#clinically unwell man reminded how he is unwell clinically

[jrueships]

Why is jabari's twitter still not verified 😭

[ushidoux]

Not Enough - Oikawa (Haikyuu) x Reader x Gojo (JJK)

Summary: Your relationship with Oikawa feels more like a curse than anything else as it comes to a close. (~4.2k words) or tl;dr gojo is mr. steal your girl

Warnings: breakup, idk Gojo is a warning, cracky angst?, pegging mention, yandere themes

A/N: Ngl I’m patting myself on the back for making a crossover fic work somewhat LOLLLL, you can roll your eyes if you want this is hella melodramatic.

(if you wanna commission more niche things, you can always dm me <3)

---

“I-I think it’s best for us to end things here, Tooru...”

Oikawa’s fingers tightened around the cell phone in his hand at the sound of your shakily delivered proposition, and further at the abrupt pregnant pause thereafter - not because he was angry, nor afraid, but out of an all-encompassing confusion.

Two things were wrong with this situation. First of all, it was late enough for you, thousands of miles away, that he was genuinely surprised that you were still awake in the first place and the fact that your voice was thick with tears was particularly upsetting, implying that you’d been up all night before you decided to call. Second, you had to be feeling unwell because you were talking pure nonsense.

He must have not heard correctly. You wanted to ‘end things’?

End what? You and him? That couldn’t possibly happen.

Moments passed, maybe even a full minute, and Oikawa stood perfectly still in spite of the uncomfortable combination of a weightless sensation in his legs and a feverish pounding in his chest as he tried to let himself understand what you were saying. Suddenly lightheaded, he realized he had been holding his breath while you remained quiet on the other end of the line. Maybe he was hoping for you to fill the silence, but he knew you wouldn’t offer anything additional; he could tell from the single soft sniffle that betrayed your sadness.

He sucked air into his lungs.

“I... don’t know what you mean,” Oikawa replied, his voice steady even if his body wasn’t.

You continued.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s really hard… and I get so lonely, and I know it’s wrong, but sometimes it hurts to see you so happy without me…”

Your voice was smaller still, enough that he strained to hear you past the rush of blood past his temples. For a moment, he considered pretending he couldn’t hear you say such unpleasant things just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality unfolding in front of him in this disdainfully sunny early afternoon, while he stood in the middle of the hallway right outside of his high rise apartment.

The fact that you had finally given up on him after all this time.

In a small way, Oikawa couldn’t blame you. While he had been gone chasing his dream, the emerging star had just as quickly been running further away from you day by day. He knew this was mostly his fault: he called you less frequently and whenever you did talk, the conversations were shorter and less substantial until you and he both felt like your interactions were a simple chore, a checkbox on his never-ending to-do list.

But yet, he could and would absolutely blame you. Long distance was hard but you had promised you’d stay by his side, hadn’t you? You’d promised him, rain or shine, through drought and storm. What could possibly be the issue now?

Even if you hurt, it would only be temporary, and he could always make up for it in full or even twice-fold. In fact, he was on his way to come see you in person this very second; it would just be mere hours before his flight would depart. Coming suddenly on holiday like this was meant to be a surprise, and his suitcase beside him was filled with gifts and souvenirs for you that would, at least partially, assuage your hurt.

At least he thought. Maybe the issue stemmed deeper, starting with the very fact that you weren’t such a fan of gifts - what you really craved was loyalty and quality time - and that too, he had chosen to ignore. Because it was easier to love you the way he wanted to love you, rather than the way you wanted to be loved.

You were often indecisive anyway. Did you ever truly know what you wanted?

“___, stop being silly. I love you -”, he paused at this last declaration for emphasis, gauging your reaction, of which you gave him none, then continued, “-and I’m coming to see you before the sun sets tomorrow,” he insisted, a stern edge in his voice to further supplant the denial that was keeping him able to breathe. Strength returning to his limbs, he resumed his path to the elevators, dragging his belongings behind him.

You were silly. You missed him and you were delirious from loneliness and sleep, and that’s why ridiculous things were coming out of your mouth, that’s all it had to be, he figured. End things? What you had was something precious and irreplaceable. Nothing could be better than what you were together.

It would be you and him for life, at least to him.

Unfortunately for you, that ideal had long since perished.

Any other time, you would have paused, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart pounding as you conjured up the image of your Tooru coming to be in your arms once more, to cross the vast distance and be yours again as it should be. He’d be quick to show you that he chose you over crowded gyms full of adoring spectators, a perfect set, the rush of victory, or a pretty Instagram model.

Any other time before, but time had run out with both you and him unsuspecting, in a flash of clear blue eyes.

---

A few months earlier...

“I’m not interested.”

Your voice was flat and so was your expression. Muttering a soft ‘excuse me’, you walked past the tall young man who had taken the fact that he’d helped you reach an item on the highest shelf (despite the fact that you were still somewhat tall, you still had struggled), as an invitation to follow you around the grocery store.

The stranger had started off indiscreetly at first, and you had to admit, when you’d passed him in the aisle, you had given him a double-take, and it wasn’t just because you were wondering how he could see the food before him with a black blindfold wrapped over his eyes, so you hadn’t thought too much of it. He was admittedly handsome - at least the lower part of his face was - and his relaxed voice and posture as he reached over and handed you your box of cereal reminded you just a smidge of your Tooru.

Your Tooru wouldn’t be caught in that nondescript dark ensemble, though.

Saying “thanks” and continuing on your merry way should have been enough. But instead, this same man had immediately started walking besides you as you pushed your cart as though he knew you, making comments about your groceries.

“I’m not particularly fond of eggs, but they’re a good source of protein.”

“You seem to have a sweet tooth, just like me!”

You probably should have been concerned about this man’s mental state, but he didn’t exactly seem harmful or delusional, just weird. But you were almost done with your shopping trip, and now he was in line with you with a single bag of chips in his hand, and it occurred to you for a while that this stranger might try to follow you home.

“Do you need something, sir?” You told him in exasperation.

He furrowed his eyebrows in mild confusion, still a smidge too close behind you and raised his bag of chips. “No, I’m fine.”

“Why are you following me?” You finally said, bolder than usual in this semi-crowded grocery store. You had had enough of being polite and you’d tried very hard so far. Today had been a long day and you just wanted to cook a meal and sleep, not argue with strangers.

“Oh, I was trying to be friendly,” he replied, shrugging, as though that were normal behavior, and thus here you were, switching lanes abruptly while making it clear to him that he needed to leave you the fuck alone.

Checking out of the store with your items occurred without incident but you had to admit you were both irritated and confused about that encounter, and again, while you didn’t exactly feel malicious intent or really any sort of ‘creepiness’ from the young man, the behavior was nevertheless alarming. You surreptitiously glanced over your shoulder just to make sure he wasn’t still in sight, only to catch him walking in the other direction, whistling again with the single bag of chips in his hand, now paid for.

Again stunned, you found yourself lost in a stare for a moment, a million questions in your head.

What was he trying to accomplish? And most importantly, how could he see with that blindfold?

What did he look like without it?

Quickly realizing your questions were getting absurd, you decided that whether he was attractive or not was a completely inconsequential thought, because the fact of the matter was that he had to be clinically insane. Absolutely.

With that thought in mind, you texted a friend briefly sparing the least salient details.

Call me in about thirty minutes if I don’t call you first. I’ll fill you in later.

Just for safety’s sake, but thankfully, you didn’t think you’d ever seen him again.

You may have brought up your odd encounter to Tooru that night, if he had managed to return your call.

---

“Go to sleep, I’ll talk to you when I land tomorrow. I love you, ____.”

Before you could protest, the line cut off abruptly and you lowered your phone to your lap. Now it was no longer just your voice wavering, but your entire body trembling as you sat over the side of your bed. You lurched forward, the pit of your stomach heavy with guilt.

Your Tooru was coming to see you and for once, he was the last person you wanted to see.

---

You had left your home a little later than usual but given that you would rather die than miss your morning coffee and croissant, you still stopped by your neighborhood bakery.

Noting that the line was a little longer than expected, you queued up, humming softly to the beats of your favorite song, not registering that the man standing before you had turned slowly in your direction and was now smiling down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here again.”

Your eyes furrowed as you looked up, then almost yelped in surprise when your eyes registered the same white-haired stranger who had stunned you at the supermarket lined up just two paces before you.

What the-

Of all the coffee shops in this city, why here? The hairs on your neck stood up on end, worse when he decided to keep speaking.

“Let me buy your coffee,” he proposed, tentatively. “Only condition is that you have to drink it with me.”

Today, the strangest of strangers almost looked normal; rather than a blindfold, his eyes were hidden by a dark pair of sunglasses and his hair had been allowed to fall into a slightly windswept cut. He was also dressed less eclectically, in a loose-necked long sleeved shirt and a pair of fitted dark jeans.

Like this, you could call him fashionable. He was definitely forward, at the very least.

He was obviously flirting and normally you would have a curt prepared answer for him, but the manner in which he leaned forward, smirking with hands on his hips, again felt too familiar. Like Tooru, who had forgotten to call you back and instead sent you a quick text that promised he’d get back to you.

If he remembered.

Before you knew it, and almost embarrassed as soon as it left your mouth, you blurted out, “I… have to go to work.”

It wasn’t a lie but for some reason it came out like one. Perhaps because what you would have normally said was, “I have a boyfriend,” without giving him a second look.

He frowned nevertheless.

“That’s too bad,” he finally said, letting out a loud sigh, excessively dramatic for the situation. You stared at him, dumbfounded, and he suddenly clasped his hands together, preparing to say something else but the barista had called for the next customer.

He made a motion for you to go before him, and flustered, you obliged, giving the barista a look that implored for help in any way he could offer it. The barista knew you well enough to ring up your order before you even asked for it, but not well enough to sense that the man behind you was actively harassing you.

“I can buy my own coffee, sir,” you murmured once you saw him rummage in his pockets and pull out his wallet while the barista went off to toast your pastry.

He grinned widely.

“Call me Satoru.”

---

“A drink for you, sir?”

The flight attendant’s voice betrayed a hint of irritation under her sweet tone of voice, hinting that she had been waiting for him to answer a while, and Oikawa realized that he had been staring at his phone for a lot longer than he expected. He flashed her his classic pearly whites before nodding, but the wheels in his head were still turning.

A mere couple of hours into the first leg of his flight back to Japan, he had taken to poring over his last few conversations with you.

Conversations that, at least from his end, had become pressured, short, and at times, he had been downright dismissive.

But he loved you - you had to understand that! It was a lot to manage:  being available for you but also giving 150% of himself to the game.

So what if he missed your calls but kept his Instagram up-to-date? So what if he was a little bit too cozy with his fans (and known to be so)?

There was always you, and you were supreme. He’d do anything for you.

“Wine?” The attendant offered him the higher octave in her voice making it clear that Oikawa had managed to charm her back into her retail persona.

Maybe a glass, but he’d limit his drinking. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you when you met.

---

You were shocked.

Satoru stopped a car that was meant to crush you, and you were still trying desperately to comprehend what had just transpired.

You were possibly too eager to escape that coffee shop, to get away from the young man whose presence both unsettled your stomach and made your face grown warm, that you’d hurried out into the crosswalk, somewhat complicated drink and slightly crisped pastry in hand, and right into the path of a car hurtling through a red light.

You didn’t have time to scream or rarely even time to drop your drink, but the impact of your carelessness and preoccupation, between him, being late to work, wondering why the fuck your boyfriend had yet again forgotten to text back, never came.

Instead, the car seemed to halt to a stop almost immediately before you, before him who now stood before you with lips held into a neutral expression, and one hand in his pocket. Even if time seemed to stop for a split second, the force that should have struck your body didn’t, instead hurtling around you in a terrifying gust of wind.

But you were safe.

There was a shatter of glass windows as energy redistributed and the car took the brunt of the shock, and airbags deployed, engulfing the driver who could have possibly ended your life.

When Satoru finally turned to you slowly, looking at your cowering form, you finally caught a glimpse of piercing blue. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he was suddenly much more terrifying than anything else.

As though the mask had come off.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Instead, he asked you to control your grief.

---

You shouldn’t be able to love anyone so much that your heart breaks repeatedly.

Something about you had to be pathological - it couldn’t be normal to feel the pain of separation this acutely. It was just a long-distance relationship, even if he was just getting more famous and less available by the day.

You shouldn’t wake up wondering if you could still breathe without him.

You shouldn’t.

---

“I’m a sorcerer,” Gojo revealed as he stirred a warm caramel latte, as though he had said the most natural thing in the world.

You tilted your head over so slightly, knit eyebrows betraying your confusion.

“... Like a circus performer?”

The repetitive turn of his wrist halted almost immediately and he looked at you, the constant smug smirk immediately awash from his features.

“Do I look like I belong in the circus?!” He half-exclaimed, half-whined, as though you were the only patrons in this bustling coffee shop. Part of you was bent on saying yes, but you kept mum yet staring at his face in distress, you find yourself stifling a giggle.

Now that he’d saved your life, you felt (and probably erroneously so) obligated to at least indulge him in coffee, and your curiosity about the young man sitting before you a whole day later now waffled between morbid and genuine.

Cursed energy? Leaking from you? Sorcery?

He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair once he realized you were more entertained by his distress than anything else, crossing his arms and raising his legs on the table. You stared at the bottom of his shoes with mild disgust but instead focused on his face.

He really was like your Tooru, the boyfriend that slipped away from your reach in your nightmares, causing you to wake in a cold sweat. You shook the thought of your head, a quick barely perceptible movement, and crossed your own arms.

“You’re sad enough that I can sense it, which despite the fact that I am obviously quite gifted, can be a bit of an issue long term.”

“Why would it be an issue to you?”

“Because grief creates spirits and spirits are a pain in my ass.”

You furrowed your eyebrows again.

“So you followed me because you thought I was sad?” It sounded far fetched enough but absolutely on brand for a weirdo like the man before you. You took a sip of your tea - you’d picked chai for this… meeting. It wasn’t a date.

He grinned, an elbow rested on the table propping up his chin as he leaned back towards you.

“No, it’s because I thought you were beautiful.” ---

For the first time in a year, Oikawa’s first step back on Japanese soil did not immediately bring him joy but anxiety.

It was odd for him to feel anxiety, this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but of course it would dissipate the moment he saw you.

But first, a warm shower in his new hotel room. Then he’d go to see you.

It felt odd not to have you waiting for him, your million dollar - no, priceless - smile on your face, so he could kiss you dramatically in the midst of all watching to again reassert that you are his, and his alone.

But you were upset, and understandably so.

So he would come to you, as a good boyfriend should.

---

“I have a boyfriend,” you told him immediately and indignantly, as you got up to leave. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m not interested.”

He didn’t rise as fast as you did, watching you calmly instead as you balled your fists in irritation. It’s so shameless how he flirts, you thought. He’s so bold and rude and even if he’s a ‘sorcerer’ as he claims, there’s no spell that he can cast onto you that will make you leave Oikawa for him.

Not your Tooru, whose last Instagram post features a beautiful, tan, large-breasted and bikini-clad woman you’ve never met.

“Where is he then?” Satoru said in a low voice. He didn’t necessarily mean to cut but it did anyway. A lump formed in your throat.

“Overseas.”

---

The sound of chirping crickets is surprisingly loud for this part of the city, Oikawa considered, as he made his way towards your apartment building. It was an atypically warm evening for this point in the spring and he briefly mused if that is what excited them. Maybe they were cheering for him. They sounded a lot like the crowds if he closed his eyes.

He also hoped you had room for the gifts he carried with him, the most important of which was a Cartier bracelet he would hand to you once he departed, with a solid gold T for Tooru.

If he was on the search for fame and glory, he had to spoil you too, right?

To think that you were so angry with him that you had not yet contacted him since he had landed.

He knocked on your door finally, noting the shuffling of too many feet towards the door. This was the right door. He didn’t understand. Did you have friends over?

He called, and you didn’t immediately pick up.

---

“You have to leave!” You hissed. The statement was a plea and it was a command and it was a curse.

The blue of Satoru’s eyes was less electric in the dim moonlight, now more of a cool ice. Bare naked like this and barely visible save for the cracks of the illuminated city through your blinds, he was unfairly beautiful, as though he were carved out of marble. Again like your Tooru. Like, not better.

But still, he was there when Tooru wasn’t.

But Tooru was there now, knocking on your door, having traveled thousands of miles despite the fact that you had broken up with him just yesterday.

It was too little, too late.

But you didn’t love Satoru. He was just a band-aid for the loneliness that wrung agony out of you.

Right?

“I don’t want to leave,” your makeshift lover replied, flatly.

Your glare was sharp and instant, but Satoru matched your look, less pointed but unwilling to sway.

An unstoppable force, no different from the day he’d saved your life.

But he’d caused the problem in the first place, hadn’t he? Would you have run out so carelessly if not for him?

Your voice softened as you slipped on your clothes. The fight was lost before it started.

“Please? I… I can’t do this to him.”

Only a plea was left.

Your phone started to ring and your throat felt as though it would close up.

“___?”

Before you knew it, you heard your front door open and your heart dropped into your throat.

---

“What the fuck-”

Blue eyes were cruel.

Oikawa prided himself on his height but Satoru was taller, and his smirk was wide, while Oikawa’s face was ghostlike, devoid of any appreciable expression. Stunned.

“So you’re the boyfriend?” His voice dripped with mock amusement and he patted him on the shoulder before swinging open the door wide, letting Oikawa into his own girlfriend’s apartment, only to stand face to face with you whose feet seemed glued to the floor in shock.

“I.. T-Tooru..”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

His voice came out as a cry and his tears hot and fast. You never thought you’d see him crumple so fast, for you, for anything.

Your mouth opened and closed, and your hands shook but again, you stayed planted to the same spot while Satoru, still shirtless (but at least with the decency to have worn a pair of pants before answering the door), settled himself on the couch.

Before you could open your mouth to find a word to defend yourself to your sobbing boyfriend, your visitor let out an exaggerated yelp.

“____, you really showed no mercy on my asshole, did you?” he jeered. Then covering his mouth, he made a gesture of ‘Oops.’

What could you do?

Oikawa looked like he would stop breathing any second. He wanted to fight and maybe scream, but what use was that?

You had broken up with him yesterday.

You approached slowly, attempting maybe a touch, anything that would make your mistake less grievous.

You’d only been seeing Satoru for several weeks to… you weren’t sure why, really? Tooru was the one you loved. And to see him curl up like this… someone who was normally so proud...

You were disgusted with yourself.

“Tooru-”

“You said you’d wait for me.”

It was shocking how quick he rose, broken dignity, gifts and all.

“Tooru!”

He turned to leave, while Satoru contented himself on picking the earwax from his ears. It was easier to be like this, insufferable, than to gracefully accept the idea that his object of affection loved someone else.

He’d coveted you from the day he’d met you.

“Tooru!!!”

You were running after a man who gave 150% to everything, yet again. 

Everything but you.

But had he at the very least given you 100%? You weren’t sure.

Oikawa was the last person who could accept the thought of someone else. You weren’t sure if he’d call you ever again. You weren’t even sure you wanted to break up.

Cursed energy. Maybe you didn’t just leak cursed energy. Maybe you were just cursed.

Heart shattering to pieces once Oikawa was no longer within view, you made it back to your room. Satoru was there waiting, and you couldn’t see the look in his eyes, but his arms were open, and so you fell into them.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 29- No Room For Innocence- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Aaline witnesses a blood eagle.

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha 

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assault

Word Count: 2544

Ch. 28

AN: I’d like to apologize for how long it’s taken me to update. I have no excuses. All I can say is life. 

It took me a while to get the blood eagle scene done. I wasn’t sure how I wanted that to look for a while. I think it turned out okay. I listened to Heimta Thurs by Wardruna the whole time I wrote it to put me in the right head space. 

I’d like to thank everyone who’s stuck with me for this long. I sincerely appreciate you.

“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” ~ Samuel Johnson

Aaline heaved as her body expelled what little she’d eaten that day. Her stomach had been in knots all day and it finally rebelled against her. She heaved again as a timid knock sounded on the door. “What?” she croaked. 

Torvi pushed the door open with care and peeked around the frame. She winced when Aaline gagged again, nothing coming up except bile and saliva. 

She pushed her way into the room and shut the door behind her, turning the lock and leaning against it. “Are you alright?” She asked. 

Aaline rolled her eyes up to her sister-in-law and bit back the snarky comment she so badly wanted to express. She clenched her eyes shut as her stomach seized but was thankful when nothing came up. 

“I’m fine.”

“I vomited when I saw my first blood eagle.” Torvi shared. Aaline slowly sat back, her hands still clutching the rim of the toilet. Her nausea had dissipated but her stomach still felt weak. 

“I hid behind the shed. I swore everything I’d eaten in the last week came out of me that night.” Aaline turned her head and stared at Torvi. She had a faraway look in her eyes and a sad smile on her face. 

“Did you love him?” Aaline asked. She remembered that Björn was Torvi's third husband and that her first had been blood eagled by Ragnar after he tried to kill Aslaug and their children. Ivar hadn’t even been born yet and Björn was just a teenager. 

Torvi blinked and turned her head. She smiled fully at Aaline and shook her head. “No. I thought I did but I was young. I didn’t know what love was. The love I had for him was one of companionship and youth. I did not love him like a wife should.”

Aaline nodded, processing. “And you married the son of his executioner.” She looked up when Torvi laughed. 

“I didn’t blame Björn. I didn’t even blame Ragnar. I was angry, yes, but my husband broke our laws, committed crimes. He was going to die no matter what.” Torvi shrugged and stepped deeper into the bathroom.

“Ivar will understand if you are unwell. This is a difficult experience.” Aaline shook her head. 

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the last few days. It’s probably just a stomach bug.” Aaline made to stand. Torvi helped her up and studied her closely. Aaline closed the lid of the toilet and flushed, wincing at the reminder of her episode. 

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Torvi asked. Aaline shrugged, washing her hands. 

“I’m not sure. A few days at least.”

“Just nausea or something else?” Aaline sighed and dried her hands, trying to be patient. 

“Mostly nausea. A few headaches,  some stomach cramps. I’m tired all the time. Really, Torvi, I’m fine. It’s just a stomach bug.” 

She tossed the towel down onto the counter and pulled the door open. “Can we please go? Ivar’s supposed to help me get ready.” Torvi looked at her, her gaze skeptical. She nodded once and preceded Aaline out of the bathroom. Aaline shook her head at Torvi’s behavior and followed her, closing the door behind her.

.

“It’s a preposterous plan. I don’t even know how you talked me into it.” 

