#SHE’S LOOKING OUT FOR HER MAN AND HIS TRAUMA

[monamipencil]

when strawberries bloom (teaser)

“When the strawberries bloom, I'll be by your side.”

premise. mingyu is content with his life in the capitol as a victor, although he's haunted by the images of the nightmare he lived ten years ago. but all that comes to an abrupt stop, when he discovers that you—his greatest demise had been alive all this time.

content. hunger games! au, victor! mingyu, f! reader, pseudo major character death, hints of trauma, mingyu is a blink away from alcohol poisoning, capitol shenanigans, mentions of og hunger games characters, this is set in the period of second rebellion, slow burn, jealousy, both of them are in denial, fight scenes, friends to lovers (?) to strangers to enemies (it's one sided) to ???, angst, fluff, crack, smut. heavy fruit metaphor, yearning, pining, happy ending.

warnings. will be added in the fic post.

word count. tba.

release date. around december end.

author’s note. this is a part of the ‘catching fire’ collab hosted by @vitaminkyeom. i'm very excited to write this and share with you guys. though i'm barely done with fic, i thought i'd put out as a teaser to fuel me to finish it. and pls feel free to come to my inbox and scream abt this fic <33 send an ask to be added to the taglist !

Mingyu controls a deep sigh as yet another woman presses herself against him in the name of dancing. He fakes his gaze, pretending to be enamoured. The strong perfume she’d used makes his head throb, and irritate his nostrils. 

The woman whispers sultrily, “I can’t believe I got you all to myself tonight.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him, her hands playing with the tie of his masquerade mask. It only covers the lower half of his face—a skillfully sculpted skull mask, lined with golden chains. He avoids looking at her, eyes darting all over the room to find something to fixate on. 

His lack of attention doesn’t seem to faze the woman as she only steps in closer. He bites his tongue and focuses on the details of the mansion. Gold painting lines the ivory walls that are basked in the dim lights of the party now. Grand, maroon curtains hangs by the arched windows, slightly swaying as the wind flows in. 

Awe turns into confusion which is replaced by disappointment when his eyes land on a glowing liquor fountain. But if he’s really honest, he’s a bit intrigued and his tongue feels dry, aching for the bitter taste of alcohol on it. 

Another shift of his eyes lands on a familiar lady, adorned in a black gown and dancing with an old man. He recognizes you as the lady from the balcony though your face is now obscured with a masquerade mask. Relief floods through his system, if he had to catch another glance at your face, his heart would stop beating once and for all. 

But as Mingyu had discovered long ago, things never really go the way he wishes them to. You turn your head, catching his gaze. Heat floods his cheeks and all the oxygen trickles out his lungs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you maintain eye contact. He doesn’t realise that he had stopped dancing till the woman whines. The sound prickles his skin, sending a shot of annoyance through him. 

All the voices around Mingyu drown out, turning into a mere buzz. A vine wraps around his heart, its thorns puncturing the gentle muscle. He watches as you shift your attention. Your beautiful lips curving into a smile, reacting to whatever the man had said. Your body leaning towards the old gamemaker, drawing attention to your cleavage. Rage courses through his veins along with another feeling. Jealousy. 

The feeling is foreign to him and he can’t even deduce why he’s jealous. Or, he knows why he’s jealous but even that mere idea seems incredulous. Still envy coils in his gut, rattling its tail at him and mocking him. Your eyes land on him again, and his heart skips a beat. 

Just then, the song switches, carrying a seductive note. Soon, the woman is whisked away and not even a second later, you end up in his arms. His hands skate down your silk gown to the small of your back and he pulls you flush against him. The proximity makes your breath hitch and you place your arm on his shoulders, swaying to the notes. Your breaths mingle together, body heat diffusing into one.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe you look too much like her, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. With a sudden craving of intimacy, he holds you tight against him and the other intertwines with your left hand as you both sway to the flowing music. 

Any rational thought is chucked out his mind. The more he looks into your eyes, the more you look like her. In contrast to his prior wish, he wants your mask gone now. It obscures most of your face, cutting off near your right cheekbone to expose your right eye. 

He brushes stray hair aside. His soft, manicured nail beds caress the exposed skin off your face. You tighten your hold on him, doe eyes staring up at him with something he can’t pinpoint. His heartbeat quickens, a strange nostalgia permeates the air. Mingyu swears that this has happened before, a sense of deja vu fills his veins. 

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he undoes your mask. The sultry note tunes out into nothingness and the world seems to have stopped spinning. The mask hits the ground with a clank that gets muffled in the shock of the revelation. 

And there stands Kim Mingyu with his long lost lover and best friend who’s supposedly dead. 

You mirror his expression, horror staining your face as you shuffle to retrieve your mask. All while he stands still, going over the millions of possibilities. Why and how are you alive? Or is this a sick joke that someone is trying to play on him? 

You try to slip away from him, but he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks. His grip tightens when you try to pull your hand away. His fingers brush over a bump on your skin, drawing attention to it. His eyes land on a scar that runs from the palm of your left hand to your wrist. 

Just then, you free yourself from his grip and escape into the bustling crowd of the party, leaving him alone. Though the mansion is filled with hundreds of citizens, an impermeable bubble seems to surround him—as if no one had witnessed what had occurred. It makes Mingyu question whether you’re real or if he made you up, like a mad man. 

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[msfantasy-comics]

The Ex gets Married

Bruce Wayne x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bruce breaks up with Y/n and ends up in a tumultuous relationship with Selina. Bruce finds out about his ex-girlfriend moving on and is heartbroken.

Warning: Bruce does not have a happy ending.

Many years before, Bruce, had to make a life altering decision.

Should he follow his head or his heart?

He loved both Selina and Y/n dearly for very different reasons.

But there was no use pondering the decision further. Selina was a safe bet.

Selina, whilst fickle, was still a woman capable of handling the rough and tough life style that accompanied his alter-ego. Selina’s life parallels his own; their secret life, their deep rooted trauma, their years of personal growth together.

When considering these factors, it was indisputable, he had to follow his head, and in the end he got exactly what he asked for.

An unbridled romantic companion that was only ever present when it suited her.

Selina was never consistent in supporting Bruce. Only being present at the worst of times, and never being available to celebrate the best of times.

Selina was incapable of bonding with his sons. It’s not like she didn’t try, the boys were just utterly disinterested in bonding with a woman who seemed to sail in and out of Bruce’s life on a whim. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian felt Selina was not going to be around long, so they always turned her down or avoided Selina when possible.

Selina was uncomfortable with the mundane. Drama followed her where ever she went. Her constant blow outs strains Bruce beyond measure.

As usual, Bruce retreats to his cold and lonely bed. It’s been weeks since he last heard from Selina. He stares at the ceiling and wonders what his life could’ve been like had he followed his heart.

You were always the first to hold Bruce and comfort him in his times of need. You were always pushing to celebrate ridiculous milestones and insisting it was important since it was an achievement.

You put in so much effort bonding with his sons. You’d spent days in Bludhaven, looking after Dick in hospital when no one else could. You drove to Jason’s favourite dive bar, drank beer with him every Friday. You attended all of Tim’s extracurricular events. You would drink tea with Damian and listen to him vent his frustrations with his teammates.

Better yet, you were always in bed waiting for him. Arms always spreading open, ready to embrace him after a difficult night out.

Bruce missed you dearly, but he knows he made the right decision. Selina was capable of protecting herself- you weren’t.

Bruce constantly reminds himself of that time Joker almost took your life as you helplessly dangled from the building. Your survival from that encounter was pure luck. If Bruce wasn’t your boyfriend, you would’ve been safe.

So, Bruce made the right decision following his head. Following his heart would’ve brought nothing but heartache.

The house seemed unusually quite. There was no noise, no movement. He hasn’t heard anything from anyone.

“Alfred, where are the boys?” The older gentlemen continues to assemble the cucumber sandwiches, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. “Alfred?” The older man sighs as he contemplates telling the truth, to honouring the lie fabricated by the boys. At last, Alfred opts for the ugly truth.

“The young masters are attending a wedding ceremony.” Alfred answers bluntly, unwilling to be the barer of bad news.

“A wedding ceremony? Who’s wedding is it?” Alfred places the plate in front of Bruce, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Alfred, answer the question.”

He sighs as he pours a glass of water. “John Constantines wedding.”

Confusion crosses Bruce as to why his sons are attending that man’s wedding. “I didn’t know he had a significant other, who is he marrying?”

Alfred looks off to the clock as Bruce waits impatiently for the long drawn out answer. The clock strikes twelve, which floods the house with a melody to notify half the day has passed. Finally, Alfred speaks. “As of 12’oclock John Constantine has married his beloved wife Y/n Constantine.”

All colour in Bruce’s face drains, his mouth goes dry and he’s not sure if his heart is beating. “Y/n… she’s married?” Alfred nods unsympathetically.

“The women you love has married someone that isn’t you.” Alfred’s words rubs salt in Bruce’s already wounded heart. “Incase you were wondering Master Bruce… Selina Kyle had introduced the two around the time you had broken up.” Bruce’s head turns to mush at the news.

It’s not like he intended to get back together with you or anything- so why is he so upset?

Of course you would move on eventually, he knew that. That’s just common sense. Why would you be single for the rest of your life?

Yet despite all common sense Bruce’s heart continues to squeeze painfully, his head thumping away as a growing migraine takes place.

The love of his life has gone on and married someone else.

God.

Is it too late to win her back?

What was he thinking ? Of course it is.

There’s no going back.

Bruce will just have to accept his decision.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 24

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Baker And The Monk.

Notes: Looking back, I'm surprised how big this story got. Wasn't my intention lol.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  24/47

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The others were still asleep in the morning when you had gone downstairs in the inn to drink some soup and enjoy a peaceful quiet moment alone before having to face the Monk again. Where to go from here? What with Percival, did he still have parents or was the boy on his own? There were a lot of things to think about and it was hard to come to a solid decision or plan. Your peaceful moment alone was interrupted when a man approached the table you were sitting at.

“I noticed you are sitting alone, care for some company to talk to?” He seemed rather friendly.

You were in doubt. “I fear I will not be very talkative.”

He did not give up just yet. “I’m quite the opposite, if you wish to offer a listening ear I might entertain you?”

It was starting to intrigue you. “What would you speak of?”

The man was an open book. “My successes and failures as a baker.”

“Fine.” You decided. “Take a seat. Start with the failures.”

He chuckled and took the chair opposite of you. This baker, whom was named Charles, was a friendly fella that loved to chat with anyone who would listen. Hearing how the life of another was so different compared to yours was refreshing. There was no talk of paladins or the war. It was just a baker speaking of his occupation with an enthusiasm not many still had. For just a moment, you forgot about your own situation and let yourself be carried into the story of another. That lasted until you saw the man look at something behind you, the Monk had came down the stairs and his attire was drawing attention. His attention however was solely on you, and how quickly you were to get to your feet and hurry over to him.

“Your surcoat!” you quietly scolded. “Do you want everyone to know we are hiding in this inn?!”

As you pulled at his arm to lead him back up the stairs, the innkeeper caught your eye and beckoned you over. With a small heart you went over to her.

She was drying off a tankard. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want anyone to notice he was here.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right, I’ll talk to him.”

“He’ll bring trouble in those clothes.” She nodded in his direction.

The Monk was watching the conversation, still waiting for you by the stairs. You were aware it was pulling attention to him. “It’s not our intention to-”

She put the linen towel down. “Follow me through the kitchen. I may have something in my quarters, he looks the size of my late husband.”

