i write

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hiremeyuehua · 3 years ago

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Get to know me tag

tagged by @hoseom Can always count on them for some tagging entertainment. (Even if I also forget to do these...)

Thankkyouuuuu. ♡

when is your birthday? - 2nd July baybeeeeeeee which I share with my birthday twin @obligatoryidolblog Hehehe we’re like Seungyoun & Yibo.

what is your favourite colour? - Red.

what’s your lucky number? - 2, 3, 4 & 7... I like to think...

do you have any pets? - Aye, I have 3. A Cat, a Bearded Dragon & a 25 yr old African Grey Parrot.

how tall are you? - 5″5′ aka cute height.

how many pairs of shoes do you own? - I have 5 that I use on the regular, then probably 5 older pairs I keep for different activities. (I use shoes until they have holes in them before throwning them away, or else it’s a waste.)

favourite song? - I have many, I should probably insert a playlist or something... but atm N.Flying- Let Me Show You.

favourite movie? - I’m a cinephile & majored in Film... That question is N/A... but anything by Wes Anderson... also my favourite childhood film is Matilda because I am one with Matilda.

what would be your ideal partner? - ♡ Kang Daniel... ♡ Goofy, foodie, & a highly introverted nerd that likes Spiderman & LEGO... but I can’t just pick someone like him off a supermarket shelf... So I’ll go with soft & trustworthy with a sense of humour. (Preferably a dark haired one, but I’m not picky. As long as we can lounge around reading manga & snacking, we good.)

do you want children? - Nope. However, if I did, I’d like to think I would adopt. Just makes sense. Thought of growing a sprog & popping one out it weird.

have you gotten in trouble with the law? - ...not yet... see A. to Running Q.

what colour socks are you wearing? - Currently none, my feet are warm... Please... No pictures...

bath or shower? - Shower, but occasionally I’ll soak in the bath. (It’s a must as I suffer from Hypermobility.)

favourite type of music? - Hmmm probably Rock/Indie/RnB.

how many pillows do you sleep with? - *sigh* Not enough... but 2 under my head with a memory foam plushie. Then 2 body pillows on either side of me & a shiba plush to hold whilst I sleep. (I can’t sleep without the latter, not for security purposes, hypermobility is just no joke peoples, the act of sleeping is very painful sometimes. & also I have boobs... if you have boobs too, you’ll understand.) 😬😬

which position do you sleep in? - 1 arm under a pillow, the free one holding something, 1 leg straight, 1 bent & sideways. (If I can sleep that is... lmao) 🥴

what don’t you like when you’re sleeping? - Noise. & Light. I’m an extremely light sleeper. I can’t sleep without earplugs & an eye mask or else I will murder someone, so please do not try to talk to me as I fall asleep. Also warmth. If we be hugging whilst sharing a bed, do not be offended if I take breaks. ♡

what do you have for breakfast? - I don’t like breakfast, but it’s important to eat it so I usually have a Nature Valley biscuit & a bottle of water, does me fine til dinnertime. (& by dinnertime, I mean lunch. Not dinner, as I call that tea. Don’t ask questions, I’m from Jon Snow land.)

have you ever tried archery? - Nope, I was banned from ever trying but I’ve always wanted to. It’s badass. (L.S.S: I used to own a paintball gun & was a VERY good aim...)

favourite fruit? - Strawberries & Cherries . My party trick is the thing with the stalk... FYI.

favourite swear word? - B*stard. My family is part Scottish 🇫🇮 so it’s fun to say & hear. Also I grew up watching Sean Bean in ‘Sharpe’ so it feels right as he wasn’t born too far from where I live.

do you have any scars? - Aye. Oh boi do I, but people barely notice them until I bring them up. I have a Harry Potter-esque one from when I split my head open as child that’s mostly covered by freckles... a pretty cool one on my right ear from when I fell into a stack of VHS tapes that I’d made into a castle... several on my knees... a small one above my upper lip & the most recent one is on a boobie from when I had my heart monitor implanted. It sorta looks like a ‘W’ or a little butterfly... Kinda cute I must say.

are you a good liar? - I have been known to spin a tale or two for comedic purposes.

what’s your personality type? - INFJ (It hasn’t changed in years, so I stand by it.)

what’s your favourite type of girl? - Human. & Alive & Nerdy.

left or right handed? - Right, but slightly ambi depending on the task.

favourite food? - Cake. Or an English roast.

are you clean or messy? - Clean, but if I’m stressed, you bet my room will be a mess.

favourite foreign food? - Korean Seafood Pancake & pork buns, basically any kind of sweet or savoury buns. GIMME.

how long does it take you to get ready? - Depends on the day, but 30mins if I’m showering & dressing & drying my hair. (It’s pretty long, I need a haircut)

most used phrase? - ��Gotta risk it. To get the biscuit.” Amongst many others.

are you a good singer? - Who knows. I hate Karaoke.

do you sing to yourself? - If no-one is around, then yes. But when with friends you’ll find me singing my own parodies to popular songs for my own amusement. The most popular is Jealousy (KFC) by Monsta X.

biggest fear? - I shall not reveal this incase my enemies are reading... but I’ll say humans. They’re very scary.

do you like long or short hair? - On myself... long, but I am jealous of people that can rock the short hair.

are you into gossip? - Nah, aint got time for it. Have too many films & dramas to watch in my free time & himbos to simp over.

extrovert or introvert? - Ambi, but highly introverted. Humans irk me & drain my mental battery. I need all the juice to get through a single day.

favourite school subject? - Art & Media.

what makes you nervous? - Everything & Nothing.

who was your first real crush? - Ooof. Hard pass.

how many piercings do you have? - I used to have my ears pierced as a kid, but they’re closed up now, I would like the top of my right ear pierced though. I think that looks really cool.

how fast can you run? - Very fast. Faster than The Flash. Probably even faster than Koro Sensei. Definitely Mach 20+. My brain thinks even faster than that. It’s a gift. Fast & Furious who? Fast & Furious Me is what it is.

what makes you angry? - People without manners. Also people who aren’t open minded & do not think before they speak. Words scar.

do you like your own name? - Aye, I do. It means ‘to bind/snare’ & also ‘noose’. In Scottish Gaelic it’s ‘Beathag’ [Bey-ahk] which means ‘Life’. Which I find pretty cool. I like all my names. Middle & last name include. They have nice meanings.

what are your weaknesses? - My own feelings.

what are your strengths? - My own feelings. I’m also extremely loyal. I’ll do anything for my friends.

what is the colour of your bedspread? - Currently black & white. Chic.

colour of your room? - Cream, but I’m moving soon, so who knows.

-le fin-

tagging: @24hoursofdaisy @ceruleansoleil @summerstormsandbacon @wdzday6 @mypansy @lovelyeo & anyone else that wants to join.

#no pressure peeps #just a bit of fun my lovelies #tag game #get to know me #or hate me #whatever #🤷‍♀️

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arwenkenobi48 · 3 years ago

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The Fiend and the Fugitive Character Profiles: Stardust, Drakon and Smokey

I found the traditional format for these character profiles a little too taxing, so I’ll simply describe each of these characters with a little bit of prose and dialogue, then include trivia relating to each of them.

Stardust

He removed the crash helmet and goggles from his head, revealing two small conical horns upturned on his forehead, with two smaller ones aligned vertically on the bridge of his nose and between his eyebrows. The young man swished back a rich crop of hair, the colours of which were most striking, starting out with a deep purple and ending in an electric turquoise. The area around his eyes and halfway down his cheeks were marked by what appeared to be some sort of ritual tattoos, a rich crimson in colour, forming abstract shapes closely resembling crescent moons, only more angular. His bright purple eyes sparkled happily as he adjusted his parka, bowing modestly from side to side as the crowd cheered. “Thank you, thank you all, thank you very much,” he beamed, his voice rich and cultured. There was no doubt about it; this eccentric figure was indeed Robin’s childhood friend, albeit going by a different name. How on Earth did he manage to earn so much money? Surely not by becoming a human snowball every time he went skiing.

