#yes I made it angsty

[star-child-wonders]

Stay?

Shakes x Skaara

Summary: Skaara had a long day at The Vice and had come over to the city rover's football pitch to be alone and practice, but an unexpected guest has already been there.

{Story under cut}

-------------------<×>----------------------

It was pretty late when Skaara began walking towards the old football ground. He won't admit it but he misses this place a lot, after all this is where the deadly duo formed and fell apart. This ground had seen everything, the meet, the talks, the sillies, the tears, the anger and the friendship.

He looked up to the sky, watching as the sun started to dig it's heels and painted the sky with all the warm colours. The reds, the yellows and the oranges blurred together and it all looked beautiful.

The red reminding him of a certain man in red, how his spiky hair swayed in the wind as he concentrated on getting the ball in the net how his beautiful honey eyes shone so bright when he passed a level, how his lips turned and how his laughs lit up the world around him.

He always thought about it, what exactly happened to them? Why did they fall out? What pulled them apart? As these thoughts raced in his head he walked straight into a pole. He heard snickering, furious he turned to see who it was and his face fell.

There stood Shakes Jomo Mokena in all his glory, his dirty green shirt, dark blue shorts, his signature red studs and that shit eating grin that he used to have long before the fall out.

Tho Skaara wanted to give a snarky remark he opted to stay silent. Vince had been giving him a headache and he really just wanted to be left alone. So he turned around to leave.

A football hit his leg lightly, he turned around and saw Shakes gesture him towards the field. "Wanna have a friendly one-on-one? For old times sake?" He asked, Skaara thought about it. 'Fuck it, it's for old times sake.' He just turned around and gave a smirk.

In just a bit the ball was flying around the field as the two teased and gave sarcastic and snarky remarks. But still both were laughing the same.

After many goals and saves, both fell and laid on the ground giggling, cackling and snorting. Soon the laughter died down and both fell into a comfortable silence.

Previous thoughts came back to Skaara and before he could stop himself, he said "what happened to us? The deadly duo?" He bit his tongue mentally slapping himself for asking the question. "Honestly, I don't know.... According to you we fell because I stopped training with you. But to me we fell because you needed me to set you up for the goals. But now that I think of it, we are both equals. We are both amazing footballers and we are both loved equally." Said the man.

Skaara fell silent, he never realized it but he had needed Shakes, always. They've been together since they were 5. Ever since Skaara moved in with his aunt and uncle after his dad's death. Skaara only ever remembered his dad, when he asked what happened to mom he always said "she used to love stars and now she's one of them."

He still remembers the crash after he and his dad were coming back from camping, how they were both laughing and how everything had suddenly started to hurt. He remembers waking up in hospital and his aunt rushing in and hugging him close, him asking about his dad, both of them freezing before telling him "he's with mom, among the stars".

He still remembers knowing all the bullcrap they told him thinking that he knew nothing. Then moving to Doha CIA and meeting Shakes. He remembers seeing him with his dad and getting jealous. It just wasn't fair, how come he gets to have such a good life and he is suffering?

Then the news of his father going missing came out, he felt sorry for Shakes because he knew the feeling. They continued to be friends and always had each other's back. They played together, ate together, went to school together and had fun together.

What happened.......

"..... Karra... Ska.... SKAARA!" He herd someone call, he saw that the sky had turned dark and the stars were shining bright. He looked to see Shakes saying something, "let's go home, it's getting late." And he extended an arm to help him up. Skaara took the helping hand and got up.

"Let's do this again someday. I had fun." Skaara admitted. "Of course! We can always still train together." Shakes said giving him a genuine smile, all the worries Skaara had melted away. How can someone be so forgiving? After all he had done to him, how is this man still willing to get on good terms again? He will never know.....

But he knows one thing. He can never live without Shakes, his little crush has come back and it plans to stay this time......

--------------------<×>---------------------

[destiel-wings]

but on a serious note, Dean has lost Cas so many times already, and this is from 14x13, (right after they destroy the pearl and John disappears) and Dean sees Cas come home and recognize him and he knows he has him back, it's not too late again, there's still a chance. I think this is the last time he risks losing him before he really loses him (15x18), but here, in this moment, there's still hope.

