#slight ptsd

(inspired by Blugiragi and Docdudo)

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You sensed him long before you saw him.

Ghost didn’t breathe the way the others did. Didn’t move, didn’t sigh, but he was there. Just at the edge of your vision. A shift in the shadows. A second weight in the silence.

He clung to the shadows and wore it like a second skin. Still and soundless, the kind of stillness that made your bones itch. Something primal in you knew not to look directly at him. But you did.

You turned. And instead of vanishing like a bad thought, he stood at the mouth of one of the side tunnels—half-consumed by flickering dark, half-revealed in the pulse of firelight. Watching.

When you turned, you expected him to vanish. Instead, he stood at the mouth of one of the side tunnels, cloaked in the flickering dark. Watching.

He said nothing.

As if he knew what happened yesterday with Soap still bothered you. It lingered in your mind like a never-ending nightmare. Shuddering at the memory, your eyes meet Ghost's for only the briefest moments. His silence spoke volumes. It screamed. You knew he knew. Knew about what had happened with Soap the day before. Knew how the memory still festered beneath your skin like an old bruise that wouldn’t fade.

Your breath caught. A single glance into the hollows of his mask, and it was like staring into an empty grave. A grave he very well might have crawled out of.

With your back to the cave wall, the feeling of solid rock against your spine almost burns from how cold it is. Your thin arms wrapped around your knees for warmth. The fire in the center crackled quietly, a low murmur of warmth and light against the cooler draft from deeper in the den. You didn’t look at him long. You’d grown used to the others filling every silence with noise, but Ghost never seemed to need sound. And strangely, that made him less unbearable to be around. Almost tolerable.

At least he wasn’t trying to touch you. Or talk. Or pretend to understand.

But that didn’t mean it was easy, either.

It wasn’t long before the quiet of the new day was broken, by Soap. the werewolf came bounding into the room. You heard him before you saw him— always did. His impressive claws clicking on stone, the slap of something soft, maybe a pelt being dragged across the floor.

“There you are!” he chirped, too loudly. His grin was sheepish, his ears pinned back like a dog that knew it had done something wrong but wasn’t sure what. And sure enough, there was a pelt being dragged by his side. But in his arms, he held something, almost tenderly. He was holding something—a little doll, maybe. Squinting, it takes a moment to makes sense of what he's holding. Rather than a doll, it looks more like a bundle of dried grass tied with bits of twine, knotted in places to suggest the shape of limbs and a head. “Made this for you. Look—see, it's even got a wee face on it.”

He crouched, holding the thing out like a peace offering. The smile on his face faltered as you just stared. The longer you stared, the more the hairs of his mohawk started to spike.

You didn’t want the doll. Not because it was ugly (though it was), or because it came from claws that had once curled too tight around your arms. But because it was too late. The damage was done. He didn’t understand what he’d done to upset you, not really. And that made the apology feel wrong. Like a not so well practiced performance.

Soap’s ears flicked nervously. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” you said softly, indignation curling in your stomach.

Soap blinked. You could see the sting in his cerulean eyes even as he tried to laugh it off. “Right. Of course. Just... thought it might help.”

You didn’t answer.

The silence thickened—until Price’s voice cut clean through it.

“Hatchling,” came the gravel-deep rumble, and Price emerged from the far tunnel, his one wing half-spread for balance as he ducked under a low arch of stone. His eyes were narrowed, not in anger, but in that assessing way dragons often looked at things they considered theirs. “Soap love, out of the way.”

Soap hesitated, then stepped aside with a huff, tail flicking. He muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch.

Price settled in front of you with slow, heavy movements, like a mountain deciding to sit. His golden eyes studied you with practiced patience.

“You’ve been quiet.”

You said nothing.

“Can’t blame you,” he said. “What happened yesterday... shouldn’t have. Not like that.”

You stiffened. His tone was calm, but it curled uncomfortably in your gut. You didn’t want to talk about it. You especially didn’t want to understand him.

“I told Soap not to roughhouse with you. He doesn’t know his own strength. Thinks humans are made of bark and bone like he is.”

glaring, you send a steely gaze up at the dragon hybrid. Your expression a little sharper than intended.

Price’s brow lifted. “Fair enough.”

