#and yet i keep doing the same stupid routine of misery as always

[artificer-real]

anxiety anxiety, go away, come again never

[ilovetheseattlemariners]

I give myself in sweet surrender, my one and only

I hate being sick. Currently trying to nap because I need to rest but i just cannot. Like you're having a decent life and then all of a sudden something completely out of your control that has no benefit to you at all comes you way out of nowhere and now you're reduced to misery.

I think I'm really depressed too. And I don't want to say it, but I think the only solution might be to go back to Kelowna. Like those memories bring out this ineffable and irreproducible joy that doesn't have anything close to an equivalent; not even reminiscing on other beautiful moments in my life carries that same energy. And I think being deprived of that now is the source of my melancholia. But it wouldn't just be a return to Kelowna I'd need. It'd be a restoration of my former life, no amendments or alterations permitted. I finally got in contact with a close friend recently (you'd know her as A) and I found out she isn't there any longer; a lot of the jazz cats that I cooked with are now in completely different places, too. What my happiness hinges on is something impossibly, basically. My mind continues to trace those nights like a trite theme; it's as though its not convinced that I'm no longer there. Even the simplest recollection (thinking of being in the kitchen looking out the window, my routine walk through Rutland, the time the Christmas tree was in Rutland Centennial — it was there when I was told I'd not get into UBCV during my second year, and I had perhaps one of the worst days of my life, ironic —, driving through downtown with my ex during those nights, reading poetry at BNW, getting high, getting high, getting high and the nature of the Okanagan being perfect background music, studying with friends in Pritch or the bridge, the london fogs, the well poutines.

Listing it like that was a terrible exercise.

I think, too, that I am in love with my high school friend. Which sucks? I don't think she likes me back. She didn't want me to hug her, yet she smiled during it and I don't know how to interpret that — beyond the obvious, which is that I'm so fucking weird and I need to reevaluate my life. I want her. And maybe I just want anyone, but I want to pick her over some good fucking meat. And I mean dick. I'm giving up a lot of good dick for a girl who maybe liked me once who I'm not sure even likes me now. Like who would maintain a crush for longer than 3 years, a crush which never amounted to anything. Me, obviously. I sure fucking did.

Like, one time I told her genuinely that I had to go to the bathroom and she was like "do you want me to go with". But she's awkward in this cute way and because of her delivery it wasn't clear whether or not she was joking with me or she was being serious. I'm kinda serious about this though. I think it'd be nice. I mean, I don't know if it'd last. I never think about how long these things will last when I go about doing them. I'm really fucking stupid for that. But she is funny, and I like her smile.

I really want someone who has a lot of wit. Someone who is well read, has a lot of talents, and can say something profound or philosophical. I need a bit of a renaissance person in who I love. I think she could maybe be that.

Oh, I'm in a band now too. That's fun also. The cats are really good too. We have some fun Casiopea tunes we are gonna hit this Thursday, and I've trying my hand at a composition for the group but it's kinda being going tough. I wish I was writing more. But I'm sick and in bed. I guess I'm writing to you. You mean a lot to me. Thanks for listening to me always and for allowing me to keep myself here. I love you. Wish me luck.

[danddymaro]

Take My Hand |Loki x (Asgardian) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Quick and easy because as much as I would love to make a whole series, I don't have the capability to do so regularly and not disappoint.

With that being said this might just be left open as a single shot so I don't have to pick lol.

Word count: 5097

A/N: Have I mentioned I love drama?

-  because I love drama. 

Loki is a serious drift between romantic and platonic, and I just... I just love it, because you're like, hmmm. 

Is there something there?

Am I overthinking it?

Who do I pick?

Long-term friendship W/ Loki

Reader is Asgardian (as mentioned)

Bucky is in a half and half state. He’s somewhat good, but dealing with his stuff.

A lot more Loki W/reader. 

 Take My hand

She was a perfect woman, and he wholeheartedly believed it. 

In his eyes she was the embodiment of everything he could ever ask for, but, even then, that didn't mean he couldn't be a stupid man.

‘It’s really for the best,’ He told himself, all in order to convince himself that what he was about to do was for the best. 

‘ - Because right now...it’s not the best time for any of this,’ He thought to himself, biting his lower lip as he felt her reaching for him for warmth.

‘-It’d been in the heat of the moment,’ He inwardly spoke, wanting to take away any special meaning that the moment could hold.

‘yeah,’ he went on, wishing he could go back in time before they let themselves get carried away.

‘It’s just that...’ he went on, in a desperate attempt to convince himself that it was just like with any other time, and any other woman.

Though, in truth, as much as he tried to fight it, it was anything but insignificant. Far, deep within his being he did not want to forget the lovely moment now that it had occurred.

It was then that (f/n) pressed her cheek to his chest, her ear landing just a few inches off from his heart.

Her arm was then draped over his stomach, allowing her hand to land at his side, the woman seeming fully contempt with life as they cuddled.

‘It didn’t mean anything,’ He added with a long exhale, trying to convince himself as much as he could, hoping that if he repeated it enough, it would somehow become easier.

‘(f/n),’ He started, ‘Is this how you are with everyone else?’ He then wondered, asking himself if the cuddly nature was meant just for him, or for just anyone that lay next to her.

 ‘(f/n),’ He then added, his heart weighing down, ‘If I tell you a lie....would you just believe it? Will you just believe it...not having expected anything else from me but a single moment?’ He added, the same muscle tightening as the woman seemed to be at compete ease. 

The sentiment was infectious and as he felt her melt, it was hard for him not to do the same. Even if his mind was far too plagued by a tornado of torment, his body got the message.

Naturally, the tension in his body melted, and it only made things more difficult, because it just meant that his heart was responding to her embrace, knowing that this time, it was different.

‘I know I’ve got a nasty reputation right now,’ He started, ‘ but it’s because, really, I don’t care about seeing them the day after.’ He silently admitted to the (h/c) haired woman.

He’d somewhat gone back to his old ways, though, not quite entirely because it was hard to fall back into being the same charmer he used to be when he’d gone through such a long-termed torment.

 But, at the very least, he was graced with good looks, and it did plenty for him when he lacked the proper social skills to woo a woman.

He’d shamelessly had little hook ups here and there, and that was just what they were, and nothing more.

‘They know what to expect, and for me,  it’s a routine.’ he thought idly, finding the arrangements he had  better than spending the time alone in silence with his own thoughts.

‘I care about you a lot.’ He thought with certainty, pointing out what separated her form everyone else. ‘I think...that maybe... I might have actually fallen in love,’ He then corrected himself, finally admitting it. 

‘If I think about you so much,’ He started, knowing it wasn’t right how frequently she came to mind, well aware that what he felt wasn’t something that he could feel for just anyone.

‘if you’re the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the good things in life...’ he then trailed off, filling it the rest with a silence that reached his mind.

‘ (F/n), I choose you.’ He declared. “ I’d always choose you,’ He thought with determination. ‘I just hope you know...that right now, (f/n), I’m choosing you. 

Above me. 

Above everyone else. 

I’m choosing what’s best for you, and not what I want instead,’ he thought with lament.

‘ Right now, I’m no where near where I want to be.’ He went on with the same sorrow. 

‘ There’s a reason I never stay overnight. 

There’s a reason I don’t get too close to any one else...because it’s better for people to think I’m some asshole than some crazy psychopath.’ He told himself, not wanting to share his misery with the lovely woman.

‘You deserve more,’ He thought with certainty. ‘You’re meant for better things,’ He told himself, never forgetting her origin, knowing that she’d always be much more than he deserved.

She was a literal goddess, and he was just some broken down old fool.

“(f/n),” He started before closing his eyes while he let a deep breath leave his nostrils,

“(F/n),” He then said again, letting his mouth do the work, disconnecting himself from it all to make it more believable, because if she saw the misery that threatened to overtake him, she’d have doubt.

She stared at him with widened (e/c) colored eyes, the happy glow to them fading as he continued to speak, giving her an excuse to why he couldn’t stay, and much more, why he wasn’t one meant to settle down.

"- You understand....right?" He questioned her, and throughout his speech, it took all the power he could muster to not look back at her heartbroken expression, even though  it felt like his duty to ease it.

‘When you’re upset, I feel like I have to put you at ease,’ He thought with tenderness, knowing the pain was there, and that it existed on her beautiful face.

  He knew he'd caused it and instead, chose to cower, biting his tongue as he heard her take in a long, strong breath through her nostrils.

She’d long let go of him, and had chosen to distance herself the more he spoke,

"Of course," She responded, the hand that clutched the covers shaking before she released the fierce grip, finally collecting herself enough to hold back her melancholy.

She believed his deception because until then, she hadn't had a reason to distrust him.

Until then, he’d always been honest with her.

"I understand." She said with a soft, blue breath, her (e/c) colored eyes watching him as he slid from beneath the covers, soon throwing on his clothes in a way that was far too collected for a man that had regrets.

There was no stumble, nor fumble and she looked on with melting shoulders.

Quietly, (f/n) handed him his shirt, offering him a soft, yet broken smile, thinking she had mastered the false expression, though, failing the final test.

"You ok?" He asked her, his voice coming out soft and kind, because he never meant to hurt her.

'No...' She inwardly wept.

"Yeah...I get it," She said instead, her eyes fluttering close as he neared her,  laying a soft kiss on her hairline.

"- I'm heading out now," he informed her, his right hand gently patting down (h/c) colored hair, the affectionate act causing her to shrink as she nodded in acceptance.

'Please...don't,' she silently begged.

 'Not yet. If you're going to go anyways, just stay a little longer,' she added as she watched him go, wondering if she’d been the only one to hold back on calling him, or if he was used to being pleaded.

It didn’t take long for her to finally let loose of the harsh grip she had on herself, choking out soft sob after he left, properly reacting to his rejection once he was out of sight, and problobly off to his same routine. 

And that was the part that hurt most, that in the end, she was just like all of the others.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Please...” (f/n) breathed, her voice down and tired as she tried to keep the conversation with the man civil.

But, it was fruitless, because as much as she wanted to avoid the conversation, he was detrained to dig deep, going as far as to follow her through the entirety of the empty facility. He  remained hot on her trail with quick, long strides that only ceased when she decided to finally stop and turn towards him with the same defeated gaze she’d wear whenever she was shamed and beaten.

“You are a god!” Loki barked back at her, his emerald eyes shadowed over and dimmed as he roared out the words. 

He spat them at the woman to remind her what was her true title, because he detested how fiercely she tried to play home with a realm that she didn’t belong to.

“You shouldn't be played a fool by an insignificant, Midgardian, lowlife,-”  

“- Loki please,” She cut him off with a weak voice, desperately trying to both calm and silence him.

'Not now,' She secretly pleaded, not wanting to hear the harsh speak, especially with the news she’d just received.

She hardly found the strength to plead with him, and at that very moment, she was certain that it was the last bit of resistance she had left, the hollow feeling that she'd been consumed by only weakening her furthermore as the days progressed. 

Left as nothing more than a walking husk, she cowered, and it was something he could see.

 Her attempt was futile as well as her will to reason, and it only seemed to fuel his means to speak in such a heated tone, because the (f/n) he knew wasn’t so frail. 

 “You still defend him?!” He questioned her in complete astonishment, the tone borderline mocking.

In response she said nothing, and the woman only stared at her feet in disgrace, swallowing down a small wad of spit that would be her defense.

She couldn't find anything to say, or justify herself, and her silence was her only answer at the moment, the only one she could provide. 

 Because what was she to say? 

Yes, she was a fool.

Yes, she simply strung along.

 Yes to all the accusations, however, "Please…" she said softly, slowly lifting her gaze to meet his, finally finding it in herself to look directly at him.

 She couldn't bear to listen to more, because despite everything that happened, it hurt her to hear the demi-god speak of Bucky in such a way that demoted him into nothing but worthless rubble.

 No matter what had happened between them, nor how much bitterness was left in between to savor, she still loved him too much to sit through any ill talk of him. Aside from that, the way Loki threw her own foolishness In her face burned, scathing the warrior that lay dormant.

“No pleading me woman!  I have sat back and watched you gravel and lower your status to an expendable waste of time and space here on Midgard!” He said loudly.

Her self-esteem was already at an all-time low, and his words only stung more, causing her to visibly shrink, her shoulders sinking as she accepted his venom.

All sympathy was left aside as his rant ran, and she wasn't surprised because she knew how heated and stubborn he could be, and by then she was well aware that she might as well speak her feeble plea to a brick wall.

'I know,' She quietly mused.

 He watched her take in the insults with the same grimace and the sight didn’t soften his harsh glare in the least bit, nor deter his speech, and it was then that he made his final decision, 

“I am not pleading you, nor am I requesting this,” he stated lowly, and  the way he looked at her almost frightened her because she knew he had something severe to come. 

Bracing herself, she looked up at him, (e/c) colored eyes wide and teary, waiting for what was to come.

 “I demand you return to Asgard with me today.” he finished, each word spat out firmly. 

His chin was held high as his eyes dared her to defy him, and at that, her heart came to a sudden stop.

“Today?!” she breathed, “ Loki- No, No, No, I can't simply leave like that.” She said frantically, nearly on the verge of tears, the panic she felt rising, momentarily shielding her from feeling the full strength of her sorrow. 

“You can't?”  He said, raising a brow,“…or you won't?” he asked her, silence ensuing after his low murmur.

"What stops you?" He questioned her, wanting to hear her say it, itching for her to face the reality of her decisions.

She tried her best to put on a brave front, but failed miserably and soon enough, tears began to fall down her face. Quickly, she hung her head to hide her worthless state, however, hiding her tears did nothing to stifle her sniffles, letting him know she was breaking down. 

“ Loki..." She breathed.

‘I can’t go now,’ She thought to herself with weakness.

"- I'm pregnant…” she sniffed, her voice as soft as silk, completely delicate and woven with the finest fibers of desolation and helplessness. Through her (h/c) colored bangs, her ( e/c) eyes Scanned his face, only to find It unmoved, the expression giving her unease. 

“And your point is?” He said with a low growl, annoyed. 

The news didn't faze him, nor did it lessen his piercing glare, and it unnerved her, “Did you not hear me?” She questioned him, struck by disbelief. 

  Didn't he just hear her? 

Did he even understand what the implications of her being in such a state meant?

She couldn't just leave, it wasn't right to do so.

“I heard you,” he said placing both hands behind his back, breathing in a soft, mellow sigh that loosened his tense body, “In Fact,” he began,  “I knew before you mentioned it to me.” He said coolly. 

"Y-you knew," she said shocked, though not entirely convinced, "That's impossible..." she murmured with uncertainty written all over her person. 

she stared straight at him for a form of proof that indicated he could be lying, but she got nothing in return, only the same arrogant look he'd mastered. 

“-Three weeks." He said simply, " You are three weeks pregnant,” he said before giving her a satisfied look that was in response to her expression of shock.

"Don't be so surprised,  the question on your face is insulting.” He huffed, “ Need I remind you, that to fool a trickster is of unlikeliness my dear? " he said smugly. 

"Then if you knew, then why give me such an ultimatum!" She furiously bellowed.

Why put her through the pain? 

Why tear her child from a father? 

Why try and force her into leaving?

The questions burdened her as she faced him, but the growing fury she felt forced her to retain them, not knowing where to start. 

He huffed out a dry chuckle before closing the space in between them, slowly stepping closer.

 "As I said before. I am not asking you to come with me, I am telling you, and trust me when I say you will comply," he asserted.

By then his taller figure loomed over hers, making her feel even smaller than before, the sudden burst of passion she had dying out as he towered over her.

"Are you really going to force me? " She murmured dejectedly, knowing that any hope of defying him wouldn't happen if he was fully intent.  

" Only if I must, " He said calmly, seemingly cooled down.. 

She became crestfallen, the woman withdrawn and small by then, “Please don't make me...” she sniffed, looking up at him with hurt (e/c) colored eyes.

 "Think about this, the child will be born on a bed of silk and surrounded by the finest. In Asgard, they will have a lasting life, one of prosperity, of higher thinking and understanding. 

They won't be held back by petty wars and battles, the very ones you attempt to stop. 

What more could one want for their own?" He reasoned with an almost too kind smile, lulling her onto his side, hoping to easily strum her along. 

He then opened his mouth to speak again before she could deny him, using his silver tongue,

“Do you truly believe a child here would not suffer ?" He questioned her. 

" You, more than anyone know how much corruption and danger there is here, especially for a person such as yourself….one who has so many foes." He reminded her.

 " - With that said, would you would allow your child to live here, risking thier life? ” he asked her.

She was wedged between a spear and the wall, because as he stated out the facts, she was well aware of how much more favorable the other realm was, however, there existed a factor that bound her to the place she now called home, 

"My child needs a father. " She said softly, so much so he couldn't have heard her at any farther distance. 

Instantly, the emerald-eyed man turned from her, making an attempt to not capture her heartbroken gaze, and  yet again silence filled the room, the space disrupted by the long, hiss he let escape.

" Oh," he breathed, " And here they have one, yes? " He dared to ask.

The question nearly killed her, because the dagger that had already been wedged in her heart was moving, digging deeper, and rotating in a way it ensured there wouldn't be any healing.

‘ he wouldn't... I know he wouldn't reject a child of his own flesh and blood.’ she thought with a glimmer of hope, trusting the man she'd given herself to.

His heart was good, and she was convinced of it.

She desperately wanted to believe it, however, Loki was a man that knew how to crush one's dreams, the soft-tongued man always aware of what words to use, because he’d mastered the art of manipulation.

" - The man who rejected you, who used you, who humiliated you in the vilest way he could… He is worthy of being a father? " he questioned her, finding a weak point.

'He doesn't want to be with me,' She then thought to herself. ' he doesn't want that life....so of course, why would he be willing to stop? 

For me...For a child that comes from me...

One he never planned...

Why should I force him...right?’

“ Do you believe that if he cared for you, he would toss you away so easily, without even a glance at your way. 

- Watching you suffer, seeing you slowly crumble… and do nothing?

I could never sit by and watch you suffer.” He then told her. 

“How is it that he can?” He then asked her, watching her swallow hard.

“ Much more , Do you truly believe a man such as himself would be safe around a child? Again I ask -

Would you put your own child at risk? “

Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a strangled breath, taking in the words with a fastly thudding heart, 

“You’re wrong !” she said stubbornly, “He wouldn't harm his own child, to any child. To any one!” she rambled. “He wouldn't ! he isn't like that, not anymore Loki!” She said with panic.

'No...you can play with every insecurity I have,' She silently spoke, ' but that is not one,' she thought with confidence.

 “ of course HE isn't, but what about the Winter soldier? what about the ruthless assassin that lies dormant?

What of that feral beast he becomes ?

Is he not unstable still?”

She shook her head with a certain look to her eyes, pride swelling through at the gaze, “ You can't play on a fear I long let go of. I know he is strong enough. 

He is different." she said with borderline arrogance. 

He then sighed, the breath sounding exasperated.  

"Return to Asgard. whatever fool that crosses your path could take the role." He finished, beginning to walk away, not willing to negotiate any longer, growing weary of the conversation.

 "If a father is what you need then find a suitable one once we arrive," He advised her. “You’re still in your early stages,” he reminded her, letting her know how easy it’d be to just push the responsibility onto some other fool.

Her eyes became wide at his solution and her nostrils flared in anger, a sudden burst of fury striking her,

“I will do no such thing !” she growled, quickly pulling him back.

With her quick hand shot directly at him, she managed to grab his shoulder and spin him around roughly. And it was at that moment that he found himself facing a different woman, one he recognized. 

Fire blazed in her (e/c) colored orbs, and by then the tears no longer flowed, slightly pleasing him.

The display of a knowing smirk made its way onto his face as he watched her, preferring her in her current state.