“It’s because you know I’m right.” 

Ecbert looked up with sharp eyes at the young woman before him. She held her head high and carried an air of superiority around her. Ecbert didn’t know if she was stupid or just insane. Perhaps a bit of both. 

Ecbert himself wondered where his own sanity had gone to consider this plan. It wasn’t even a good one and he truly didn’t even know its purpose. 

 “I don’t see how this plan will weaken Ragnar.”

The woman scoffed and he narrowed his eyes. “Ivar will go mad with grief and anger. Ragnar won’t be able to control him thus losing control of his men. He’ll be overthrown and you’ll be able to swoop in and take control of his empire.”

The plan was shaky at best. It all hinged on a small group of men being able to go unnoticed by Ragnar Lothbrok’s very observant sons. Even then they weren’t guaranteed a win right away. The women before him needed to stay out of it personally and Ecbert wasn’t sure if she was capable. 

“You remember what we discussed.” He said. 

She narrowed her eyes and sat up straighter almost like she was trying to look intimidating. “I remember.” 

Ecbert arched one perfect brow and waited, hoping she’d take his cue. She did and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not to approach anyone in the Lothbrok family.” She admitted through clenched teeth. 

Ecbert sat back only marginally satisfied. 

“Good.” He waved a hand at her, dismissing her and she rose with anger. Ecbert didn’t flinch when she slammed through the double doors. He was too engrossed in calculating everything that could go wrong with their plan.

.

It was late, almost midnight and Ivar was helping Aaline into the traditional white outfit worn during a blood eagle. Aaline knew very little about the traditions involved in a ritualistic murder. She knew it was a big deal. Their family was taking revenge on the man who murdered Sigurd. 

The blood eagle was a sacrifice to Odin. Aelle would serve as both a warning and a blessing. His death would bless their retribution, keeping them safe from further harm. It would also warn others intent on wronging them. His death would tell them what would happen to anyone who tried to take them down.

White was worn to show the blood that was spilled. It was expected for blood to transfer on all spectators and it would symbolize the blessing that Odin brought upon them.

Traditionally, it was expected that the victim remain silent less they be barred entrance into Valhalla. Björn had talked long about how Jarl Borg had taken the whole of his punishment in silence, never making a sound as Ragnar killed him. 

She could see the respect shining clearly in Björn’s eyes. Even though Jarl Borg had tried to murder his brothers and step-mother, Björn had admiration for the man. Aaline was eager to understand why.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up. Hvitserk opened the door and nodded once, pushing it further open and leaving them again. It was time.

Ivar settled his hands on her shoulders and stepped around to face her. “It’s not going to be pretty.” She rolled her eyes and looked away but he caught her chin between his fingers and pulled her back to look at him.

“There’s going to be blood, lots of it. He’ll scream and he’ll cry and there’ll be piss and shit along with the blood. Do you think you can handle that?” Ivar’s voice was soft when he spoke but she could hear the hard edge. He still wanted her to back out. He wanted her to sit up here in their room alone while the rest of the family witnessed the execution of the man responsible for their pain. 

She wrapped her hand around Ivar’s wrist and gently pushed it away. “I think you forget who you’re married to.” She said. 

She stepped around him and headed towards the door, turning at the frame to look over her shoulder at him. He was staring at her, his face unreadable. She cocked an eyebrow. He shook his head and followed her out the door.

As they descended the stairs, the light grew dimmer. The shadows on the wall danced. The smell of incense was heavy in the air. A heavy bass resounded in the air and chains rattled against the stone.

 When they turned the final corner into the room, Aaline allowed herself to take in the scene. Ragnar stood in the center of the room on a raised platform. His back was to them and his shoulders flexed as he worked with something on the table before him. Behind him, standing shoulder width apart, were two identical wooden posts with half circle brackets at the top. 

Ivar cupped her elbow and steered her towards the rest of his siblings. The brothers and their wives were standing in a semi-circle around Sibylle whose eyes were glassy.  Aaline didn’t know if it was her tears or the drugs that gave her the appearance. 

Ivar stopped beside Hvitserk and nodded, folding his hands in front of him as they waited. Aaline surveyed the room. Lagertha stood just behind the table that Ragnar was working at. Rollo and Floki stood across from them, Helga next to Floki. Several of Ragnar’s men filled the rest of the room. She and Ivar were the last to arrive.

Ragnar turned to Rollo and Floki and nodded once. The two men retreated behind a door behind Lagertha. The drum beat held steady. 

Rollo and Floki returned with Aelle bound between them. A gag was tied tight in his mouth and his wrists and ankles were hogtied. He was naked from the waist up. Rollo and Floki stepped onto the platform and shoved Aelle to his knees between the wooden posts. 

She couldn’t hear what he was saying to them but Aaline could see his mouth trying to move around the gag. Rollo and Floki ignored him as they tied his wrists to the posts beside him. Tears poured down his face and she felt more than heard Ivar chuckle behind her.

The fires surrounding them were hot and the incense made her drowsy. She felt like she was outside of herself, watching the movement around her with detachment. She hardly felt Ivar’s hands on her shoulders.   

Ragnar turned then to the trembling Aelle and scanned the line of his back with clinical apathy. He placed a hand on Aelle’s shoulder and the man startled. Ragnar stilled him with strong fingers pressed deep into the meat of his shoulder. Ragnar bent low and settled his face next to Aelle’s. 

Aelle’s screams were drowned out by the thumping of the drums and the crackling of the fire. Blood pooled around his knees as Ragnar drew the blade up the center of his back. Ivar’s fingers tightened on her shoulders.

Her eyes were glued to the scene before her. She felt entranced by Ragnar’s work. Ivar brought his chin down to her shoulder and watched with her.

Ragnar drew the knife quickly across Aelle’s shoulders and back, pulling the skin back from the bones. Blood sailed through the air, spattering the spectators with warm drops. 

Aaline inhaled sharply and the scent of copper filled her sinuses. Ivar’s hands trailed down her arms and to her hands. He knotted their fingers together as more blood sliced through the air and painted their faces. 

Ragnar soon replaced his blade with an axe, the blade winking in the firelight. Aelle’s screams had died as shock set in. He wasn’t dead yet. Aaline could see his chest heaving up and down. Blood dripped down his arms and sides as Ragnar moved his flesh as he pleased. 

With a flash, the axe came down and separated ribs from spine. The sound of breaking bone reverberated through the air, over taking the drums. Ragnar hacked at the bones, sending blood flinging through the air. Aaline could feel it settled on her cheeks and fought back the urge to lick her lips.

Ivar did no such thing, leaning close and licking a long stripe up the side of her face, humming at the metallic taste that coated his tongue. Aaline shivered as his breath ghosted over her ear. “I can’t wait to lick his blood off you.” He nipped sharply at her earlobe and she shivered. He was hard as steel against the small of her back.

With his ribs now spread wide away from his body, Aelle died. Aaline watched as Ragnar finished the ritual, slipping his hands inside Aelle’s chest from behind and pulling his lungs from within. He settled the useless organs across Aelle’s still shoulders and stepped back.

He was covered in blood. His bare feet were sticky with it as he stepped around to Aelle’s front. His hands were stained crimson as he, almost reverently, pushed Aelle’s hair back off his forehead. His face and beard were saturated in the life giving fluid as he gazed down at the man who ordered his son dead. 

When Ragnar’s head came up, Rollo and Floki got to work. 

Aelle was to be placed on display outside of Ecbert’s home. He was to serve as a warning to the rest of the Saxons.

Once Rollo and Floki began cutting down Aelle, the rest of the spectators began making their way out of the ceremony room. A bonfire was lit in the backyard and they were to spend the rest of the night celebrating Aelle’s demise and Sigurd’s life. 

Aaline was confident she and Ivar wouldn’t make it to the bonfire. 

Ivar tugged her back the way they’d come with insistent hands. She allowed him to lead her away, her mind still preoccupied with the blood eagle.

As soon as Ivar had their bedroom door shut, she was pressed face first against the wood of the door. She gasped and smacked her palms against the door. 

Ivar already had his hands under her dress and his fingers inside her panties. His groan vibrated against her back and she shuddered when he immediately sank two thick fingers inside her. “You’re soaked.” He whispered brokenly against her ear. 

She moaned and arched her back, pulling his fingers deeper and feeling him hard against her ass. 

“Did it turn you on? Watching a man die?” He rocked his fingers inside of her, pressing his palm against her clit. She pressed her forehead to the door, pressing back against him. She needed more. More pressure, more fingers, more friction. Just more. 

“More.” She moaned. Ivar cursed and withdrew his fingers. She felt him fumbling behind her. Before she had time to take a breath, he was sheathed to the hilt inside her. She yelped, her muscles stretching to accommodate him. 

The sting between her legs quickly subsided when he started moving. His fingers returned between her legs and circled her clit in quick, firm circles. Her knees buckled but he wrapped an arm around her waist and kept them upright. 

Ivar groaned against her neck before sinking his teeth hard into the muscle of her shoulder. Her pussy clenched around him and he groaned, the vibrations against her skin sending goosebumps down her back. 

Her whole body vibrated and her knees began to shake as her orgasm crested inside her. Ivar circled her clit twice more and her orgasm washed over her. She shook against him, her internal muscles squeezing him tight. He wrapped a hand around her throat and grunted, his cock twitching inside her. 

She sagged against the door, her heart pounding and her knees like jello. Ivar licked the side of her neck, moaning at the taste of sweat and blood.

Tags: @dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius  @inforapound  @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @feyrearcheron-nightcourt @londongal2810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @kingniazx@revolution-starter @jay-bel

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, angst, slight fluff, dark themes

Word Count:6,881

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of sickness and feeling generally unwell, mentions of doctors/medical treatments, deception, descriptions of anxiety/panic, horror, pain, major character death, general dark themes! Please proceed with caution if you’re sensitive! (also I did not proof read)

A/N:excuse my language; but holy fuck. I cannot believe this is the end of Windflower. This is insane. Windflower is my passion project, and the desire to write it is half the reason I opened my account on here. While it hasn’t been the most popular writing on my blog, I have been really really proud of it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting this since the beginning! I love you all!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Soobin sat with his head dipped toward the dark wooden dining table. He was scrolling through what appeared to be a website for a plant nursery; as if he needed more within the home. You were sitting opposite of him, peeking over the top of your laptop where you were pretending to read an article on the ten best shows coming to Netflix this fall. Following the night of your drunken rage, the two of you had patched up your relationship as well as you possibly could. You’d traded apologies, talked it out over a store-bought cheesecake and moved on. 

At least, you assumed he had. He acted as if you hadn’t accused him of being some type of fraud and proclaimed that you could no longer trust him. Everything was eerily the same, despite Soobin’s increased caution around you in certain settings. Gone were the days of him laying a hand on your back as you cooked or resting his head on your shoulder while you both dozed off on the couch. 

You should have been grateful for his physical distance. Happy that he was giving you the room you had hinted at needing on that night a few weeks ago. Instead you were annoyed. Frustrated at the way you craved to feel his comforting touch even though you knew it would only bring you more pain in the end. For a while, you worried that his avoidance meant he had seen the evidence of your stupidity floating within the toilet bowl, but you knew Soobin well enough to know that he would have talked to you about it. Right? He would have brought it up; although slowly and with extreme caution, and asked you what he could do to help. He had proven himself to be mature and thoughtful, even after you’d tried to push him away. 

He finally stirred in his seat across the table. You could actually hear a few of his bones crack with the movement and you stifled a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He tried to sound intimidating, but his voice was so inherently soft around the edges that you couldn’t hold back the laugh. 

“You’re just an old man,” you were poking at him, you knew, but it felt good. You felt normal. Almost like you were back to the time when the two of you were truly just friends. He planted both of his large, vascular hands flat on the table and leaned his weight forward. 

“I’m an old man? You do know we’re the same age, Y/N. So if I’m so old...” he paused for dramatic affect as you stared up at him in amused awe. “Then you must be ancient.”

An offended gasp, obviously feigned, slipped between your lips; which you now noticed you’d chewed raw as you were thinking earlier. 

“How dare you? I am the epitome of youth! My hair is flowing, my skin is flawless,” you pointed to a blemish on your chin you knew for a fact you’d had for days. “My youthful beauty is unmatched, can’t you tell?” You weren’t sure where your sudden good mood had come from but you basked in it. Even as Soobin used his hands as leverage to lean closer to your face, you didn’t budge. You couldn’t. This close up, you could spot every single little freckle on his face. The dynamic shades of his irises became more and more distinct until he finally stopped advancing toward you. It was easily the closest the two of you had been in weeks. 

“Hm, you’re right. I can tell. There’s something about you...” he squinted his eyes as if he were scrutinizing your every feature. “You are beautiful, Y/N.” 

The sentence brought an unwanted visceral reaction through your body. It was too much like a confession, too close to the exact words you needed to hear from him. A shooting pain rippled through your heart. You shuddered out an exhale, shutting your eyes tight as if that would stave away the pain. In a blind panic, you pushed away from the solid table and made to put as much distance between yourself and Soobin as possible. Then your migraine hit, the feeling like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod behind both of your eyes. Fuck. On top of that pain, a cough worked its way up your throat, producing a petal into your mouth that was slimy and bitter.

You only made it two and a half steps before your knees gave out, sending you hurtling toward the floor in a free fall. Sticking your hands out just before the impact, you accepted the fact that you were about to get a concussion out of your own inability to properly distance yourself from an unrequited love. But the sensitive skin of your face never bounced off of the original hardwood flooring you had once drooled over. 

“Y/N?” Soobin was panicked, stooped down  next to you as he had managed to barely break your fall and turn you around to lay on your back. Your vision was still swimming, but you cracked open your eyes very slowly. 

‘What’s wrong? Do you need to go to a doctor?” 

“No,” you croaked out, “was just a migraine.” Soobin scoffed. 

“I’ve never seen anyone nearly pass out from just a migraine, Y/N. And in all the months I’ve known you, you’ve never-”

“I’m fine.” You asserted, sitting up as well as you could with his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “They used to happen the last time I- uh, when I was in college. It’s okay, they’ll pass.” You were lying right through your teeth. The last time you had a migraine this badly, your then roommate had rushed you to the emergency room and discovered that you had hanahaki. There was no doubt that history was repeating itself. 

 “Okay.” He was frowning, obviously unconvinced as he pushed a hand against your lower back. “At least let me help you upstairs.” 

----

The migraine either dissipates or you simply become accustomed to it. The petal you had coughed into a tissue when you first reached your room had dried, sitting on your bedside table in its perfect little form to mock you. You were so disgusted that you couldn’t even bring yourself to throw it away. No longer sensitive to light, you shrugged out from underneath your sheets and stretched your limbs until they cracked. A dull thumping was still present at the base of your skull; a reminder of what you’d just suffered. A sickly feeling of anxiety passed through you like a breeze, making the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention. Soobin was clearly not convinced by your insistence that your sudden ailment was nothing of concern. And he was right. In all the time you’d been around him, you never once experienced a spell quite like that, so how was he supposed to not be suspicious?

Although, you had to hold onto hope that he truly didn’t know any better. It seemed as though he was blissfully ignorant to the truth behind your sickness, and you’d like to keep it that way. For as long as you possibly could, anyway. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were pacing across the floor until you landed your weight onto a particularly squeaky board that sounded ridiculous in the otherwise quiet room. Freezing on the spot, you held your breath for some reason you truly couldn’t explain. Of course, there was no logical reason to do so, and the action only resulted in your lungs contracting violently. Your upper body shuddered as you opened your mouth instantly. Holding your breath for just a few seconds should have been a simple task, but to your weakened heart and lungs it felt like running a whole marathon uphill. 

Buckling over, you heaved in mouthfuls of oxygen until your heart rate dropped back down to a normal rate. Add shortness of breath to your growing list of signs that should send you running for the nearest clinic. If you weren’t so foolishly attached to the man who was probably worrying about you downstairs, you would have already been booking yourself an appointment. 

It just seemed totally inconceivable, even in your predicament, to leave Soobin behind within his ancestral house that surely felt horridly empty being lived in alone. You would sooner walk over lava barefoot than put him through that. It was stupid. So incredibly stupid, but you were literally willing to put your life on the line just to look after Soobin. He had really weaseled himself deep into your psyche. But you knew you were to blame for holding the door wide open. He had done so much for you, surely you could do him to kindness of sticking around as long as you possibly could.

So you trudged down the steps like you did every day, expecting to come face to face with an overly worried and doting young man standing in the kitchen or living room awaiting your arrival. But the lower level of the house was oddly silent when you descended the steps. The low hum of the washer and dryer running were the only indications that someone beside yourself was even there. Curiosity spiking, you made your way to the vacant living room to peer out of the windows. It was a bit hard to see him from this angle, but you spotted Soobin lounging on the back deck, skin browning in the sun and eyes closed in content. His arms were tucked behind his head, effectively lengthening his torso and giving you a full view of the sliver of skin that was peeking out between the top of his waistband and the bottom of the white cotton t-shirt  You noticed that he was once again wearing the outfit he was donning when you first arrived at the front gate weeks ago. Although the outfit was simple and generally unremarkable, you would never forget the way your heart lurched at the sight of his lithe body the first time. The warm pull of nostalgia nagged at the back of your mind, so you selfishly let yourself sink into its embrace and recall the trepidation you had once approached the grounds with. 

Soobin had charmed you so easily with his windswept hair and boyish charm that it was a shock you didn’t begin to grow flowers for him the first time you met. To be fair, the version of you who had rolled into town almost two months prior was much more cautious than the version you were now familiar with. Part of you missed that version of you; who was simply drifting through life, unattached to anyone and looking for a new spot to plant her roots. But you knew you weren’t built to live like that, as your attachment to Soobin had proven wholeheartedly. 

Suddenly, you felt a lurching in your chest that didn’t necessarily hurt you; but urged you to go outside and talk to Soobin. A subconscious pull that reminded you that your body craved his attention just as much as your mind did. The weather was beautiful today, a pleasant temperature that made your skin feel like it was glowing as soon as you were under the sun. As soon as you stepped onto the porch, Soobin whipped his head around in your direction. Cutely, he scrambled to sit up, hair frizzy from the static of the Adirondack chair he had been lounging on. 

“Are you feeling better?” A warm hand encased the left side of your face, Soobin’s sloped nose just inches away from yours as his speckled eyes studied every single pore and line on your face. 

“Uh- I’m-” his proximity was making your jittery, heart rate spiking as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I feel better. The migraine is gone.” You ignored the way the same dull ache from earlier was beginning to seep into the edges of your brain. 

“Oh, good!” A rush of his breath blew over your sensitive skin, sending your eyelids into a flutter. When he removed his hand, you felt oddly cold and empty despite the heat of the atmosphere. “Look, I don’t want you to do any work around the house until you’re feeling better. And I can call my doctor to get you in for a-”

“No!” The word jumped off of your tongue before you could reign it in; rudely cutting Soobin off as his eyes widened in shock. He shifted his weight as his eyebrows knit together in worry. You licked your lips- suddenly dry- and tried to collect the thoughts that were running laps in your mind. How could you possibly explain that going to the doctor would be a grave mistake and mark the end of your companionship. 

“You don’t want to go to the doctor? I promise he’s really nice, Y/N, and he can get you medicine for your migraines.” His perfect lips were pulled into a worried pout, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his skin only exemplifying his perfect complexion. 

“No, it’s just that...when I had them before they ran a bunch of tests,” you were hedging the truth and you knew it, but hopefully Soobin couldn’t tell the difference, “and there was nothing they could give me to help them. So a doctor would just be, ya know, a waste of time.” The skin on the back of your neck was heated in worry as you shot Soobin what you hoped was a convincing grin. 

“Okay.” He was still frowning but he seemed to believe you. “Just please let me know if you want to go. I don’t want you to be miserable. And you’re still not doing any yard work,” he grasped your bicep and led you over to the chair he had just been lying in. His grip was strong as he gave you no choice but to sit down and relax. The plastic was heated from the sunshine and the heat of his body as you settled in and looked up at him, blinking slowly. 

“I’m not gonna break, Soobin. I can handle watering the plants and doing some cleaning inside. You are not going to wait on me hand and foot.” You put some fire in your tone, hoping to edge away the anxiety you were feeling creep up the back of your throat. Having the exact person who sent your body on a fight against itself watching over you like a mother cat watches its kittens would surely put you six feet under. 

Soobin’s eyes steeled as he crossed his arms over his broad, defined chest. “No, Y/N. I am going to wait on you, because you’ve spent so much time waiting on me, and you deserve to have someone take care of you. Please let me take care of you, bub.” You were speechless at the strength of his voice coupled with the nickname he had only used in a teasing manner prior to this moment. The longer you stared at the toned muscle of his arms crossed over the widest part of his torso, the more your throat began to tickle with the insistence of soft, red petals that were looking for an escape. Panicked, you looked away quickly, coughing as softly as you can to hopefully pass the action off as simply swallowing down the wrong pipe. Just when you think the moment has passed, an unwavering push at the back of your throat had you involuntarily gagging. Soobin sprung into action, patting a large hand between your shoulder blades as if he were burping an infant. He was calling your name, pulling some strands of your hair away from your face in a bid to get your attention; but you ignored him. Your stomach rolled, the pressure in your lungs and heart only increasing at his touch that you tried to shrug off. 

Eventually the muscles of your esophagus stopped constricting and fresh oxygen could flow back into your crowded lungs. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and you wiped at them in embarrassment, hiding your face from Soobin’s intensified gaze. You could only imagine what he was thinking right now; as you’d just went from insisting you had no need for a doctor to dry heaving over the side of his deck furniture. The thought had you shrinking into yourself even more. He was going to catch on eventually, wasn’t he? Fuck. You couldn’t avoid this much longer. The evidence of your disease was only mounting and Soobin was more observant than ever before. 

“Y/N.” The call of your name brought you, slowly, out of your own mind. “Look at me.” The words could not have been any clearer, yet you shook your head like a petulant child. He sighed. “Please, I’m worried about you. Please let me take care of you. I can’t,” he stopped and you could hear him swallow clearly. Was that a sniffle? Your heart clenched in response. “I can’t sit here and watch you hurt.” 

Still ashamed, you raised your head from your hands and stared out over the yard instead of facing him. You didn’t think your stuttering heart would survive seeing his expression in this supercharged moment. You’d sooner drop dead than see Soobin crying over you.

“Okay,” you acquiesced, mind already running in the direction of a backup plan, “I’m sorry, Soobin. You’re right. I do need you to look after me. Just please.” you swallowed, tasting the oddly earthy tang of flower petals on your tongue. “No doctors. You have to promise me.” Finally turning your body to face his, your earlier suspicions were confirmed. 