He still has him.

just a pair of bros looking at each other like bros

[scumsketches]

Thinking about my big brother ghost Yuan au again, specifically the relationship between Shen Yuan and Yue Qi, because you know there's no way Shen Jiu doesn't tell his Qi-Ge about his tag along.

At first, Yue Qi was probably somehow MORE suspicious of Shen Yuan than Shen Jiu was, because who's this freeloader in his Xiao Jiu's head!!! What does he want with poor Xiao Jiu? You can't have him, evil ghost!!!

Eventually, he and Shen Jiu get used to Shen Yuan though, and Yue Qi starts to actually really appreciate Shen Yuan's presence. There have been multiple times where Shen Yuan has convinced Shen Jiu to seek out Yue Qi for help with things he otherwise would have hidden, and clearly SY is keeping SJ safe with his interference, as SJ has been getting caught less, getting hurt less, and getting into less fights than usual.

What really ends up solidifying the bond between Yue Qi and Shen Yuan, though, is when their Si-Jie was sold. Wu-ge had died the winter before, and Liu-Jie had run away, so after Si-Jie, Yue Qi was the oldest, and therefore it was his job to protect the younger slaves like Wu-Jie had. Xiao Jiu was inconsolable, having retreated into his mind and leaving Shen Yuan most of the control, and Yue Qi didn't have time to mourn or anyone to hide behind.

He was only ten years old.

Yue Qi was limping back to the building and surrounding alleyways the slave masters had claimed as their own, carrying the Bao he had run on his twisted ankle to get for the other slave children. They needed to eat in order to stay healthy, to stay healthy in order to survive.

It was getting dark, but if he hurried now he would be able to slip out and go beg in the red light district. He knew some ladies who had taken a liking to Xiao Jiu and himself, they wouldn't chase him away, and then he could make up the money from Shiba missing today because of her sickness, and from Shiwu who was too busy mourning Si-Jie, and-

"Xiao Qi?" It was the familiar too-soft version of his Xiao Jiu's voice. Shen Yuan, then. He paused, turning towards him. "Yes?"

"You've been gone since before morning, Xiao Qi. And what happened to your leg?"

"it's alright, Shen-Xiangsheng. I've just been getting food for the others, and I'm going to go to the red light district-" he heard Shen Yuan tisk, before stepping forwards and putting a hand on Yue Qi's shoulder.

"Not on that leg you aren't. Come sit down, I'll bring the Bao to the others and help you with that leg."

Yue Qi felt his face scrunch up, his brow furrowing as he looked down at the man in the body of his closest friend. "If I don't, then Shiba and Shiwu are going to get beaten! And maybe even you too! And then Shiba won't recover from her sickness!" Yue Qi shouted, balling up his fists.

"Is that what you really want? To ruin the lives of some slave children while acting nice? Cause if that's true, you're a really pathetic ghost!"

Yue Qi froze. He just yelled at an adult. Sure, maybe that adult was in Xiao Jiu's body, and so he was little, but Xiao Jiu could be really strong when he wanted to, and Xiao Jiu had been so sad when Si-Jie went away, would he even notice that his tag along was beating up his Qi-Ge? Or maybe even if he did he wouldn't intervene, because Yue Qi was an awful little brat who raised his voice and barked like a dog at someone who was better than him, and-

And Shen Yuan's face didn't twist in anger like the slavers or the men in the markets might have. Instead, his face was filled with pity. No, not pity. Sympathy.

Maybe Shen Yuan was an adult, but he was also a ghost. A ghost that was stuck in the body of a little street kid like Yue Qi. So maybe he wouldn't beat him. Maybe Shen Yuan would just be sad for him, because he knew how bad it was out here, and maybe he wouldn't make it worse. Maybe he would just leave Yue Qi alone.

So caught up in his thoughts, Yue Qi didn't notice Shen Yuan had moved until he felt the warm arms around him. He froze.