That was an offer you did not reject, you made eye-contact with the Monk and tilted your head to call him over. He understood the silent request and crossed the large room to where you were waiting.

“The innkeeper may have some less holy clothes for you.” you told him.

Before he could react to the jest, the innkeeper spoke up.

“The name is ‘Amelia’.” She proceeded to lead you through the kitchen of the inn, another door was opened and led into her large quarters. Amelia went to the large wardrobe and opened it’s doors. “Pick out a couple of clothes. Come back to the inn when you’re done.”

You thanked her as she walked past, she murmured something about how her late husband wouldn’t need them anymore. Her generosity was surprising, perhaps she had not always been as fortunate as she was now. The Monk had not set one foot in the direction of the wardrobe.

“Go on. See if you can find something in there for you.” you encouraged.

Slowly he walked to the wardrobe, and tentatively touched a shirt. “It was not my intention to cause you trouble. I had not considered that my clothes would be so noticed here.”

You strolled around the room somewhat impatiently. “A monk in an inn will always draw attention.”

He hummed in agreement. “I had not even noticed.”

That was strange to hear considering how perceptive he could be. “That isn’t like you, often you were the first to notice something out of the ordinary.”

The truth escaped him when he picked up a light grey shirt that interested him. “When I woke and saw that you were no longer in the room with us, my only concern was finding you.” The weight of his confession hit a second later, he almost looked in your direction but stopped himself just in time. A black leather jerkin caught his eye next and he took it from under the stack of clothes on top of it.

“You thought I had run off again.” you stated what was so obvious now.

He swallowed hard and shook some dust from the jerkin. “Yes.”

“I would.” You crossed your arms over your chest, finally daring to face him. “But you did not arrive here alone, there is a child up in that room who needs someone to look after him. Where are his parents?”

The Monk told you what the boy had mentioned to him. “They’re gone.”

It wrangled at your heart to hear it. “What now?”

Not even he seemed to know what to do, it wasn’t like he had experience with raising and looking after children, because even though Percival acted mature for his age he was still just a boy under that hardened character.

He walked towards the bed in the room and put down his choice of clothing, then began to take off his cloak. “He picked up a sword to fight the Trinity Guard, to save me. I will do all that is in my power to ensure he will be safe.”

“How?” It slipped out.

His hands slowed down on their task, his voice got quieter. “I had hoped to not be the only one watching over Percival’s well-being. He could use someone gentle of heart.”

It clicked right away what he was suggesting. “Using a child as leverage to keep me with you?” You scoffed and turned to head towards the door.

He caught you by the arm to stop you. “What must I do for you to forgive me?”

You pulled yourself free from his hold. “Stop trying to stop me every time I want to get away from you, that would be a good start! If you let me be free, I might be more inclined to seek out your company.”

It was something he would need to learn, to let what he was so protective over run free in this world full of dangers he had hoped to shield you from.

His hand moved along your arm until it could take hold of your hand. “It does not have it’s roots in trying to have control over you. I-…” A long pause fell. “I felt the loss of you for a day and it was worse than any punishment forced upon me. Hate me, scream at me, harm me… I surrender to your will. But I beg you, stay.”

You were hoping he could not feel how your body was trembling in response to his plea. “Lancelot, I don’t know if I can after what happened.”

He knew why you were so cautious towards him. “I needed no order from Father to wish for your trust. I meant what I said to you once, you are important to me.”

“Because I was the key to achieving Father Carden’s praise and love for you.” It came out bitter.

“No.”

“No?”

He stepped away. It wasn’t until he continued to dress down that you noticed how much his hands were shaking. “Your presence brings me solace.”

You crossed your arms again, hugging yourself for some comfort. “I hope this is not some elaborate plan to regain my trust and take me back to the paladins.”

He almost looked over his shoulder to you. “Do you think so low of me?”

Your eyes turned cold. “Why do you think that is?”

He swallowed his tongue.

You sighed. “But I trust Percival to be truthful.”

Not him… of course not.

You hated how you couldn’t help but look when he bared his torso and let the ruined clothes drop to the floor. “Your wounds look better than they did last night.”

It was as if he had already forgotten them when he looked down at his healing injuries. “I owe it to your kindness. I doubt you had ointment at hand to use.”

So he knew you must have went out and searched for herbs to make the ointment. It told him you still must have felt a form of attachment towards him. “You’re lucky I know how to make one.”

He slipped the shirt on and inspected its fit. “Indeed.”

To distract yourself, you strolled around the room a little. “Just so you know, I will be referring to you by your actual name in this place. It is best we do not draw attention to ourselves. I hope others here did not figure out already that you are a monk, it would starts rumors and rumors can spread to the paladins and lead them here.”

He had not a single objection to that. “That is alright.”

Suddenly he winced, a pained sound escaped him when he had tried to put the jerkin on.

You approached him right away. “Let me help.”

Again, he had not a single objection when you began to close the leather belts of the jerkin. When you gave a stronger tug on one of them, a chuckle fell out of him. “Is this an attempt to murder me?”

You rolled your eyes at the jest. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

The smile remained on his lips. He almost seemed to enjoy the slightly rougher handling.

“What happens now? Will Father Carden not wish for you to return?” you asked.

He was not sure what to expect. “I do not know. But returning will not be possible, news will have spread of my heritage by now.”

You finished closing the last belt and took a small step back. “And if they were to want you back…?”

He shook his head. “With broken faith? And after what I did? The only reason they would want me back is to kill me.” His eyes locked on your face. “Besides that reason, I know that if I were to return to them you would never forgive me.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He gave a nod. “It goes without saying that we should stay out of the sights of paladins. And I will try to see if I can find us a place that will be safer than here.”

Easier said than done. “Won’t be simple. We have not much more than horses and the weapons you carry.”

“We have coin.” He said oh so matter-of-factually, as if you knew what he was speaking of.

“What?” you blurted out.

He was confused for a second. “I-… I always have a pouch of coin with me as I travel. One never knows when it is needed.” Upon seeing your expression change, he asked, “Were you concerned there was none to survive on?”

Him having coin did not mean it would help you too. “Well, it’s your coin. Not mine.”

A frown creased his forehead. Realization hit. “Do you truly think that I would not share what I have with you? What is mine, is yours. You are my wife.”

You took a step away and handed him back his cloak. “Our marriage is nothing but an arrangement that has benefited everyone but myself.”

He held the cloak in his hand, feeling frozen in time and place. “Then it is time I prove what benefits this arrangement will provide for you.”

It had you mildly intrigued, but you didn’t dare to show it. “Put your cloak back on. I hope Percival is still upstairs in the room.”

He did as asked. “He was still asleep when I came to find you.”

You headed for the door to the kitchen, him speaking your name made you stop. He came closer again, stopping right in front of your nose. He intended to take hold of your hand but you moved it back a little and it made him abandon the idea.

He spoke in a quiet manner, “If it would put your mind at rest, I will go and fetch the coin from Goliath’s saddlebag and put it in your possession?”

You blinked. “Maybe you should fetch that pouch from the saddlebag before someone else does?”

His expression changed instantly, as if he had not even thought about the possibility of someone stealing it. “I-… One moment.”

Lancelot walked out of the room, through the kitchen and the inn, to outside. After everything, it was not strange for it to be forgotten or overlooked. It was also somewhat amusing to see him hurry out of the inn because of it. You on the other hand went back up the stairs up to your room after thanking Amelia and asking her for two bowls of broth. When you went inside, you found Percival starting to wake up. The scent of the broth was enough to wake him up fully.

“Good morning.” You handed him a bowl.

Percival mumbled the same in reply and went towards the bed. You cleared your throat to get his attention and he saw you point at the table. With a small sigh, he took place at the table to eat his broth. Just as he sat down, Lancelot entered the room and he went straight over to you. A pouch was put into your hand before you could even think to protest it.

Percival eyed you curiously. “What’s that?”

He told the boy the truth, “Coin.”

Percival’s eyes fell on the pouch again, slightly widened and very interested.

Lancelot noticed it right away. “She has a satchel to carry it in.”

The idea he fed was clearly aimed at you, but you were still a bit taken aback by the weight of the pouch that he had put into your hand. Never had Aldith or Cassian let you carry this much coin on you, they were quick to take it if they knew you had some savings. And for it to just be put into your hands now like it was nothing…

Even the boy had noticed the strange familiarity between you and him. “Are you friends?”

Your attention snapped to Percival, who was looking between you and Lancelot like he was trying to figure it out. Lancelot did not answer, he was looking at you to see what you would say. The last thing you wanted to do was alarm the boy by telling him that the friendship between you and Lancelot had come to a sour end not long ago, Percival barely knew the two of you and it would make more uncomfortable questions arise.

“We are.” you said, and noticed how relieved Lancelot looked.

“How?” Percival looked at Lancelot. “You killed the Fey, then how come you’re friends with her?”

Again he looked at you for an answer, but this time you gave him a look back that let him know that this was his answer to give. Lancelot struggled to explain it. “Father made an exception for her.”

The boy fired another question, “Why?”

He kept looking at you for help in this. “Because she is Ash Folk, as I am.”

“He only let Ash Folk live?” Percival frowned.

“The broth is getting cold. Eat Percival.” You turned to Lancelot. “The other bowl is yours.”

Lancelot was quick to ask, “Have you eaten?”

You gave a nod. “I had soup before you came down to the inn.”

Only then did he take the offer of the broth and took place opposite of Percival. You stashed the pouch of coins into your satchel.

You sat down on the bed for a moment, then let yourself fall back onto the mattress to look up at the ceiling. “You could use some more of that medicine I have given you, Lancelot. Charles told me that the market in this village is available for wares here everyday.”

His spoon stilled midway to his mouth. “ ‘Charles’?”

“The baker I was talking to before you came down the stairs.” you informed.

He continued to eat. “You wish to visit this market then?”

Your eyes closed. “I think it is necessary, that medicine will dull the pain for now, but when it wears off…”

“It would indeed be wise to be prepared.” He agreed to the idea. “Shall we go after this meal?”

Percival gave a ‘yes’ with his mouth stuffed full, earning a scolding look from the Ash Man.

“That’s fine.” you stretched your arms behind your head, enjoying the soft bed. Humming contentedly. A slight cold chill crept over the skin of your waist where it was exposed by your clothes that had moved up a little, it was not bothersome.

“Don’t you like the broth?” Percival suddenly asked.

You turned your head to look at the table and saw how Lancelot turned his head towards the boy. Percival was looking at him curiously, and perhaps hopeful that he would get the other bowl of broth for himself. Lancelot cleared his throat, and took a spoonful of the broth in his mouth in response to that. You smiled at the hint of disappointment in Percival’s expression and made a mental note to make certain the boy would have a proper set of meals every day as long as you could provide him with such.

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  The walk to the market was rather odd, you had to keep a focused eye on Percival who showed a tendency to wander off alone. Lancelot did not seem all too comfortable among the busy crowd, he was constantly looking around himself.

“Try to be calm.” you told him. “You’ll hurt your neck if you keep turning it so much.”

He picked up on the jesting tone. “How can you be so calm?”

You stopped at a stall with small curiosities. “I’ve spend days living among the enemy. It’s nothing new.”

It was a small lie. Being among a crowd was causing you distress but you did not want to draw attention, so you pretended all was well.

Lancelot noticed Percival had taken an interest in a stall a little further away and caught the boy by the vest before he could disappear in the crowd. “Remain in my sight.”

“It’s not my fault if your eyes are bad.” Percival bluntly said.

He took on a more firmer tone. “Stay.”

Percival rolled his eyes and came to stand a little closer to you, looking down at all the small bits and trinkets on the stall. Visiting a market was something you had not done in quite some time and it was the first time you weren’t doing it alone.