He shifted, then reached out, slow and deliberate, as if you were a skittish animal. His clawed hand didn’t touch you—but hovered just close enough to make your skin prickle.

“Let me show you something,” he said.

You didn’t move, but your silence was enough.

Price nodded once, then turned, gesturing for you to follow. Reluctantly, you did. Brushing off your knees with both hands as you rise to standing.

He led you to the edge of where the mouth of the cave just about opened to the world outside. Ghost lingered behind, silent as breath with Soap who could be heard whining in his thick accent.

“This,” Price said as he stopped beside a stone shelf tucked beneath a low overhang, “is where we teach.”

“Teach?” you echoed.

“Yes, to teach other. How to live in the same den without tearing each other’s throats out. Just far enough into the cave, and shallow enough to take advantage of the outside if needed." The walls etched with tooth marks, talon scratches and burnt marks.

“Ghost, Soap and Gaz, they learned how to deal with me. I learned how not to torch them when I’m pissed,” he said with a dry smile. “Now we’re going to learn how to live with you.”

You stared at the stones. They didn’t mean anything. Not to you. Not yet.

“I’m not part of your pack,” you said, voice low. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” Price agreed, surprisingly gently. “But you’re still here. That makes you part of it—whether or not you think so.”

His words were meant to comfort. Instead, they curled around your ribs like vines, squeezing.

“You can’t just decide that.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “The others did. All of us did.”

He stepped back, giving you space, but his presence lingered like smoke in the lungs.

"I'm your Papa. We're your papa's now."

Then he said it.

The thing you didn’t want to hear. The thing you couldn’t un-hear.

Behind you, Soap shifted again, claws scraping softly on stone. Still holding the grass doll like a promise already broken. And Ghost—

Ghost hadn’t moved at all.

But the white of his mask burned like frost in the dark.

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Asra takes Quinn to the palace for a two week trip through the spirit worlds to strengthen their bonds to the Arcana, leaving Julian behind in his clinic. Quinn starts to feel sick and goes back to their loving husband but doesn't expect to see what they do...

Julian x OC, angst with a happy ending, sickness (not too in detail or gross), slight PTSD, based on a dream I had last night lmao

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood and killing, mentions of canon typical violence.

He looked down at the blood on his hands as it flowed into all the crevices and lines that mapped his palm. Blood shouldn't be touching his hands. Only a lover should touch his hands, hold them gently and in a way where it makes him feel light. Only fortune tellers should be able to trace the lines of his palms, not the warm red liquid currently resting there. Already drying, hardening, sickening. Harder to get off, harder to wash away.

Bucky's weeping. More like sobbing, gasping and clutching at nothing, flexing those hands open and closed, open and closed. Preston- Was that his name?- Looked down and him before crouching. "Hey," He says, and it's soft. His voice has the same affect as feeling the sun's warmth on your face when you close your eyes and you breathe deeply and take it in. "You okay?"

Bucky shakes his head as sweat drips down his temple, as it dampens his hair. Pooling at his underarms and lower back, drenching his shirt. He probably doesn't smell too good, most definitely doesn't look too good. "I've- I've never-" Oh God, he can't even say it. He took someone's life. Took a few people's lives. What's wrong with him? It was in self defense, sure, but still, he did that- He's the reason they're no longer breathing, their hearts are no longer beating, he's a-

"Hey, shhh..." Preston coos gently, hesitantly resting his hands on each of Bucky's wrists, stopping them from shaking. It makes Bucky flinch, but then he feels the muscles in his body start to untense, relax ever so slightly. Preston must just have that affect on people.

The man takes a worn cloth out of his pocket and wets it from a carton labelled 'dirty water'. Lovely. He also runs an old, small bar of soap over it a bit. Just enough to clean something. Rationed, it seems. Rationing is nothing new to Bucky, he knows it when he sees it. Soap must be a rarity, or perhaps their circumstances have led it to be. Hard to shop when running for your life.

He takes the cloth, more like a rag, if anything, and softly clenches it over Bucky's hands, letting some water drip onto them, before running the cloth over his palms. Sturges gets a bucket and places it between them to catch any water. Preston nods to him in a silent thanks.