Shen Yuan's hugs didn't feel like Si-Jie's. They weren't as warm and gentle, his hand didn't run over Yue Qi's back gently with shushing sounds coming from his mouth. They didn't feel like Xiao Jiu's either. Xiao Jiu was all sharp knees and elbows, chipped nails digging into his skin as if at any second Yue Qi would disappear if he didn't hold on.

Shen Yuan's hug was tight, and though he was shorter, he used a hand on the back of Yue Qi's head to tuck his face into his shoulder. The other hand rubbed gentle circles on his back, slowly pulling Yue Qi's mind back into his body.

Distantly, he heard Shen Yuan speaking. "That's right, breathe in, and out. You're doing so well, Xiao Qi. It's okay, I have you, you'll be alright."

His hands tightened into little fists in Shen Yuan's clothes and he felt himself lean against him, letting out a sudden sob he hadn't even realized had been caught in his chest. Before he knew it, he was sitting down, laying on Shen Yuan's chest and sobbing into his shoulder, holding on for dear life and shaking like a leaf in the wind. Shen Yuan was speaking, and it sounded soothing, but Yue Qi couldn't tell what he was saying through his sobs.

"Yuan-ge-" he whimpered, his voice cracking as he tried to burrow further into Shen Yuan.

"Shh, It's okay, it's okay, your Yuan-ge is here."

Yue Qi cried for a long time, until the sun had set and he had fully exhausted himself. Yuan-ge pulled him onto his back, somehow managing to carry him despite his small stature, and carried him into the alleyway where he and Xiao Jiu slept. He placed Yue Qi down, before pulling out the bricks that they hid their straw mat behind, pulling it out and laying it on the ground.

He watched as Yuan-ge placed one of the bricks at the end of the mat, before pulling Yue Qi onto it and pushing his sprained ankle up, placing the foot onto the brick.

"Keep your foot elevated, like this, okay? I'm going to go to the red light district. I'll get the money that Shiba and Shiwu need. You just rest, alright? He said. Yue Qi opened his mouth to protest, and suddenly found a warm Bao bun pushed into his mouth. At the taste, he couldn't help but grab it and begin to chew, but as he ate, he looked up and complained, "These were supposed to be for the others!"

Yuan-Ge sighed. "You're a growing boy, eat it. I'll get another Bao to make up for this one, okay?" Yue Qi could only glumly nod, and continue eating his bun.

Soon after Shen Yuan left, he felt himself slip into sleep, exhausted.

-

"Qi-ge, Qi-ge wake up!" He heard a familiar voice whisper shout in his ear. "Xiao Jiu?" He murmured, still hazy with sleep.

"Yuan got us some stuff, but he told me I should be the one out here to give it to you. Here." He blinked, as half a stick of tanghulu was shoved in his face. Squinting in the dark, he could make out a few bits of crystalized sugar stuck to Xiao Jiu's cheeks.

"Hmmmkay." He murmured, taking the stick and going to have a bite, when he felt a sudden rush of cold on his ankle. He yelped in surprise, but strangely, his ankle felt much better. Looking down, he saw Xiao Jiu using cloth scraps with a strange blueish paste on them to bind his ankle.

"Wha-"

"Yuan says it's called the winter's night lily of ice pack. Or something"

"Everwinters night lily! It's just basically an ice pack." Chimed Shen Yuan, making little sense as usual, before he faded away once more."

"Okay, that. The colds sposed' to help with your leg. Somehow. And also keep it elevated or something."

"It does feel better than it did before." Yue Qi agrees.

"Good. Keep it that way. Oh, also Yuan made a deal with some courtesans. Made a whole bunch of posters for some brothel called the Autumns Iris. They gave us some coins, so he said not to worry. Oh, and he got the Bao."

Yue Qi let out a long breath, as Xiao Jiu climbed onto the mat, flopping halfway on top of Yue Qi and accidentally elbowing him in the ribs. "I'm going to sleep now." He said, before curling up like a hissy cat.

Yue Qi stayed awake for a while longer. Yuan-ge did it. He did exactly what Yue Qi needed, maybe even better than Yue Qi could have. He didn't get mad when Yue Qi yelled at him. He helped him fix his ankle, even though it really wasn't that bad.

