#i went a really long time without dealing much with Proper Grief

[billandtedsgayjourney]

sad tags

[imshymorph]

Slightly angsty soft!price, I promise it has a good ending.

I believe that as much as you’re both used to the rhythm of it all now, you know, the weight his deployment adds to both of your shoulders, the way your stomachs churn when you have to spend months apart. It wasn’t as easy to deal with at the beginning.

I don’t even think you fully knew what his job was in the actual beginning. And the first few months to a year of really knowing was probably the hardest one in your relationship.

- - - - -

It was already hard, having to go weeks or months at a time without seeing him, with barely any contact. It was much harder when you knew that pretty much anything could happen to him and all you’d have as notice was someone delivering his dog tags to your door.

Resentment wasn’t the proper word for how you felt, you didn’t blame John, you never could. You had met him as the man who he was now, you wouldn’t expect him to change because of you. But there definitely was a weird feeling in your gut the more time you spent alone in your shared flat.

Your phone is always close to you, in case he got the chance to give a quick call or a simple text that confirmed his well-being. Your clothes pretty much abandoned to instead use his to at least have the smallest resemblance of what his presence was.

It wasn't resentment, but definitely loneliness, maybe even some hidden grief. The catastrophist side of you taking control, always ready to get a call from the hospital or a knock on your door.

You didn’t say anything in the beginning, he already had enough on his plate. but when a deployment made you both stay apart for over two months you spoke up. It was a civil, a conversation, not an argument. You explained how worried you were, despite his reassurances that you didn’t have to be, how lonely you felt. How big and silent the flat felt without him, how slow time seemed to pass by.

He understood, made the promise to limit the deployment times. He'd still go on missions, but shorter ones, the longest taking two weeks at a time. At least that was for the first few months. Old habits die hard and John has always been someone not only of habits but commitment and dedication. So, without realising, soon enough he was dipping back to old ways, his work as captain keeping him out of the country months at a time.

You tried a couple more times, insisting that you didn’t blame him. You knew what you were getting into before moving in with him, it wasn’t that. You just wanted some level of compromise, you didn’t ask him to avoid long deployments, just do his best to avoid having them back to back.

And the result was always the same. He'd understand and agree, and it would work well for a couple weeks, sometimes months. But then you’d go back to seeing him less and less until you were apart months at a time once more.

it all changed one specific day, though. It was probably the fourth or fifth time you had talked about it with him. Yet here you are again, alone at your shared flat, that had been inhabited only by you for the last six weeks. The feeling of loneliness had only grown stronger each day that passed and you had started to question if you were in fact starting to resent him. Wanting to avoid that train of thought you decided on the best option, you wouldn’t be alone at home if you spent a few days at someone else’s .

Texting one of your friends about your situation, they agreed on letting you stay with them for a few days. To help you get your mind out of John’s deployment and give you a break of the empty flat. You’d have company for a few days and manage to get rid of that pit in your gut that made bile rise every time you heard the doorbell.

You were packing things you’d need from the bathroom, busy with checking you didn’t forget anything important, you hadn’t heard the main door open.

John walked in, taking his muddy boots at the front door before he went looking for you, noticing the bedroom’s light on. He froze on the doorframe, stomach dropping and chest tightening when he saw your suitcase almost filled up on the bed.

You walked out of the bathroom, your whole body freezing when you saw him standing there. You hadn’t expected him to be home yet, not for another week at least. Your eyes ran over his whole body, making sure he was safe and sound. “John…?” you barely got to murmur, not even finishing your sentence before the things you were carrying were taken out of your hands and instead you were pulled into him.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured against the crown of your head. His nose pressed to your hair, with a hand cradling the back of your neck as the other pulled you close by the waist. “I'm sorry, love. Please, don’t leave.”

“I know I've messed up. Broke my word.” His tone was his usual gruff and low one, with that raspiness that comforted and turned you on alike, so familiar and finally there with you. But there was something to it, a light tilt that revealed how worried he really was about you possibly leaving. “I'll make it up to you, I'll really change.”

“John.” You say softly, lightly pulling away, only enough to look him in the eye, one of your hands reaching up, gently cupping his cheek. “I'm not leaving, love. I was just going to see a friend for a couple days.”

As soon as your warm hand makes contact with his skin, his face leans into your touch and his eyes soften. “Don’t, please.” he murmurs, and god does he resemble a sad dog in the rain. “Stay with me.” You give a soft nod and before you can do or say anything else, he pulls you back in his arms with a string of thank you’s and i’m sorry’s.

“I'll make it up to you, I promise.” he murmurs against the top of your head before kissing it. And the way his arms curl tighter around you and pull you closer. The way the mix of his cologne and musk fills your senses and the press of his lips to your head immediately makes that pit in your gut disappear.

“It's okay.” you reassure softly, your arms hooking around his neck in return, holding him close. “I'm not angry, darling. I just missed you.” the second one of you hand drifts up to lightly brush through his hair and against his scalp he feels like he’s melting.

“I missed you too, love. Every single day.” he answers, his face now burying in the crook of your neck instead of your hair. His body unconsciously starts to sway the both of you from side to side. “I'll make it up to you. Take you out on a proper date.”

Your eyes close, your head leaning against his shoulder as you sway along with him. “We can do that tomorrow.” you reassure him softly, “just want to say like this for now.”

“We can stay like this for as long as you want, love.” he murmurs, the hand on your waist moving under your his t-shirt to feel your warm skin. “Just please don’t leave me.”

“I won't.” comes out your soft answer, “I’m not going anywhere, darling.” you reassure softly as you press a light kiss to his shoulder.

The both of you stay like that for a few minutes, a comfortable silence sitting between the both of you as you softly sway in each other's arms. No words needed to notice the relief the other is going through. If he thought he had relaxed when you had started to play with his hair, the moments he heard you whisper a soft i love you he felt like he had ascended to paradise without realising.

He took a second, breathing your scent for a moment longer before he pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “I love you too. you’re my everything, love. I’ll prove it to you, promise.” he whispered back, before leaning in to seal his promise with a kiss.

[002yb]

I cried during your whole reply to the late ask. But please consider: Dick can't stand to look at Jaybin bc he feels too guilty and sad and he still thinks its his fault. And little jaybin is sad bc nothing has changed Dick still haces him no matter how much he loves him and Jason goes full mother on him bc a) he gets it, those are his feelings b) its a kid and Jason cant stand to look at a kid sad and c) if no one is looking out for him he might as well do. Damian is very !!!! Bc his position as jasons baby is in danger but also thats Jason as a *baby*. And Jason is just mothering two kids and Dick is taken out at the knees bc Jasons so perfect and protective and omG he wants to cry everytime he sees them. (Bruce is crying ln the corner and staring holes onto them) (Jason confronts Dick about making Jaybin sad and Dick cries)

Im so sorry this is so long but i got thoughts that i wanted to share bc your posts always make me happy<33 hope youre doing good and take it slow and one step at a time<3 love u<3

The angst potential from this angle of the double-Jay!AU, oh dear. It hurts in a different way from this post. But yes, let's explore:

Where Jaybin is so excited to see what's become of the future. He's eager to see how his small family is doing and if it's grown, what all Batman & Robin have achieved - what Jason has accomplished. More than anything, he wants to know that all their efforts have made a difference for Gotham.

Needless to say, Jaybin is left...unmoored, for lack of better words.

Because everything is wrong.

Bruce won't look at him. Dick still avoids him. Gotham is still fucked up. And just - Jaybin is welcome in the mansion, but it doesn't take a detective to realize that future Jason is estranged because everyone hates him, too

And ughhh, Jaybin trying to mend those burned bridges because he's alone and without proper support, but it's like he's a ghost

So, because Jaybin knows that it must be his fault, he singles out Jason. Without really understanding what happened, Jaybin blames himself and tells Jason to fix it.

Because Jaybin wants his dad back. He wants his family.

Jason being blindsided by 'his' upset feelings although they're nothing new. He's sat with them for years. No one understands more than him how fucking bad this grief hurts.

But Jason is Jason and while he feels a compulsion to help, the subject matter strikes him dumb temporarily

So Jaybin grieves because he can't understand what went wrong. Something something, he lashes out and says some cruel things about how they should just die

And that's what Damian overhears and like. This boy does not take kindly to the cruelty.

There's a Damian/Jaybin throwdown that finally snaps Jason back into action. He separates them and sends Damian off with a promise to tend to him later, but for now - Jaybin

With Jason patching Jaybin up. And them having a bit of a heart to heart.

Where Jason hears out everything that's bothering Jaybin and answering as patiently/kindly as he can. Things with Bruce? Can't fix that. Gotham? Work in progress. Bat methods are a joke, so he's trying his own thing.

And Dick?

What about him?

Jaybin kicking out his leg and grumbling about how Dick still hates them. He avoids Jaybin like the plague.

Jason being surprised at that. While it made sense back in Jaybin's timeline (something Jason has begrudgingly come to understand), Dick seems the sort to capitalize on a situation like this. Jaybin is, objectively, darling. And easily teased.

Jason grumbling about how Jaybin must have that crush by this point in time, huh?

Jaybin flustering because what? No. Shut up.

Jason snickering, then getting melancholic and soft. He shrugs and admits nothing comes of it. Better to give it up.

Have you?

It's the biggest call out.

It's not something Jason is dealing with, so he slaps a bandage on Jaybin's face and goes to tend to Damian

Which leads to sleepovers at Jason's flat. Where Damian bristles like a territorial cat because Jaybin is encroaching on Damian's Jason/space/etc. The only reason Damian behaves himself and begrudgingly looks after Jaybin is because Jason requests it of him. Damian definitely isn't happy about it though.

Which leads to a whole other side plot of Damian learning about who Jason was before he grew to be what he is. And Damian recognizing qualities he really loves about Jason in Jaybin, but also the differences. Like how all Jason's jagged edges aren't yet so piercing. Jaded, but not yet wrecked.

And of course Damian falls in love with Jason all over again contemplates his discoveries to Dick. Who is fondly reminiscent because he remembers well and sees it all, too. ;U;

But what's more? Dick recounting stories of the sparse times Jason and he were together. Damian noticing how Dick is so soft and melancholic and regretful.

Which, like - just hang out with him? Jaybin is here. Now's the time to make things right.

Which Dick is adamantly against because he's of the mindset that he'll make things worse. He always does with Jason. And Damian is fully just l: because really, Grayson? Pathetic. He wasn't there before; be there now. If Damian knows anything with any certainty, it's that Dick is unashamedly relentless. Is Damian wrong? )<

More than anyone, Damian knows the importance of Dick just…showing up. So.

Which leads to Dick asking Jaybin to go on patrol with him.

Needless to say, Jaybin, Jason, and Damian are dumbstruck because what

Jason and Damian? Jealous af (though Jason bites his tongue while Damian spits and sputters because he's Robin, damn it). Jaybin though? Starry eyed with the most brilliant of smiles

Commence a lot of Dick and Jaybin bonding as Dick steps up in the way he couldn't before. All while Jason and Damian get all huffy and petulant in the background.

But it's cool because Jaybin invites Dick over for dinner at Jason's one night. Which forces Dick and Jason to spend time together in a domestic capacity. But before that:

Dick being let inside the flat by Jaybin. And Jason peers around the corner to the kitchen because who the fuck?

His eyes going wide because wtf is Dick doing here?

'Whatever it is - it wasn't me.'

Which makes Dick grimace because he's not here on a case, Jaybin invited him

Jason being all wary because that's just how things are at this point. Still, he lets Jaybin have his company. It's fine. It's whatever. Jason was cooking extra anyway.

And yeah, something something Dick watching Jason be a caretaker

Dick minding his own business before Damian kicks him beneath the table and glowers at him because: 'don't get any ideas, Grayson.'

To which Dick is !! because what? No! No, no.

It's just surprising/disarming/sweet, is all. Dick's never seen Jason in this capacity. //3///

And yes. More dinners. Family patrols. Dick being brought more into the loop and Jason begrudgingly allowing Dick into their family unit space. Something something, Dick running errands after work or bringing home food. Everyone going out for some outings. Joint patrols. Just strong family vibes that heal all of them, tbh. ;U;

[rubysunnday]

bridgerton

Anthony Bridgerton

Aching Soul- There is a difference between Viscount Bridgerton and Anthony Bridgerton. One is a Rake. The other is a man, broken by his father’s death, who has never really been able to be just Anthony. Y/N knows the feeling all too well

A Long, Long Time - Y/N has waited a long, long time for Anthony Bridgerton to finally decide to get married. But by the time he finally decides to find a wife, Y/N has run out of time and Anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

Free Falling - sometimes the only solution is to swoon into the arms of your childhood best friend

It's a Bad Idea, Me and You - Y/N was ready to give her entire heart to Anthony Bridgerton. Only for him to shove her aside in favour for Sienna Russo. But, now, Sienna is gone and despite what Y/N keeps telling herself - Anthony truly does own her heart.

Lover - To love a viscount is to be at the mercy of the ton at every ball and gathering - especially one Cressida Cowper. Sometimes, it really does feel like you're going to your execution.

Take My Hand - As much as Y/N appreciates Anthony's matchmaking efforts, it's hard to accept them when he's the only man she wants. Luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

Benedict Bridgerton

City of Stars- Eloise Bridgerton does not know when to keep her nose out of her friends business. Especially when that business involves pining over her brother - one that Eloise knows for a fact loves her back. If only they weren't completely oblivious idiots.

Send It Soaring - A hot air balloon was something quite majestic... but so was Benedict Bridgerton.

She's a Lady - Y/N isn't considered a proper 'lady' by members of the ton yet one Benedict Bridgerton would disagree with them all. Even if she did swoon into his arms.

Show Me Love - Every time Benedict is alone, Y/N appears. Every time Benedict looks away, Y/N disappears. All Benedict wants to do is draw her in person and not from memory.

Sleeping Beauty - Painting the woman of his dreams feels like a fairytale

Colin Bridgerton

Alone Together - He set eyes upon her in the year of 1814 but it wasn't until 1819 that Colin Bridgerton finally got the chance to win over Y/N Y/L/N

But Who Could Stay? - Every time Colin Bridgerton returned from travelling the world, there was always an urge inside him to run away again as soon as he could. There was only one woman who could make him stay.

It's a Love Story- Y/N has loved Colin since they were children but it was one-sided. She was content to stand aside and watch Colin move on without her. Until Marina.

Its My Life - Colin Bridgerton has watched from afar at every ball and soiree as Y/N danced with many a suitor, never having the confidence to make a move himself. But when Y/N ends up in an arranged marriage at the hands of her father, Colin decides to finally make his feelings known. And whilst many marriages in London high society were business deals between husbands and fathers, Y/N is determined hers will not follow the same route. It’s her life, after all.

Oh God, it's You - Y/N has been in love with Colin Bridgerton for years. The year she makes her debut, however, Marina Thompson appears and Y/N has to watch as her one true love is stolen away.

Orion and Pleiades- Colin paused and turned to look at her. “If you turned into a star, dear Y/N/N, I would follow you no matter where you went."

She Could Be the One - Dancing, alone, at night unchaperoned? How scandalous!