Your heart constricted painfully at the sight of him, eyes rimmed red and watery with unshed tears and a line of worry creasing the soft skin of his forehead harshly. “Fine.” He huffed, clearly displeased with your stipulation but willing to make the sacrifice. 

“Thank you,” the words were whispered, caught in a sudden gust of wind, but he heard them nonetheless and sent you a small nod. 

“Of course.”

----

Soft sunlight filtered through the flowy white curtains hanging over the windows of the library. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t spent much time in this little haven since you moved in. Soobin’s cousin had filled it with plush armchairs laden with soft fleece blankets and the most comfortable throw pillows you’d ever felt. The books were certainly outdated, but you found some classics that satisfied the itch for escape you had begun to cultivate. Currently, you were flipping through a vintage illustrated coffee table book- the front page tells you it was made in 1962- that gave diagrams and names of all types of flowers. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find this type of literature here, as Soobin himself had admitted to learning the meanings of flowers in his free time. 

The pages were delicate, so you flipped them carefully, fingers tracing over the edges that felt like they might melt between the oil of your skin. As you turned onto a new page a brightly colored sticky note, not unlike the ones you used to mark up textbooks, drew your attention toward the flower it was attached to. You recognized the flower as jasmine immediately, familiar with the patch of it that weaved among its neighbors in the garden. Brushing the sticky note aside, you read the delicate cursive underneath it: eternal and unconditional love. Cute. The image of a younger Soobin thumbing through the book, tongue pushed out in concentration as he researched warmed your heart. 

A tremor of weakness passed through your arm, making your hand shake. A feeling of dread- which you desperately tried to push down- reminded you of just how much worse your condition had become. You had noticed it lately, the way you felt much more faint than normal, how much more often you had to take a moment to catch your breath, the way your whole body would shake when you cough up a mix of blood and petals into the sink. 

But for now, you chose to lose yourself in this book and the newfound hunt for Soobin’s sticky notes of interest. You had to skip a few pages before you found the next ones; two bundled together in the upper left corner of the page marked off forget-me-nots and begonias. Gently lifting the sticky notes revealed the meanings behind these flowers, also featured in the backyard, to be true love and deep compassion and communication or connection, respectively. Curiosity mounting, you continued to flip through the weighty book. At first, you began to think that maybe the three notes you’d already found were all that lived within the forgotten book. As you neared the end, your eyes caught on two more, this time on opposite ends of the page. One partially covered an illustration of a snapdragon, the other highlighting the small flowers of a buttercup. Your nails caught on the edge of the blue paper as you lifted it. Buttercups: neatness and innocence. The definition made sense, calling back to memory the way your former best friend had coughed up a handful of the pale yellow flowers when you were just children. She was easily the most pure and innocent person you’d ever met, and given the matching nature of the boy who’d also been secretly pining over her; you couldn’t think of a more perfect example of the type of flower representing the relationship. 

You wondered if Soobin had chosen and planted these flowers with the image of the relationships they’re indicative of in mind. The snapdragon’s description was totally covered by the sticky note; so you nearly had to pry the whole thing off before you could see the cursive. Deception. The word stared back at you. It seemed very out of place among the other markings that Soobin had made. You knew for a fact that a tall, thick patch of snapdragons were growing proudly in the garden, among all the other flowers with soft, beautiful meanings. Interesting. You would consider the fact that Soobin was only drawn to their aesthetics, but the way the drawing was marked with the same enthusiasm as the others was certainly curious. 

You decided that you were thinking way too far into this. For all you knew, the snapdragons were simply planted by someone in his family and he had gone looking for their meaning. Nearing the end of the book, you were simply skimming over the book. Your eyes were starting to get tired, fatigue dancing under your skin as you considered taking a nap right there. On the final, yellowed page of the flower identification book, you spotted something alarmingly familiar. A red flower whose petals fade into a pure white near the stem. The exact same petals that had been crawling up your throat and ruining the little bit of safety you’d found within Soobin’s home. 

Suddenly on high alert, you sat up straight, eyes watering as you finally focused enough to comprehend the definition. The red windflower. Death and forsaken love. Your throat went completely dry, heart dropping down to your stomach. The petals pushed against the soft flesh of the inside of your throat, scratching at the back of your tongue as a harsh reinforcement of what you were reading. Death? Surely you had joked with yourself that you felt as if you were dying, but was that not just because you hadn’t seen a doctor? 

A new gagging cough slipped past your lips, consuming your senses totally as you focused on not spewing a mix of blood, spit and flower petals onto the surely expensive leather chair. Finally, you collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, book laid open on your lap. Fresh tears brimmed your eyes. You needed to leave. As much as you desired to stay around Soobin and bask in his company, you were becoming increasingly worried for your life. You had to find a way to get him out of the house long enough for you to pack up the essentials and flee the house. It would hurt. It would hurt so bad, but nothing could be worse than the message of doom that your body was giving you. Loving Soobin would literally put you in an early grave. 

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Soobin’s voice came cautiously from somewhere behind you and you jumped, clasping the book shut quickly. 

“I’m-” you tried, voice too wrecked from coughing to continue. You cleared your throat, ignoring the painful pinch that created and tried again. “I’m okay. But I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?” Thinking on your feet had your head spinning, and you hoped he couldn’t sense the waver in your voice as you spoke. 

He approached slowly, sitting himself on an armchair opposite of you. The knees of his jeans were stained brown with dirt, a sight not uncommon after his time in the garden. He pushed a hand through his mussed up hair. It was a nervous tick, you knew, and you felt awful for worrying him. Maybe it was better if you left after all. 

“Could you go out to Hank’s and get me a Smore’s sundae? I would drive myself but...” a vague gesture over your generally unwell body made the point clear. “I know it’s pretty far out of town but I’ve been craving one since the first time we went.” 

“Of course. I’m done outside, I can go. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone? I’ll be out for probably like 40 minutes to get all the way there and back.”

“Yes, Soobin. I can still handle myself alone. I’m not that sick.” The irony of the statement was not lost on you, but it seemed to have placated him enough for him to slip on his shoes and leave the house. As soon as he was gone, you threw yourself off of the chair. Your heart rate had been in a constant state of increase for weeks, but you just had to just push through it for now. 

In a flurry of packing that was all too familiar to the way you left your college apartment,  you began to gather your things. You felt a twinge of guilt for leaving behind some of your things for Soobin to contend with, but you had to push it aside in favor of working quickly. All of your personal items, chargers, enough clothing for two weeks, toiletries and any money you’d brought along with you were stuffed into your trusty tote bag. You took one last sweeping look around the room, anxiety licking at the back of your neck as you feared you were running out of time. Many of your dressers were still full and you had left the bed a mess but your most important items were tucked underneath your arm securely; and that was enough for you. 

As you descended the stairs, you tried to ignore the way you wobbled dangerously down them until you finally got to the bottom level of the house. A bittersweet feeling rose in your chest as you surveyed the kitchen where you’d cooked and baked so many times. The living room beckoned you with similar memories of taking naps in the sunshine and watching your favorite films. A stray tear you didn’t know was welling up made a hot streak down your face before dripping off of your skin. No matter how much it hurt, you had to keep moving. The floor creaked familiarly under your feet as you approached the front door. The handle was cold under your fingers as you twisted, but the satisfying creak and rush of fresh air that you were expecting never came. You tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Locked. Okay, that made sense. Neither of you really used the front door, so of course it was locked up. Leaning down to inspect the doorknob, you realized that the age of the home meant that you would need a skeleton key to slip into the door and crack it open. 

Slightly annoyed, you took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the backdoor. You would have to walk further to get to your car; but the back door should be unlocked, considering Soobin had just left out of it. With more fervor, you gripped the door knob and twisted, just to be met with the same resistance the front door gave. A flash of hot panic consumed you as you jiggled the handle again, just in case it would make any difference. Soobin must have locked it out of habit when he left, and you knew for a fact that he had the only key-as far as you knew- with him out at Hank’s. Blindly, you grabbed for your cellphone before realizing how useless that would truly be. No one knew you were here. You didn’t have any other friends in town, and it’s not like you could call the police to come help you without Soobin finding out. Sweaty palms made your phone nearly slip from your grip as your mind worked in overdrive. 

“Okay.” you whispered to yourself, “where would he keep spare keys?” Rifling through a mental list of all the nooks and crannies of the home, a sudden realization hit you. That room upstairs where you had hit your head! That would explain why the room seemed oddly clean, and it was feasible to believe that what you mistook for an AC unit was actually a safe of some kind. Back up the steps you went, heart thumping in a rhythm that was surely unhealthy for someone as young as yourself. 

When you finally got to the room, you found the mismatched furniture exactly where you left it. Soobin had clearly made no effort to move back the dresser or the table that you’d begun to slide out of the way; only making your mission so much easier. 

For the first time today, you had luck when you pulled at the handle of something. Up close, you seemed to be clearly looking at some kind of built in storage compartment, made of a light metal and easily accessed by a small pull lever. Your fingers slipped as you swung the door open, excitement rising at the prospect of being correct about the keeping place of the keys. 

As fast as the excitement and relief had risen, they were quelled and buried deep underneath a wash of confusion. Within the confines of the compartment, you were faced with... flowers. In the middle, acting as some sort of centerpiece, was a pressed snapdragon stem. An entire cluster of flowers, attached firmly to a greened stem was propped up on a small stand; shrink wrapped in protective plastic. Something about the sight was oddly familiar. The stem was cut so perfectly across, completely unlike the way a garden sheer or someone breaking off the plant would present. A memory surfaced to the top of your mind, recalling the first time you’d had your flowers removed. It was cut in the exact same manner; with the precision only a surgical tool could make. Although you’d tried to bury the whole process in a dusty corner of your mind, you did remember your doctor offering the option to take the removed flower home. It had appalled and confused you, but it was clear that that was the source of this exact flower. 

“What the fuck?” you whispered, catching sight of an almost unrecognizable sharpie scribbled on the corner. CS. Initials? Oh god. CS. Choi Soobin. Your hand recoiled as if you’d been burned, the feeling of bile raising toward your tongue. He had told you that he never grew flowers, so what the hell was this? Why would he keep this a secret? Hurt and panic joined hands and wreaked havoc on your nervous system. You could barely think straight. Was this his...trophy case? 

When you shifted on your feet, you spotted a small envelope resting behind the stand. A sick feeling of curiosity had you reaching for it. At this point, you had no idea what to expect as your fingers stick to the material thanks to the sweat permeating your body. It takes a few tries, but once you finally get the envelope slipped open, you can’t tell what you’re looking at. The lighting was too awkward, so you dumped the contents out onto the surface of the compartment. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn’t this. Dozens of flower petals, dried and shrink wrapped in the same fashion as the haunting centerpiece spilled out in front of you. The smooth metal surface sent them all skidding, so it took you a second to get the whole picture. The first one to catch your eye was a white, pointed petal that you could easily identify as jasmine with the same handwritten pair of letters on one corner. YJ. Another protected petal, this one the tell tale purple-blue of a forget me not bore the letters SA. In fact, you could match every single one of these petals to a flower you had been fawning over in the garden since your arrival. 

One that had scattered toward the back of the case seemed to compel you even though you couldn’t quite see it. You reached for it blindly, bringing a few, clearly much older flowers forward with it. Sifting through them only struck more and more fear into you. Every instinct you had was telling you to run, scream, pound on a window until you could bust out. Soobin was clearly not all he had claimed to be. But a dark, twisted side of yourself you didn’t know existed wanted to sift through all of the petals and match them up with the garden you’d cared for. Resting at the bottom of the pile in your hand, you finally came across the petal you’d initially reached for. 

It was about the size of a penny; red, fading into a simple white at the bottom. This was it. This was the exact petal that you’d spit out onto your bedside table after your first awful migraine. Now that you thought about it, you never did throw it out. You were too disgusted to even face the flora that haunted you. 

Your heart stopped. The sharpie on this flower was smudged, as if he had been in too much of a hurry to let it dry. Your initials were there, clear as day. He had collected your flower for his sick collection. He had collected...you. 

The little happy world you had built yourself came crashing down like a ton of bricks. If he had done this to you, then surely all of these other petals came from others who had come to work and live with him. You recalled an early discussion about family tradition as you thumbed over a group of much more withered looking flowers. 

This was the family tradition. 

Alarms blared in your mind. Get out, your mind urged faster than your feet could move. Tripping over yourself, you hoped that Soobin wasn’t home yet, as you had no idea how to get out of the home. Your feet pounded noisily on the hardwood but that was the very least of your worries. Skidding into the kitchen, your blood ran cold.

Soobin. 

“Hey,” his voice was smooth, unwavering as he leaned against the sink nursing a bottle of water. On the island there was a brown paper bag with Hank’s logo printed on the front. “There’s your ice cream.” 

You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, you had been caught red handed with a tote bag in hand and anxious sweat rolling down your face. 

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” The room sat creepily still as Soobin’s eyes, devoid of any clear emotion, roved over you. He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed himself off of the counter. You couldn’t move, even as he stalked closer. 

“What happened to you resting? You’re sick.” He had asked a question but it seemed clear we really wasn’t looking for an answer. 

“I just-” your words turned into a gasp as Soobin gripped your shoulder so hard that it hurt. Gone were the usually careful caresses of his fingers as he pushed you backwards. With your body already weak it only took one wrong step for you to be sent flying toward the floor. On instinct, you tried to grab onto Soobin’s solid body for support, but he stepped back and watched you fall, bouncing the back of your head off of the floor hard enough to go limp. Consciousness came and went as you struggled to do anything in the name of self defense. Your lungs and heart were too compromised to acquire and pump the nutrients your body needed. Soobin crouched over you, studying you with a passive look on his face. 

“Ya know,” he sighed, pulling the tote bag away from your body. “I really did like you. I hoped to have spent some more time with you, but you’re just,” he clicked his tongue, grabbing you firmly by the ankles and giving an experimental tug. You slid along the floor easily. “So. Nosy. Too nosy for your own good.” 

“Soobin, you’re not- this isn’t-” a dark chuckle passed between his lips. The ones you once dreamed of. 

“You don’t know me. This is exactly who I am, Y/N. This is who my whole family is.” He dropped your ankles harshly, secure in the fact that you were too weak to get up. A shroud of darkness filled your head as you grayed out from the panic. When you awoke again, it was to the sound of birds chirping. It hurt to open your eyes but you did it anyway, spotting Soobin just above you, wielding a shovel. 

He smiled down at you, deceivingly handsome, as he stuck the shovel into the pliant ground just to your side. Looking to your left, you spotted a freshly dug shallow grave and your blood ran cold at the recognition that he must have been digging this earlier in the day when you were reading. 

“Please, don’t do this.” you begged with the last of your energy. “Soobin, please. I- I love you.” Desperation had you spitting out your deepest secrets in a bid to catch his attention and change his behavior. 

“Awe,” he crooned, grabbing onto your wrists with a grip that would certainly bruise your delicate skin. “I know.” One sharp movement had you landing on your back in the dirt, several feet below ground level. The impact pushed all the air out of your compromised lungs and you didn’t even have the semblance to lift your head and scream to anyone listening. Soobin stood above you, blocking the sun from your view as he dropped something onto you. It took you a few moments, but you soon realized he had dropped a handful of red windflower petals and seeds onto your front. You shuddered. This is surely what had happened to all the other people who carried the flowers you’d found. This was how Soobin kept his beautiful garden. Sacrifice. 

Wordlessly, he piled shovel fulls of dirt on top of your body. With your eyes slipping shut, all you could do was feel the weight of being buried alive consume you. 

----

Soobin hated the winter. It was too long, too cold, too boring. He usually spent the whole time holed up in his home, dreaming of the day the weather warms. 

Finally, finally, after months of waiting the time had come. An early summer breeze pushed his hair out of his face. This season he had decided to go for a purple color that seemed to suit his complexion well. Sitting on his favorite deck chair, he gazed out at the beginnings of his blooming garden. All of the usuals had cropped up, but it was with great pride and delight that Soobin regarded the patch of red windflowers that had begun to grow. For their first season, they were going strong, covering almost the entire plot of land he had allowed them. For a while, he had been worried that the new plants wouldn’t perform well, since he’d never dealt with them before. But he was quite proud. 

As he sipped from a frosty glass of lemonade, he heard the distant crunch of his driveway gravel. It had been almost a year since the last time he heard it, but his heart jumped in excitement. Stretching his limbs, he began a lazy meander toward the front gate; already making out the slight static of the speaker as someone spoke into it, introducing themselves and asking if they were in the right place. Clearing his throat, he rounds to corner to the great iron gate surrounded by his guarding trees and glances back at his garden. Then he advanced, opening the gate as he came and beckoning his new guest inside the boundaries of his property.

“Hi! I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-uncle and his wife. Well, wives.”

tag list: @unlocktxt @magicisland9-34 @givethnofucketh @yeonjjuniverse​ 

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Red steps uncertainly towards the Host.

“Shy?” asks the deep voice, and it seems to echo through his head. It reminds him too much of Anti and Dark. He slinks back against the wall, cowed despite himself.

“Hmm,” hums Host. “You're not who I thought you were.”

“Who did you think I was?” asks Red quietly.

“I write a lot of stories,” says Host, brushing his fingers across pages and pages of snow-white braille. “I see a lot of stories. It takes only a side glance. A moment of contact. Stories for everyone I meet. Stories for the people who meet the people I meet. Not all true. Not all real. But possible... possible. Alternatives to the reality we survive in now. I saw, once, a story from a young man Mark shares business with. I thought, for a moment, that you were the protector in that story. The strong man... the hero. Not the protagonist, true. But almost as important. The courage to his tired hands. Defender.”

Ro plays with his hands, his eyes flickering around for a way to slip past Host without coming close to him.

“But you are alternate too,” says Host. “You're not Jackie. Not quite.”

It makes his blood hot, but only for a moment. For the most part, he feels shame. His head drops. He turns away from an unseeing gaze.

“Guess not,” he answers. “But I still have to try to be... that.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes. Jackie.”

“Well, stop,” answers Host dryly, turning away. “Stupid boy.”

“Hey! What is your problem?”

“Stop living in a story you don't even fucking remember,” spits Host, already striking his typewriter hard enough to fill the room with click-clacking once again. “Pathetic. You're wasting a perfectly good character arc on trying to be someone you're not. You have your own part to play. Jackie couldn't save his family, Ro. Not for lack of trying, but he did fail, in the end, and that's why he's dead and you're not. If you want to give him life again, it's time to stop wallowing in your doubt and your fear and your shame in yourself and start being Ro like a real hero would. You better start acting like a hero – today, Roser. Too long the five of you have been stuck in the same painful narrative. Take up arms. Stop trying to remember and be.”

Host turns to him again, and Ro has never seen so much expression in a blindfolded face.

“Or lose more than even Jackie did.”

A cat slips in through the door, mewling, and comes weaving her way through Host's legs, pinning Ro with a yellow gaze. He steps back nervously, staring at the cracked door. His throat bobs in a swallow. He grips his fists, straightening up at Host.

“What if he's not enough?” he asks quietly.

“Who?” says Host.

“Me,” he answers.

“Of course he's not enough,” spits Host, shaking his head. “How dull would it be for a character to be enough all on his own.”

Ro opens his mouth to reply, but Host beats it to him.

“Google!” he calls, turning towards the door.

“Fucking snitch!” cries Ro, terrified.

“There's a closet across the hall. Run inside. You can sneak past him when he comes in to check on me. This is the only help I will give you. Go.”

He's too frantic to argue. In a flash, he's leaping out of the door of Host's room and shoving himself into a closet full of cleaning supplies on the other side of the hall.

“Host?”

Those thudding footsteps move up the stairs. A fist pounds a knock against Host's door. “Are you stuck in a vision? If you haven't left your room since I checked on you this morning, you've been static for four hours and twenty-three minutes, including our usual breakfast hours and...”

Ro darts out of the closet on near-silent feet, racing down the stairs with his heart pounding. He throws himself against the wall for a second, thinking someone's coming in the front door, but it's just the second cat he saw, a big black cat like a shadow against the wall, letting out a hiss at the sight of him. He races down the second set of stairs and through the little hallway that frames Dapper's door.

“Dapper!” he calls. “It's me, I'm here.”

Faint whistling from the other side of the door. Red shoves his shoulder against it, tearing at the handle. It will not open.

“Fuck this,” he mumbles, and a moment later he finds himself ducking into a bathroom nearby, tearing the lid off the toilet tank, and slamming the porcelain into the handle of the door until both shatter and give. The door slides open.

“Dapper...”

There's his little brother, curled up all lonely on the bed. In the light, Ro can see him clearly at last, and the relief of finding him comes charged with a painful nausea for how ill he looks. It's worse than a hollowness, because Jamie has always been skinny. It's worse than fatigue, because Dapper has always been tired. It's worse than shadow, because his youngest brother has long felt alone. Now, he looks chewed up and spat out, cut open and removed from himself, faint and white and exhausted. He does not rise to hold Red. He can barely raise a hand to greet him.

“Bud, no,” says Ro, because his first thought, in that moment, is that Jameson is going to die.

He moves forward to scoop him up for a moment, pressing him to his chest. He can feel the heat on him before he's even touched him. Sweat beads against Red's fingers where he cards his hand through Dapper's mussed brown hair, gone limp and tired, no longer curling at the fringe.

“Can you walk?” asks Ro, drawing back to hold his shoulders in his hands.

“Not sure,” answers Dapper, touching his wrist. “I feel really quite unwell, Red.”

“They haven't taken care of you.”

“No, they tried,” protests Dapper. “They've given me medicine for my fever and things like that. Kept my wrist clean. I'm much better off than I was a few days ago.”

“Fuck... you could have died if that's true.”

“I think maybe I would have if I stayed with Anti,” says Dapper, lying his head down on his brother's shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut.

Red hugs him, grateful for the thudding of his heartbeat. As much as he knows they need to go, he needs even more to feel his chest moving with air, if only for a moment.

“You really are just not having a fun life, are you, Dippin' Dots?” he says, the weight of it sitting on his chest.

“There are parts of it that are nice,” replies his brother, his hand resting on Ro's shoulder.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” says Ro. “Like I promised.”

“Okay, Reddy. I’m really quite tired.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He raises him into his arms, pressing him close against his body. He's always tried to stay strong no matter how little he had to eat – not always successfully or healthily – but as the months have gone on he's been finding his old strength. After wasting away in Norway, he built up corded muscle in Peru with long, difficult hikes up the mountain every day, bringing water and medicine and Christmas presents to his family, and in the past few weeks, with both Max and Anti, he has had good food and plenty of time for the exercise his body has craved. Host was right: now is the time to be strong.