“I can see a stall further up ahead that is selling medicine.” Lancelot informed you.

He leaded the way to the stall, a friendly old lady was selling some basic necessities for those who dabbled in medicine. There was a certain set of herbs that you needed to make more of that ointment you had made but the seller had no stock of it. Another trip into the forest for them would be warranted. Fortunately she did have a few vials of medicine for when Lancelot’s fever and pain would return. When it was time to pay, for the first time you found out just how much there was actually in the pouch of coins. The small gasp from you made the others look.

Lancelot came closer, noticing your startled reaction to the contents of the pouch, by doing so he blocked the view others could have on it. “May I?”

Was he truly asking if he could use his own coin to pay for the medicine? It was such a ludicrous thing. “Of course.”

He took two small coins out and handed them to the seller whilst putting the pouch back into the safety of your satchel, then put the vials into it as well. Your attention was pulled away from him when Percival lightly tugged at your sleeve.

“Can we get a sweetroll?” The boy asked so very carefully.

Out of reflex you looked at Lancelot for an answer, before reminding yourself that he had said that the coin was yours just as much as it was his. “I believe we can?”

A sweetroll, after how brave the child had been to step into the Trinity Guard fight with him? It was the very least he could give in return.

Lancelot noted the doubt and put your mind at ease. “Yes.” He relied on his nose to find what the boy was asking for. “Over there.”

For you it was still hard to distinct all the scents, especially in a place so filled with all sorts of kinds.

Lancelot gave Percival an encouraging nudge against the back once at the stall that sold the sweetrolls. “They are fresh.” Then he looked at you with a knowing look. “Can you tell?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“No?” he asked curiously.

There was no ill intent behind his question, you could tell. This was just him being curious how well your sense of smell was now.

Percival pointed at a sweetroll, one that looked a little larger than the others of course. “I want that one.”

Lancelot hoped to improve Percival’s manners and corrected his way of asking for something. " ‘May I have that one?’ "

Percival did not pick up on what was being gently taught to him. “I saw it first.”

You turned your head, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I meant-” Lancelot sighed, but he did not want to make this more confusing. He would speak to the boy about this later. “Alright.”

Percival became far more cheery when he could eat his sweetroll on the way back to the inn. On your way there, the path got more crowded with people, and after having been alone so often the crowd felt overwhelming. Seeing a threat coming felt impossible like this. People were almost walking against or into you constantly, the many voices flooded your ears, you began to lose sight on where you were and where you were going. Your heart was beating too fast, there was not enough air getting into your lungs. What on earth was happening…

“Are you alright?” Percival suddenly asked.

No. No, you were not. “I…”

Just before someone else could walk into you, Lancelot placed himself close to you, using his form as a barrier against the crowd. “What is wrong? You look unwell.”

It felt embarrassing to say it. “There’s too many people.”

Lancelot looked around him for a moment and spotted a smaller and less crowded path. “We’ll take that path instead. Come.”

You barely registered that he had placed a hand on your back to guide you along. The second you were out of the crowd, you leaned against a wall to recover.

Percival looked so very worried. “Are you sick?”

“No. I’m not used to being around so many people so closely anymore.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why that was. “I can’t even see if there’s paladins around.”

Lancelot spoke. “Do not worry. I will notice them.”

He saw the look in your eyes change, it twisted a dagger into his gut. You did not trust that he would warn you if he saw paladins…

The boy touched your arm to comfort you. “It’s alright.”

No one expected for Percival to offer you the last bit of the sweetroll, it instantly made you feel a bit better.

“No, thank you.” you refused the sweet offer. “Did that sweetroll make you so sweet, or were you always like this?”

Percival’s face flushed a little, especially when he saw the slight grin on Lancelot’s face who saw it happen.

Lancelot came closer, supporting you by the arm to see if you were stable enough to walk. “Are you certain you do not wish for something to eat or drink?”

You pried his fingers loose from your arm. “I’ll be alright. Let’s get back to the inn before we run into paladins.”

The Ash Man kept a sharp eye on you whilst the three of you walked back to the inn. Percival and him picked out the lesser crowded paths and at some point you ended up on a narrow cobblestone street. Houses were build left and right in a long line and at the end of that street was a blacksmith working at his forge.

Lancelot came to a halt. “Do you mind stopping here for a moment?”

Of course he would be curious to see what sort of weapons this village had to offer. “Go ahead.”

He gave a grateful tilt of the head and approached the blacksmith, you and Percival followed suit.

“Good day.” The blacksmith gave a greeting nod and halted his work, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Good day.” Lancelot greeted just as polite. “Do you have wares for sale?”

“I do.” The blacksmith pointed at the house beside the forge. “My daughter keeps charge of the shop. Feel welcome.”

Whilst walking the short distance to the shop, you discreetly handed Lancelot the pouch. “In case you need it.”

He tucked it under his sword belt, in those few seconds Percival had already walked into the shop and reminded you both that this child would walk right through fire if there was something he wanted on the other side. Lancelot followed him inside immediately and grabbed hold on the back of the boy’s jacket. One look at the boy and Percival knew that Lancelot was serious about staying in sight.

A woman who looked your age was cleaning one of the many swords inside the store, she halted her task right away when she saw Lancelot. “Hello, is there something you seek? We have many weapons a man such as yourself would love to have.”

You noticed how it took her a little too long to even notice you were in the store too, not that she seemed to care, her eyes were glued to Lancelot from the second he had stepped inside. It irked you, a feeling you suppressed, this woman had done you no wrong.

“A sword.” he answered her.

She gestured for him to follow and leaded him to a wall with swords on display. “See something you like?”

Oh, it could not be more obvious that she was not talking about the swords then. Even Percival noted an undertone in her voice and looked up at her questioningly. The Ash Man said nothing, his gaze waved over the wall of swords and then he picked one off of the wall. He created some distance and spun the sword in his hand a few times.

“No.” he said, dissatisfied. The sword was placed back and another was put to the test, and another… and another…

You were watching the picky twit, starting to feel embarrassed for how he turned down sword after sword. “What exactly are you looking for?”

He smiled at the slightly annoyed tone. “Balance.”

“Balance?” Percival parroted. “It’s a sword. You just have to hit someone with it.”

He inspected the crossguard of the sword whilst explaining it to the boy. “A sword must have a good balance to control it well. It must be strong, not just the blade but the pommel and crossguard as well. A blade alone will not offer much aid in a sword fight without a strong pommel.”

The blacksmith’s daughter approached him now that he was just looking at the details of the pommel. “Spoken as a true swordsman. You are in need of a new sword then?”

She placed her hand on his lower arm, he looked at her hand right away. The sight of it bothered you, it shouldn’t have, not after all that had happened.

“No.” He finally read her intentions from her face. “It is for her.”

You saw him gesture your way and stared back at him in surprise. A sword, for you? Truly?

“Oh… I see… of course.” she stammered and stepped back.

When he beckoned for you to come closer, you became very aware of the sets of eyes on you. It felt a little awkward to approach him.

Upon seeing the reluctance, he approached you himself. He stood at your side and placed the sword into your hands, with your state from earlier in mind he behaved as gentle as he knew he could be. “See? Perfectly balanced steel. The right length for you to wield, a strong crossguard that can be used as a weapon in itself.”

The enthusiasm with which he spoke was infectious, if someone knew what sort of sword was good it had to be him. And with the way he was touching your arm and hands, you struggled to fully focus on the details of the sword he was explaining about.

He stood half against you. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Yes.” It flopped out, as if air decided to flee your lungs before the rest of your body could.

He looked at the shopkeeper. “We’ll take the sword.”

“Very well.” She sounded a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in the other matters that she had wanted to offer.

He made an observation. “She needs a belt and sheath for it.”

“Of course.” She went to a hook on the wall that held multiple sorts of belts and helped you pick one out, then she attached the sheath to it.

Lancelot approved of the ensemble and was seemingly wondering if there could be more added to the belt that would be useful. “A small pouch for it?”

That sure sounded handy to store small things in. “I’d love that.”

With a polite gesture of his hand, he told the shopkeeper to add it to the ensemble. Then there you stood, with a proper weapon belt and a sword at your hip, the joy it brought was refreshing.

“Will that be all?” The shopkeeper asked.

Percival piped up, “I want a knife.”

“No.” Lancelot denied that request.

The boy fired back. “Mine was stolen! By the people you lived with.”

The way the child glared at him and gave him a warning look… It was a blessing that he had not referred to them as paladins.

Lancelot looked at you for advice. Was it proper to give the young boy a knife?

You mistook the look he gave. “If the sword is too costly for Percival to get a knife, I will manage without a sword.”

He sighed and looked towards the shopkeeper. “Do you have something appropriate for one of his age to use?”

“My ‘age’ ?” Percival glared at him. “What’s that got to do with it?”

You snorted a laugh, curious how Lancelot was going to talk himself out of this one. And apparently he considered it wise to not answer Percival’s bait for a battle. Thankfully the shopkeeper sensed the mood of the boy shifting in the wrong direction and quickly handed a knife to Lancelot.

He inspected the knife before giving it to Percival. “Good?”

The boy got very cheery instantly again, and with a wide grin he nodded up to him. The sword and knife were paid for and the shopkeeper bid you all a good evening. Indeed evening had arrived over the land, there were far less people on the streets now. With a sword that you could rest your hand on, you felt more at ease. Had this been Lancelot’s intention, for you to feel less threatened by the crowd? It worked.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Before entering the inn, the three of you stopped by the horses. They were indeed being fed and taken care of, the innkeeper was one of the better ones out there it seemed.

“I miss Bear.” you said quietly whilst brushing the coat of the horse, that you had stolen from the paladins, with some straw. Lancelot was beside you, tending to Goliath’s coat.

Percival had heard it too. “Who’s ‘Bear’?”

“My own horse.” you told him. “This is the one I stole from the paladins. He’s sweet too, but he’s not Bear.”

The boy pouted a bit. “Where is Bear?”

You sighed. “Still at the paladin camp, I think.”

“He will be alright.” Lancelot reassured. “A good horse is always valuable, they will treat him well.”

You hoped he was right about that. “I hope so.”

After tending to the horses, you headed into the inn. The scent of warm potatoes and vegetables hanged inside the place, it was a warm welcome to your nostrils.

“I’m hungry.” Percival said the second you walked into the inn.

“I will ask the innkeeper for meals. Do we eat in the room?” you asked them.

“Yes.” Lancelot was quick to reply. The visit to the market had been enough risks for the day.

He did not have the heart to remind the boy that he had eaten a sweetroll not long ago, considering one of the ways to win the war against the Fey had been to burn their mills to cause famine amongst them.

As you walked towards the bar, he took Percival up to the room. Amelia was already looking at you, awaiting the interaction whilst she brushed a stray lock of her curly black hair behind her ear.

“That is a fine looking sword.” She nodded down at the sword resting at your hip. “Went to the market then?”

The wish for small talk was shared. “Yes. I needed more medicine for my friend.”

Her eyes narrowed for a blink. “That man you are with is your ‘friend’?”

Friend… it was the only way you could describe him that wouldn’t draw attention.

You worried what her reaction meant. “Yes…”

“I thought he was your lover.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And the boy?”

Rumors could be born so easily… at least Amelia was not afraid to ask for the truth. “Percival’s parents died, he only has us now.”

She hummed and filled some plates with the stew she had prepared for those at the inn. Her voice was just loud enough for you to hear. “Not many know what the Weeping Monk looks like, the people speak of him as if he is a ghost. Those who have not seen his face, or heard the stories, will not recognize him. But I have heard the stories. So tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your hands got clammy. She knew… she knew… “He is not a ghost, nor a monster. He will do you no harm.”