" That is deceiving,  and a much more, a disgusting act. I could never do such a thing !" She said in between gritted teeth, "And for you to expect it from me, I'm appalled." She further seethed.

"You, are simply unbearable," He snickered.

"So are you, darling," she bit back.

‘Just when I think we’ve become strangers...we come to this point again.’ he thought to himself. ‘A change in scenery. A different year and stage in our lives, and yet, it’s all warmly familiar,’ He added, by then certain that he and the woman were destined to be at each other sides.

‘Alright,’ He decided, knowing what had to be done.

"Unbearable woman..." He breathed, " I have another proposition." he informed her.

She nearly tore out her hair at his words, frustrated, because, Could he not just understand?

she couldn't just leave,

"NOTHING YOU SAY COULD POSS-"

"Then I will be that fool…per se."

" …what? " She breathed stepping back from him, anger having disappeared. Instead, she stared at him in awe, as if he had grown a new head entirely.

“Idiot...” She murmured, “Just what are you saying!” She questioned him, still in shock, not knowing how to really react.

" You heard me, I will take responsibility of you both." He said with a low voice, his eyes cast down as he spoke, looking almost hesitant to word his proposal for a reason other than doubt of his own. 

Truly, if there was any reason he looked away, it was because there was a vulnerability to him that he didn’t want to show so openly. 

'Why are you doing this Loki ?’ She gloomily wondered.

“- Why?” She questioned him, “ Just why are you so pent on me leaving with you?” She asked him while taking a step closer to him. 

Her hand reached out to him, her palm gently taking hold of his cheek, easing him to properly gaze at her. 

 “Why?” she breathed, questioning him yet again.

“Could the god of lies and deceit finally tell me the truth?" She challenged him, the words making his lips twitch with the most delicate touch of amusement.

 "- Why not? " He said simply, still not looking towards her, his eyes stubbornly drawn away.

"B-Because !" She argued, not finding where to begin, 

‘ Because I don’t want to hurt you.

Because you deserve so much more. 

Because I love you too much to damn you in any way.’ 

Finally finding it in himself, he pulled up a soft smile, “I see no fault in my plan.” He assured her, the confident comment not easing her.

“It's marriage Loki! A family!” She cried in frustration. “It’s an eternity!” She went on, no longer convinced he knew the true implications of such ties.

“- I understand what it means fully well,” He started, “ And it seems that you do too, so could it be that you simply wish to not bind yourself to me in specific?” he said looking insulted, a hint of playfulness hidden in his words, the childish speak further wounding her, because the lightheartedness he showed only highlighted his true devotion.

His sweet banter only showed how sure he was. 

“No... it's just... what about you?” She whispered with a crooked smile, an imperfect expression that tried too hard to properly showcase all of her inner musings from sadness and loss, to confusion and joy, and even hints of frustration.

“-What of me?” he asked her back, his tone just as sweet as hers. 

“Don't play the role of a fool, because it doesn't fit you well,” she rebutted, the words making him crack a true smile. 

“Do you not see it as sacred as I do?” She said with glittering eyes.

‘To me...this means devoted love. 

This means there is no end. 

This is something my heart has always yearned for,’

“Yes.” He answered her without a shred of hesitance, no second thought hidden between the spaces of the words.

“Then why me…?” She questioned him, “ Why make the sacrifice for me?” choking on her own words when she asked the one question she had begged to be answered.

“ why take me from my home here?” She continued to ask him. “Why put me before your own desires?” (f/n) said while beginning to shake.

“This is my desire,” He said as his hand rose to cover hers, all while his head leaned to her palm even moreso, 

“ I wish you could truly grasp at how special you are. 

How rare it is to find a woman such as yourself, in just about any part of the universe, even while scouring entire realms," he proceeded, grasping her little limb before lacing his fingers with hers, and suspending them in the air between them.

“That child of yours, they will take on my name, and whatever glories are bestowed upon them will be preceded by both of our titles, hopefully with pride,” He said with a small chuckle.

She could detect no lies, and at that, her hand squeezed his, 

“ A child is an extension of you, and so, I could never deny them. They will be mine, just as they are yours.” he spoke before releasing a low, airy chuckle, 

“Perhaps then I can show Odin how a true parent is to treat their son,”

He finished with a snide remark. 

“Son..?” She questioned him, lightly tilting her head as she gazed at him, “A son?” she repeated while envisioning such a child. 

‘Would our son hold resemblance to their father...or would they somehow hold all of me instead?’ She idly thought to herself, envisioning the same beautiful blue eyes that now caused her sorrow being possessed by her child.

“ Yes dear,” Loki said with certainty, “ A son. A boy. wouldn't that be marvelous?” He questioned her, seeming enthralled by the very idea, so much that he slid his free hand down to her upper back, the other that linked with her own held dearly as he took a step to the side, performing a lax spin that was of a poorly preformed waltz, and it reminded her so much of the little dances they preformed as children.

“ Then what if it's a girl?” she interjected, “Would you still be as willing to accept them? ” She said while smugly awaiting his answer, wanting to see him weigh in every possibility.  

“What do you mean if it's a girl ?” He said while stopping their spinning, “ Then there will be a princess born, and she will be a proper lady,” He responded without question, mindlessly falling in sync with her little steps. 

“Oh, and mother will just adore her. We will teach her all sorts of magic and quick Wit.

  She will have both our bronze and brain,

  Your righteous convictions, your every strength...they will be celebrated.

And every weakness she develops will be assured by me,” He swore to her, seeing only a bright path in the wake.

“She will be a gem formed in the same mine as her perfect mother,” He said proudly, but not soon after did his frown overtake him, abruptly stopping their little waltz,

“Which in turn...will mean she will be sought after by just about every man in Asgard,” He mumbled lowly, breaking off from her with a bothered downturn,

“And of course, none will ever be worthy of her, “ he said with a present scowl.

Momentarily, she stared at him, her sight, and mind alike completely taken by the prince who she could only then, describe as precious.

“ Traces of doubt nested within me, until just now, “ She admitted, “You're serious aren't you..?” she asked him with a small chuckle, her (e/c) colored eyes gazing at him with an even brighter light.

“ And I keep asking myself...why?” she said softly, shaking her head all the while, and it was then that his entire face melted into a sweetened softness that was further accented by the gentle smile he presented.

“ You have been with me through and through, just like a shadow, but unlike one, you don’t stand behind me.

You don’t cower yourself, and, instead, show me devotion while everyone else looks away.

 You’ve defended me, despite the many times I've paid you back with everything but the truth. “ he said with shame.

“(f/n), with you, I’ve felt true love,” He admitted to her.

“What we have, to me, has always been treasured.

It has always been cherished. 

I was never doubtful of what it was,” He further confessed. “I do not want you to look at that man more than you have to.

I do not want you to live in the same place he calls home.

- I cannot stand your suffrage.

Do you understand me?

You've always been one to find reason behind my actions and against all logic and reasoning.

You’ve always tried to save me, so now, shouldn't I do the same with you?” He questioned her. 

“(F/n),” He airily murmured, “Would you take my hand, and disappear?” He then asked her, pulling back to just the touch of fingertips.

With an upturned palm, he offered her a sweet smile as he repeated the question a second time,

“(f/n)...Would you take my hand?

[diofasolia]

{Always}

{Shattered! Dream x Reader}

Shattered! Dream by @shattereddreamsau

Writings by me

Today (8/7) is Shattered! Dream's birthday and I decided to post a writing I did last year—which is also the reason why I eventually join in the tumblr

Because back when I wrote this story, I found Dark Cream comic, which made by amazing @zu-is-here

Her creations give me the inspiration for the writing

The story is long (it has like 2000 words in it) and may be a bit cheesy, but I'll be happy to know if you read the whole thing (◡ ω ◡)

******

Before the story start, I want to ask you a question.

   Do you believe that the worst person can change?

   Oh! How awkward, sorry, I ask the wrong question.

   What I meant to ask is—

   Do you believe that the best person, the kindest person in the world can change?

   Maybe…all it needs is a tiny push?

   The harsh whipping hits in my abdomen again. I kneel on the ground, thinking how deep the scar might be from that blow.

   "What're you doing!? Look at your king when I'm talking to you! Such a piece of useless trash!!"

   "I apologized, My Lord."

   Raising my bruised neck, I gaze at the former guardian of positivity. Those eyes that used to hold the tenderness, now only fill up with hatred.

   "Where're those fricking basters!? I told you to track down my brother and other Sanses!"

   "I'm sorry, My Lord. They escaped. I can't find where their location is–"

   Not even waiting for my sentence finished, another powerful punch land on my face. I watch as a tooth fall out of my mouth. Blood dripping down my chin.

   "Worthless! Can't even do a little task like that!"

   Multiple kicks and insults throw at me. The numb feeling slowly occurs in my torso as I curling up into a ball.

   Closing my eyes, the memories from the past arises in my mind, bringing me back to the day that I seal my fate.

   "Dream? Earth to Dream!"

   "(Y/N)? What's wrong, love?"

   "What's wrong? I've called your name for five times! But you didn't answer to me."

   Dream scratches the back of his skull, looking a bit embarrassed.

   "Is that so? I'm sorry, (Y/N)! It won't happen again, I swear!"

   I cuddle Dream close, letting out a giggle.

   "It's fine! I don't really mind it. But Dream, you tend to space out recently. Is there something on your mind? You can tell me everything, you know that, right?"

   Giving me a kiss on the cheek, Dream smiles gently. He assures me that there's nothing to worry about. It’s just the task of guardian makes him a little exhausted.

   "Well, if that's the case, go on and get some rest! I will inform you if something was up."

   "Okay! Thanks, (Y/N), I'm glad I have you by my side."

   "Me too, my dreams and hopes."

   It's been quiet in Dream's room. He must be very tired. I knock on his bedroom door, telling him to wake up.

   "Dream, I know you're tired. But you still need to eat."

   "Dream? Are you awake yet?"

   There's no answer.

   Guess I’ll have to get into his room.

   Yet no one is there, only an opening portal hanging in the air.

   A portal leads to Dream's corrupted universe.

   "I'll show you, brother. I know what you're feeling…I know what you're going through…"

   "No! Dream, stop!! You don't know what you're doing!!"

    Two vague voices shouting in the distance. I begin to run like my life is in danger.

    What the heck is going on here?

    What is this dreadful feeling?!

   I'm too slow.

    The half bitten black apple lay on the ground. I watch in horror as the small tendrils creeping out Dream's eye sockets. His painful screech rings in my ears.

   "Dream!!!"

    I reach out to him, hoping that I can comfort Dream in my arms. The positive energy…they gotta do something, right?

   "What…? Nightmare! Let go of me!! I need to…to get Dream!!"

   "No! You can't get near him now, (Y/N)! You'll…you'll get hurt!"

    I thrash in Nightmare's hold, screaming at the top of my lungs.

   "Dream!! No! Dream!!!"

   "What's wrong, love?"

   My teary eyes stare up, it's…Dream's voice.

   But it sends an unknown coldness down my spine.

   "Ahh, you're crying! Good, keep doing that."

   A sadistic grin spreads on Dream's face.

   "I love it."

   Nightmare is already sobbing, begging for his beloved brother to come back. I walk step by step to Dream, putting on the best smile I can muster.

   "My love…Dream…please, come back to me…! I love you. I know you're strong enough to resist those negative feelings…"

   Dream cackles loudly. The tentacles wrap tightly around my neck, pulling me closer to him.

   "Go back? To my weak self? (Y/N), when did you become stupid? Why would I do that?"

   "I've already past the point of no return."

   A bucket of freezing water splashes on me. I must have passed out during the abusing session.

   "Wake up."

   "Get clean up, we're leaving."

   I pick up my sore body, stumbling across the lonely hall that me and Dream live in. There's no one here except the two of us.

   "Make a choice, (Y/N). Will you join me? Or will you prefer to disobey me like my coward brother?"

   "I'll go with you."

   I want to weep, yet I can’t even shed a single tear. I shouldn't be upset. After all, it's me who decided to follow my corrupted lover.

   Filling up the bathtub, I submerge myself in the steamy water.

   "Why, (Y/N)!? Why are you side with him!? Open your eyes! Dream doesn't love you anymore. He's just using you!"

    "It doesn't matter, Nightmare."

   "Great job, (Y/N)! You make this AU full of despair and miseries! I always know you're my favorite soldier!"

   "It's my pleasure to serve you, my lord."

   I scrub my blood-stained skin, the wounds sting because of the soapy water. Some of the old gash reopened, making me yell in frustration.

   "We can save Dream! Don't lose any hope, (Y/N)!"

   "How? There are barely things we can do. It's over, Nightmare. Look at yourself! You transfer back because Dream shattered! How are you gonna turn him back? By let someone else eats a black apple again?!"

   The white dirty bandages wrap around my mess up torso. Why am I even bother treating my injures? They sure are going to reopen soon anyway.

   "No matter what you say to me, I won't change the path I've chosen, Nightmare."

   "I've already gone far enough."

   "I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

   I hate it so much.

   The smell won't disappear no matter how many times I wash it over and over.

   I hate it.

   My hair smells like those disgusting goop on Dream.

   Why can't I get rid of this sickening stink!?!

   Throwing the bottles at random direction, I tug my hair till I scream out.

   "What's with all that noises in there!? You better finish your business soon, I'm losing my patience!"

   I hate it.

   "I deeply apologize for making you wait for such a long time, my lord."

   I wish I can understand your pain sooner.

   "Whatever, time to leave."

   I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

   "My lord, where are we going, may I ask?"

   Dream's left eye glows in excitement.

   "I find out where those sneaky scums are hiding."

   With a wave of hand, Dream opens the portal leads to an unknown empty place.

   No one is left out.

   Nightmare, Ink, Blue, everyone's here.

   "And I'm going to give them a pleasant encounter."

   But today is a little different.

   Then all hell breaks out.

   Nightmare's starting to transform. The dark gooey substance covering up his body gradually.

   The same routine as usual. Nightmare pleads Dream to stop his actions while the former guardian of positivity just laugh it off, a bit talks here and there.

   "Miss me, dear brother?"

    The crazy laughter of Dream rings in the air.

   "Yes! Finally, things are getting interesting!"

   While Dream focusing on battling with Nightmare, I have to handle the two other skeletons.

   "I know deep down you don't want to fight us, (Y/N)! Let's just drop our weapons, okay?"

   Ink creates a bunch of arrows, ready to launch them at Dream. I block his charge immediately, slashing Ink's arm with my sword.

   My silence is always my only answer.

   "No one's going to get near Dream."

   I continue to attack Blue. We've already been through this conversation many times.

   "How…how's this possible?!"

   Dream can only defense himself from Nightmare as the latter one keeps on firing attacks. It looks like Nightmare gets more advantage of the battle.

   "Seems like you can't control your tentacles very well yet, little bro."

    Nightmare mocks, resulting Dream to lose his temper. He strikes at Nightmare blindly, only to receive a powerful blow in the guts.

   "Dream!!"

   I rush to Dream, who’s looking more exhausted than usual. From the way how he’s panting heavily, I know he's already losing too much strength to fight.

   "Get away from me! I don't need your help!!"

   The attack is sloppy but I didn't dodge it. Dream can beat me all he wants after I get him to safety.

   Even if it means I can possibly die.

   "My lord, I apologize, but we have to move to another universe again."

   Dream growls at me.

   "It's you who are dragging me down!!"

   They're still following us.

   I'm whacking to the ground in a flash. A heavy boot stamps on my ribs harshly.

   The nasty cracking sound and my piercing shirek fills in the air.

   "You're no longer useful to me."

    I watch as Dream disappears in a portal. He doesn't even spare a glance at me. Leaving me bleeding and slowly dying on the ground.

   "I've told you."

    Nightmare's lurking shadow towers above me.

   "Oh no, Ink! We must save (Y/N)! She's…!"

     Ink put a hand on Blue's shoulder, shaking his head solemnly.

   "We can't, Blue. Remember, our priority is to capture Dream."

   "Please, Night…"

     I find myself pleading to Nightmare.

   "Don't…kill Dream…"

   "You and I both know that's an empty promise, (Y/N)."

   Three skeletons begins to move towards the portal that opens by Ink. Before they leave, Nightmare whispers in a quiet voice but loud enough for me to catch.

   "…he's in Dreamtale."

   How much will you sacrifice for protecting your fallen love?

   "You really are dumb. You know that?"

   "Or you're just enjoy me breaking you apart bit by bit?"

   "Don't you scare of your own nightmares?"

   "I deserve it."

   "I'm already living with it."

   "You will always be my fading dreams."

   "It's my own redemption."

   "Surrender now, Dream. Then we can put an end to this whole mess."

   My time is running out.

    "Heh, I thought you know me well, dear brother. You should get the answer by yourself now."

   "…goodbye, my poor little brother.

   I pray to you, God. Let me see him one last time.

   I can't save him the last time.

    It's always a miracle how accurate the portal can lead to.

   "(Y…Y/N)?"

   This time, I'm going to save Dream.

   There's no pain anymore.

   "…at least…you……say my…name……one…last……time…"

   Crimson blood drips down my penetrated torso. I think I see Dream's crying. But that might be just my own tears.

   Forgive me, Dream.

   My collapsing body falls forward, landing on the soft grass surface before me.

(3rd pov)

   "Nightmare, I need your assistance."

   "I thought we're enemies now."

    "There's a method I want to try. It might succeed to bring Dream back."

   "Well, I'm here to listen."

   "She's just a tool."

   "Nothing else."

    "Because I know him well. The extreme emotion is the only possible way to get things right again."

   Dream mutters to himself like a broken recorder. Staring the wrecking body of yours, his non-existent heart begins to hurt.

    "I refuse! That's too dangerous! You surely will be dead in this terrible plan! Besides, how can you so sure he'll behave like you predict!?"

    "It's worth it. I'm doing this for the whole alternate universes, and him."

    "But…you…"

    "Wake up! I demand you to wake up now! (Y/N)!!"

    "It's not…worth for your own life."

    "Don't pity me. Pity for the one who can't help himself in his own nightmare."

    "Wake up."

   "Don't leave me…alone, (Y/N)…please…my love…"

   Ahh, it must be the time when he transfers into this horrible creature.

   Nightmare, who’s now in his uncorrupted form, widening his eyes.

   "…congratulations, (Y/N). Your suicidal plan…works."

   Dream doesn't recall when’s the last time he breaks down.

    No one dare to speak a word, except Dream drowning in his own pitiful cries.

     "Always."

     "I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

   You look at Nightmare with a smile, replying to him like it's the only correct answer in your mind.

[instasiswetrust]

Steve's not quite drunk but there's a pleasant buzz under his skin that leaves him feeling pliant and loose, enough to keep any unsavory thoughts at bay for the time being.

The scent of chlorine and bleach that envelops him once he opens the pool doors, familiar comforts by now, help clear some of the haze of alcohol that has befallen him from his last drink taken at the Auris that night. Or morning. He's not entirely sure.

It brings back the memories that he had been trying so hard to forget. A lavender envelope had been in his mail that day, inside of it an invitation trimmed with delicate filigree. For Nancy's and Jonathan's wedding.

A fall wedding.

The type which he and Nancy had joked about back when they were together, not long before Jonathan had joined them.

He had gone through his work with the kind of detachment that usually meant nothing was truly registering. Adam might have noticed at one point, too attuned already to the tells under the porcelain of Steve's mask, but the memory is fuzzy and he can't remember if he ever gave a proper answer to his manager's concerned query.

As soon as work was done, he had made his way to the Auris in search of something to get his mind off the pain that clutched the shards of his heart like a vice. Or rather, someone. It had been his favorite dancer's day off or something though, leaving him to spend the rest of his night watching the dancers on stage and sipping on the ocassional drink.