So This Is Love - Eloise was not the best matchmaker. Yet, there's just something about Y/N and Colin that means she just has to try.

The One That Got Away - Colin loved her. Yet, she was destined to be the one that got away... until the night of the Dartford ball.

When the Bell Tolls - Grief hits at the most unexpected times in the most unexpected ways. It's all about learning to ride the wave to the other side.

Your Song, part 2 - Being in love with Colin Bridgerton is hard when the man keeps running off to different continents for months at a time. But the letters he writes and the songs he sends keep the romance alive.

Bridgerton!sis

All the Stars - alive for 19 years, without a father for 11. Sometimes it's hard growing older and not knowing what they'd think of you.

Artemis and Apollo - There are days when her brothers drive her absolutely mad. But then there are days where Y/N is incredibly grateful for them.

Artists Sister - Drawing is, apparently, a sibling thing.

Blue Complexion - Anthony's brooding and Y/N demands to know why. The why just happens to involve her and an unwanted marriage proposal.

Brother Knows Best - Anthony has, finally, put lord berbrooke in his place and allowed his sister to control her own life. except, lord Berbrooke is determined to marry a Bridgerton… even if it isn’t Daphne

Defying Death (Apparently) - When it comes to his siblings being ill, Anthony is the worst mother hen of them all.

Did She Have a Cookie?- Don’t drink the tea unless you want to have a trip of a lifetime

Driver's Licence- It's hard to be in love only to be tossed to the side in a instant. Thank God for older brothers and mothers.

Evil in Silver - When Cressida Cowper knocks Y/N down, Benedict is right there to pick his sister back up

Favourite Brother, Part 2 - When one brother knocks you down, another is always there to pick you back up.

Geode - Colin versus Y/N.

Hey, Sister - Y/N’s heart is broken in two but the only person she wants is her eldest brother

I’ll Look After You (But I Won’t Stop Complaining About It)- summary: four times Anthony protected his sister and the one time she protected him (albeit it was from the ton)

It’s a Bugs Life - Gregory and bugs and the antics his older sister somehow manages to get into to support his weird hobby.

Just Keep Breathing, Darling - panic attacks are a bitch but are ever so slightly easier with two older brothers around

Ope There Goes Gravity - Y/N Bridgerton was not in the gardens at the Trowbridge Ball. She had no idea of what transpired. Yet, somehow, she ends up in the middle of a duel, in an empty park, at dawn. And it's all Daphne's fault

Reluctant Caretaker - having three younger siblings often meant Y/N was put in charge of looking after them. But sometimes her older siblings need some help too. Eight times Y/N did Anthony's job for him and one time he became her father

Slipping Through My Fingers - One more child makes their debut into the world and suddenly, all Y/N wants to do is freeze time.

Spinster  - Love isn't for everyone. Sometimes, borrowing your brother's children and being content with becoming a spinster is all anyone needs.

Summer of '16 - the summer of 1816 was one of the best and worst of Y/N Bridgerton’s life

Would I Run Off the World Someday? - the urge to run away sometimes becomes utterly unavoidable

You Owe Me - Three times Eloise owed Y/N and one time she owed her

[lumosatnight]

Kill Your Darlings 2022 Recs!

@hp-mcd-fest has ended, and I still haven't recovered from all the amazing fics! There were so many (SO MANY) good ones. MCD has always been hit or miss for me, but boy did these fics hit!! And hit reallll good. Here are 7 of my favorite stories from the fest!

—

💀 Five Graves by Chelonie [Triwizard Contestants, M, 3.7k] 💀 This fic tore my heart out and then pummeled it into the ground. And I would 1000% read it again. What if the Triwizard Tournament went wrong?

"The Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have worked hard to ensure that during this revival of the Triwizard Tournament, no Champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

💀 I'll take a quiet life by @deliciousblizzardshark [Harry/Severus, E, 5.0k] 💀 A mourning Harry who is so desperate he brings Snape back from the dead. Absolutely delicious angst.

Severus is dead but Harry, who has just come to understand what they mean to each other, is master of death.

💀 Snake Eyes by @diana-skye [Myrtle/Tom, M, 1.3k] 💀 I ADORE Myrtle fics! She's just a girl, really, an insecure teenager looking for acceptance. The Tom in this is ruthless and amazingly characterized.

There’s a single moment, between yellow eyes and nothingness, where she remembers. [Or - What if Myrtle wasn't a random victim of Tom Riddle? What if he was someone she knew, even someone she loved?]

💀 Breakfast, interrupted by Hrair [Lucius/Narcissa, Hermione/Draco, T, 5.2k] 💀 This fic is so funny. I was laughing the whole time. Who knew MCD could be so enjoyable?

All Lucius Malfoy wants is to have a proper, pureblood heir and to eat his breakfast in peace. Is that really too much to ask?

💀 a long way back to the light by @swoontodeath [Colin/Harry, M, 3.8k] 💀 LOVED this fic. Just the right amount of creepy and also a dash of mystery. Colin is such an underused character imho.

Colin Creevey should have died seven years, three months, and four days ago. Actually, Colin Creevey did die seven years, three months, and four days ago. It just didn’t stick.

💀 Nine Hundred and Twelve by @cannibalschism [George Weasley, T, 5.1k] 💀 TIME TRAVEL, ANGST, WONDERFUL METAPHORS. This story has it all. I love the description of time travel in this fic—as unnatural, unknown. George is so desperate to get Fred back that he forces his way through the unyielding layers of time.

After long nights, impossible exams, and years of studying, my application to join the honourable ranks of those Wixen known only as Unspeakables has been accepted. Dad could not be more proud. Mum bleeding cried at the ceremony. My siblings congratulated me for finally doing something other than grieving Fred. They all said this would be good for me, that this would be a fresh start. They don’t know I did it all for you. All for you, Fred.

💀 Sartre Versus the Stoics by JK_Terfling_Can_Suck_My_Silicone_Dick [Draco/Harry, M, 19.5k] 💀 If you want to have a good cry, I HIGHLY recommend this fic. It deals with grief in such a wonderful, very real way. It definitely has the same vibes as Stop All the Clocks, another heart-wrenching Drarry fic.

After Harry Potter kills himself without warning, his friends and family are left to pick up the pieces on their own

—

💀 Read more MCD fics in the Fest Collection on AO3 💀

(Also, psssst @bluesundaycake if you're running MCD fest next year, I'd love to help out. I loved it so much!!!)

[eartht137]

FOR THE BETTER pt. III

Oh curvies I have another part to put up for you. I'm hoping this is enjoyable please feel free to leave feedback, I need it lol. Not too much to say about this chapter except here ya go. I had fun writing more about Lois in this chapter and giving her perspective a bit about the whole "friendship" so let me know so I can improve. Alright read away love ya MMMMwwwwahhhhh!!!

Summary: Clark and Y/n have been spending a lot of time together. Y/n has asked Clark to invite Lois along but she hardly ever shows up. Y/n doesn't think much of it, but she should, because Lois wants time with her man and Y/n is in the way. How will Clark handle the distance though?

Dark Clark Kent x Black!Plus Size Reader

Over the next few weeks you and Clark spent almost everyday together, and you were starting to feel a bit bad that Lois hadn't been able to join, but a handful of times. Clark spent every moment he had available working to get you to fully trust him and you finally relented to having movie night at his place.

"Hey bestie." You greeted as you removed you jacket.

"I was thinking, I want to take you out one day." he commented from his couch as you began moving around his kitchen to start making dinner.

"Uh, no." You said calmly.

"You do realize I've only seen you your uniform, casual clothes, and pajamas. I've never seen you dressed up."

"Well tough luck Kent," You said pointing a big metal spoon at him. "I don't do dress up." You said sticking your nose in the air.

"You don't do a lot of things." He complained under his breath. You held the cooking spoon to your chest and calmly walked in front of him. "It is my job in my life and the next to give you the biggest amount of grief and shit since you made the decision to bulldoze your way into my blissful loneliness." he erupted into a fit of laughter as you spoke in your overly proper accent. "Furthermore, I shall repeat my earlier sentiment. I don't do dress up. Now, Mr. Kent, I am preparing our meal and you shall behave if you want dessert." You said holding you overly proper dramatic demeanor.

"Dessert?" He asked biting his lip, his mind traveling to dangerous thoughts.

"Oh yes, a quite delightful dessert-a mortal weakness of mine." You said in a dramatically evil way, rubbing your hands together as if you'd created something diabolical.

"Oh god here we go." Clark said pinching the bridge of his nose.

"CHOCOLATE!!!!" You both yelled out together, you added and evil laugh at the end and walked like Igor to the stove, rubbing circles on the glass.

"Yes, yes, bake my pretty's and we shall take over this world-TOGETHER!!!" You definitely had Clark in tears of laughter. A slow clap brought him out of his euphoric laughter. You both looked and saw Lois standing in the door way and she didn't seem too happy. You assumed it was because of work.

"Hey Lois." You said cheerfully not really noticing how she was looking between you and Clark.

"What's going on?" She asked folding her arms across her chest.

"It's movie night." You said excited that she was there. "Come, come. I show you." You said getting back in character to cheer her up. You Igor walked with her back to the kitchen making her laugh even though she was upset and didn't want to. You opened the stove and showed her the dessert. "Shh shh, no one must know of my plan." You said rubbing your hands together evilly.

"What plan?" She asked confused.

"To take over the world with CHOCOLATE!!!" You said throwing your hands in the air adding the evil laugh at the end.

"Go, go you must go and prepare yourself." You said shooing her away.

"Prepare myself?" she asked even more confused.

"For movie night. A night of terrifying, horrible, scary-wait, what are we watching again?" you asked Clark. He said a movie you hated and you immediately deflated laying on the floor in tantrum style. "You said we wouldn't watch that one. No wait, its our viewer of honors turn to choose. Lois, you don't know how great it is to have you for movie night!" you said jumping up genuinely excited. She couldn't help but smile because she could see you didn't have bad intentions, but the same couldn't be said for Clark. She really didn't know what his deal was. She questioned him from the beginning when he began to talk about you and your work. She didn't think much of it at first, even when he invited you for dinner at his mom's, she honestly thought he was just being nice because you were a loner in his class, but when the movie nights and friend outings overshadowed their relationship, that's when she realized something else was up. She saw the long stares and smiles at you, she remembered when he used to look at her that way. The only thing that kept her certain that he still loved her was that he hadn't told you his biggest secret. Your gasp startled them out of there stare down.

"I forgot the whipped cream." You said urgently.

"There's some in the fridge." Clark said pointing at the refrigerator. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him.

"Is it cool whip?" You asked waiting for his answer and his silence was answer enough. "Its alright, I'll go get some."

"You most certainly will not. I'll go get some. I'll be right back."

"Woah dude, you're forgetting the cash." You said fishing in your pocket for money. He chuckled, ruffled your fro, and left. "Dude, I said not the mop." you said fixing your hair.

"So..." Lois said a bit awkwardly as you walked back to the kitchen.

So, how's everything at the Daily Planet going? Clark was telling me you were on this really big blow up article. I can help. I can go and get info that way you don't have to and you can spend more time with Clark." You said with a smile.

"Yeah, lets talk about that, spending more time with Clark. How about you back off a bit and not spend so much time with him."

"Oh-I...." You trailed off feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-I....I didn't know, honest, but you're absolutely right. I'm so sorry." You said genuinely feeling bad that Clark hadn't been spending time with her as you thought. You respected that she needed him and even though you tried to avoid it, you figured something like that would happen. "Should-do you want me to leave?" You asked not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"No, stay, just....I need him too. Tonight's okay, but just a couple of weeks? I need him to myself." she said hoping you'd understand.

"I completely understand." you said continuing to prepare the meal for the evening. You really wanted to leave, but you didn't want to make everything awkward. When Clark made it back, Lois was able to keep up the act, you weren't. Clark could tell right off something was up, even when you kept saying you were okay, he could tell you were lying. Once dinner was done, you all sat quietly watching the movie Lois had picked. Soon he and Lois had fallen asleep together on the couch. Taking that as your moment, you tried to leave as quietly as you could. You were just opening the door when you heard him stir awake.

"Y/n? Where are you going? Its too late."

You quickly rushed out and left without saying a word. That was the last he heard from you for almost 3 weeks. You didn't show up for class in person, only opting to take the online course for awhile, and you wouldn't answer his texts or calls. One evening after not getting a response, Clark was fed up and he was ready to confront you about your sudden absence. When he got to your door he saw that it wasn't fully closed. He heard your muffled cries and made his way to make sure you were okay. He saw you burying your face in the pillow trying to quiet your cries. His arms wrapped around you like a blanket and you immediately began to calm down and feel better. After awhile when you calmed down, you tried to get up, but Clark held you still. He went and got you a glass of water and aspirin. He made sure you got everything down safely and he hovered over you not giving you room to escape.

"Are you okay?" He asked still caging you in. You nodded. "What's going on? Why have you been avoiding me? I thought we were friends? I would've been able to be here to help you but you shut me out and I want to know why?"

"Clark, really? Right now?"

"You're damn right, right now."

"You can't spend everyday with me and neglect Lois, its not right. She needs you to be there for her and you can't do that hanging around with me." You said trying to get from under him.

"She said something to you?"

"Of course she did, I assumed she'd spoken with you, I just didn't want to upset her or cause problems."

"You didn't want to upset her? Oh right, but you didn't think of how it would upset me, your friend?"

"Clark, are you even listening? Lois needs you she-"

"I'm not talking about Lois, I'm talking about you and me. You don't shut me out like that. Did you even consider what I would think or feel? Did you think of maybe coming to me and talking about it?"

"N-no, I-"

"No you didn't, you were being selfish!" He yelled making you feel bad. You'd never seen him so upset and you immediately wanted to make it right.

"Dude, I'm sorry okay. I just felt so bad that I was coming between your relationship, I just didn't want to upset her."

"Once again, we're not talking about her, we're talking about you and me. I'm trying to make you understand that what you did was hurtful."

"-and I'm explaining why I did it. I was asked to step back, so I did. What more should I have done?"

"You should've come to me! You talk to me and tell me what's going on."

"Clark, yes you are my friend, but that is mad disrespectful and I won't disrespect her. She came first, I'm just the little lost puppy you picked up okay? You can't neglect her you will lose her." you tried explaining to him. He stared at you for a second, before storming off. He went and stood on your patio to cool off and you took him a drink as a peace offering. When you handed it to him, he grabbed your hand in his.

"Don't ever do that again." He chastised before pulling you into a big hug. That night, you both cooked dinner together and sat to talk a bit more.

"Clark, I know you might not want to talk about it anymore, but I really do think you need to talk with Lois. She needs you more than you know."

"She doesn't need me, she hasn't needed me for a long time. We don't even sleep together anymore. I can't even remember the last time we had sex." he said taking a long swig of his beer. You shifted a bit uncomfortably. That was a huge no-no topic for you and you fought to keep the image from crossing your mind. You already felt bad for the very vivid dreams you'd been having about him, so vivid they'd jerk you awake.

"You really should talk to her." you whispered. "I-I have something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" he asked curious.

