Taking accountability, except it's Whumpee, coming to caretaker weeks after they've been rescued, after they've been treated well again and accepted food and rest and much needed medical care. As much as they've basked in the care— felt whole for the first time in years— they don't deserve it. They have to take accountability for all the bad they've done in their life. Caretaker doesn't know how many mistakes Whumpee has made, clearly. It's been so nice, but it's time to come clean.
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless
Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Viggo Grimborn, Ryker Grimborn, Astrid Hofferson, Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon)
Additional Tags: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III Whump, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III Needs a Hug, Hurt Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Kidnapped Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, To Be Continued, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Torture, Branding, Whipping, Broken Bones, Interrogation, Caving to Interrogation, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Loathing, Blood and Injury, threats of amputation, Violence, Non-Consensual Touching, Chains, Whump, Rescue, Misplaced Guilt, Guilt, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Heavy Angst, Shame
This fic was crossposted on Ao3. Find it Here. Mind the tags.
If one more person needs Jacob, he's going to lie down in the middle of the road and let a carriage run over him. Or perhaps the train tracks.
Jacob stares at the papers sitting on his desk, the words twisting on the paper. He can't do this. He just can't. The pen in his hand is a shackle, tying him to his desk. He doesn't even know what he's working on. He's in his office in his Father's manor, but that doesn't mean he's working on papers relating to the Templar cause. He could easily be working on something for Starrick Industries, for the Rooks, for starting University.
Everything is in a fog.
The world is hazy, and Jacob can't move from his desk. He just needs to work on this. He just needs to finish this. He can't rest yet. He hasn't even started it. He just needs to put his pen onto the page. He just needs to focus. He can't rest now.
The window slides open, and Jacob ignores it. Someone climbs into his office, and Jacob ignores them. Someone stands behind him, and Jacob ignores them. Someone leans over him, and Jacob ignores them.
"The ink is blotting the page." Evie Frye says, looking down at the page. "Do you hate financial paperwork that much?"
She's clearly joking, but all that does is make the haze darker. Jacob signs the page, his eyes glazed and unfocused. He needs to pull himself together. He needs to focus. He turns around and looks at where Evie's face is supposed to be, though he can't see any of her features.
"How can I help you, miss Frye?" He asks, hoping the bone deep exhaustion isn't evident.
"I was hoping that you had found any of the documents I asked you for." Evie says, looking over the pages on his desk. "Though I can see that you're busy with paperwork. Really, I would have thought that your Father would handle the financials for his own business."
"I am to inherit it." Jacob parrots his father unthinkingly. "I need to understand the every aspect of running the business, giving me more responsibilities helps to enforce good practices, and Father will look over every document before allowing it to come to pass."
Evie turns her head towards him, her face blank and expressionless. Without eyes, without a mouth. Just a blur. Jacob looks at where her eyes should be, maintaining eye contact with a featureless void.
"I'm afraid I haven't found what you're looking for." Jacob sighs, only slightly lying. He wasn't even aware he was supposed to be looking for something. He can't even remember the last time he spoke to the assassin, let alone what they spoke about. "I promise I'll find it soon, unfortunately I am swamped with this paperwork. I don't think I know when the last time I had a chance for a break was."
His attempt at levity is met with a harsh, blank silence as Evie processes his words. Was he speaking too fast? Was he speaking English? The assassins likely trained Miss Frye in other languages, but her family is working class, if he was speaking Latin, or Italian, or French, or Greek, would she have understood him?
Evie nods slowly, turning her head towards the blurred pages once more.
"Well, Henry's curio shop is open from 8am to 6pm." She says slowly. "If you need a break and are in the area, I'm certain he wouldn't mind a customer. If you're looking for a trinket, of course."
"I wouldn't know where to find it." Jacob lies. "And you ought not to tell me. I am a Templar, Miss Frye. It would be unbecoming of me to know where your base of operations lies. Dangerous, too, should my Father find out that I know where it is."