At least you hoped that was true, and that this was not some elaborate plan of his to get your trust back and return you to Father Carden.

She stared you down for a second, then gave a nod and placed the plates in front of your nose. “Be careful. Someone like him must have dangerous enemies, do not find yourself in the midst of it.”

If only she knew that you were already standing in the midst of it all. You took the plates to carefully carry them up the stairs. “Thank you for the meals.”

“You’re welcome. And once your ‘friend’-” she truly enunciated the word, “-feels better, do ask him if he could be so kind to move some of the lumber from behind the inn inside for the fireplace. There is no rush, but I would appreciate the help.”

It was a small favor to ask for in return for the hospitality she had shown. “I will ask. And he is truly just a friend, that is already complicated enough as it is.”

Her voice got a little louder, as if she meant to embarrass you in a playful way, “Perhaps it is complicated because he keeps imagining all the sins he would commit if he were to get you into bed.”

It caused your cheeks to burn. You tried to hush her. “What?! No! Of course not! He’s not like that-”

She arched a brow after you said the last part. “He’s not?”

Doubt was dripping off her tone and her expression, it only got you more flustered. She was such an open personality, unafraid to voice her thoughts and opinions and you found yourself at their mercy.

“He’s not.” you said firmly. Aware that your expression did not match the confidence of your voice.

A cheeky laugh escaped her. “Alright, don’t get so nervous. Who would I be to judge you for seeking some comfort in the arms of a monk?”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, carrying the plates in hand to carry them up the stairs. “You should write a book with that kind of imagination, Amelia.”

A laugh rippled through her chest and the sound followed you up the stairs, it wasn’t until you were in the room and had closed the door that you finally stopped hearing it. You placed the plates of stew down on the table. Percival was at the table not a blink of an eye later, Lancelot was more patient in his approach. He did not sit down yet when he saw you ignore the meal to attach your dagger to your new belt as well.

You finally noticed once you were done with the task. “Go on, sit. You don’t have to wait for me, you need your meals to get healthy again.”

“So do you.” he said whilst taking seat beside Percival.

You took the remaining plate of stew to eat on the bed. “How are your wounds? Is that ointment still working?”

“It is wearing off I believe.” He took a bite. “The vials will bring some relief.”

Those vials were good for fever, but you were not sure how well it would work against dirt getting into the wounds. “But you need ointment to protect you from infections, and it helps to quicken the process of healing. I’ll go search for what I need after the meal.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow is better.”

You frowned. “But-”

He would not hear it. “There is no need to scour the woods for me at night. I will not perish within hours. You should concern yourself over your own health more, have your own bruises even healed yet?”

“ Fine, I’ll go tomorrow.” you agreed to it. “And they’re almost gone.”

“How did you get bruises?” Percival asked with his mouth full.

“Paladins.” You spared the boy of the darker truth, drank the last of the broth that was left of the stew and put the plate down on the bed.

Lancelot scolded the boy for the lack of manners. “Do not talk with a full mouth.”

“Why?” Percival asked with his mouth still full.

“It is not proper.”

“Why?”

Lancelot sighed when the boy kept speaking whilst he chewed. “I can see right into your mouth. It ruins the appetite.”

Percival rolled his eyes and finally swallowed the food down. “Then don’t look.”

Those two conversing was so entertaining to watch. Lancelot trying to help the boy learn some manners, whilst the boy reacted to it as if Lancelot was exaggerating. The patience he had with the child was admirable. You watched their entire interaction, and Percival proved quite talented at trying to change the topic when it was most convenient for him.

An unexpected question of the boy derailed their entire conversation. “That man that talked to you before you fought those masked paladins, why did he ask if I could smell the Fey? Can you smell who is Fey?”

Lancelot had finished his plate not long after Percival had, and confirmed what the boy believed to be true. “Ash Folk have a strong sense of smell. Fey kind gives of a different sort of scent than Manblood.”

The boy looked somewhat confused. “Different how?”

He leaned back into the chair. “Imagine it as a cloak hanging over them at all times, a fresh scent much like young grass. It is different for all Fey, but it always smells similar to what one can find in the woods.”

You had never been able to put the scent into words, but his description made complete sense. “It prickles the nose.”

His attention turned to you. “Yes.”

“But not in a bad way.” you assured Percival. “I can’t pick up on scents as good as he can, but his description fits.”

Lancelot was glad to hear that you experienced it in a similar way. “I can ignore most scents, it would overwhelm my senses too greatly otherwise. But I will always notice the Fey scent.”

“Because you used it to find us?” Percival was starting to piece the puzzle together again.

Lancelot gave a small nod, aware how even the boy must have realized how terrible it was that a Fey had used his abilities against his own kind.

It lead Percival to chase the truth. “Why were you with them? If you’re Fey, why did you fight against us?”

You didn’t want this to end in trouble. “Percival-”

“It’s alright.” Lancelot said to you. “He has a right to know.”

You rose from the bed and approached Percival, leaning onto the back of the chair with your arm as Lancelot began his story. He told the boy how he ended up in the hands of Father Carden, what was expected of him and why. Percival had not been so quiet in quite some time, often a look of confusion set in his eyes to which Lancelot explained a little more.

“Do you really think we’re damned?” The boy asked.

Lancelot got quieter. “I do not know what to believe anymore.”

Percival looked down for a second, chewing his lip. “But you won’t hurt the Fey anymore?”

That was at least one thing he was certain of. “No. Not unless it is to defend us from danger.”

To the boy it was an agreeable condition. Percival still had some questions that were a little less hard to answer, mostly about how monks lived and how they prayed. You did notice that Lancelot was careful not to mention how they used the scourge on themselves. The memory of the wounds he had inflicted upon himself the last time he had done so was etched into your mind, you doubted those were not still hurting him even just sitting there.

    “Alright.” You grabbed their empty plates. “Whilst you two talk further, I’m taking these downstairs before it attracts flies into the room.”

They barely acknowledged the announcement, Percival was too engulfed in what Lancelot was telling him and Lancelot was too concentrated on not saying something that the boy was too young to hear about. So you headed down to the inn, Amelia was sweeping the floor and gave a grateful nod when she saw you carrying the plates down.

“To lessen some of your workload.” You held the plates up. “Do I put them in the kitchen?”

“Please do. Thank you.” She continued her task of cleaning the inn for the night.

The baker, Charles, was still up and sat at a table alone, you had to walk past him to go to the kitchen. “Care to offer a listening ear again, or perhaps accept one for yourself?”

You walked past him. “My ears always listen. I��ll put these in the kitchen first.”

Once you returned from the kitchen, he was awaiting your presence and leaned over the table to move the other chair so you could sit. Again he told of his life, about how before he became a baker he dreamed of being a bard, and when he offered to play on his lute you had to tell him that those already asleep in the inn upstairs might not appreciate the music at that hour. He was rather sweet, it was nice to listen to him talk. He had some quite amusing stories to tell about how some patrons would empty out a loaf of bread and try to return the shell of it to get their coin back.

Charles leaned a little closer over the table, his hands wrapped around the tankard that was long since emptied. “And you, what sort of stories can you tell me?”

It made you get evasive. “I’m not that interesting.”

He tsk-ed. “Nonsense. I see stories in those beautiful eyes.”

“‘Beautiful eyes’?” A chuckle escaped you. It had been a while since such flattery had been aimed your way.

“Not used to flattery?” he sounded surprised. “Hard to believe from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You had a cheeky grin.

“I enjoy your company and would love to enjoy it for the rest of the night.” Charles made no secret of his intentions, especially when he reached over to place a hand over your own.

A plate was put down on the table between you and Charles, who jolted back in his chair from the loud clattering it made. You reacted the same way, your heartbeat spiked. It was not Amelia who had put the plate down on the table, no, Lancelot had brought down your empty plate that you had forgotten upstairs in the room.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Charles asked rightfully irritated.

    "Her husband.”

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[blackcoldcrackedheart]

So yeah, I wrote a different version in where Tommy adopts Daniel.

(Last post for some time btw)

Tommy isn't religious, but he's praying to whomever can hear him that the boy,who looks barely two or three years old, is okay.

He wants to desperately curse out the parents for being stupid enough to go hiking when the Santa Ana winds were getting stronger.

Tommy picks up the kid gingerly, waiting for his team to pull the parents first since they weren't responding. The kid had a horrible open wound that Tommy was betting was a fracture but the kid's eyes were open and he seemed alert- scared really.

Something about the kid's eyes felt eerily familiar- a sense of deja vu washed over Tommy. The kid's eyes were starting blue and so animated, that Tommy was sure he could read the kid's thoughts just by looking into his eyes.

He gently pushed back the kid's blond curly hair back, pressing against the wound as the kid's eyes could only look around in fear. "Hey, I'm Tommy. What you're name, kiddo?"

"Danny." The kid slurred, his voice barely a whisper. "Mommy and daddy hurt?"

Tommy nodded, "Yes, your mommy and daddy got hurt but my friends are gonna help, okay? We're all firefighters and we're gonna take you to the hospital so you can feel better." He explained gently. He looked up to the helicopter that Lucy was piloting l. The winds were harsh and he had covered Danny's face from having to see his parents sway in the wind as they were being pulled into the helicopter.

"Firetruck?" Danny's eyes were filled with wonder and excitement, of course the kid would love firetrucks.

Tommy laughed, " When we get out of here, we can go see firetrucks with your mom and dad. Okay?"

Danny's eyes drooped close, Tommy patted the toddler's face gently, "Hey buddy, I know you're tired, but I need you to stay awake."

"I'm not tired, Tummy."

Tommy nearly snickered at that, the kid was such a cutie pie. "Hey, what if we sang a song? Want to sing me a song?"

He heard it before he heard his team yell.

The sound of the ground shifting.

"KINARD!"

Tommy shielded the kid and tried to duck into the smallest crevice known to man, he prayed to whomever could listen that the kid would be okay if he wasn’t.

“Kinard, you good?” He heard Milton yell out urgently.

“Never better.” He yelled back, trying to not chuckle at how the avalanche would have definitely hit him if he hadn’t moved in time. He looked down at Daniel, the kid was holding onto his jumpsuit tightly, eyes closed and clearly afraid. “Hey buddy, we’re okay.” Tommy assured him, running his hand through his curls.

“The kid okay?”

“Shaken, but he’s a trooper.”

-

The kid was a trooper, but definitely afraid still. He had refused to move away from Tommy, or as the others were loving the new nickname; Tummy. Ashara was kind about it, fixing what she could as the toddler would cry whenever someone tried to touch him.

“You think he was okay at home?” Ashara asked, looking over the kid with a worried expression, “I’ve never seen a kid so clingy like this before.”

Tommy sighed, “I have…little kids need someone to hold onto when they survive trauma. The kid just witnessed his parents getting buried by rocks and dirt, I’m surprised all he has are just gashes and bruises from what I can see.” He rubbed Daniel’s back soothingly, smiling in relief when he realized that Daniel was sound asleep in his arms.

“Kinard.” Lucy’s voice came through his headset, a gentle but pointed warning.

Tommy rolled his eyes, “Just fly this thing, Donato.”  

-

Tommy had been firefighter for decades at this point. He knew the number one rule.

Their job ended at the glass door.

But this time…

Daniel was still clinging to him once they landed and once they tried to put the toddler onto a gurney, he had screamed his head off till he was red, his arms reaching out to Tommy.

He turned to his team, who were all watching and waiting for Tommy to make his next move, and then turned to the med team.