He's stepping out of the clinic room when he sees the big black cat again, darting away from him now, its fluffy back turned to him.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Did you follow me down here?”

And then, at the top of the stairs – black shoes and dress pants. The thud of a cane against the wood of the floor.

Ro back away, mouth taut, and he watches as that black cat, so dark that the light does not shine gold on its fur, dissolves away into the crowd of shadows that swarm like a cloak around Dark's dead, rotting body.

“Spy cat,” Ro says. “Pretty sure that's cheating.”

“I could see you the moment you stepped foot into my territory,” answers Dark, in a voice like a wind through cold water. “Your soul is so frantic it burns just to look at it. Even the ocean of silver power from the little one does not wash your color away.”

“Oh, what color?” asks Ro, curious.

“Not red,” comes the dry reply.

Dark takes a step down the stairs. Their body seems to jolt for a second, and then they must sit down, pain tightening their features.

“Heard my other little brother fucked you up pretty good,” says Ro, taking another step back towards the clinic. “Still not fully recovered, huh? I think I'd be a douchebag if I made fun of you for having a broken spine, but I'd like to offer a generalized 'fuck you' if that's alright. You can't even get down these stairs to get me, can you?”

Dark vanishes back into smoke and bursts into being at the bottom of the stairs, bone shifting in their broken face. Red yelps and puts Dapper on his feet, turning to wrap his body around him.

“Your little monster will pay for his over-powered tantrum,” says Dark.

“You stay the hell away from us!”

“I've never seen anyone as simultaneously intriguing and annoying as he is. But no matter. Soon, I'll snuff his bright lights out and tear up both the natural and the stolen powers inside his chest, and then he will stop haunting me.”

“You take one more step towards me and I'll call for him!” shouts Red, extending his fighting staff and whirling on Dark. “And this time he'll fuck up more than just your back!”

“Call for him, then,” sneer a dozen echoing voices at once, and as Dark's power begins to fill Red with terror and revulsion and confusion and grief, he puts his hands over his ears, opens his mouth, and screams for Anti.

And in the woods, Anti hears.

[blindedbythedarkness]

Josh,

Sometimes it's really fucking difficult to not believe that the universe is personally biased against me. And I know that's kind of rich coming from the one of us that didn't get driven to suicide. But I just, I know you of all people would understand. I wish I had you to really talk to right now.

I'm gonna ramble because I just need someone to listen. But where to fucking start? Life right now is just spinning plates. On one day this week I found out a critical hospital referral I was relying on had never been made; I was rejected by yet another landlord for a house next year that I'd really been betting on; my supervisor met with and bullied me for a solid two hours and my one social event of the week got cancelled. So, that's about when it all started to get too much.

The doctor I've been seeing has been incompetent from the start and made so much work for me in the 6 months I've been in her care. Despite diagnosing my Potentially Life Threatening connective tissue disease, she never even named it in our appointments, leaving me to discover the true horrors of my body through playing detective with my blood results. Long story short, to be confident that I can go on a treatment for it without bleeding out, I need to see a geneticist. But despite agreeing that I should see one, she's refusing to refer me to one directly. Instead, she's referring me to a pain rehab clinic at a separate hospital and saying they can internally refer me to genetics. The wait on the pain rehab clinic? At least two years. Plus, of course none of this information was forthcoming and required weeks of emailing back and forth. So now I'm angry, anxious and stressed about my health. I want to make a formal complaint but I don't know when I'll find the time.

That wasn't even the worst thing, though. The worst thing was uni reminding me just one last time that it truly doesn't give a shit about its students and why I hate it to its very core. The final piece of work I have left to hand in is a research project that I've been working on all year. However, my supervisor is an utter cunt, and I don't say that lightly. He's incredibly narcissistic and rude for a start. For a presentation I had to do, he forced me to use his own slides without ever looking at mine. He once ended an online meeting because I misspoke when explaining a figure, telling me to call him back when I knew what I was on about because he "never forgets what he sees and doesn't want his brain soiled with incorrect information." Given he never remembers what we've spoken about from one meeting to the next, I call bullshit. Oh and this week? He asked me to explain a figure to him and when he said he didn't understand I asked him if he was looking at my screen share. He said no. I just despair!

To make matters worse, he's never fucking happy with me. He's made me start my work from scratch 3 times now and had a different problem each time. We're rapidly approaching the deadline now, so to get all the work done for the 3rd time I've been working 9am-5pm 6 days a week. Not that he cares. The results don't fit his hypothesis, so I must simply be incompetent. He even once had the audacity to suggest that I "didn't want to do the work" while looking through a 70 page document of my results, because I couldn't explain the findings of a figure I'd made a month ago off the top of my head.

In this weeks meeting, he again gave me an extortionate list of new tasks to do, while berating me at every turn. With a month left submit my thesis and my write up not started, I tried to explain to him that I wouldn't have time to complete the list. He just shrugged and said, "Well I think you should do it." And yes, this man is aware that I have been struggling physically and mentally recently.

I didn't know what else to do to make him listen, so I contacted the course supervisor (who I'd already briefly made aware of my issues with him). She told me to "quit" and "just get on with writing my thesis"... until four hours later after she had spoken to my supervisor and completely changed her mind. She video called me to tell me to do the work and I just broke down. I don't make a habit of ugly sobbing in front of people I've only ever met twice over Microsoft Teams, but this was a particularly bad day.

"Trying to do this work is going to destroy my physical and mental health."

"I can't do this anymore."

"He never listens to me."

"I've been working 6 days a week and it's killing me."

She didn't care. She told me that since my supervisor is an experienced professional, he must know how much he's asking of me and since he insists it's quick and easy stuff, it must be. This man has never done this analysis himself. He doesn't even know how; half the stuff one of his lab workers taught me and the rest I taught myself.

"Chill out" and "calm down" she told me, "do the work and if you have any problems ask John (the lab worker)"

By the time I pressed the leave button, I could barely breathe, let alone talk. I was just choking and sobbing and had snot pouring down my face. I was just so tired. So stressed. So... ignored. I didn't know where I would find the hours in the day, but I started by cancelling the trip to see my parents this weekend. To them I am not a student, and a student with health problems at that. I am simply a machine to use for free research.

I just wanted the stress to give me a break. I just wanted a break. I was genuinely afraid that my heart was going to stop from the stress alone. I didn't know where else to turn. The counseling service put me on a waiting list. My tutor told me to "just keep trying my best". My mentor told me to talk to my course supervisor. My course supervisor told me to work. A was busy revising for an exam the next day and I didn't want to bother him. So, I turned to my unhealthy coping mechanisms instead.

I didn't mean to do it as badly as I did. I just wanted to scratch my skin enough to feel it burn and give me something else to feel instead of the huge mass in my chest. But the scissors were sharper than I thought and when I looked down there were four long cuts that had gone through the skin and fat. I knew immediately I'd fucked up. There was no way those edges were coming together on their own. Honestly, I was just mad I'd given myself something else to do. So, I covered them with gauze and tape and kept on working. Because I needed to work. I needed to get it done. I would deal with going to the hospital later but I couldn't lose these working hours.

Once the blood was dripping from the gauze I finally, begrudgingly, went to the hospital. Honestly? They were surprisingly nice. They were understanding and they listened. I was so worried that they'd think I was some cringy emo kid looking for attention. I honestly felt like a total knob going there, but I didn't have a choice. I never felt judged or like they thought I was wasting their time or that it was all my fault. Of course, I know that it was my fault and I felt like a fool. But I also don't blame myself for becoming so desperate. At one point a doctor came in with a medical student who was visibly shy and embarrassed when examining me. I told her I had a place at medical school, so not to worry as I'd be in her place soon. And again, I was shocked because they didn't once tell me not to go. I thought they were going to say "if you can't cope right now, starting medical school isn't for you!" But they never said anything like that. Instead they were shocked I'd gotten in to such a good uni and seemed incredibly genuine when they wished me well.

Oh, and the wounds? Thankfully I didn't need stitches so I got them pulled together again with steri-strips. And in case you didn't believe me that I didn't intend them to be so bad, I nearly passed out three times after looking at them. So, I truly am a fucking idiot, Josh. Lesson learnt, I suppose. Though I'm still afraid what will happen next time I run out of options.

It's finally the end of the week now, but the universe still hasn't given me a break. My mum called earlier and told me my rabbit will be crossing the rainbow bridge tomorrow as he seems to have had a stroke. I mean, it's a small mercy that he's an old bunny and he's been unwell for a long time, so it's not a shock. But it's still so sad and I'll miss him so much. What really tops it all off is that I was going to see him this weekend until I had to cancel my trip home due to the workload.

Man, I just. Why does shit stuff seem to come so easily to me? It's difficult not to feel personally victimized when shit news after shit news lines up so well. I wish good things came as thick and fast. I hope to fuck my luck changes soon because honestly I'm terrified that it's taking years off my life.

Thanks for listening, Josh,

C

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: I measure every Grief I meet

Summary: Batman arrives in time and Jason spends hours buried beneath his father’s corpse, crying and begging and bleeding before Alfred finally manages to contact someone to come bring them home. Ethiopia is a constant in most universes, but who dies isn’t written in stone.

AN: Y’all remember when I said I had big angst coming? This is it. Have fun!

There were three truths to being Robin.

1.      You are the distraction. The hits they see coming but don’t expect to hurt. The bright light, the laughter and the joy.

2.      You are half of a whole. Batman and Robin are a team, which is why you shouldn’t fly on your own.

And most importantly:

3.      Batman will always catch you, no matter what.

Jason had held onto that last truth even when the Joker wouldn’t stop beating him and all he wanted to do was scream. His legs were on fire, the few steps he had taken had been worse than any beating he had endured before. Jason knew that once the adrenaline wore off, he wouldn’t be able to move them at all. All Jason wanted to was scream, or better yet, take the fucking crowbar and hit the Joker right back with it until he was lying on the floor, blood slowly collecting under his head-

But Jason couldn’t. He had to endure, had to save his energy until Bruce would come and get him.

He’d make it.

Jason knew he’d arrive.

Bruce always did.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jason saw the Joker returning from the back of the warehouse. He tried to keep his breathing even like he hadn’t started struggling to push air in and out of his lungs hours ago. He wanted to shut his eyes, spare himself the sight of a future filled with broken bones, a blood-drenched uniform and pus covered lacerations. But Jason had to stay awake, stay aware. The moment he lost consciousness of what was done to him, he’d lose whatever advantage he still had.

Even if the said advantage was only knowing what weapon the Joker had taken to his bruised body. Instead of the anticipated object of torture, the Joker returned holding onto a coat. Instead of stopping beside Jason, he walked towards the entrance of the warehouse.

“Okay, kiddo, I gotta go,” the Joker began to speak. Jason noticed how rough and low his voice sounded. He’d never heard it so deep. Usually, it was as high-pitched and disorientating as nails on a blackboard, screeching birds, a violin played by a beginner.

“It’s been fun, alright. Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you.”

The Joker shrugged as if he were talking about daily trivialities. “I’m just guessing since you’re being awfully quiet.”

He watched Jason just a moment longer, his eyes too sharp, too calculating. There was madness in these green pits of poison, but it wasn’t the kind found before the jump into insanity. This was afterward, calculated unhingedness betting on sudden terrifying inspirations for an even more gruesome plan.

“Anyway! Be a good boy, finish your homework and be in bed by nine. And hey! Please tell the big man I said hello.”

The Joker finished putting on his coat. The jarring of the door mashed with the Joker’s laughter, the sound still echoing in the silence that followed.

Jason allowed himself two short breaths, then he rolled backwards to get on his feet. His… everything protested vividly with pinpricks against him moving. He managed two wonky steps forwards before crashing to the ground again. His body begged for rest, but the door was right there. Jason just had to keep moving forward.

He’d get out of this.

He would go home and apologize to Alfred for running away without another word. Ask Babs to teach him that cool kick she did on their last joined patrol. Call Dick and tell him he’d like to just hang out sometime and try out this whole siblings package that came with being Bruce Wayne’s son.

Jason would go back home and hug his Dad and promise to never ever take on such a dumb and dangerous risk headfirst again. He’d honor the ‘you’re worth more than the mission,’ whispered at his bedside when Bruce thought Jason was asleep.

Hot tears ran over Jason’s cheeks. He lifted his right arm and pushed himself forward. Then he moved his left arm, bare skin scraping over the dirty floor of the warehouse. One arm after another, Jason slowly crawled towards his freedom.

It’s a trap, his ever vigilante sub-consciousness whispered. It sounded like a starved child begging for food on the streets. The Joker’s right behind that. He’s waiting for you. He’ll grab your ankles and drag you back inside again and laugh and laugh and laugh.

He didn’t slow down.

Jason was choking on his own spit and blood, but he didn’t dare stop even for a second longer than necessary. The way over to the door took ages so that he could hardly believe it when he actually made it. Reenergized, Jason jogged the door handle, but it didn’t move.

The door didn’t open.

Hysteria bubbled up in his mind, emerging from his throat as barely contained whimpers. He just wanted out, he wanted to go home.

Sobbing, Jason leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Everything would be alright. He was still here, but the Joker wasn’t. Bruce would find him in no time. He was Batman. They were a team. They didn’t- shouldn’t leave each other behind.

And if not for that fucking ticking noise, Jason would be able to focus on that as well, instead of crying like a child. The noise kept distracting him, reminding him painfully of every second passing away while Jason had to wait for rescue. Like the world’s most annoying countdown, the ticking continued.

Jason opened his eyes and turned his head so fast that he became nauseous.

A small black box covered in tape and wires was lying innocently on the wooden boxes to Jason’s left.

Tick. Tock.

A Bomb.

There wasn’t even a minute left until it would blow up. It would set the sky ablaze, burn everything in reach to ashes and Jason-

20.

Jason was right in the middle of it.

17.

He’d die.

15.

Bruce would be too late and he’d die.

13.

The door to Jason’s right crashed open. A shadow, tall, dark, imposing and so familiar.

“Jay, son-“

“Bomb!” Jason screamed and Bruce didn’t even bother to search for it. He pulled Jason close and began to run. The warehouse and the bomb to their back. Jason’s head was resting in the crook of Bruce’s neck.

He exhaled.

Fire torched the earth.

X

Jason’s ears were ringing. 

Everything was silent, yet the screaming in his head wouldn’t stop. It assaulted his mind like the crescendo of an untuned violin. Small fires crawled over the remains of the warehouse to his right. The flames must be cracking, whispering of destruction, but all Jason heard was the terrifying emptiness of a high-pitched whirring.

Jason coughed and tried to push air into his lungs, but all that seemed to slip in was ashes. The air smelled of burned flesh and the weight on his chest made it impossible to move. 

“B?” Jason rasped.

He needed Bruce to get off. They had to start going; staying close to explosion sites was dangerous, especially in their condition. Bruce would have to carry Jason. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take another step on his own. Bruce had shielded him with his body, but the shock from the fall to the harsh ground hadn’t improved Jason’s wounds either.

“Batman?” Jason tried again. “We need to move.”

Jason could barely make out his own words. He knew he was moving his mouth and his tongue, so he must be making words. Why wasn’t Bruce reacting? “Batman!”

Silence still. Terror seized control of Jason’s voice.

“Bruce, please, wake up.”

He didn’t know what to do. Jason could count the times Bruce hadn’t been able to act on one hand, and then he had been mind-controlled, or sick. Not like this. Unmoving. The smell of burned flesh. As still as the dead-

Jason’s heartbeat accelerated, he thought his heart was about to claw itself out of his ribcage.

“Dad,” he said. “Dad, please. Wake up. I need you to wake up, don’t leave me here alone. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry, please. I promise. Wake up. Wake up, wake up. Dad, please, wake up-”

X

Jason woke up in a hospital. The smell of antiseptics stung in his nose and his throbbing head made it difficult to open his eyes.

The world was silent.

Jason had been to plenty hospitals since he had been adopted. Bruce supported many hospitals, if not all of Gotham’s clinics, and took to visiting regularly. Jason had tagged along whenever he’d felt like it. Most of the time, he would sneak away to the children’s wing and done cartwheels for the youngest – or snuck in sweets and snacks that were better than the gross cafeteria food.

In all his visits, though, even on the intensive care station, the hospital had never been this silent.

Jason forced himself to open his eyes, and to his relief, his sight wasn’t immediately assaulted by bright white light. His room was as dark as night in Gotham with plenty of shadows that looked just vaguely human enough to scare you. The curtains were drawn and the only source of light was the TV in the corner, running the news from what he could tell.

Vicky Vale stood in front of a building Jason recognized as the Wayne Enterprises' main office. More people surrounded the plaza around it, bringing flowers, candles and balloons.

Jason must be in Gotham again. When had that happened? He’d been in Ethiopia with Bruce just before-

A sharp pain exploded in Jason’s head and he instinctively raised his hands to massage his head, an action his ribs immediately protested against.

Bruce.

He had to go check on him. Surely he was close. He was always there when Jason felt unwell. Jason had woken up so often at night with Bruce asleep at his bedside. He was probably just down the hallway.

Jason pushed the blanket off his bandage covered legs and tentatively sat his feet on the ground. He didn’t have any crutches, but the IV stand would do as well. He braced himself for pain when he shifted his weight to his feet, but thankfully only a dull numbness greeted him. Given his injuries, Jason knew standing shouldn’t be so easy. They must have given him the good stuff.

Jason gritted his teeth and took his first step. He hated painkillers.

Soon enough, Jason opened the door and reached the busy hall of the hospital. People were chatting away, running around, moving.

Jason couldn’t hear a thing, nothing but a very low rumble he wasn’t sure he was just imagining.

One of the nurses spotted him and began talking, but Jason still couldn’t make out any sounds.

“Where’s my Dad?” He said, or perhaps he shouted instead. In his panic, it might have been either or both, Jason couldn’t tell.

The nurse kept talking, moving towards him, so Jason took a step back. “Where is he!?”

There was a hand on his shoulder and Jason, all injuries be damned to hell and back, was ready to flip whoever was playing this fucked up prank on him. His hand was already at the other’s wrists, and if he hadn’t turned around in the last second, he would have followed through with it too.

“Alfred.”

Seeing Alfred amidst the chaos washed all tension off Jason’s shoulder.

“Alfred, what’s going? Where’s Bruce- Alfie?”

Alfred looked so tired, exhausted beyond his years. He had always been an unmoving constant in Jason’s world. The closest they’d get to immortality without Ra’s al Ghul he had joked with Bruce. For the first time since Jason had seen Alfred, there was nothing graceful about the butler’s age. He looked exhausted in the same way Bruce did when the two of them had to bury another child after a long night.

Alfred’s mouth moved and words must be coming out.

“I can’t hear you,” Jason said, desperation clinging to him. “Why can’t I hear you?”

Alfred was silent.

X

They went back into Jason’s room and soon after a doctor came to them. She was holding a tablet and typed out what she was saying, painstakingly slowly in Jason’s opinion. He’d been here for two days already apparently and went through a lot of surgery. They’d take him down to another station to get his ears checked out now.

“Where’s Bruce?”

Jason made sure to speak slowly, pronounce every syllable correctly without Crime Alley’s drawls. Maybe they all just couldn’t understand him properly. He felt as if he had asked this question a thousand times already. He just wanted to see his dad.

Alfred’s face was ashen and he put an arm around Jason’s shoulder.

Jason didn’t get it.

And then, when he read Alfred’s message on the tablet, he thought he had forgotten how to read as well.

Master Bruce had already passed by the time you were brought to the hospital.

Jason’s shoulders trembled and he began to laugh. High-pitched, he assumed, but he couldn’t tell because he couldn’t hear and couldn’t read too apparently because his dad wasn’t dead.

Batman couldn’t die.

X

It was Superman who had found them, supposedly.

Jason didn’t recall anything but his own pitiful begging until his tears had exhausted him and he had let himself be welcomed by the merciful emptiness.

They’d been kidnapped by the Joker.

[Lie: Jason had gone to the warehouse by himself.]

They had managed to escape.

[Truth: They had been outside.]

They had been caught by the blast.

[Truth: The heat hadn’t touched Jason but it had melted the Batsuit to Bruce’s skin, scorched his skin black.]

Superman had come across them by chance.

[Lie: Alfred had taken an hour until he had been able to connect to a League member. And then another thirty minutes until Clark Kent could get to them.]

Jason had been unconscious when they had been found.

[Truth: He had spent 83 minutes and 47 seconds buried in-between rubble and his father’s corpse, breathing in ashes and blood. He’d been awake for almost all of it, choking on his tears and his words.]

Jason was lucky. He was alive.

[Lie: He woke up with nightmares, words on his tongue he couldn’t speak. It said “Sensorineural Hearing Loss” on the white paper sheet the doctor had handed Alfred, but all Jason really saw punishment befitting the crime. He hadn’t listened. Now he wouldn’t ever hear again.]

Bruce Wayne was dead.

[Truth: Gotham was mourning, pouring flowers and light all over the streets for its favorite son. They didn’t even know yet that Batman was gone too.

And so was Robin.]

X

When Dick stepped onto the Watchtower, he was capital P Pissed. The Titans weren’t the League’s children’s club they could order around like they wanted. Dick knew the League respected them, but this first generation of heroes only ever acknowledged their boundaries when it benefited them. This was why Dick had left Gotham in the end.

Bruce could be proud of him as much as he wanted, but as long as he still expected Dick to come each time he called and follow every other like a perfect little soldier, there was nothing left in Gotham for Dick.

He had practiced his speech on the entire way back. He’d give Bruce a piece of his mind, maybe force the League to stick to some kind of regulations.

The words were stuck in his throat the moment he saw Superman.

No matter what, Clark Kent was always a rock you could lean on. He carried so much weight on his shoulders and rarely let anyone see his weaknesses. Bruce had called his behavior foolish and necessary at the same time.

Dick was vaguely aware that if there was anyone Clark confided in, it had to be Bruce. The thought that Clark must have terrible days too had never really occurred to Dick.

Clark looked grim, and so did the rest of the League.

Founders meetings didn’t happen very often since the heroes were already busy enough. Yet there all of them were, with the notable exception of Batman.

“What happened?” Dick asked.

It was Wonder Woman who spoke up first. “Two weeks ago, Robin and Batman confronted the Joker in Ethiopia. The Joker managed to escape and has so far escaped the League’s grasp. Robin has been severely injured, but is recovering steadily.”

Dread filled Dick’s thoughts. “And Batman?”