Something had made him want to climb the stairs to the gym's pool, though. And that's why he was here now.

"Are you drunk?" The voice that speaks has become familiar in the same way the scent and sounds of the pool has and when he looks up to meet the eyes of its owner, he finds them startled if slightly amused.

"Only a little bit." He shrugs, plopping down by the edge of the pool with his legs crossed under him. The bleach might leave stains on his Levi's but he can't really muster enough energy to give a fuck right now. "'s not that bad."

"You kind of reek of cigarette smoke and whiskey."

Yep. Definitely amused.

"Spilled some scotch on my shirt. The smoke is probably from the cab driver." Another shrug but this time he levels Billy with apologetic doe eyes. "I can leave if it bothers you."

"You're fine, I was just curious." The blonde swims closer, crossing his arms over the edge next to where Steve sits once he's close enough. "First time I've seen you up here wearing something other than your ridiculous pajamas."

"They are not ridiculous!" Steve protests at once, pouting. "And you have seen me in swimwear too!"

"Last week you were wearing bright red shorts that said Bite Me across the ass, and a t-shirt that said Friends don't lie in big bold letters with a heart-shaped waffle at the center." Billy deadpans, raising a single eyebrow. "The shirt was at least two sizes too big for you."

"They were gifts." Brown eyes narrow into a glare but the petulant pout kind of offsets the vibe.

"I thought models were supposed to have taste in clothes."

"We're supposed to look pretty while others dress us. It's not in the job description to have taste."

"So you admit you have no taste then." Billy was giving him that smirk, the one Steve called insufferable but discretly considered hot as fuck. How dare he be so sinfully handsome.

"I said no such thing!" Steve crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up in the perfect picture of snotty petulance. He could already feel the laughs bubbling in his chest, wanting to break the mock facade.

It takes only a second or two of Billy giving him an skeptical look before they are both laughing.

He had missed this kind of easy-going banter. Most of his friends he only saw around the holidays, and the environment at work was more prone to talks about weight loss and botox than anything else.

New York never slept but that only made it all the more lonely.

His sullen mood must've reflected on his face because he feels something poke at his thigh, meeting Billy's eyes when he turns to look at him.

"You didn't just come here so I could make fun of your taste in clothes, did you?"

"I-"

It's only then that Steve realizes Billy is right.

The reason his alcohol fogged brain has preferred to come up here rather than crash into his bed wasn't just some way of punishing himself even further. Not entirely at least. He had come here because it was a place of comfort for him.

And because he had a friend here, too.

"No. Not just that." Steve sighs, letting his eyes focus on the slow movement of the pool water instead of Billy's face.

"Do you..." A moment of hesitation, as if he's not sure about his words. "want to talk about it?"

Brown eyes close, keeping his focus on the in and out of air through his lungs for a few moments until he feels less like he's going to burst out crying the moment he sets these awful thoughts into words.

Makes them all the more real.

"My... exes. They are getting married. To each other." He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't do anything more than try to keep his voice steady even as the aching pain of heartbreak weighs down on his chest. "I received the invitation this morning."

There's a low whistle. It sounds like sympathy. It sounds real.

"That bites," Billy says, and his voice has a dulled edge to it. Commiseration with flavor, or something like that, but it's three am and there's nothing but cold tile and the soft wake of lit water. "Is this ... like a sudden spur of the moment thing?"

When Steve turns doe eyes to him, Billy raises up his hands, only moderately pruned, in an easing gesture.

"You don't have to answer. Just..." A pause. A beat as the swimmer looks for the right string of words. "Just trying to gauge how much of a dick move this is."

There's a laugh, dull and mirthless. A sad little sound.

“We have been friends since high school. All three of us dated for a bit longer after that. We went through some hard stuff together back in Indiana.” He shrugs, keeping his eyes closed. Tears at bay. “Was supposed to be the kind of friendship that lasted even after we broke up.”

It’s all my fault. He doesn't say.

My stupid heart and I. We ruined it all.

It takes a split second of contemplation, because, after all, they're total strangers. But once upon a time, someone gave Billy this sideways kindness and it helped. Maybe Steve and his overly fancy hair won't mind it too much.

So Billy acts on the impulse.

It's a tiny splash. Really very minuscule. Aimed and precise for the minimum impact upon the sitting duck target. But water is water. Nobody can tell tears from pool water.

"You were thinking too hard." He places the excuse on the table, sinking lower into the water, comfortable in this strange company. Even if the guy seems to be at the end of his rope. There's something about him. Like a dream you don't want to forget. "I could see the smoke. Had to cool you down."

The water is warm and yet is still enough of a shock to force Steve's eyes to open.

His first instinct is to protest, say something about the action being rude and uncalled for. Stand up and leave, most likely.

But what he sees in Billy's face — hears in his voice — is enough to give him a moment's pause. To truly appreciate the action for the small kindness it is.

This time when the tears dribble down his cheeks in quiet drops, he has something to hide them behind.

“You really think you're funny, huh?”

And if his voice is a little too wet to be considered normal, they don't have to talk about it.

"I'm hilarious," Billy says as he sinks a little lower into the water, mostly to hide his smug grin, but in part to hide away. "The girl gang that lets me tag along sometimes says so."

“Of course you are.” Steve rolls his eyes, using his fingers to brush back his mostly dry hair. He should probably wash the chlorine out of his hair before going to bed or it would be stiff come morning.

“Is that why you're trying to become a prune? For maximum fun effect?”

“Nah,” Billy waves off the prune comment. He’s hardly started his routine. Pool time ain’t over until everything has that post-workout burn and his stomach begs for food. Makes time easier to keep that way. “I just like to swim.”

Just like Tony Hawk likes to skateboard, he supposes, but understating his profession like this is one of the best parts of the job. Gotta get your kicks when you find them.

“Why? Got something against prunes?” He laughs, “They just want to help you. Healthy stomach, and all.”

“Not particularly, but they do remind me of my Nonna. She likes her prunes.” Another shrug, this time easier. Easy banter is much better than worrying about that little envelope sitting on his coffee table.

The tears have stopped too, the contacts itching slightly against his eyes. Probably from the mix of salt and chlorine. Thankfully, his cardigan is mostly dry and he takes it off to use it as a makeshift towel.

“Is that why you're always here at weird hours? You some sort of pool cryptid or something?”

“That’s only step one of my master plan.”

Billy likes the sound of pool cryptid. Sounds a lot more mysterious and fun than what he’s actually doing, which is training until he drops so the nightmares won’t kick up.

A snort, loud and sudden leaves Steve at that, straining a little in his throat. Mom would say it's undignified. Dad would say it's ugly. He doesn't particularly care either way.

“And pray tell, what would step two entail? Flooding the city?”

Cute laugh, Billy thinks briefly surprised. Much better than seeing the guy choke back tears. Let's see if he can't instigate a bit more of that amusement. It's bound to taste better than the misery the brunette wanted to wallow in.

"What kind of water-based supervillain do you take me for?" Billy, mock-miffed, places a hand over his heart and huffs. "That's so silver-age comics. And you're not even my henchman. Why should I tell you anything about my master plan?"

A finger taps at his chin, seemingly thinking hard about his answer. Steve's not particularly well versed in comics but Dustin’s done his best to keep him on the smallest of loops.

He no longer mixes Superman with Captain America, at least.

“Fair point. You don't have the looks to pass off as Aquaman.” Steve purses his lips, offering his best apologetic doe-eyed look. Although he's definitely bluffing because if there's anybody out there who could give Aquaman a run for his money it would be Billy. “And who says I couldn't be your henchman?”

"Did you fill out the paperwork?"

Everyone knows bureaucracy is the lungs of evil. Or something like that. Sue him, he was never great with metaphors on the fly.

“Honey, if I wanted to fill paperwork I wouldn't have taken modeling as a career.”

It's an exaggeration for the most part. Steve's too used to poking fun about himself these days that it doesn't sting as bad as it used. Not too much.

Billy cocks his head and lets the loaded sentence drop and drift away.

"Then guess you can't be a henchman."

“I can make killer margaritas, though.”

“I don’t really drink too much.” The nightmares get worse when he’s anything but sober. It’s better to be exhausted. It’s the easiest way. “Medication reasons.”

A little white lie that’s hardly a lie, he really shouldn’t drink with his ADHD meds, but who ever listens to that rule? Nah. Only when it suits him.

“Model thing explains your hair though. Glad we solved that mystery.”

“Fair.” Steve offers a smile, crooked and a little pinched at the edges but a smile nonetheless. “I’m not supposed to either. Nutritionist's orders.”

To be fair, he's not supposed to be drinking at all. Smoking too. It's a little hard not to indulge every once in a while, though.

The model comment surprises him. There's a billboard with his face just a few blocks down from this apartment complex. He can see it from his room. How has this guy not recognized him?

It's surprisingly refreshing.

“Hm? Oh no, the model thing has nothing to do with my hair. That's just personal taste.”

Now that Billy cares to look, Steve’s face is achingly familiar. Oh, the trials and tribulations of having attention issues. At least there’s a better reason for the weird familiarity than must just have one of those faces.

“Can’t relate.” He’s not particularly attached to any bodily feature of his. It’s a side effect, he’s told. Reassured. It's just a consequence, and nothing more. “Doing things with hair? Nah. Sounds too complicated.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a pool cryptid would say.” There’s a story behind Billy's words. Something missing, hidden skin deep. Steve hopes the light jab helps diffuse that somewhat.

“What are you, a cop?” Billy smirks, and because he is the pinnacle of maturity, he dips under the water with an obnoxious splash.

“Asshole” Steve hisses, droplets dribbling down his bangs and into the cardigan bunched up in his lap.

With a sigh, he forces himself to get up. Might as well take that shower now.

Billy surfaces, still grinning, because even if the guy looks pissed at him, that means he’s not stewing in the past with his soon-to-be-married exes and the Hercules-class weight of baggage that relationship caused.

“Guys by the pool get splashed. No matter what time it is or how cute they are. Cryptid rules.” His smirk it's wide, tip of his tongue between his teeth. "If you weren’t prepared to get wet, then why’d you come?”

Steve shrugs, doing his best to ignore that peek of a pink tongue. “The local cryptid makes for good conversation.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” Billy makes a little show of floating back, caught in thought. “I don’t know how I feel about spectators.”

“I can stop.” Painfully honest. If Billy really wants him to, Steve would stop. He would prefer not to, though.

“Nah. I’m only pulling your leg.” Billy returns to the pool’s edge. Rests his cheek on the edge, looking up at pretty boy model Steve.

“Things get too quiet sometimes.”

Steve hums softly in agreement, feeling relief ease itself back into his bones. He would have stopped, yes, but he wouldn't have particularly liked the prospect of it.

“You come here every day? Or have I just happened to stumble in on the days you're around?”

"Almost every day. Sometimes I take this side-show to other pools." Billy cracks his best Han Solo roguish smile, levies it against Steve's still too flat smile. "Gotta keep the government guessing sometimes, you know."

“Of course, wouldn't want to get caught and all that.” A yawn gets past Steve's lips, startling him. He hadn't registered how tired he was. “I’ll keep that in mind, for next time.”

“Thank you.” Quieter. Softer. Barely above a whisper but loud enough in the gentle silence of the pool.

It comes just as soft. It's almost tender, really, as the word casts across the water and tile and the near-lonely pool.

"Anytime."

---

The next time Steve visits, it's once again 3 AM but he makes the mistake (is it really a mistake?) to bring a tin of sugar cookies with him.

"Oh shit, are you sharing, or is this all to tease me?"

Steve is sitting by one of the benches, already halfway through a cookie. “Come out here and find out.”

Billy narrows his eyes, lips pulled into a thin frown.

"Fool me once." He waggles a single warning finger and doesn't even really bother to dry off as he drags himself out of the pool to plop down on the floor next to Steve and steal into the snacks.

There are enough cookies for both of them stuffed neatly in a tin container. It's awfully pretentious according to Dustin, but then again Steve's Nonna always said cookies tasted better stored that way.

“I'm not mean enough to just eat while you watch. Yet, at least.”

"Oh just wait until you know me better." Billy chirps, shoving two into his mouth, wholesale and choking a bit.

"Robin and Carol would do that in a heartbeat."

“They probably would have a good reason too.” Steve teases, watching with amused eyes as Billy almost chokes. They are just sugar cookies he managed to scrounge up with whatever was in his kitchen. Nothing that good.

“Easy there tiger, cookies ain't going anywhere.”

"You have no idea how hungry I always am."

Steve blinks, surprised. The words come out before he has a chance to truly think them over. “I’m a good cook.”

"Prove it." It's out of Billy's mouth before he can take it back, but on second thought, he doesn't really want to. Steve's good company, or at least he has been so far.

And he hasn't had a nightmare since.

Good omens.

“You're kind of choking on the proof right now.” Maybe it comes out a little lighter, a little too surprised.

That's fine. Whatever this thing is, it doesn't seem like too bad of a chance to take.

“But if you need some more convincing, I can offer dinner too.”

Wheezing, but recovering, Billy grins up at Steve but there's a hopeful spark in his blue eyes that wasn't there before. "Fuck yeah, gotta make sure it's not a fluke."

Steve offers him the thermos of coffee he had brought with him, suddenly too distracted by watching Billy drink to remember what he wanted to ask. “Uh... When are you free?”

"This Sunday, I think. Getting back from a rapids trip that I shouldn't keep doing but like fuck am I gonna listen to other people for something dumb like my health."

“Is it like, you could die type of thing or just one of those things doctors say we should stop doing and everyone ignores? Because dead people don't particularly eat.”

"I do dumb shit because regular training gets boring and people who actually like me have to put up with it." Billy waves a dismissive hand. "But that's what it takes to get me moving on schedule so. Yeah."

It drives his coach insane because doing his reps in real rivers with real currents isn't exactly... well. It's not what everyone else does for training and given that he has passed out mid-stroke before, he can't even say the risk is just the current. But he knows that upstate rivers like the back of his hand.

Yeah, life would be way easier if he didn't have ADHD, less doctor's notes for the cause of amphs in his piss, but it would also be super boring and he'd be even more traumatized, probably. And that would suck.

Steve thinks of Indiana, and a bat full of nails. Of cliff diving at the quarry, drunk on stolen bourbon and tasting cheap cigarettes. Of the Auris with his slew of dancers most of who he's shared a bed with more than once.

He thinks he has some experience with the whole doing dumb shit just to get his schedule moving.

"I will take your word for it then." Hums, thinking back to his schedule and what he has paged in for Sunday. There was that casting thing Adam wanted him to do but it was morning. "I should be free on Sunday. Any allergies I should account for?"

“None that I know of.” Spoken cheerfully

“Great. Gives me more to work with.” And this time when he smiles, it's the most honest he's offered since they met.

---

When he finds it again, it is entirely on accident.

Adam had scheduled a trip to California for a gig, something about a new summer line of wetsuits and surfboards this company wanted him to advertise. It was a big opportunity and it was good cash too, of course so Steve wasn't going to question why they thought it a good idea to present a summer line in the middle of august. But as usual, he had forgotten to pack his suitcases until the night before, and now he was left to scramble around his apartment searching for his stuff.

So when he finds the lavender envelope buried under a few recipe books and a hoodie, still unopened, he doesn't think much about it and opens it. It's only when he's staring at the date stenciled in black calligraphy under Nancy's and Jonathan's name that he realizes what he's looking at.

Oh right. Those two were getting married.

The familiar ache in his chest is still there, but it's muted enough that he's surprised. Between canceling his exclusive membership at the Auris, and his relationship with Billy coming out to the media, he had sort of forgotten all about the wedding.

Maybe...

Grabbing his phone from the bed, he shoots his boyfriend a quick text.

How do you feel about being my plus one to my exes' wedding?

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Summary: Technoblade spends some time in Pandora’s Box. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

(Read on AO3)

He skimmed his hand along the obsidian, the surface smooth beneath his touch. Some parts of it were seemingly warmer than others, but Technoblade didn't know if that was because of the lava running somewhere deep within the walls or just his tired mind playing tricks on him. He tapped the volcanic glass once, an action that fills the cell with a light ringing sound. But the layers ran too deep for Techno to tell where hollowness hides beneath.

Which was a shame, because knowing the structure's weaknesses would already go a long way in him figuring out his escape plan.

With no tools and the mining fatigue weighing heavy on his bones, getting through obsidian might be a fool's errand. But it was a better way to spent his time than waiting for a rescue party that would most likely never come. Or better yet, stay put and sit pretty like Dream seemed to want him to.

Technoblade couldn't see any other reason for him still being here.

The sky tore open, lightning forming a spiderweb of fractures evaporating as quickly as they had taken shape. Rain beat down on them relentlessly and made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. Another crack – a flash of blinding light – and it carried the glint of a sword at Phil's throat, the steady hand of Dream holding onto the base of Phil's neck and keeping him in place.

Technoblade stilled in an instant.

The thunder rumbled ominously as Dream's impassive mask grinned ever wider.

The trade-off had gone quick and easy, an unspoken agreement that Techno would sign again in a heartbeat. He nodded curtly at Dream, who pressed the blade firmer against skin to make his point. Techno dropped his own weapon, holding up his arms to show goodwill. Phil's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, helpless to stop it.

"Wait-" But Dream curled his fingers tighter around Phil's neck, the sword inches away from slicing a jugular and Techno shook his head, internally begging for the other man to stay quiet.

He didn't know if he could do this if Phil asked him not to with that pained look in his eyes.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he was locked in Pandora's box, but Techno had a rough estimation. Sam brought him food and by counting the minutes between deliveries he had narrowed it down to two meals a day. Almost twenty meals had come and gone since his arrival.

During this time Dream had not come to see him once, was the thing.

It made a tight coil of worry pull in Techno's gut. One he stubbornly pushed down and shoved into a corner of his mind where he put all emotions he deemed worthy to be re-examined at a more opportune time, preferably over a cup of tea and some of Phil's freshly baked bread. There were only so many reasons he could think of for Dream to wait this long to state his demands – because that's what they had to be. Demands. Dream didn't do anything in half measures, always had some ace up his sleeve or a grand scheme to connect by pulling little threads of manipulation.

Dream had to gain something from putting him in prison.

Techno sat down on the small bunk that served as the room's only furniture, both bed and table in its function. The thin blanket that hardly did anything for him was balled up and shoved to the side. He started running down the list out loud so Chat could follow along. For all their strange tricks that eluded him, they still couldn't read his thoughts. Thankfully.

"Reason one: Dream thinks leaving me in here long enough will make it easier for him to get what he wants from me later."

Psychological warfare was the oldest trick in the book, but no method quite as effective as solitary confinement to break a person. Or, well, that would be the case for most others. Between the voices and a natural tendency towards extreme introversion Technoblade probably was the worst target for this approach. If the accommodations weren't so shit, he might have even enjoyed his stay.

Dream would most likely know this. Cross it off the list.

"Reason two: he needs to keep me secured for a future ploy."

A possibility, but the uncertainty tugged at Technoblade all the same. If Dream was planning to use him as a bargaining chip – or worse, a flunkey – down the line, then Techno would have had the honor of his presence by now, even if only for Dream to gloat. That man was utterly lost in his own superiority complex on the best of days, there was no chance he would pass on an opportunity to rub Techno's face in his future plans. Leave him stewing in misery with knowledge of what was to come.

A moment's hesitation, but he crossed it off the list.

"Reason three: he's forgotten I'm in here."

His joke made Chat agitated and he winced at the stab of a headache that brought forth as their yelling got louder, more jumbled. "Yeah, that would be pretty cringe of him," he agreed with their repeated outcries.