He cared. He wanted to protect him. And he was older, and smarter, and stronger than any of the other slaves had ever been.

Maybe, even though Si-Jie was gone, with Yuan-ge here, he and Xiao Jiu would be okay.

[astrologysaysno]

A Mobei-jun that plays hard to get cannot win over Shang Qinghua without outside intervention 99.99% of the time, and I have a vision why.

The thing I envision the most out of Shang Qinghua is that when he created Mobei-jun, never really decided on a lover for him. It was Shang Qinghua's and for Shang Qinghua only. Blue eyes, broad physique, stoic demeanor, all his type, 100%. Someone to love him and hold him in his dreams as he writes out this ever increasing trashfire novel he writes to survive.

But he lives in the PIDW world now. A world that has filled in the gaps with everything that he once wrote. So he thought maybe he had a chance. He made Mobei-jun as a perfect pair to him.

Then Shen Yuan arrived. Then everything else happened.

Now Shang Qinghua grapples with the thought that, of course they are nothing like the characters in the novel. Just look at Binghe. He was supposed to be this suave, conniving demigod of a person who would conquer civilizations in a heartbeat. Now he's stickily clinging onto his former master turned husband for dear life, obsessed and unequivocally in love.

What does that mean for the rest of the characters?

Shang Qinghua built Mobei-jun in the image of his ideal love interest, to give him affection and someone he can shower his love to. But just like Luo Binghe, Mobei-jun isn't that version he created in his novel. He has desires. Desires Shang Qinghua has not built into the lore. Thought processes and reactions that are not in line with his version of Mobei-jun.

And he is not Shen Yuan. He believes he has no capability to change the world Shen Yuan did as Shen Qingqiu. In his time as Shang Qinghua, every single major event in PIDW before Shen Yuan's arrival played exactly as it was supposed to. And the one time he had the chance to change it, he stuck to the story and saved Mobei-jun.

So when his king begins to date someone, a demon or cultivator that's clearly much prettier, smarter, stronger, and much more ruthless, Shang Qinghua bows his head and gleefully accepts their romance, for he is a coward.

Mobei-jun is not the version in PIDW he has created just for him. To box him into that image would be blinding yourself to the fact that this is not your novel anymore. This is its own world. And Mobei-jun is not his to keep. He is his own person.

So he won't think twice when Mobei-jun stares at him for a bit too long as Shang Qinghua congratulates him. He won't speculate as Mobei-jun looks at him in the party ball, his arm wrapped around the arm of his date. He will not question as he sees Mobei-jun's significant other leave his chambers or his king's increasingly frigid attitude towards him, nor will he ask about how it feels as if Mobei-jun is waiting for something, longing for something.

Shang Qinghua is not Mobei-jun's keeper,and Mobei-jun is not for Shang Qinghua to have.

[unganseylike]

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“Love Like Ghosts" // The Raven Cycle

When your true love is destined to die, is already dead, or will always be leaving. And other moments of ghostliness. 

[an-excellent-choice]

Here is a random Gale thought (you are the only person I can tell about him with) is Tav loving to touch his face and beard. Like they will be laying down and cuddling after their first romp, and Tav is just stroking their thumb along his beard, cause they like how scratchy it feels, Gale just starts laughing.

-🎀 Anon

I'm so flattered you thought of me about this 😊😊😊 🥺🥺 so sorry it took me so long to reply the holidays and allergies are killing me right now.

Honestly Gale's beard was a certain physical aspect i never expected to like (i usually prefer clean shaven) but he just looks so dashing with it.

I can just imagine Tav throughout the years and their perspective on Gale's beard.

Like the everyday of them watching him groom it

Tav having beard burn after a very long steamy session in bed

when it becomes too long or unkempt because Gale is busy or stressed

Tara always nagging him to shave it and depending on Tav's mood they will pipe up liking Gale's beard (this is met with a huff from Tara) or tease Gale that maybe Tara is right ( a huff this time from Gale)

Gale had to shave it all off that one time his student got a little too excited practicing and cast fireball in the school library. ( Gale was too focused on protecting the books and other students). Gale was quite put out by this, Tav kept getting surprised by Gale hugging them because they keep forgetting Gale doesn't have a beard, Tara is as happy as the cat that got the cream.