Diana stood up and walked over to Dick, taking his hands into hers as she had always done when he was young, walking around the Watchtower while Bruce was in surgery.

“Batman passed away on the 27th of April. We tried to reach you faster. His funeral is today.”

X

There were paparazzi everywhere. They were screaming his name, trying to get his attention, and Dick tried to block them all out. Kori squeezed his hand and helped him move forward. His side was still hurting from the battle he’d been in hours ago. All of it felt so surreal and fake.

Dick had seen Bruce injured plenty of time, but he had never expected those injuries to mean anything besides a little more physical therapy and another disapproving look from Alfred.

Dick knew death - it was a part of their lives.

He didn’t expect it to ever haunt him personally again. Not like this.

(He had healed before hadn’t he? Those wounds had closed, yet here they were again: wide open.)

They had reserved the first rows for family and friends. If Alfred looked bad, Jason looked downright horrible. He was sitting in a wheelchair, makeup partially hiding bruises and scars. He hadn’t bothered to cover up the bags under his eyes. Babs and the Commissioner were at the front, as well as Oliver. Dick could spot Selina in the crowd and various other Justice League members in civilian uniform. From the Kane family, only Kate had shown up, wearing a suit. Her hair was as bright as Dick remembered it from the last time he had seen her.

His relationship with Kate had always been strange. She wasn’t that much older than him, but Bruce had always treated her differently. She was his cousin and Dick was his-

Dick bit on his lips. He wanted to look at anything else. Everything but the closed casket in front of him.

He failed.

He needed to check the autopsy files later, see what had actually happened. The League’s report hadn’t even scratched the surface.

The music began to play and everybody stood up.

Dick would go to the Batcave and search for an explanation. Something about this didn’t add up in his mind and he would figure it out.

X

Jason didn’t know what the hell all the people were talking about. He didn’t even know why so many people were at the funeral. The family’s circle of friends hadn’t been all that big. Most of these people were only here for their own benefit. After all, they hadn’t been there when Bruce had-

When he-

They hadn’t been there.

Never mind Dick who looked like he was paying about as much attention to it all as Jason. Jason had excuses at least. He couldn’t hear what was going on, wouldn’t for a while longer until his ears healed the little bit they might still, and he’d get hearing aids. Jason had already cried plenty for his father. Screamed and raged too, threw books against the wall and hoped he would grow satisfied by seeing everything crash and burn.

He’d only felt horrible afterward, cried because he had damaged the Anne of Green Gables book Bruce’s mother had bought decades ago and Bruce had entrusted to him.

This funeral was useless. Jason had never been to a funeral, he only knew where his mother, where Catherine Todd, was buried thanks to Bruce researching it. Jason hadn’t been involved in her funeral. He had been searching through trash cans, looking for food.

He should have stayed in Crime Alley.

He ruined everything he touched.

X

The Cave welcomed Dick home. The familiar moving shadows embraced him, eyes watched his back and the low whirring of the Bat-Computer powering up echoed in his ears. Kori had gone back to the Titans after the funeral, they needed her more than Dick did at the moment. He would have gone with her too if he’d gotten access to the Cave immediately. But Alfred had decided to be difficult about it all. He had pretty much outright forbidden Dick from going down to the Cave. It was only after Alfred had gone out with Jason a week later to get the kid his hearing aids that Dick could finally sneak it.

Because of course he had to hack the system to get access. Damn Alfred’s paranoia.

Dick had spent many hours in the Cave, but he’d never really been alone for long. To know that he really was the only person here was strange, to say the least.

Quickly, Dick headed for the Batcomputer and opened the archive. He searched for the files that set up this whole Ethiopia mess. If there was one thing Dick had to be thankful for considering his vigilante upbringing, it was the many hours Bruce had spent with him, teaching him how to organize exactly. Bruce was a neat freak, and his own files were all categorized per date, case, duration, participants, crime and so on. Dick used a similar if slightly simplified filing system and had more or less forced his teammates to adapt to it.

Dick grinned triumphantly when he found the beginning of this particular case. He’d have to cross-reference it with the undercover cases later on to figure out what Bruce needed to disappear for.

Dick knew he and Bruce weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, but he’d thought that for instances such as faking the death of your civilian persona, he’d have gotten a note, a call, anything.

Emotionally stunted as Bruce was, he wouldn’t just disappear on Dick like that.

He’d promised Dick.

The more Dick read, the more confused he became. Where was the hidden plot?

Groaning, Dick pushed himself away from the Batcomputer and marched over to the cabinet with the paper files. It was impossible to hack the computer unless you were Barbara Gordon, but Bruce still kept some of the critical data on paper so that you needed access to the Cave to read those files, and the Cave could withstand WW3. If there was anything more profound to it all, then surely the secret had to be hidden in-between these documents.

Dick carefully combed through the different cases, forced himself to read on where Bruce’s elegant handwriting turned into short chicken-scratches. More often than he expected, Dick had to stop and go to the mats, burn away the images of torn-apart bodies, thin children with no clothes, and horror stories of Gotham’s dirty streets. Dick had known that Gotham could be this cruel, but Bruce had never let him see these cases.

At the very end of the pile, Dick had to admit that there was nothing on these blood-stained pages that explained Bruce’s actions.

Frustrated, Dick went back to the computer to check the recordings. He still hadn’t gone through all the audio files because he usually didn’t have the patience to sit down and listen for a longer duration. And most of the time, the audios were pretty useless as well.

Dick dropped back into the massive chair in front of the computer. It was big and comfortable, he’d fallen asleep in it when he was younger and waiting up for Bruce to return home. He’d always woken up in his bed the next morning.

Dick opened up the file and it began to play.

“Bomb!”

Static.

“Jay, Jay, you’re okay-“

And the rain started pouring.

X

The manor was loud when Alfred and Jason returned. After the two weeks of mostly total silence, every sound had Jason jumping at his own shadows. His hearing aids worked as well as they could, though Jason still had troubles with certain sounds. Alfred had suggested visiting Lucius in the next days, have him take a look at them.

Jason thought he was comfortable hiding away in his room for the foreseeable future, but before he could voice such thoughts, Alfred was ushering Jason into the kitchen.

It had been a quiet, peaceful May day outside. Sunshine warmth and bird songs.

Alfred wanted to make him a hot chocolate either way and Jason was sure it was more for Alfred’s sake than Jason’s own. He wondered if drinking the hot beverage in silence was their thing. Instead of talking, they hid away in the kitchen, drowning their sorrows in sweetness as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The kitchen was already occupied when they entered.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, his tone almost wary.

Jason didn’t know what for. Dick had stayed away from everyone in the past weeks. Or he had stayed away from Jason at least, and in such a big and empty house, Jason was pretty much everyone. If Dick wanted to join them for dinner now, it wasn’t Jason’s place to protest.

(Though there were several things on Jason’s mind he wanted to scream at him.)

“I’ll be making hot chocolate for Master Jason and I, and I prepared lasagna for dinner. Will you be joining us?”

Dick's eyes were blue.

Barbara had made jokes about it. It had been Jason’s first time meeting Batgirl and he’d tried to impress her with a rather amateur flip. She’d smiled at him regardless.

“Gosh, B!” She had said. “Are you sure you’re not cloning yourself to get such a talented little Robins?”

Dick’s eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were stormy gray, tidal waves and hurricanes, rage, and anger.

“You’re the reason Bruce is dead,” Dick said.

His face was impassive, but his look made Jason freeze up on the spot.

“Master Dick-“

“He wouldn’t be dead, if not for you,” Dick continued, now rising to his full height.

Jason used to wonder how people could be intimidated by the ever-smiling, joyful and perfect Dick Grayson.

He didn’t anymore.

“I-“

“You got my Dad killed!” Dick shouted and lunged forward, his hands at Jason’s collar.

Not even Alfred’s shocked protests could drown out the sounds of explosions in Jason’s head because Dick was right. Jason had been stupid and reckless and only he was to blame that the two of them were orphans once more.

“I know,” he said when he finally found his voice again. Dick was still caught up in his righteous fury. “It’s my fault. I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t- I’m-“

Dick let go of him and stormed out of the room.

Alfred stayed with Jason, put his hands on his back and let him cry into his neck, all while whispering sweet but useless reassurances into Jason’s ears.

He knew he was to blame.

(He wished it would have been him too.)

X

When Dick could finally feel again, he was halfway across Gotham in his Nightwing suit.

Bruce was dead.

He was dead, dead, dead deaddeaddead-

He had promised. Bruce had promised that he’d never leave Dick. He wouldn’t die, he wouldn’t make Dick bury another parent. Oh god, he had buried his father, Bruce’s burned body had been in that coffin, Dick had just stood there and watched as they killed his father a second time because he hadn’t known-

“Breathe, Dick. Look at me. Dick, can you hear me?”

Dick wanted to throw out another cheap line about hearing. He wasn’t the Robin who had lost his hearing. He’d only lost his father, his wings, the one person who’d always catch him, be it when he was falling from chandeliers or buildings. Even when they had been separated by different cities, Dick had been aware of Bruce’s shadow lingering somewhere nearby.

“Dick, son, are you alright?”

“No,” Dick replied. “I’m not okay, Uncle Clark.”

Dick held onto Superman’s cape. Clark’s heartbeat was a slow and steady one, grounding.

“I know. It’s alright.”

“It’s not. He’s really gone, isn’t he? Bruce is dead. And I wasn’t fast enough. I shouldn’t have left him or Gotham. I could have stopped this. If I’d been-“

“Here? Faster?”

Dick slowly let go of Clark. He wanted to rub his eyes, wash away the tear stains, but he couldn’t. Years of being told to never take off his mask had stuck.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick,” Clark said. “You couldn’t have known. You weren’t even on-planet. Don’t blame yourself.”

No, Dick couldn’t have known. But he should have. He and Bruce had been partners, even if Dick had left to stretch his wings and Bruce had brought Jason in – he’d still been Dick’s partner. If not for Jason, Bruce wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place, but Dick couldn’t change the premise. That too was a lesson Bruce had taught him early on.

You cannot change the situation, only the players.

So who had been there, or rather, who hadn’t?

Alfred must have suffered terribly at the other end of the comm. Line. Listening to his son’s last words trying to organize a rescue-

Dick tensed.

“Look, if there’s anything you need-“

 “You said you were listening,” Dick interrupted softly. He had screamed his throat sore just hours ago in the Cave. “You promised, Clark. You said you always had an ear on my father’s heartbeat and you didn’t.”

What was the Justice League even for if they weren’t there for each other? A whole world to protect and they couldn’t even keep one of their own safe.

“Dick-“

Dick turned around and stared into the black void of Crime Alley beneath him. He couldn’t look into Clark’s face anymore. See his worry and pity and guilt. He should have just been faster instead.

“Go away, Superman. Your kind isn’t welcome in Gotham.”

Dick jumped.

And for the first time in years, he was wondering how he’d reach the ground.

X

Jason fucking hated his hearing aids. He hated a lot of things recently starting with his pain medication, the press and the fact that Gotham still seemed to be holding her breath even though it was all over already. Bruce was dead, and so was Batman.

He didn’t know what everyone was waiting for anymore.

Jason dragged himself out of his bed and room for lunch. Alfred insisted that they ate together, what for Jason didn’t know. He wouldn’t be able to sit in the same room and cook a meal for his son’s murderer.

(Because that was what he ought to call himself.)

Dick hadn’t returned to the manor in the past weeks or, if he had, Jason hadn’t seen him. The past had proven once already that he wasn’t the most observant person or a good judge of character.

Jason sighed when he reached the top of the staircase. He hated walking them up and down every day, but he wouldn’t tell Alfred about it. Jason was causing enough trouble as it was.

Once he reached the bottom, he sat down for another few minutes to catch his breath. He’d lowered his medication dosage and was paying for it now. He just wanted to get off them as soon as possible. He hated taking the little white pills, they brought up too many ugly memories.

Jason continued on to the kitchen. They didn’t eat in the dining room anymore, Jason didn’t know why.

Maybe the table was just too big for them.

When Jason stepped into the kitchen, the smell of burned flesh assaulted him. He couldn’t even make it to the sink. He just toppled over and threw up right on the kitchen tiles. He heaved until his stomach was empty and only fluids crawled up his throat. Alfred’s hands were on Jason’s back, but they weren’t enough.

“Everything will be alright, lad. Breathe with me, Jason.”

But he couldn’t.

He just kept on hoping for air when he was drowning in the deep waters.

X

Alfred tried to make Jason go see a therapist.

Jason thought it was stupid and promptly voiced it. He hadn’t meant to start shouting, but by the time he had realized what he’d done, it was already too late.

Alfred didn’t bring it up again, but he gave Jason access to the Cave again.

Jason hadn’t been in there since before Ethiopia and he only got as far as the first case holding the Batman suit.

(He didn’t throw up again, but it was a close call.)

He had hurried back upstairs, nearly running past Bruce’s bedroom. He hadn’t meant to stop and stare, but he couldn’t help himself. Slowly Jason opened the door. He knew the door usually screeched every time you moved it. Bruce hadn’t wanted to oil the hinges because it alerted him whenever someone opened the door. Jason had thought the explanation was bullshit, but Bruce had been awake every time Jason had crawled into his bed at night.

The sheets smelled like they always did.

Jason woke up screaming.

X

Maybe hiding away in Barbara’s Clocktower was cowardly, but Dick didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t return to the manor, despite Alfred’s many unanswered calls and voice messages. Barbara hadn’t said anything against him staying with her either, yet. She had handed him a pillow and a blanket, pointed him into the direction of the sofa and that was it. While she worked, Dick did coffee runs, cooked, cleaned or spent hours staring at the ceiling like it could tell him what is next step should be.

And every night, without fail, Dick put on his suit and headed outside, chasing crime out of Gotham’s streets and venting his frustrations.

He knew he shouldn’t go out when he was so full of rage, but he didn’t know how to stop.

(Bruce used to be the one who decided that they should have a movie night every time Dick was too angry for patrol. He hadn’t noticed it as a kid, but now Dick knew what his father had been doing and he missed those times.)

“Are you staying?” Barbara asked one morning when he returned.

Dick was still wearing his suit, his hair was shiny because of how much he had been sweating.

“What?”

Barbara didn’t look away from her many screens. She was calculating something, observing Arkham on another screen, Blackgate on another, and the listening device was recording a conversation and sending it straight to her server.

“Are you staying in Gotham or returning to Blüdhaven? I need to know so I can script patrol routes accordingly.”

The question caught Dick off-guard. “I don’t know.”

“Then make up your mind.”

Dick threw his hands up in the air. “Can’t I get just five minutes to think about it?”

His tone must have been harsher than he had intended. When Barbara turned around, she looked downright murderous. Her auburn hair appeared to be on fire with the light of the screens behind her. Dick had never believed that her injury would interfere with her capability to be an absolute terror. Still, he had never expected to be at the receiving end of her righteous fury.

“You’ve had more than five minutes already, Dick. You’ve had hours, days, weeks. I need to know now so I can start setting up an actual working system for Gotham!”

“What gave you the right-“

“What gave me the right!?” She interrupted him. “I’m Oracle. Bruce left his city to me. I’m supposed to know it all and right now I’m the only reason Gotham hasn’t been devoured by gang wars already, but I don’t know how long I can keep this up when working with uncertainties. Tell me now if you’re staying or leaving so that I can do my work.”

She was breathing heavily and her eyes, though her glasses hid it well, were red-rimmed. When he thought of it, Dick had never seen Barbara sleep in the past weeks.

“I-“ He glanced at her screens. There was a robbery going on in City Hall. “I need to go.”

Dick fled.

X

Nightwing caught the robbers still in the act. He quickly knocked them out and put them into cuffs. The police would arrive in the next fifteen minutes, Dick was sure. The night was as clean as it could be in Gotham, and with summer underway, Dick didn’t need to feel bad for leaving the robbers right there on the ground.

Dick had perhaps apprehended the robbers in a much harsher way than he could have, but he was just so angry. He wanted something to hurt. Others, his hands, his heart – he didn’t care as long as he was feeling anything that wasn’t the dark pit clawing itself open with razor-sharp nails.

Dick moved further south, as far away from the Clocktower, the manor, the Cave, the Grave as he could. He hadn’t patrolled in Gotham in such a long time, every change caught him off-guard. Not all of them were massive, but Dick expected a house where there was none or empty space where there now rested a small playground. When Dick reached the docks, he was almost thankful that the old warehouses were still standing. Some of them had been torn down to make space for newer ones, but the oldest was still standing. Dick had fond memories of falling asleep its rusty roof while the sun rose and Bruce was sitting next to him.

He had always woken up in his bed again, except for the times Bruce also hadn’t made it up to Dick’s room again and had just let Dick fall asleep next to Bruce.

Gotham’s sunrises were beautiful. The polluted air made the colors all that more vibrant. Almost neon. The prettiest there were.

Nobody would carry him back to his room.

His father was dead and Dick hadn’t had the chance to apologize to Bruce and come home again.

He should have never left Gotham.

X

When Dick fucking finally showed his face again, he looked just as angry and grim as the last time Jason had seen him. There was a different edge to it though, the same kind of exhaustion Jason had been able to trace in Bruce’s face after bad nights.

Jason had taken to working on his homework in the Cave. Up in the manor, he couldn’t concentrate. Everything looked so normal like nothing had changed, like Jason hadn’t brought everything down crashing.

In the Cave, surrounded by the familiar smell of sweat, machinery and leather, Jason could breathe and focus. He caught up on schoolwork he’d missed, vowed to excel at it for the praise he’d never hear again. Dick suddenly showing up there wasn’t part of the plan.

Alfred hadn’t allowed Jason to drop the speech therapy. Jason frankly speaking didn’t see the point of it. He already knew the basics of ASL and with the adjustments Lucius had made to his hearing aids, Jason was alright. The world wasn’t silent anymore, even if it wasn’t as loud and clear as it used to be, but Jason could make up for it. He’d managed on the streets with broken bones, bruised ribs and scraped knees.

He didn’t understand how meeting with some lady with eyes filled with pity was supposed to improve anything – or what the point of going to that equally stupid children’s group was. He didn’t fucking want to interact with any of them and he most definitely didn’t want to be stuck there for two hours every Saturday. He could be using his time more productively, studying, researching, tracking that fucking clown down since the Justice League was apparently too god damn incompetent.

Jason didn’t need any help.

He wasn’t just born with a mistake, he was the fucking mistake. It would be better for everyone if they stopped trying to fix it and just left him alone.

X

Dick didn’t know what the hell Jason was doing in the Cave. He had no right to be there, but since Alfred was apparently letting him in there, Dick couldn’t kick him out either. And the brat was stubborn. He glared at Dick every time he entered the Cave, but Dick’s presence obviously wasn’t enough to make him leave or speak up.

The kid was just always there, observing, judging.

It was worse than Barbara’s anger when Dick had returned to her to apologize – after a week of sleeping in Bruce’s safe houses. She had been right. Dick needed to step up and act to protect what he had abandoned. During the night, he refamiliarized himself with Gotham. He needed to know every corner, every territory, every gang and very loose brick if he wanted to do as he once did: fight and bleed for this city.

Batman’s absence had shifted Gotham’s carefully crafted balance into disorder. The Rogues were careful still, but soon enough Batman would have been gone too long for them to still care about repercussions. They would just lash out and injure whoever their closest target was.

None of this would have happened if Dick hadn’t left. He needed to fix it, try to stitch up the bleeding wound of Bruce’s absence. He could do it. He had to.

Bruce used to believe in him.

Dick hoped that despite his own flaws, his father had never stopped.

It wasn’t easy to pull up the schematics of the batsuit, but it got more bearable with every word Dick read. Bruce had made a lot of changes since Dick had been Robin, continually improving his armor. A lot of it wouldn’t work for Dick, his fighting style was too different, but he too could adjust. He owed it to Bruce.

The cape had to be shorter, the armor lighter.

Time to get to work.

X

Jason hadn’t known what Dick was doing in the Cave, not until Dick had asked Alfred for help. The butler wasn’t pleased with whatever Dick was attempting – probably something stupid – but he was still helping him, if reluctantly. It reminded Jason of the times he and Bruce had snuck away from galas to go on patrol.

“Do you think it will hold up?” Dick asked Alfred. Jason watched them out of the corner of his eyes, tried to make it seem like he wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. They were a little out of his reach, it sucked that he couldn’t hear them. He should look into tweaking his hearing aids, giving himself a broader range, he thought as he subtly moved closer to the conversation.

“It should,” Alfred replied. “Though, I’m not sure you’ll be able to fool Gordon.”

Dick snorted. “There’s no fooling him. He knows exactly who we are. He just lies because he’s a cop and all cops lie. He’s just one of those who knows what the line should be.”

And then Dick picked something up from the table. Long and dark fabric fell to the ground, the bat-symbol reflected the light it caught.

It was a batsuit. A new one.

“No.”

Jason didn’t notice he had said it out loud until Alfred and Dick both turned to him. Jason stood up from his chair and walked over to Alfred and Dick. Dick might have the advantage of years of training, but he hadn’t been forced to steal for his survival. Jason snatched the uniform right out of his hands.

“Hey!”

“You don’t deserve this,” Jason hissed. “You have no right to walk in here and put on his mark again!”

With every word Jason said, his voice grew louder, stronger, more resolute.

Dick’s storm returned full force and he stood up straighter. “Now, you, listen to me-“

“No! Fuck you!” Jason didn’t back down, not this time. He knew he was a screw-up, but Richard John Look At Me I Can’t Do No Fucking Wrong Grayson didn’t get to pretend he wasn’t. “You walked out of this and you don’t get to come back. The only person who can allow that is dead and you don’t fucking get to wear his uniform. You’re not Batman! You can’t be!”

“And you can!?” Dick shouted back.

His wrath was impressive, but Jason wouldn’t let him take this away from him. He would fight and bleed and suffer if that meant that Dick wouldn’t ever touch a uniform.

“You don’t belong in Gotham, traitor!”

 “And you don’t belong in the manor!”

“Master Jason! Master Dick!”

Right now, Jason couldn’t care less about what Alfred had to say. He had vowed to protect Gotham and all the treasures left behind. He didn’t care about what happened to him, but nobody would tarnish Batman’s legacy with cowardice and weakness. Not as long as he was still standing.

“Fuck you, Grayson! Bruce chose me!”

Maybe he wouldn’t have if he knew what it would lead to. Or perhaps he would because Bruce had sat at Jason’s bedside, read for him, made him breakfast, didn’t get mad when Jason accidentally broke expensive vases or put stickers on the ancient wooden floors.