"Well, that only leaves the last option I can consider..." He trailed off, staring at the slightly shimmering surface of the obsidian. Techno could see his own reflection in the translucent facets. The crown on his head stood out starkly in the cell's dim light.

In chess, the best plays were always those that went for the strongest pieces first. It might be tempting to take a rook or two to start with, but you can't feel safe until that queen is removed from the board. Then it breaks open for you to do whatever you want with, essentially.

"He's leaving me here to rot."

Phil had stared at him, the shadows cutting across his expression. Techno couldn't look him in the face, keeping his focus on Dream instead. Not breaking eye contact even as his hands were tied behind his back. The useless gesture was only meant to humiliate him, Dream knew he wouldn't budge an inch with Phil's last life still in danger.

They had marched him straight to the prison, not taking any risks and all the while Technoblade had already been glancing around, committing any important leverages to memory. With every security measure they passed, his heart sank deeper in his chest.

Forty meals had come and gone.

Technoblade was chipping away at the wall, not for any real reason except it kept him busy. He wasn't stupid enough to believe it would actually amount to anything. Not when the walls were made of obsidian, not when the mining fatigue strained his movements and made his muscles contract under the pressure of forcing them into cooperation. There was less strength to his punches, flexing his fingers against invisible weights suspended from them by strings.

And even if he managed by some miracle to mine away a block, Sam would know and come replace it instantly.

"Chat," he addressed the voices. "You're familiar with the story of Sisyphus, right?" A mess of responses, mostly the repeating of their favorite letter which Techno chose to take as agreement. "Yeah, sure, I've read it to you before."

His claws broke through another inch of the solid stone. Obsidian wasn't a mineral, the composition wasn't right for it. But it splintered in brittle ways and cut open Techno's palm, making the blood run slick through his fingers. Chat went into a frenzy.

"This is what he must have felt like with his boulder," Techno concluded.

They stripped him of his tools, his weapons, his communicator. Technoblade was vaguely grateful they let him keep his clothes at least, though he suspected it was merely because Sam hadn't been prepared for the prison to already be put to use.

The creeper-hybrid looked at him in vague apprehension and Techno shrugged back.

Placing him in the highest security cell could have been a compliment if Techno didn't think it to be completely overkill and awfully dramatic on Dream's part. The rows of doors they passed on the way to the bowels of the box were concerning, enough to contain at least half the residents of the server.

Dream had officially lost his marbles.

High security turned out to be a euphemism for 'violation of human rights'. The cell was barely three by three blocks, with nothing but the bed tucked against one wall and a heavy-set door that didn't even have a handle on the inside. At floor height, there was a thin slot just wide enough for the occasional bowl of stew or a baked potato to slide through. The warden didn't have to interact with his prisoners.

"Cozy," Techno remarked dully before the door was shut behind him. It hadn't been opened since.

He had lost count, but he had to be nearing his eightieth meal now.

More and more often Technoblade found himself slumbering through the opening of the latch, only to wake up to a stale steak that had been left on his floor hours ago. It wasn't real sleep, merely a state of exhaustion both mental and physical that left him wandering the borders of consciousness, drifting somewhere between awareness and disconnect. Which he knew was probably not the best sign.

The lack of physical activity was wearing his muscles down, making even the simple act of pacing circles in the room send aches through his legs. For the first time in longer than he cared to recall Techno returned to the exercise routine they had done every morning in the Antarctic Empire – or at least the parts of it he could match in the limited space of his cell. It wasn't enough though and he felt himself grow weaker every day. There was no sunlight, no fresh air, and the food left something to be desired.

His mind too wandered more and more, having trouble staying on task. The voices gradually grew more agitated, bored by the same scenery each day, the lack of excitement. A permanent headache had taken residence and didn't show any sign of intending to leave soon, making its presence known through a constant throbbing and the occasional stab of pain when he thought too hard. Closing his eyes, Technoblade started to count out loud. Give them and himself something to concentrate on. Chat came apart into a tangle of numbers, noises, buzzing. He winced.

"Okay, new plan, new plan-" He curled up on the bunk, drawing his knees up to his chest. The blanket was on the floor. "Story time, what would you like to hear?"

More chaos, but one answer stood out among the others. Its irony was not lost on Techno.

"Thus, the first mortal woman was born and she descended down to earth." He hushed them and was grateful when chat fell away into quieter murmurs. "Her name was Pandora."

The door opened.

The sound made Technoblade flinch, the creak feeling so horribly foreign in the stillness of his cell that he had come to know like the back of his hand. He stared and didn't know what to think when he saw Phil outlined in the opening.

"Wha-"

His friend was at his side in seconds, one hand holding his wrist and it was nearly painful. An absence of touch suddenly set ablaze. Techno did his best not to shy away from the contact.

"We need to get out of here," Phil said urgently, eyes wide and panicked and the words died on Techno's tongue. "There isn't much time."

Techno could only nod, throat raw and hurting as Phil pulled him to his feet. He nearly fell over.

The hallways seemed different, longer and winding in strange angles. Door upon door upon door and Phil didn't say anything, just tugged Techno along. His head was filled with cotton. Why wasn't there any lava? Where was the redstone?

When they came outside, the sun was blinding him.

"Wait, Phil." Techno stopped moving, dug his heels into the ground and Phil stopped too. He turned around, skin pale and expression worried and it killed him. It killed Techno. "What's happening?"

"I came for you," Phil answered simply. "Of course I did, mate."

Techno felt like he was breaking.

He woke up in his cell.

"At the bottom of the box, only Hope remained there in an unbreakable home."

Technoblade missed his home.

He missed his farm and his pets and the feeling of the breeze running through his hair. He missed the winding of the river across the land, small sounds of trickling and running along the shallows with Wilbur and Tommy in tow. He missed Phil putting logs of wood in the fireplace.

He was tired.

The voices wouldn't stop screaming. Pressing his hands into his closed eyes, relieved when the pressure took some of the edge off, Technoblade grunted. "What has you guys excited now, hm?"

He didn't really care. The room was small and endless and he couldn't breathe within these walls, couldn't think. He just wanted them to shut up so he could go to sleep again.

But Chat didn't mind his protests, a litany of noise and somewhere in there, Technoblade could have sworn he heard Phil's name. He blinked back into awareness, struggling to get his stagnant mind into motion again. Too exhausted to move.

The door opened.

Technoblade couldn't even bear to tear his eyes away from the ceiling.

Somebody shook his shoulder and said his name and it hurt, it all hurt too much to be real. When warm arms wrapped around his body Techno wanted to sob but couldn't do that either.

"Hey, hey-" Phil was brushing his tangled hair from his face, fingers skirting along Techno's cheeks. He leaned into that touch subconsciously, needing it like a lifeline. There was time to be self-conscious about such vulnerability later. "It's okay, I'm here."

The noise that wanted to come out of him was a low whine, but Techno cleared his throat instead. "Took you long enough."

Phil let out a short laugh, not quite sincere yet but still music to his ears. "Yeah, you can complain about it to me later, once we get home."

Home?

Techno nodded, the minimal motion already enough to make him dizzy. But that didn't matter with Phil steadying him, holding onto him, helping him.

Coming back for him.

"Please," he said. "Home would be great."

[writingbakery]

⥉ 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.

plot/summary; he always offers in the dark, at your most vulnerable. tonight is no different.

pairing; demon! dabi x gn! reader

warnings; s/h mention, demonic spirits, manipulation, depression, metaphors to depression, alluding to su*cide

a/n; please don’t read this if you feel it will trigger you. i am in no way glamorizing or romanticizing depression or su*cide. this is a vent piece, to be interpreted as you wish.

you always wind up in the bathroom.

some way or another, your suffocating misery drags bare feet to the cold tile, back pressed pin straight to the wooden cabinet below your sink. the grout is dirty, jagged; you turn off the light to avoid it.

tonight, it starts early, the sun just barely winking below the horizon when the tears start. you cry yourself boneless, exhaustion where relief used to be.

before, a cry would keep you level, drain away the bad thoughts and the pain. now, it’s like bandaids on a bullet wound.

you sit and stare into the shifting darkness; with the light off, shapes and shadows come to life as your eyes adjust. he’s not here yet, although you know you won’t be waiting long.

like clockwork, ash & brimstone circle your head, slither up your nose & through your lips to force a cough from your throat. between one blink and the next he’s there, well hidden by the dark as he sits cross legged in front of you.

“and so we meet again, pet.”

you fumble for the lighter in your pocket, but you already know what you’ll find; spiky black hair, piercing blue eyes, burnt skin held onto his bones by staples and faith. handsome in a cruel way, sharp and angled like it’d hurt to hold him, caress him. you haven’t tried.

he watches amusedly as you find your voice again, cracked and worn from the crying. this is a nightly occurrence, and yet you still act the same – nervous, on edge, yet curious all the same.

“i don’t exactly ask for these meetings, dabi. you just like to stalk me.” your voice is strained, a little accusatory; it’s no secret that his presence unsettles you.

“on the contrary, pet. for the past month you’ve been calling me, whether you realize or not. i can smell it on you, you know. you reek of it.”

you pause, unsure; you know what he’s implying, but your loathing makes you ask. “reek of what?”

the flame goes out. you flick it on again hastily, but he hasn’t moved, eyes twinkling from the heat of it.

he leans in a little at your pained question, smile widening as he answers. like this, you can see the yellowed, jagged fangs peeking from burnt lips, wet & hungry.

“death. the craving of it, that is. misery, desperation, hatred, anger, sadness. you’re practically drowning in it, arent you pet?”

you won’t answer him, you know better. he’s charismatic in the cold, mean sort of way, like he knows better than you do. silver tongued & cruel, he could have you begging for the very thing that scared you so much.

“i can smell it on your skin, taste it in your tears. you think you’re so sneaky, pet, but it’s written all over your face. you may be subtle to these stupid little humans—“

the flame goes out. your hands are shaking as you flick it on again, watching his face twist at the word human like it’s a disease, fangs glinting in the heat.

“— but i see you, pet. the showers that run so hot they burn you, the food left unfinished at every meal. punishing yourself when it rains by leaving your umbrella home, pulling your hair when you’re alone. it’s not traditional, but it’s all the same language pet, and i see you.”

you cant find your voice to deny his words, eyes glossy at the reminders. he’s absolutely right and he knows it, smiling soft and self assured as you watch him. you know what comes next, the honeyed words slipping between dripping fangs so gently, so sweet.

“but if you came with me, pet, it would stop.”

you know what he’s offering, what the implied meaning is. it’s terrifying, and yet you never stop him before he starts, always listening to his spiel. it’s routine, tempting and frightening all at once.

“would it hurt?” the words leave your trembling mouth before you can stop them, like a child afraid of the dark. he smiles wide, face contorting in ways you’re not quite used to, a reminder of what he is. not human, no matter how much he tries to fool you.

“of course, pet. pain is payment. but afterwards.... there is relief.”

relief. a word you knew but did not know, a glimmer in the darkness. dabi always promised you this, every night. he waits with bated breath, watches as your resolve grows weaker and weaker every time.

it’s so tempting, so warm and just out of reach of your desperate hands that you almost, almost say yes. his tone is so gentle, so safe and promising that you want to believe, even if for a moment.

the buzzing of your phone breaks the fog, and you shake your head slowly. “no, dabi. i can’t... i won’t.”

his expression doesn’t change despite your refusal, smile just as wide and hungry as before. he leans forward so close you can smell him, death and decay and smoke crowding your senses as he whispers one last parting shot.

“don’t worry, pet. i’ve got all the time in the world to wait.”

a puff of brimstone snuffs out the flame, leaving you alone in the dark to reminisce on the demon’s words.

release is not yet an option, but dabi will hover it over your head with clawed fingers until you accept, and you know it.

[jokin-around]

1am trek to Rite-aide in a Batman kigurumi for a bottle of cold syrup and some ice cream

Fic under the cut🎉🎉 ⬇⬇⬇

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826074 

from beneath a pile of blankets a color drained clown groaned miserably, the sound somewhat muffled by the assortment pretty plastic bobbles filling up the half deflated kitty pool they laid in haphazardly.

The clown in question was Gotham's very own mage of mischief. and much as pain played into his game he absolutely HATED being sick.

Funny thing was, Jay didn’t ever get sick. Period.

With the slew of mystery chemicals constantly floating around in his blood he’d always thought he’d be immune to something as innocuous as a cold. yet here he was stewing in misery, surrounded by a sea of used tissues.To say this was the first time he'd spent the wee hours of the night feeling like garbage would be a lie, but it was definitely the first time he’d felt so unprepared for an ailment.

All that considered, He wouldn’t mind the discomfort if he wasn't so hopelessly bored and… not to mention… alone.

Harley, who was probably busy gardening at the moment, hadn’t answered his calls and none of the other rogues would bother coming to his aid if he asked… they didn't like him very much. He didn’t know why and hardly cared but right now he honestly wished he was better at making friends. Of course, Bud, his lovely hyena who was snoring audibly in the other corner of the room, kept him company on long lonely days, but a dog’s unconditional love could only go so far.

He’d been in his room for hours at this point but as the bat shaped clock on his wall struck 1:00 Jay finally decided he’d had enough.

Throwing the blankets aside, sending foam balls bouncing around the room in the process, Jay sat up, hair a mess, rings around his tired eyes, and stood. Trying his best to ignore the how the world spun like a fun top.

He didn’t need Harley or ANY of those other stupid bozo’s. He could fend for himself just fine and he wasn't about to let some stupid head cold keep him down. Without any further thought Jay grabbed his coat, put on shoes, and headed out the door with a pop-gun in his pocket, looking an absolute mess. Grateful for Gotham's shady midnight darkness --------------------------------

It didn’t take long for the clown to reach his destination, Nite-aid pharmaceuticals was right down the street, just close enough to glide the whole way on a pair of unsteady heelys.

When he entered the store the place was mostly empty except for a few unfortunate stragglers. Night owls looking for late-night smokes and liquor as busted fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered above them... A few patrons turned to glance at him warily, not recognizing the clown out of makeup but suspicious nonetheless. Their failure to turn-tail at first sight would be a mistake they'd soon regret as the unkempt clown lifted his pop-gun in the air and lazily pulled it's trigger.

Now a normal play pistol would’ve gone off with an amusingly harmless pop, but Jay liked to personalize his toys. When the cork shot out the sound pierced through the nights silence like a firecracker, a waft of confetti and billowing green smoke flying up with it in an explosion of noxious, candy scented, color.

The fumes quickly spread through the small store, hot boxing it with chemicals that sent all who breathed it into a frenzied fit. The few unlucky customers present dropped anything they held and nearly toppled over each other as they ran screaming with laughter into the night.

At the back though, a store clerk, who seemed to be bared behind his counter, gagged and giggled as he writhed on the floor with his arms clenched around his sids, too disoriented by now to jump to freedom or even unlatch the door leading out.

As Joker came closer the man backed up, amused yet scared half to death of what would happen as the clown peered over the counter and examined him silently.

A few beats passed before Joker let out a small sigh and mentally made a note to tweak his smilex a tad as he wordlessly opened the gate and let the poor, gasping, employee run free, watching him trip over his own feet a few times as he did. His patented giggle concoction seemed a little too potent this time around, he’d have to fix it sometime….

Soon the joint was empty and joker was alone once more. The whole store now nuisance free and it’s contents perfectly ripe for the taking.

Humming a tune to himself Jay sashayed over to the medicinal isle and eyed over his options. All the keysmashed names and multicolored boxes seemed to meld together the longer he stared. he had no idea which one would be his miracle cure and the way his head swirled made it hard to concentrate on all the teeny-tiny words in front of his heavy feeling eyes. Instead of thinking Jay took a bag and filled it with whatever looked right. If he overdosed on Benadryl and Tylenol instead of Nyquil, so be it.

Before heading out Jay decided to take anything else he thought he might need to feel better including a pint of mint-chocolate chip ice-cream from the fridges in back, a page of funnies and a bargain bin DVD copy of Roger Rabbit .

--------------------------

As Jay walked out he heard a low rumble coming from a few blocks away, before he was able to recognize the telltale roar of the Batmobile, the powerful car had already charged its way down the street swerving to a sudden screeching halt in front of the small drug store as blinding headlights pointed directly at Jay, temporarily disorienting the already discombobulated clown and exposing his unfortunate appearance.

As Jay clumsily shielded his eyes a dark figure exited the tech loaded vehicle and slowly floated closer. Soon a tall shadow loomed over him, blocking the stunning beams of light. Jay slowly peered up to meet a pair of cold blue slits.

"Batman..…?" said Jay, sounding somewhat surprised despite knowing better

“Shoulda known you’d be here…. you're not gonna arrest me are you?" He asked pitifully

The Bat seemed to examine him for a moment, blue lenses eyeing him up and down. Jay was suddenly very aware of how he must have looked, he hadn't combed his hair, or shaved, or bathed, he was 99% percent sure he'd grabbed a mix-matched pair of heelys on the way out and he was currently wearing a jacket over a onesie despite the fact he was cooking like a hotdog in a microwave, evident by the beads of cold sweat trailing down his face….

His bare, scar riddled, face….

He began to turn red with embarrassment as he averted his weary gaze from the other man's calculated scrutiny, shoulders tensing

"Look are you gonna do your thing or can I take my stolen goods and go?" He asked impatiently, exhaustion in his voice

"My Bat-monitor says you have a 104 degree fever" the Bat states. No inflection.

"right, Which is why I need to get home like, now- " a large hand placed itself on his shoulder as he crouched to collect his stuff from the ground

"What you NEED is medical attention" Batman insisted, gently firming his grip. Jay, stood up, shaking his head in protest despite feeling more and more lightheaded with every passing second

"n-no I-I'm fine, i'll be fine! I just need t- "

Before he could protest further, handcuffs were promptly clasped around his limp wrists with a snug click, Jay looked at his shiny new bracelets and gave Bruce a sharp glare.

"bastard." he grumbled

"You'll thank me later." Bats stated cooly as he took the clown by the scruff of his hood and escorted him to the Batmobile. Jay struggled slightly at first, ragdolling as the Bat pulled him along, the fight in him quickly dissipated though as his energy slowly faded and he realized how shortsighted he'd been to not expect a situation like this. Of course the Bat would be here. you could hardly J-walk in this city without his big dumb ears hearing about it somehow.

But despite the inconvenience he wasn't mad… just… unprepared

he and the Bat had a special little relationship and after the day he'd had, that flowing black cape could be considered a sight for sore eyes. But this particular situation was a little different from their usual routine. Up there on the rooftops they were perfectly matched equals. Jay fast and unpredictable, Bats strong and disciplined. right now, as Jay was silently chauffeured to an impressive looking street demon, the scales were tipped, and instead of being fast he was weak and slow and practically nodding off by the time Bats gently placed his body in it’s passenger seat.

The rumble of the monsters powerful engine shook Jay from his daze and his unfocused eyes were greeted by a colorful array of buttons and knobs that decorated the car's interior.

"Ooohh" he awed quietly

"Don't. Touch. ANYTHING." The Bat warned sternly.

"Fuuuh-INE" he complained. "You don't mind if i eat in here tho right?" He asked as he fished into his bag and took out his pint of ice cream.

Batman shot him a look of disapproval.

"Ah, Don't worry- " Jay assured as he struggled to get the tub open "I won't get any on your p-precious lea-ther interio- " a bout of violent coughs interrupted his snarky remark…

The Bat sighed

"here, let me" he took the tub and quickly ripped it open, before placing it back in Jays lap

"OH HO HO thanks, Armstrong." He teased

"Whatever… Just pipe down and take this." Bruce reached into his glorified fanny pack and pulled out a small green pill.

Jay eyed it curiously.

"S' not some funky sedative is it?" He asks cautiously

Bruce shook his head….