Gale's beard gets more grey hairs until finally it is a grey beard. Making him look exactly like a refined wizened wizard

Tav sometimes helps Gale with his beard trimming out of affection and intimacy until they do it because Gale's hands slip and shake too much to do on his own. Why do it with mage hand when Tav is there to do it.

Tav caresses his white beard waiting for the smile and laughter that always greets them when they do it but it doesn't come now and it won't anymore.

[karleksmumskladdkaka]

Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Vol.3 Mukami Ruki Stellaworth Tokuten Bromide & Short Story Paper

Originally, these were tokutens you'd get for buying Ruki's CD through the Stellaworth store. Nowadays you might find them sold at flea markets or second hand stores. The story is written from Ruki's POV, and takes place right after the ending of his CD, with him and Yui still on the rooftop.

Enjoy the angst (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)d

(Don't repost anywhere!)

[puppppppppy]

The garment, worn by those in good standing with Hyrule royalty, has been reworked with the latest improvements, such as a new shoulder guard.

[heartplaces]

‘cause when she loves, she only shows it through dead deer

a study on the unwilling patron saint of arcadia bay, heavily inspired by del parson’s “lost lamb”.

[firstofficerkittycat]

i need to find that fic where kirk and spock were in iowa in the middle of winter and spock insisted on going out to help him run errands and fell in the snow and got hypothermia and kirk ran him a bath to warm him up and then it turned out spock was actually having a great time and hgave himself hypothermia on purpose just to get jim to takw a bath with him because he is a masochist

[theprinceandthewitch]

I really do find it incredibly irritating how TOH plays all sides of the shipping board just because they don't want to upset shippers.

It's why you get Evelyn looking more like Luz than Willow - it's also why her face is never shown. Even if Dana didn't want to get into the Caleb/Evelyn and Philip murder drama, there isn't any reason for her face to be obscured UNLESS the goal wasnt to upset shippers

It's why you get Luz's type of of boy being angsty warrior princes like Hunter - it's also why all of Hunter's important moments involve Luz and not Willow.

This is why you get Hunter dying and coming back to life looking like Caleb pleading with Luz to help him fight Belos in TTT, but then his entire arc culminates with him holding pinkies with Willow FTF. This is why all the interesting themes Hunter brought to the table were completely kneecapped by his relationship with Willow.

It's fucking bizarre LMAO.

[fortjester]

“I’d like to play you another song about suicidal depression. It’s about – if you are a certain type of person – me – . . . uh, you hear about somebody who did something horrible and drastic and you feel bad, but there’s a part of you that goes, ‘what, that’s, now I know, now I recognize my kind, because he did that.’ So this is about a guy who did a terrible thing and he couldn’t live with the memory of it, and so he went and did a worse thing, and it’s called ‘Cry for Judas.’”

- John Darnielle, frontman of the Mountain Goats

[capswarmedals]

i am going insane over my modern capvers au SO I DREW THEM (in my new silly style)!!

*inspiration from THIS post*

the history teacher and the music tutor (but he's not in that day so he goes to pick up his hubby (they're not married))

[rainintheevening]

🍁🍁Comfy-vember 🍁🍁

Day 9: Scars

Grant Ward & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, Saving Grant Ward AU, aftermath of torture, non-sexualized bathing/washing, the author does not recommend postponing medical care for a shower

---------

The first thing Grant demanded was a shower.

"It's been three weeks, okay? You don't want me in your medbay like this."

Simmons stood with her arms crossed over her chest, frowning down at him where he sat on the Quinjet, which had just touched down in the Playground's hanger. "Just because Trip splinted your leg and I gave you some anesthetic, doesn't mean it isn't serious. You need to get the bone set, and I'm worried about infection. Never mind your shoulder—heaven only knows what those x-rays are going to look like."