“He was my dad too and he wanted me. He was mine and you don’t get to take him away.”

Then, before Dick could think of a reply, Jason quickly ran off towards the stairs, the suit still in hand. He’d throw it in the trash, ruin it and ensure nobody could ever wear it.

Jason didn’t even manage step one of his plan. As soon as he was out of the Cave, he blindly ran upstairs, planning to cut his path to the kitchen short, but unfortunately, Jason still wasn’t healed completely, and not as fast as he knew he could be.

Dick caught up to him and gripped his shoulder when Jason was going at full speed. Jason fell backward, tumbling right into Dick’s chest.

“What the hell, Dickface!?” Jason shouted, he clutched the uniform as tight as he could, but Dick was stronger. He jacked it out of Jason’s hands like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Now you listen,” Dick said.

Jason looked up, ready to stare straight at a tidal wave of fury, persist and tear it down, but Dick’s face was blank. No anger, nothing.

“You don’t know anything about Bruce and me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jason challenged. “I know plenty-“

“You know nothing,” Dick replied, his voice tethering on the edge of dangerous. “And here’s the deal: You don’t say anything about it and I don’t make sure you never step on Gotham’s rooftops again.”

Jason stared at Dick in disbelief. How was this supposed to even be a threat? Dick couldn’t stop Jason from doing jack, no matter how hard he might try.

“I’m sorry, Grayson, did the truth hurt your feelings?”

Dick looked like he was reaching the end of his patience. Good. Jason wanted him to lose it, to prove he was just as much of a mess as the rest of them.

“Shut. Up. Jason. Just shut the fuck up. Bruce would be ashamed to hear you speak like that.”

Jason snarled and stepped forward to push Dick, but the older man avoided Jason by leaning to the right, evading him easily.

“Well, he isn’t here anymore! So who cares!?”

Dick moved away from Jason, mustering him again with that cold expression Jason couldn’t place.

“Gotham,” Dick then said and walked back into the direction the two of them had come from.

X

Bruce chose me!

Dick pulled the uniform close to his chest, inhaled and expected a scent he never entirely could forget. Sometimes he’d walk through Blüdhaven, catch it and get thrown right back into one of his fondest childhood memories. When he had been younger, he hadn’t understood how much work having a protégé must have been for Bruce. He had to make his files and the cases he allowed Robin to investigate childhood friendly, train him enough so that he wouldn’t have to worry every time Robin left his line of sight.

He was my dad too.

Of course, Bruce being Bruce, he would worry nevertheless, that was just in his nature. He wasn’t the poster child of articulating his feelings or thoughts very well, but Dick had never questioned that Bruce cared about him. He had proof of that buried beneath all the gruesome Ethiopia files he had hidden so deep down in the archive that nobody but him and Barbara would ever find it.

He wanted me.

Bruce would make Dick run laps until his legs gave out for how he’d been acting in the past weeks. Jason was fifteen for god’s sake and what had Dick done? Screamed in his face that it was Jason’s fault Bruce was dead when really, nobody but the Joker was to blame.

Dick didn’t have to like Jason, he didn’t know if he ever could, but he could start treating him like the victim instead of the offender. He was a child lashing out at everything and everyone he could get his hands on, Dick had to be patient.

Putting on the uniform for the first time was a strange feeling. When Dick looked in the mirror, he thought he was seeing someone else. His brain caught up only slowly, measuring the height of the vigilante in the mirror against what he knew Batman’s actual height was. The cape was too short, the waist too narrow and the chin not angular enough.

He was mine.

Dick looked like a child playing dress-up. It would have to be enough. (He would make sure of it.)

X

“The Signal has been lit again and for the first time in months-“

Switch.

“-Calendar Man escaped last week-“

Switch.

“I thought I wasn’t seeing correctly, but there he was-“

Switch.

“Batman-“

Switch.

“-Batman.”

Switch.

“-Batman-“

Switch.

“-Robin?”

Jason stopped flipping through the channels, which were all reporting the same thing. Batman had finally returned and caught the villain of the week. The people were celebrating, but Jason didn’t know what for. It had taken Dick much longer than it would have Bruce to capture Calendar Man. One person had died still. Batman hadn’t made his great comeback, he was lying six feet underground and maggots were eating away his skin. Dick was a terrible replacement and Barbara was the only reason he was functioning at all. Without Oracle’s help, the first scuffle he had gotten involved in, would have ended deadly.

“And still we wonder: What happened to Batman? And where is Robin? The Joker, too, hasn’t resurfaced yet and his madness looms like a threat over Gotham’s skyline. Many speculate-“

The TV cut off.

Jason looked to his right where he found Alfred holding the remote.

“You shouldn’t watch such rubbish, Master Jason,” Alfred said.

“Why? It’s not like they’re saying anything wrong. As soon as that clown comes out of his hideyhole, Dick is done for. He’s barely holding it together as he is.”

Jason pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. Where is Robin? The question echoed in his head. He was curled up on a comfortable sofa and the heavy blanket resting on his shoulders kept him warm. His wounds had healed, all of them, and he was almost back in shape. His legs still hurt more than they ought to when he didn’t land a role or a jump a hundred percent correctly, but that was to be expected. Bruce wouldn’t let him out on the streets yet, maybe in a week or two.

But he couldn’t.

Robin had caused all of this, he didn’t know how to fly anymore.

“Master Dick is trying his best,” Alfred said.

He took off his gloves and put them on the table in front of them. Then he sat down next to Jason and put one arm around Jason’s shoulders.

“His burden isn’t yours to carry and neither of you should feel like you have any weight on your shoulders at all. You are not to blame for the action of others.”

Jason bit on his lip until he could taste blood on his tongue. “But I am. I did this. I ruined it. I got him killed-“

His eyes burned. He had cried so often in the past weeks, when was it finally enough? He hated it, he wanted it to stop, but nothing he ever did went according to plan.

“You did not. You were trying to do an admirable task and save another person. Bruce wouldn’t want you to keep hurting yourself like this. He definitely wouldn’t blame you, either.”

Jason buried his head in Alfred’s chest as if that could stop the tears from flowing. They burned hot on his cheeks and his shoulders trembled as he tried to choke down the sobs.

“It will get better, Jason,” Alfred murmured. He held Jason close, both his arms acting as a shield, protecting Jason from the outside world. “It will get better.”

Jason wanted to believe it.

X

Blüdhaven was a terrible city to protect. Everybody was corrupt and Dick could count the people he could trust on one hand with a couple fingers still left over. However, Blüdhaven was also a lot smaller than Gotham. It wasn’t called Gotham’s little sister just because it inherited its gangs, it was also only roughly a third of its size.

Gotham was a lot more work than Blüdhaven. When Dick had started going out as Nightwing, the high amount of hours and sleepless nights that went into acting on your own had caught him slightly off guard. The first weeks hadn’t just sucked, they had been the worst.

Dick felt a lot like he was eighteen again, standing in front of a wall so high he wasn’t sure he could climb to the top. Dick wasn’t even working by himself, he had Oracle and her Birds of Prey. Catwoman too had taken up a much more active role, keeping check of East End. Her relationship with Bruce had always been a little strange, and it hadn’t gotten any clearer now that Dick was an adult and could understand parts of it. However, Selina Kyle had always been absolutely clear on the fact that she was no vigilante and certainly no hero.

Her more recent actions sung a different song, but Dick wasn’t going to ask her about it. He was grateful for all the help he got.

Batman’s mantle was a heavy weight, one Dick wasn’t sure wouldn’t suffocate him one day. He’d need to slow down a little, or the stress would catch up to him. His body was already a stunning blue and green pattern- there was no need to add any red to it because he couldn’t catch enough sleep.

Alfred wouldn’t be able to handle it and he already had his hands full with Jason.

Dick hadn’t seen him in the Cave lately, though he knew the teenager still sneaked in to look at the computer. Jason did a good job of covering his tracks, but Dick had been in this business longer than Jason. It had been almost twelve years now.

It felt like an eternity and a half.

Dick dropped in Bruce’s chair. (No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of the big chair as his own. Dick had hang on it when he was a child, climbing all over Bruce while he was trying not to spill any hot tea on Dick. It was always going to be Bruce’s throne to Dick.)

“Alright,” he muttered. “What does today’s schedule have for us?”

Barbara forwarded him any info she gathered. Some of it was already marked down as taken care of, but other cases were filled with more gaps and holes than Swiss cheese.

“Arms dealer, drug trafficking, …” The list went on and on and Dick had no idea where to start. It seemed like the moment he took down one operation, another was there to take its place.

Dick didn’t like the silence of the Cave, never had. Back in Blüdhaven, Dick would play musing while he was solving cases and before that, when he had been Robin, he had always been talking with Bruce – or at Bruce. His grunts and hums might not have been the greatest replies, but they had been enough for Dick. He missed them. The silence ate everything up.

Until it didn’t.

“Dick!”

Dick wasn’t prepared for Barbara’s face to suddenly show up on the computer screen. Her eyes were wide with shock, fear. Her breathing was uneven and shallow, signs of a panic attack.

“Barbara, what’s going on-“

“The Joker. He’s back. One of my camera’s picked him up. It’s him, I know it, Dick. It’s him, he’s back.”

Dick could feel all the blood drain from his face. For a moment, he was frozen. All the years of training him out of the habit seemed to disappear.

(“Fight or flight, chum. Choose either, but never freeze. There’s no shame in running away.”)

The cold determination took over.

“We’ll get him,” Dick said. ‘I will end him,’ he thought.

He suited up.

X

Jason carefully monitored Dick’s progress. He still sucked, but the fact that he needed Jason’s help was becoming painfully obvious. Jason had thought about abandoning Dick, but then he might as well burn Bruce’s grave to the ground.

Dick was trying to keep Gotham standing when Jason couldn’t. He had to help him or people would get hurt and die. Gotham needed Batman and if Dick was the only viable candidate, then Jason would ensure he wouldn’t come back to the Cave with more bullets than blood in his body. Jason left notes on the Batcomputer, correcting Dick’s records and adding background information Dick couldn’t have because he hadn’t been there when it happened.

There was no way he’d know the Irish and the Russians hated each other because of some Romeo-and-Julietesque drama that had gone down a year ago. So Jason put it in Dick’s rainbow color-coded files and highlighted it thrice.

Jason didn’t own Dick anything, least of all an apology.

He had been right with everything he said.

But they needed to set terms or Gotham would go to hell.

Jason walked down the steps to the Cave deliberately slowly, going through his speech word for word. Yes, he had written an actual speech and learned it by heart. He didn’t want Dick to catch him off guard when Jason struggled to find the words. Alfred was currently out running some errands, so it was the best time to confront Dick.

Jason knew it hurt Alfred to see the two fighting. The butler had enough worries already and Jason didn’t want to add to them.

When Jason reached the bottom of the stairs, he stood still for a moment. Analyze the situation first, figure out where Dick was and what kind of mood he was in.

But Dick was nowhere to be found. Jason frowned and tried to recall whether Dick should be anywhere else, maybe with his Team?

No, he had resigned from the Titans or something. He had had a massive fight with his teammates about his decision to stay in Gotham, not that Jason was supposed to be aware of that.

“Grayson?” Jason shouted. “Are you here?”

Nobody replied and Jason was starting to get worried. “Hey, Dick, come on. This isn’t funny. We need to talk.”

Jason walked further into the Cave, but he still couldn’t spot Dick anywhere.

“Where did you-“

Jason’s words were stuck in his throat as Jason glanced at the Batcomputer screen.

He was back.

He was back, he was back, he was back.

Jason belched, but nothing came out. Hellfire burned the earth around him, there was a heavy weight on his chest and the Joker was laughing and laughing-

Dick.

He must have gotten the Joker alert and ran after him on his own, without Jason, without back-up.

The Joker was no fool, he would know that Dick wasn’t Batman. He’d barely take a look at him and he would make Dick pay for it.

Jason couldn’t let that happen.

He scrambled over to the changing room, that horrible sound chasing him. Jason hadn’t worn Robin’s colors in months. He wouldn’t fit the uniform anymore. Somewhere in-between his panic, he recalled that the spares, Dick’s old Robin suits, were still kept in at the very back behind Jason’s.

Bruce had never said why he had kept them. They were old, Dick wouldn’t use them again and Jason’s had all been upgraded. They would have to be enough today.

Jason fastened his utility belt and headed for his bike.

He couldn’t waste a minute.

Thirteen seconds left.

Jason drove out of the Batcave faster than he ever had.

He needed to find the clown and end him.

X

The Joker usually hauled up in the Amusement Mile. Even when he was locked up in Arkham, people didn’t dare to go there in fear of stepping into the Joker’s traps.

Dick would likely head there first.

The Joker wouldn’t be there. It would be stupid to head to his main base immediately. They knew Joker had more hideouts, but they had never been able to track down all of them. He would restock first and then-

Where would he go?

Somewhere he can plan, somewhere familiar.

The Joker had known that Bruce had been on his way to Jason and he knew that whoever was wearing Batman’s mantle now, it wasn’t the real Batman. What was the likely conclusion if Robin and Batman hadn’t been seen since Ethiopia?

Death.

Joker would be pissed, he’d be furious. His Batman was gone and now a new one had taken the scene. One who didn’t share any history with him yet. He’d want to change that, recreate what had existed once.

Jason cursed. He knew where the Joker was headed. He thought about calling Dick or Barbara, notifying anyone, but-

He could end this.

Jason could ensure nobody would ever get hurt by the Joker again.

He drove on.

X

Dick was one setback away from indulging completely in his panic. The Joker wasn’t in his usual hideout, nor anywhere near it, and Barbara had lost track of him. The Joker could be everywhere, planning to blow up more than just one warehouse this time, and they didn���t have a single lead.

 “Dick,” Alfred’s voice rang over the comm. “Is Jason with you?”

He sounded out of breath like he had run a marathon. Dick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“No, why should he?”

Please, Dick thought. Not now, not this.

“He’s not at home and his bike is missing, I fear he’s decided to follow you.”

Dick’s mouth dried. No. No, no, no, no!

“O, can you track him?” Dick asked. “Jason’s bike has a tracker, right?” Dick’s bike used to have a tracker so he wouldn’t be able to sneak away. Of course, he had figured out how to disable it, but if Jason was even half as terrified as Dick right now, maybe he wouldn’t have thought of it.

“I’ve got him,” Barbara replied. “He’s- it’s parked in front of Ace Chemicals. I’m rerouting the police there. Hurry.”

Dick didn’t need to be told twice.

X

The Ace Chemicals plant was dark. They were currently right in the middle of rebuilding the whole area and roughly half of it was already done. They had started with the newest parts, fixing them up and enlarging them. A lot of their production had been shipped overseas, and if a few adjustments here and there were enough, they could simply tear down the old buildings and warehouses.

Jason didn’t even waste a second to consider where exactly the Joker would go, it was obvious. He had no interest in the new building, it held no memories for him. No, he would head to the old part. Maybe he had sneaked in, just like Jason, through the damaged fence and entered the old building through the backdoor.

The lack of security cameras was a bit confusing, but not too unusual. Enough dark deals were made in the shadows of big corporations. The less supervision there was in general, the more plausible deniability did the heads of such companies have. Jason was mindful of any security still, but he encountered not even one guard on his way through the building. Everything smelled like chlorine and disinfectant. It reminded Jason of the hospital and he hated it. He tugged at his cape and held it over his nose in the hope it would lessen the sharp scent at least a bit.

It didn’t.

The warehouse was cloaked in darkness. The only light source was the moonlight shining through the dirty windows. Jason’s patience was running out.

“I know you’re here,” he hissed. “Stop hiding, you coward.”

Jason walked into the middle of the warehouse, his back exposed. He was open to any attacks, but he was sure that the benefits outweighed the risks.

At first, nothing changed, but then a shadow moved and by the time Jason could see the trademark violet suit, he also heard the Joker’s footsteps and clapping.

“Oh, look! The itty-bitty birdy found me! Where did you leave your new Bat?”

Jason had been right. The Joker did know that it wasn’t the same man under the mask. He took out two Batarangs, one for each hand.

The Joker leaned forward as if to examine them closer. “Those again? I thought we had already established they’re not useful, especially if I step a little on those fingers and toes.”

Jason was accustomed to the fire burning inside him. It flared up, tainted his vision red and urged him to move forward through all walls and bodies.

He couldn’t feel its warmth.

Instead, ice spread through his limbs, its cold burning like the flame, if not even more damaging.

“That reminds me!” The Joker said. “Do you think we should have another session? Our first one didn’t end as planned.”

And suddenly, the Joker was upon him. Jason stumbled back, but he couldn’t catch his balance in time and dropped to the floor. The Joker grabbed Jason’s shoulders and when he tried to lift his head, the Joker smashed it to the ground.

“You! Ruined! My! Game!” The Joker shouted in Jason’s face. “You useless little birds always do! The Bat is mine and you keep hogging his attention. Life would be so much better with you gone.”

The Joker sighed theatrically and leaned back. “I imagined how sweet it would be. Just me and Batman forever and ever without you little pests interfering.”

The Joker’s nails dug into Jason’s arms so harshly that he must be drawing blood. Jason whimpered. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he’d had a plan, a goal. He couldn’t let the Joker ruin it or him or anything else ever again.

“But you! You had to get in-between us! I figured Batsy’s gonna be sad for a while, but then he came back all wrong. So I have to make him right, I’ll fix us. You won’t make me mad again, will you, Robin? I had fun the last time, but I think I might be angry today. People don’t like me being angry, it hurts them.”

The Joker’s green eyes gleamed and he began to grin. “Or maybe that’s why you came back? No daddy at home to punish teeny-tiny Robin for getting him killed?”

Jason could taste blood on his tongue. He hated the Joker. That was the reason for the cold, he was the reason. Jason had been angry at others before, but nobody but Willis had managed to make Jason so furious he lost all control, but the Joker?

This was hatred.

Jason screamed and with all the strength he could measure up, he pushed himself off the ground, toppling the Joker over. Now their roles were reversed. The Joker was lying on the ground, helpless like prey and Jason was holding the weapon.

He would kill him.

Jason would kill the bastard and make him pay for every crime he had ever committed.

“You-“

A loud crash interrupted Jason. The right wall of the warehouse just smashed open when a familiar black car drove through it.

Dick jumped out of the driver’s seat.

“Robin!” He shouted, then his eyes zoomed in on the Joker lying beneath him.

“Hello, big bird,” the Joker sing-songed. “Nice upgrade you got there, but it’s not all done. I was going to help you but then this little bird interrupted.”

Jason used his right hand to push the Joker’s head forcefully to the ground.

“Robin,” Dick repeated, this time softer. “Let go of him.”

“No.” Jason hissed. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Dick said and took one step forward, then another. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t want to do this? He ruined everything!”

Why didn’t Dick understand? If they got rid of the Joker, everything would change. No more torture, no more nightmares, no more pain.

Jason was going to fix everything. “He has to die.”

 “B wouldn’t want you to do this,” Dick said. He held his hands up as if to show that he wasn’t going to forcefully take the decision out of Jason’s hand.

It almost made Jason want to laugh. Bruce had shown him a couple maneuvers he could do easily while

“No more death,” Jason said. “No more destruction. The world is better off without him!”

Beneath him, the Joker laughed maniacally, his face twisted into the ugly impression of a smile.

“Shut up!” Jason shouted, but the Joker wouldn’t calm. He only became more and more hysteric and Jason just wanted it all to end!

“I said, shut up!”

“Ja- Robin,” Dick tried again. “Please. You don’t-“

“I’m right,” Jason said. “I’m right. He should die and I’ll make him stop.”

Dick fell silent. The Joker’s laughter surrounded them both. If Jason wasn’t here, Dick wouldn’t know whether he’d be able to knock the Joker out and put handcuffs on him. Hell, if Dick were in Jason’s position, he didn’t know if he could do it. He wanted the Joker gone as well. Preferably slow and painful, so he’d suffer like Bruce had.

But-

“B wouldn’t want it,” Dick repeated. “I want him gone as much as you do, but Batman and Robin don’t kill.”

Gotham would fall apart as soon as they shed blood like that.

“I know it hurts and he should suffer, but you shouldn’t have to pay the price. Dad loved you and he wanted you to be safe. This is the opposite of that. You don’t have to agree, you don’t even have to think my way is the right one, but you know he’d hate himself for being the reason you’d have to spill blood.”

Jason’s hands were still holding onto the Batarang. If Jason really wanted to kill the Joker, Dick wouldn’t be fast enough to drop it.

“He deserves it,” Jason whispered. “He killed our Dad and he deserves it.”

Jason dropped the Batarang. His arms went slack at his side and Dick used the opportunity to move in. He pulled Jason away from the Joker as fast and gentle as he could. He draped his cape around Jason’s shoulders and kneeled down next to the Joker. Dick jammed a syringe with sedatives in the Joker’s neck and cuffed his hands together.

Maybe the dosage was a little higher than usual.

Not enough to make sure he wouldn’t wake up again, but to ensure he’d drop immediately and his insane laughter would die.

“Oracle, police?” Dick asked. He was moving on autopilot, directing Jason away from the body.

“Outside, my father’s there.”

Good.

“Let’s go back home,” Dick said softly. At his side, Jason only nodded.

Dick carefully maneuvered Jason out of the warehouse and towards the Batmobile. When they arrived back home, Alfred was already waiting for them. He pulled both of them into a bone-crushing hug.

“My boys,” Alfred said. “Don’t ever do something like this again. I’m not sure my heart could take it.”

Dick put his arms around his grandfather, squishing Jason in the middle. All of them were here and all of them were alive.

They had made it.

Dick was home.

X

“There is something I want to show you,” Dick said. “I- I didn’t want you to know before and, fuck. I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have-“

Dick was struggling to find the right words. Would it have changed anything, he wondered, if he had given Jason this beforehand?

Jason wasn’t moving from his spot on Bruce’s chair, still wrapped in Dick’s cape. He was just staring into space, tear tracks still visible. Alfred had wanted them to go upstairs immediately and not step in the Cave for the next ten years, but Jason needed to listen to this.

Dick sighed. Now or never.

He opened the Ethiopia file and purposefully didn’t look at Jason. Then he hit play.

X

“Jay-“Bruce's voice played and Jason breathed a sob. “Jay, you’re okay. It’s alright. Don’t cry. Sssh, I love you. You and Dick. I love you, I-“ He coughed. It was a wet and ugly sound. “I love you, I love...”

The recording cut off.

Jason hit replay.

Again.

And again.

And again and again and again and just once more. He just had to be sure that he wasn’t mishearing Bruce’s words, that he was committing them to his memories until he could quote this terrifying declaration.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Just once more.