The others seem to take notice and each leave, choosing to explore the neighbourhood to give Preston and Bucky some privacy. He barely notices, watching as Preston cleans his hands, as the water turns red and drops into the bucket, as his hands slowly become cleaner, the layer of red being wiped away to reveal his pale, soft hands. Hands that weren't made for fighting, not like Nate's. Not like his brother. Who's missing. Bucky bites his lips, tears falling from his eyes again. "I can't do this." He whispers.

Preston's dark eyes shoot up to his worriedly, hands gipping him slightly tighter. "Yes, you can."

The sea dragon was still encouraged to take it easy for a couple more days as his body was still recovering from everything. Anti wanted to argue but he still felt like he had been run over by a seamoth so resting actually sounded nice.

His brothers actually made everything a little too easy. Getting food for him, helping make him an extra comfy nest to rest in, making sure he got plenty of sun through the cave’s spotlight. He wanted to be annoyed by all the coddling, but some part of him deep down really missed this. When was the last time someone actually really took care of him? He had been alone for so long….

The boys that weren’t rushing to a fro getting stuff for Anti stayed around and started telling stories to the sea dragon to help jog his memories. It brought a tense smile to his face, to see how much his brothers had grown without him.

But soon the sun began to dim and all the boys started to prepare for sleep. Henrik headed out for the night, wanting to go check on his scrap pile after all the madness and the boys waved him away with big smiles. Anti found that odd but didn’t really know how to ask about it.

The other brothers piled into their signature guppy pile, Jamie claiming the bottom with Chase landing on him with a big thump, causing Jamie to let out a wheezy laugh. Chase grinned and ruffled his hair before turning to his side. Marvin yawned and sleepily headbutted Jamie’s stomach and curled up to the cuddlefish’s side and Jamie smiled and brought the older brother into a big bear hug. Marvin giggled and snuggled in and Chase turned and draped his tail over the both of them, causing them both to laugh. Jackie looked up tensely at the ocean through the skylight, an uneasy expression on his face. He shook it off with a smile that turned to a mischievous grin as he speeds towards the pile and flopped on the very top, causing the others to all exclaim in surprise. They all erupt into laughter as Jackie grins and makes himself comfortable.

Anti watches from a little ways away, feeling a hole in his chest. Some distant part of him yearns to be apart of the pile, while another part wants to be left alone. He’s left very confused as he lays his head down on the sand and tries to focus on sleeping.

Anti is awoken by a sound that sends terror through his very core. It echoes throughout the cave and shakes the rocks and above him, Anti can see a trail of light as it dances across the surface of the water. Anti fears the worse and he starts to panic, scuttling backward into the cave wall, his whole body shaking.

“No. no… no no no.. nononono!” He covers his ears, fingers digging into his hair as he tries to control his shaking but he can’t. He tenses as the strange sound booms again, cracking throughout the sea, lighting up the cave in weird yellow light. Anti’s tails light up in response and his blood goes cold.

“Fuck-fuck no!” He cries, shutting his eyes and folding up on himself, “T-they found me… they found me fuck no no no no…”

Jackie springs awake from the second boom of thunder, his muscles tense and alert like he’s ready to fight. But as soon as his eyes laid on Anti, he loosens up some, his face screwing up in concern. “Anti?” He whispers.

It doesn’t seem like Anti can hear him though. Jackie quietly pushes away from his still soundly sleeping brothers and cautiously approaches the panicking sea dragon.

“Anti?” Jackie calls again as he gently places a hand on Anti’s arm. Anti flinches but quickly jerks his head up to the reaper merman, blinking panicked tears out of his eyes.

His voice is thick in his throat as he chokes out a response. “j-Jackie,” Anti rasps. He holds back a terrified squeak as another boom shakes the cave and Jackie tries not to tense up with him. He hates storms just as much as the next guy, but Anti… Anti looks like a scared little kid again.

Anti desperately grabs onto Jackie’s tail, his eyes wide with fear. “j-Jackie, they found me. They’re g-going to take me again!”

“Who?” Jackie asks, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“The white suits” Anti cries, as his tails light up in response to another crack of lightning. He whimpers and tries to hide his tails, “T-They’re s-still c-controlling m-me…! L-look!”