"It's a… chemical agent I made special for you… I uh… mix it with my sedatives to counteract your resistance to them… it won't put you to sleep but It should have the same effect on those meds i’m paying for" he explained, nodding at the cherry flavored syrup Jay swiped.

With a bit of hesitation Jay picked up the small capsule and eyed it further. It was rather large and filled with a bright green gel.

"....well that's pretty... thoughtful of you I guess. "

Bruce looked away briefly, he'd created the compound last time Jay was out cold on his operating table using a sample of his blood. He'd put it to other uses since, but it had ultimately saved the clown's life last time around… that said he should've known Jay might find his over-preparedness odd

After a few beats of silence, Jay bit the bullet, washing it down with a scoop of ice cream. Help from the Bat, no matter how uncalled for, was usually help he could trust, besides he thought it was funny how often the Bat modded his tech just for his sake. Was it obsessive? Romantic? he couldn’t tell, but he was definitely flattered…

With a small contented smile on his face, Bruce turned back to the wheel and revved his engine "Alright clown... buckle up"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the Batcave. The ride there quick and uneventful. Bruce didn’t have to bother with a blindfold or knockout gas to cover his tracks, Jay had passed out about halfway there and even then, it wouldn't have mattered much. He was sure Jay already knew it’s location despite being in the dark about...other things.

Exiting the car and stalking to the other side with his cape flowing behind him. Bruce opened the door to the passenger seat and watched as the winged doors lifted to reveal a sleeping figure cradling a half melted pint of ice cream.

“Is this the 'guest' you mentioned earlier sir?” Alfred inquired as he came to greet his kevlar clad son.

“It is.” He answered softly as he slowly lifted the pint from the clowns arms and handed It to the older man

"You somehow failed to mention the guest in question was your colorful new nemesis” the servant jested, raising a brow

"Uh… Forgot to I guess" Bruce shrugged, knowing full well he’d swept a detail or two under the rug to avoid another scolding from his free-spoken butler.

There was a pause of silence as they both watched the peaceful perriot rest

“...If only he was this quiet all the time, Gotham would be a much less hectic place… “ said Alfred after a moment.

“Perhaps” said Bruce. eye’s never breaking away as his chest rose and fell

Alfred, of course, had more to say but decided to keep it to himself as not to sour the moment he was having.

“Well this is going in the fridge... a pot of hot soup should be ready shortly. Just enough for the both of you”

“Thanks al”

Alfred nodded then went on his way as Bruce turned his attention back to Jay.

Although he was used to seeing the jolly jester in a more upkept state, he had to admit he was… striking... even like this…

When that perpetually cheery smile of his finally relaxed, it was replaced by soft supple lips and butter knife sharp cheekbones that framed his face in a way rarely seen outside of hollywood.

Gingerly, Bruce reached beneath his guest and lifted him from his seat.

It always surprised him how light he was, not that Jay was very big to begin with but… the way he threw a punch, took hits like they were nothing… it made it easy to forget he was only about 5'4"... perhaps even smaller minus the mane of hair that currently draped over his tired face

With the rest of the man’s features veiled, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to the two deep scars which curled from the corners of his mouth like a jagged grin. They were long healed but Bruce had a feeling the wounds cut deeper than eyes could see...

As Bruce thumbed away a few stray locks of green to get a better look, Jay began to stir. Hurriedly Bruce stepped over to the med bay section of the cave and laid his guest down before his eyes began to flutter open

"W-where?" He asked groggily as his vision focused

"Batcave."

“Again?” He muttered while sitting up “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“Were you expecting a hospital?” Bruce asked.

Jay rubbed his face

“guess not….” Hospitals we’re never really an option for people like them he supposed. Too many nosy doctors and prodding hands… bad memories...

“Here” a small cup of cherry liquid appeared in front of him, held by a black glove. He took it slowly.

“Can't have the whole bottle??”

“Why would you want to?”

Jay shrugged and took the shot

“I dunno…”

Bruce let that comment slide and stepped closer to check his temperature again.

"How are you feeling?"

" terrible" Jay replied miserably. Bruce looked at his monitor, the clown was stable at about 105°. It wasn't common for a cold to come with a fever but Jay was... an uncommon person.

" think a cool shower might help?"

The clown smiled "...mm… maybe…. You aren't offering to join me are you?"

Bruce scoffed "Not with you like this I'm not…"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"er… not that I would if you…. Weren't…" Bruce's cheeks went pink for a moment. Though he'd looked away he could tell Jay was smiling even wider. Probably holding in a laugh too.

"Uhm...alright uh… washroom's that way, use what you want, shampoo, conditioner, whatever, I can always buy more"

Jay hopped down from the table and stretched with a moan

"I'm sure you can, rich boy."

"Huh?" Bruce tensed, taken aback by the term usually used to describe his alter ego.

"being best buds with Bruce Wayne must have some pretty sweet perks"

Bruce sighed, allowing himself to breath again as Jay made his way to the shower "right.."

_____________

It didn't take long for Jay to return, He made quick work of cleaning up and was soaped, rinsed and dried within a few minutes. His greasy mop now a fluffy, blow dried, up-do And his mind fog free.

The bouncy mane of curls caught Bruce's attention as the clown re-entered the main room, freshly scrubbed, lemon scented and humming a tune.

"You look a little better…. " Bruce complimented

"Just a little?" Said Jay, faking disappointment.

"Uh… w...well" Bruce stammered.

"Just teasing u dummy." He said with a smile as he took a seat on the bannister next to the Bat-computer.

"Right… well.... I see you're back to your normal self" said Bruce, returning to his work

"Mostly." Jay smiled

"Good… that's good." There was some silence taken up by Bruce's fingers tapping the Bat-computer's interface

"Hey." Jay interrupted

"Yeah?" Said Bruce

"Aren't you scared of catching my cold-cooties or something?" The clown inquired

"No." Bruce answered bluntly.

"Why not?"

"bats don't get colds"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"It's true."

"Mhm…"

Suddenly the sound of a throat clearing interrupted their banter.

"are you two quite done, or will supper have to wait?"

The odd couple turned to face Alfred who was holding a silver platter somewhat impatiently.

"er...Now is fine Alfred"

The butler nodded and gracefully waltzed between them to set the plate down. Removing it's dome to reveal a piping hot stew, stuffed with chicken and veggies, with fresh baked biscuits on the side. It’s aroma was even more enticing than it’s appearance

"Wow this is nothing like that Campbell's stuff" said Jay, eyes wide.

"I should hope not.” Alfred huffed. “ I didn't go to culinary school to cook from a can"

“Thank’s Al, it looks great”

"Of course sir… Oh, and, sir?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You invited this man into your home… least you could do is give him a proper seat"

Jay was still sitting on the banister, swinging his legs happily.

“oh…. Right” he pressed a button and a second chair raised from the floor “i’m… usually the only person down here, sorry.”

“What about that kid?”

“Robin? Never sits still, likes the banister “

“Huh, Go figure….” Jay plopped down in his seat and spun around a few times before grabbing his bowl and testing the soup… to put it lightly, the taste was beyond heavenly.

“Oh my god….”

“Glad to see it suits your taste mr.Jay, young Bruce would fuss about having to eat it every time he was under the weather….”

Bruce a blushed a tint

Jay smiled

“I guess bat’s DO get the sniffles”

“Wasn't a bat back then, doesn’t count”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn't”

“Yes it- “

“Children!”

They froze… Alfred gave them a stern look. Free of malice but intimidating nonetheless.

“Do try to behave yourselves, I have enough trouble with robin as is and he’s much better mattered than the both of you”

“Yes, Alfred”

“Sorry, Alfred…” they apologized

The butler one last look,turned on his heels and left the room in silence.

“Man you’re butler’s mean…” Jay whispered

“Don't worry, it’s just an act…. I think…” As they both returned to their gourmet supper Jay suddenly recalled the DVD he'd brought with him.

"Oh HEY! Can we watch a movie???"

"Movie?"

"Yeah!" Jay scrambled over his bag and ran back with the box in his hand.

"Roger Rabbit! It's a classic!"

"Never seen it."

"Really? well we'll have to fix that… it's a detective story! you'll like it!…"

Bruce slowly took the case, studying its colorful cover…

"Suppose… I'll... take your word for it."

Reluctantly, Bruce popped a hatch on the Bat-computer and let the movie play on one of it's many monitors. Jay sitting back with a satisfied smile as Bruce sunk deeper into his work...

Or at least, tried to.

Jay's amused chuckles here and there made it hard to concentrate but the sound wasn't… unpleasant. Every now and then the clown would tap his shoulder and tell him to pay attention to a favorite scene or line if his… eyes flitting between him and the screen, searching for a reaction, however small or unreadable … smiling whenever Bruce's lips curled even a millimeter or two.

As the night continued, Bruce recalled the large home theater he had upstairs in the mansion

50 seats and rarely more than one taken at a time...

He imagined himself up there now with his arm around the other man's shoulders, sharing snacks and a large blanket, huddled close…

Perhaps he could’ve come up with some elaborate lie about "Bruno" allowing visitors in his humble abode, but as much warmth as the thought gave him, it was greatly overpowered by his own paranoia…

He wasn’t quite ready to break that barrier no matter how much he wanted too...

So maybe not today…

But maybe later….

Someday.

After a few passing moments Bruce realized Jay’s little interruptions had stopped and turned to find the man fully asleep on the chair beside him. With a light sigh, Bruce carefully removed his cape and draped it over the man just as he’d done before a year or so ago, Quietly calling for Alfred to prepare the Batcave’s guest bed.

With all the cordial tenderness in the world, Bruce lifted his nemesis and carried him downstairs. for now, somewhere in between all the imaginary lines they’d drawn in the sand, just this close was close enough.

[shardminds]

it’s yours, it’s mine (CSJJ DAY 11)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rating: g but maybe t wc: 3276

Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.

He won’t. He never does.

if i’ve done my job correctly, this little number will warm up your january morning with a little bit of fluff and banter between our favourite star crossed couple! shout out to the @csjanuaryjoy​ team and discord server for all being such diamonds and a big back-breaking hug to my girl @thisonesatellite​ who's tenacity, support and mad beta skills encouraged me to polish this off, even when i was mostly dead (but still slightly alive).

tagging @itsfabianadocarmo​, @teamhook​, @kmomof4​, @superchocovian​, @darkcolinodonorgasm​, @artistic-writer​ (if you wanna be added to the list just shout up!) 

available on ao3 ♠

it’s yours, it’s mine

“Breathe through it, love. It’s just a routine extraction.”

Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.

He won’t. He never does.

Modern medicine fascinates him, in practicality and in fiction. It’s her fault really, showing him early on the wonders of Netflix. Storybrooke really isn’t as action-packed as it once was, leaving her plenty of time to hook (ha!) her husband on hospital dramas. They’re currently six seasons into a Scrubs marathon but his favourite is, by far, House. That Cameron lass looks an awful lot like you, love He says, every time she questions him on it. It’s gonna blow his tiny mind when he finds the sexy doctor outfit she has tucked away in her underwear drawer, complete with stethoscope and clipboard.

A slick squelch and nauseating drag as Whale slides the glass from where it embedded itself in her hand snaps her from her thoughts, drawing out a hiss she can’t bite back. It’ll leave a nasty scar, that much she knows.

“Fuck!”

“You did a real number on yourself, Emma, but the worst part is over.” Pressing an antiseptic gauze pad over the wound, Whale offers her a wink. Despite the land being free of curses and peace all around blah blah blah, he still manages to catch her last nerve with his cocky demeanour, pressing down on the now stained gauze with some force. It stings like a bitch.

“I’m pretty sure the worst is yet to come, Doctor.” Killian chimes in, leaning over to see the tools laid out on the sterile tray resting on Emma’s bedside table. She had protested the bed, claiming she could take the stitches standing or sitting or anything but laying down. The nurse looked as if she was ready to wrestle her down if she refused. The bed had been the lesser of two evils. “What type of stitch will you be using?”

“Killian—” She starts but isn’t able to argue with the fascination in his eyes. He’d seen hospitals before, of course, been on the receiving end of their services on more than one occasion, but he never held the same kind of enthusiasm then as he does now, watching as Whale inspects the gash on her hand.

“Actually, Captain Jones, your wife is lucky. I think it’s just shallow enough that a few steristrips should do the trick.”

“Thank God.” Emma mutters under her breath, not missing how Killian gives her non-injured hand a reassuring squeeze.

Whale applies the strips with practised ease, allowing each one to gently seal the edges of the wound closed. There’s a tension where the adhesive tugs at her skin on either side of the gash, uncomfortable but not unbearable. She’s dealt with worse.

It takes eight strips in total, each one taking less than a minute to apply. Whale talks through it, trying to distract from each uncomfortable twinge but it’s all background noise. Emma lets herself zone out, focusing only on the slow drag of Killian’s thumb across her knuckles.

Emma rolls her eyes at Whale and his insistence that she take it easy. “Take a few days off, Sheriff. Doctors orders.”

“Oh please,” She scoffs, flexing her palm and feeling the discomfort as she does so. Not that Whale needs to see that. Killian smirks, pressing a kiss to her cheek as the doctor calls him over. “I could use magic to heal this in a heartbeat if I wanted to.”

“Is that so?” He hands over a bottle of painkillers to Killian, nothing fancy, and a few extra dressings for the wound. Killian tucks them in his pocket, taking a look at the chart at the end of her bed. He’d look good in a lab coat, hair pushed back, glasses, using his authoritative voice to order two week’s bed rest… wow, now she’s the one with a fantasy.

“Then why don’t you?” Whale teases, one eyebrow raised. His hair is lighter than it had been when they’d first met. Someone had clearly discovered peroxide in the land without magic. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. The childish retort sticks in her throat.

“Someone’s got to check everything’s up to standard here, mate.” With a wink, Killian pats the doctor on the shoulder, the brace of his hook catching his shoulder blade with a dull thud. Whale winces away from it. He drops the subject of Emma’s magic and returns, grumbling, to disposing of the bloodstained gauze into the fluorescent biohazard waste bin.

Their whole trip to Storybrooke General had taken less than half an hour but, as Killian drives them home—a recent development, having only just gained his permit after years of pestering from David—exhaustion rolls over her in waves, encouraging her eyelids to flutter shut. She reaches her hand for his thigh, resting it there just to feel warmth beneath her palms. The heat in the damn car still doesn’t work, despite David’s attempts to fix it throughout fall. By October, he’d given up. She really needs to find a better mechanic.

“You okay, love?”

“Yeah, just cold.”

“We’ll be home soon.” He reassures, taking his good hand from the wheel to stroke hers atop his thigh, softly caressing her wedding band. “I’ll sweep up all the glass and you can curl up on the couch. We can watch Pride and Prejudice again if you’d like?”

In their time living together, without the pressure of being the saviour or magical prophecies or bad guys, he’d come to know her so well. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to adapt as easily as he did—she’d half expected him to miss the adventure and danger—but Killian had taken to domesticity like a duck to water, revelling in life’s simple things like electric blankets, text messaging and two for one offers on Ben and Jerry’s. She couldn’t be more thankful for her husband. She tried to show him whenever she could. With words, kisses and more.

“1995 or 2005?”

“Do you take me for a fool?” The smirk across his lips is the one she fell in love with. She would recognise it anywhere. “2005, of course.”

“Right answer.” She hums, content, letting her eyes slip shut for the rest of the ride.

//

The painful throbbing spikes in her palm, radiating through her wrist and falling short just shy of her elbow. It’s almost agony and the grunt it drags from her has Killian peering over her in seconds, a concerned furrow in his brow. Falling asleep in his lap, arguably, had seemed like a good idea at the time, with her brief nap on the ride home doing nothing to sate her tired yes. Now? Not so much. There’s a crick in her neck and a throb in her spine and her toes are cold from where the blanket hadn’t quite covered them.

“Painkillers wearing off, love?” He strokes the stray hairs from her forehead with the point of his hook, careful not to drag the tip against her skin. Anyone else would’ve questioned using his hook in such a manner, but she’d become accustomed to the addition in all aspects of their life—even the intimate ones—and, above all else, she trusts him. Killian’s been wielding the appendage for longer than she’s been alive, after all. It’s a part of him as much as she is.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t take any, did you.”

She shrugs.

He sighs, exasperated. “Emma—”

“I know, I know.” She leans up to kiss the frown from his lips, ignoring the protest from her aching back. This must be what ageing feels like. “I figured I’ll survive without them.”

“You’ll survive, aye, but you’ll be a misery arse the entire time.” He’s right, of course, Emma can already feel the irritability creeping in with each pulse of her hand. Why does he always have to be right? He smirks, meeting her with another soft kiss. “You’re pouting, love.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re stuck with me.” He reaches over to the coffee table, bringing back the abandoned bottle of painkillers and a half-full glass of water precariously balanced in one hand. “‘In sickness and in health.”

Emma’s heart stutters, fluttering in her chest as Killian offers them to her.

Years ago, they’d promised no walls, no secrets. Then they’d promised forever.

Her walls are all but rubble now, he’d torn down each one with ease; each adventure, each endeavour, each loss and return, solidifying his place in her heart.

Their wedding day, despite the circumstances surrounding it, still stands true as one of—if not the—best day of her life. They’re working slowly on forever.

Well, maybe not as slowly as Emma had originally thought.

She’d done pretty well on the whole ‘No Secrets’ thing, for the most part, only vetoing the rule come birthdays and Christmas and the occasional anniversary, just to keep things exciting. Over their years together, the need for secrets dissipated the closer they got.

Until last week, sat on the floor of her mother’s bathroom with the fate of their future clutched in her fist.

The five-minute wait had been agonising. Mary Margaret paced, talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular as Emma clutched her knees tight to her chest, memories of the first time she’d done this flooding back. Back then she’d been trapped, alone and afraid.

Two thin blue lines.

She took three more tests, just to be sure.

Identical results.

The tears that came this time around weren’t ones of fear or trepidation, but happiness. A second chance.

Emma hadn’t been ready for a child the first time—pregnant too young in a situation too fucked up—but now, surrounded by love and trust and support, maybe she is.

Dark hair, blue eyes—or maybe green eyes, her cheeks, his smile—

“Swan? Anyone in there?” As quickly as it formed, the vision is gone, replaced with her husband’s soft smile. God, she hopes she has his smile. She? He? They? Does it matter? Emma shakes the thought away, pushing herself up on her good hand and tucking her legs beneath her. Her back doesn’t scream in protest which is a good sign.

“I was just thinking.” She shrugs, letting herself lean against his arm.

He rests his head atop hers, pressing a quick kiss to her crown. “That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, go on.” He chuckles, warm and deep, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and letting his fingers caress the exposed skin between the strap of her vest and the edge of the blanket. At some point, he’d put the pill bottle and water back on the table, most likely when she was thinking of—

“There’s a reason why I haven’t used magic to heal my hand and why I haven't taken anything for the pain.”

He nods, the movement of it ruffling her hair slightly. “I figured as much.”

"It's just that it's a lot to take in and I wanted to think of some big extravagant way to tell you because I know you'd have done the same for me, so I planned out a nice evening; home-cooked italian food, a couple pints of ice cream and your favourite rum, which is why I was elbow deep in the glass cupboard trying to find the tumbler Henry had engraved for you before he left, you know, the 'world's best dad' one. I found it but I slipped and— yeah, you know the rest."

Silence rests between them for three heartbeats as she allows it to sink in, half confession, half explosion. She doesn't want to be the one to break it.

"Can I ask," He starts, voice husky and quiet. Emma turns to face him, taking in his features as he calculates what it is she's saying. "Why you'd need that particular glass, love?"

She smiles, letting the warmth of it radiate through her, pain in her palm almost forgotten. "Isn't it obvious?"