"I met someone, we're just getting to know each other now, but I really like them. They're super awesome and super sweet, and before you ask, its not the guy from class." you said smiling and finally looking at him. You noticed that he looked pissed. His jaw was tight and he wouldn't look at you. "Dude you okay?" he sat silent for a moment too long. "Clark, what's wrong?" He didn't say anything, he just got up and walked out of your apartment. It was his turn to ghost you and you didn't speak with him again until you decided to go back to class in person and you'd hoped whatever was bugging him had passed. When you walked in class, he didn't even acknowledge you and you were hurt. You waited back after class to at least speak to him. Once everyone cleared out you tried talking to him.

"Hey, how've you been?" you asked carefully.

"Oh I've just been, trying to spend time with Lois as requested." He snipped at you.

"O-kay well, just wanted to check on you." you said turning to leave, but he grabbed your hand.

"No, don't leave. I'm sorry, its just...it been a really long day and I haven't talked to my friend in weeks. Come on, lets go to the office." He said leading you back to the back. You both sat back there catching up and joking.

"Well I have a favor to ask, and I promise you don't have to if you can't or don't want to, but I wanted to ask if you and Lois would like to come on a double date with me and my new partner this weekend."

The look he gave you quickly made you rethink asking him that question.

"I mean you don't have to, I understand if you have plans."

He stood stone still staring at you for way too long, then he smiled.

"Yeah, we'll be there. What time and where?" He asked.

What you'd missed was the deviousness dripping off of his voice because his smile made it seem like he was being nice. You gave him all the info and hugged him before waving goodbye.

"Dinner this weekend huh?" Clark said to himself. "Dinner is going to be very nice." He said before getting his material together for his next class.

[kitkatt0430]

No explanation is ever given, but...

It seems pretty likely that Eobard was paralyzed for real after the accident and his spine healed as his connection to the speed force returned, though he may have still been struggling with his legs on and off as late as the episode The Sound and The Fury, depending on how that one scene in the hallway with Hartley gets interpreted.

Caitlin would have been distracted early on by grieving for Ronnie, as well as dealing with his funeral and executing his will. And as she's not a practicing medical doctor in the correct field for patients dealing with paralysis, she'd have probably been largely satisfied by knowing that EoWells was seeing the correct specialists and annoyed because he's dumping a coma patient on her and this is not her field of study either, Dr. Wells.

To be fair, she probably assumed he was handing her a weirdo coma patient to give her something unusual to focus on instead of her grief and hoping maybe she'd connect with their patients family since she wasn't connecting to her own. Or Ronnie's. So as long as EoWells gave the appearance of taking his health care seriously, S1 Caitlin probably would have accepted that she's not the right person to handle his medical care and left it at that.

As for Cisco, he probably focused Cisco on making STAR Labs super wheel chair accessible. If Cisco were to have worked on Wells' chair it would have most likely happened between the prologue and episode proper in the pilot, so not long after the accelerator went boom anyway. Since it seems EoWells grabbed himself something fairly top-of-the-line, Cisco probably wouldn't have had much to work with in terms of tricking it out anyway - not without potentially risking EoWells safety by making the chair too fast to be reasonably controlled, etc.

But making the ultimate wheelchair accessible building? He could have Cisco crawling all over STAR Labs, but in the 'safe' areas where Cisco wouldn't notice hidden AIs or inconvenient flaws in the now defunct accelerator (or that the accelerator is perhaps less defunct than told) which would keep Cisco out of Eobard's hair at inconvenient times, give Cisco to focus his grief and guilt onto, and make it a lot easier to keep watch on Cisco in case his powers triggered since it would awkward if Cisco accidentally vibed one of Eobard's 'I shall hate you forever, Barry Allen' rants because Eobard is canonically a dramatic dork who monologues at coma patients.

By the time Barry's woken up, it's been nine months since EoWells was injured, so it does make sense that none of this comes up. Barry doesn't really think to ask these sort of things, or if he does he recognizes that it's kinda invasive and none of his business so he doesn't. Which is unfortunate for those of us who crave the world building information that Barry being nosy and a bit rude would have gained us. (Barry Allen, letting us down by being polite. *sigh*)

I do wish we'd gotten things like Caitlin chiding EoWells for avoiding check ups with his specialist or grumbling that he's transferred his care to some Dr. Gideon she'd never heard of before or Cisco being hyper-aware of when some place isn't ADA compliant and revealing he did all the clean up to bring STAR Labs back into accessibility compliance so that EoWells could return to STAR Labs in his then-new chair safely.

(I have a lot of headcanons about those nine months and lots of ideas for fanfic to showcase it all in. It... probably shows.)

It's also interesting to me that the two people Eobard retains at STAR Labs post accelerator catastrophe are ones destined for powers potentially dangerous to a speedster. Caitlin's buried powers and Frost's sleeping personality. Cisco's potential to become Vibe, with same sort of powers we later see Cynthia use to stop a speedster in his tracks. (Wally would rather not have been the example she used.) EoWells was clearly keeping these two specifically under watch in case they became dangerous either to himself or to Barry, since he still needed Barry in order to go home. He couldn't force them to stay, but I suspect he manipulated them into staying even as everyone else left.

am I missing/forgetting something but was there ever an in show explanation for how Eowells maintained his paralysis lie around Caitlin and Cisco. Like I assume Caitlin would have wanted to examine him herself. And I can see Cisco offering to help/adapt the chair to improve it more.

[thechekhov]

So glad you decided to play Undertale! I think it would really suit you so I’m so happy you got into it! Could I have your thoughts about the game? I would LOVE to hear them. I’m ALL for long essays and rants, that’s my jam, but even just a small review from you would make me ecstatic!

Alright alright alright alright. 

I am ecstatic that someone asked because I have a lot to say AS ALWAYS. 

I’m gonna try to keep this readable, I swear. Will add pictures in between to keep things interesting. 

However, due to the length this will SURELY achieve, AND due to spoilers (and yes, laugh at me all you want, the game has been out for 5 years) I’ll put this under a cut. Read at your own (f)risk.

Metagaming - the game plays YOU

When I first started Undertale, I ‘knew’ these things:

there’s a stabby one with a knife, their name is chara

there’s a flower everyone hates

something something sans something something

and the last, and perhaps most important thing

you can spare your enemies to avoid killing them

The thing is. The THING IS. 

I did not realize how pervasive this strategy was. My thought at first was ‘okay, so I don’t have to kill EVERYONE.’

I had no idea that the reality was that I didn’t have to kill anyone.

I’m sure many others have already said this, but Undertale kind of changes the way you think about other games. It forces to you examine simply fighting your way through the RPG by introducing completely non-murder-y ways to resolve issues. This conversation-based combat style is not the first of its kind, I’m sure, but it’s also incredibly well done. It ties into the story, it ties into your decisions.

It ties into your decisions SO MUCH that it changes everything else in the outcome.

Undertale is a game well known for breaking the 4th wall. However, it does so in a strangely eerie, heart-wrenchingly real way. It teaches us that there are other solutions to conflicts - and it really... it really TEACHES us, you know?

Which is funny because to be honest, it took me a while to get the lesson.

(You may already be fully aware of this but yes, my first True Neutral Route was extremely organic. I legitimately had no idea that there was even more than one ending. I was just stumbling about er... killing. Out of habit.)

The beauty of this is that the game drives home that point even more effectively because I was fully unaware of my own bias. I had assumed that some enemies would require killing - DESPITE TORIEL SPECIFICALLY TELLING ME TO TALK TO THEM, and the entire Ruins tutorial being about Mercy. I killed the Dummy on accident (granted, it was due to me pressing the key too fast a few times) and didn’t think much of Toriel’s disapproval. I killed a few monsters because I saw my level was low and decided to automatically grind a little bit. 

By the time I got to Toriel, I was still not comfortable with the mechanic. I knew I could Spare her somehow - after all, she was a kind monster, and clearly an important character - but the Spare option didn’t yield promising results the first few times I chose it. I ran out of patience and decided that maybe... maybe it was like pokemon! 

Maybe I had to get her health down to a certain level before she would allow me to pass through.

Funny thing though.... you know what happens if you attack Toriel one too many times? Even if she has most of her health left? 

Yeah uh... it activates that one-hit-KO thing from No Mercy Route.

So of course, what happened? I hit her one too many times... and killed her! And of course, immediately panicked and reset. 

I got back to my previous save, Spared Toriel PROPERLY this time, and walked out of the ruins only to be confronted with my own reliance on the magical ‘redo’ button which was... apparently... not that magical.

Because it WASN’T a clean redo. Flowey apparently remembered. 

The idea that the game would KNOW about my previous attempts beyond the save file snapped me out of my casual Undertale playthrough. I realized that something was up - this game was not going to be like the others.

I think it was from this point on that I tried to be more careful, but again - I still hadn’t quite gotten the memo about not killing. I took down a few monsters around Snowdin. And when I got to Papyrus, I grew frustrated about not being able to beat him (I ended up losing several times and coming back to try again) and went off to grind SOME MORE because I figured that could raise my HP and increase my chances of holding off long enough to Spare him. 

(The incredible thing about this game is that actually, raising your level gives you only a slight advantage. You can be level 1 and carrying no items, and as long as you’re relatively proficient at dodging the bullet hell style projectiles you will have no issues.) 

Anyway, the point is that I realized I could spare the big monsters and did so readily - but I didn’t bother to spare many of the smaller ones. 

I figured it didn’t matter. 

And then I successfully evaded Undyne, gave her a cup of water, etc... and then went to her house to meet Papyrus, fully expecting her to befriend me anyway. 

And you know what happened?

“She said she won’t hang out with a murderer.“

I think that probably hit me the hardest at that point in the game. 

I had a bit ‘....oh’ moment at that point because I realized that the game would punish me for killing even the ‘not-important’ civilians of the Underground. It wasn’t about just sparing the ‘boss monsters’. My actions had consequences beyond just the ‘elite’ characters that we all tend to focus on.

Because yes, it made sense. It wasn’t about just Undyne - why WOULD she randomly be my friend after I killed tons of living beings?

From there on, I spared everyone, but didn’t reset. I decided to see how it would unravel.

The thing I want to talk about, which is a little difficult, is that...

It took me that long to learn that kindness was the answer. And that, in itself, ends up being a metaphor. 

It’s difficult to be kind if you have not been show how to be.

It’s difficult to change the way you behave (in a game or out of it) if all you know is using other methods.

It was hard enough to spare Toriel before I realized I had to just be very patient and trust that her attacks wouldn’t hit - though at first I thought she would just kill me! 

It was hard to avoid Papyrus’ attacks and I had to die several times before I successfully got through it. 

It was near impossible to fight Undyne because I legitimately had no idea Fleeing was an option. I struggled for ages at her stage, and I had to ask for help to understand what I could do.

And that’s actually honestly very true to life as well.

Being kind takes risk. Being kind takes effort. And sometimes, being kind means asking others HOW to be kind. 

When you choose to be kind, you risk being hurt, and you risk being trapped (Toriel). When you choose to be kind, you need to expand a lot more energy to succeed (Papyrus). When you choose to be kind, you need to sometimes reach out to others to show you how to properly do it (Undyne).

The rest of the playthrough probably went about as you expect. I completed the game, didn’t kill any Boss Monsters, fought to the end and... got that really unsatisfying Neutral Ending which felt strangely bittersweet. 

And of course, after I was done, I was prompted to go back and do a proper Pacifist Run. Which I did. I learned about the background of Determination, about Chara and Asriel... and about how everything came to be the way it was.

The thing that gets me the most about this game is how it serves as a direct parallel to how we use videogames. In fact, Undertale is a videogame... about videogames. 

Chara appears to be a direct metaphor for the people that use videogames to escape - to cope with whatever happened to them in The Overworld. Bad family life, or bad relationships or whatever we suffer - escapism through games is not, in itself, a new theme. 

Chara arrived in Undertale by dropping themself down a hole in the mountain, perhaps even seeking to end their life. They dropped into a world which offered them comfort and companionship, a new family and a new life - but in the end, their nature was destructive because their means to finding a solution inadvertently used other people as fodder. Asgore, Asriel - they used everyone else to complete their plans. It wasn’t about forming connections - it was about Completing the Quest. 

I wonder - did Chara even HAVE access to a MERCY option? 

Was their world one without the option of sparing someone? Did they only have the choice of acting - and was Mercy in the hands of whoever attacked them? I wonder how difficult it might have been for them. I wonder how that, in itself, shaped their perception of the world. 

I wonder if that’s why, during the No Mercy run, people recognize you as Chara? If they come back and attach themselves to your resonating DETERMINATION?

If this is true, was MERCY perhaps created later, brought into existence once Asriel himself made the choice to NOT fight, to turn back and flee, even after being attacked by humans in the Overworld? 

(It would be a nice parallel to Asgore DESTROYING the Mercy option when you enter the fight with him...)

...

In the end, I think Undertale is about many things, including video games. 

But it’s also hurting - and being hurt. 

It’s about how trauma can shape us, how we deal with feeling grief, and loss, and depression - and not being able to feel anything.

It’s about how we focus on goals and use DETERMINATION to keep going - even when whatever it is that’s driving us no longer has any SOUL. 

It’s about how our action have consequences, but they also carry the weight of a choice, and how powerful those choices are, and how powerless we feel when we aren’t given a choice - not to fight back, nor show mercy. 

I think that’s probably the reason this game resonated with so many people. It really brings something we love about videogames to the forefront - that ability to fight back, to have full and total control of our own lives...

And it also shows us how having that endless loop of repetitive grinding and fighting with zero consequences can lead to an incredible hollowness and make us numb to how we interact with real-life people. 

Anyway. 

Good game. 

[cdroloisms]

as of yet unnamed ghost!dream au

here’s some of a ghost!dream au that i’ve been working on for the last few days!! it’s been Fun - definitely one of my favorite current aus, along w/ vegas team 2.0 and others. it’s a really ,, bittersweet c!sam + c!dream centric au that’s equal parts fluffy and messed up, and my goal is to (somehow) wrangle this mess into some sort of happy ending 

anyway, i hope you all enjoy!! definitely look out for more of this in the future, and a future name change when i get around to thinking of one that Fits lmao 

tw: blood, violence, implied torture, abuse, description of dead bodies, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, death, dehumanization

Sam woke up to fifty pounds of fur smacking him in the face.

He startled, stumbled to awareness as he struggled to breathe from the newfound weight on his chest. It took a few moments for his vision to clear up enough to see what was right in front of him, but his lips quirked up in a small smile as Fran sat, self-satisfied, with her paws pressed against his collarbones, looking for all the world like she was priding herself in her win.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He ran a hand through the fur on her head, got a bark in return. The smile dropped, however, when his brain - still foggy with sleep - began to drag itself into awareness, bringing with it a whole slew of unpleasant memories that largely made him want to crawl back under the covers for another week, please.

Fran barked again, headbutted him insistently, and he pushed away the thoughts with a bleary shake of his head. As much as he wanted to avoid his responsibilities, experience had taught him otherwise, and what was he without his duty, now?

He was halfway through the process of putting on his armor when he realized, hands falling from the straps they had been readjusting, lips pulled into a thin line.

Oh.

Right.