Rewind.

X

Jason was sitting in the circle with the rest of the deaf kids. He knew their names, some of their hobbies and roughly how much of their hearing was impaired. He had never bothered to pay any attention beyond that or involve himself in any way. More than once, he had brought a book to these sessions and had refused to look up from it.

He thought of all the puns about deafness Dick had made on the way to Jason’s appointment. Not all of them had been good or fun – two have them had fucking hurt, but Dick had apologized and it was okay.

Getting better.

Something like that, at least.

‘Is there anything you’d like to share today, Jason?’ The therapist asked like she did every Saturday.

She wore one of her awfully colorful dresses and smiled softly, hopeful. Jason didn’t get how she could do that for weeks without growing resentful. If Jason didn't absolutely shut down, he avoided eye-contact and replied with a quick ‘no’ and, if he was feeling especially crude, told her to ‘fuck off’ in the most vulgar way possible.

‘Yes,’ Jason signed for the first time. ‘I’ll be spending the evening with…’ He dropped his hands in his lap, took a breath, then picked the sentence up again. ‘I’ll be spending the evening with my older brother. I don’t know what we’ll do yet, but I hope it will be fun.’

Poison Ivy had escaped Arkham yesterday. The last few times she had escaped, she hadn’t done any significant damage and Jason still had a biology test to study for. Sometimes, Ivy was down to answer his questions when they were driving her back to Arkham. It would be pretty great if tonight was one of those nights.

X

“So,” Jason said. “I’m thinking.”

The buzzing in his ears annoyed the hell out of him, but he couldn’t get it to stop. He'd have to wait until they were back home.

“Oh, dangerous,” Dick shouted from where he was lying beneath the Batmobile, trying to figure out what Ivy had done to stop their car.

Jason rolled his eyes and wrung out his cape once more. Everything was cold and wet and sticky. Ivy had been seriously pissed by the plans for a new factory at the edge of town. So much for getting her to tutor him.

“I think I should exchange my mask for something that covers my ears as well because my aids were not made for being thrown in Gotham River.”

Dick moved out from beneath the Batmobile, looking at Jason in a slight panic. Even though the mask covered his head, it was fairly easy for Jason to tell what he was thinking.

“They didn’t get damaged, did they?” Dick asked, signing while he was it.

Honestly, Lucius had made them. If getting dropped in the water once was going to fry them completely, Jason wouldn’t trust any of the equipment they were using.

“They’ll survive the night,” Jason said. Even if everything sounded a little bit like static. ‘And don’t speak and sign, your signs are shit.’

‘Sorry.’

“Anyway, I was thinking I should get a helmet…” Jason trailed off. Something or someone was moving on the roof of the building in front of them.

“Robin?” Dick called.

“Be right back,” Jason replied and angled his grapple so that it would pull him onto the roof. He shot it and whoever was on the roof was already running backward. Oh, hell no!

Jason landed smoothly on the roof and after a short sprint, he caught the person, who turned out to be much shorter than Jason expected.

Kid-sized, really.

“Hello,” the kid squeaked nervously. He couldn’t be older than twelve or so, Jason thought. “Nice to meet you?”

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Eh…” The kid glanced at the camera he was holding. “Maybe?”

Jason raised a brow, pretty unimpressed with the kid so far. Though, he couldn’t just let the kid go and ignore that he had caught a maybe twelve-year-old with a camera on a rooftop. At least it wasn’t a video camera, so no possibly incriminating videos spoiling Batman and Robin’s identities for the world.

“Gimme that,” Jason said, already pulling the camera out of the kid's hands.

“I don’t show them anybody!” The kid insisted when Jason turned the camera on and looked at the most recent photos.

As expected, the last one was of the two down in the alley, but the ones before that were close-ups of the dynamic duo fighting Ivy. Ivy had destroyed an entire – fortunately abandoned – building in her rage. To get pictures of that…

“Who are you?” Jason asked. He didn’t make it his habit to intimidate kids, but if they got involved in such dangerous situations, he needed to know why. “Who is paying you for this?”

“Nobody!” The kid said. “I just do this for. Uhm. Fun. My name is Tim. I’m your neighbor.”

The words registered in Jason’s mind about the same time as they did in the kid’s as Tim slapped his hands over his mouth and paled.

Later, when Jason would be ranting about Dick’s overreaction at Bruce’s grave, he’d maybe admit that he could have dealt with Timothy Jackson Drake differently and that knocking a twelve-year-old out shouldn’t ever be anyone’s first instinct, but right now?

Right now, Jason already had the knock out gas in hand and was only vaguely aware of Dick having reached the rooftop.

[chimbbles]

anybody ever thinks about doctor!hendery? because that’s the first thing that popped into my mind the second I saw him

T/W: mentions of blood, and I'm sorry I keep bringing up tetanus I don't mean to mock it or anything

it wasn’t a big deal, but the constant ringing in your head was getting harder to differentiate between a migraine and your incessant worries building up

days ago you were fixing up a shelf from ikea, your roommate having suggested you guys get a proper apparatus to house your various clutters

both of you went at it for the whole night, after coming home from a long day’s worth of work and neither of you denied the tiny spark of regret for getting something you can’t really handle at 1am in the morning

at last, the cheap metal frame is up, a job well done rewarded by crashing into the couch and dozing off right there

morning came and the shelf was thoroughly forgotten, even with its huge size propped right in front you

the effect of the iconic, “I’m late for work”

throwing yourself off the couch you ignored your hard work and skidded past absentmindedly, until it reminded you with a nasty gash in the shower

if your pinky toe was stinging in the water, it felt way worse when soap ran down your body

you had to stop and check, clenching your teeth at the act of rinsing off the soap to get a good look, and voila 

a fresh cut just below your cuticle, long and crimson till it reaches the joint

you definitely don’t have time for this

so you slap on some antibacterial cream, stick on a band-aid and call it class one first aid with 5 minutes till work starts

the day was: bad

not only you had to run, your shoes covered your wounded toe and you honestly doubt it does more to protect rather than harm it

your boss was obviously not impressed, and you’re stuck with a self appointed adult detention with a foul, cold sandwich titled gruesome lunch; at the set venue of your cubicle

having been reminded by the constant ache on your toe, you made it a point to text your roommate, informing them you two had built a death machine

they, however, took the joke a little too literally, and from the moment after lunch, they kept texting you to get it checked out

“what if it’s tetanus?”

“you could die from an infection!”

“are you sure the cream isn’t expired?”

“did you apply it properly”

“get it checked out you might be at risk”

and that’s why you’re here man no pun intended

where once again, things weren’t this serious, and were blew out of proportion

your self appointed detention unfortunately lasted for days, long as your boss was happy, and your punishment was a huge project with a short deadline

you pulled overtime for a straight 3 days now, and the projects almost there, just one day left

the all-nighter you suffered through proved efficient when you finished the project at near 5am in the morning, rumours of company ghosts no longer scare you when you roam amongst them as a comrad 

your zombified limbs pack up by themselves, brain too damaged from the cups of coffee chugged down your throat at the ungodly hours

your roommate’s nagging makes its appearance again, buzzing through your brain like a broken record

“you could have tetanus, it’s metal!”

you remember there’s a hospital on the route back home, so why not? staying up longer it doesn’t quite matter at this point

the reception desk threw a fit when they heard you connect the words ‘tetanus’ and ‘a few days ago’

that’s how you end up in line at the ER, instead of the intended clinic visit

it’s eerily chilly, with the bland white walls staring back at you

without you knowing it; the whirring of the busy machines and clinking of metal appliances lulls your tired figure to sleep, head leaning back and mouth open in a silent snore

“oh my goodness they blacked out”

“we need help here!”

within seconds your body was hauled onto a stretcher and pulled away in a whim, straight into a private room with an unsuspecting doctor

“came in saying they might have tetanus and the wound’s a few days old. ER’s full from a car crash and they just blacked out in the hall,”

“temperature’s rising, I think the fever started to set in, if you could take a look first dr.wong-”

“sure, sure”

‘dr.wong’ rounds the edge of his table to plant himself beside you, and you think the only regret you don’t have for the night is seeing his handsome face

he reads the thermometer before plucking the pen lodged at the opening of his white coat,

“okay, I need you to focus on this pen, follow it with your eyes, alright?”

of course he doesn’t wait for your agreement before waving the pen in front of you, and your slow brain can’t receive stimuli that well while it’s raving on caffeine 

“I’m getting slow response, fetch the vaccine now,”

one of the nurses hurriedly leaves the room, leaving one to stay and help the doctor,

he picks up the stethoscope from his desk and plugs the two ends into his ears, “alright, I need you to breathe for me,”

“and check the wound, please”

the nurse nods and springs into action, and your brain-- finally-- comes back to life

your grab the hand that’s holding the metal plate with both of yours, surprising him and making him go wide-eyed

but what do you say???

it could be tetanus but you don’t feel unwell at all, and you really, really don’t want a pissed off nurse to glare at you for the false alarm

also, you don’t want anyone to look at your ugly toes

“are you okay? does it hurt?”

the nurse stops taking off your shoe at the mention of pain, and waits for further instructions from the doctor

you bite down the embarrassment for your lame excuse, and gesture roughly to your throat, “....water”

they both share a concerned look, before the nurse moves and heads towards the door with a “I’ll be right back doctor”

now that you’re left with him alone, you feel less anxious about the whole situation, and sit up properly to talk to him

“I don’t have tetanus,”

you can see him processing your words before he lets out a hearty chuckle, “having tetanus isn’t illegal or contagious, we won’t throw you in quarantine,”

“no, no, I told them I don’t think it’s tetanus, it’s merely a cut from metal-- yes, but it’s not infected or anything, I just came here for a confirmation,”

he pauses to mull over your words, before taking off your shoe and tugging at your socks,

“I’m fine, really, I think this was a mistake-”

your socks successfully comes off, and he’s tentatively ripping your band-aid off, trying not to provoke the wound any further

when the wrapping comes off, he’s not too impressed by his present, which you think he fully expects a nasty, nasty wound, with yellow mucus oozing out from the opening and rotten flesh scent-- instead of a clean, clear, thread sized cut

“and I didn’t black out, I’m just very tired and the coffee’s not helping,”

he looks up from your foot and seems so confused, so you do him a favour to explain at the best your brain allows you to

by the time the nurse is back, you two had ran through a quick summary of your activities for the past few days, and her cup of water is the perfect solution to a real, dry throat

“patient does not have tetanus, a false alarm, but they’re still gonna require a shot, just in case,”

he gestures to your foot and she looks fairly annoyed, but says nothing at the presence of a doctor

she excuses herself to help out outside, and dr.wong sits back at his desk to wait for the vaccine, while you lay your head down to rest

“I think she hates me,”

he laughs, “nah, we just haven’t had a tetanus case in a while, I think she got too worked up,”

the other nurse comes back with your vaccine, and helps clean up your arm for the injection, “you’re not scared of needles, are you?”

you can taste the amusement in the air, tension lifted and light in the air thanks to his teasing, “patient does not have an infection, but is taking a shot for proper measures, and the high body temp is caused from lack of sleep for days, and a slightly inflamed liver, does not require further care, but a follow up is needed in a month’s time,”

the nurse scribbles your prescription while he stabs your arm with the long needle, and you try your best not to panic

after the nurse leaves the room, you two are left alone once again, and the ambiguous question hangs in the air, “am I allowed to leave now?”

he peers up from his book, “yes, but it’s 5:37am now, and my shift ends at 6; if you could stay a bit longer,” he trails off,

he senses your confusion and hurriedly explains himself, “I’m trying to avoid having breakfast with someone, and I’m no longer needed for emergency cases, it would be nice to have some peace and quiet,”

“you could take a nap-- I’ll wake you at 6,”

“can you put in a good word for me with the nurses?”

“deal.”

“can we eat breakfast too?” words kind of jumbled up from your fatigue

he takes a bit longer to respond, and by the time he does, you don’t hear it-- having already fallen asleep on the white stretcher,

“sure, that’ll be nice.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Symptoms

Summary: You hadn’t expected when you married Minhyun for the vows you uttered about sharing in everything together to become so literal.

Pairing: Hwang Minhyun x female reader

Genre: pregnancy au / fluff

A/N: Requested by anon. I had a lot of fun writing this piece! I tried a different structure to cover a lot of time, so I hope you like what I’ve come up with!

Word count: 2067

You frowned when you felt the man beside you shift out of the bed hastily, dashing off to the bathroom for the third time now. It was barely five in the morning and sleep had been difficult with how unwell Minhyun had been. You were concerned; it was normally you who caught the bugs easily, not your husband.

The toilet flushed and after another minute the tall man reappeared, a hand gently cradling his weak stomach. He didn’t look sickly but nausea had hit him hard not long after going to bed. Now kneeling on his side of the bed, you reached up to feel his forehead, sighing when there was no obvious temperature increase.

“I wonder why you’re throwing up,” you murmured, washing your concerned eyes over him for an obvious sign. Minhyun shook his head sadly and gestured for you to move so he could lay back down beside you.

“Maybe I ate something bad,” he suggested and you thought back to everything you had eaten during the day. You had shared every meal as it was Sunday and neither of you had any schedules for the day. Checking internally over yourself, you felt fine.

You nodded softly. “It’s probably just a stomach bug; I’ll book you a doctor’s appointment for later on today. For now, let’s try and rest, shall we?”

“So what did the doctor say?”

Minhyun shrugged. “I’m perfectly healthy. He reckons whatever it was will be out of my system now. And I feel fine too. Funny, huh?”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” you murmured, hugging your husband and burying into him. He chuckled and held you for some time, whining when you let him go to carry on fixing dinner. Glancing up at his endearing behaviour, you beckoned him into the kitchen to help you. “How about you prepare the steak and I’ll carry on making the salad.”

For a few minutes, you both focused on your tasks when you noticed Minhyun’s face suddenly twist up in distaste, dropping the knife in his hand and dashing down the hallway to the bathroom. You listened on until he flushed the toilet and went down to find him slumped on the tiled floor in the bathroom.

“What was that?”

“The nausea is back.” He hung his head, looking exhausted. “I don’t understand I felt great until I got home.”

“Maybe you’re sick of your wife?” you teased lightly and he glanced up at you, a small smile tugging up his lips.

“How could I ever get sick of you?”

The nausea continued on and off for the next two weeks, though after multiple doctors’ appointments nothing could be found as the obvious cause. He was placed on a basic diet to realign his gut but even then during the evening through to the early hours of the morning, Minhyun could be woken up by the strong need to throw up. And instead of losing weight from all the vomiting, he appeared to have gained a little. His skin was dull from all the exertion of losing his nutrients and acne flared up on his usually clear skin. It was frightening and now you were beyond concerned.

“Is it really necessary for another doctor’s appointment, honey?”

You nodded swiftly, dragging the taller man into a different clinic, your worry making you want a second opinion. “You’re not getting better. We’ve barely been married six months; I refuse to lose my husband to something terrible.”

Yes, you had arrived at the worst conclusions by this point.

As you waited for the appointment time, you leaned into your husband’s side for comfort, Minhyun soon groaning and shifting away. “Don’t, I’m tender.”

“Sorry,” you mentioned with a soft blush rising on your cheeks at his obvious discomfort. He had only been clinging to you all morning long and now being in the doctors’ office, you needed comfort to stop your overactive brain.

Despite shifting away, Minhyun’s hand was soon linking with yours and you smiled gently, looking up when his name was called.

After running some tests over his physical wellbeing, the doctor asked Minhyun to come and sit down beside you, tilting her head as she looked over his results.

“Well, from what I’ve just checked you’re very healthy.”

“Really?” you squeaked out, feeling frustrated. “My husband has been throwing up at night and in the mornings, he’s irritable, his sleep patterns are different, he has barely been eating yet has gained weight recently. How is any of this together healthy?”

The doctor nodded, a smile soon crossing her lips. “How long have you both been married for?”

“Almost six months,” Minhyun answered, glancing at you quizzically from the non-health related question.

“And are you practising sexual intercourse with or without protection.”

“Without,” you murmured, your eyebrows now firmly knitted together.

The doctor nodded and gestured for you to get up. “I need you to come with me Mrs Hwang to take a test for me. It may very well be you who has the biggest symptom of all.”

“Tell me the name of this again,” Minhyun breathed out as he laid down in the bed beside you that evening. He had just about gotten into bed before another wave of nausea hit just before.

You couldn’t help but smirk. You were struggling to be sympathetic after the news. “Couvade syndrome.”

“How much longer do I have to suffer for?”

“The websites I read don’t say anything about it stopping at a specific time. It could happen for a short time or a longer period too.”

“You’re pregnant but I have to endure the symptoms, how is this fair?!” he whined and you couldn’t help but bite at your bottom lip elatedly for the umpteenth time since the doctor had confirmed your pregnancy. Minhyun poked you gently and pouted. “You’re perfectly fine!”

“When we got married didn’t we say we’d help each other for the rest of our lives?” you reminded with a little snigger attached on the end, Minhyun’s groans making you laugh. “Looks like we’re keeping true to that even as we head into parenthood.”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” he grumbled, pulling you into his arms. “Looks like I will literally go through anything for you, huh?”

You smiled, kissing his cheek lightly before nestling into his side. “Just think, at least you don’t have to go through the labour part.”

“Baby, wake up.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, blearily glancing at your husband after looking at the alarm clock beside you. You groaned. “Min, it’s two in the morning! You’ve stopped throwing up now so I thought we’d be enjoying more uninterrupted sleep now that I’m fifteen weeks pregnant.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, looking more alert than he should for someone who had work in the morning. You shook your head. “I’m really hungry.”

“So go make yourself something small to eat and then come back to bed.”

“I want fried chicken,” he said with a bit of a moan, tilting his head as excitement started to build. “Oh, and a chocolate sundae.”

“At the same time?” you asked slowly, watching something click in his head at your sentence.

“Oh, you know it kind of sounds gross but I want to try it.”

“Minhyun!”

“What?! I’m craving it so badly now.” He flung back the blankets and you gasped as he hopped out of the bed and went over to his dresser to pull on some clothes. “I’m going to get food.”

“Seriously?!”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Now you have weird pregnancy food cravings too,” you grumbled, shaking your head at how far this was all going.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

You bit back your amusement, watching Minhyun as he eased himself into bed beside you, pointing a finger at you warningly. A small noise left you then as you tried hard to suppress your giggles.

“Who’s the pregnant one here?” you asked teasingly, his umber eyes shooting you a disgruntled look as he settled into bed beside you. Patting his lower arm gently, you then pointed to your pregnancy pillow between you both. “Maybe you should use this tonight for your back. Mine’s not so bad.”

“First the nausea, now I waddle around like I’m the one carrying our son.”

“It’s not like you get kicked or elbowed, Minhyun. Be thankful you don’t have to go to the toilet every five minutes like I do these days either. A bit of back pain is better than throwing up, don’t you think?”

“Look us trying to compare and outdo the other with our pregnancy symptoms,” he said with a huff, though a small smile played at the corner of his lips. “Do you think now that you’re in your third trimester I’ll have these up until the day you give birth?”

“Marriage is about sharing right? You helped put your son here,” you humoured and he grumbled, nodding softly before pulling the pillow away from your side, wrapping his legs around it and sighing in instant relief.

You had to admit, you had enjoyed this journey a little too much with Minhyun facing many of your pregnancy concerns.

It was more exhausting than you had expected it to be and as you attempted to gain your breath back enough to push again, you wondered if you had actually been unlucky this whole time to share your symptoms with Minhyun. Because now it was just you going through the intense pressure, trying to listen to the cues of the nurses and the doctors, to hold back when you needed to and to not pass out from sheer exertion.

Labour was hard.

It was Minhyun’s hand that never left yours, his other gently brushing your hair away from your sweaty face in a rhythm that kept you determined to deliver your son. He had suffered on this journey too and if there was anyone who knew how you had felt in these past nine months it was him. You could see the anxiety embedded in his gaze, the silent worry that he wasn’t helping you enough right now as you pushed through the tidal wave of each contraction and command from the doctor. You wondered if there was a small part of him that felt strange to not be experiencing this when he had almost everything else.

With one more push, you finally felt your situation change, your body had done what it needed to and the cries of new life sounded around the room. It was euphoric to endure so much pain and finally see the beautiful little human you had both created as a reward for your efforts. As he was placed on your chest you cried, knowing your lives had changed forever now.

“Look at his little fingers.”

You smiled lovingly as you stared at the same hand you had looked at so many times in the last week. Your eyes then shifted to the man snuggled into your side as you attempted to breastfeed your son Minhwan. He noticed your gaze and leaned down to brush his lips over yours, his eyes growing concerned when you flinched a little at the pressure from Minhwan’s latch on your breast.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s not that bad, he’s getting better.”

“You know, it’s odd for me to not experience anything now,” Minhyun admitted and you couldn’t help but grin. “After all those months, I half expected my nipples to ache when you started breastfeeding or something.”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, shaking your head incredulously. “You’re too much.”

“It’s worth all the nausea in the world to have him finally here, to be our family of three.”

You stared down at your newborn and then nodded. “Even if you were more ridiculous than me.”

“I thought often during the pregnancy if we have another child after Minhwan that I never want to face this again. That I want to be the normal one next time around.”

“Oh so you want me to suffer more, huh?” you teased and Minhyun smiled but shook his head.

“Experiencing it all with you even when it got crazy, it’s made me feel more a part of the pregnancy. I literally endured it with you. I feel more bonded with our son and you because of it.”

“So if we get pregnant again?”

Minhyun smiled. “I hope to be just as sufferable as you.”

_________________

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[thereluctantinquisitor]

"You look like you're going to tip over any second" with Darren and Cyrus

Darren & Cyrus, during Inquisition. Approx 1700 words.

In which Cyrus isn’t looking so good, and Darren is worried for a very good reason.

(TW: descriptions of a (borderline severe) asthma attack. It was as much a surprise to Cyrus as it was to everyone else). 

“You look like you’re going to tip over at any second.”

Cyrus’ chest felt tight, as though some unseen person hadhim in a grapple and refused to let go. “I’m fine,” he hissed, glancing aroundwarily at the group of soldiers accompanying them. Reynolt’s squad had beenassigned to the same mission. The last thing Cyrus needed was for any of them tosmell weakness. It was blood in the water to them. “Just… fuck off, Darren. Get off my case.”