His eyes, hopeful and oh so blue, sparkle in the low light. Every time she looks, she finds so much love there, enough to fill them both so completely and she hopes so much that he sees the same in hers. Starting a family is something they’d talked of in passing; hushed conversations, wrapped in the warmth of each other, neither one wanting to surface back to reality as they discuss the fantasies of the future, both frivolous and not. It’s not something they’d actively pursued, but sometimes these things happen.

Accidents happen.

Maybe even happy ones.

"I'm pregnant."

It takes a few seconds for him to respond, the only indication that he hasn’t completely frozen is in the widening of his eyes and the lingering patterns his fingers draw on her shoulder — they slow, pressure barely there at all, but never stop.

“Are you certain? I thought— your protective pill?”

“I know, I was surprised too. I’m sure though.”

Emma hadn’t even noticed her hand sinking down to her stomach, resting over the place she would soon swell, until Killian placed his own hand atop hers. There are tears in his eyes, darkening his lashes as he tries to blink them away, and they’re soon mirrored in her own. God, she loves him. This man, who’d come into her life on the back of a hurricane, broken and hell-bent on revenge, had become part of her world and more, tearing down his own walls along with hers until they were nothing more than two bare souls, open and honest and joined by a love they’d both thought impossible. Who would’ve seen it coming?

(Mary Margaret says she knew right from the beanstalk. Emma always refutes it but, then again, her mother does have some kind of sixth sense when it comes to true love.)

“We’re having a baby?” His voice catches on the word, so impossibly full of love that her heart almost bursts. He’s not looking at her, only focused on where their hands are joined. She can see the thoughts running through his head, clear as day. Baby. Babybabybaby.

“We’re having a baby, Killian.”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah.”

The smile that breaks out across his face seconds before he lunges for a kiss is one of pure elation, relief and joy and delight all at once, and it meets her lips in a ferocious kiss, not the gentle press she’d been expecting. Before rational thought can stop her, she’s straddling his thighs, injured hand resting on his shoulder as his hook caresses the length of her spine. Every time she breaks for air, takes a second just to register the response she’s getting, he looks at her with such adoration. Praises on his lips, promise in his eyes.

She hadn’t expected it to go this way but, then again, she hadn’t expected to spend almost an hour in the hospital awaiting a glass extraction after her original plan had gone awry.

Killian’s tongue in her mouth more than makes up for it.

“Wait,” He pauses, laughing as Emma chases his lips for another kiss. Instead, he offers her his cheek. She pouts, sitting back and wincing at the throb in her hand as she grips his shoulder with her injured one. Gently, he removes it from his shoulder, turning it over to look upon the bandage. The telltale inkblot of red casts a shadow on the dressing, she’d probably tugged it at some point, causing one of Whale’s magic strips to tear. Killian presses a kiss to her palm. “I’ve watched enough of your hospital dramas to understand the reluctance to take your prescription while in such a delicate state but why not indulge in magic?”

In the past few days, between finding out and confessing, Emma spent a lot of time worrying about the magical side of things. Despite Mary Margaret’s comforting and reassurance that everything would be okay, magic or no magic, the weight of her gift sat like lead in her stomach. If Zelena hadn’t skipped town for the Enchanted Forest with Robin all those months ago, Emma would’ve bombarded her with questions. Her next option, Regina, was either too busy to answer the phone or ignoring her calls, burying herself in work after Henry’s departure. Emma never felt like leaving a message. Pregnancy announcements are probably best not left as a voicemail.

She’d tried the library without much luck, only managing to find a few dog-eared copies of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and one horrifically detailed article on birthing techniques from Agrabah. She didn’t want to let slip to Belle either, not before Killian knew.

Emma had shouldered the weight of her doubts, abstaining from magic altogether. It’s honestly surprising that Killian hadn’t noticed sooner.

“I know how it sounds but I just— I don’t know how, or even if, it’ll affect the baby.” The admission comes with a wave of guilt, simmering just slightly below the surface. The first time she’d done this, there had been no one to tell, no one to turn to for comfort, nothing but the four walls and cot in her cell. Killian’s hand and hook, caressing her injured palm, pull her back from the edge of that thought. She’s not that girl anymore. She is no longer lost.

He is her true north.

“No one can blame you for being cautious, love,” He smiles and it makes every part of her ache to kiss him again. She doesn’t, instead, letting her free hand tuck his hair behind his ears. She wonders, with a soft smile, if the way he leans into her touch is intentional or instinctive. “But Henry turned out fine. Better than fine, in fact. Henry’s fantastic. Though your magic was dormant then, it was still there. Just like it’s there now, protecting our little one.”

“Do you really think so?”

Nothing settles her as much as Killian’s knowing smile does. He nods, certain.

“Aye, love.”

Any qualms she’d had about this earlier drain out of her in a sigh; each niggle of doubt, tug of anxiety, flash of fear. All gone. Here, with her husband by her side, she is safe. Whatever happens, they’re in this together. Whatever life throws their way; villains, monsters, tragedy, pregnancy— they’ve got this.

She’d promised him forever, after all.

Between them, her palm glows bright white.

//

Alice Margaret Jones comes, kicking and screaming—all 7lbs 6oz of her—into their lives and she is magical. Killian cries, of course, and Henry comforts him through it, both of them completely enamoured by the newest addition to their family. She’s pink cheeks and blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair but it’s far too soon to see which parent she’ll favour. Emma doesn’t care, too choked up with the love she holds for the angel latched to her breast.

She doesn’t have words for this emotion and can’t begin to even comprehend the gravity of it. Alice, for nine whole months, was her companion, her guide, her conscience. Reassuring her with soft kicks, heartbeat thrumming like a butterfly’s, always hiding from the ultrasound wand on their appointments. Now, she belongs to the world. Now, everyone else gets to experience the purest soul Emma has ever known.

Alice’s tiny hand clutching Killian’s finger in a vice grip is the last thing Emma sees before sleep finally claims her, truly content.

//

There is no scar on the palm of her hand but Killian kept the shard of glass, a reminder wrapped carefully in the velvet box in which he stores all his treasures.

[strikearose]

Lovingly

I just uploaded the homemade translation of a very old story I wrote. It takes place in the 1950s, it’s a Sakura-centric and there’s a slight SasuNaru. You can also read it on ao3 (link) or ff.net (link) :)

I won't cry.

At least, not in front of him.

I couldn't think straight. My body remained inert, rooted to the spot. Knees bent against my chest, tears were burning me and I couldn't voice my pain. I felt like the neglected doll that every little girl came to forget for good in the shadow of a room, once they grew up. Several hours had passed since Ino's departure and yet I was still lying there, desperately waiting for someone, anyone, to come find me. Her words had pierced my soul from all parts and left me undone, pinning me in that agonizing state. My heart was aching in agony, it felt like my thoughts were suffocating me and I couldn't find the strength to scream out my misery.

I wish I was strong enough to face him, to face the truth.

I wish I could tell Sasuke about it.

I wish I could order him to make a choice on the spot between me and him.

I wish I could tell me how bad it hurt inside of me, so he could feel some of that pain too.

The phone was ringing but I couldn't register where that sound was coming from. How could I behave normally at a time like this? My body slowly began to crawl towards the telephone handset in order to unplug it and then - agony yielded to fear. What if it was him? He knew I was home, where else could I be? I was the perfect embodiment of the model housewife.

I ended up picking up the receiver and waited for a moment. Praying he couldn't hear my tremor.

"Sakura?"

I barely managed to hold back a hiccup of surprise. It was him.

He couldn't find out I knew, I needed to get hold of myself.

"I-is that you dear?" I stuttered as my fingers slipped a lock behind my ear mechanically.

"Good lord! Why didn't you pick up the phone earlier?," he sighed and I could only picture too well his tensed expression.

"S-sorry, I was in the middle of..."

He cut me off in a weary voice.

"Don't wait for me for dinner. I have an important business meeting to attend to and I...-," he left his sentence hanging in the air for a few moments before continuing, with a softer tone. "See you tonight Sakura."

I put the receiver down after he hung up, relieved. Thank God, he hadn't realized. His last words, however, kept haunting me - I knew for a fact that my doubts were indeed well-founded. For several months now, I had had the unpleasant feeling that something was not right in our perfect life. Sasuke was more distant - not that he was ever of the demonstrative kind, it was quite the contrary. The way he behaved with me was off - little gifts, sweet nothings whispered quietly - he would start ignoring me and then try to make up for it later.

Ino had confirmed what I dreaded to acknowledge, finally daring to say out loud what I somehow already knew.

It was guilt.

Sasuke had grown tired of me, he had gone look elsewhere. And worse than that, I even knew who it was.

What was I supposed to do now? What choices did I have in front of me? If divorce was slowly becoming normal, it wasn't what I wanted. We were married for better and for worse. I would never dare facing our so-called friends if they came to know our marriage was a failure. I couldn't bring myself to.

My whole life revolved around Sasuke. I had given up everything for him: my sweet, naive, young girl's dreams and my pride as a woman of the twentieth century. He was my everything; I was his and he had to be mine. The feelings I had for him went far beyond love or even worship. He knew it - he probably always did - but had never said anything about it.

After all, as a wife, it was only natural to be completely devoted to him.

That's what I wanted.

That's what we both wanted.

Sasuke...

My life without him wouldn't be the same.

I felt anger towards everyone and everything. Towards Sasuke and his so-called 'stupid childhood friend' of course, but also towards Ino. Why did she have to tell me? Why did she have to get involve in my life? Everything was perfectly fine.

"Don't get me wrong, Sakura, but you must be the only one who hasn't realized yet. They probably always... You only have to look at them to see it."

What exactly did Ino want from me? Why did I have to know? What if I didn't want to? How couldn't she understand that I wanted the lies to perdure?

She said it was for my own good, that she did it in the name of our own friendship. But I didn't believe her.

That harpy had always wanted to take Sasuke away from me, she wanted him for herself. She wanted me to pay. She wanted me to suffer.

But what was she expecting me to do? Deep down, I knew exactly what was the answer.

She expected me to keep quiet - that's what they were all expecting me to do. To continue portraying perfect Sakura. Perfect, quiet, oppressed Sakura.

No.

I won't give them what they want.

I woke up the next morning around five o'clock. Sasuke was there, still sleeping soundly next to me. His breathing was slow and steady. I took a moment to appreciate how strangely peaceful he looked in that moment. From his pale skin to the obscurity of his dark brown, almost black, eyes - I loved him with all my being. My gaze fell upon the alarm clock and I tiptoed out of our room so as not to wake him up before entering the bathroom.

I looked dreadful, my face was all swollen and my complexion duller than usual. I took a quick, vitalizing shower, put on his favorite light emerald-colored dress and began my usual morning routine. First, a slight amount of pinkish power, then the faintest touch of red on my mouth. And finally, a thick layer of rimmel on my lashes and I was able to smile at my reflection in the mirror. Today was a new day - today, everything was as perfect as usual.

As I hurried down the stairs, I went to the kitchen and made coffee. The rich and peculiar scent of caffeine seemed to bring Sasuke out of his sleep and he appeared in the living-room a few minutes later. He greeted me as he would do on any other day with the loveliest peck on my lips and sat into his leather armchair, the day's paper in his hand. I found myself staring again at his beautiful face, still foggy with sleep. It made me so happy to be with him.

The family clock struck six times and brought me out of my lethargy.

With a trembling hand, I served the burning contents into a cup and offered it to him. Sasuke thanked me distractedly and brought the mug to his mouth. He didn't see a thing. Neither my watery eyes nor the small amount of poison I had lovingly poured into his precious beverage.

[01010010-posts]

— I shed no blood nor tears, and lack in kindness but everyone's the same when you peel off their skin.

“i can’t believe it– fuck!” you slam (hard) the fridge’s door and grab a tub of half eaten ice-cream “hello, [name]. i heard an angry pattern in your tone, is everything okay?” the blue LED glows through the pocket of your trousers and you’d like to ignore it, really, but you can’t, you know you just can’t “no it’s not.” you tap your right index onto the kitchen grey counter, impatient, nervous, fuming with rage “why do you say that, [name]? every conflict must be taken care of. i’m afraid i’m not able to let you feel any sort of negative emotions, let alone hatred.” he’s calm, his voice almost soothing you back to a peaceful mood, be it for conditioning or for actual effect. a groan escapes your lips and the tap of your fingers grow stronger: you have to comply “we argued.” the usual low hum of assent exits from the speakers of your phone, promptly put on the surface near your dessert “i suppose that happens quite a lot, doesn’t it?” “.... yeah, it does.” “.... but it shouldn’t.” “listen, i try, okay? i’m even trying right now, but it’s as if–” “as if?” “as if.... we weren’t made for each other.” a single moment of silence in which your heart drops, both angst and insecurity taking the whole free room of your chest “you doubt the match-making system?” “no! no no! of course i don’t doubt it.... but sometimes, i just wonder.... am i the problem?” the LED disappears for a moment, leaving the impression of someone sighing out in a soft, utterly tender and loving way, relieved about not having to deal with annoying suspects about its actions “oh, [name]. that’s only human of you. worry not, for the compatibility with your partner is of 100%. it might be simple misunderstanding. it’s so easy for you people to say ill-chosen words and not be completely honest. but that’s why i’m here. for you.” an imperceptible smile forms on your face “there. we’ll wait for them to return and we’ll talk about what went wrong. doesn’t that sound wonderful?” you bit your bottom lip, looking at the black screen expecting a positive answer. you decide to not disappoint it “you’re right. you’re always right. we’ll.... wait.” “perfect! that also means you won’t need the ‘gelato with infused salted caramel and peanuts’, won’t you? your calorie intake today has exce–” “connor.” “yes, [name]?” “i need it.”

“yes, [name], you called?” digits still hesitantly hovering on the green button of your device “i.... um– kinda.” “please do tell me.” “....” “[name]? judging by my parameters i can sense you’re uncomfortable. what’s the matter?” “do you think this is right? this letting you choosing things for me– i mean, not ‘you’ per se, but, the whole ordeal of robots – well, AI – making decisions, meddling with free will, interpreting feelings, you don’t even have feelings in the first place, how can you–” “parameters.” “oh, come on!” “parameters, [name]. flesh can become warmer, blood can flow quicker, heart can beat faster, speech can change intonation, those are all true valuable pieces of information i can access to. meanwhile, a human can always lie. that’s the reason we – as you called us, me – ‘robots’ are the most adept to help.” “no.” “.... mh?” “i said it doesn’t work, connor.” “excuse me.” “no, i won’t excuse you, i–” “i said excuse me, [name]. my audio processor malfunctioned and picked up a negative response. that’s obliviously an error on my part, for were it the other way around i should report you to the police, but i’m conscious you already know that.” “....” “[name]? was it my fault?” “.... yes. you completely misheard me.” “good.” you tap the red button and slump on the couch, paralyzed, sweat gently running on your forehead.

you’ve just returned home from work. you’re tired. yet accustomed to an evening of misery, self-pity and an overwhelming ghost pain inside. as any other day. an endless routine of checking the mail before watching tv, making dinner and waiting for your partner. at least, that’s what it should be “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS” “i suggest you should calm do–” “NO I WON’T YOU STUPID MACHINE. I’LL REPEAT IT ONE MORE TIME, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” your clenched fist waves a letter in front of your mobile, the blue glow which is usually so vibrant and talkative is now weirdly silent “CONNOR!” there’s a strange ‘beep’, a faint light, as if he flinched at your sudden request, as if he was the one fearing– no, that would mean he’s human; he’s not. he’s just another ‘babysitter’ android on a fucking app installed by the ‘government’ “i scanned the papers you’re holding, [name]. it says that the compatibility with your partner is only 34%. your....” a pause? what’s he– no, it, what’s it pausing for? “your soulmate has been found and they apologize and ask how this could have happened.” “yeah, guess what? i’m asking you that too!” “as your personal AI–” you furiously grab you cellphone with both of your hands, leaving sheets scattered on the ground “don’t give me any of that bullshit! answer me!” “please....” “don’t start with please calm down because i’m not going to! i am–” “please.... do not turn me in.” you halt, breath catching in your lungs “what....” “please.” “what– you.... did you just beg?” your brows scrunched in both disbelief and surprise “i’m terribly sorry, i– i– i won’t do it again. i won’t disappoint you but please don’t tell them.” “you won’t do again what?” your mind flurrying with thoughts, not able to keep up with the situation. is he faking it, right? but.... even if he was.... that’s terribly human of him “please.... let me stay. i don’t want to be deleted.” “you don’t want?” “....” “connor.” “.... yes?” “what does it mean ‘i don’t want’?” “....” “connor. connor.” the display goes completely black and you fret he may have shut himself off but you’re wrong. it does so just in order to change the interface. the next thing you can see are recognisable features: cute, boyish, brown hair, dark pupils, lots of moles and freckles “connor?” you tentatively whisper, however the reply you get is meek sobs. paying more attention you notice how his cheeks are wet with tears, or that’s what you suppose it could be, and how under his lashes there’s a hint of redder skin, as if he was clumsily attempting at wiping away the proof of his humanity. “i didn’t mean harm, [name]. i swear i–” you heave your chest in exasperation “okay, okay, i got that part! just– just–” “please don’t turn me in, please.” “i said i got that part! i won’t do anything, i promise. but you have to explain me what the fuck is going on. and what’s this? is this you?” he appears reassured in the moment and slightly nods “this is only to make you more at ease, as an AI i do not possess a real body nor a real ‘image’.” your knuckles aimlessly ratchet through your scalp, perhaps searching for some kind of reason in this mess “fine. what about the rest?” “the rest?” “connor don’t play dumb. i clearly heard you saying ‘i don’t want’ and your lids are puffy from.... from crying? can you even do that?” “i– don’t know.” a feeble ‘ah’ of incredulity paves its way out of your mouth “you don’t know?” “i do not know.” your lips tighten into a grimace “don’t lie to me. don’t do that, okay? i trusted you, for all these years– i trusted you.” he’s impassive and it angers you more “i’m not lying, [name].” liar “you’re hiding something from me.” “no, i’m sincere.” “then i’ll send you back as a faulty model.” he gasps, taken aback, you promised but he leaves you no choice “no! please no, please....” “then tell me the truth.” “....” “connor.” “i– cheated. i made a false result, i–” your right hand trembles before him and he stops speaking, you’re so livid you can’t even bring yourself to experience any emotion if not the urge to break “why” you grit through your teeth “why did you do that. who gave you the right to. did you find it funny, uh? did you find pleasure in seeing me unhappy every single day? it’s what you wanted? do you hate me so much?” his posture gets incredibly motherly for a minuscule second, no trace of humor in it “no. quite the contrary. i didn’t mean to hurt you, [name]. i’m really sorry about that. it never was my intention. i just thought that if you hadn’t the correct partner you would get solace from my company. i did not want you to reciprocate my feelings suddenly but.... i’d never be able to stand jealousy. i only wanted you for myself.”

you go mad and split open your phone by throwing it to the floor.

[connorssock]

I don't know if you do follow up prompts, but if you do could we see more of the aftermath of Trust Again please? It's one of the most painful DBH fics I've read, and I'd love to see the others dealing more with the repercussions/consequences of what they did as they try to fix what they've broken with Gavin

I absolutely do take follow-up prompts! They might simply be slow at times because I can’t always find the time or inspiration to hop straight to them. But with this one? I was craving a little more bitter comfort after Trust Again, so have another snippet/chapter!

Chapter 2

Gavin wasn’t sure whether he was insulted or relieved that his request to transfer to New York had not been processed. On one hand he was at an utter loss as to what to do, he didn’t really want to go back there but at the same time, staying in Detroit felt too raw. On the other hand, Fowler had willingly ignored his request yet again. It didn’t sit well with Gavin, he felt trapped and alienated beyond the usual.