Fran barked again, probably noticing his hesitance, making a point of ramming her head into the backs of his legs again when he stood still for a little too long. Sam stared at his hands for a moment, then another, before going to undo the fastenings of his netherite chestplate and hang it back up on the stand.

He wouldn’t be needing those for a while, would he?

“Hey girl.” He kneeled down to scratch Fran by the ears, smiling softly when she closed her eyes in satisfaction. He usually didn’t have any time to spend with her, not with him needing to check on the prisoner in the morning to make sure he would be ready for Quackity’s visits at noon and his afternoons usually filled with his work at Las Nevadas and on his own bank and keeping the prisoner alive-

Sam breathed out a little too harshly, reaching for the Warden’s communicator he kept tucked in his chest pocket. The same words stared at him in the morning light, clear and damning.

Dream was slain by Quackity using [Warden’s Will].

It had been an accident, in the end. He hadn’t been listening well enough, Quackity’s shouts blending with Dream’s ragged screams making up the same painful two-note song that filled most of his days, when the cell - steadily growing in sound for the past hour, as Quackity (inevitably) became more desperate and the prisoner (inevitably) forwent any attempts at holding back his pain - suddenly went silent.

The quiet itself was enough to raise his hackles, have him reaching for a pearl as he clicked open his communicator; the quiet “Sam?” from Quackity only made them rise more.

By the time he reached the other side, his communicator was already buzzing with the notification he’d known would appear, in the end, and Dream was lying still with a sword shoved through his chest.

---

Sam hadn’t really reacted, when he first realized. He set upon the task of cleaning up the aftermath much the same way as he approached everything nowadays, quick, efficient, and methodical. He sent Quackity away to wash off the worst of the blood, not bothering to follow him across the lava; it’s not like there was any prisoner that could take advantage of the loosened security, anymore. With the winged man gone, he resigned himself to the job of dealing with the remains of the prisoner.

In the heat of the lava, the body hadn’t even cooled yet, the blood flowing from it- him- whatever, still warm to the touch. Sam eased off the cracked remains of the mask, heart momentarily seizing at the sight of the face underneath it; gaunt, pale, and stretched in memories of pain that it could no longer feel, it- he looked anything but peaceful. His eyes were still blown open in fright, bright green eyes long-dulled, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones thrown in sharp relief from the paleness of his skin. Even with the scars on every visible inch of skin, he looked- young, like a scared kid, expression tortured even in death, and Sam could feel echoes of horror beating against his skull like a heartbeat. With a slightly shaking hand, he closed Dream’s eyes - the man was dead. It was the least he could do.

He must’ve spent a solid few minutes carefully bandaging each cut and gash, still sluggishly weeping blood - not that it meant anything, with him dead, but it felt - necessary, to at least give him this much dignity after death. He was covered in blood, some of it fresh, most of it not, but after wiping away the worst of it from his skin (his hair and clothes had been a lost cause for a long time), he almost looked- human. It wasn’t a perfect image; he was far, far too still to be anything like the Dream that Sam remembered, and there were more bandages than exposed skin, at this point, skin paper-white against the black of the obsidian floor and the air still thick with the smell of blood, but if he squinted a little he could almost imagine that Dream was only sleeping. That nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened.

Or at least- nobody could know what did happen. Not with Dream’s death meaning that the information of the revival book was lost forever, not when his death would open up a whole can of worms that both he and Quackity would be better off not having to deal with for the rest of time, thank you very much. Keeping it all a secret wouldn’t be that hard, all things considered; he could turn away visitors with the excuse of preventing something like Tommy’s death from happening again, and it’s not like anyone was particularly preoccupied with thinking about the conditions of the prisoner. He and Quackity would have to think of a better excuse in the future, but now wasn’t the time. All he had to do was get Dream’s body out of Pandora and away from people’s prying eyes; everything else could come after.

Picking up Dream took less effort than he expected; even though the man was a dead weight, he hardly seemed to weigh anything in Sam’s arms. Making their way out of the prison was much harder, but with a few well-placed enderpearls and the abuse of quite a few guard mechanisms, they were out under the night sky. It was a clear night: the moon nearly full, the stars bright and twinkling; it was the kind of night that Dream loved, once.

He bit back the thought as soon as it came. Dream was dead and those days were gone. There wasn’t any point of thinking about them, now.

He ended up carrying the man to a patch of forest against the beaches behind the prison, burying him without much fanfare and pulling out a piece of cobble to serve as a shoddy headstone. It was a small and lonely grave in the middle of a woods that no one ever visited, the cobblestone dull and easy to miss. Only Sam would know where it was.

He told himself that he didn’t care as he left, tridenting across the bay towards the community portal so he could finally go home and rest. It didn’t matter; hardly anyone had bothered visiting the man when he was alive. What would change with him dead?

Distantly, thunder rumbled.

---

It was strange, to have nowhere to go, reminded him of the early days when it was just him and Fran exploring and hollowing out the mountain for his base one block of stone at a time. He figured that it was about time that he and Fran went on a proper walk, anyway, and so after a light breakfast they were off - Fran running in front in leaps and bounds, tail a blur as she greeted every tree and rock by the house with the eager overfamiliarity that only a dog could have, Sam staying back and whistling whenever she came a little too close to harassing a fox or chicken or whatever mobs were out in the early morning. Every once in a while, she would run back, shoving her face into his hands as if to check in and say hello, and he would give her a couple assuring pats before she rocketed away again.

He definitely should’ve been doing this more often; a small rock of guilt settled in his gut at the sight of Fran’s clear exhilaration at being outside of the same four walls. Her room was as nice as he could make it - food and water kept in abundance, an assortment of toys scattered all over the floor, her bed covered in a collection of blankets she had claimed for her own - but with everything going on, he really hadn’t had the time to bring her on long walks and play with her as he should have. She looked happier than she’d been in months.

He looked up; Fran was in the process of running back towards him, again, and he opened his arms in anticipation of a flying ball of fur smacking him in the chest once more, when she froze. Paws digging into the grass, her head cocked to the side as her ears swiveled, pointed up and alert at some sound that Sam couldn’t hear. Her muscles tensed, and he stepped closer, hand reaching forward-

“Fran, don’t-”

Fran darted off into the forest, a white streak disappearing in the underbrush, and Sam muffled a yell as he moved to chase her. Her sprint sent fallen leaves flying up into the air, a trail of dust and destruction following her as she dashed deeper into the trees.

“Fran, get back here, what are you doing, stop running!”

Completely ignoring him, Fran continued to run ahead, turning suddenly to the right and sending Sam scrambling in an attempt to follow. Ducking out of sight past a collection of thickets into what appears to be a sunlit grove in the middle of the forest, she gave a sudden, triumphant-sounding bark.

“Fran, you really can’t be running off like this, girl, I don’t even know where we are-”

He froze.

Fran, bright white in the sunlight, was wagging her tail as she panted, tongue lolling out of her mouth, muzzle seemingly split in a wide grin. Her dark eyes looked up at Sam, bright and intelligent, and she barked again when he looked at her as if to ask him if he was proud of her discovery.

Just behind Fran, translucent in the light, stood a figure. They were short - only coming up to Sam’s waist, if that, and wore an oversized light-green hoodie that reached halfway down their hands and khaki shorts. Their hair seemed windswept, blown around by some nonexistent breeze, defying gravity as it floated in a messy halo around their head; they turned towards him, freckled cheeks immediately breaking out in a blinding smile.

“Sam!”

He watched, numbly, as the kid stumbled forward, tripping on nothing as they crashed into him, arms immediately going to wrap around his legs tightly. They looked up, shoulders shaking with small giggles, mouth open to show a gap-toothed grin - one that was far, far too familiar.

“Dream?”

“Hiya Sam! Didja miss me?” Dream giggled again, still looking up at Sam, and he felt something dark and cold, almost like guilt, rising in his throat as he met his gaze.

Dream’s eyes were pitch black.

[shepard-ram]

Old Habits, New Life [Xisuma & Dsmp!Reader]

(P!Hurt/comfort, Request: May I request some ✨xisuma✨? Like the reader juuust came from the dream smp and Xisuma is helping them get set up and just settling their anxiety and fear over stuff that happened in the smp that could happen on the hermit server? Like the reader is told they could build whatever they like, but what if someone comes and griefs it? Or worse, destroys it?! And why is everyone so nice?? Nobody is that nice for no reason. Oh god is that joke a threat or an actual joke? Them just wanting to stay away from everyone and not interact because that’s how they protect themselves but desperately wanting to be the hermits’ friend. Wow that got deep too quickly haha. Those are just some ideas for it. Take it wherever you like. - 🦤)

(You either wait 3 weeks or 3 days for your request to be finished I'm sorry, also this focuses more on you than X and yours friendship soooo)

----------

The past week was closer to a blur than anything else. All you knew was that you had managed to escape from that place you somehow had called a home. How you got here you didn't recall, the first face you saw was hidden behind the tinted glass of a visor. You couldn't lie, you were fucking terrified of Xisuma when you first met him. Especially since your mind didn't associate "green masked admin" with the best things.

Yet first impressions can be extremely deceiving. Even in your frazzled state you could tell he was trying is absolute best to make you comfortable. Of course that didn't completely switch the gut feeling off, but every time you talked it became harder and harder to see anything bad in his intentions.

Now here you were, setting up in the area you had marked down on an already filled map. Xisuma and a few others had gifted you a couple things to help you get up to speed, you were hesitant to take them. Even though they gave you them like it was nothing you couldn't help but stare at the items in awe.

Full netherite armor and tools, including two separate pickaxes, enchanted to perfection. The only piece missing from the set was the chest plate, and it was replaced with something you had only heard of. Elytra, a pair of pale purple wings with strong leather straps. There were rocket's without any of the dangerous additions you were so use to seeing in them. And golden carrots, you had seen a few of them eating the brewing ingredient like it was nothing- was it really their staple food? And to top it all off, they were delivered in a purple box, the type you had seen your people kill over. You didn't trust it.

You almost flat out refused it under the guise of wanting to work of them yourself, surely this was some "you owe me" plot. An act of kindness and hospitality only to be revealed as an IOU. when bad turns worse, but X stood by your side and promised that there was no scheming under the gift. As much as your heart screamed in disagreement you took his word. You didn't want to get attached to an object, but that night you couldn't help but carve names into your items. A simple "my first" was hidden on the inner lid of the shulker box.

In a few days you had a base. It wasn't ment to look good, it was purely functional. A birch house with enough room for a bed, ender chest, crafting table and what ever necessities you could deal with losing. All under a flat roof only there to keep your bed dry. Your home had been destroyed time and time again, so you didn't build something worth destroying.

You didn't think about it, it was second nature. You kept the shulker box in your ender chest, you stayed tucked away, you made sure you knew the area. It was autopilot, stay out of sight and be prepared for the worst case scenario. That's just how it went.

Yet you felt so- off. Sure comfort was limited back there, but you still had friends. You had to be extremely careful with who you showed weakness, but you still did to a few. X was the only person you knew as being on good terms with. You couldn't help to think how easily that could change. You've seen it happen more times than you could count.

But almost every day he would visit, despite his personal projects and admin duties. Sometimes with lunch, sometimes just to talk. As much as you wanted to stay out of sight you knew you couldn't live completely alone. Over time you felt less and less like you were walking on eggshells. Maybe even comfortable- it was slow, but no one was pushing you and you felt better.

Days turned to weeks and you knew you felt different. Jokes stopped feeling threatening, compliments didn't feel as backhanded. Even while specks of anxiety still clung to your mind you didn't hold back your social needs. You could even call a few hermits friends without hesitating.

You remodeld your shack, a non-flat roof and stained glass windows. It was bigger with more commodities than the box you started with. There were other buildings too, covering proper storage, super smelters and a small villager hall. Compared to your newer peers it wasn't outstanding by any means. Yet it was so much more than you ever thought you would have.

Yet possibly your favorite corner of the server? Your own tiny shop. You didn't have much to sell, but it was an emotional triumph. You didn't fear that the payment you did get would be stolen. You even left your first shulker box in there for an entire day and only panicked a moderate amount when you realized you left it there. It felt like you had killed your own dragon.

Yes things were different here, but as long as you had some new friends walking with you you knew you wouldn't feel so lost. Maybe you would try to show some of your old friends what you had learned, but that was another chapter of your life. You were a hermit now, and you wouldn't trade them for the world.

[hournites]

Will It Wash Me Clean?

Hournite fic: Rick gets a visitor in jail -  2x08 

(Part 1/?) 

Read on ao3

~.~

One minute, Rick was asleep. 

One minute Rick was asleep in the dingy holding cell, the next Beth stood over him, arm outstretched and figure glowing green in the night, activated goggles perched at the top of her head like a translucent halo. 

There wasn’t time for Rick to formulate his questions about how or why or where she’d come from. Sweet, intoxicating relief pierced through him like a needle, ran like an aching supplement for adrenaline he’s missing, craving, through his veins. His heart started pumping and his chest expanded and out expelled a breath that got lost in the leather suit of Dr. Mid-Nite’s shoulder-padded arm. Her hands stayed still at her sides as her head turned, calculatingly, already onto their next move as he slumped against her.  

Rick didn’t understand. He didn’t need to understand. He’d go with Beth. Rick would go anywhere with her. 

“Beth!” her name gasped out his lips. Her sheer presence was enough for Rick to tremble, to break for her solace. For this long-imagined and forbidden embrace. Beth slid her goggles firmly over her eyes just as Rick pushed himself up and got a proper look at her. It had been...It had been days.

There weren’t any attorneys Rick could afford. Not even with Pat and Barbara’s savings. Not with his reputation and disdain in this town. No legal counsel, no salvageable way to untangle Rick from the terrified grief-stricken rambling he shouted at the dispatcher through the phone. The tearful plea at the first aid responders blew into a full-fledged panicked insistence to take him away and to deal him in. That he didn’t mean to kill anyone except for all the ways that he did. 

“Rick. Yeah. It’s okay. It’s me. Come. Quickly. Now, while the jail’s still empty. The coast is clear.” 

The holding cell creaked wide open behind her, keys jammed stuck in the lock. 

“What?” His head whipped back behind him at the solid wall. The one he’d stared at for nearly a week in peril as exhaustion seeped into his bones. 

She laughed and gave him a light push. He stumbled along, following her out of the shadowed bars and through a maze of sterile halls, squinting through his blurry vision. “Beth. What are you doing?” He looked back at her as the fresh cold air hit his lungs. 

She grabbed his arms, yanking him closer. “I’m breaking you out, silly.”   

Their chests collided together. Rather, her head met his shoulders and Rick was so deliriously happy he wanted to kiss her. Rick wanted to more than kiss her. He blinked slowly, dazed through his wet, clumped eyelashes to gaze down at her. The green goggles snapped downcast over his cuffed wrists. Beth reached into a back pocket, olive cape flaring behind in the wind behind the police cruisers. “One second.”  

A new set of keys emerged and she freed him. And then there were his hands, free to stretch out and expand. Arms free to spread as he half-spun around in his spot by the lamplight shining on them. Free to tilt his head back and thread his fingers through his dirty hair and drag his palms over his face, holding off a choked sob first, then hiding a smile that grew and grew until he was urgently gripping onto Beth, choking over clumsy laughter for real. 