“You’re serious?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide as Tommy went up to a male nurse.

“Would it be okay if I stay? Until you find his other family?” Tommy asked the man, his badge showing his name as Amir.

Amir frowned, looking back at Daniel and then at him- clearly this was first for the med team. “Okay, but just till we reached the next of kin. I don’t need to traumatize this kid twice over.”

Tommy nodded and rushed back to his team, “Tell the Cap that I’m sorry, I’ll try to head back once they call in his family.”

Lucy, Milton, and Ashara all glanced at each other, the same worried expression passing over their features. Lucy was the first to step up, “Keep us posted? I’ll pick you up if the Cap is cool with it.”

Tommy thanked and rushed off, promising his teammates that he would keep them posted if anything happened.

-

Three hours later Tommy was softly humming to a now calm Daniel.

The boy had been panicky whenever someone dared to even come close. Fortunately the doctors were able to confirm that Daniel was fine- he had to wear a cast on his arm and had to get a few stiches on his forehead and shoulder, but he was fine. In the appropriate weight and height class for his age, no signs of physical abuse that would make his doctor or social worker, Claudia, worried.

“I can’t imagine what he witnessed on that trail.” Claudia sighed, watching as Tommy fed the little boy a cup of mac and cheese.

“I don’t think we want to.” Tommy had seen the parents- those two had to be in critical care by now. He wasn’t sure if they would make it, but he hoped they did and hoped that their family would show support. Those two needed their family to help, especially with explaining to Daniel why he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing his parents for some time.

Claudia smiled, Daniel was adorably enjoying being fed while Tommy made ‘plane noises’ “I feel like he has you wrapped around his finger now.” She teased.

Tommy laughed, he couldn’t deny it really, “You try looking into those eyes and telling the kid no.” he joked, going back to feeding Daniel once the toddler started asking for “Plane?” again.

A part of him wasn’t surprised, he had a niece and nephew that he adored and spoiled. His sister Sarah and her husband Chet (short for Chetachukwu), lived in Napa and were not always too thrilled when Uncle TomTom came to visit because that meant things like…a built from scratch swing set or a treehouse (with furniture, “Because it has to have furniture Sarah!”).

He never pictured himself having kids…

No, he wasn’t going to go there, especially right now.

“He is adorable.” Claudia cooed, “I’m glad he has you right now, unfortunately we can’t always have someone sit for the kids who don’t have their parents or family when they come in.”

Tommy nodded, knowing this was the case with patients he had had brought in before, “Any luck with contacting the next of kin?”

Claudia shook her head ‘no’, “No luck, we’re still trying though.” She promised.

Tommy looked at his watch, it was nearing the end of his shift soon and so far he had only gotten a few messages from his team, particularly Lucy and Milton who had confirmed that the Captain was good with him staying with Daniel and a reminder for Tommy to message either of them when he was ready to head back. “Take your time.” He told her, “I’ve got nowhere to be for now.”

Tommy tried not to wince, knowing how depressed he sounded at that last part.

A few hours later Tommy and Daniel were emersed in a Bluey marathon on Tommy’s phone, sharing a cup of grapes and a bottle of apple juice.

‘In all honestly, not the worst way to spend a Friday night post-breakup.’ Tommy thought, the kid seemed to be distracted enough that he even was giggling and smiling at some parts of the show, which was a relief for Tommy.

The door opened, revealing Claudia and a older looking woman. “Mr. Kinard?” the older woman addressed him, “I’m Anita Hernandez, I’m the supervising social worker for the pediatric unit.” She explained,

Tommy could feel his stomach drop, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Anita sighed, looking at now nervous Claudia. “I wanted to introduce myself because one, I want to thank you so much for staying with Daniel throughout all this. My understanding is that you’re the one that saved him?”

Tommy shrugged, not liking the attention that he gets from his job, “It was a team effort.” He mumbled. “Well, either way it’s clear that Daniel is very attached to you. Which is why I thought it would be better to ask you, are you in any way interested in becoming the emergency foster parent for Daniel?”

Tommy froze, unsure at who to look at first as he tried to process the request. “What? I-What about his family? The parents didn’t have anyone?”

Claudia shook her head ‘no’, “Unfortunately the father had a fallout with his family a couple of years of ago and they don’t have any interest in taking care of Daniel and the mother’s side seems to be either too far or not physically able to care for Daniel- even temporarily.” She explained, “We know it’s a lot to ask, but considering how bonded Daniel seems to be with you, if you or anyone you know are willing to become an emergency placement then we can-”

“I’ll do it.”  

[j-k-writes]

Blood Upon the Snow - 2

Summary - Realistically, Jon Snow knows that Y/N is a different man than the boy he left behind. But he doesn't fully grasp just how different until he sees for himself.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, canon character death(s), mention of past death and resurrection, trauma, dissociation (from an outsider's perspective), some implied heating touches between adopted brothers.

“Again.” 

“Your Grace-” 

“Again.” 

At Y/N’s harsh tone, the men around him straightened, even Jon tensed where he stood. The men hurried into formation silently, and Y/N resumed his relentless beatings. Jon winced every time Y/N’s blade made contact with someone, the sound of the blunted blade against leather echoing through the yard with the force of the hit. 

At some point through the fourth, or was it fifth, run through, Sansa joined Jon at his position on the side of the yard. She had a small frown as she watched her elder brother swing his sword with a methodical yet animalistic precision. 

She turned to Jon as Y/N once again demanded another round, “He’s changed.” 

“We all have.” Sansa’s frown deepened at his response. 

“I know that it’s just-” She sighed, turning her gaze over to where Y/N was relentlessly pursuing a man Jon did not know. “He’s more different than I expected.” 

“He died,” Jon said a-matter-of-factly. War can only change a man so much, but death? Jon knows firsthand just how much death changed you. The man training in front of him might look and sound like his brother, but he wasn’t really him. His brother died at the Red Wedding, and a stranger took his place. 

“You should talk to him,” Sansa said, and Jon sighed. He’d been subjected to this argument since their first night in Winterfell. “You’re the only one in Westeros who knows how he feels.” 

Truthfully, Jon wasn’t intentionally keeping his death a secret from Y/N. Every time he opened his mouth to tell the man about their shared experience, he froze, and the moment fell away. They spent almost every night together in the Godswood, praying and speaking to each other in soft tones under the snow and moonlight. Every night, Jon had the opportunity to tell the truth, and every night, Jon couldn’t. 

It was simply that Jon felt sick at the idea of tainting the one thing that seemed to bring his brother peace. The weight Y/N carried with him everywhere he went seemed to fall away under the eyes of their gods. He smiled easier and laughed in a way that threw Jon back three years. The memory of the Y/N he’d left behind wasn’t just a memory in the Godswood, he was there in front of Jon- he was there just for Jon. 

So Jon couldn’t tell him. Not yet. 

“Your Grace,” Jon called out, and everyone in the yard, including Y/N, paused. “Perhaps you should give the men a break. You’ve been out here all day.”  

Y/N froze at his words, his eyes flickering up to the sky. The sun was setting, and the snow was falling harder around the castle. He watched a variety of emotions flicker across the man’s face before he nodded and let the men around him take their leave. Jon walked over to his brother in fast strides, recognizing the start of the spiral he’d become overly familiar with during the past weeks.

“Do not,” Jon said, batting his brother’s hands away from his leather armor. Y/N’s lack of resistance to Jon’s actions told him everything he needed to know. “It is not your fault.” 

Y/N sighed, letting Jon undo his armor silently. Sansa joined them briefly, giving them both a kiss on the cheek before also taking her leave into the castle. She murmured something to Y/N that Jon could not hear, and their brother just nodded his head, still silent. Jon put Y/N’s armor and training sword away, and when he returned, Y/N was still standing there, eyes trained on the muddy ground in front of them. 

He spoke as Jon approached, “I did it again.” 

“Come inside,” Jon said softly, grabbing the man’s arm gently. “We can talk by the fire, just for tonight.” 

“Is it cold?” Y/N sounded genuinely confused, and Jon knew it was going to be a bad night. 

‘It’s always cold.’ Jon thought, but for the sake of Y/N’s mind he bit his tongue. Instead he gently coaxed the man back inside the warmth of the castle, leading him to his chambers. 

Servants and lords attempted to speak to them as they walked, but Jon dodged their questions, practically dragging Y/N behind him. Y/N was still silent when they reached his chambers, and Jon maneuvered him into a chair by the fire. When he got the fire going, too nervous about Y/N’s silent state to call for a servant, he approached his brother slowly. 

“Y/N?” Jon asked, kneeling in front of the man. His brother hummed thoughtlessly at the sound of his name and Jon just sighed. “Alright.” 

The first time Y/N had one of these episodes in front of him, Jon had frozen, unsure of what was wrong. But this was the fifth time Y/N had ‘left,’ as Jon had taken to calling it in his mind, and Jon was pretty confident in his ability to handle them. He was still unsure of what exactly would trigger them, it seemed to happen at random on the bad days. Things that would trigger an episode one day would leave Y/N completely unaffected the next, and vice versa. They passed on their own, and all Jon could do was make sure that Y/N didn’t accidentally hurt himself in the time it took for him to come back to himself. So Jon just took a seat next to the man, resting his head gently on Y/N’s knee.  

It only took an hour for Y/N to come back to himself this time, the shortest time by far, Jon noted. The man above him tensed, and Jon spoke, “It’s alright.” 

“It happened again.” Y/N didn’t sound upset, just empty, and somehow, that made Jon feel worse. 

Jon picked his head up, meeting Y/N’s eyes, “Yes.” 

His brother frowned, slumping in his seat. “Where?” 

“In the yard.” 

“How many-” Y/N paused, swallowing. His voice was quiet when he continued. “How many saw?” 

“Y/N-” 

“How many?” Jon shivered at his tone. 

“A lot.” Y/N cursed under his breath, and Jon continued. “Sansa saw, the men training in the yard as well, and the servants and lords we passed on the way here.” 

“Gods.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Jon tried to reassure him but Y/N just scoffed. 

“Whose fault is it, Jon?” Again, he didn’t sound upset and Jon ached to feel just a bit of anger from his brother. Y/N was always the more even-tempered of the two of them, much like his twin Robb, but in recent weeks Jon had seen just how much anger the young king could wield. He preferred the red-hot rage Y/N held inside of him now to this apathy, Jon could deal with anger, he could fix anger. He couldn’t fix this. 

“Blame the gods.” Y/N made a face at Jon’s statement. “Blame the Freys and the Boltons, but do not blame yourself.” 

“I am the broken one.” 

Jon sighed, moving from his spot on the floor and kneeling in front of Y/N. He took Y/N’s hands in his, and the man looked at him. The vacant look in his brother’s eyes made Jon frown. “You are not broken.” 

“Jon I-” Y/N paused, before sighing and pulling his hands free from Jon’s grip. “Just leave.” 

“Y/N-” 

“Please, Jon.” Y/N begged, “Just leave me.” 

Begrudgingly Jon relented, brushing a few stray hairs from Y/N’s forehead as he stood. He let his hand fall to Y/N’s shoulder giving it a light squeeze, “Get some sleep.” 

Y/N was silent as Jon left the room. 

‘Sansa was wrong.’ Jon thought as he entered his chambers. ‘I don’t know how he feels.’ 

Jon may have died and come back to life, but whatever magic the Red Witch used to bring him back seemed different than the one used to bring Y/N back. Jon felt like a man living on borrowed time, but he doubted Y/N felt much like a man at all.

It took Y/N missing four dinners for Sansa to finally snap. 