Phil stayed seated, feeling Grant's weight leaning into him, though it was less than it had been before. Before Garrett, before HYDRA, before he'd been on the run. There was no denying Grant was a mess—greasy hair grown too long and falling in his eyes, ragged jacket and jeans bearing mud and tree sap smears, a fading black eye, and that nasty red scar in front of one ear that ran down to his neck. But he was here! He was safe, he was home, he was back where he belonged. Phil's kid was home again, and the joy of that overwhelmed any grief or fear for now.

"Medbay is built for messes, man." Trip grinned down at his old buddy. "Think about how many people puke in there."

"I'm with Ward," Fitz put in, hovering over Jemma's shoulder. "He should- um- er–"

"Shower." Jemma's whisper was barely audible.

"–shower if he wa-would like to."

"Thank you, Fitz." Grant opened his eyes to smile at the younger agent. "I'm taking a shower," he said again to Simmons. "I'll get back to you in an hour. In the medbay."

Phil knew that tone, and smiled up at the agents clustered in front of them, now including May; Skye lingered warily in the cockpit. It hit him suddenly that they were all here. Grant, May, Fitzsimmons, Skye, Trip. The whole team, reunited.

But he shook off the warm surge of emotion. Grant had to be cared for. "You're not budging him, guys, sorry."

"And what if you fall and break something else?" Simmons argued. "Splitting your skull open in the shower isn't exactly unheard of, and you're not exactly stable."

Grant sighed, sitting straighter so he could turn his head to look at Phil. "Dad?"

That tired little murmur had Phil swallowing hard, nodding before he answered: "Of course. Don't worry," to Simmons. "I'll go with him."

Grant shifted his weight to stand, and Phil moved quickly, ducking under the good right arm, as he levered himself up on the good left leg.

"At least let us get you a stretcher or a wheelchair." Simmons's hands fluttered out in a helpless gesture.

Stiffly, Grant patted her arm with his free hand, made more awkward by the damaged shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Jemma. But I'm walking in there."

"He's not unconscious," Trip shrugged, moving to Grant's other side, but Fitz had beat him to it.

"Alright, we've got you," Fitz said, his arm joining Coulson's around Grant's waist.

Grant's smile was soft, and he nudged his chin against the curly hair at his shoulder. "Thanks, Leo."

The pure love and hero worship in Fitz's answering look would have melted anyone's heart.

By the time they made it to the bottom of the ramp, though, Phil was wishing Grant had taken Jemma's offer. Even with the local anesthetic in his leg, and the age of his shoulder wound, he moved slow and painful, only the hiss of his breathing betraying what must have been agony. He'd lost enough weight that Phil could have comfortably carried him, but he doubted Grant would agree to that with such an entourage.

That thought was cemented when the second set of heavy doors slid open to the main hall, and instantly a wave of applause washed over them.

Dozens of agents of all ranks and duties lined both sides of the hall, clapping and cheering as Grant stood frozen. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw him go first white, then red under the dirt and sweat.

"They're all the ones you saved," came May's calm voice behind them. "At Rabbit's Run and Carlton Place and Foxhole. They know what you did for them."

Most of them were hostages released in the wake of Grant's silent but deadly run on the HYDRA ranks. He'd assassinated almost a hundred HYDRA agents and operatives in the US and Europe, all in the span of two months, and while carrying a bullet in his shoulder. Not even Natasha could match that, Phil thought, pride welling in his chest.

As they came down into the hall, Agent Morse stepped forward, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

"Baby Bird." Grant nodded at her.

"Baby Hawk." She grinned. "Welcome back."

Phil wanted to chuckle at the normalcy of their friendly banter, but he could feel Grant's arm trembling around his neck, Grant using all his strength to stand tall in front of the crowd.

"I suppose I have you to blame for this circus."

"Nah, it was Mack's idea."

"Mack." Grant smiled faintly over toward the big man. "Now if you'll excuse me, Birdy, I need a shower."

"And then medical attention," Simmons piped up rather crossly.

"Yeah, that's obvious." Concern creased Bobbi's forehead as she took in his current state. "Well, I certainly won't stand in your way." She stepped back into the line of agents on the left.