Beth watched Rick break down with mild interest. 

“Let me. Let me—” Rick fumbled over his words, over his thoughts. Over everything. What was he even trying to say? Rick couldn’t process the next minute. The next moment. Beth pulled him aside and they walked through forgotten back alleys on a mission to weave through the town without a trace. Without a word. 

“Wait!” He hardly caught his breath but his mind cleared enough to know what the buzzing was ebbing through his muscles, warming his face underneath his set jaw. He just wanted to hold her. Look at her. Thank her. “Let me…”

The pads of his thumbs reached below the thick band of Beth’s goggles. She went still, letting him lift the folded material, unclouding her gleaming eyes. Face no longer obscured, Rick gazed on adoringly. He stepped forward and blinked back more tears. It was a lot and too much and not enough all at once when he bumped his forehead down to hers and just absorbed the night between them. 

“Beth,” His voice broke altogether. “God. You didn’t have to do this.” The realization set in. “You didn’t have to.” Rick loves her though. He reached for her suede brown gloves for one of her hands. He slipped his hand into hers, felt the curve of her palm through the suit, and attempted to pull the tips off slightly. The gloves weren’t enough. Rick needed something skin to skin.  

Her fingers twitched. Then pulled away.

“This is illegal, Rick.”

“I know. I know, and I can’t believe you did something like that for me. I’m not— this could get you in trouble. I’m not worth a risk like that. You didn’t have to get me out of there but...there you were.” Rick’s breath hitched. “Like my angel.” He’d been thinking that since she appeared to him like a glorious fever dream. She was driving him mad. “Beth… please. Let me kiss you.”

“No, Rick,” her soft voice whispered. “Listen to me. I freed you because it was the right thing to do.” She cupped his cheek as he searched her eyes. “But what is there left for you here? You have nowhere to go. You’re too dangerous, Rick. Even before the hourglass. This is a dead-end. Nobody’s come to defend your case. This town can’t handle you.”  

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, shutting down. Beth touched him tenderly, soft fabric grazing across his sunken cheeks then carded through his hair that gave him the care he yearned for. He couldn’t tear himself away.  

“But what about you?” he asked desperately. It didn't make sense. "What about you, Beth?" 

“Me?” Beth took a step back into the shade by an old crooked fence. The goggles sat on the bridge of her nose, green overcast shining harshly on him. “That’s why I’m here. So you can go.”

Rick shuddered through another breath, shielding his eyes. 

“You let Grundy free. I’m doing the same for you. We can agree on that, can’t we, Rick? Granting mercy to Monsters like you that don’t deserve it?”

Rick crumpled. Ground hit his knees, freed hands grasping at cruel, empty air after Beth vanished. Wind lifted a young giggle that was never hers. 

~,~

“We’ve got a sixteen-year-old detainee currently at the Blue Valley holding center needing medical attention and a psych eval. Yes, ma’am. Looking like PTSD. Over.” 

~.~

“Hey! Kid!” The officer shook Rick hard. “Kid! Shit.” 

Rick jolted out of the vision. Two uniformed policemen flanked with guards crowded into Rick’s cramped tiny room.  

“Stand down,” the officer called out to his partner over his shoulder. “Yeah, he’s stable. He was in a terror trance or something.” He studied Rick. “Need some water?” 

Rick couldn’t even manage any words. He nodded, panting, then knocked his head hard against the cement wall of his detention cell. Not again. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists over his buried face, knuckles pressed against the intrusive hallucinations spinning more tricks as tears streamed down from his eyes. Of course, again. 

And it would continue to happen over again. As much as Eclipso pleased.

They could lock him in a straight jacket and throw him in a pit, still, Rick couldn’t claw Eclipso out of his damn mind. His shirt clung to clammy, pale skin. There was no relief in the flat jail heat. Horizontal bars were still too sturdy for him to bend. There was no out. No hourglass. No jailbreak. No rescue mission to get Rick out while the JSA mapped out their next plans. No Beth with her arm reached out forward, to both save and break him. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. He got a water bottle still cold, wet on his palm with condensation.  

The officer with Carl on his name tag squatted down low. “Does this happen often?” 

Rick glanced away. Since he landed there? Often enough. 

“We’re gonna get you help, kid.” 

Why were they pretending to be nice to him in jail? Rick squeezed the crinkling plastic bottle as he thirsted, letting it deform in his grip instead of taking a drink. More lights flashed on and one of the officers got him a starchy blanket he didn’t even want. He looked down at the pins and needles in his shackled foot. They’d kept him in one leg cuff. Because he was dangerous. 

That part really wasn’t fake.  

The vision wasn’t real. What Eclipso dug out of him again. But it was dug out from something real. It was buried there. The stuff he said to Illusion Beth, wanting to run with her. More than that. The way that rush had made him feel. A part of him almost wanted to hide back in Eclipso’s game. Did he even have to fight back? He was too easy for the devil to manipulate, terrorized and broken down, powerless. What left was there to take from him anyway? 

Rick was beyond help.

[robininthelabyrinth]

If/when you are doing prompts: In terms of personality and/or timeline of events, what, if anything, would be different if LWJ was raised in a different sect?

The healers said it was trauma.

Perhaps he was too young, or too sensitive; perhaps it was only that it had happened in such a way, at such an impressionable time – in any event, Lan Wangji’s reactions to his mother’s death had gone well beyond the normal signs of grief and turned into something much more severe.

After some intense discussion, it was agreed that he should be temporarily sent to live as a guest in another sect to see if he would benefit from the change of scenery. From not being around the place where he was drowning in the memories of his mother.

For Lan Wangji, the first he became aware of this was when a small dog darted through his feet and a boy of approximately the same size, who was chasing after it, crashed straight into him.

“Are you Lan Zhan?” the boy asked, blinking at him. “I’m Jiang Cheng. Can you help me catch the dog? It’s important!”

Lan Wanji blinked back, the entire experience being incredibly unlike anything he’d ever encountered before, and nodded.

“Thanks!” Jiang Cheng said, exhaling with relief. “My dad says he’ll think about getting me my own dogs eventually, but only if I show that I can take care of one, so the neighbors have been letting me hang out with theirs except this time he got loose and –”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything, but Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to mind, and together they were able to wrangle the dog back to its proper owner.

Later that day, Lan Wangji’s uncle came and told him that he would be staying with the Jiang sect for a little while, since it seemed like the heat was good for his health. Lan Wangji hugged his brother good-bye and nodded seriously when his brother made him promise to write him a letter every day, and that, it seemed, was that.

Lan Wangji didn’t really fit in at the Lotus Pier, but then again, he hadn’t really fit in much at the Cloud Recesses, either. He wasn’t noisy or boisterous the way most of the children there were – he didn’t even say a single word for the first six months, and even then he only broke his silence long enough to call Jiang Cheng an idiot, and he would maintain for the rest of his life that Jiang Cheng deserved it – but luckily it seemed like Jiang Cheng didn’t really fit in all that much either.

Sure, he was noisy and loud sometimes, and he certainly liked chattering, but he wasn’t very good at being spontaneous – he liked things that made sense, that happened in order, and by chance that was also what Lan Wangji liked. Jiang Cheng was sensitive, too, his emotions easily manipulated and often prickly, and that meant he needed to be protected, and Lan Wangji liked that, too: he was used to being the younger brother, but he found he was pretty fond of being an older one.

(He wrote to Lan Xichen every day, and had a visit with him for a week once every season, so that they only missed each other a little bit sometimes, and sometimes not even all that much given the age gap between them.)

When Lan Wangji had finally started really feeling comfortable, about two years in, he noticed that Jiang Cheng’s father was often missing, and the terrifying idea of another father that was always in seclusion panicked Lan Wangji into another bout of mutism for a month or two until Madame Yu finally figured out the problem and explained to him that Jiang Fengmian wasn’t going into seclusion, but rather travelling out and about through the world, looking for something.

She didn’t specify what that something was, and perhaps she should have; it would have made Wei Wuxian’s arrival a little less of a shock to the system.

Don’t get Lan Wangji wrong – he likes Wei Wuxian.

He likes Wei Wuxian an awful lot.

But he’s an outside, a guest, and that meant that he could be upset where Jiang Cheng couldn’t about having his dogs sent away, and that meant he could notice that Wei Wuxian got picked up as often as he liked while Jiang Cheng never was, and that meant he could see the way Jiang Fengmian praised Wei Wuxian for all the things he was good at and never said anything to Jiang Cheng anymore and how it made Jiang Cheng more and more desperate to be better than Wei Wuxian at something, anything, if only it meant that his father would pay attention to him again.

Lan Wangji still had his problems with speaking sometimes, especially when he was upset, and he was a guest. He could notice things, and be upset, but that didn’t mean he could say anything about it.

“You have to tell me what the problem is,” Wei Wuxian told him very seriously. They were all eleven by then; Wei Wuxian had been with them for two years, an endless joy that always drew out Lan Wangji’s previously rare smiles. “Your speaking problem’s been getting worse over the past few months, and they’re even talking about sending you back to Gusu – I don’t want you to have to go!”

Lan Wangji gestured helplessly. Jiang Cheng had been the one to think of learning a sign language to help when Lan Wangji couldn’t find words, all those years ago, and Wei Wuxian had taken to it like a fish to water, but being able to sign didn’t matter if the problem was Lan Wangji not being able to communicate.

It was all much too awkward.

“I promise not to tell anyone without your permission? I’ll believe whatever you say, and I won’t get angry, no matter what!”

That helped, that helped a great deal, but Lan Wangji still couldn’t do it, the words crowding in his mouth and sticking in his throat.

“Why don’t you try writing it all down?” Wei Wuxian suggested. He was always paying attention to Lan Wangji, attentive and trying to find the ways to make him happiest; Jiang Cheng liked to tease them that they’d get married one day when they got older, and honestly Lan Wangji rather liked the idea.

He wrote it all down and gave Wei Wuxian the letter, then signed, “You promised not to get angry.”

“I won’t,” Wei Wuxian promised, and read the letter. He frowned. “Lan Zhan – you don’t really think Uncle Jiang would do this, do you?”

Lan Wangji felt angry tears sting at his eyes. “You promised you’d believe me,” he signed, furious and betrayed, and ran away before Wei Wuxian could respond.

He found one of the old haunts that he and Jiang Cheng used to frequent before Wei Wuxian joined their little group and sulked there for a while, wondering if he could maybe petition Madame Yu to send him into seclusion for a few months – but no, that would only mean he wouldn’t see it happening, instead of actually taking steps to stop it, and they were cultivators, Lan and Jiang; they weren’t allowed to just turn a blind eye like that.

After a while, he went back to his room, and Wei Wuxian was waiting there.

“I believe you,” he blurted out when Lan Wangji stopped at the door, considering a retreat. “Please, Lan Zhan – just come inside and talk to me, okay? I thought it over after you left and – you’re right. Uncle Jiang is like that, and I only didn’t notice because I’m the one he’s being nice to, but you’re right and we can’t let him treat Jiang Cheng like that.”

Lan Wangji stepped inside and quickly shut the door, glaring at Wei Wuxian.

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. “We can’t let Jiang Cheng know we’re trying to help; he’ll only get embarrassed.”

Lan Wangji’s shoulders relaxed. No one understood him better than Wei Wuxian, not even Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli – not even Lan Xichen, on his regular visits, and Lan Xichen knew everything about him.

“Wei Ying,” he said, and stopped there.

Wei Wuxian grinned at him. “Okay,” he said. “I have a few ideas…”

It wasn’t the first time they’d work together to solve something, and it wouldn’t be the last, either.

[kyle-valenti]

burnout only feels like burning

2.7k / Summary: kyle valenti doesn't have the same quarantine as his friends; an exploration of kyle's trauma during covid as a doctor. (tw depression & other triggers you’d imagine with this subject)

read & comment/ ao3

A little like the virus itself, Kyle’s relationship with his mask begins with worry, annoyance, and then pain. He’s more than happy to have the proper N-95 mask as they begin to get their first case at Roswell General but then a couple more patients trickle in and within a few days his skin is irritated and itching. Maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s the texts from his friends that he’s increasingly missing, but when the Regiment starts spouting off about how COVID is a joke he thinks it might be affecting his nerves too. By week three his former red mark left by the mask has become a permanent feature to his face and by week five it’s not a mark but a bruise instead. Blisters and cracks in his skin litter his hands from over-washing. His feet become so overused the pads of his feet feel numb and bruised and he wears through an entire pair of shoes.

Positivity has fled from his life by week seven and now he’s inside of a survival mode he’s never experienced. He thought after last year he’d be used to anything the world (or universe, rather, given all these aliens) could throw at him. Now what feels foolish, he had believed that there was nothing that could be worse than the previous pain of losing a patient or finding out his father had experimented on people’s lives. 

When he’s out of ventilators and CPAP machines because Albuquerque needs them more and he has to choose whether or not to save the life of an eighty five year old or a thirty two year old he remembers from high school, he breaks.

 Guilt is one thing, grief is another, but the pure rage he feels knowing that Max Evans is out on the town patrolling as some fucking cop and not someone who could heal most of this hospital makes him want to commit actual murder. Maybe trading the blood of an alien on his hands would feel less heart-wrenching. But no. Max had brought back Rosa and had paid the price. Quelling his anger, he went back to work.

 He slept at the hospital most nights in the height of it. Sure the couch was rough, but it was better than the other on-call doctor beds down the hall. Three twelve hour ER shifts of a usual work week doubled to five days of thirteen hour shifts. Soon there’s a week where he pulls double shifts for an entire week when one of his nurses is urgently hospitalized herself. Hospital directors had left them with no PPE except contaminated masks to reuse. Maria, Isobel, and Rosa are in the forefront of a drive to make and donate masks to his hospital after some social media posts that he doesn’t even see until the cloth masks arrive and his medical assistants give him their handwritten note. It makes him smile, but smiling feels so foreign that he almost wants to break from that.

 Visitors are no longer allowed which means Kyle isn’t allowed to use his bedside manner to comfort the family of patients. He has to facetime mothers, spouses, and children and hold the phone over a patient who can’t breathe without machine assistance and pretend that everything is fine and that there’s still hope despite the hypoxia and lack of rising vitals. Ignore that if the patient goes into cardiac arrest more than once, the kindest thing to do given prognosis is to let the patient pass. Resuscitation and DNR (a patient’s begging request to not be resuscitated) becomes a word he uses in his daily work and not simply for intense surgeries.

 Exhaustion isn’t a deep enough adjective to describe the fugue state he goes into. File to file, room to room, ventilator to next… he isn’t surprised when his body starts to wear down. When he no longer feels hunger and instead feels all too hot and dizzy. Telling himself it’s just because of how much he’s exerting his body while covered in layers and layers of protective clothing doesn’t help the fact that he’s starting to have more trouble breathing as he walks the hallways at a fast pace. When he begins to cough, he does what he promised himself he wouldn’t do and drives out post-shift to the desert cabin of Max Evans.