——————————

“Mephistopheles, hold this for a moment, will you?” Stardust placed a large object in the demon’s hands, so heavy he nearly dropped it, then calmly took it back and placed on the now immaculate shelf. “Thank you, old chap,” “What was that thing?” Mephisto demanded. “Oh, just a giant cosmic pearl gifted to me by a relative,” Stardust replied casually. “Why, whatever is the matter, Mephisto? You’re looking awfully peaky all of a sudden!” “I think it drained my dark energy,” Mephistopheles gagged. “Well, that’s certainly something else, as they say. I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. You know those things absorb energy like spherical sponges,” “I didn’t know that,” grumbled Mephistopheles, who now felt like he had just been cured of a cold, but in the worst way possible. As much as he felt bad for his rival, Stardust couldn’t help feeling rather amused that what dragons considered medicine had made a demon sick.

Stardust is one of my oldest OCs

His name is actually an English translation of the Draconic name Esrah, which quite literally means “essence of the stars”

Stardust is demisexual and panromantic

He’s a philanthropist who protects dragons that have been made homeless and have suffered discrimination from humans

Many assume that Stardust’s odd appearance is due to body modifications, but he is actually half dragon and can shift between human and dragon forms. This is technically called a Dragon Angel

Stardust’s only relative that he’s in contact with is his grandfather, Mitsuo, who is a 1000 year old Japanese water dragon

The only thing Stardust and Mephistopheles can healthily bond over is table tennis. Regular tennis is out of bounds after Mitsuo got knocked out during a rather heated match (quite literally, the ball was going so fast it was gathering heat)

Despite having sold his soul to Mephistopheles, Stardust repents and is able to retrieve it. He has already proven himself to be a good person after donating his riches to support his fellow dragons

Stardust enjoys listening to heavy metal and opera

Drakon

The dragon was around the same size as a Shetland pony, but at first glance nowhere near as cuddly. The dark blue scaly skin contrasted with an armour-plated golden underbelly, the curved horns, spines and barbed tail also indicated that this was a creature you wouldn’t want to mess with. Although he had sharp, owl-like claws, his hands and feet were bizarrely humanoid in shape and the powerful muscles seemed to indicate that this creature could be both bipedal and a quadruped, although being an all fours appeared to be the more comfortable of the two. His golden eyes peered up and his nostrils flared. He was clearly trying to appear intimidating as he stretched his wings out, but he somehow failed in spite of himself. “Now, listen ‘ere, human,” he warned in a voice with a strong regional accent. “I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, but let’s get one thing straight, yeah? You don’t wanna be starting any fights, especially not with me!” He bared his teeth, but they didn’t look as though they were capable of doing damage to anything other than a shawarma.

—————————

“Eh, who am I kiddin’?” Grumbled Drakon, sinking to the floor like a depressed panther. “I let you down. All cause I got the collywobbles seein’ them humans all at once. I wish I didn’t scare so easily, Smokey,” The baby’s reaction seemed to indicate that he not only understood his guardian, but empathised with him and wanted him to feel better. Even in his sadness, as a lump formed in his throat and a tear in his eye, Drakon couldn’t help but smile.

Drakon’s name is the root word of “dragon” in Greek

Drakon and Smokey are implied to be brothers from different clutches but with the same mother, although nobody knows for sure

After his cave was destroyed by humans mining for gemstones, Drakon resides in the House of Stardust. He thinks highly of Stardust and considers him his best friend. The feeling is mutual and they frequently protect one another from the cruelty of humans

Drakon loves shawarmas to the point that he put on quite a few pounds and now has a build similar to a bear

The inspirations for Drakon came from the Cowardly Lion in the book version of The Wizard of Oz and Captain Haddock from The Adventures of Tintin

Drakon hates trumpet music. Whenever he sees a trumpet he will do everything in his power to destroy it (and by that he’ll usually yell at it, stamp on it or at worst, set it on fire)

Smokey

With a loud whine that sounded like a cross between a baby bird chirping and a kitten mewing, Smokey came galloping down the hallway. His round body was shaped like a squashed pear and his limbs were short and stubby, although he could function perfectly well. He clearly still had a lot of his baby fat, but despite that, he was surprisingly fast. His mottled skin was so dark grey it was nearly black, although a bright red belly and round eyes resembling those of an owl stood out from this. His wide yet snub beak gave him a strong resemblance to a potoo bird and his wings hadn’t matured yet. The most striking feature of this infant dragon, however, were his floppy, comically lopsided ears, which flapped around like ribbons as he galloped along. He didn’t speak, as he was much too young to learn how, but simply uttered his trademark “nee-nee-neesh!” noise as he hugged Stardust’s leg.

Smokey is five years old in human years, but that’s closer to two years old for his subspecies

He can’t breathe fire yet, but manages to sneeze out a fireball to protect his friends from the forces of Hell

Being so young, Smokey cries very easily. Possibly as a result of losing his parents, he also gets upset whenever someone leaves the room, as he thinks they won’t return. This results in him running after them and clinging to their legs while ‘neeshing’ loudly.

I was originally doing to give Smokey some dialogue, but decided against it, as I felt he’d be much cuter without it and his actions would speak louder than words

He gets his name from the fact that smoke always blows out of his ears whenever he tries to test his fire breath

Smokey hates Mephistopheles and can sense his evil aura from a mile away. Whenever he sees him he makes a noise like an angry teapot coming to the boil

Despite being little more than a newborn in dragon years, Smokey is capable of great empathy and comforts his friends when they’re feeling down

His favourite album is Shepherd Moons by Enya

Smokey was based on a plushie I use for emotional support

His favourite food is Greek honey cake

Apologies for the absence again; mental health really hasn’t been great at all, but I was still determined to deliver some of the content I promised. I realised that there was nothing stopping me from writing the first draft of The Fiend and the Fugitive, so I made a start on that and I’m looking forward to officially beginning the project in September!

#the fiend and the fugitive #original intellectual property #OC: Stardust #OC: Drakon #OC: Smokey #dragons #original characters

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turnaboutimagines · 5 years ago

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Hello, it's been a month and I want to check up on you if that's okay? How are you? I hope you're doing okay. I also want to tell you that you're my favorite writer, and you pushed me into writing again and wanting to make my own imagine blog, although it's for a different fandom. That's just how much I love your writings. You are also very kind and friendly! I adore that part of you, too. I hope you have a good day and stay safe! -minus point anon

Hello! It’s perfectly okay and I apologize for the novella you’re getting in response, haha. But it’s been a while so I feel like talking a bit more about it is good. I hope you’re doing okay, too, minus point anon! Along with all the other members of the Turnaboutimagines anon family and anyone reading this. 💚

Just gonna put this under a cut for courtesy because I am a Rambler™️. ( ´▽` )ﾉ

(RIP to Tumblr desktop users, but there’s a read more glitch rn where the Read More goes in the ask and not your response alksdjfsdlkjf. It looks fine on mobile. If anyone knows a workaround please lmk! I don’t like clogging up people’s dashboards :”D)

Before I get into what’s been going on with me, I just want to say that I’m really happy to hear that you’ve started writing again!!! :D That’s fantastic and I really hope you’ve been having a blast with it and that you have a great time with your blog, too. Writing is one of my favorite things to do, so it always makes me happy to hear I’ve helped get someone else either into writing or back into it. ;w; So, thank you for telling me!!! It made me smile. Sharing writing is always a bit scary, but it’s very worthwhile. 💙

But I am... getting on. This year is really one thing after another and my mental health hasn’t been great, I’ve been having some depressive symptoms pop up again and am doing teletherapy. But we also have a terminal illness in the extending family right now along with an aunt having a severe mental health flare-up. It’s been pretty stressful. ;;; However, I finished my first year of grad school strong (lowest grade was a 98%!), so that’s some silver lining, at least... :”) The reason why I vanished about a month ago is that I’ve had severe burnout from writing for my classes and was also just highly stressed by the format switch since I did not have the skillset for learning online. ;; I’m only now starting to gather up the energy to be more present online again now that school’s out of the way.

I would like to apologize to the people who sent me messages and wanted to talk in the meantime. ;w; I really appreciate your messages and I’d like to respond, but I’ve barely been able to talk with my three friends. It’s just ;;; even little things are a lot for me right now. I thought that I’d have a better social battery than this, but I simply do not and it sucks. I do plan on responding eventually, but it may take me a while. ;;;;;

My creative battery is still utterly drained and while I wish I was the kind of content creator who could keep feeding you guys new pieces and banging out requests during all this free time I have. But I’m not. Writing takes a lot of energy for me and I’m just barely getting on with the essentials right now. Video games are the one non-draining thing I have right now, so I’ve been playing a lot of ACNH....like a lot.