Jackie’s heart feels heavy as he floats down and scoops Anti into a big hug. “Your memory must still be fuzzy Anti… this is just a storm. You’re safe.”

Anti doesn’t look convinced as he grits his teeth and shivers in Jackie’s arms. Jackie sighs, already exhausted and tense from keeping his own fear at bay. But he thinks he has an idea.

“Anti, follow me,” Jackie says as he grabs Anti’s hand and starts leading them out of the cave. Anti resists, digging his tails into the sand to try to stop them.

“What are you doing?!” He screeches, his eyes big as saucers. Jackie turns back and gives Anti a soft smile.

“Just trust me.”

Anti’s expression falls slightly but eventually, he nods and lets Jackie take him where he wants them to go. Jackie spurs them upwards to the surface. Somewhere Anti had never dared to go. The sea dragon’s muscles are tense with fear of the unknown, ready to fight off white suits and whatever could be waiting above the water.

The two mermen breech the surface of the water and Anti blinks as he’s pelted in the face by more. He stares up at the endless abyss of the sky and is met with grey swirling clouds. Small droplets of water drip on his face at random. Anti stares confused. The grey of the clouds light up with yellow light and a crack of thunder is heard, almost sending Anti diving back into the water. But Jackie holds him gently in place so Anti can watch the pattern. A flash, a beat, then a boom. His tail would light up in response to the flash every time.

No ships. No flying white suits machines. No white suits at all.

Anti struggles to sigh a breath of relief. The foreign sounds of the sky still leave him tensing up every time they echo across the surface. After a while, Anti notices Jackie tenses up with him.

“....Why are you doing this Jackie…?” Anti eventually asks.

“To show you there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Jackie replies.

“...you’re tense too. Are you scared?” Anti prods with a raised eyebrow.

Jackie is quiet for a second before he responds, his shoulders shaking slightly, “...t-terrified…”

Anti turns and stares at Jackie. And for the first time in a while, Anti sees him as his scared yet overly cocky little brother from so long ago, always heading headlong into danger, trying not to be afraid of anything. Now here he was, braving something he was scared of to make Anti feel better.

Tears prick at the corners of Anti’s eyes as he pulls Jackie into a fierce tight hug.

“You’re an idiot…” He whispers, holding his baby brother close. Jackie stiffens for a second then returns the hug, smothering Anti. Anti balks slightly, when did he get so much bigger than him?

“Yer a dummy too, Anti,” Jackie grins back. A huge crack of thunder sends both the boys jumping in the air, clinging to each other with their hearts in their throats. They exchange glances before Anti coughs and whispers, “Um, can we go home now?”

So, this story occurs before my "Calling in a King's Favor" and it actually was the start of my AU universe. I plan on finishing my re-write/AU of BOTFA in the near future but this story is what started it.

A missing scene from the Jackson movies, following the first battle with Azog. Emotions comes to a climax while the company stays with Beorn. Thorin has been playing Leader and King for the entire journey but he sometimes forgets that Kili and Fili need him to be an uncle too...and that some things cut deeper among family.

“Kili?”

                The dark haired dwarf waved his brother off as he stood, leaving the remaining group around the fire in Beorn’s main room. It would have been impossible to miss the tension etched in the youngest member’s features ever since their rescue by the eagles but it was odder still for him to refuse his brother’s company. By all accounts, he should have been attached to his brother’s side, as he usually was. Bilbo found it quite out of character. After the narrow escape they had, he certainly would have no shame in clinging to those around him, as much as he was able! Given how close the brothers were and indeed, how close Dwarven families appeared to be in general, it was a shock to see such company refused.

Yet, Kili appeared to be set on his mission. He grabbed his bow from the floor, tossing it over his left shoulder and just remarked “I need some air,” and went for the door.

Thorin, who had remained silent throughout most of the evening, nursing a mug of ale and occasionally puffing his pipe, kept his eyes on his nephew’s back a moment and then called “You should take someone with you. I don’t entirely trust this Beorn—“ He had lowered his voice out of respect but the malcontent was still quite noticeable in that heavy tone.

“Come, laddie,” Balin interjected “He has shown us no ill will. I’d say taking in a houseful of strangers with as much hospitality as he has should be cause for some appreciation.”