 Part of him is too desperately tired to knock, but when he arrives on the property with the cop car idle and the house dark and at peace for the night, his fury greets him with the embrace of a long-lost friend. Knuckles pound at the wood and Max answers the door with surprise and a general look of defense, and Kyle tries not to immediately punch him in the face at the fact he looks like he had woken up from a comfortable sleep.

 “Heal me.” Kyle manages to spit out.

 “I—what’s wrong?”

 “Beginning stages of respiratory distress, fever, nausea—what do you fucking think?”

 “Kyle—,” Max starts to say, the hesitation deepening, and that does it.

 “No. I have not asked you for anything in all of this, Evans. Anything!” He shouts, voice hoarse. “Not when people got sick, not when they started dying, not even when we started having to let people die on purpose. And you know what? I wasn’t going to even come and ask you now, but I can’t get sick when I’m the one here fucking saving lives out of the two of us and you’re just cruising the streets handing out goddamn traffic tickets.”

 Max’s face isn’t stony like it usually is when Kyle’s yelling at him; this time it’s crushed and guilty but not nearly enough. “What kind of hours you work this week, Evans? A nice 8 to 4? Did you get facetime with Isobel or your mom, maybe binge through a few books and movies after you’re home? Did you sit down and eat a nice dinner and or go over to drink a few beers with Guerin since you can’t get sick? Even get a nice eight hours of sleep in your own bed in your nice quiet home?”

 No response.

 “I am not asking to sequence your DNA like Liz. All I am asking is for you to let me heal people since you don’t want to.”

 A night breeze is all that makes noise for a moment as Kyle catches his breath and glares at Max, who stands quietly but is staring down at his boots before he finally looks up and nods. Max steps forward then, and Kyle sees that his eyes are actually filled with tears. Temper deflating, but still not subsiding entirely, given that not much else is able to be done; Kyle lets Max place a hand on his shoulder and feels the extremely weird feeling spread throughout his body. Something more electric than anything else, which God knew made a lot more sense concerning his powers and how the body operated with electrical nerve impulses, but that is a train of thought better left for another day. He wants to just walk away, and he almost does, but he still mutters a “thank you” before he does so.

When his nurse dies a few days later and he watches as the staff double bag her body to take to the morgue, he escapes to his office and crashes on his couch with sobs. There’s no one here to support him. He can’t go to his mother’s home and collapse into one of her comforting embraces without risking infecting her. He can’t get wasted at the Wild Pony with Maria when it’s closed. He can’t visit Rosa or Arturo at the Crashdown. Keeping his friends and family safe meant keeping them away from him. Keeping them safe meant he needed to stop pushing his head into his hands to try and control the sound of his crying and get back to work at saving the lives around them.

He gets put on leave by the hospital administrator when he’s almost arrested for decking Wyatt Long in the hospital parking lot as the idiot stood outside with a sign rallying Regiment members to make sure the hospital was told it was killing people on purpose for the election. If Jenna hadn’t been the officer on duty he would have been cuffed and put on record, jeopardizing his license, but there was some self-preserving part of him that desperately wished for his practice to be over anyway. He’s not even sure how Jenna handles it, honestly, all he remembers is her dropping him off at his house from her patrol car like she had been nothing but an uber. No matter how angry and adamant he gets, his boss refuses to bend, saying it’s for his own good given the connections the Long’s have in the town and how Kyle has worked almost 74 of the past 76 days.

Alex is the first to visit him, unannounced. When the doorbell rings Kyle is mindlessly pretending to watch some tv show in his living room that’ll distract him from his consuming thoughts about patients, so he doesn’t get up to answer. He checks his silent phone to see if he was forewarned of a visitor but sees nothing. Unsure if it’s his boss or a patient’s family, he forces himself up onto his sore feet and opens the door after grabbing a regular mask off the coffee table. Black face mask on and standing further out from the door on the porch is Alex, the usual gruff hello turned into something soft. “Hey.”

Kyle heaves a sigh. He had wondered when the pity visits would begin. “Hey. You really shouldn’t be around me, you know.”

“I’m clearly a minimum of eight feet away in an open space while masked.” Alex smarts back. “Either way, I’m worried about you.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about getting sick, because if I have to see another person I care about die, I--,”

“Kyle.” the other says too kindly, the sort of pacifying voice Alex reserved for only the most dire situations. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with in specifics, but my experiences do overlap with yours in some places.”

“And?”

Maybe it came out a little too rude, because Alex raises a brow, but then sighs instead. “And I’m just checking in to make sure you know people care about you.”

“Thanks, Manes.” Kyle huffs in return, managing not to roll his eyes because focusing on being blunt and abrasive was so much easier.

“Just be careful.” Alex interjects before Kyle could close the door and turn back to his show. “Dealing with the trauma of what you’re dealing with gets dark very quickly.”

“Because I punched Wyatt Long?” he spits back sarcastically.

“No, because the suicide rates for healthcare professionals are drastically increasing along with the rates of PTSD diagnoses.” Alex says flatly, ever one to be unfazed by sarcasm. “And I’ve lost more active duty members to suicide than I have combat.”

Kyle pauses, caught. Maybe Alex had known he would be, because there isn’t some way he can give a smile and reassuring wave with him like he could his mother or Liz. While Kyle hadn’t actively thought of a plan, he couldn’t pretend he had noticed signs of depression the second he was alone in his house. 

“The quiet is the worst part, right?” Alex says, all but reading his mind. “Not always because of the flashbacks, although those are horrible, but because if things are quiet then--,”

“--people are dying.” Kyle finishes, his voice raspier by the end of the three words. “Yeah, well, mine still are.”

“They’re going to.” Is what felt like a cold response, but somehow gave Kyle the understanding he’s been craving. “They’re going to die and because of your profession you’re going to be able to save some of them. Which will make you think you’re responsible to save all of them and because you’re a good person you’re going to feel guilty in ways that no one will understand for being human and failing to.”

“Failing is all I do lately.” Kyle replies. “Usually the wins feel higher than the losses as a doctor, but with this-- and no one outside of it cares. They go outside and yell about how this is about a fucking election and when it’s not the patients, it’s the hospital pretending they don’t have enough money to buy us proper protection. Or the government saying this will all go away and that it’s just a light cold.”

Alex gives a small nod. “I know. I also know telling you the same advice that you’d give another doctor of trying not to burn out and instead taking a small rest is useless. So I’m just going to drop off these dvd’s and make you report back to me the difference when you’re done.”

Star Trek and Star Wars. Kyle finds a smile tug on his lips. Alex leaves with one on his as well.

When he gives a response to Alex a few days later on how Star Wars is better not more than a few minutes later Deluca is texting him with recommendations on joining her Buffy the Vampire Slayer rewatch. There’s something sweet about the fact that people have been clearly talking about him, even if definitely borderline creepy with how nosy his circle of friends can be, but he sighs and lets Maria add him to the group chat she has with Rosa and Liz where they review each episode after the fact and even chimes in every now and then. Isobel gets added not long after due to an Instagram story Maria shares and then the group has moved onto Friends after everyone shoots down Liz for suggesting Grey’s Anatomy on behalf of Kyle. Alex is also in there, even if it’s rare he chimes in with an opinion, but once they start Friends his commentary about how much he hates Ross that gets the entire group riled up does tend to make him laugh. Even Kyle agrees with Forest-- whose opinion had been shared by Alex-- that Chandler had all too many queer-coded scenes with Joey.

His mother facetimes him daily, which given how they both don’t exactly go out much starts to become monotonous, until she begins to give in and talk about memories she has of their father. Tidbits she never would have shared with him about their adult life when he was a child or teenager. He in turn facetimes Rosa and shares some of the memories of their father as well, which as much as she tries to pretend she doesn’t want for Arturo’s sake she clearly does with the million questions she asks every single time and the small smile she gives him at the end of their calls.

Liz updates him on her work which is a nice reprieve from everyone’s normalcy and lack of medical jargon sometimes, especially when she gives him inside info on covid vaccine studies not yet published to the general public yet. Everything in him wants this more than anything else in the world right now and he texts her almost every day asking if she’s heard more news even when he knows things take time. She’s a good sport about everything, even when he shares in a very angry rant about Max Evans and how they could have helped so many more people so much more quickly with his DNA-- however selfish that might have been.

When he goes back to work, he feels refreshed, even when it makes things hit like a freight train once more. Lost in a sea of inadequacy, his feelings extend past the pandemic. Even when things return to a level of normalcy and the cases subside he gets alien medical drama thrown in his face once more, and he starts to wonder if he’ll ever recover. If he was wrong to choose this calling. If the fact he can’t help Max or Maria is a sign from above or his father that it’s time to make some career move or change location like his mother and Liz. But, like he tells Michael Guerin. He can’t think he can face his future children and say he walked away from this. Or let people die by quitting, just like Rosa warns. And so he stays and tries to heal both other people and himself.

[we-love-imagines]

Christmas Countdown, Christmas Day: Simple Traditions

Jotaro isn’t big on holidays, but you two share a few special moments every year.

(a/n): And we’re done! Thank you all for reading! The Jotaro simp in me couldn’t resist saving him for Christmas! It does get a tad angsty. Please enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

Ao3 Link

The first Christmas you spent with Jotaro was in the middle of the Egyptian desert. As the others slept, the two of you lit a cigarette under the stars, talking about anything and everything in the chilly desert air. Both just teenagers back then, time easily slipped away from you as you saw the sun rise over the horizon. 

After all the drama and heartbreak following your trip to Egypt, you two found yourselves living near each other in Tokyo. Despite this, you never saw him much; he liked to keep busy while you tried your best to live a normal life after everything. 

However, you always made a point to see him and share a cigarette on Christmas.

It was a simple tradition that evolved over the years, starting simply with you two smoking on your apartment’s balcony. Over the years as you two matured, you started smoking fancier cigars and taking a drive around the city to look at the Christmas lights. The cigars didn’t stay long, as you both quit smoking, and were swapped with sharing an aged scotch or bourbon. 

You both lived your own lives, rarely hearing from each other during the year proper. One year after another, he would come to you on December twenty-fifth, telling you about his escapades. One year, he came to you with his college adventures, another with a steady girlfriend, then with a wife and a baby on the way.  The Christmas after that, he brought you a polaroid of his infant daughter, Jolyne. 

You remember how your heart hurt at the photo, how a man you considered to be one of your best friends had a whole life outside of you. While he was married with a baby, you couldn’t keep relationships going for more than a few dates. What occurred in Egypt still haunted you, and it felt hard to try and be with someone who couldn’t understand your experience. 

Another few Christmas’ went by, your heart swelling every time you saw Jotaro’s little smile as you two greeted each other. You flew to America to see him one year, seeing as he had to be with his real family for Christmas, and you spent a great night drinking with him in his Florida home after meeting his wife and child. However, you could tell the married couple was on the rocks; only a few words were exchanged between them before she denied your invitation to join them. The next Christmas, you noticed how he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. The one after that, they were officially separated.

Now you were with him once again, rubbing your hands together to stave off the cold. While you would usually drive around to observe the holiday lights, his car wouldn’t start, so he insisted on walking you home himself. The evening air was crisp, no wind blowing through as the world was silent and still for the two of you. His neighbors were certainly festive, all of their houses lined with little twinkly lights and tacky blow-ups. The bright colors reflected off of his white coat nicely, you noticed, the gold accents shining at you as you two strolled down the sidewalk. Occasionally, one of you would comment on one of the houses, but this year, you two were oddly quiet. It was officially ten years since everything went down- perhaps you both weren’t in a very festive mood.

He looked over to find your sullen expression, trying to hide his own as he sighed. Wordlessly, he reached for your hand, taking you by surprise. You knew he wasn’t much for physical contact, let alone PDA- but it was nice. His warm hand tenderly squeezed yours as you turned to look up at him.

“Jotaro?” you asked him, squeezing his hand back. His eyes met yours, both of your brows knit in quiet sorrow. You had stopped crying over everything- everyone- a long time ago, but tears threatened to prick at your eyes as you knew he felt the same pain as you.

“I feel it too,” he speaks after a moment, confirming your thoughts, “I know this time of year is hard for both of us. Even the old man gets sentimental around now.”

Silently, your hands went from simply clasping one another to intertwining your fingers, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand as you somberly nodded. Without another word, you continued down the road, your steps slowing as you tried to lock this moment in your memory forever. Secretly, you always hoped you and Jotaro would end up together. He shared your trauma and was the only person who truly understood it. Processing everything as a teenager was hard-especially knowing you had to keep it all a secret.

“Jotaro,” you halted, speaking before you could think, “I need to tell you something.” Stopping, he turned to face you as you spoke.

“I just need you to know this is my favorite day of the year.” you tell him, your face turning red despite the cold.

“It’s a lot of people’s favorite day of the year, (y/n),” he dryly replies, only deepening the blush on your face.

“It’s my favorite day because of you!” You admit, his eyes widening in surprise as you start to ramble, “I look forward to spending Christmas with you all year, all because I’m so excited to see you. Hell, I write down the most interesting things I do all year so I don’t forget to tell you! I just- I miss you so much when you’re gone. I wish I could talk to you everyday instead of just the one!”

Looking down, Jotaro’s eyes narrow as he thinks over your words. Watching him nervously, you mentally chastise yourself for being so forward with him. Despite being a very forward person, he was never good at dealing with other people. Especially when it came down to feelings. You fear that you may have overwhelmed him.

“...I didn’t know you felt the same way.”

Perking up at his response, you watch as his shoulders relax. You’re startled when he grips your hand a tad tighter, having nearly forgotten the intimate gesture shared between you two.

“I just-” you begin, as he hesitantly meets your eyes again, “I feel like you’re the only person I can really talk to. After everything that happened, we can’t lead normal lives.”

“-Trust me, I get it,” Jotaro surprisingly cuts you off, “I’ve tried having a normal life, and we both saw how that panned out.”

You both looked back at each other, the sorrowful expressions melting away as tiny smiles creeped onto your faces. Much to your surprise, a little snicker left his lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you heard his laughter, the light, low chuckle only growing as you laughed along with him. 

“We’re both hopeless, aren’t we?” you giggle out, the laughter dying down after a moment as you both caught your breath.

“Yeah,” he grinned, pausing a moment to gulp before he continued to speak, “But we can be hopeless together.”

Cautiously, you inch closer to him, releasing his hand as you go to wrap your arms around him. You watch him closely to see if he flinches, but oddly, he reciprocates. As you reach up around his neck, he pulls you closer, his large arms loosely gripping the small of your back. Melting into the embrace, you set your head against his warm chest, listening to his calm heartbeat as you heat each other from the frigid weather.

“Polnareff barely writes anymore, and the Old Man- well, he’s just getting older,” Jotaro comments, the massive man looking down over you, ”It’s so hard. Dealing with all of the grief alone.”

“We don’t have to anymore,” you nuzzle into him, smiling like a giddy schoolgirl, “I love you, Jojo. I want it to be Christmas everyday.”

You don’t see it, but he blushes at your words, raising one of his hands to pat at the back of your head. He doesn’t respond as you pull away from him, but his uncharacteristic smile and tender eyes as he takes your hand again says enough.

Little did you know, you’d be doing this in your shared home next Christmas.