I don’t know when I’ll be back over here (hopefully sooner rather than later! I miss it terribly ;;m;;), but I’ll be responding to the other asks in my inbox when I do. I like to keep this blog pretty streamlined for writing. :> Sorry in advance for sitting on some asks for a while. ( ´▽`;;)

However, for those of you who enjoy Animal Crossing or just want to check in on me from time to time or maybe send conversational asks (that I may be slow responding to, but I’ll do my best!!! (ง'̀-'́)ง), you can find me over on @ad-nayseam! It’s an AC/personal sideblog attached to this account and I’m going to try and at least reblog or post something over there on a regular basis.

Anyways, this is it for now, pals. I dunno how long this hiatus will last, but I really do hope to be back as soon as I can get my writing energy back. This blog is such a joy to run and I love writing for AA. ;;w;; Thank you all for reading my content, sending in requests, and being patient with me this year. It’s really made Turnaboutimagines such a joy to run and I hope to come back with more content for y’all soon!!! Please stay safe in the meantime and take care. 💚

- Hattie

#hattie chatty #requests are still closed btw!#i'm going to post the asks of requested stuff closer to when things reopen #(whenever that'll be)#so people can resend them in when they're open again #i loathe deleting requests ;;;;#if you wanna send something in so i can reblog it/post it for you closer to whenever i'm able to reopen requests again please do!#i know that some people worry about forgetting their ideas and that's totally valid! :>#i just can't take new requests when requests are closed ;;;;#Anonymous #minus point anon

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ashtheshortstack · 5 years ago

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take my scars & make them stars - ch 5

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter Five

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Fic, Cancer Fic, Chronic Illness, Chemotherapy, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Mentions of Character Death

Read on Ao3

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter

Anna usually went to the coffee shop after treatments, but she decided to have a different routine that day. Surely, Kristoff wouldn’t mind if she popped in on a different day. If Anna was honest with herself, despite their constant messaging and videos…. she missed him. And she was having one of her bad days, so it’d be nice to see him. The need to see him seemed so silly since they’d just gone to the park a week prior, but Anna could never really get enough of him. She didn’t know a--whatever they had--could feel like this. She’d spent so much wasted time with Hans, but she’d never felt like this.

Never had she felt so cared for… Even from her own family. Sure, Elsa tried her best now. And it wasn’t her fault she was kept away when they were children. But, her sister had stayed a little distant until the diagnosis. Which was probably because of Hans, and Anna didn’t blame her for that.

Anna was grateful that Elsa opened her door to her when she said she was leaving Hans. She was glad Gerda and her sister still wanted to be with her after she left, despite both of them warning her that Hans was bad news. They probably believed she would eventually come to her senses. And hoped she would move on. And although Anna hadn’t expected to move on so quickly after such a long term relationship, it was like a breath of fresh air. Even though… if she were honest with herself, the time with Hans hadn’t felt like a relationship in years. It had just become a regular constant in her life. Not actually anything with true meaning anymore.

So, walking into the coffee shop and seeing that familiar smoothed back ginger hair had Anna completely disoriented. Her chest tightened as she swallowed thickly. There was a familiar crowd of frat boys at the table, including those two guys--Erik and Francis--that Hans had started to hang out with frequently right before their break-up. There were cute sorority girls attached to their arms, smiling and laughing along with them in their seats. There must’ve been some event nearby, and they’d all stopped by for coffee.

Of course, Anna rationally knew by living in the same college town that there was a chance of running into Hans. Arendelle was big but not that big. But she just didn’t think it’d happen. She’d gone months without seeing him, so he’d not really been on her radar. What were the chances he’d show up in the very coffee shop her new, uh, not boyfriend worked at?

Kristoff saw her when she entered, and while he seemed a bit stunned to see her, he grinned fondly--completely unaware of the mental collapse she was experiencing. Anna kept glancing in Hans’ direction, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. She forced a small smile, and instead of approaching the counter, she pointed to the table that they normally occupied during her visits. Kristoff furrowed his brows, looking a bit concerned, but nodded anyway.

She returned the gesture and headed towards the seat. Anna huddled herself in the corner, busying with her phone in an attempt to avoid drawing any attention. God, she wanted to kick herself for not wearing makeup that day… or just dressing up at all. She hadn’t felt great that day to begin with, that’s part of the reason she’d wanted so badly to see Kristoff to cheer her up. She’d just left her house in an Arendelle University sweatshirt with leggings and comfy running shoes. And one of her beanies, of course. She was full “sick girl” style… and it pissed her off that Hans could see her in such a state. Anna wanted him to know she was strong, didn’t need him, and was fighting her cancer just fine. In fact, she’d felt better than she ever had. The therapy included in her treatments worked wonders… It was group therapy, but it helped to rant about Hans in the times she needed it.

Her eyes kept flickering around as she scrolled through her phone. Not really reading the content in front of her, she was mostly paranoid about being seen. She felt her blood boil when she recognized the blonde girl she’d caught him macking on the day of her diagnosis. There was part of her that wanted to confront him. To call him out on what a bastard he was.

But she couldn’t. It wasn’t a battle she wanted to fight. Anna just wanted to enjoy her day, despite how utterly drained she felt.

Kristoff’s gaze never left her. That frown was plastered on his lips. She knew he could tell something was wrong. That was just one of his many quirks: reading her like a book. Anna watched him as he called Ryder over to take the register and he stalked over to her, apron and name tag still on and everything. Quickly, he pulled up a seat next to her and looked her over.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

Anna simply shakes her head. The last thing she wants to do is to upset him while he’s working. She knows how fierce Kristoff’s sneer is, and she doesn’t want to get him fired for glaring down a paying customer. “It’s nothing. J-Just a lot of people in here is all.”

The blonde scoffs at that. “You got that right. They had a fall festival event for the Greek organizations at the park,” he smirked leaning in to her. “You would not believe how many pumpkin spice lattes I’ve had to make in the last hour.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that. Pushing him gently back by his shoulder, Anna smiled up at him. “When is your break?”

“In about twenty minutes? But if you need me, I’m yours, okay?”

Her heart fluttered at that. Nodding, she agreed. “Yeah.”

Kristoff gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder with a reassuring smile. Giving her one more once over, he seemed hesitant to leave her, but he stood and went back to work.

Despite her spike in anxiety, he really had helped her calm down. At least a little. She felt safe when he was there, but now she felt exposed to the world again. So, she returned to scrolling through her phone. If only she had earbuds so she could drown out the crowd. But she was pretty sure she’d forgotten them on the counter.

Her phone suddenly chimed, startling her but when she saw the ID was Elsa, she instantly answered.

“Hello?”

“Anna, where are you?”

Blinking, she was a bit stunned by her sister’s harsh tone. “I’m at Arendelle Roasts, why?”

“Did you cook something?”

“Uh, yeah? I wanted to lighten the load on Gerda since I was at home all day and baked the chicken for dinner ahead of time.”

“You left the oven on.”

“Oh. Oh, God, Elsa… I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean--I’m so--ugh!” Anna grimaced, smacking herself in the face. God, chemo brain was so stupid! So, not only had she left her earbuds on the counter, she’d also almost burned the house down. Fuck, could this day get any worse!?

“Hey, hey, hey--calm down, Anna, it’s okay. No one got hurt. Just double check from now on, okay?”

“Okay… I just--I’m sorry, it’s only the afternoon and this has already been a horrible day.”

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you with Kristoff?”

Anna tapped the table, glancing her in her ex-fiance’s direction, glad to see his back was still to her. “Yeah, it’s who else is here. Uh--you-know-who.”

“Hans is there!?”

“Yes. And he hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m just trying to keep it that way.”

“Do you want me to come get you?”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

After a few more brief reassurances from her sister, they exchanged “love you”s and “goodbye”. When she hung up the phone, she was grateful that she was still alone. There was a small glance from Kristoff, but she just grinned at him and he bobbed his head before returning to customers. It was very crowded. She was lucky their table wasn’t taken when she walked in. Kristoff and Ryder were busy bees as they sped through multiple orders. Their teamwork was impeccable, really. Anna wasn’t sure how on earth Kristoff would be able to take his break.

She was so lost in watching the boys work that when Hans suddenly stood, it completely startled her. Gasping, she hurriedly looked down at her phone, hoping he hadn’t noticed her. He was at the counter, ordering something else it seemed. When he turned towards her, Anna felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She glanced up fully, and Hans was staring at her. He arched a brow, squinting harshly at her as he slowly processed who she was. It disgusted her to see Kristoff speak so politely to her ex as he handed over the drink. Hans’ expression changed to that fake pretty boy smile as he thanked him for the drink. But she saw the way his eyes changed, the way his lips quirked into a smirk as he meandered towards her seat.