“I can appreciate the gesture without trusting the man,” Thorin countered and called again, “Kili! Take someone with you!”

Then, something happened, that seemed to Bilbo to be the most utterly confounding and potentially stupid stunts he had ever had the pleasure (or misfortune, depending on the moment) of witnessing. The younger dwarf stopped, stood still for a long moment. The chattering around the fire ceased and all eyes were fixated on the exiled King and the youngest heir to Erebor. There was unspoken anxiety in the room as Kili, normally obedient to a fault when given an order (the pony-incident had been a notable exception) made no move to call one of the others to accompany him. He simply paused in step a moment then as if on a cue, whirled around and snarled at his leader, in Khuzdul no less!

“Itkit! Itkit! Itkit! Itkit!”

Dwalin choked on his ale and Bofur almost dropped his bowl of stew. Bombur jerked his head about while Nori, Dori and Ori nearly fell to the ground in unison. Fili, still sitting on the ground, paled and made another attempt to reach for his younger brother but once again but shoved away. The others had simply gone silent, looking back and forth to one another, concern painting all their faces. Bilbo frowned, casting his look on Thorin. He had learned quite a bit about the dwarves on this journey and one thing that was consistent was that whenever they spoke their own language, it was when he was not around. The few times he had stumbled into camp when they had been speaking Khuzdul, they would immediately switch to Westron. Bofur had been kind enough to tell him that it was just something they liked to keep private to themselves. Bilbo could understand that. If there was anything he could understand, it was respecting one’s privacy!

That only made this act all the more troubling though. Bilbo had seen how stern Thorin was on preserving their culture so for Kili to outright break that ban while the hobbit was in the room was shocking. As for the word itself, the hobbit may not know the language but given the sharp tone that Kili snapped it in and the way he nearly wretched the door from its frame on the way out (even young dwarves were freakishly strong) he was willing to guess that it was not anything good. The reaction of all the others, the way they jerked their heads to Thorin, silently gauging his reaction, was another strong indicator.

A fear startled in Bilbo’s heart. Thorin Oakenshield was a truly frightening sight when angered and the sudden thought of that anger turned on Kili made him sick to his stomach. Oh, he had seen the love the Dwarf King held for this group. There was no faking the emotion he saw in the smiles he shared when he thought no one could see. All the same though, dwarves, it appeared, had horrific tempers and while useful in battle, it would be utterly terrifying outside of a war! Standing, he moved to stay Thorin, though how he planned on doing so, he had utterly no idea but the moment he set his eyes on their leader, he froze.

The rage he expected was not there. There was shock, utter bewilderment but not rage. Bilbo had learned quite a bit on his companions throughout the trip. He had learned Bofur never took off his hat, he learned that Bombur always snored the loudest, he’d learned that Kili talked in his sleep and Fili could not stay still to save his life. He had learned that Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes always gave away his heart. Those eyes were shimmering now as Bilbo looked up at them but not with the craze of anger. There was concern and worry painted in those eyes but not anger. How utterly bafflying! Was the word Kili had shouted not what he thought? No, no, he could quickly dismissed that thought. Everyone’s reactions had been proof enough of that. The entire room had frozen in time with that phrase. Yet, Thorin stood with nary a drop of aggression to him.

Reassured, Bilbo backed away but still asked “Thorin?”

The dwarf king seemed to snap out of his gaze with that inquiry. He blinked once, twice before shaking his head, as if coming from a daze. Setting his shoulders straight, he turned to their group “Mind the fire. We can’t afford to lose sleep over cold tonight. We’ll need it for the morn.” Stepping forward with that command, he was caught by the arm as he approached the door by his second sister-son, who was scrambling to his feet as if the floor was made of fire. It was hard to tell if he was trying to pull Thorin down or if the Dwarf warrior was pulling Fili up but either way, the blond haired lad’s arms were all but wrapped around his uncle’s left bicep.

“Thorin,” Fili pleaded “I-I-I can go talk to him. You know I can—“ He began but Thorin gave him a reassuring half-smile.