Jon woke up to Sansa’s raised voice coming through the stone wall separating his chambers from Y/N’s. He hurried out of bed at the sound of Y/N’s voice rising to match Sansa’s, not even bothering to dress properly as he practically ran to Y/N’s chambers. Jon threw the door open, and they both paused at the sound it made when it hit the wall. 

Sansa paled at the sight of Jon in the room, clasping a hand over her mouth. Y/N couldn’t see him from where he was standing, but at the look on Sansa’s face, he turned around, freezing as soon as he laid eyes on Jon. His eyes trailed up and down Jon’s bare torso, but not in the way Jon was used to people looking at him, his eyes were wide in shock and horror. 

That’s when Jon remembered the scars. 

He doesn’t know how he forgot them, as hyper-aware he was with making sure they were always covered from prying eyes. But Y/N’s eyes flickered between each horrid gash the knives left in his torso, and Jon had no doubt that his not-so-secret secret was finally out in the open. 

“Jon,” Sansa said, and Jon suddenly remembered that she had never seen them either. She looked between her brothers, but Y/N’s eyes were still trained on Jon’s bare body. 

“What-” Y/N said, voice tight. “Jon, what-” 

Sansa made for the door, and Jon’s arm shot out to stop her hasty exit. She moved out of his way, shooting him a harsh look. She lowered her voice as she spoke. “You need to have this conversation with him alone.” 

“Sansa-” 

“This is your fault for putting it off for so long.” She said, before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her. 

He turned back to where his brother was still standing there silently, and Jon feared he was going to have another episode. But before Jon could speak Y/N moved, crossing the room in fast strides. Jon shivered at the feeling of Y/N’s fingertips gingerly tracing the shape of his scars. 

“Y/N?” Jon asked, voice at a whisper. 

“What happened?” Y/N’s voice was stricken. 

So Jon told him. 

He avoided Y/N’s gaze as he spoke, eyes trained on the floor throughout the entire conversation. When he was done, Y/N was silent, and Jon cleared his throat. He made to take a step back, but Y/N grabbed him. Jon froze at the feel of cold hands on his waist 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon looked up at the sound of Y/N’s voice. Y/N looked utterly crushed, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

“I- I don’t know.” Jon admitted. “You have too much to worry about already, I didn’t want you to think you had to worry about me.” 

“I will always worry about you, Jon.” Y/N raised his hand slowly up to Jon’s cheek. He cupped Jon’s cheek gently, fingers gently stroking the scar above his eyebrow. 

“You don’t need to.” Jon said. “I’m fine.” 

“No one comes back right, Jon.” Y/N frowned, “No one. Not me, not Dondarrion, not you, no one.” 

“I-” Jon stuttered, but when his words never came he just shut his mouth. Y/N gave him a sad smile, fingers still gently tracing his scars. “Y/N?” 

“Just promise me you’ll talk to me.” Y/N said. 

“If you’ll talk to me.” Y/N let out a wet laugh, but he nodded nonetheless. 

“Of course.” They stood there together, Y/N’s cold hands still caressing Jon’s skin, until a knock at the door startled them. They both jumped back from each other as a soft “Your Grace?” came from the other side of the door. Y/N cleared his throat, “Yes?” 

“Lord Umber seeks an audience with you.” 

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” 

The footsteps retreated from the door, and Jon looked at Y/N. At the look on Jon’s face, Y/N started to laugh, a small, quiet laugh that was nothing like the carefree one he had throughout their childhood, but it was a laugh all the same, and at the sound of it, Jon began to laugh, too. 

“You should probably go see to that.” Jon said in between laughs, but Y/N just shrugged. 

“I’ll get it later.” He said, stepping into Jon’s space again. “We promised to talk.”

[sissylittlefeather]

If I Can Dream: Chapter 5

A/N: The next few chapters of this one are going to come fast and furious. We're halfway to the end and the last one will be on Christmas Day. Please keep reading! Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, no smut in this one but Jo does get into some pretty heavy topics. She describes her trauma history and lightly (and I mean lightly) touches on a history of verbal abuse from her dad, sexual abuse from an ex-boyfriend, and feeling suicidal as a teenager. Some of these things are real for me, so I tried to handle them delicately in a way that wouldn't be triggering, but I need to mention them anyway.

Word count: ~2.4k

Forever, then. It's right on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back for some reason. He'll think about that tomorrow. For now, he drifts off to sleep with her in his arms again, perfectly content.

******

On Sunday around 1 in the afternoon, Elvis wakes up to the sound of the shower going. He looks around in the bed for Jo and then puts two and two together. The steam pours out of the bathroom when he pushes the door open.

“You want some company?”

“Shit!” Jo pokes her head out of the shower curtain. “You scared me!”

“I'm sorry, honey. I just missed ya in the bed.”

“Oh, I was trying to shower and be back before you woke up.” He gestures again to the shower.

“Can I join you?” She smiles and opens the curtain, her naked body glistening with the water running down it.

“Absolutely. C’mon, babe.” He smiles as his eyes drift down her body and he whistles.

“You sure you really want this old man?” As he removes his pajamas and drops them on the floor, Jo nods. He steps into the shower and groans when the hot water hits his back. She wraps herself around him and sighs.

“I love this old man.” He kisses the top of her head and holds her tightly.

“He loves you.” They spend the next twenty minutes or so in the shower. He washes her hair and she runs a wet sponge around on his body.

The time together is a blissful escape, but there's something floating around in Elvis's brain that he just can't ignore. Eventually, as they wrap themselves in towels first and then fluffy robes, he has to say something.

“Hey honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Last night in the car, why did you move my hand?” She looks at him strangely.

“When?”

“When you were… suckin’ me… I put my hand on your head and you said 'don't do that.’ Why?” A look of realization crosses Jo's face and she nods. She bites her cuticle for a bit, trying to figure out how to say what she needs to say.

“It's kind of a long story.”

“Well, if you want to tell it, I'm here to listen.” Jo continues to bite her cuticle and then plops down on the bed. She lays down so she doesn't have to look at him while she talks.

“I have to start with my dad. My father was not a nice man, especially when he drank. He never hurt us physically, but his words hurt almost as much. And he yelled. All the time, at me and my mom. I was an only child, so I got the full force of his anger every time.”

“Did he…?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. But it set me up to think that's what love looked like. As soon as I started dating, the men I chose were trash. They were always older, mean, angry men who didn't treat me very well.” He takes her hand gently and she squeezes her eyes shut to try to keep the tears from sliding down the sides of her face.

“One of them… well, he liked to be in control, completely.” Elvis nods, thinking of how he used to always be dominant and in charge in the bedroom. “He would… make me go down on him and when I did… well… there's a reason your hand on my head was bad.”

She looks over at him as the tears slide down into her hair. This wasn't a secret she wanted to share, but here it is, on the table for him to see and do with it as he pleases. He holds his arms out for her to crawl into his lap. She does, curling up and leaning into him. He strokes her back affectionately and sits quietly with this information for a bit. Finally, he speaks, but the words feel empty.

“I'm so sorry, honey.”

“It's okay, I'm mostly over it. But that particular thing brings it all back. I can't think I'm losing control of my own body or it gets to me like this.” He holds her face in his hands and kisses her cheek.

“Tink, I promise I'll never do that again. Thank you for tellin’ me.” She nods and kisses his nose. “While we're on the subject of your past, you told me last night that I saved you too.”

She shifts uncomfortably in his lap.

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me that story?” She looks into his eyes contemplating how it might impact them. But he's going to find out sooner or later. Might as well be now.

“I can't believe I'm about to tell you this. In 1953, my parents split up. Even though my dad was cruel, I was still forced to stay with him sometimes. By the time I was 16, I desperately wanted to make it end. I didn't know how to get out of seeing my dad, but I was desperate. You know how big everything seems when you're 16.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.” She takes another deep breath and continues.

“Well, Evelyn could tell I was really down. Just when I'd hit the edge of my ability to take what my life was, she forced me to go see this kid play on the back of a truck in a parking lot.”

“No…”

“I fell in love with you that night. And my love for you kept me going even when the worst things were happening to me. Your music was my lifeline. Your movies gave me an escape from my miserable existence. When I had no one else, I knew I had you.” He looks at her incredulously. “I sound insane. God, you probably think I'm crazy.”

“How many shows?”

“Six. Well seven if you count the one where I ran on stage. Three in the fifties, two in Vegas, and one when you were on tour in ‘72.”

“Why didn't you ever try to come talk to me?” He picks up her hand and kisses her knuckles gently.

“I did! I even got kicked out once. But I could never get to you. Fuck, you're probably thinking I'm crazy and trying to figure out how to get away from me-”

“Tink, the only thing I'm thinkin’ right now is that I wish I'd found you in 1955.” She looks up at him, her eyes wide.

“You mean that?”

“With my whole heart. I've needed you for 20 years and didn't even know it.” He moves his fingers up and down her back soothingly.

“You don't think I'm insane?”

“Oh you absolutely are, but not for the reasons you think. I'm glad my music and those terrible movies were a comfort to you. It makes me feel better about making them, honestly. But I wish we'd found each other back then and saved ourselves all the pain.” She shakes her head as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“No, there's a reason it didn't happen until now. We had to be ready. Think about it, I was so unstable then and you were young and wild. We would've been a recipe for disaster. This is better.” He pulls back and looks at her.

“Honey, you are somethin’ else. I'm so glad I found you.” He holds the side of her face with his hand and presses his forehead against hers. “I love you, Tink. And I don't think I'm ever gonna stop.”

“I love you too, Elvis. So, so much.”

******

After their serious conversation, Jo is ready for an easy day with Elvis and he knows it. They lay in the bed in robes, tangled in each other kissing and tickling and generally acting like young people in love until Jo's stomach growls.

“Oh, Tink, honey are you hungry? I am.” She giggles and her stomach rumbles. He leans over and acts like he's taking bites of her belly, tickling her instead.

“Ah! Yes! I'm hungry!” They both put on fresh pajamas and he takes her downstairs to get something to eat. After that, they lounge in the TV room for a while, not really watching what's on the screens. They spend more time making out like teenagers than anything else. Elvis thinks to himself that he should be embarrassed by their behavior, he is 40 years old after all, but he can't find it in himself to do so. He's so happy with Jo that he's practically giddy. And she's living her literal dream life, so she's not going to stop them from doing what feels natural. Still, as midnight approaches, Jo knows what has to happen. She crawls over into his lap, straddling his thighs again and he wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

“Elvis, I have to go home.” He pulls back and looks up at her in shock.

“What? Why?” The thought enters his mind that this might be a good thing and give him space to think about what the future of their relationship could possibly be, but his heart feels like it's in a vice.

“I have to work in the morning and I have no clothes here.”

“Honey, we can give Jerry your key and he'll go get some stuff for you.” She smiles and kisses his cheek gently.

“As nice as that sounds, I don't really want Jerry touching my panties. Do you?” He darkens a bit.

“No. I don't.”

“Exactly. I need to go home. I also need to sleep tonight and something tells me if I stay, that won't happen.” He nods and looks down, holding both of her hands in his. The thought of being without her makes his chest hurt. “I'll come back, though, if that's what you want.”

He puts his hand on the side of her face and his eyes search hers for a second.

“Are we kidding ourselves, honey?”

“What do you mean?” Her heart beats faster and it feels like she can hear her pulse in her ears.

“Maybe we should just see this for what it was. I have a career and a daughter and an ex wife and you… I just don't think you'd enjoy the fucking wild ride that my life is. You deserve someone stable, who'll marry you and give you children. I'm never gonna not be Elvis Presley.” She stares at him with her eyes wide and wet.