Feeling her eyes widen, she went back to piddling on her phone. She could just pretend she had no idea who he was. Maybe, he’d think she was some other girl with cancer? The treatment center was highly regarded around the country, so there were a lot of patients in the area. Anna just lucked out with living in such a prosperous town.

Hans pulled out the chair, sitting down in front of her with that smarmy look on his face. She ignored him. Not even sparing him a glance.

“Well, this is the last place I expected to see you,” he said with a chuckle.

His voice made her skin crawl. She hid her flinch pretty well, she was sure. Anna still didn’t pay him any mind and casually played a word game on her phone. Maybe her constant swiping would pester him enough to leave. He usually had a problem with the way she did anything.

Tapping the table, Hans took a sip of his drink. “You could at least acknowledge me, Anna. You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you while you look like that.”

Anna decided to muster her best Kristoff scowl as she slowly lowered her phone. She kept her gaze hard, lips in a harsh frown. “What do you want ?” she growled with as much venom as she could muster.

His brow twitched. “That’s rude. Is this how you treat all of the men who spare you a glance?”

“Too bad you’re not a man, you’re just a cheating coward,” Anna said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Hans laughed at her words. Which fueled her anger even more. “Such big bad words for someone who looks like she can’t even fight off a fly.”

“Everything is about appearances for you, isn’t it!?” she spat, standing quickly.

Anna felt her nostrils flare, her body shook as hot hatred brewed inside her. Heart pounding, her hands clenched against the table. And while Hans seemed a bit shocked at the display, he still didn’t move. He would learn that she wasn’t that meek little girl she manipulated for far too many years despite how she looked on the outside.

She wasn’t even sure when Kristoff got there.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?” he asked, voice cool and professional despite the anger Anna recognized in his eyes.

He was glancing at Anna seeming to beg for an answer, but she just crossed her arms. Staring her ex-fiance down with as much fury as she could.

Hans waved him off. “Oh, nothing to be concerned about. Her bark is far worse than her bite.”

Kristoff’s lips parted at his words, brows shooting past his bangs. “Uh, do you know her?”

“This is Hans. My ex-fiance,” she murmured.

The blonde gaped. “Your what?”

Hans snorted. “Yes, it’s embarrassing to even admit I was with someone like you. You know I’ve always had more of a preference for blondes? Maybe, if you had looked a little more like Elsa, I would’ve found you sexier.”

Kristoff’s jaw snapped shut and clenched. If Hans didn’t shut up, Anna was worried her ex may get decked. Not that she would complain. But Kristoff was working, and that would definitely not look good with his boss.

Shaking her head, Anna scoffed. “Oh, c’mon. You’re pathetic if you think you can goad me.”

“Goad you into what? I’m not afraid of a fragile, desperate, little wallflower like you. Do you know how much it pained me to deal with you for all those years when I didn’t even get the pay out? And I already knew how I wanted to spend our money.” he smirked.

She knew what he was doing. Trying to manipulate her into reacting. Into doing what he wanted. Forcing her into acting. Just as always, trying to be the victim. Make her look like the aggressor to the crowd of people.

He can’t hurt me anymore , she reminded herself. His words meant nothing. Hans Westergaard was nothing to her.

“Look at yourself, Anna. All you ever wanted was for someone to love you and now? What man would ever desire someone like you?”

Kristoff’s hand slammed onto the table, startling both of them, and a few customers at nearby tables. “I would,” he snarled. Anna’s breath caught in her throat. A flood of emotions began to overwhelm her. Gripping Hans by the arm, the blonde brought him to a stand. “I would appreciate it if you’d leave, sir. I’m sure my boss would not be too pleased to hear you’re harassing one of our favorite customers.”

Hans glanced between the two of them before jerking his arm away. “I see. Well, don’t expect any more business from any of us,” he retorted with a glare.

“I can live with that.”

As Hans began to move away, Anna’s feet were suddenly moving on their own. She hadn’t thought through her actions. She didn’t know what came over her. But there was a sick sense of satisfaction when she smacked Hans’ cup in his hand, making him pour the contents all over his clothes. He shouted, gaining more attention from the crowded shop. There was a chorus of laughter from his Greek comrades as Hans flicked coffee off his hands and looked down at his ruined shirt.

“You bitch,” he hissed taking a step towards her.

But Kristoff was faster, getting between the two of them. “Touch her, and you answer to me.” His voice was deep and dark. The fire in those honey-brown eyes spoke more volumes than his words ever could.

Anna blinked innocently. “I’m sorry. I get muscle spasms sometimes. It’s a side effect from chemo,” she chimed loud enough for the witnesses to hear.

With a glare, Hans straightened out his shirt, standing taller and stomping back over to his friends. They quickly gathered, standing and leaving the shop as some of the girls went back to buy a few sweets to go. When he was finally out of the coffee shop, Anna felt her shoulders deflate. Her wobbly legs somehow led her back to a chair as she practically collapsed into it.

She knew the spike in blood pressure was not good for her. But she was so proud of herself. Even though… she honestly just wanted to cry. Her eyes watered, tearing pricking the corners as she quickly wiped them away.

Kristoff’s expression was almost unreadable. There were so many emotions etched along his face. With a sigh, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”

Sniffling, she nodded. “Yeah.”

He cocked a brow. “I’ll be back.”

When he walked off, Anna felt her heart plummet to her stomach. She should’ve told Kristoff about Hans much sooner. She was kicking herself for not being honest with him. It was just something she wasn’t fond of talking about. Just springing “hey, i was engaged!” on someone wasn’t a reasonable thing to do. Especially not in a relationship that wasn’t labeled yet.

Anna was stunned to see Kristoff come around the corner in his regular clothes. No apron or name tag in sight. He bobbed his head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where? What about your shift?”

“I have time I can put in. Honeymaren is already here in the back to cover for me. I’m taking you home.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, God, Kristoff. I’m so sorry. I’m totally disrupting your life. I didn’t mean--”

Taking her hands, he pulled Anna to a stand. “Hey, hey, none of that. We’ll talk on the way, okay?”

Anna nodded. “Okay…”

o~o~o~o

They didn’t talk on the way. The truck ride to her home was awkwardly silent. Anna couldn’t help but feel like Kristoff was upset with her. And he had every right to be. She just waltzed into the coffee shop while he was working, had a confrontation with her ex-fiance he didn’t even know about, then forced him to leave his shift early to take her home. It was completely justified if he was furious with her.

When they reached her home, Kristoff put the truck into park. Before she could change her mind, Anna turned to him. “Do you want to come in?”

He seemed stunned, but nodded nonetheless.

Anna opened the door, grateful when she noted there was no one there to ask questions as to why he was here. Kristoff followed her up the stairs as she guided him to her room. He seemed just as in awe of the inside of her home as he had of the outside. Hopping on the bed, Anna patted the place across from her so they could talk face to face about this.

She crossed her legs as Kristoff mirrored her position and looked at her. He sat silently, waiting for her to speak. It took a few moments for her to gather her courage, but Kristoff never rushed her. He just sat patiently as he always did.

Finally, she sucked in a breath. “Hans and I met in high school. I was young and dumb and desperate for a happily ever after. People talk about how romantic it is to marry your high school sweetheart, so I convinced myself that’s what we were,” Anna gazed down at her lap, watching her thumbs fiddle in her lap. “It was all a lie. Hans was so, ugh, convincing . I believed every word he said. I believed him when he told me I was a bad girlfriend if I didn’t do as he wanted. I’d never been in a relationship, how was I supposed to know? As you saw today… Hans was only with me because I have money. And don’t get me wrong his family is loaded, but he didn’t want to have to share with his brothers.”

Kristoff was nodding, absorbing her words like a sponge. “So, what happened? How’d you get out?”

“I had been miserable since we graduated. As soon as he started college, he got worse. More...manipulative than before. Loved drama. Knew how to get under my skin and pick a fight. I knew he was cheating on me, but I just kept pretending he wasn’t. It was just too much. Then… I got diagnosed. And I knew if I was going to be in the fight of my life, then I didn’t want to spend it with Hans. Plus, like hell would I let him get my money if I didn’t make it.”