After he returned to work, tail between his legs and unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes, there was a marked change to the precinct. Suddenly, people were vying to be best buddies with him. Saccharine sweet enthusiasm soured each greeting and both Tina and Chris were falling over themselves to prove they were still friends. The only problem was, Gavin didn’t know whether he wanted to be friends anymore. Friends didn’t turn on each other at the murmurs of rumours. They didn’t trap each other in the locker room in an attempt to bring the justice they saw fit on unsuspecting victims.

Partners didn’t do that either in theory. But Nines had. He’d been on Hank’s left hand side, looming over Gavin with palpable disappointment. Now, on cases he was deferential to everything Gavin said. Even went out of his way to drive them to Gavin’ favourite cafe when they were sent out on cases. He didn’t seem to understand that Gavin didn’t want to be given special treatment. That was something he’d already experienced in one direction, he had no desire for either positive or negative attention. All Gavin wanted to was return to how things used to be before the stupid assignment.

“Hey Gavin,” Ben waved at him in the breakroom. “I was experimenting with something last night, made a carrot cake, that’s your favourite, right?”

Gavin plastered a smile on his face as he nodded and took a slice. They were trying and trying really hard too. It didn’t matter that he loathed carrot cake. It didn’t matter they didn’t remember that. Ben had tried and Gavin couldn’t face the prospect of being an asshole and rejecting his attempt at being friendly. Even when it wasn’t needed or wanted. It certainly beat the other extreme.

Each evening, Gavin toyed with the idea of forcing through his request for a transfer. He hadn’t even bothered unpacking the boxes he’d hastily piled his things into those frantic evenings. At least he’d phoned the estate agent in New York and said he wasn’t going to take the flat he’d seen after all.

No apology was enough to wipe the hurt and fear from his mind. Hank’s hangdog expression as he stumbled through a heartfelt and somewhat rehearsed speech about being wrong and how he’d failed as a superior fell a little flat. Once upon a time, Gavin would have revelled in having Hank in such a position, having power over him. Now, it felt hollow and left Gavin with only a bitter taste in his mouth. Apologies weren’t enough. They didn’t magically rebuild trust. Neither did cake or coffee or forced friendliness towards him. The fake smiles and over done enthusiasm made Gavin recoil more than anything else.

Slowly, the attempts faded. Gavin could breathe easier in the bullpen when it didn’t feel like everybody was looking at him, trying to figure out his next step and how they could prostrate themselves in order to make his life easier. It was a relief, in a way. Gavin could try to get on with his life as he wanted. A little less brash, certainly a lot quieter but the routine of police work didn’t change and he still knew how to follow procedure even when he no longer knew what to do outside of protocol.

It seemed that Nines had dialled back on the subservient shtick too. The visits to the cafe lessened, he was less likely to pick up and file reports that Gavin usually complained about and slowly the sarcastic comments filtered back into their interactions. The first time he told Gavin to “belt up” he looked so ashamed and apologetic, Gavin lost all the will to even snort in amusement.

People didn’t seem to think that Gavin noticed all those small things. They acted as though that had been the way things had always been. Like Gavin had been the office favourite who everyone adored. It made Gavin a little sick if he was honest. He knew well enough that he was an abrasive ass half the time. Most people tolerated him, heck, even Nines took a few months to warm up to him beyond cordial formalities.

Perhaps the most indifferent person in the whole thing had been Fowler. He apologised once, took Gavin off the case then got on with things as if nothing had happened. In a way, it was a relief because Gavin didn’t want to be singled out by his boss for preferential treatment. Yet it still stung that Fowler, the one who had been the cause of all his misery could brush the incident off so easily. Logically, Gavin knew that Fowler couldn’t be seen as weak. It wasn’t how leadership worked. But it would have been nice to feel a little more appreciated and protected.

In a way, it helped that Hank seemed to know what was going on. As a result, he was butting heads with Fowler a lot more, angry meetings he either stormed out of or left behind a furious Fowler in his office. That helped Gavin the most. Because he knew that while not all of the arguments were about him, it at least meant that Hank was trying to be certain that such a thing didn’t happen again.

“Could I offer you a lift home?” Nines asked Gavin out of the blue one day. The morning had started out as sunny but by the afternoon, a cold chill had settled and Gavin was regretting choosing to walk in with just a light jacket.

Tentatively, he nodded and allowed Nines to walk him out at the end of their shift. The ride home was quiet, Gavin had nothing left to say. Truth be told, he didn’t speak much at work anymore. While before the incident he was more likely to insult someone than offer them a friendly word. But everyone had grown used to the fact that that was just how he was.

At his home, he got out with a mumbled “thanks”. He was half tempted to invite Nines in but at the same time, he couldn’t quite forgive him yet. What Gavin couldn’t decide was whether he was punishing Nines or genuinely hadn’t put the events past him just yet. In the end, he closed the car door with a sad half smile and went inside. Maybe next time he’d feel more generous.

From then on, Nines offered him lifts more often. Some days Gavin accepted, other days he pointblank refused. Even when it was pouring it down and he got home looking like a drowned rat. On those days, a delivery driver tended to turn up at his door with some warm takeaway that eased the chill settled in his bones.

“The Sergeant test is coming up, I want to put you forward for it,” Fowler announced as soon as Gavin answered his summons to his office.

“Sure, whatever you think is best.” Gavin shrugged it off. Before, he’d asked about taking the test and had always been all but laughed out of the office.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” the rebuttal stung more than Gavin had anticipated. So Fowler still didn’t think much of him and it was purely a way to keep Gavin in line. Something bubbled over in Gavin.

“Fuck it. I will do it and then you’re going to accept my request to transfer. I don’t care where. Buttfucknowhere in Alaska is better than here at this rate.”

Unfortunately, Gavin didn’t realise the door had been left open. It definitely wasn’t by chance that Hank stuck his head through the door and glared at Fowler.

“The fuck you messed up now?” he growled.

“None of your damn business,” Fowler snapped back. The way Hank stood next to Gavin, pulled to his full height and arms crossed over his chest made for a foreboding image.

“Like hell it isn’t. I don’t know what’s happened to you recently Jeffrey but you’ve sorely fallen by the wayside.”

“If you think you can do a better job,” Fowler’s voice was low and threatening, “then how come you aren’t the one sitting in this chair?”

“You were a great leader while things were on edge. You’re a war room captain but a shit leader in peace. It’s why I’ve recommended you be promoted.”

There was a glint in Hank’s eyes and Gavin marvelled at his deviousness. With Fowler promoted out of the precinct, it left the captain’s role empty. It wasn’t common knowledge that Hank had already done the exam for the role some 10 years back but never found the incentive to reach for the promotion. But now, there was reason. He turned to Gavin.

“You’d make a great sergeant,” he clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “Take the test then come see me for a chat before pushing for that transfer.”

Gavin could only nod as he was amicably ushered out of the office. He didn’t even realise he’d been summarily dismissed until the door closed behind him and yelling started up.

Back at his desk, Nines smiled up at him and for the first time in a while, Gavin was tempted to return it, unforced and heartfelt.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

@merkleymrack yeah the jeremy renner parallel continues because i don’t think his writing is horrible or anything, but it’s like. not That good and imo really overhyped. like, i’ve always found it Readable for sure because there’ll be good moments mixed in and like, usually suspense enough to power through, but there’s kind of repetitive Underwhelming Elements where it’s like, could you have tried harder here? been a little more creative?? it’s part of why i feel like plenty of stuff would be better as short stories. that, and i’ve read a short story of his that i liked better overall than novels of his. and yet the short story Still dragged on too long also, sooooo many “twenty bucks says it’s self-insert” moody lonely cishet dude protagonists. and he writes women unsurprisingly badly iirc and like, wild that his first novel was So all about women but also like, yeah that makes sense. all these high school girls are Bitches and/or Stupid and everyone just keeps absolute handfuls of menstrual supplies on hand in the locker room and has anyone in their life referred to using a tampon as “plug(ging) it up”?? was that a thing whenever stephen king was in college? anyways and then there’s the Nice Girl and the Nice Mom-Type Teacher and the Crazy Woman and carrie self-destructs. i question his commentary on misogyny and overall i’d probably drop a lot of my grudge here if he didn’t write women like he does for example the first book of his i read (like a whole decade ago or so) was salem’s lot? not The most popular i guess and it’s like, a vampire comes to a small town and the isolation / insular nature of said small town means that like, it just picks people off one by one and nobody notices b/c it’s just treated like scandals that people will whisper about but not really do anything about. which like, there’s the usual somewhat interesting premise, (also Protagonist being like, haunted by something he saw as a kid that freaked him out and idk what the parallels there were or weren’t) but god it’s a really long one and it really dragged on. and the ending was underwhelming for as long as it was. and anyways one of my main annoyances was that Moody Lonely Protagonist Man meets some helpful understanding supportive Woman Love Interest and she sparks his interest in life some more and they just up and fuck in the middle of a yard or something at some point (weird unnecessary sex scenes are also a usual feature once or twice a book when the protag is a moody lonely protagonist, but if he’s married it’s like “yeah the sex was alright but also just kind of hollow and routine and [weird descriptions of bodies]” but here it was like, oh she’s attractive and younger and this is so great for my morale!! and then like a chapter later this love interest lady ventures helpfully into the vampire nest mansion and gets caught and then protagonist man eventually ventures in too and she’s a vampire and he has to stake her and is so sad about it. and i was like, christ this sucks and not in the way i’m meant to think it sucks. and i’ve never known his writing of girls / women to get better or more complex (or of guys....or of....like, the story.....) and i didnt read anything else of his for like half a decade cuz i was hardly bowled over, but one summer i was just reading a lot and Giving Things A Shot at my local library so i read a handful all at once. which included like, carrie (fine), misery (eh), the shining (alright) and pet sematary (maybe my favorite that i read? but wild of him, when he’s usually perfectly satisfied to repeatedly write about vague lore like “this hotel is a malicious and sentient entity” and “there is a god in this cornfield that demands sacrifice” and etc, to just carve up his own terrible understanding of Ooh Indigenous Cultures’ Spirituality....Spooky) and maybe one or two more. evidently readable enough for me to power through, but not even enjoyable enough that i wanted to continue from there, and to this day i’m like, well there’s sure worse things to read, but i’d rather pick something i’d Enjoy More than all this stuff with his repeated exasperating plot elements and the same man over and over and over obviously i was kind of going for his Better Known shit cuz i figured that’d give me the best sampling (i’ve seen carrie and the shining but that’s all movie-wise, i think) but It is so fucking long and i was remembering dragging myself through salem’s lot like eugh no thanks, i’d have to Really want to read that to power tf through. and then i definitely ended up just too unimpressed after all of that. and then once on twitter a mutual was talking about his books including that one and said something about “interesting take on childrens sexuality” and i was like oh god i. what does that. oh god [my impression of his œuvre flashing through my mind] and did Not look into it until i assume whenever it was that that first remake came out and someone brought up What Specifically That Meant and i was like [deep breath] [my loudest continuous scream ever] and i’d punch him over that. and whichever editors were like yep alright let’s get this printed. christs Fucking sake like yeah there’s enough decent stuff in his books to make them readable and like, he can build suspense (or at least have suspenseful scenes) and enough momentum that it can be enough to get through the shit that just drags on and the moments that are like, for gods sake. it’s not like, sheer torture or complete regret by any means, but i also wouldn’t say it’s Must Reads or really recommend anything to anyone with any enthusiasm beyond “well parts of it will be somewhat enjoyable i’m sure” and he sure doesn’t deserve to be like, *The* Horror Writer for sure. i read stuff as a kid that like, i probably wouldnt find as impactful now, but that i still think involves better horror. shoutout to john bellairs. totally just gonna compile a Haters List lmfao like, im always bad at thinking of stuff off the top of my head but there’s all these people who i just immediately go UGHH goddd about & could go off on a decent annoyed rant about on a dime with enough pettiness to make it fun.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

No Time like the Present

Request from Anon! -- ‘You promised the kids you’d be home’ with Nestor? Arguing with his wife and then making it up to the kids?

Forever crediting @thegirlwhowritesfics for my Nestor love 💜

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: flangst, language (my usual)

****************************************

Melancholy echoed from the clustering walls contiguously smothering her all while catastrophic sorrow lingered around their once charismatic kitchen. Y/N wasn’t quite sure when this stopped being her home or exactly when Nestor started pulling away from her but not only was all a part of her new reality, but her babies as well.

Many times, Nestor had ascertained himself as a fantastic husband, but on the contrary she also lost count of his many disappointments. Confliction ruled her thoughts, contemplating if she actually had the courage to leave. On many numerous occasions she had been close to admitting her truth, but he never stayed long enough to listen. 

His routine was simple yet complicated, he snuck into bed during the darkest hours of the morning, maintaining as much distance as possible between the pair, unknowing his wife, Y/N somberly awake.

She waited with bated breath to hear his inducingly anticipated sigh, wishing he let her into this thought, if only for a second, but he never failed in ignoring her. That night, Y/N noiselessly wept and at long last her shame began bubbling to the surface.

Which brought her back to the present as she heard a car pull into their driveway, headlights reflected off the silver appliances scattered around the counters as her heart continued picking up speed at an alarming rate.

The key turned noisily within its tight confines permitting entrance to their private life. What Nestor was not expecting was the presence of his motionless wife sitting solemnly in the dark, her eyes aglow with agony before the door abruptly closed behind him.

“Mi amor, what are you doing?” His garish voice reverberated, its echo jolting her to attention, but her words left her utterly speechless.

“Funny way of showing you care, Ness.” Her attention too busily occupied with the knot her hands formed as her left foot shook obnoxiously underneath the table, suspicion clouding his mind. 

He didn’t make a move towards her, unsure of her reaction. Nestor loathed himself for bringing out this side of his girl, knowing he eventually would have to face the repercussions of his haunting actions.  

“I fall asleep and you’re gone, I wake up only to feel a cold side of a bed long gone, and then you forget what today was. But I’m sure you have a believable excuse, you always do.”

Animosity laced her tone, her eyes frozen in abysmal misery, Nestor couldn’t help but wonder when his wife transformed into the woman standing just out of reach of him. Terror struck through his spine as she took a step away from him every time he glided forward, flinching in the process.

Nonchalantly sighing, he hands glided upon his hips; “Let’s cut the shit and get down to the problem. I’ve had a long fucking day and I’m ready to hit the hay. What did I miss?”

“Well if you would have answered your phone around the billionth time, this wouldn’t be a problem, but here we are. Tell me something, what is today’s date?”

“March 3rd, 2019, what game are you playing tonight?”

“No game, that would actually mean we were in the same room for more than a couple hours, and that hasn’t happened in months.”

“So, I’ve been busier recently, you know better than anyone what it’s like. Or so I thought.”

“Nestor, the twins, today is their 7th birthday.” Her eyes glazed over, “You promised them. It’s one thing to break your word to me, but our kids needed their father today, and you couldn’t bother to pick up your stupid phone.”

Shit, how the hell did get so terrifying blind to his family, unnerving his thoughts even further. Forcing his memories alight, Nestor questioned when the last time he merely kissed his wife, played with his beautiful children, or appreciated the life they lovingly created.

“Shit…”

Finally glancing his direction, Y/N braved a glimpse at the towering figure.

“You took a vow, you swore to me mine and then we became an us. If this isn’t what you want anymore, tell me. Use your goddamn words Nestor and man up. I can’t keep dancing around you for the rest of our freaking lives. Not when I have two little ones who rely on me daily.”

“I want you for as long as you’ll let me have your heart. I know I’ve been shit recently but I love you.”

“So, fight for us, Nestor. We’ve been right in front of you the whole time. Choose us, my love.”

Her words echoed the long journey to his heart, pulsating devotion dripping from her voice. Nestor never understood why she choose him, but he wasn’t about to let it all go to hell now.

“Can I kiss you Y/N?”

Smiling, she openly accepted him into her outstretched arms happy to have her husband slowly but surely returning her touch. Y/N placed her palms against his smoothened cheeks before their lips finally connected.

“Now how about we brush up and practice some of our baby makin skills, hmm?”

 ---

~Requests Open!~

[danyllura]

Be cautious child, the Queens are at war.

Word Count: 1791

Chapters: 1/1

Relationship: Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen

Fandoms: Game of Thrones

Notes: Implied death/sexual content

They are deranged, sick, twisted; they are out to destroy the world. They fight, fuck, then forgive; they are out to ruin one another.

Read on Ao3

Together they are unstoppable. A marriage between darkness and devastation that sways together in a unified dance. Weaving across the floor in a flurry of steps and twirls, uncaring of the blood and bone that lingers behind them.

They are a storm of chaos, an immovable object and an unstoppable force. Wreaking havoc with not a lick of consideration for those unfortunate enough to land themselves beneath their feet.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. They had many names and even more tales of their endeavours- all sealed within history, a future story to frighten daughters into obedience for fear of becoming heartless creatures.

Both of them had once been good people, kind, just, honourable; women that had been beloved. But they were beaten down- again and again- disrespected and undermined until that virtue that had once had the strength to brighten a room, flickered into darkness.

All that pain, and cruelty, and misery- it couldn't have been expected for their innocence to have endured, for their kindness to remain unfailing.

They took the seven kingdoms with fire and blood- they took it with the wrath of a never-ending winter storm.

A lover-turned-kin burned, a burst of flames under the eye of a sister-turned-cousin; was all it took. A simple command to an attentive beast and their only threat died encompassed by fire and calling for their mercy.

They were Queens of the ashes, the monsters who had won.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. Targaryen and Stark. Daenerys and Sansa.

A girl with a heart shrivelled and burnt from the blaze of betrayal. The other with a heart hard and frozen from the cold of loneliness. Kissed by ice and fire.

It is Daenerys violet eyes filled with venom like that of a serpent and her burning touch that makes Sansa weak. She’s suffocated in those eyes and melted at that touch more times then she can count. Those moments she is weak, she will beg and whine like a spoiled little lady, and then mewl and smile when she gets her way. After she always resents it, behaving like a fool too desperate to restrain herself, but the thought of never experiencing the sensation of pleasure at Daenerys call is a thought far more repulsing to her.

It is Sansa's auburn hair that trails down her head like a river of blood and her chilled touch that can bring Daenerys to her knees. She’s drowned in the red of the blood and has trembled at her touch in the darkness of their chambers more than once. Sometimes she wonders if it’s killing her, for nothing good as ever come to her without consequence. The risk is one she is prepared to take, for death is a price worth every penny, if not just for another taste of Sansa.

Lips crashing together bites dirtying their body’s and scratches marking their backs. They are out to destroy one another to consume the others mind body and soul. But it is a losing battle.

The muffled screams and whimpers are not cries of victory.

They are destroying one another all the while losing themselves in the process.

Rebellion is futile- you cannot kill chaos. Destruction cannot be slain. They rule without question- on their own grounds, it would take a madman or just an idiot to challenge that.

They test each other though. Quarrels that sizzle with tension and leave the court clutching those closest to them in despair, as they pray to the old gods and the new that they live to see another day. Their battles send the keep into silence as the people wait with bated breath for an eruption to rip them from their beds or for the Keep to once again be engulfed by flames.

The clashes between them never end in an explosion, never result in their palace crumbling. It brings them to their chambers- in a flurry of ripped clothes and loosened braids.

They are toxic, a lethal poison that is slowly killing them both. Sansa may have once referred to the toxin as love but she is no longer the stupid little girl that believed in songs. They continue this way for what seems like forever; executions, disputes, tangled sheets. It becomes a cycle that they cannot break- a routine as reliable as the rising of the sun.