[mysticdragon3md3]

I find it endlessly amusing how after 10 years, my OTPs have circled back onto the same type. lol

I realize the Blue Lions have Dedue, and Ashe used to be a commoner. But Ashe got adopted into a higher class. Meanwhile, the Golden Deer has 3 commoners who stay commoners.

And Yukimura probably had commoners serving under him, but Sengoku Basara (2009) takes a lot of time to emphasize that Masamune's commoner associates are named, get screentime, voice his effect on them, and spent time closely serving under him. Meanwhile, Yukimura's only named subordinates seem to also be lords or ninja, more than basic commoners.

When referring to "self-doubt & a phase of failing as a commander", I'm specifally referring to Sengoku Basara (2009) season 2 for Yukimura. That's pretty much most of what he does that season. And he made a critical decision error as a commander that got one of his major subordinates killed and probably also unnecessarily killed some of his other soldiers. Though I am vaguely aware that in one of the videogames, Yukimura similary spent most of the story in self-doubt, after thinking Takeda was dying, and I think he ran his army around doing actions without enough thought.

And of course, with Dimitri, I'm referring to his post-time-skip phase wherein he went full "boar" and refused to properly lead his army. Though after regaining more mental stability and becoming a proper general, he still gets haunted by self-doubts for the rest of his life.

When I spell "Strength" with a capital "S", I'm usually shortening my term "True Strength" and referring to both a mental and emotional fortitude, resilience, and frequently an iron resolve in Compassion. That's just my personal philosophy in defining "True Strength". Personally, I see 2 definitions of "strength" that both converge at Compassion, to define "True Strength". 1) In an amoral sense, strength is resilience in maintaining one's own "soul pattern"/emotions/resolve, without being swayed or influenced by outside forces to change. 2) In terms of defining strength as the ability to do what is most difficult, in my opinion, Compassion is the most difficult. Not only do acts of Compassion often cost a range of efforts from some to exorbitant, but it can also require the enacter to put themselves into a vulnerable position. So it is often something only the strong can afford, or survive, or disregard fears of being vulnerable or taken advantage of. Therefore, in my personal opinion, converging the 2 definitions into an unwavering resolve in Compassion, is my personal definition of "True Strength".

So when I categorize Date Masamune as having Strength, I mean he is unwavering in his resolve towards Compassion. Sengoku Basara 2009 takes a lot of instances to reiterate that Masamune cannot be swayed, his Resolve is unquestioning, no one can stop him, slow him, or change his mind. His catch phase is "pressing onward" (translated as "full speed ahead"). One of his first scenes is charging ahead, disregarding Katakura's warnings for caution. (Notice that in Judge End, this is framed as foolish brashness, but in Sengoku Basara 2009, Katakura smiles and continues following without worry, because he completely trusts Masamune's instincts and decision-making. Because everyone trusts Masamune 2009 to always make decisions based in the best ideals/Compassion.) This is reiterated throughout season 2, when Masamune makes allies and each of them ask him to change directions, but the most they can do is temporarily slow him down, because he doesn't stop moving forward. This Strength directed in outward Compassion towards others is almost unexpected after considering Masamune's historical backstory. One would think that someone betrayed by his mother would become disillusioned and spiteful towards the world. It's a basic supervillain backstory to be betrayed by a trusted figure, especially during fundamental development. But instead, Masamune seems to want only to protect others and bring the whole country under his command, so that the whole country of people can be under his umbrella of protection. The 2009 series only mentions his regret from one of his early battles where lots of his soldiers died, being his major motivation in protecting others, specifically his soldiers. But I've headcanon'ed a lot that can be extrapolated from his historical backstory, that when in conjunction to his actions in Sengoku Basara 2009, portrays a Masamune who has dedicated himself towards Compassion, despite his tragic backstory.

Similarly, Claude's backstory is tragic, yet he emerges with True Strength. I've heard criticisms within the fandom that Claude growing up experiencing so much bullying and discrimination against his being biracial, could not believably yield a person dedicated towards Compassion. But I think that's just brainwashing from too many supervillain tropes telling us that traumatized and mentally ill people invariably become villains. I've heard it's more realistic that people who have experienced trauma, tragedy, or some kind of pain, actually are more likely to increase their ability to empathize/sympathize with others, consequently becoming more compassionate. (Mentioned in https://youtu.be/bHe2seINnE0 at 2:03/9:09; https://youtu.be/zaZYDK1RcEU) Claude experienced descrimination and bullying; he explicitly explains in FE3H canon that he wants to create a world where no one else has to experience that same pain. I really don't see why this can be an unbelievable characterization to some people, when most of the world admires Batman for literally that same reason. And I think that characters, like Claude, who react to trauma and hardship with altruism, demonstrate a True Strength in their characters. They haven't been broken by their trauma. They not only survive, but survive as people who still want to care for others. (Also why I love Natsume Takashi.)

I was tempted to include Dimitri in the category of "Emerged from tragic backstory with Strength and vowing to make world where no one will experience same pain". But he didn't emerge with the same level of flawless Strength that Masamune and Claude did. Dimitri certainly did resolve to protect others from ever experiencing the pain that he felt, after the Tragedy of Duscur. But he was also not as mentally stable. He was so repressed and internally conflicted (concerning his feelings of vengence, or sadness that didn't know how to be expressed as anything but anger, lest he break), that he didn't integrate his "boar" impulses/emotions until much later in his post-time-skip. I didn't feel that Dimitri was a fully reconcilled version of himself, until after he had accepted his "boar" emotions, stopped repressing his unresolved anger, and learned to express them more appropriately or at more appropriate times. After he became more mentally/emotionally stable, I have no doubt that he still can have episodes of rage, anti-social moods, or crippling survivor's guilt, but I think he no longer allows those feelings/episodes to push away the people he cares about or disregard his true personal desires to be kind/protective towards others. He knows how to deal with those feelings now. But he spent a long time not yet at that stable level, until much later. Until then, he was frankly wavering, conflicting with his personal resolve, denying his own ideals, and allowing his survivor's guilt manifesting as ghosts to sway him away from his true desires/motivations/values of Compassion. Dimitri was Weak for a time. So I can't say that he was in the same category of Strength as Masamune and Claude.

Dimitri's backstory of his father's death and idolizing Rodrigue, after he took him in, is information he canonically tells the player.

But I realize that Sengoku Basara 2009 never actually mentions a backstory like this for Yukimura. I'm actually referencing the takarazuka version of Sengoku Basara. In that play, they include a childhood backstory scene, where Yukimura's father was a subordinate of Takeda and died while protecting him. Young Yukimura blamed Takeda for his father's death and went to punch him out. Because Takeda understood that Yukimura needed catharsis and was trying to reconcile with his grief, Takeda allowed himself to be punched. But he also punched back. I think maybe to encourage Yukimura to keep going? I can't remember. But eventually, Yukimura punched out all his anger and only had energy left to finally cry, and Takeda said something that comforted him. From then on, he called Takeda "Oyakata-sama" and became completely devoted to him. This explained the origin of the running gag from the 2009 anime, wherein Takeda and Yukimura engage in fist fights as a form a bonding. (It's a shame that the video of these scenes was taken off YouTube. ;_; ) I don't know if "Sengoku Basara Sanada Yukimura-den" mentions how Yukimura's father dies, since he finally appeared in that game. So I'm referencing the takarazuka version.

There isn't really mention of Masamune's mother in the 2009 Sengoku Basara anime. The closest, was Masamune's maternal uncle appearing in the movie "The Last Party" that ended that anime series. But historically, after the real life Date Masamune survived smallpox at a young age, and lost sight in his right eye, there was a lot of dissent among the other high ranking people within his clan, concerning his continued position as the Date clan's head. A lot of this dissent was lead by his mother, who insisted that Masamune's younger brother should become the new clan leader instead. Some accounts say that to shut up accusations that Masamune was weak and that his faulty eye was just an advertised weakness that enemies would take advantage of on the battlefield, Masamune either pulled out his own right eye or ordered Katakura to do it. Apparently, that shut up everyone except his mother, who still continued to try undermining his position. I don't know if there was one instance of several, but she also tried to kill him through poisoning, to replace him with his brother. Because of this, Masamune's only choice was to kill his own little brother, which forced his mother to run back to her original clan. (I can only assume that Masamune didn't just kill his mother, because it's possible she indoctrinated his brother to ursurp him. So Masamune might have ended up eventually needing to kill his brother anyway.) Lots of us in the Sengoku Basara fandom like to headcanon that all of this happened for the Basara version of Masamune too.

It's my understanding that Cornelia implicated Dimitri's stepmother in the murder of his father and friends at the Tragedy of Duscur, but that things were still left canonically vague. Personally, the fact that Patricia was always kind to Dimitri, combined with the fact that Cornelia is proven duplicitous, I find it difficult to believe that Patricia intentionally betrayed Dimitri. The way Cornelia described it, she offered Patricia a chance to be reunited with her daughter Edelgard, Patricia confirmed that desire, then the Tragedy of Duscur happened. Given that Cornelia was already doing terrible things behind Patricia's back, like experimenting on Hapi, and Patricia being angry at Cornelia when she discovered Hapi, I doubt that Cornelia would have been fully truthful with Patricia. I imagine Cornelia tricked Patricia into opening a path or lowering some defenses to "allow a clandestine meeting with Edelgard", but then Cornelia would probably use it to sneak in enemies to kill Dimitri's father and friends. That's my headcanon theory on the Tragedy of Duscur anyway. So Dimitri was only *possibly* betrayed by his mother figure.

And that's my comparison between DateSana and DimiClaude/DMCL/ClauDimi. It continuously amazes me how similar these ships are and how my shipping has come full circle. lol

[hopeisour4letteredword]

personal furnace, ch1

Summary: Winter renovations at the inn in Zaphias leave Yuri in need of a warm bunk for the night. Good thing he can always count on his good buddy Flynn.

Read it below or at the AO3 link in the notes.

"It's freezing out there," Yuri complains, when he pushes in through Flynn's window. Flynn grimaces at the gust of cold wind through his room. It rustles through the papers on his desk threateningly.

"I'm quite aware, so if you could please get the rest of the way inside and close—thank you." He sighs with relief as Yuri slams the window closed behind himself. "I hope you realize that I was making a sacrifice for you by leaving that unlocked."

"You're indoors, you run hot and you have a fireplace, I don't feel sorry for you," Yuri says. He's shivering quite badly when Flynn looks up from his desk. Flynn frowns at him. When he rises from his chair, he scoops a blanket off the bed on his way past, and approaches to wrap it around Yuri's shoulders. Yuri makes a grateful noise. "Oh, fuck, thank you."

"You aren't in nearly enough layers," Flynn says. He fusses with the drape of the blanket and scowls down at Yuri's clothes. He's not so foolish as to be wearing his usual garb, but a full-fronted tunic and loose jacket are hardly a full winter kit. Yuri huddles into the blanket with a tight shrug.

"Wasn't so bad when I left Halure."

"Halure's always warmer," Flynn says, absentmindedly. He tucks the blanket all the way up against Yuri's throat. Yuri leans into it, eyelashes dipping against his cheeks when he sighs with relief, and Flynn has to swallow to stop himself from saying something stupid about how long they are or how soft the tender skin of Yuri's throat is against Flynn's knuckles. Gods, but he's always at his easiest to knock off kilter when they've been apart for a while. Sometimes he thinks if Yuri went away for long enough, Flynn would blurt out a confession just from seeing him again, because he'd forget how to cope with how beautiful Yuri can be.

"Sometimes by a great deal."

"Yes, well, I don't think about that when I travel."

"Have you got better jackets in your bag?"

Yuri grimaces. "Yeah, but I dropped those off at the inn. Speaking of..."

...Ah. The inn in Zaphias is undergoing renovations to improve their insulation right now. It had happened that furnace blastia had been compensating for more structural deficiencies than anyone had realized, and now the whole city is scrambling to prepare for the worst of winter. The Knights are helping wherever unskilled but professionally directed labor is of use, and Flynn had made certain that some of the Flynn Brigade was stationed in the Lower Quarter, but... renovating an entire building with the proper amount of care can't be done instantaneously, no matter how many spare hands you provide.

"The renovations," Flynn says, sympathetically. "They didn't get enough rooms ready?"

"I got the impression they'd already done an absurd amount for how much time they had," Yuri says, which is probably very generous of him. "But no. Seems like it's a little cramped. Mariam's sorting by priority right now, so the elderly and those who really need it are first..."

"You don't have to run through the list for me," Flynn says. "You wouldn't take a finished room now if Mariam told you to. I know you. You're waiting for everyone else to get their space first."

"Yeah," Yuri says. He rolls his shoulders back and straightens a bit to stare Flynn down, defiantly. "Of course. Who's going to handle sleeping out in the cold better than me? I mean, really. I've slept in the Drifts before."

"Right," Flynn says. He knows that, objectively, but he hates the thought of Yuri having to sleep in the snow and freezing winds of Zoephir. He can't begin to fathom what task brought Brave Vesperia there that was worth sleeping that way. It must have paid quite handsomely, or been quite important. "Well, that's very noble of you and all that. Yes, you can sleep here instead."

"That's not—" Yuri splutters. His cheeks are red, but Flynn can't be certain that's not just the flush of the cold air yet to fade. "I wasn't going to ask for that! Just if I could take any spare blankets off your hands until the renovations are complete!"

"I suppose you can if you insist," Flynn says, doubtfully. He still doesn't really enjoy the mental image of Yuri shivering under a pile of quilts in a room so drafty as to be frosty when Flynn is perfectly content to share his space. Not that he would have any problem donating some spare blankets to Mariam in the morning, for others who didn't have a warm space yet, but for Yuri... And anyway, Yuri has never slept well when he has to share his space with strangers. He has enough trouble getting to sleep without further complications. "But really, you can just sleep here. There's no reason for you to be cold."

"Mariam said it would build character," Yuri says, presumably just to be a shit, because that's pretty much the only reason Yuri has uttered the words Hanks said or Mariam said since they were seven.

"I don't think anybody would accuse you of lacking character."

Yuri grins, sharp and proud. "Why thank you."

"I didn't hear any real objections, so I assume you're sleeping here," Flynn adds.

"I mean, yeah, if you're serious," Yuri says. He finally reaches up and takes the edges of the blanket into his own hands, adjusting it around himself. "Like you said. No reason to make myself suffer as some weird exercise in stupid pride."

"Good," Flynn says, satisfied. "I can lend you some clothes to sleep in tonight, so you don't have to go back for your bags."

"Alright," Yuri says, easily enough. He shuffles along behind Flynn when Flynn heads for the dresser and retrieves some soft pajamas. He takes the clothes, and Flynn excuses himself to the desk again to let Yuri change. They used to share clothes more when they were children, which is to say that they treated most of their things as interchangeable when they were children. Flynn tries to remember that so he doesn't feel so embarrassingly warm and fuzzy about Yuri wearing his clothes. Yuri promptly sabotages this by saying, "We are the same fucking size, how do you stretch the shoulders out so much?"

"My shoulders are broader than yours," Flynn says. He stubbornly doesn't turn to look, because he knows the warm, fuzzy feeling will only get worse when he sees the shoulders of his shirt hanging loose on Yuri's leaner frame. Good grief. He has no right to feel any kind of way about Yuri wearing his clothes. "Stop whining. At least it's not the other way around, and you stretch all my shirts out when you borrow them. I'd never let you borrow anything otherwise."