Snorting at that, he agreed. “True,” he said. She watched him purse his lips, seeming to think something over. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anna smiled sadly. “I planned to. I just never felt like I had a reasonable opportunity. Our first date already had such heavy discussions that I didn’t want the added bonus of ‘hey, I had a fiance’ on top of it. I just never wanted to ruin the moment.”

“I understand.”

Sighing, she felt her shoulders deflate. “I’m sorry for all the shit I caused today. This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

Kristoff chuckled at that, nervously scratching at his neck. “It was a shock, for sure. But you have nothing to apologize for. You were so badass.”

“Really?” she giggled, hugging herself slightly.

“Yeah. And when smacked his coffee on him? I had to try so hard not to laugh.”

Anna busted a breathy laugh. “It felt pretty great. You know… the day I left I punched him in the face.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah…”

“God, you’re amazing.”

They shared a small laugh, but suddenly… Anna felt all of the anger and hatred she felt for Hans bubbling to the surface. All of the horrid things he’d said to her floated in her head. Despite not caring for Hans for a long time, what he said still hurt. It hadn’t been too long ago that he was still a part of her life. When she still let him control her. And she didn’t want to give him that power over her again, but it was hurtful anyway.

She felt herself fall silent, hugging herself tighter and looking away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

Anna gave a bitter hiss. “I just… He basically admitted that I was nothing to him. Even said I wasn’t as pretty as Elsa and said that I’m even worse off now. It’s so disgusting. It makes me so angry that I let him touch me when he didn’t even find me attractive. That I gave him my virginity. He didn’t deserve me like that. And I deserved better.”

Crawling towards her, Kristoff came to sit beside her. His hand rubbed comforting circles on her back. “You’re right, he never deserved you. But you made the right decision for yourself in getting out. I’m grateful you’re here now. I… I really like being with you, Anna.”

“Me too,” she smiled up at him. “You have no idea how much you’ve helped me through all of this.”

“I’m glad I can be here for you,” he said. His smile was so sweet and genuine. She’d never seen someone whose honesty was plastered on their face.

Anna felt her cheeks heat a little as she leaned in closer. She noticed his eyes flick to her lips and back to her eyes. It had her heart pounding. Was he going to kiss her? Did he want to? She wanted to…

Kristoff cupped her cheek, pulling her in slightly before closing the gap between them. The kiss was featherlight. Barely just a brush of their lips together. But it was enough to have her eyes fluttering shut, and leaning into his touch as he deepened the kiss. She sighed, letting out a small, happy hum. Kristoff chuckled in response, laughing against her lips.

For an absolutely shitty day… Anna decided it didn’t end as badly as it began.

#kristanna #kristoff x anna #the queen & her reindeer king #ash writes #frozen fic #anna x kristoff #kristanna fic #tw: cancer #tw: character death #cancer fic #angst #hurt/comfort #mentions of chemotherapy #tms&mts #take my scars & make them stars

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mariamz11 · 5 years ago

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Quarantine – a manual for keeping your sanity

To be honest, what we’re going through is nothing compared to what our ancestors went through periods of war and famine. Yes, we do have all the necessities of food, hot water, electricity, television, even internet with endless entertainment at our fingertips.

However, it should be recognised that staying in quarantine at home is tough psychologically and denying there is an issue will probably leave you feeling even more depressed. Most of us at more than one point will probably feel hopeless and down and perhaps even like nothing depends on us.

As a result, I’ve decided to write this article for everyone affected but truth be told also for myself – I’ll keep re-reading it to serve as a reminder to keep myself going. I truly hope it helps you to manage your time better and feel better too.

Maintain regular sleep patterns

Just because you can sleep all you want doesn’t mean you should. Disrupting you regular sleep patterns will make it more difficult to return to normality once the quarantine period is over.

Stick to your normal routine as much as possible and don’t oversleep which can be tempting with too much time of your hands, as this will only cause grogginess throughout the day.

Watch your food intake

Perhaps you’ve stocked up more than usual- that’s fine as long as you didn't go overboard and were selfish and left nothing for the rest, I cannot judge you there as myself I want to limit the amount of times go out shopping to minimise contact and risk of contagion and plan a week or two ahead.

However, too much stock at home are no excuse for overeating. Equally, you're likely feeling overwhelemed from time to time and can retort to eat comforting junk food. Not only will you gain weight especially with less exercise from sitting at home, but eating badly reflects negatively on your emotional and mental states. You are what you eat after all.

Plan your meals and shopping accordingly and ensure your meals are varied and rich in nutrients and vitamins. Don’t forget the fruits and veggies which will help to keep your immune system in check.

Pursue your hobbies/passions

If you’ve been delaying due to lack of time, now is the time when you must drop all the excuses.

Personally, I’ve been putting painting off for sometime now. Well I’ve ensured to set the time aside and moreover I’ve started working on a new project related to teaching, which is very exciting to say the least.

Doing things that are pleasant and equally challenging will lift your spirits and will make that much more tolerable if not somewhat pleasant to pass the quarantine time. So think about what you’ve dreamt of doing and do it now; if you haven’t got the materials, spend your time planning now and once the quarantine is over you can go out and purchase what you need and start a lot faster than without the prior planning.

Set a schedule

Having a lot of time on our hands doesn’t mean we cannot waste it; browsing the internet, watching the news etc can take up unlimited amounts of time and in the end you’ll feel like you’ve wasted the quarantine time “opportunity”.

Lack of normal structure can will likely make it harder not easier to organise your time effectively. Try and set some sort of a routine for yourself and if possible for your family, such as shower, exercise, work if you’re working from home, studying, research etc.

Don’t forget to exercise

We take walking for granted – I personally don’t as I have a fitness watch to monitor my daily steps, but those who don’t , might simply not realise how much less moving around they’re doing so this needs to be compensated.

So do whatever you can, even without the gym equipment there are tons of floor work exercises, yoga and dancing. Even if following videos isn’t for you, just put the music on and move around in your own style as after all noone is watching you. Not only your body will thank you but so will your mind, as exercise will certainly boost your spirits.

Change your thinking

This is a personal battle for me as well that instead of being positive of what I’m blessed with, I find myself constantly complaining of not being able to go out. Well, complaining only puts you down and drains your energy and if you are to make productive use of the time, you need to stay positive. As hard as it may sound, try and see quarantine as an opportunity rather than punishment. Think of what you can do rather than of what you cannot.

Limit the news watching

As tempting as it is to try and keep abreast of all the news especially as you are inside not knowing what’s happening on the outside, limit this to a maximum of once a day. Continuous news watching sets panic, has highly contagious negativity and is energy draining, taking your time and life force away from doing something useful or pleasant.

To be honest, there are a lot of fake news, distorted news and also the news is designed to keep you scared to begin with.

Set boundaries with your family

I know they say you should be grateful for the opportunity to spend with your family and loved ones and appreciate every moment, but realistically speaking too much time together can drive everyone crazy and quarrels can ensue.

The sooner you realise this and act, the better it will be for everyone involved.Try and set boundaries, times not to be disturbed etc; respect each others need for privacy and space - something taken for granted outside of quarantine time.

Also, ensure to compromise and avoid conflict as staying together 24/7 in a conflictive situation will create a toxic environment for all, making an already emotionally difficult situation even worse. Support each other, not bring each other down.

Look after yourself

Not going out is no excuse letting yourself go. Needless to say that you must maintain good hygiene, kempt hair and also try and look nice for yourself if not for your family, as wearing pyjamas all day will just leave you feeling sleepy, lazy and you’re unlikely to get anything productive done.

Wash your clothes regularly and put clothes on that are comfortable and make you feel good at the same time. Putting on make-up might be a tad excessive but using products that make hydrate your skin, hair and make you smell nice to yourself and others ( not too much perfiume!) shouldn't be abandoned.

The same goes without saying for maintaining a clean and orderly house.

Manage your emotions

As mentioned above, setting boundaries with those you share your home with, eating well, regular sleep patterns, positive way of thinking and doing regular exercise should help you manage when the going gets tough.

However, at times, you may be simply too overwhelmed and feel like no matter how much you try you simply cannot force yourself to do anything. Perhaps, this is when meditation and breathing exercises might help. Just type "anti-stress meditation" or "breathing relaxation techniques" into Youtube and select the video that appeals the most to you.

---------------------------------------

Finally, remember that quarantine isn’t forever but only for a period of time, so stay strong and positive and make the most of it. Feel free to leave a comment with a tip of your own or a comment.