“I know that. I love you-”

“I love you too, Jo, but maybe this was just a beautiful weekend that we'll never forget.” His voice catches on the last part.

“You don't call me Jo. Elvis, what's happening?!”

“I'm just trying to save us both from the inevitable pain of how this ends.” She stands up off his lap and shakes her head.

“No, you're ending it before it starts. I want to know why.” He sighs deeply. How can he tell her that he's afraid? “You said things to me, Elvis.”

“I know, honey, and I'm sorry but I'm just not-”

“Not what?!”

“Not who you think I am.” The tears that have been threatening to spill out of her eyes finally do and slide down her cheeks.

“Then who are you, Elvis?” He shakes his head and looks at the floor.

“I dunno. But not the kind of man you need.”

“Elvis, look at me.” He reluctantly lifts his chin. “You're the man I want.”

He sits there silently staring up at her. He's torn between pulling her back down into his lap and asking her to marry him and telling her she should leave and never come back.

“Elvis… Do you not want this? Do you not want me?” More silence. He wants her so badly that it hurts, but something makes him hold back and leave everything unsaid. “How can you do this?”

“Jo, I don't know. You make me crazy. And I-I said a bunch of stuff that I shouldn't have. But now that I'm thinking clearly-”

“This is thinking clearly?! Elvis, why don't you just admit that I scare the shit out of you because what we have is real? Why can't you just say that?” His mouth pops open for a bit and then he closes it. How did she know?

“I’m not scared.”

“Bullshit.” She turns and runs up the stairs. He tries to follow her, but she's too fast. When he finally catches up to her, he's winded and she's gathering all of her stuff in the bedroom, which isn't much. He stands in the doorway watching and trying to catch his breath as she pulls off the pajamas and puts her dress back on.

“Jo, please.” She stops and turns to face him with one shoe on.

“I'm not doing this back and forth thing with you, Elvis. I'm too old. I have loved you for twenty years. Either you want me, or you don't-”

“Why do you get 20 years to decide and I get 5 days?!” Her mouth drops and she stares at him in disbelief. But he's right.

“Has it really only been 5 days?”

“Yes!” Her mouth curls into a tiny smile.

“Well that's just ridiculous.” He tries to suppress a grin.

“Yes! It is ridiculous!” She erupts in a giggle and he tries not to laugh. “I'm trying to be serious here, woman.”

Jo flops on the bed and howls with laughter, tears squeezing out of her eyes.

“5 days!” She croaks out between giggles. He sits next to her on the bed.

“Yes.” He looks down at her, his eyes sparkling as her laughter is finally slowing down. “You're not helping me love you any less.”

“You really love me?”

“Yes, goddamnit, I really do. I'm just not sure how we make this work.” She sits up and kisses his cheek.

“Let me go home tonight and go to work tomorrow. We can talk about it when I come over, if that’s still what you want.”

“Yeah, I think that's good.” He pulls her into his lap and buries his face in her neck. “I just need some time to think, Tink. It don't mean I don't love you.”

“I understand.” She lets him continue to nuzzle her.

“And you're right.” He mumbles into her neck. “But I'm not just scared; I'm fuckin’ terrified.”

“I know. It's okay.” She turns and puts her arms around him, kissing his forehead gently.

******

What happens now?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

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[babiestbubbles]

Jason Todd Agere HCS

The first of many, icl. I am possessed by DC demons, I have SO MANY thoughts abt them, pls pls pls hmu w/ Prompts, I am dying to write about these little bat boys

Primarily, if not exclusively, regresses when under the influence. The man is so repressed and afraid of his regression that the one of the only ways he can properly slip into his headspace is when he's drunk/high/etc.

Experiences a LOT of impure regression. Sometimes it's little imperceptible things like accidents after nightmares, so at first he brushes it off as a trauma response (which, technically it is but he doesn’t know that yet) or just a lack of bodily control that comes with revival. It slowly evolves into deep, complete regressive episodes when faced with heavy injury, fear toxin, or when he's home and safe after mission.

To expand on the previous point, he has enough control to keep from slipping during fights/high adrenaline situations, but the second his mind and body register genuine safety (ie. arrival at one of his personal/hidden safe houses or Roy's/a close friend's) he plummets into littlespace.

His close friends aren't overly jarred by it, Jason's always been a little softer, a little more sensitive after rough mission. He always meticulously checks them all over first, only allowing them to give him the same treatment once he's certain all immediate needs have been attended to. It's not their place to judge if over the months that softness has evolved from wordless whimpers and silent tears to soft babbles and tiny acts of self soothing.

If digging through his duffle and shoving a familiar stuffed bear into his arms keeps him from wiggling and whining as they attend to his wounds, just as he did theirs not 5 minutes earlier, who are they to look a gift in it's mouth? It's not like rougher, in-field Jason would take to being patched up all that better.

The process would be laced with fussing all the same, whimpers swapped for strings of curses and flinches traded for Jason brashly pulling away, insisting he could do it better himself. At least this way they can be sure his reactions are signs of genuine pain and discomfort rather than scorn and judgment for their first aid abilities.

He would genuinely rather die again then let any of his family know about his regression and makes it an active point to hide it from them, even at the expense of his health and wellbeing.

Idk much abt Steph but I think she, if anyone, would be the only one to pick up on it. I also think she's the best person of the bats to figure it out, because unlike the others who would confront him about it head on and probably scare him off, I think Steph would soft-launch her awareness of Jason’s regression.

It wouldn't be baby-talk and piles of presents. It would be keeping a few spare kids items in her pouches, a tiny teddybear, a pacifier, lollipops. Things she could easily brush off as occupational necessities.

He has almost NO gear on his own. He has the bear Talia gave him when he was first looking after him. (Before she'd thrown him into the pit back when his mind was too frazzled to recognize or comprehend most of his surroundings. When all he could rely on was his senses for comfort. She picked up on this quickly, flooding the boy with soft scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, cardamom tea, fluffy teddy bears and blankets.)

Aside from the bear all he has is a teether, a busted up old thing. It had water in it at some point, he'd found it in the clearance aisle of a Duane Reade, cheap enough to justify to himself. He'd muttered something about it being good to have for keeping toddlers quiet.

It' hadn't lasted a night in the package before he was gnawing at it, suckling on it, finally satiating the desire to nurse his thumb that he refused to indulge.

The teether had made it all of two weeks before he'd worn it out, busting it amidst a particularly bad crying fit. It only made him cry harder, and while he knew logically he should’ve tossed it the second it broke but he couldn't bear to part with his only other comfort item, and he knew he didn't have the stomach to try replacing it.

That it's for nowwww, pls gimme other characters to do!! I love writing abt them, I could honestly do another dump of just Jason hcs, I have so many thoughts about these little bat boys

Obligatory self-promo for my DC agere discord server

https://discord.gg/QwtaNKMq

Join it! Come harass me for fics, hcs, and drabbles personally ‼️ /silly

[bwat5-blog]

Father Of Madness: A Clear Look At Silco And Jinx

**Spoilers for all of arcane**

Silco is one of the best villains I’ve ever seen on screen. His complexity is endless. A ruthless murderer, a doting father, a criminal kingpin, a revolutionary…

Silco understandably appeals to many of us in the fandom for a variety of reasons. And if he is your favorite character, I have not come here to judge or look down on you... There is a lot of negative discourse regarding people who enjoy his character and that’s not at all my purpose. There is much that can be discussed regarding this man, his relationship with Vander, how much good he has or has not done for the lanes, and more. I will be focusing on his relationship with and impact on Jinx. As we dive in, there are two truths that we must accept:

1. Silco loves Jinx as his daughter fully and completely, and never intentionally harms her

2. Silco’s broken and warped psyche has twisted his love for Jinx into a cycle of violence and self-loathing that almost destroys her

Prior To Season 1: What To Know About Silco

1. Best Friend/ Brother to Vander in his youth

2. Worked with Vander on the idea of "The Nation Of Zaun"

3. Close to Felicia, Vi and Jinx's mom: Vowed to build a safer Zaun for the unborn Vi at that time

4. Parted ways with Vander after massacre on The Bridge Of Progress-- After Silco's actions (his actual culpability is never confirmed) lead to an incident on the bridge becoming a massacre, Felicia and Connol are killed, and Vander almost kills Silco leaving him disfigured in one eye. It seems like the fight between them is a different incident? Hard to say. Like maybe they met afterwards.

5. Vanished for years, amassing followers and resources, reinvents himself out of response to trauma

The Bridge Of Progress Massacre:

I have been unable to find a firm answer regarding how this incident began. Some say it was an uprising, some say it was simply a peaceful march. My assumption, is that it a peaceful event lead by Silco that was exacerbated in someway by the Enforcers, eventually leading to violence. My reasoning is as follows:

1. While we of course don't spend enough time with Felicia and Connol to say this with confidence, I don't think children as young as Vi and Powder would have been there if the plan was violence to begin with.

2. Despite his conflict with Silco over his actions in the present day, Vander is unflinchingly apologetic to Silco regarding what he did. That would not have been the case if he genuinely believed Silco to have been at fault for what occurred.

The aftermath of this incident is the birth of Silco's new self. He lost someone he was extremely close to in Felicia, his dream of Zaun has failed for at least the time being, and the man he loved as a brother tried to end his life leaving him maimed and abandoned. This is period of immense psychological trauma gives rise to his new belief in strength over all else.

1. "Real power... comes to those who will do anything to achieve it"

2. "It's a little crude I'll admit, the base violence necessary for change... but we both know, topside won't listen to anything else"

3. "The only way to defeat a superior enemy is to stop at nothing... to become what they fear"

This all ties in with his relationship with Vander, which is hugely important but not my focus tonight. What does matter, is that Silco's revenge against his former brother by taking him, is what sets off the chain of events that will impact almost every part of this story. Including my purpose here this evening. Meeting Powder.

What To Know About Powder Before They Meet:

In terms of what we need to understand about Powder, there are two primary issues to draw attention to

1. First and foremost is quite simply the loss she has already been through. She lost her birth parents. She has spent her early childhood in the lanes only a step away from danger. And when he finds her, she is attempting to grapple with the emotional overload of having killed her second family, and believing she has been abandoned (and has been hit) by Vi.

2. Her intense fear of abandonment, and the link to her feelings of insecurity. We see quickly that she is constantly picked on and teased by her male siblings, her worth as part of their team questioned. This all culminates in her being left behind during Vander's rescue. Vi was extremely gentle and kind with her in telling her to stay behind, but she did tell her she was not ready. And we later see Powder alone, having a panic attack and preparing to smash the symbol of her insecurity or inability to contribute, her monkey bomb.

*** As I always make sure to mention when talking about this wonderful character, I am not a mental health professional in any way. However research as a fan and reading people's thoughts online have suggested the two disorders below as conditions Powder may be suffering from in this early stage of her life for those interested***

The End Of Powder:

Silco has taken his revenge on Vander leaving he, Mylo and Clagger dead, and as we will come to know he believes Vi is dead as well... The same Vi he once made an promise to fight for to her mother... his friend. He stalks down the alley to a sobbing Powder, who is grappling with her bomb killing her family, and her beloved older sister having left her behind after striking her and calling her a jinx.

And even when he approaches Powder, he is clearly still carrying a knife slick with the blood of Vander. Now like anything we don't see go a certain way, speculation is required. Was he going to kill her? I think so. He had shown no hesitation at all in killing thus far. Which begs the question, why did he take Powder instead?:

1. He sees himself in her, she was "abandoned" by a "sibling", has no family, and is full of rage and pain

2. Remorse over Vander. the GIF is too short to get a good look, but re-watching the scene shows us him staring at the mutated body of his former best friend and comrade in arms, emotion clear on his face

3. She looks like Felicia and although he had clearly dishonored his oath to her, I imagine in this moment he can see his departed friend in this little girl

4. Quite simply it could be that there is enough good in him left that he couldn't bring himself to end a child's life who was clinging to him and grieving.