"Sure you would. You'd just whine about it."

"My uniforms are actually meant to look crisp and fit properly, you know."

"Not your pajamas, smart-ass. Since when have I ever borrowed one of your uniforms?"

"When you were in the Knights with me as a rookie," Flynn says. He risks a glance back. Yuri has finished pulling the pajamas on, and wrapped the blanket back around himself as a cloak. "You stole my spare uniform a few times, remember?"

"Aside from that. You weren't that much bigger than me then, anyway. I didn't fuck them up that much." Yuri gives him a sour look. "And you certainly chewed me out for it enough at the time."

"Well, you knew better than to be stealing my clothes."

"Not my fault we shared a drawer. I didn't even realize I was taking yours half the time."

"I'm not going to argue with you about idiotic things we did when we were eighteen," Flynn says. Yuri could have just paid attention to which side of the damn drawer he was reaching into, but this debate is pointless. "You can go ahead and get in bed. I need to finish reading this."

"Don't stay up all night," Yuri teases, climbing into bed with the blanket still wrapped around him. Flynn wonders, with some amusement, whether he gave up the right to share that blanket with Yuri later by handing it to him now. But no. Once he's snuggled down under the covers, Yuri wriggles until he frees himself and can haphazardly yank the cloak-blanket out. It spreads mostly-evenly over the rest of the quilts.

That's one way to do it.

It doesn't take too much longer for Flynn to finish looking over his document, but it does take longer than it should. He keeps catching himself peeking over at Yuri, a glimpse of dark hair settled cozy and comfortable against Flynn's pillows, the quilt-softened shape of him under Flynn's covers. Flynn has to force himself to be responsible and complete his task rather than just following him to bed.

Yuri doesn't react when Flynn finally joins him. His eyelashes are a dark curve against his cheekbones, and his breathing is steady and even. Asleep already, it seems. Good. Flynn is glad he feels safe enough in Flynn's space to rest easily. He slides under the blankets as carefully as he can and settles down with his back to Yuri. For all that Yuri always says Flynn runs hot, he's putting off no shortage of body heat himself. It's nice and toasty under the covers as a result. Flynn has no trouble falling asleep.

---

He wakes up and smells citrus.

In the time it takes his newly-conscious brain to begin processing that that's confusing and unexpected, he realizes that his nose is buried in someone's hair. Silky, dark, soft hair, which smells faintly of citrus—

—Oh. Yuri must be buying new soaps in Dahngrest these days. He used to just use whatever plain soaps could be bought for cheap in the Lower Quarter. Flynn supposes that nicer, interesting-smelling soaps are the kind of luxury that a person might consider if they recently gained a consistent source of income. Somehow he still smells, in some unidentifiable way, like Yuri.

Because it is Yuri, of course. Yuri still huddled almost up to his own nose under the blankets. Yuri bundled tightly in Flynn's arms, his chest pressed to Flynn's chest as Flynn wraps around him like a clinging octopus. He's warm, very warm. Flynn can take comfort in the secure knowledge that he made sure Yuri was warm at night. Which isn't to say that this embrace was an intentional move to get him there. No, Flynn is just guilty of sleep cuddling, and now he has to try to undo that without waking his friend. There are several associated problems with this; the first is that Flynn doesn't actually want to stop cuddling Yuri, both because he's soppily in love and because Yuri is warm and Flynn can already tell the rest of the room is distinctly not. The second is the actual logistics of the maneuver. Flynn can't move him too much or he'll wake, but if he just moves himself without moving Yuri at all, Yuri might flop around enough to wake anyway. And even if he can avoid both of those, the frigid air that will sneak into the blanket roll when Flynn leaves it might be enough to wake Yuri on its own.

The third problem is that as soon as Flynn leaves the bed he's going to be haunted by every faint citrus perfume he encounters for the rest of the winter, remembering this moment of Yuri safe and vulnerable and content in his arms, but perhaps that's more of a new extension to Flynn's general in love with Yuri problem than an issue with leaving the bed.

Alas. He must attempt the thing anyway. He uses gentle, soft touches to Yuri's person and little shifts in tiny increments of his own. When he's finally extricated himself, he watches Yuri for a second longer just to be sure his stealth operation was successful. Yuri huddles down into the warm spot Flynn left behind, blankets still tucked up around his shoulders and tousled hair concealing his face from view. His breathing is still slow and even, the mountain of blankets falling and rising with every sleeping breath. Flynn sighs with silent relief and heads for the bathroom.

When he emerges, fresh-faced and dressed in his under-armor uniform, he walks as softly as he can over to his armor stand. Metal is still metal, but he tries to be quiet as he begins to assemble it.

The blankets rustle. Yuri says, hoarsely, "Oh, what the fuck, are you really getting up already? I thought maybe you just had to pee or something." Flynn looks sharply over his shoulder. Yuri has pushed himself up onto one elbow, and peers back, looking crabby and half-asleep. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you—"

"You've gotta be joking. It's not even fucking light outside yet, Flynn. What's wrong with you? At least wait until dawn."

"It's the dead of winter," Flynn says. He snaps on the wrist-piece of his gauntlet that he was already holding and turns to face Yuri. "Dawn's still a while off. I have to get started on my day. I meant to let you keep sleeping, though." "I know you were still awake when I got here, and you haven't slept any more than I have. Seriously? You do this every night?"

"I think it's later than you realize," Flynn says, miffed to be lectured on his sleep habits by a known insomniac. To be fair, Yuri has the excuse that his sleep problems are involuntary, but still. "I don't—hang on. What did you mean, you thought I just had to pee?"

"What does it sound like?" Yuri groans, a rough, exasperated growl of a sound, and pushes himself the rest of the way into a sitting position. Ah, no. Flynn had been hoping Yuri wouldn't follow his example, and he would rest some more. It is difficult for Yuri to find peaceful sleep, after all, and he had been traveling yesterday, too. If he came through Halure, he couldn't have taken a shortcut by sea, either, nor been dropped off by Ba'ul. He has to be exhausted. "I thought you got out of bed to use the bathroom or something, not because you were getting up for real. I'd have stopped you before you got out of the blanket nest if I'd realized."

Flynn smacks down the tender, flowery ache that blooms in his heart at the conjured image of Yuri sleepily grabbing after him to keep him in a shared bed. "Since when were you awake?"

Yuri scrubs a hand through his hair with a grimace. "I don't know, whenever you started moving around? I'm a light sleeper."

"I know that," Flynn says, tightly. He tries to wrestle his voice back under control. "I—my apologies. For—"

For the cuddling. He can't quite force the words out, though, in a moment of spiked mortification and shame. Yuri squints at him for a few seconds in confusion before his expression clears, realization dawning on his face.

"What, for the cuddling? You don't need to apologize for that. It's fine. Is that why you got up? Good grief, you're an idiot. I don't care. You could have stayed."

"It's not why I got up, the clock says—never mind. Even if you don't care, I care, since apparently you refuse to do so for yourself." Yuri gives him an outraged look for that one, which makes sense, but which is also a point Flynn is willing to start real shit over, so good luck, Yuri. "If I'm going to offer to share my bed, I should be able to control myself enough not to invade your space and your boundaries. So—"

"I said it's fine," Yuri snaps. Flynn prepares to argue more before Yuri, red in the face and avoiding eye contact, adds, "You're really warm."

Flynn stops and stares at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're warm," Yuri repeats, sounding frustrated. "I've told you, you run hot. Hotter than me, anyway. Human furnace. You always have been. It's—it was helping."

Flynn has to stare for a few more seconds, stupefied, before Yuri rallies himself enough to glare back. Yes, Yuri had been a comfortable heat source in his own arms, but... Flynn finally shakes his head, slowly. "Well, I... Alright. Fine, then. If you're sure."

Yuri rolls his eyes and shakes his own head. He climbs out of the bed and begins gathering his clothes from around the room. "We've slept in beds together before, Flynn. I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn't have agreed to share the bed if I had a problem with it."

Flynn feels heat rush to his face. Yes, they've shared beds a few hundred times if they've shared them once, but the vast majority of those times were as small children. That is to say, young enough that cuddling was seen as cute and friendly and permissible, not invasive and creepy. Flynn knew before last night that he'd never lost his unfortunate sleep habits, had mortified himself on several past occasions bed-sharing as young adults by waking up to discover he'd wrapped his body around Yuri's as they slept. He had hoped that Yuri had slept through the disentanglement process, but if what Yuri is saying is true, Flynn failed at that particular task miserably.

"So I... every time...?"

Yuri stops with his arms full of his own clothes to stare at Flynn incredulously. Flynn can only imagine he's comfortable being dramatic instead of dressing because he's standing directly beside the fireplace. "You did know you do that, right? Hey. You did know? I need you to confirm that now, actually."

"Of course I—"

"Because you've been doing that since you were six, every single time, and if nobody else has bothered to tell you—" Yuri shakes his head again. "No, hang on, you're the one who always wakes up first. Did you honestly think I was the one who—?"

"No! I know it's—me, I know I'm the one who does that," Flynn bursts out, freshly embarrassed. "But I thought you slept through it when I woke up and tried to give you some space. You really woke up every time? Or did you just assume—"

Yuri looks amused now. "You think I sleep on the road where monsters might try to eat me and I don't have the survival instincts to wake up when someone is manhandling my body?"

Flynn doesn't know what to say to that.

"Yes, it's true. You aren't the stealth master you thought you were and I still knew you cuddle in your sleep. Sorry to be the one to break it to you."

His mortification must show on his face, because Yuri laughs at him. He turns away from Flynn at long last and starts stripping out of his borrowed pajamas to put on his clothes. "I guess I'll give you a little credit for the effort. It's kind of my bad for not making it obvious I'd woken up."

"Why didn't you?"

"Why do you think? I wanted to go back to sleep. And steal your warm spot, usually."

Flynn gives him an offended look. It's wasted on the back of Yuri's head. "You really have been using me as a human furnace for twenty years, then."

"Using you is such strong language. Appreciating you, maybe."

"You don't even run that much colder than me!"

"C'mere for a second," Yuri says, muffled as he finishes pulling a thick, woolen second tunic on over the first. That's definitely Flynn's, and Flynn's not sure when he stole it but he won't call Yuri out on it. He'd rather Yuri was warm on his way back to his bags than raise a pointless fuss. Yuri holds a hand out to Flynn and wiggles his fingers. "I wanna show you something."

"Absolutely not," says Flynn, who has known Yuri long enough to know when he's being threatened with cold fingers on his neck. Yuri grins wolfishly.

"No? It's for science."

Flynn watches warily as Yuri strides across the room, towards where Flynn's sitting at his desk. "It's not for science, you big bully."

"Aww. Don't be such a baby—" Yuri comes within an arms-breadth and reaches for him. Flynn bats him away, and Yuri cackles and climbs half-over the armrest of the chair, fighting against Flynn's protective arm.

"Yuri, I swear, don't you dare—"

Which is, of course, the moment Flynn's maid knocks and opens the door, Yuri balanced perilously on one knee and wrestling with Flynn to regain the advantage on the assault.

"Good—morning. Sir," Cecelia says. "Uh. Mr. Yuri?"

"Good morning," Yuri says, cheerfully. He yanks a wrist out of Flynn's grip and tries to shove it against Flynn's neck again. Flynn smacks him away again with a low growl. "What can we do for you?"

"Um."

"Ignore him," Flynn says. He finally gets a hold on both of Yuri's wrists at once, and after a brief struggle of pure brute strength, manages to shove him back so that he stumbles the step off the armrest and trips backwards onto Flynn's bed, laughing the whole way. Flynn strongly suspects he was only launched so far because he let himself be. Good grief. He tries to fight down his answering smile as he turns back to the door. "I'm sorry about all that, Cecelia. Good morning. Have you brought breakfast?"

"Yes, sir," Cecelia says. She dutifully presents him with a tray of food, which he accepts gratefully and moves to his desk. Tentatively, she adds, "I can... fetch more, if...?"

"Ah, don't bother," Yuri says. He sits up on the bed, stretching. "I should get a move on, see who needs an extra pair of hands in the renovations today. I'm sure someone will feed me when I get there."

"Come back for lunch if they don't," Flynn says, absentmindedly. Yuri makes an affirmative noise and shuffles around behind Flynn, locating his boots. "Is there anything else you need me to address at this time, Cecelia?"

"Why..." Cecelia starts, then turns pink. "Not anything I need you to address, sir, but why is Mr. Yuri here at this hour?"

"To be a pain in the neck," Yuri says. Flynn rolls his eyes.

"Literally, if you had your way."

"Ha! Maybe."

"The inn in the Lower Quarter is among those having emergency renovations," Flynn tells Cecelia. She nods. "They need re-insulation and fireplaces for all of the rooms. They were able to renovate enough rooms with urgent speed to house most of the people who need shelter there, but things are still cramped, and there wasn't a spare room for Yuri. So I offered to let him sleep here until the inn is sorted out."

"That was kind, sir," Cecelia says, slowly, giving Flynn a confused, almost studying look.

A thought occurs to Flynn. He tilts his head back towards Yuri, who appears to be putting on boots somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. "Now that Cecelia is here with breakfast, will you believe I didn't wake us up absurdly early?"

"No," Yuri says, without hesitation. "I'll believe you trained the poor girl to deal with you waking up absurdly early. Sorry about him, Cece."

"I think it's the standard time for the Knights, Mr. Yuri," Cecelia says, doubtfully. "I've seen other people about, and the kitchens have started, of course. I don't need to cook breakfast myself if I bring it now."

Flynn cranes his neck enough to be gratified by the comically horrified look on Yuri's face. He snorts fondly and turns away again. "You had to get up at this time for your stint in the Knights, too. Or have you repressed that?"

"I must have. I don't remember Niren inflicting this kind of suffering on me."

"Maybe you're simply cranky because of the dawn being late."

"The dawn's even later in winter in Dahngrest, too, they just handle it like sensible people and sleep in until it's light out." Yuri's heels thump against the floor, one-two, presumably as he stretches out after he finishes assembling his attire. "It's funny, up there, it's almost like the whole city's hibernating—I'll tell you some other time. You've got your stupid early Commandant stuff, I've gotta go convince Mariam I'm still worth feeding. Thanks for letting me crash here."

"It was the least I could do," Flynn says, sincerely. "Keep warm out there. Are you still interested in taking those extra blankets to Mariam?"

"Hm. Yeah, actually."

"Cecelia, would you mind terribly—"

"No, sir. Here, Mr. Yuri."

At the very least, Yuri's arms loaded with blankets force him to leave out the door rather than making an escape out the window. He bids Flynn and Cecelia goodbye and heads out.

"Sir," Cecelia says, after she finishes making Flynn's bed. "Will you be requiring two sets of breakfast tomorrow?"

"No thank you," Flynn says, after a brief moment of consideration. "We've no timeline for when Yuri will be able to return to the inn, so let's not waste the food in case he doesn't come."

"Alright, sir," Cecelia says, but she looks dubious. She takes her leave.