#quarantine #quarantinemanual #survivequarantine #learnenglish englishonline

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thelastspeecher · 5 years ago

Text

Recoil - Chapter 2: Ricochet

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 AO3

So, I’ll be updating this fic weekly on Thursdays, it looks like. Y’all have three more weeks of scheduled uploads, then it’s back to my regular bullshit. Anyways, the Fiddle boy finally shows up in this chapter, Stan shifts into Ultra Dad Mode, and Ford uses his cuteness as a weapon. Enjoy.

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Ricochet (noun): a shot or hit that rebounds one or more times off a surface

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ford sat on the couch in his study, abruptly feeling drained. Was it the leftover exhaustion from the last week or so? A side effect of becoming a child? Children did need naps, after all, though Ford had no idea whether children of his current biological age did. Or was it simply that Bill filled him with a panicked energy, and sharing the information with Stan had helped to ease that burden, share it? Ford wasn’t sure which one, but as a tense silence fell, he resisted the urge to look at Stan, sitting next to him.

“Okay.” Ford stared at Stan, surprised by the single word response. Stan’s expression was thunderous in a way that Ford remembered from their childhood. It was the same look Stan would get any time someone messed with Ford. The implication was dumbfounding.

Does…does Stanley want to punch Bill?

“I had no idea what to expect when I came here, but this sure as hell ain’t it,” Stan said, putting his hands on his knees. His eyes were still stormy, but he plastered on a lighthearted smile as he looked at Ford. Discomfort began to uncoil in Ford’s stomach.

He’s treating me like a child. From the moment he’d awoken, Ford had gotten the feeling that Stan was, so to speak, using kid gloves. He’d banished that feeling, telling himself that it was just his misperception of Stan’s protective nature. But he could no longer dismiss that possibility. Not with Stan smiling at him so reassuringly after being told his own brother had made a deal with a literal demon. Ford opened his mouth to tell Stan off. Although, isn’t this better? Their brief reunion as adults had been tempestuous and violent, and all Ford wanted at the moment, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, was a calm voice speaking warm words.

“Why are you taking this so well?” Ford finally asked. Stan shrugged.

“I’ve been through a lot,” he said vaguely. “This is the weirdest thing I’ve seen, yeah, but it’s not the worst. Nah, that’d be…” Stan shook his head. “Never mind.”

“I just told you that if I fall asleep, I could become possessed by a demon!” Ford protested. Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

“Then why didn’t you get possessed earlier?” he asked. Ford flushed with anger.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I do. After seeing you get turned into a kid, I can wrap my mind around this weird shit. Also, you’re a terrible liar,” Stan added. Ford flushed again, but this time from embarrassment. “Seriously, why didn’t you get possessed when you fell asleep last night?”

“I- I don’t know,” Ford confessed. “Maybe it’s because my body was so weak that Bill deemed it pointless to control.”

“Brute force isn’t the only way to get things done. If he’d taken you over and asked me to turn on that – what was it, a portal? If he’d asked me to turn it on again, I woulda done it.” Stan spoke casually, like he wasn’t discussing events that could bring about the apocalypse. “You say he’s a smart guy. He coulda found a way around you being stuck like this.” Stan poked Ford’s small, hairless chest. “So why didn’t he?”

“I…” Ford was lost for words. Stan’s logic seemed airtight. Bill had billions of years of experience. Ford being stuck as a child wouldn’t have been a major hurdle, just a minor annoyance. But Ford couldn’t think of a single reason why Bill didn’t do anything while he slept. Ford rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“You look like you could use a nap.”

“I can’t sleep. Not until we protect the house from Bill’s influence. Otherwise, he could possess me this time.”

“Can he?”

“Stanley-” Ford started. Stan held up his hands.

“Think about it. Are you still the same person Bill made a deal with?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ford demanded.

“For one thing, you’re a kid.”

“I- yes.”

“Minors can’t sign contracts, y’know.”

“I highly doubt Bill would care about the finer points of legal arbitration,” Ford snapped.

“Fair.” Stan was now looking at Ford with a careful eye, like he was trying to find something out of place. “I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t think I’m what?” Ford sighed, tiredness beginning to seep back.

“The same person that Bill made a deal with.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m not physically the same person, mentally, I am. And Bill’s domain is the mind.”

“Are you sure about that?” Stan’s voice was soft, careful. Like he was prodding at a wound to see how severe it was, prepared to retreat the second it began to throb. Ford was silent. He waited for Stan to elaborate. “You, uh, I think you don’t remember this, but when you first got turned into a kid, you had a breakdown.” Fuzzy memories began to surface in Ford’s mind. “And not like, a breakdown that you woulda had if you were an adult. The kind a kid has.”

Ford could see it now. Stan crouched next to him, his face and voice infuriatingly calm. Instructing him to breathe in and out, to let his mind lay still until he could collect himself. Ford pulled his legs up and close to his chest, feeling his face burn from shame.

I fell apart like a child in front of Stanley.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Stan rested his hand on Ford’s shoulder. “You’re a kid. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Yes, Stanley’s always enjoyed spending time with children. Even when they were teenagers, Stan would jump at the opportunity to mentor kids younger than them. Ford could remember clearly one brisk autumn day, Stan telling a long story to a group of children that, by the time he was done talking, had more than doubled in size.

“You should be a babysitter,” he’d teased Stan that day, once all the children had dispersed. Stan had flashed him that crooked grin he always kept locked and loaded.

“Nah. This is just for fun.” A contemplative look had brushed across his face then, an expression Stan rarely wore. “And, I guess, for practice.”

“Practice? For what?”

“…Being a dad,” Stan had answered softly, like he was worried saying it would prevent it from happening.

“A- really, you want to be a dad?”

“Yeah.” Stan had hunched his shoulders up then, retreating into his defensive, closed-off position. The conversation was over. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Uh, Ford?” Stan’s voice drew Ford out of the memory. He blinked up at Stan. “You kinda disappeared for a second there. You okay?”

“Yes. I was just…remembering something,” Ford said quietly. Stan seemed like he wanted to press further, but he dropped it.

“Well, like I said, I really don’t think you’re the same person Bill made a deal with.”

Right. We were discussing Bill.

“I sorta wonder…can you feel him?”

“Pardon?” Ford asked, still recovering from the abrupt tonal shift between his fond memory and the present.

“In movies or TV or whatever, if someone gets into your mind, you can feel them.” Stan’s eyes bore into Ford. “Can you feel him?”

“No,” Ford answered truthfully. He frowned. “Wait.”

“What?”

“I- I should be able to sense his presence at the back of my mind. I haven’t warded myself or the house against his influence, after all.” Confusion colored his voice. “The only reason I wouldn’t be able to detect him would be if the deal had been broken.” Ford looked up at Stan again. “…You might be right.” Stan merely nodded. “Of course, if Bill were to possess another person and come after me-”

“How did you summon him?”

“I read an incantation off a cave wall.”

“And what are the odds someone else would do that same thing?” Stan asked. Ford had to think about that for a moment.

“Even in Gravity Falls, I’d say low.”

“So he’s not a problem, then.”

“He most certainly is.”

“Yeah.” Stan’s expression had turned thoughtful. “But not the biggest one right now.”

“…That would be an apt assumption,” Ford grumbled. “I suppose the pressing matter is returning myself to my appropriate age. I’ll need to examine the portal, go over the output data from while it was running, and I should probably-”

“Uh, no, Sixer,” Stan said, interrupting him. “The biggest problem isn’t that you’re small. It’s that you’re dead on your feet.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yep. After you rest.”

“I don’t have time to-”

“You just admitted you did,” Stan said quickly. Ford scowled at him. “If you have time to spend working on turning yourself into an adult again, you have time to spend resting.”

“I don’t-”

“You’ve been a kid for less than a day,” Stan said in a pleading voice. Taken aback by the plaintive tone, Ford was quiet. “I’m not your dad, I’m not your legal guardian. But I’m already half-convinced that Child Services is gonna break down that door and take you away. And then the cops’ll throw me in jail for child neglect.” Stan’s voice hitched slightly. “I’ve got a lot on my record, but I’ll be damned if I let that get added to the list.”

“But-”

“You’re a kid,” Stan said firmly. The pleading was gone, replaced by determination. “And not just any kid. You’re my brother. That means you’re under my jurisdiction. So here’s what we’re gonna do.” Stan met Ford’s eyes. “You’re gonna take a nap. I’m gonna fix the broken heater. When you wake up, we’ll have food and clean up this sty of a house.”