Beside him, the blond hesitated, clearly unconvinced asCyrus almost stumbled over an exposed tree root, his reflexes too slow to avoidit, his pulse beginning to pound in his ears. “No. You’re not okay,”Darren insisted softly, leaning close, his hand coming to rest warily on Cyrus’elbow. Just in case. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wr—”

—“Cyrus. If you don’t tell me I’ll…” Darren trailed offuncertainly for a moment. But he swallowed and huffed out a breath, steelinghimself. “I’ll call the Captain over. You know I will.”

At that, Cyrus pulled to a sharp halt, turning to fix Darrenwith as forceful a glare as he could manage. It was remarkably hard, with hisvision blurring at the edges and his chest so…

“Darren. I… I swearto the fucking Maker… if you… so muchas…” He reached out, gripping the blond by the collar. Making a fist, catchinghis breath, he couldn’t seem to do either properly, his throat feeling unnaturally tight.“I-If you…”

Darren already had his arms in place to catch Cyrus when hewent down, the Orlesian’s legs buckling beneath him. He staggered and collapsedagainst Darren’s chest, words cutting off with a tight, quiet sound of confusion.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Darren did everything in his powerto channel the one person who had always brought him comfort: his ma. Her tone.Her warmth. Her innate sense of reassurance. He never forgot the way she hadheld little Cian as he shook and shivered through his final night. Even whenhe’d taken his last breath, his baby brother had never been afraid. It was hardto be afraid when you were safe and warm in her arms.

But, of course, Darren was not his ma.

Slowly, carefully, he sank to his knees, lowering Cyruswith him until they were together on the grassy ground. The Orlesian’s foreheadwas resting on Darren’s shoulder, his chest heaving in short, erraticmovements, the air seeming to whistle as it battled in and out of his lungs,his attempts to pull in air painful to witness. Eyes wide, barely containinghis panic, Darren raised an arm and waved to get the attention of hissquad-mates. “Hey! Stop – wait!”

“D-Don’t,” Cyrus wheezed, but he was barely audible now, asthough there was no air left to give the word shape. Darren knew Cyrus had beenunwell for the past few days, but this…

He could feel Cyrus’ attempts to breathe growing shorter andfaster as panic started to set in. Darren held him, trying to keep him calm –reminding him he wasn’t alone – but sensed that whatever this was, it wasbeyond his ability to soothe. He was useless to help.

But there was another person who could.

“Connors!”

It would have been only seconds but it felt like an eternitybefore Connors arrived, dropping to her knees beside them, her brow creased as she assessed the situation. With firm, clinical hands, she pushedDarren away from Cyrus, inspecting the Orlesian’s face, listening intently to his attempts tobreathe. He was shaking now, a light sheen of panicked sweat covering his skin. “Holdhim,” she instructed, returning Cyrus to Darren’s waiting arms as she slung herpack off her shoulders. They weren’t lucky enough to travel with a mage.Connors and her tonics was the best they could hope for.

With Cyrus gasping and wheezing in his arms, Darren couldonly pray to the Maker that she knew what to do.

“Keep him still,” she instructed, glass tinkling in her bagas she searched, her gaze flicking calmly over to Cyrus at intervals to assess his state, “andcalm, if possible.”

“Calm?” Darren squeaked. “H-How can I--?”

“Do your best.”

In truth, Darren felt like he was the one starting to panic. But he swallowed and held his friend, forcing the sudden urge to cry aside. Now was not the time for that. It wouldn’t help anyone. “I-It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… tryto take a deep breath for me. Like this...” He drew a long, slow breath in. “Can you try? Please?”

Cyrus’ body convulsed slightly – something like an abortedcough. 

Then everything just seemed to fall even further apart.

“S-Slow down, okay? Cyrus, you’ve gotta slow down.” Darren knew itwasn’t Cyrus’ fault. He was just babbling now, as frantic and scared as he’dever been when one of his friends got hurt. But this wasn’t like other times. This wasn’t some injury he couldput pressure on until someone smarter arrived to fix it. Maker, he wantednothing more than for someone to just make it stop – make it go away. But as therest of the squad drew near, Connors barked a sharp order for everyone to standback. To give them space.

That just left Darren.

Connors was doing something at the corner of his vision;mixing two vials together, if Darren had to guess. It was hard to pay attention.All he could think to do was rub his hand up and down Cyrus’ upper back, thegesture feeling impotent and pathetic in the face of his friend’s struggle to breathe. How it had all gone so downhill, Darren couldn’t begin tosay. He swore it had just been a bit of a cold the day before. It just… didn’t make sense.

“Lean him back. His face needs to be clear.”

Connors actually startled Darren, his attention had been so absorbed by the man in his arms. After letting out a small yelp, he nodded frantically, shifting his hands to brace Cyrus by theshoulders and reluctantly pushing him away. The man was pale and rigid, asthough every part of his body was focusing solely on the act of breathing in what little air it could. Connors moved closer, giving him another quick assessment, thenviolently shook the vial in her hand.

“Cyrus. Listen. When I tell you, you are going to try to breathein what is in this vial. As much as you can. Exhale through your nose.Understand?”

Weakly, shakily, Cyrus nodded. The fact that he was still presentenough to respond had to be a good sign, and it set part of Darren at ease.Well, a small part. 

Majority of him still remained sick with worry.

Connors stopped shaking the vial, inspecting it brieflybefore leaning forward until it was centimetres from Cyrus’ face. “On three,”she said calmly. Another nod from Cyrus. “One. Two. Three.”

She unstoppered the vial and brought it quickly to Cyrus’lips. Struggling, he tried to do as instructed, breathing in the vapour thathad formed in the vial as the two liquids mixed. The first few ragged attempts looked so painfully hard that Darren had to glance away to stop himself from panicking. Connors, on the other hand, watched Cyrus intently, her gaze never waveringas her squad-mate choked and shuddered. Then inhaled halfway. Exhaled stiffly. Inhaled again. Exhaled.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

Suddenly, Cyrus spasmed and pulled away from the vial to cough; a hacking, wetsound. Connors slipped her thumb over the opening until he was done, thencalmly instructed him to keep going until there was nothing left, the liquids inside continuing to produce vapour as they mingled.

Astonished, relieved,Darren just knelt there in front of them, watching in utter awe as colour beganto return to Cyrus’ cheeks and lips, his shoulders and neck relaxing as hepulled the substance into his chest. Eventually, Connors was able to release the vialinto Cyrus’ care, the Orlesian no longer trembling to the point of incapacitation.It was only then, with her patient stable, that Darren caught her release a soft,slow sigh of relief.

For Connors, that was the equivalent of fainting.

“How did you know that would work?” Darren asked,shuffling back slightly as Hanin moved in to fuss over Cyrus, placing his large form between his recruit and Reynolt’s approaching squad like a barrier. Connors almost seemed likeshe wouldn’t answer for a moment, but after taking in the look on Darren’sface, she quietly relented.

“I didn’t. We were lucky.”

The confession was like a punch to the gut. Darren gawped ather, at a loss for what to say. To his surprise, Connors continued unprompted.

“Sometimes the airways close too much and nothing can reachthe lungs. We were lucky Cyrus’ condition was not so severe.” She paused, then added, “This time.”

“Shh!” Darren glanced warily over to where Cyrus was slumped nearby.“Just… don’t say that so loud, okay? He’d never admit it, but I think he’s scared enough right now.”Swallowing thickly, Darren couldn’t help asking one more burning question. “You... soundlike you’ve seen this kinda thing before. If he was… thatsevere… what would have happened?”

This time, Connors opted not to answer. She just gave Darrena long, silent look, then rose to her feet, dusting the grass off her knees. “Weshould rest for a time,” she declared to the gathering group, Reynolt’s squad havingfinally descended the nearby hill to gripe about the holdup. She turned and addressedthe rest of her statement to Hanin. “An hour should be sufficient, sir.”

His hand on Cyrus’ back, expression tense with worry, Haningave a single nod. Although he seemed reluctant to, he stood and strode overto deal with Reynolt, who seemed more than irritated by the setback if his scowl was any indication. Theirconversation was little more than a low, heated hum to Darren as he scrambledback over to Cyrus, slowing his approach to a tentative shuffle as he drewnear.

“Hey…” Darren mustered a feeble smile. “Feeling a bit better?”

Clearing his throat roughly, Cyrus spared him a brief glancebefore rolling his eyes. “I’m fine, kid. Don’t... give me that look.”

He still sounded breathless, but the eye rolling and snippy remark brought a true smile toDarren’s face. “Thank the Maker for that,” he said, then shifted to flop intoa sitting position by Cyrus’ side. They remained like that for a long while, therest of the squad moving over to back up Captain Lavellan as he attempted toreason with the stubborn Reynolt. Sure, stopping now would make them late toarrive at the next camp. Sure, it might get them in trouble for slowing down the mission…

… but, glancing over at Cyrus, who was clearly fighting a sudden anddevastating wave of exhaustion, Darren knew the Orlesian wouldn’t be gettingback up any time soon.

Which meant that neither would he.

And not a single member of Reynolt’s squad – or anyone – could change his mind about that. 

[brajeshupadhyay]

Victoria announces Australia’s first coronavirus death in a month as toll rises to 103 | Coronavirus outbreak

Australia has recorded its first Covid-19 death in one month, with Victoria’s chief health officer, Dr Brett Sutton, announcing that a man in his 80s died overnight, bringing the country’s total death toll to 103.

It came as Victoria grappled with a spike in cases in the past week, reporting double-digit rises in new cases every day for more than one week. Twenty new cases of the virus were announced by Sutton on Wednesday. The new cases include three staff members who tested positive at Hampstead dental clinic in Maidstone, 8km north-west from Melbourne city. There are now 241 cases that have been identified since the epidemic began in Victoria that indicate community transmission, an increase of eight since yesterday.

“That number has been around 10 around every day, but a decrease of eight is somewhat encouraging,” Sutton said. “It certainly means we’re not getting an increase or an exponential increase in community transmission cases day by day.”

But the rise has health authorities, including those interstate, concerned. Testing has been increased across the most affected council areas where “hotspots” of the virus have emerged including in Hume, Brimbank, Moreland, Darebin, Cardinia and Casey. Almost one in five Victorians live across these areas. The New South Wales premier, Gladys Berejiklian, reiterated her warning to NSW tourism businesses to avoid taking bookings from Victorian travellers from hotspot locations, and warned NSW residents not to travel to those areas. She told the ABC on Wednesday morning that while she was confident the increase in cases was “manageable”, it was also “a good wake-up call to remind us about how contagious the disease is and how quickly it can get out of control”.

“Whilst community spread is still what it is, whilst people are still chasing those contacts to warn them, to self-isolate and do all those things it’s just common sense to make sure that New South Wales businesses and organisations avoid any interaction with anybody from those hotspots unless they know that person has been cleared and doesn’t have Covid,” she said.

Sutton said three new cases were linked to an outbreak that occurred within a large family living in Keilor Downs, a suburb 18km north west of Melbourne in the council area of Brimbank. That brings to 15 the total number in that family outbreak. An early learning centre in Essendon was closed on Wednesday morning after a child tested positive and contact tracing and cleaning are underway. Sutton said the family of the elderly man who died overnight had requested privacy and that no further information be given.

Large teams of public health workers have been door-knocking in the suburbs most effected to ensure people are aware of social distancing and hygiene requirements and where to get tested. Further efforts have been made to engage people from culturally and linguistically diverse communities. Sutton said many of the recent cases were a result of families visiting each other as restrictions eased, even if they were unwell or awaiting test results. Health guidelines are clear that anyone who is unwell with even mild symptoms should get tested, isolate themselves until the test results come back, and continue to isolate for 14 days if they test positive.

Sutton said across all communities, there were people who were suspicious of government health advice, listening to misinformation, and failing to do the right thing.

“I think it’s an issue in pockets of communities everywhere,” he said. “This is not an easy behavioural task to go through. And when the levers of government really change every aspect of your life are in place, people go to other sources of information that question it. I think there are pockets and individuals and networks within every single community where there are suspicions about the key messages and where there is misinformation that’s circulating quite freely. So we need to compete in that space and make sure that the evidence-based message are out there in full.”

The post Victoria announces Australia’s first coronavirus death in a month as toll rises to 103 | Coronavirus outbreak appeared first on Sansaar Times.

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New Post has been published on Cloudlight

New Post has been published on https://cloudlight.biz/knowing-how-others-see-us-is-the-key-to-happiness/

Knowing how others see us is the key to happiness

He most critical, and but least examined, a determinant of achievement or failure – at paintings and in existence – is self-cognizance. The capacity to understand who we’re, how others see us, and how we suit into the world.

Plato told us to “recognize thyself”, whilst psychologists have argued that this skill is the center of human survival and advancement. For millions of years, the ancestors of Homo sapiens advanced painfully slowly. But because the neuroscientist VS Ramachandran explains in his ebook The Tell-Tale Brain, about 150,000 years in the past there was an explosive development in the human brain in which, among other things, we won the capacity to observe our personal mind, feelings, and behaviours, as well as to see things from every other’s point of view. Not most effective did this change create the muse for art, religious practices, and language, it got here with a survival benefit for our ancestors, who needed to paintings collectively so as to survive.

Though we won’t face the identical day-to-day threats to our existence

Self-focus is not any much less vital. There is powerful clinical proof that individuals who recognize themselves and the way others see them are happier. They are smarter, advanced students. They enhance more mature kids. They also tend to be more creative, assured and less competitive.

But for the general public, it is less complicated to pick self-delusion over the bloodless hard truth. Our more and more “me” focused society makes it easier to fall into this trap. Recent generations have grown up in a global obsessed on self-esteem, constantly being reminded in their unique features, and it is fiendishly tough to look at objectively who were and how we’re visible.

My research shows that whilst ninety-five% of humans suppose they are self-conscious, the real parent is in the direction of 10-15%. Not most effective are our checks often fallacious, we are normally horrible judges of our personal overall performance and talents – from management skills to achievements at faculty and work. What’s scary is that the least equipped human beings are usually the most confident of their abilities

Is Knowing Your Strengths And Weaknesses Important In Business?

No character in this world is ideal. Everyone has his or her very own strengths and weaknesses. The individual who is aware of his or her strengths and weakness is constantly more likely to prevail. This article discusses the evaluation of the strengths and weak spot and the steps to take to overcome them. This is the important thing to fulfillment in the commercial enterprise.

Know your strengths and weaknesses

You should have heard approximately the SWOT Analysis. SWOT Analysis is not anything, however, the evaluation of 1’s strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats. Every business has to do that evaluation before starting off its sports. This will area you in a higher body of mind and help you attain your goals effortlessly.

Be aware of your strengths:

God has not created each man or woman same. You might be more potent in some regions in comparison to the others. One should be aware of their personal strengths and discover ways to give attention to them. Some people are good at accountancy whereas some have skill ability in advertising and marketing. A hit businessperson is a person who manages to combination those two characteristics in the identical measure.

Make a word of your weaknesses:

Knowing your weak point is more critical than being aware of your strengths. The best a part of weaknesses is that whilst you need to realize approximately them, your competitor ought to no longer. Once your weaknesses, you have to take steps to convert those weaknesses into your strengths. When you do this, you become less susceptible. This can lead to your fulfillment in a commercial enterprise.

Seize the opportunities:

Opportunity does now not knock on doors more than once. You want to have the potential to seize opportunities and never let it visit waste. This is viable simplest in case you are absolutely aware of your strengths and weaknesses. Nurturing your strengths and strengthening your weaknesses can offer you with extra possibilities in existence.

Get rid of the threats:

Every commercial enterprise may have threats. Running away from them does now not clear up the problem. If you’re strong sufficient, you should try to meet the problem headlong. Remember that there can be a possibility in every hazard. If you capture maintain of it you’ll take away the threats. This is a sure manner to succeed in lifestyles. The best manner to minimize your threats is to stay grounded in existence. This permits you to have sturdy roots thereby empowering you to fight all sorts of threats.

Working With Others – Building Working Relationships

Working relationships may be fragile- mainly inside the place of job where they are frequently built and destroyed with the aid of the actions we take. Building healthy, comfy and harmonious relationships is critical no longer best to us individually, but additionally to underpin the fulfillment of the company we work for. We want to construct powerful relationships for some of the reasons:

The health of humans depends on what happens in corporations and what they do. Overwork, pressure, being subjected to harassment or bullying all effect on a person’s fitness and therefore on their ability to fulfill their role inside the company. Staff who’ve pressured make mistakes costing the agency time, effort, money, and popularity.

Organizations only feature with the co-operation in their contributors

The group of workers is on the coal face of the employer, enjoyable all the functions vital to ensure fulfillment. If there is disharmony inside the workplace, this could affect negatively at the company’s achievement.

Organizations could have a profound impact on human beings that do not work for them however who rely on them for the necessities of lifestyles – as an example, food, housing and smooth water. Well, run harmonious organizations are, commonly, stable and therefore additionally offer a strong environment to their group of workers and all of the folks that rely on them. Society is an internet of relationships, requiring all parties to work together so one can create something that is good. But what makes society paintings even higher are relationships which might be nice, co-operative and respectful. In this manner, all people works for the best of the complete and in the direction of a common purpose. This needs powerful relationships based on mutual expertise. If you understand what humans want and why they want it, you may generally discover a manner to make development together.

What Is an Effective Relationship?

Building a powerful dating means taking note of understanding a person else’s positions and emotions. The only way to apprehend what’s critical to every other individual or to a set is to ask, then pay attention to the solution. We all recognize when someone else is really interested in us; the other character is attentive, does not interrupt, does no longer fidget and does not talk approximately him or herself. This offers us time to suppose and experience general, in preference to experience we’re being judged.

Building a powerful courting approach overtly expressing your role and emotions. Sometimes we anticipate people to recognize what we want and to provide us what we want intuitively. This is not a sensible viewpoint. We want to mention what we need and to specific how we sense. By doing this we are much more likely to get what we need, as opposed to watching for a person to note what we want, then looking ahead to that character to offer it to us and getting disenchanted while it would not appear.

  Happiness Lies in Making Others Happy

If you word someone who laughs continuously, loves to tell jokes and typically has a smile on their face most times, you will think that that individual is simply happy. But you know that may not necessarily be the case. There is greater to laughter and smiles to be satisfied. Someone who has a glad look on their face may want to just be ‘glad’ at the outdoor. But inside, their coronary heart may be packed with sorry and ache.

There are folks that believe that riches, money, and energy could make one glad. However to be wealthy won’t always make one satisfied, neither does being poor necessarily make one miserable.

Happiness clearly means various things to extraordinary people.

The Definition of Happiness

One dictionary defines happy as “feeling or showing contentment or satisfaction”. Granted there are various things in our lifestyles that we may want to experience contented or thrilled approximately. But are we usually contented and thrilled approximately our existence ordinary?

Most human beings depend on their happiness from extraordinary assets inclusive of different humans or fabric matters. But what truly makes a person happy? Happiness can only be determined by means of every person. You see, what may make John glad may not make Smith happy.

How to Achieve Happiness

To be in reality glad, a person must direct his interest on looking to make others satisfied. Forget about self and cognizance on the wishes of others and happiness will come your way. It’s all approximately sacrifice and carrier.

For instance touring an orphanage and giving your love and interest to a child who could never honestly feel the love of a guardian is something that could make you satisfied and contented because you recognize you have progressed the existence of that child.

There are also aged and unwell people who don’t have a person to take care of them and they might in reality respect just a person to go to them simply to speak or sense the companionship of somebody. This is all they want to make them satisfied.

Yes, positive fabric things could make us satisfied – for a while; but cloth things do now not remaining all the time. It is in giving we get hold of and what we acquire from our efforts will stay with us for our lifetime.

[brajeshupadhyay]

Australia has recorded its first Covid-19 death in one month, with Victoria’s chief health officer, Dr Brett Sutton, announcing that a man in his 80s died overnight, bringing the country’s total death toll to 103. It came as Victoria grappled with a spike in cases in the past week, reporting double-digit rises in new cases every day for more than one week. Twenty new cases of the virus were announced by Sutton on Wednesday. The new cases include three staff members who tested positive at Hampstead dental clinic in Maidstone, 8km north-west from Melbourne city. There are now 241 cases that have been identified since the epidemic began in Victoria that indicate community transmission, an increase of eight since yesterday. “That number has been around 10 around every day, but a decrease of eight is somewhat encouraging,” Sutton said. “It certainly means we’re not getting an increase or an exponential increase in community transmission cases day by day.” But the rise has health authorities, including those interstate, concerned. Testing has been increased across the most affected council areas where “hotspots” of the virus have emerged including in Hume, Brimbank, Moreland, Darebin, Cardinia and Casey. Almost one in five Victorians live across these areas. The New South Wales premier, Gladys Berejiklian, reiterated her warning to NSW tourism businesses to avoid taking bookings from Victorian travellers from hotspot locations, and warned NSW residents not to travel to those areas. She told the ABC on Wednesday morning that while she was confident the increase in cases was “manageable”, it was also “a good wake-up call to remind us about how contagious the disease is and how quickly it can get out of control”. “Whilst community spread is still what it is, whilst people are still chasing those contacts to warn them, to self-isolate and do all those things it’s just common sense to make sure that New South Wales businesses and organisations avoid any interaction with anybody from those hotspots unless they know that person has been cleared and doesn’t have Covid,” she said. Sutton said three new cases were linked to an outbreak that occurred within a large family living in Keilor Downs, a suburb 18km north west of Melbourne in the council area of Brimbank. That brings to 15 the total number in that family outbreak. An early learning centre in Essendon was closed on Wednesday morning after a child tested positive and contact tracing and cleaning are underway. Sutton said the family of the elderly man who died overnight had requested privacy and that no further information be given. Large teams of public health workers have been door-knocking in the suburbs most effected to ensure people are aware of social distancing and hygiene requirements and where to get tested. Further efforts have been made to engage people from culturally and linguistically diverse communities. Sutton said many of the recent cases were a result of families visiting each other as restrictions eased, even if they were unwell or awaiting test results. Health guidelines are clear that anyone who is unwell with even mild symptoms should get tested, isolate themselves until the test results come back, and continue to isolate for 14 days if they test positive. Sutton said across all communities, there were people who were suspicious of government health advice, listening to misinformation, and failing to do the right thing. “I think it’s an issue in pockets of communities everywhere,” he said. “This is not an easy behavioural task to go through. And when the levers of government really change every aspect of your life are in place, people go to other sources of information that question it. I think there are pockets and individuals and networks within every single community where there are suspicions about the key messages and where there is misinformation that’s circulating quite freely. So we need to compete in that space and make sure that the evidence-based message are out there in full.” The post Victoria announces Australia’s first coronavirus death in a month as toll rises to 103 | Coronavirus outbreak appeared first on Sansaar Times.

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