"Showers are down two levels with the bunks," Phil said softly, as they stepped forward again. "We'll take the elevator. Straight ahead, then to the right."

Grant did not reply, he was exerting every effort to limp as strongly and steadily as possible down that hall. Some of the agents they passed stood to attention and saluted, some just nodded or tapped a fist over their heart.

What a contrast to the outrage and anger that had gripped the surviving SHIELD members after they saw the footage from the Treehouse massacre—Grant Ward following John Garrett as obediently as a leashed dog. Phil, had been one of his only defenders, along with Fitzsimmons. Even when Grant had betrayed Providence, Phil had clung to his belief that his kid was just playing the game, keeping his cover by giving information that may or may not result in deaths. It was a far better idea than the alternative.

And Phil's belief had been vindicated.

Just Phil, Grant, Fitz, and Trip stepped into the elevator, and the second the doors closed, Grant sagged heavily into Phil, almost falling.

"Steady, steady!" Fitz exclaimed, then froze as his frantic tug on Grant's injured arm elicited a deep groan from him.

"Just– gimme a minute," Grant squeezed out.

"It's okay, Fitz," Phil said, hooking his fingers under Grant's belt to support him better.

It was... different sticking with an injured member of his team this far. Usually by now he'd stepped back, taking the team leader's long view, taking stock and planning what to do next, while other more qualified people did their jobs. Especially now that he was Director Coulson, and not just another agent. But this was Grant, this was his son. Grant trusted him like no one else. And Phil was more than grateful to have this time with Grant, after so long.

"I wanna sleep for a week," Grant whispered, somewhere around Phil's collar.

"That can be arranged." Trip looked both concerned and amused. "Are you sure you're up to this, man?"

Grant did not lift his head from Phil's shoulder, even as the elevator halted, and Phil barely caught his whisper: "I just want to get him off me."

Phil stiffened, and Grant straightened hastily, shaking his head. "No, no! That's not what I– I just–" He made a frustrated sound. "I smell like HYDRA," he said at last.

"You smell like shit," Trip said dryly.

"Exactly."

Phil had been blocking it out best he could, but in the narrow space of the elevator, it was impossible not to notice the reek of sweat and blood and something rotten that clung to Grant. Phil did not blame him at all for wanting that shower.

It took them another ten minutes to reach the men's showers; a long narrow space, with benches along one wall facing a row of shower heads, half enclosed, half not.

Fitz was sent for a chair, while Trip helped Phil remove the splint from Grant's leg and cut the bottom of his pant leg off so it could be put back on over bare skin.

"Are you sure you don't want me to-?" Trip held up a hand against Grant's glare. "Nah, it's okay, man. I'll leave you two to it." He glanced at Phil. "Want me and Fitz to stand guard outside?"

"One of you at least, if you wouldn't mind." He was about to ask if Trip could fetch something clean for Grant to wear, when Fitz came in, carrying the chair, and a handful of clothes.

"Agent May brought these." He held out the clothing: Grant's old Seahawks sweatshirt, a SHIELD-issue t-shirt and underwear, and a pair of flannels Phil didn't recognize. "Agent MacKenzie, er, gave the trousers."

Phil smiled, noting how Fitz's transitions from a word he couldn't remember to one he did were getting smoother. "Tell them both thanks."

"Clearing out now, sir." Trip patted Fitz's shoulder in a way that served to steer him back toward the door. "Holler if you need anything."

The clank of the door shutting echoed in the sparsely outfitted room, and then there was silence, except for a pipe gurgling, and the harsh sound of Grant's breathing.

Phil knelt beside him, involuntarily reaching to push back the shaggy hair from his forehead. They'd laid him flat on the floor for stability while they moved the splint around, but Phil couldn't help thinking he looked nearly dead, stretched out like that.

Grant opened his eyes, squinted up at him.

"You ready?" Phil asked softly.

"Think the granola bars are kicking in." Grant sighed, sat up carefully. "Let's get this over with."