“Since when have you cared about cleaning?” Ford mumbled.

“There’s pieces of rusty metal on the damn floor. You’re not gonna get tetanus on my watch.” Stan took a breath. “And then we’ll go to bed. And we’ll do those things for however long it takes for you to get back on your feet. Then we’ll try to turn you back.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“Kids can’t handle this stuff!” Stan said, gesturing at Ford. “They’re not designed to live on coffee. You need sleep and you need food. So that’s what you’re gonna get. Whether you like it or not.” Part of Ford wanted to continue arguing. But the rest of him was simply too tired. He rubbed his eyes again.

“…Very well.” Ford yawned widely. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow, though.”

“Sure. We can do that.” The fervent passion that had filled Stan moments ago seemed to have faded. He watched Ford with a fond expression. “Let’s get you to bed.” He picked Ford up.

“Stanley, you don’t…need…to…” Before Ford could finish his sentence, his heavy eyelids closed.

-----

Sometimes, Stan wondered how things might have been. There were a lot of scenarios that he would play in his mind while he waited to fall asleep in the latest dingy motel room. But there was one he kept coming back to, particularly with the current situation. As he attempted to comb Ford’s unruly hair, Stan wondered what would have happened if those pregnancy scares he’d had with previous girlfriends hadn’t been false alarms.

He always felt stupid wondering about it. He wasn’t the type to get tied down, and it was for the best that he didn’t knock up the women who left him and stole from him, sometimes in that order, sometimes in the reverse order. Stan felt like an idiot for merely thinking about it, so he did his best to quash the small part of him that wanted it. That wanted to be a dad. It was difficult to suppress, though, and felt especially difficult right now. Stan set down the hairbrush and crouched down to Ford’s eye-height to look intently at him.

After only two nights of full sleep, Ford seemed healthier, though still much more sickly than Stan ever remembered him being at this age. At least the circles under his eyes were hidden by his glasses. The plan was to use some of the money Ford had left to buy some groceries, but Stan had been uncertain of whether he’d take Ford along, depending on what shape he was in. Stan managed a smile and ruffled Ford’s hair. Ford pouted.

“Why bother brushing my hair when you were going to mess with it right after?” Ford asked.

“It’s what people do to cute kids like you, Sixer. Better get used to it,” Stan replied, straightening to his full height. “I think we’re good to go. You sure you remember the way to the grocery store?” Ford bobbed his head. “Good. So, what are the rules?” Ford sighed.

“We’re posing as a regular father and regular son visiting a relative,” he rattled off. “The relative we’re supposedly visiting is actually me.”

“And?” Stan prodded. Ford scowled.

“And I can act precocious, but I still have to act like a child.”

“Yep.” Stan dug his car keys out of his back pocket. “Let’s go buy some food.”

The drive to the store was uneventful, aside from the brief shouting match over where Ford would sit in the car. While Ford was napping the day before, Stan had dug out the book on rules for the road that he kept in the glove box. He couldn’t decide whether he was proud or embarrassed that the thing had clearly never been read.

“I told you, the law is that people under thirteen can’t ride in the front seat,” Stan said for the twentieth time, looking at Ford in the back seat. Ford scowled and slumped further down his seat.

“Caring about driving laws is incredibly out of character for you,” Ford griped. Stan turned his attention back to the road, biting back his explanation, that he was determined to stay out of trouble for Ford’s sake. “Actually, caring about laws in general is out of character. Or was it not you who stole multiple items of clothing for me yesterday?”

“Kids’ clothes are expensive,” Stan grunted. “So are speeding tickets. All I’m doin’ is saving as much money as possible.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Ford muttered. He simmered in barely controlled anger as the car was parked, they grabbed a cart, and up to the moment they walked into the grocery store. One step past the automatic doors and Stan could feel small, six-fingered hands gripping his jacket. Stan looked down at his brother. Ford seemed terrified, but Stan wasn’t sure why. He crouched down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. Ford looked down at his feet.

“N-nothing.”

“C’mon, Ford, you can talk to me.”

“Bill.”

“Don’t worry, Sixer. Even if he’s here – and he isn’t – I won’t let him hurt you. Got it?” Stan said. After a moment, Ford nodded jerkily. He was still visibly nervous, but even the small reassurance seemed to have calmed him down a bit. “Good.” Stan stood again. “Any clue where the bread aisle is?”

“Um…” Ford looked around, clearly out of his depth. “No.”

“Guess we’ll just wander around until we find something, then.” Before they could even begin their search, a woman swooped in and peered closely at Ford.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest cutie to ever be cute,” the woman gushed. Ford blanched and hid behind Stan’s leg. Stan forced a laugh.

“He’s a bit shy, Miss…?”

“Susan,” the woman supplied, sticking out her hand. Stan shook the offered hand, unleashing the wide, smarmy smile he used as a traveling salesman.

“Susan. It’s great to meet you.” Stan broke off the handshake and patted Ford’s head. “Like I said, my son here is pretty shy. Especially in new places.”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t look very familiar. Where are you from?”

“Vermont.” Stan wasn’t quite sure why he’d chosen that state, but he went with it. “Ford and I are visiting my brother. He lives here.”

“Isn’t that nice.”

“Yep. We don’t get to see him very often, so it’s a treat. We’re actually here to pick up some groceries for dinner. Do you know where the bread is?”

“Of course! Third aisle.”

“Thanks.” Stan winked at Susan, who giggled, waved at Ford, and then exited the store. Stan let out a soft sigh. “Now we know where the bread is. That wasn’t too bad, was it, Ford?” Stan looked down. His eyes widened. The boy that had been clinging to his leg a moment ago was gone. “Uh, Ford?” Stan spun in a circle, panic rising like bile in his throat.

Don’t panic. Don’t freak out. Stan swallowed. He’s still in the store. Just look for him. He can’t have gotten far. Stan began to make his way down the various aisles, fear mounting as each one was distinctly free of twelve-fingered eight-year-olds. He just finished the canned goods aisle when his ears picked up on a high-pitched voice.

“But it’s me!”

Ford. Stan took off in a sprint, rounding the corner to see Ford talking to a visibly disheveled and disoriented man. The man smiled weakly at Ford.

“I told ya, sugar plum, I don’t know who ya are. And I think I’d remember a lil one as cute as you,” the man said in a thick southern accent. Stan walked up behind Ford and put a hand on his shoulder. Ford froze.

“Sorry, sir,” Stan said through gritted teeth. Ford had the grace to act abashed. “My son can get excited.”

“Oh, that ain’t no problem,” the man said, waving a hand airily. His hair stuck out in all directions and his clothes were visibly stained and torn. Stan wasn’t sure what his deal was, but he was glad to see the stranger grab his basket and walk away.

“You’re lucky I can’t ground you, because if I could, you’d be grounded for a month after that,” Stan ground out once the stranger was gone. Ford turned around and crossed his arms.

“I was merely talking to an acquaintance.”

“You sure? He didn’t seem to recognize you.”

“Wh- of course he didn’t recognize me,” Ford scoffed, throwing his arms up in the air. “I’m eight! The last time I saw him, I was my chronological age.”

“Why were you trying to get him to recognize you anyways?” Stan asked. “I thought we were gonna be discrete.”

“Yes, but…” Ford looked away. “He was my research partner. He’s the one best suited for helping me with my situation.” Ford drooped slightly, like he bore the weight of something.

Clearly, something happened with Ford and that guy. But we can talk about it at home.

“We’re just getting food today,” Stan reminded Ford. Ford nodded sullenly. “Tomorrow if you’re up for doing things, we can try to find this guy again.” Stan held out his hand. Ford glared at him. “You ran off. Either you’re holding my hand or I’m holding yours.” Ford reluctantly took a hold of Stan’s hand. “By the way, what’s that guy’s name?”

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGucket.”

-----

Despite Stan’s assurance that they would seek out Fiddleford the next day, they didn’t. They didn’t look the next day, either. Stan had taken one look at Ford both those days and deemed him too physically weak to go on a search. Ford found himself unable to protest too vociferously; Stan was right that children weren’t built to run under the conditions Ford had been subjecting himself to as an adult.

Two weeks had now passed since the initial incident. Ford sat on the floor in the living room, perusing his journal for any information he might have missed, while Stan folded laundry.