"You would tell your Father?"
"I wouldn't have a choice in the matter. I do hate to be rude, but I really must insist you leave - I have to get these pages sorted." Jacob slips into his Father's accent and demeanour instinctively. Reflecting the proper way he should be interacting with people at his station - though he knows his Father would be furious at him for entertaining a lady unchaperoned in his office, and he knows his Father would be furious at that lady being both below his station and an assassin to boot. Evie once again shoots him a look, but her shoulder relax slightly. She sighs, nodding her head once before turning to the window.
"If you need a break, you should look up while you walk." She invites him. "I'm sure one of us will be tailing you."
"Charming." Jacob says blankly. If he needs a break, he would go and find Robert. Maybe throw himself into a fighting ring, or into the other mans bed.
But he can't have a break. He needs to finish this work.
Evie shuts the window behind her, and Jacob turns to the new sheet of paper with contempt in his heart. He could just leave, of course. Weather whatever punishment Father gives to him like a cliff faces weathers a storm. But he can't let his Father down, not like this. He can do this. He just has to be better. He knows be can be better. He knows he's just being pathetic. When has a little paperwork ever hurt anyone?
Tears fall down his cheeks silently, as the haze overwhelms him. There's nothing but the fog now, and the pen is heavier than anything he's ever held.
just going absolutely feral at the recurring thought that joe’s anger at booker for his betrayal is a drop in a well compared to his absolute sorrow and rage at himself for not seeing how desperately and completely lonely and hopeless his friend, his brother, felt. that joe’s blindness to his pain is what caused this utter destruction of their family. if only he had seen; and he did, he saw it and he knew deep down and that is what he can not forgive himself for. and that is why he can not look at booker. it hurts to bitterly to look at his own shame.
The place I used to dance on Monday nights is shutting down their business today and I feel kinda bad I didn’t support their business more often?
But like, it wasn’t just that my feet sometimes get hurt. Or I had GI problems.
It wasn’t even that one of the owners had a completely out of pocket “Netflix bad because pedos!!!!1!1!1!” Rant at me back in March when he was trying to get me to open up more, and I made the mistake of saying I felt Seen because of Marcelle in Delicious in Dungeon.
At the end of the day their product (their teaching style) wasn’t meeting my learning needs super well, and it wasn’t doing it at all for Jerry, so he wouldn’t come dance with me (which is one of my needs).
Idk, I guess I shouldn’t feel bad that a less than amazing business failed but I still feel guilty. Probably unreasonably.
Had an unexpected flashback and realization tonight
I swiffer mopped my bedroom floor tonight and lit a candle to make my room smell nice. I went in the shower, and when I came back into my room when I was done I had a flashback to my family birthday parties as a kid. It was caused by the combination of the swiffer cleaner smell and the candle, since one of the only times we really cleaned the house—especially mopping the floors and lighting candles—was before birthday parties. I literally laughed at how sad that was. The worst part of this is that it reminded me of how stressful those times were. Since it was the only occasion we cleaned the house, you could imagine just how much cleaning needed to be done. Not only that, but my mother would put so much pressure on my siblings and I, including guilting us for having created such messes in the first place (as if the house being messy was purely at the fault of 3 children...).
Messes and cleaning have always been 2 things that stress me out a great deal, and I just put together why. My mother would have meltdowns over getting the house ready, and I internalized the guilt with each time it happened. Two birthday parties, a Christmas party, and a fourth of July each year for many, many years. So, I've internalized a lot of misplaced guilt. I just feel so bad for my past self. I was just a kid, and I distinctly remember feeling the responsibilities of an adult. When I was a teenager I used to pride myself in my maturity, when in reality I just had so many responsibilities beyond what a child should've had, and I carried so much of my mother's emotional baggage for so long. It's just sad, and it's hard not to dwell on it. I just feel like crying for child me.