The last we see of them, Silco wraps her in a protective embrace, claiming her as is own.

"Its okay... we'll show them. We will show them all"

The Rise Of Jinx:

Seven years have passed and we find that Powder has indeed grown up. She now goes by the name Jinx, and has become a ferocious warrior with a reputation in her own right as someone to be feared. But we also quite quickly learn as the rest of season one progresses, that she has never healed from her trauma and pain. The specters of those she lost haunt her, she hears their voices, and although outwardly she has become strong and dangerous, inside her head remains the shadow of a guilt stricken young girl who only wanted to help.

Let me be clear, I am in no way suggesting that Silco does not love Jinx. I firmly believe he has come to love her as a daughter. The issue, is that Silco himself is a broken and traumatized man. And the way in which he loves her, and has raised her regarding processing and healing from what she has been through, has only strained her already fractured mind. He took that child in his arms and spoke to her of revenge and justice. Instead of safety, and healing.

Driven By Fear-

As previously discussed. When she was still that little girl named Powder, Jinx displayed intense fear of abandonment even before losing her second family and Vi "leaving" her. Now as a member of Silco's organization, those seven years of unresolved trauma have not improved. After the incident with the firelights in which Jinx broke down, due to hallucinating Vi being there, Silco benches her. We see her in her workshop, she is angry, she is increasingly agitated, and the voices of her fallen family push her until, in a bid to regain his favor, she kills six enforcers, and steals the hex gemstone. This of course pleases him, when he realizes what she has taken. He is happy, so she will not be abandoned. We see this moving forward as well.

An Impossible Standard-

"You need to let Powder die, so the fear of pain will no longer control you... your strong now, like you were always meant to be. Jinx is perfect"- Silco trying to baptize Jinx in his ways in Season 1 Episode 5.

Silco speaks a great deal on strength. About surrendering your fear of pain, and about becoming what your enemies fear. And in a way, Jinx has done that to a point. But here's the problem. There is a part of Powder in her that has never healed, never truly grieved. A primal, long buried part that she has no control over. She has now spent years learning to weaponize her deep seated fear and guilt to survive. But that is not healing. And now she finds herself in an unwinnable situation slowly tearing her apart.

So, in summary, she is not mentally capable of meeting his standards, and terrified that if she does meet said standards, she will be abandoned, and alone. I can't speak for you, but to me, that sounds like a very young woman, in a terrible amount of pain.

*For clarity and fairness, he is trying to help her survive in the same way he did. But he is broken as well, and he cannot see that he is handing his adopted daughter the gasoline and matches that lit the flame already consuming his soul*

Vi's Return-

As soon as Silco finds out Vi is alive, he starts making moves to have her murdered. Even knowing that Jinx is still struggling with guilt and closure over what happened those years ago, he is determined to keep them apart. Because he to has been abandoned, hurt and alone. And he knows that if Vi finds Jinx, there is a chance she will leave him. Or perhaps even worse, Jinx will remember that Silco killed Vander... Mylo... Clagger.. That it was his puppet who took Vi and hid her away even if Silco didn't know.

And so it is that to prevent their reunion, Silco tries to end Vi and Caitlyn both, as well as poisoning Jinx against Caitlyn by lying, claiming he knows why she is there. Sevika does this as well, even with the express purpose of destabilizing Jinx to the point Silco may throw her out.

We see how this plays out, Silco's attempts to keep them from reuniting causing Jinx more and more pain as things build to a head:

1. First Reunion-

When Vi finally finds her sister after all those years, things seem to be going shockingly well. Until seeing Caitlyn, who Jinx would know and suspect nothing about if not for Silco and Sevika, she immediately becomes agitated, the voices chattering in her head, even putting her minigun under Vi's chin.

2. Closing her wound-

After the fight with the firelights, Jinx is trying to staple her wound. The perpetually tormenting specter of Mylo is trying to convince her Vi had only come for the stone, only cared about Caitlyn, while Jinx is trying to push back. But with every spike of pain she gets worse until finally she focuses on Caitlyn alone.

3. The Bridge-

First and foremost, Jinx could have attacked at any point if all she wanted was to hurt Vi, Cait or Ekko. she watches them walking down the bridge while the specter of Mylo hovers like a giant spider. She even insists that Vi is just telling Caitlyn goodbye because she wouldn’t leave her again when they hug. It’s not until she sees the stone…. Sees that object that means Silco’s approval, his love, that she launches her assault. And for all the brutality of that attack, if you notice she is extremely calm. Until she sees Vi holding Caitlyn. And her fractured psyche shows her evil faces dancing across Caitlyn’s features. Jinx unloads almost killing them both before Ekko stops her, and she tries to kill both of them.

4. Singed-

She is tied to a table, critically injured from the blast, and going through terrible pain from the shimmer Singed is filling her with. In a short moment of quiet, when she is afraid and in pain, she hallucinates Vi. And when it’s just Vi, she is comforting, loving, there to help. But then Caitlyn appears. Caitlyn who again, has done NOTHING to Jinx at this point. But Silco has made her a demon in Jinx’s mind.

5. Taking Caitlyn-

This is an extremely dark moment that shows a notable shift in how unstable Jinx has become at this point. This is not an explosive episode where they just run into one another. This was deliberate, thought out, and with intention to terrify her target. Now, ultimately, Jinx chooses to do this. But again my point is that how did this all start? With Silco using Caitlyn as a tool to keep Vi and Jinx apart.

The Dinner Party:

Jinx’s dinner party is the culmination of the mental tug-of-war that has been going on within her and ultimately driven her almost past the point of no return. I have broken down this scene many times. So I’m not going through a point-by-point again. But for our purposes here what does this boil down to?

Vi believes she is only Powder and tries to get through to her, while Silco insists she is only Jinx. They are both wrong, and it is that fracturing in her that made things get so out of hand, as when we see them both yelling to get through to her.

The visions and sounds grow worse and worse, beating her down more and more until Silco frees himself, and she is forced to kill him to save Vi. As she cries and apologizes, he assures her he never would have let Topside take her. She’s perfect. And with the sight of Silco’s lifelong enemy looming over them, Vi and Caitlyn watch helplessly as she attacks the council of Piltover. A last attempt to honor the man who made her what she is.

*Regarding Vi’s contributing to her dissonance by insisting she is the Powder she was, I’ll say this. Was Vi unintentionally making her worse? It seems so based off of that last scene. But Vi is trying to remind her of everyone who loved her and who she was before Silco took that from her. So while I can admit Vi’s inability to see JUST how different her sister was before this was a mistake, if you believe Jinx would have been better off left alone on Silco’s path, that is not a stance I can understand*

Aftermath:

Ultimately, Jinx goes through a lot more after this until she starts to find her way out of the dark, but from this point on, it is without Silco. We see a few times instances where that influence threatens her, such as Sevika demanding she honor Silco’s sacrifice and the brief moment of glitchy chaos in her before she regains control. But I would say the ultimate proof we need to understand the toxicity of Silco’s influence upon her rests in their conversation in season two. Her mind could have presented the lesson of breaking the cycle to her in any form. But ultimately, it was the man whose shadow would fall over her even in death, who told her to break the cycle, and find a new life.

As always, to anyone who reads these I really appreciate you. Til next time.

[stuffandnosense]

WE NEED A NAME FOR WILLIAM AND ALT UNIVERSE ENGINEER MARINER CAUSE I’M GOING DOWN WITH THIS SHIP.

[haine-kleine]

is it too early to say that the narrative of Jinx being Vander's daughter was an OOC characterisation used to overwrite her being Silco's daughter because they needed to speedrun her redemption without being controversial

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[gingermintpepper]

Obsessed with the way Evadne's relationship with Apollo is described. Obsessed with the way Apollo was especially gentle with her because she was sheltered, hidden away and hadn't had any sort of experience with love prior to Apollo (and due to it being described as her 'first learning Aphrodite's joy' through Apollo', it was probably her first time even being attracted to someone). Obsessed with the way when she runs away, she stops in a violet patch to give birth. Y'know, violets, very famously the flower so strongly associated with Aphrodite that they were used in love potions? Those violets. Obsessed with the way that when Apollo realised his lover was going to have to deliver their child alone, he sent BOTH the goddess of childbirth and ALL THREE OF THE FATES to help and support her. Obsessed with the way that Apollo sends snakes to feed his baby honey straight from their fangs because Evadne abandons their son out of straight primal fear when her stepfather finds her and how the description of that honey is 'sweet venom' [ἰός] of the bees and is DEFINITELY a poetic pair/pun with [ἴον] aka violets and that every single thing about this relationship, conception and birth is a complete and utter fairytale down to Evadne's insanely overprotective stepfather having an immediate change of heart when he learned Evadne's child was an actual, legitimate Son of Apollo and the babe, after being cared for by his dad's honey-fanged snake buddies, was found perfectly healthy five days later swaddled in a blanket of violets (y'know the flowers so strongly associated with Aphrodite that they were used for lo-) and they called him Iamus aka Boy of the Violets which is AAAAAARRRR I AM GNAWING AT MY ENCLOSURE

Iamus was made of love. Everything about him was surrounded by deep and profound love and like, let's not even talk about his whole Thing of when he came of age and was like "I need to find out what my purpose is" and he literally had a Disney Protagonist moment where he ran out into the wilds and was like "Father!! Grandfather!! Tell me what I'm supposed to doooo!!" and then APOLLO FUCKING ANSWERED AND LED HIM TO ONE HIS TEMPLES ENTIRELY BY TALKING WITH IAMUS AND LETTING HIM FOLLOW HIS VOICE FOR THE WHOLE JOURNEY LIKE -

What do y'all know about the kind of SSS tier romantic escapades Apollo had fr?

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[yuridovewing]

sorry to post a negative wof thing but sometimes i remember the “morrowseer is moonwatcher’s dad but no one knows or cares, its just this quirky trivia thing” bit and get irrationally frustrated. like if you didnt have any ideas on what to do with that tui then you couldve just. not done it.

[phantajam]

my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

[travelingtwentysomething]

🌚Dream Journal🌝

I just woke up from a dream of my upcoming family Thanksgiving where my most despised uncle got the cops called on him for slapping me.

I laughingly rehashed the story for the police officer.

My uncle had insulted me by saying I was a "piece of shit waste of space just like my mother".

And so I chuckled and said, "hmm, yes, my mother and I do have a thing or two in common. Most notably that we independently came to the same conclusion- you are a selfish, childish, waste of a man, with a suspiciously unnatural hairline."

And that is when you could hear a pin drop, and he turned purple with rage, and slapped the shit out of me.

Then I called the police, and my family started to try and convince me not to call them, I said, "I'm not going to be abused at the hands of my own family and be silenced, you are all witnesses, if you do not speak up and tell the truth when the time comes, I will know who my abusers are, and who stands by and allows it."

Then my Uncle tries to verbally abuse me some more and tells me he demands respect and will not be disrespected by a child and no one will stand up for me because I brought it on myself.

And so I tell him, "I am a grown woman now, you will demand nothing of me, least of all respect. I responded to verbal abuse with truth, and you responded with physical abuse. You don't deserve respect, but the consequences you are about to receive are well deserved and of your own making."

Woke up very satisfied after seeing that asshole cuffed and spitting mad in the back of a police car.