#OR AFTER. busy busy week ahead i think BUT ILL GET IT 😤

[suckinitup]

HIII BELOVED MUTUAL <3 hmmm fic title….. i will use one of my own bc i would love 2 see how you would interpret the title “brutal” completely removed from the fic’s context :3 sniles sneetly

There's three eggs left.

Mark listens to Ashe bustle around his room as he cracks the eggs into the pan. There's a bandage on the edge of his palm, same colour as his wraps, and he's careful not to contaminate it with any of the egg. He'd have to change it, then, and it's been two weeks since he's actually gotten the chance to sit down and have an uninterrupted breakfast with his fucking kid. The eggs mock him as they slip into the pan, one, two, three, but he doesn't have to worry about the slice Jaguar gave him so he considers that a win.

The music cranks on in the other room. Mark doesn't smile, but there's something nice about being able to recognize the song.

The eggs are fucking annoying him. His back is fucking annoying him. He took three goddamn painkillers the second he woke up and he's so tense he still almost zapped the lights out when he came into the kitchen this morning. Three fucking eggs, two hungry mouths.

Mark grabs two plates from the cupboard, sets them out as he hears Ashe migrate from his bedroom to the bathroom. He's humming, half singing, and a distant clatter lets Mark know that the kid is probably dancing, too. It's a good morning.

It's not going to be a good evening. Three fucking hits, two of them under such heavy security they might as well be under loco and key. It's the kind of job Mark wants to take a week to do. It's the kind of job Overlord knows he can do in an hour. It's going to hurt. He's already booked a hotel for tonight, stocked it with whatever he might need for recovery. Shitty to leave Ashe alone again. Safer to do it anyway.

Mark knows it's time to start plating up when the kid gets quiet. The music switches off, and the footsteps lighten. Ashe appears like a wraith in the kitchen doorway. Mark glances back as though just noticing him.

"...Morning," Ashe offers. He trudges into the kitchen, past Mark and towards the cabinet to grab a cup. There's tension in him. Mark has never seen the kid without tension, except that one year before he took out Ladybug and he had to install those fucking cameras.

"Morning," Mark answers. He slips two eggs onto a plate, drops a fork onto it, and pushes it over to Ashe. The movement strains his shoulder. Stupid fucking painkillers. "There's yours."

"Not hungry?" Ashe asks, like he fucking knows how to be casual. He hides himself away in the fridge too long, but Mark knows that the orange juice is literally right in front of his face.

"Nope," Mark answers anyway. He slides the egg onto his own plate, then pushes the pan away from the burner. He sits down without giving any explanation. Ashe expects it now. He finally grabs the orange juice and pours himself a glass. He drinks it all down in one go. Mark waits for him to pour a second glass. He takes his first bite to egg in the meantime, then occupies himself by cutting it up into smaller pieces with the edge of his fork. He got fucking bored sometimes too, okay. So sue him if he'd figured out the least efficient way to cut his fucking eggs. When Ashe sits down, Mark asks him, "Grades still okay?"

Ashe says, "Yup." He doesn't look Mark in the eye.

Mark says, "Good."

They eat in silence. The painkillers still haven't kicked in. Mark is putting more focus than he should fucking have to to not turn his fork into a shitty fucking lightning rod.

Ashe asks, "What happened to your hand?"

Mark turns his hand so the bandage is hidden again. "It's none of your goddamn business. Eat your eggs."

Ashe snaps his mouth shut and his teeth click. Mark makes a mental note about the dentist. Ashe glares at him, but Mark stares back (and it's not a glare, but it's not nice) and Ashe looks back down to his food.

He eats quick. Two eggs down the gullet of a growing boy, and then he's up and out of the room. "Don't slam your—" Mark calls out, but he's interrupted by the sound of the door slamming into its frame. Anything else he could have said is drowned out by the sound of Ashe's music. It's louder than before, and a song that Mark doesn't recognize.

Mark stares at Ashe's empty plate across from him. He finishes his egg in three bites, and singes the edge of his fork when it sparks.

Domesticity, he thinks. The plates clatter almost as loudly as Ashe's music when he drops them in the sink. The cut on his hand fucking stings with his hand movements when starts scrubbing with the sponge, and then he's distracted by how he'll have to be careful later tonight so it won't fuck up his aim.

He doesn't see Ashe again for three days.

--

HEY WHISKEG HEY WHISKEY HIIIIIIIIII ywah so winters family torment nexus. Of course. This turned into a whole scene instead of a snippet but the whole fucking deal of the fic would be the focused on the winters dynamic—specifically how marks a great caretaker but STRUGGLES to dad and how it fucks with ashe and he SEES it fuck with ashe (because of course it's all from his pov) and he's got the power in the relationship and he never fixes it. he doesn't know how. just a whole lil character study into their bullshit :3 but especially a character study into ashe and how he copes with shit and the way his expectations would change over the years and mark struggling to be a parent without revealing ashe's existence to some REALLY. reallt scary people!!! AND fuckin remembering to get groceries and take out the teash and do the dishes at the same time!! Just the kinda fic overall that makes you go oh.. situation sucks :< ... brutal. hehehehe