Nodding, the leader gently lay a hand over Fili’s. “Aye, I know you can but it will do us no good. There is something amiss between me and your brother and only we can fix it, Fili.” He added, in a slightly lower tone, “And I do mean to _talk_, my sister-son. Not yell. Talk.” Bilbo suspected that the latter half was not meant to be heard but he could hardly help it if he had well developed ears. There were unspoken words exchanged between the two of them by sight alone and the golden haired dwarf finally gave a reluctant nod and released his relative who quickly slipped through the doorframe.

Awkward silence reigned a moment before Dwalin, in his typical fashion, took a deep inhale on his pipe and exhaled a ring of smoke with, “Gotta hand it to the lad…balls of brass he has.”

 Taking an inhale of the comforting smoke, Kili let out an exhale slowly. He enjoyed a good smoke as much as the next dwarf but he did not engage as much as his brother or the rest of the company. However, he had found that the leaves Bilbo used were quite pleasant. Right now, he just needed to relax. He felt like all his muscles were bunched into sharp diamonds. Heart still racing, he tried to calm his racing thoughts but there was utterly no stopping them. The cool breeze was a bit of a comfort and he found himself shrugging off his outer coat, letting the cold seep into his skin.

He was in deep. He could feel it. What was he thinking? No, that was always the problem with him, wasn’t it? He didn’t think. Yet, he had been trying to push aside that building outburst ever since he had seen his uncle limp and unresponsive in the claw of that eagle. Even after Gandalf had revived him, even after they had climbed down Carrock and been forcefully introduced to Beorn, the feeling had not gone away. It had burned in his stomach and then moved to his heart, his bones, his head. It felt like the entirety of his innards was coated in molten lead.

“Kili.”

Closing his eyes tightly, he did not turn at his leader’s inquiry, just forced another inhale of smoke, much more than he usually did. It burned his lungs actually, to take such a large drag, but he needed something, anything, to close his mouth. The sound of Thorin’s voice normally brought him such comfort but now, after what he’d done, he was sure his uncle was going to half-kill him. More than that though, while he admitted to feeling a touch of fear for what might come from his leader and his king, his stomach was twisting again, like it had been doing when that Khuzdul had poured from his mouth. He was rather pleased with himself that it had not been something cruder.

The crunching of boots on earth, grass and rock scrambled the ground and Thorin lowered himself to sit next to him. There was tightness to his nephew’s posture that was not something the Dwarf King routinely saw. Oddly enough, while he should have likely been discussing the disrespect Kili had offered him, he felt no desire to do so. His heart felt weighed down, heavy as stone. He knew his nephews, knew them better than they knew themselves at times. This was not his Kili. Kili was the tiny dwarfling that would have spat in Mahal’s face if it would have earned him the respect of his uncle. Kili was the young dwarf who never stopped training, even when it became apparent that the ax was not the weapon for him, out of fear of disappointing his king. Kili was the boy that foolishly had charged in face a trio of trolls with nary a clue of how to dispatch them because they threatened a comrade.

This Kili that occupied the patch of earth beside him was stoic, empty and devoid of any conversation. That was far more disheartening than if his nephew had been lying on a bed with a poisoned gash through his belly.

“Kili, talk to me.” He tried to keep his tone even but he was fairly certain that came out more ‘order’ than ‘concerned uncle.’ He’d had to play King and Leader so firmly on this quest that his rather paternal tone had been lost along the way. He sincerely hoped that it was not entirely forgotten. He longed for the time when they had taken Erebor back and where he and his two heirs could once more be family first and kings and princes second. Where battle would be memories of glory days and bravery and not a fear for each night.

The younger dwarf felt his muscles twitch at Thorin’s command. Talk to him…he wanted him to talk? That twisted feeling crept through his bones again and a horrible deep fire burned through his veins. Kili was not a dwarf who angered often, if at all. He had seen his mother angry, his brother angry and his uncle angry as well as nearly every member of the company, but he scarcely felt that sting. Right now though, it raged through him like an unquenchable flame. How dare his uncle act so nonchalant? How dare he speak as though the previous night’s events were just a routine occurrence to be forgotten?! As if to see him fall…to see him…bitten and thrashed, to see those horrible blood stains covering the familiar tunic that Kili and Fili had clung to on so many nights… like…like it was nothing to lose…

The desire to push his fist into the middle of his uncle’s face was exceptionally strong.