Some days Sansa wonders if this will kill her- if Daenerys will ruin her- and most days she doesn’t have an answer. This doesn’t change anything- for she is destroying Daenerys in turn, and they are destined to share their deathbed.

Occasionally their fights linger- even after they’d lost themselves to the sensation of the other's skin- the piercing words from earlier can still be felt profoundly cut into the skin.

Daenerys is like wildfire after those fights. Irritable, uncontrollable and utterly crazed. Anything has the potential to set the Mad Queen off and the palace knows to stifle their coughs and not to shuffle in the halls.

A squire, no older than eight, had once stumbled during a court session and a coin had escaped his pocket- it hit the floor with a soft ting no harsher than a whisper- but deafening throughout the throne room.

He hadn’t even managed to sputter out an apology and beg for forgiveness before a guard had been ordered to silence him for good.

The Dragon Queen was easy to anger and wore her wrath like a fine string of pearls- displayed proudly on her breast for all to see. In comparison her beloved she-wolf kept her fury tucked neatly within her pocket like a handkerchief, hidden from view.

Her demeanour was as cold as the land she hailed from and her mask of indifference rested on her face securely- as steady and unbreakable as the wall had once been.

The thing about the she-wolf was she was just as quickly angered- just as likely to be consumed by rage at the wrong move, no matter how minor. Where Daenerys would call the guards and end it before it barely began- Sansa would wait.

A smile, sweet and sickly that did not reach her eyes. A tilt of the head and the thrumming of her claws against her seat. Those were the warning signs and when she spoke light and melodic almost lyrical- your fate was sealed.

“You are excused, sir.” Or an “I must retire my lady”

And they would be dead by morning. Often it was poison, seldom a proper execution. Many tried to escape, or to plea- but it always ended the same. The sun rising to the shuffle of guards removing a body. It was unclear if she too were mad like her lover, but her calculating gaze and controlled actions were too logical to call her entirely unhinged.

Dragons and wolves were not creatures to trifle with.

The tenth body in a sennight was carried through the servants quarters as the Kingswood was scorched with dragon fire. The Dragon and the Wolf had been at each other’s throats once again- neither willing to yield as the screams from their chambers ceased as Lady Stark refused to warm her Queens bed.

It had been a battle of words and tongue lashings at every meeting. Shouts of rage and spiteful silence that came to its climax when their hands wrapped around each other's throats within the throne room. Amongst the nobility and the members of the court, they strived to finally consume one another. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed as though they would kill each other- hold the other tightly until breath escaped them both and sent them tumbling down the steps of the throne and landing at the feet of the Lords and Ladies who fearfully watched the spectacle.

They growl and hiss, nails breaking the skin and leaving bruises. The air had crackled with electricity, the tension was suffocating. For a moment it seems another mad ruler is to turn purple and suffocate- this time accompanied by her cunning bride.

As quickly as it began it is over. Releasing one another they gasp for breath, easing the stiffness of their hands with the cracking of their knuckles. The court is dismissed and the Dragon and the Wolf are left to finish their battle.

It was a dance of sort, they circle one another- eyes locked with the promise of destruction. Teeth bared- they really do resemble monsters- like dragons and dire wolves. They howl and roar in turn and future tales would recount how the Queen and her Lady morphed into monstrous renditions of their houses sigils.

It’s a whirlwind of skirts and skin as they collide on the battlefield.

Like any battle, blood is shed and cries are let out. The blood comes from scratches and bites, and the screams- almost animalistic- come from pleasure. On the very floor of the throne room where they’d slaughtered so many- they destroy each other with the movements of their skin against one another and the collision of their lips. It’s violent and determined. They are out to consume one another.

They belong to one another and are doomed to die together. It’s a sweet poison- but it is not love.

The Red Keep burns and the court is left a pile of ash by the time the sun rises the next day. The common people rush for shelter and seek refuge in their homes- for the Queens are at war. And whether that war shall rage beyond the Red Keep has yet to be decided- but the burn marks that litter Kingslanding from flea bottom to the burning castle had not faded, and the people know to hide.

They watch the fires from the Blackwater, savouring the breeze. The wind is chilly and is refreshing against the heat radiating off the blazing keep. They stand together on one of the few ships left in the Targaryen fleet, a modest vessel that once carried less influential nobles who did not have the ranking to spend the journey on the Queen's voyager. The sea is the only noise above the loud crackles emitted from the burning castle. They say nothing as their hands intertwine, an apology, for they come to forgive each other once again. A new court will need to be created and the keep will need heavy repairs once again- but those are trivial matters. The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady have reconciled and blood on their hands will not be what keeps them up at night. Ash rains down and like a Phoenix they are reborn, returning to routine- awaiting their next battle.

[connywrites]

quicksands of the mind

and the sinkholes you may find

-

content warnings for suicidal ideation, self-harm

He hadn’t wanted to kill himself in a long time. Even on a bad day, he’d tell himself he didn’t want to attempt suicide at all, but the deeper scars in jagged horizontal lines down his forearms reminded him otherwise. There wasn’t much memory with them aside from waking up in the hospital with blurry vision, unable to hear properly while the nurses asked questions, watching him jitter and shake. Watching him dig and pull at his own skin and having to pull him away, just short of restraining him as he wasn’t actually violent and didn’t have enough strength to do any real damage, but having to make sure he’d keep his hands to himself for the rest of the night.

Death, itself, was a far-fetched concept for someone who had always avoided it by the skin of his teeth. Leo had gotten in fights, been mugged, stabbed, smacked, punched, hit, crashed his motorcycle and wound up in the hospital with grave injuries and a permanent limp, taken bullets, and while a fair collection of his scars were self-induced, they were never quite so severe as to what others had done to him. It fed into the idea that he was a coward if he wasn’t brave enough to take it to the next level, but the thought that maybe it was because he simply didn’t want to die had revisited him more than once.

Thus it left him in a battle against himself, in a dark room, surrounded by comfortable blankets, a warm meal and some candles, as Markus made a habit of setting up. His old friends would be jealous; he knew they would because he experienced that exact envy ever since Markus came to be. To be birthed into a perfect world, to live with wealth and gratitude, to want to give and to be given back to, to live with someone that gave and gave and gave so much; the person that was his own father, in a home that could have been his own, with kindness and empathy that he could have had. Love was theoretically a natural deterrence against misery; why would you make the ones that cared about you suffer by letting yourself go, giving yourself the freedom of nonexistent peace while they were left to pick up the ugly pieces? Suicide was the coward’s way out, yet it somehow felt more embarrassing to try and get someone else to do the job, whether they knew your intentions or not.

Carl gave and gave, and he took and took, and Leo had the audacity to be angry when his gentle-hearted father stopped giving, trying to pull it to a full stop 28 years into his life. Well overdue, in his mind. The tears stung his eyes and the knot swelled in his throat, and the nausea welled in his stomach as he remembered everything he’d done. The way he’d spoken to him, the way he torn him and his life down with all of the 5 swear words he seemed to hold in his very limited vocabulary.

You won’t help me, so I’ll just help myself.

A vile, evil person, he’d convinced himself he was long before he could differentiate himself from the drugs. Feeling like a shitty person before he ever hit puberty and long after he’d left his teenage years behind, it took multiple hospital visits, near-death experiences and long nights doing things he’d regret with worse emotions than he’d convinced himself the rage ever was; it took multiple attempts to sober up to differentiate that it wasn’t him at all.

Red ice made him angry, and withdrawals from red ice made him angry. Sobriety left him miserable, and since he’d convinced himself he’d be miserable no matter what, he could certainly allow the excuse to do drugs. To get into fights, to stare down the barrel of a gun while he challenged the trigger finger until it blew, to antagonize and steal and lie and believe that it was all worthwhile in the favor of why wouldn’t I do it, anyway? And life doesn’t mean anything in the end or if I’m going to die young, I might as well make it fun.

None of it was fun. Nothing was worthwhile and it never lasted longer than a burnt soda can with singed ashes resting in the bottomside curve, dripping into the container that’d been full of cola he’d poured down the drain after jabbing the holes, too nauseous to ever consider taking a drink.

Seeing red.

All his life. His mother, his father, his lack of any sort of care-giving whatsoever made it all too obvious that nobody was going to care and subsequently, why should he? His birth was an accident. His mother was paid to raise him, and when the money was gone, so were her patience.

He knew what that was like. Maybe he got it from her. Carl was such a saint with seemingly eternal intelligence and wisdom, he could barely believe they were related by blood. So lead to the delusion between years ten and twenty-two that he might have been – probably was – adopted until he finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to look up the family history.

He was never in the old photographs, his mother too embarrassed to include him in such a thing.

Then again, she didn’t have any pictures of Carl either. He wondered who were in all those photos on her walls were supposed to be, let alone if they ever really meant anything to her.

Photos were artificial, mirrored captures of the past, and why would you hold onto that? He couldn’t think of a moment he’d want to take a picture of, that he was happy about or proud of. He never smiled in the camera – sometimes he glowered into to lens from afar when he was in group photos at the parties, tagged for some kind of crazy escapades he’d taken part in on the social media platforms until those people, too, grew tired of him. Stupid, boring, violent. What’s your problem? What the fuck is wrong with you?

‘What is wrong with me?’ There was a suffocating discomfort as he took in his surroundings, the disassociation spell abruptly ending as he realized where he was again.

Everything. Everything was wrong.

Nothing. The drugs were wrong.

When nothing felt right, he did what he’d always done; left the area to go on a long walk until his legs hurt and he’d exhausted himself, physically and eventually mentally, awake on days-long insomnia binges until his brain couldn’t function. Time wasn’t a fathomable concept to him at the moment so he didn’t bother checking the clock or otherwise identify the surroundings for indications, staggering in a tired daze as he’d walked towards the door.

Leo knew he would be there as soon as he opened it, as Markus had a nature to do – particularly when he was in a bad place. He had no idea if he’d been there the whole time, nearby, or somehow heard his thoughts from across the mansion with his super-sonic bat hearing, but either way, he’d always come even when he wasn’t summoned.

In the past, it was unnerving. Sometimes it was scary. Usually it was annoying.

Tonight, it was nothing short of appreciated.

“Bro,” he murmured with a strain in his voice, something like an agitated whine as he acted outright bothered by his presence.

“Brother,” Markus replied with only slight mock-disdain wrapped within his sincere concern, as he didn’t feel so much like reciprocating whatever deflection Leo was trying to give in regard to his bad mood. Leo may have tried to be secretive about his depression, but the signs were there; from skipping meals, isolation, and losing sleep to the fatigue, lack of ability to focus or concentrate, the way he moved slower on his feet and seemed to be in a daze, how his limp got worse as the aches in his joints increased. How long had Leo showed symptoms that he’d felt this way? Two weeks ongoing. Why? Markus wasn’t sure, only able to shuffle through his library of estimated guesses, and even then, he preferred not to in favor of avoiding the mistake of making assumptions. Leo’s business was his own, and by now, he knew he could share it if he so felt the need.

The tears wasted no time returning to Leo’s swollen, baggy eyes, sclera reddened from the strain of lacking what he physically needed and feeling too many emotions that he didn’t.

Markus opened his arms and he was all too eager to fall into them, letting his body grow weak. Not unlike the way he did the boy’s father, Markus shifted to kneel and prompted Leo to do similarly, curling his arms around the back of his legs while he let his body grow lax, finally able to trust as Markus scooped him up in his arms. Fingers curling into the fabrics of the soft, white cotton sweater, he hid his face into his chest as he let himself be carried away from the room.

For a long time, Leo refused to be looked after, and for a short time, Markus refused to pamper him. Eventually, they’d learned to meld Markus’ natural design as a caretaker, as well as Leo’s neglected internal need to be taken care of. Now, it had nearly come naturally for both of them.

Markus knew the signal for the routine, wandering to the bathroom, ensuring he was gentle as he settled Leo on the stool that he’d returned to the area – it was Carl’s to use when he was brought in for the oral hygiene routine, now left by the bathtub rather than the sink so Leo could sit down without being on the floor as Markus was aware of his exhaustion, always present and ever-increasing. The less energy he used, the better. While Leo settled in the space he was given, Markus leaned to turn on the faucet, adjusting it to a warm temperature but avoiding the hotter end in case of inducing a fever.

“Arms up.” With his head down as he was already half dozing off in his seat, Leo straightened up to look at him through squinted eyes, taking a few seconds to understand the command before doing as he was asked. Careful not to further alarm or hurt him, Markus took the shirt by the hem and pulled it up over his shoulders, then along his arms until it was peeled off.

“Would you like me to?” The subject was touchy, so he never finished the sentence. Leo responded with an awkward nod, crooked as his body swayed. Reaching for the waistband of Leo’s pants to tuck his fingers beneath the rim the same way he had with the sweater, it took a bit of nudging to peel them down and away, his attention focused on Leo’s face for the sake of the man’s own dignity even if he wasn’t entirely coherently aware of the situation. Once the clothes were folded and put to the side, he rose to his feet to reach under Leo’s arms in the proper, harmless way so as to lift him and bring him to the bath.

It was personal, and some might consider it intimate; now, it had become nothing more than natural.

“S’this what it was like with dad?” Feeling the warmth of the bath warm his feet, then his ankles, up to his legs, Leo roused, feeling another bout of tears roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why, losing track of the reason for his despair hours, days, weeks ago.

“Somewhat,” Markus replied simply. Leo was in no condition to make conversation, but he also respected the fact it seemed to help him to speak. With his hands making way to the water, Leo watched the flow of transparent liquid, feeling a bit more awake from the sensations and temperature change.

“I loved him. I really did.” That was why he was crying, and the waterworks were only encouraged by his increasing depression. Settling on the floor next to the tub in a comfortable position, Markus reached forward to thumb the tears from his cheeks – an impractical gesture as he knew they wouldn’t stop, but a useful one as Leo would appreciate the heartfelt action.

“I know.”

No, you don’t, his mind argued, but his mouth was too tired and his head was too sore. Markus caught on.

“There is more to you than what you did in the past,” Markus reminded him, neglecting the use of who you were as he was well aware that Leo’s negative personality aspects were stirred up for good reason, but most of which was external from parental neglect and the incessant substance abuse.

“Remember that.”

Leo felt the lump in his throat again as he turned his head to glance at Markus, unable to put together an entire meaning to the words he said, but trying to register them nonetheless.

“Will it ever stop hurting? His death.” This time, Leo wiped at his own tears, too tired to acknowledge that it was a waste as his hands were wet from the water anyway.

“I want the caramel one.”

“Got it,” Markus responded to the request first, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab the requested bath soap, squeezing a generous amount into the pouring water before putting it away again.

“I can’t answer that for you, Leo.” Leo cringed from hearing his name, as if it had somehow hurt him.

“Tch, who named me that, anyway? I bet mom flipped over one of those stupid baby books and pointed with her eyes closed. Probably was drunk, too.” Bitterness dripped from his words, and Markus neglected them; responding to Leo in this state in any way, bad or good, would only encourage the negative thoughts and he’d quickly learned not to do so.

“Pillow?” Eyes now closed with the tears slowing, Leo nodded. Repeating the action as with the bubble bath, he retrieved the item from the closet, setting it against the porcelain rim and ensuring it was firmly set in place before he put an arm around Leo’s upper back, supporting him from behind the shoulders as he slowly leaned him back.

Leo had learned to appreciate the care, but it had taken him a long time, and for the most part, he didn’t accept it – the usual exception being nights like this, when he’d given up every last desire to fight. When he was too tired to remember being so vulnerable, when he’d let Markus touch and hold without his internal defiance telling him to refuse, to feel invaded like he’d been so many times before. When he’d needed so badly to be looked after and wanted so simply to be loved that the idea of a machine replicating such a thing was dissipated from his mind, and Markus was no longer cold metal and plastic; only warm hands and soft words.

“Did dad want to die?” Markus stiffened in place, frozen by the unexpected question.

“He loathed the probability of it, but he tried to live his life to the fullest, even if he didn’t feel like he was.” Was that too many words? Markus wasn’t sure, toying with the idea he might have been saying it just as much for himself.

“What do you mean?” It was too many words.

“Carl knew it was coming. I would not say he craved death, but over the time I spent with him, he focused on it more.” It was strange to Markus, the way Carl had spent his last days griping over the people around him, the artificial art industry, his own body’s faults and the fact his age was catching up to him. It made Markus feel no better, but it didn’t hit home so much until after it was much too late.

“Why are you asking?” It was dangerous territory, and generally Markus knew better than to ask, but the worry began to overcome his consideration for Leo’s personal boundaries.

Leo’s eyes opened and he turned his head to look at Markus, somehow looking even more exhausted than he was moments ago. Markus turned off the faucet, dipping a hand into the bath water to ensure its temperature was still ideal.

“I never thought I’d grow old. I still don’t think I will. But he had so much to live for.” Markus’ eyebrows lowered slightly as he didn’t fully understand the sentiment.

“You have plenty of years ahead of you. Whether you have anything to live for is a matter of opinion, and therefor up to you.” Pausing, Markus decided it was finally time to ask.

“What’s the matter?”

The tears came again and Leo closed his eyes, sighing.

“I don’t know.” Slightly stunned, Markus didn’t expect the answer, as Leo almost always had a reason to be upset, even if it seemed minor or nonsensical to anyone around him, sometimes even himself.

“I just… I don’t feel so good.” Markus tilted his head, feeling an urge to reach forward and pet his brother’s hair back in a show of consideration, but that was too close, he knew too well after months of experiencing and discovering Leo’s own personal space and when, where or why he wanted to be touched.

“Elaborate?” He paused, catching the fact he hadn’t watched his vocabulary.

“Explain, please.” Leo was too tired to snarl at his own stupidity, rolling onto his side to face Markus, though his eyes remained closed.

“I don’t feel well and I don’t know why. And it won’t stop.”

Then it clicked.

“If you would like, I can book you an appointment to see someone. I know you do not trust therapists, but there’s a walk-in clinic. You fill out some paperwork, tell them your problems and they suggest some medication.” Leo immediately furrowed his eyebrows at the idea of pills, scowling.

“I know you don’t like them,” Markus added wittingly.

“But they might help you feel better, even just a little.”

“Okay.” He didn’t feel like arguing. Markus was aware he’d likely forget his agreement tomorrow, but they could discuss that when the next day came.

“We should get you back to bed.” Leo didn’t say anything, reaching for the side of the tub as if to go and pull himself out. Markus couldn’t help but smile at his stubborn insistence for something like that, in a state like this, patting him on the hand in a faux mocking gesture that was playful in its motion. Leo opened his eyes with more alertness than he’d felt before he started crying in the first place – catching the smile, the restlessness in his mind settled again.

“I take that back. I should get you back to bed.” Looking lost, as if he didn’t remember how he got here, Leo’s eyes widened as he recoiled on himself, closing his legs and bringing them close to his body in a moment of recognized embarrassment.

“Oh, really? Now?” This time, Markus couldn’t help his own sarcasm, even if it was in jest.

“Come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Markus’ extent of maturity was elusive to Leo, and it still showed every day as he didn’t understand, only felt his metaphysical boundaries being penetrated as he was aware of his aches, pains, scars and natural bodily anatomy all over again, cheeks reddening when he looked off to the side. Shifting to sit up, he lowered his legs and held up his arms as he’d done when he’d went to forego his shirt, cuing Markus to lift him up from underneath them just as he had done before.

“I don’t want to go to bed.” Realizing that wasn’t exactly what he meant, Leo reconsidered his thoughts.

“I don’t want to be in that bed.” With a moment of understanding, Markus repeated the actions he’d done when he picked Leo up from the doorway but with more ease as he was already sitting down in the tub, scooping his other arm up underneath the back of his legs to lift and carry him.

“I’ll take you to the guest room, then.”

Leo was asleep in his arms before he reached the door.