“Any luck?” Stan asked, neatly folding one of the T-shirts he’d stolen for Ford. Ford scowled down at the journal.

“No. I told you, the only way to make any progress into a cure is to get outside help.”

“Why?” Stan asked idly. “I did all the stuff you asked me to do. Grabbed the ‘data output’ from the portal, found the other blueprints that you hid in the woods for some reason. How would this Fiddlesticks guy be able to figure out something that you haven’t?” That was a question Ford had been asking himself lately. Part of him worried that the regression was blocking certain aspects of his mental faculties. He understood all of his research, which was promising. But when trying to reverse engineer conclusions he’d made previously, he found himself struggling with the logic behind them.

It’s like I have all the information I need, but lack the reasoning and logical skill to connect the dots. Ford realized that Stan had been waiting for an answer.

“He’s…a very smart man,” Ford said quietly. “His area of expertise is different than mine, so he might have some different ideas than I do.”

“Makes sense.” Stan set aside the folded T-shirt. “C’mere.” Ford got up and plodded over to Stan. Stan pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead. “You’re still a bit warm.” Ford pouted. Last week, Ford had caught what he insisted was a nasty cold, but Stan was convinced was something more insidious.

Just because I had a slight fever, Stan acted like I was on my deathbed. Granted, I did feel ill and weak, but that’s what colds do!

“I’m feeling better,” Ford argued.

“Yeah, and you look better, too.” Stan sighed. His hand dropped to his lap. “But I don’t think you should go running around town looking for Fiddlesticks.”

“His name is Fiddleford.”

“Whatever his name is.” Stan took a pair of pants from the pile of laundry. “We’re not gonna go on a wild goose chase yet.”

Dammit, Stan! Ford had learned by now that if he wanted to get his way, he couldn’t argue. Stan would immediately shut down and refuse to listen to him. The trick to successfully wheedling his brother was to do what Stan had mentioned at the beginning. Weaponize his adorable appearance. If that’s what I need to do, then I’ll do it. I remember Fiddleford’s regular haunts. I can convince Stanley to take me to one.

“Stanley?” Ford adopted a high, plaintive tone. Stan looked up from the clothes. Ford widened his eyes. An odd look crossed Stan’s face. “Could we go to the library today?”

“Really? You wanna leave the house?” Stan asked. Ford nodded vigorously. He felt his unruly curls bounce. “You know that whenever we leave the house, you have to pretend to be my son.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you wanna leave?”

“I’m bored,” Ford said. It came out as a whine without him intending it to. A small grin appeared on Stan’s face for a second before he stifled it. “You won’t let me do anything.”

“Yep.” Stan took another shirt from the hamper. “Last time you did something, you made a deal with a demon and got turned eight.”

“Please, Stanley, I want to pick up some books to read. Like I said, I’m bored. I need to occupy my time with something.”

“Well, you did say the magic word,” Stan said slowly. “All right, we’ll head out after the laundry’s done.” Ford crossed his arms.

“Why is it that you’re suddenly so responsible? I’ve never seen you do laundry without being threatened first.”

“I got a kid to look after,” Stan said with a shrug. “If I fuck up, I don’t just screw things for me, I screw things for you. I’m done screwin’ things for you.” He glanced at Ford. Ford looked away quickly, preventing Stan from seeing his expression.

“Well, how long do you think you’ll take?” Ford asked, in a carefully measured tone.

“Dunno. But it’d go faster if I had help,” Stan said. Ford huffed again, but sat down on the floor and took a pair of pants from the hamper.

“I’m not good at folding,” Ford muttered.

“You’re a physicist. You’ll figure it out.”

-----

The Gravity Falls Public Library was somehow even less like a library than Stan had imagined, which was saying something. But the second they’d set foot inside, Ford had darted off to the Classics section, leaving Stan alone to wander around. Stan ambled over to a pile of newspapers and picked up the one on top. He was glad Ford seemed better after getting sick the week before, but knew that if Ford tried to push himself too hard, he’d end up bedridden again.

People always said I was the stubborn one. They were wrong. We’re both stubborn as all hell. Stan sighed and dropped the newspaper back onto the pile. How Mom managed to raise us without tearing all her hair out, I have no idea. He glanced over at the Classics section. Letting him run off might not have been a good idea.

“Please, just listen to me!” Ford’s voice begged. Stan blanched.

It definitely wasn’t a good idea. Stan strode quickly in the direction of the Classics section. As he approached, he could hear another voice speaking to Ford.

“Cutie, I am listenin’. And I think ya have a wonderful imagination. But we should prob’ly find yer parents, okay?”

“My parents aren’t-”

“Ford,” Stan said shortly, finally catching sight of Ford talking to the same person he’d accosted at the grocery store.

Fiddlesticks, right? Something like that. Ford glared at Stan.

“Not now,” Ford hissed.

“I told you to stop bothering people.” Stan walked over to Ford’s side. He placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Sorry about him, Mr.…?”

“McGucket. Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Got it. Sorry about him, Fiddleford.”

“No problem,” Fiddleford said with a soft chuckle. “It’s difficult to get upset with eager children. They’re so excited to tell the world ‘bout every thought that crosses their minds. It’s rather charmin’ of ‘em.” Fiddleford looked at Stan. A strange expression crossed his face. His gaze became more focused, his eyes roving over Stan’s features. “If we’re goin’ to be crossin’ paths this frequently, maybe you should tell me your name, too.”

“Uh, Stan. Stan Pines.” The effect was immediate. Fiddleford recoiled from him, backing into the shelf behind him. A few books tumbled to the ground.

“Pines,” Fiddleford rasped.

“…Yeah. That’s- that’s my last name. Buddy, you all right?”

“I- that- I knew yer face was familiar.” Fiddleford kneaded his forehead. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to that rat bastard Stanford Pines, would ya?” Stan couldn’t help it. A small snort slipped out. Ford scowled at him.

“He’s my twin brother.”

“Why didn’t he-” Fiddleford muttered to himself. He shook his head. “Never mind. I guess yer visitin’ him, then?”

“Technically, yeah.”

“And you brought yer son.” Fiddleford shook his head again. “That weren’t the best idea. He’s not safe.” A heavy discomfort began to settle in Stan’s stomach. “It’d be fer the best if the both of ya left Gravity Falls.”

“I mean…that’s the plan. Eventually.”

“No, do it sooner rather than later,” Fiddleford said firmly.

“I have to help him with something,” Stan said. Fiddleford locked his eyes with Stan’s, a sympathetic expression on his face.

“Speakin’ from experience, the longer ya help him, the worse it ends up bein’ fer you. Really, you should leave while ya still can.”

“I- I can’t leave.”

“Oh, really?” Fiddleford crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Because…” Stan looked down at Ford. Ford took the opportunity to step forward. He took a hold of one of Fiddleford’s hands.

“Fiddleford, it’s me,” Ford said quietly. “I’m not Stanley’s son. I’m- it’s me. Stanford.” Fiddleford’s jaw dropped. “There was an accident, and-”

“I s’ppose you want my help,” Fiddleford said, his voice thick. “Well, yer a world-class genius, right? You can figure it out on yer own.” He pulled his hand out of Ford’s grasp. “Best of luck to ya.”

“No, Fiddleford, please,” Ford begged. “I don’t- I can’t do it on my own.” Fiddleford now seemed conflicted by Ford’s pleading. “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done, but I desperately need your help, I-” Tears sparkled in the corners of Ford’s eyes.

Either he’s laying it on extra thick or he actually feels terrible about whatever happened. Whether Ford was acting or not, it worked. Fiddleford gently stroked Ford’s hair.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I’ll- I’ll at least hear ya make yer case. I can’t promise I’ll help, but I’ll listen.” Ford nodded tearfully. He leaned against Stan’s leg. “I took my own car here, so I’ll meet ya back at yer place.”

“Got it,” Stan said with a nod. He cleared his throat. “Um, and thanks.” Fiddleford stood. His face hardened.

“Don’t thank me quite yet. I said I’ll listen, not that I’ll help.”

“Either way. I- we appreciate it.”

“…Well, I ain’t exactly heartless,” Fiddleford mumbled. With that, he walked away. Stan looked at Ford, who was still using his leg as support.

“You didn’t need more books, did you?” Stan asked. Ford shot Stan a small grin. Stan sighed. “This is what I get for telling you that I could be manipulated by cute kids.”

#Gravity Falls #fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Lazy Susan #deaging #Recoil AU #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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