He settled for letting the smoke fill his cheeks, turning to look his elder right in the face and let a simple wisp of smoke slip through his lips in his king’s general direction. It was not as satisfying as a punch but the look of hurt on the dwarf’s face did give him some satisfaction. Smoke wouldn’t hurt a dwarf’s eyes, so used to dust and rock that they were, but the symbol of gesture was read without issue. Good. Let the stubborn old dwarf know what it felt like! Let him know what it felt like to be completely dismissed and forgotten about for the sake of your stupid pride…

KHUZDUL Translations:

Warnings for: Gore, slight animal abuse, creepy/stalker vibes, slight PTSD.

Everyone is busy on a cease-fire day. If everyone is busy who is keeping an eye on Scout? Better yet, who is keeping an eye on Pyro?

~~~~~~~~

The soft ticking of the clock was the only noise that broke the silence of the usually boisterous Tuefort base. Tavish was out visiting his Ma, a somewhat rare but expected occasion. Heavy was doing whatever he does on ceasefire days. And everyone else...well, everyone else was doing their own thing.

Scout sighed, normally on ceasefire days he'd be going out to the nearby town and buying whatever he deemed as essential items. The last time Scout when out to buy his necessities dearest "Hard Hat" took one look at the grocery bags in his arms and narrowed his eyes. Apparently, the latest Tom Jones album and a few cases of Atomic Cherry Bonk were "non-essential" items.

Staring blankly at the magazine resting in his hands, he idly turned the page. Then he turned to the next page, then the page after that. With a groan, he flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

There was nothing to do, no one to mess with, and no one to talk to. The ticking of the clock was his only source of sound that broke the monotonous silence. The soft blanket fibers cushioned as much of the young man as they could from the hard mattress beneath him. From this position, he could feel all the aches and pains from the previous week catching up to him. Sure, the respawn could bring back people from the dead. But still, it didn't help much with the pain of sleeping in the wrong position for long periods of time, or the psychological pain that went along with having your arm and a bit of your abdomen flesh being torn off.

Scout could still feel the harsh unrelenting grip of the enemy Heavy gripping his forearm and twisting. With a soft sound, quite uncharacteristic of himself, he rolled up the magazine and threw it at the door, hitting it dead in the center; the impact making a hollow 'thunk' sound. With a frustrated groan, he slid down the bed and ended up in a seated position with his knees curled into his chest.

Only one thought coursed through his mind 'I'm so bored'.

Looking around his baseball-centric room his wandering eyes scanned over various posters and sports gear. He'd take going out on the battlefield without a weapon over being bored like this. With a soft clench of his fists, he rose steadily to his feet and walked over to his door, and swung it open softly, as if not to disturb the immense quiet that hung over the base. As he was closing the door a soft dragging noise filled the hall. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere down the hallway, upon closer inspection the dragging noise was coming from Pyro's room.

Scout's eyes widened. 'Aw crap, what's Pyro got in here this time?'

'Please don't be a person! please don't be a person! please don't be a person!'

His thoughts ran wildly, fear and adrenaline coursed through his veins.

The last time that a mysterious noise was heard from the resident flame thrower's room it turned out to be a coyote trying to chew through its own leg to get out of the string that the arsonist roped it in. The pitiful creature was brought to Medic and the "Firebug" as the Engineer so lovingly called him was given a stern lecture about endangered wildlife. How much was understood by the Pyro, no one really knew. Again the dragging/shuffling noise broke the silence.

'If I go in, I might die. If I don't go in I might die of boredom.' Weighing the pros and cons of this situation didn't help at all to quell his nerves...or his inquisitiveness.

With a steady hand, Scout knocked on the door two times.

"Hey, Pyro? You okay in there?"

A few mmphs sounded through the door.

"I hope that you don't have any animals in there with ya! Remember what happened last time? We had to bring the Coyote to Medic and he's a people doctor, not an animal doctor!"

Although, with that being said the Medic's astounding knowledge of animal biology made his previous statement seem rather questionable. Scout's train of thought broke when the sound of a lock being clicked open. The door to the Pyro's room swung open and fast gloved hands grabbed at the Scout's shoulders and brought him inside with a speed that put the resident speedster to shame.

"Whoa! Easy! What da hell man!?"

Scout's panicked unfocused eyes landed on the table in the center of the room. His rapid breathing slowed to a normal pace when he realized what lay dead center on the table.

"A tea set? you're having a tea party? All by yourself? Really? Now that's just sad."

With a turn of his heels, he moved to walk back out the door...only to be grabbed by his shoulders and manhandled into a tiny chair made for children. Scout did nothing as the Pyro grabbed a small butterknife and stabbed it into the table only a few inches away from his thigh.

With a shaky breath, Scout reached for his empty teacup and hesitantly took a sip of the imaginary tea.

'I'll just wait for the rest of the team to come back, then I can leave.'

Scout looked into the dark eyesockets of the gasmask...

'Yep, I can totally wait this out.' He could feel all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, despite the room's warmth he barely contained a shiver.

So I'm posting this a day early cause of stuff. Congrats. If you want to be tagged, let me know in the comments and if you decided to make fan art based on any part of this story, let me know. I'd love to see you version of my story.

Chapter Three - Ivy Is Not Ready For This

Ivy had her issues, she knew that. She could catalog all her symptoms, figuring out ways to combat them, but that didn't mean they went away. That's how she knew Danny was definitely traumatized. Deflection through snarky comments meant to put others on the defensive, making i hard to focus on the trauma hiding under his skin. Information without context changing the situation without having to deal with the issues that caused it. Ivy pulled herself out of her mind and put herself in the doctor headspace, slightly distancing herself emotionally. "Danny are you currently bleeding or have broken bones?" Ivy asked as she glanced over at Harley, immediately noticing her unfocused vacant eyes. "No." Danny had shrunk in on himself as if he expected to be yelled at . . .or worse. "Can you please pick up the glass in the kitchen?" Ivy asked him instead. Danny nodded so she turned her attention to her fiancee. "Harley, baby, I need you to breathe." Ivy kept her voice low and comforting as Harley's panicked eyes met hers before drawing back to unfocused. "Deep breath in." Ivy watched to make sure Harley was doing so."Deep breath out." Ivy kept going. "Deep breath in. Just focus on my voice. Deep breath out. You are safe here. Deep breath in." Ivy kept repeating the sayings until Harley returned more or less to reality. And then, and only then, did Ivy allow her hands to touch Harley's, going slow and broadcasting every movement. "You are safe." She whispered, showing her fiancee ever ounce of love and adoration she had to cement the truth in her words. "Who hurt her?" Danny asked, his voice robotic and emotionless. "She was Joker's girl before she was mine. It wasn't a good relationship." Ivy answered, watching, no studying, Danny carefully. There was nothing human in him, as if someone had replaced him with a robot. "The glass is all picked up." Danny stated and for a second, Ivy felt the apartment grow colder. "Excuse me for a second." Danny left the room, they heard a door shut and then Danny came back, something slightly off about him. "What did you guys want to know?" Danny asked smiling. Ivy shot a look towards her beloved and Harley subtly shook her head, and while Ivy wanted to know more, she trusted the love of her life. "What did you want for dinner?" Ivy asked. Danny didn't outwardly react to the question. Harley made dinner and Ivy kept an eye on Danny who sat down with the hyenas and rarely moved. Three hours later, Joker's death hit the news. Danny excused himself once again and came back himself. The women shared a look. Danny had caused Joker's death, Ivy knew that in her gut, the how was the question. And it was one neither woman would ask. If he wanted to tell them, he would when he was ready and no matter what, Ivy and Harley would make sure Danny was safe here in Gotham.

Link to AO3 version below

ok but imagine if eli didnt see him get shot but ellie did and she has the nightmares for a little while and each time she has them, she'd have to knock on bucky's door at like 4am and just seeing him brings her to tears. those nights they stay cuddled up on the couch, disney movies playing in the background as ellie finally falss asleep.

but like i touched on how bucky bought ellie her first stuffed animal and they have more of a bond than eli and bucky. she's always found comfort in bucky and also his metal arm. so i feel like she would be cuddled up on his left, bucky's metal arm wrapped around her shoulder protectively and it just helps her sleep.

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