They started with peeling off Grant's jacket, and two button-down shirts. "Haven't worn a t-shirt since Anchorage," he muttered, letting his left arm fall back into his lap.

Phil nodded silently. He remembered the shock of Grant's body hitting his, in time with the crack of Garrett's gun. That bullet had ended up in Grant's shoulder, rather than Phil's brain.

He frowned at Grant's torso, counting three puckered spots of skin, obvious gunshot scars. "Where'd you get those?"

Grant had already started to shiver slightly, and sat forward instead of back against the cold cinderblock wall. He took a moment to reply. "Garrett. On the Bus. Trying to get Fitzsimmons."

Phil was kneeling in front of him where he sat on the bench, so he could look up into Grant's face. There was a distance in Grant's gaze he understood, but didn't like. "Jemma was sure you were dead. She said you got shot at least six times. Fitz was heartbroken."

A spark in the dark brown eyes, a twitch of the lips. "He's a good kid. Leo the lion, bravest of them all."

"But Garrett kept you alive."

A nod, and Grant looked away.

Phil took a deep breath, quelling the anger and sadness that welled in him, and reached slowly to cup Grant's cheek, press his fingers to sweat-sticky too-warm skin.

"I'm glad you're alive."

A glance at him, before Grant's eyes welled up, and he covered them with one hand. Phil's heart cracked a little; four hours since rescue and this was the first time he’d seen tears from from Grant.

Grant slid his hand over on top of Phil's, now hiding his face behind both of them, but he gripped Phil's fingers painfully tight. He said nothing, but a few deep breaths later, he let go, sat straighter, rubbed his eyes.

"Okay, let's move."

They had to cut the waistbands of his jeans and underwear above the injured leg to get those off anywhere close to comfortably, and then Phil turned on the water, giving it time to warm. Grant would need that; Phil hated hearing the little teeth chatters and quick breaths behind him as he collected the company-issue soap and shampoo from a shelf, along with washcloths and a clean towel. Koenig deserved a raise for keeping this place so well-stocked, Phil thought.

At last he helped Grant gently to his feet, and half-carried him into the now-steaming shower, lowering him to sit in the chair Fitz had brought.

A little gasp escaped Grant as the warm water hit him, before he relaxed, tilted his head back to let it wash over his face. Phil moved back to the curtained entrance, awkward and uncertain now. He'd set the soap and things within Grant's reach, but it wouldn't be easy for him to wash himself in his current state. He decided to wait for Grant to ask before he tried to help any further.

He had a sudden sharp recollection of being a child in the bathroom doorway, watching his mother help his father bathe, near the end when the cancer had robbed him of his strength. It was the same mixture of embarrassment, helplessness, and love that filled Phil now.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and he became aware of his heavy jacket and boots, and the water splashing on the cement floor. He left the coat, socks, and boots on the bench, along with his watch, rolling up his sleeves as he walked back to the shower stall.

That was when Phil finally saw the bullet scar clearly, stark on Grant's flushed skin. A dent the size of a quarter in his left shoulder, red and purple lines radiating outward in a strange sort of shatter pattern.

In the narrow space, Grant's back was only an arm's length away, but Phil hesitated to touch him, afraid to startle him. He'd carried that wound for two months– How had he ever survived? How had he kept going? Kept spying and shooting and moving.

"Coulson," Grant was saying. "Dad!"

He blinked, shook his head, cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Grant had his head down, turned, but not quite looking back at him. His hand holding the shampoo bottle was trembling. "Can you-?"

"Of course."

Water droplets pattered against his arms, darkened his sleeves as he worked a lather into Grant's hair, careful and awkward at first, before settling down to the job. He could feel Grant relaxing under his hands, and bit back a smile.

"Feeling better?" he murmured, as soapy grey water slid down the drain.

Grant's only reply was a grunt.

"Just don't fall asleep," Phil warned. "You can do that when they knock you out in the med bay."

"Won't need to knock me out," Grant mumbled.

No, they probably wouldn't, Phil thought. At this rate, he'd be carrying Grant down to the med bay.

"Anything else I can do?" he asked aloud, dropping his right hand to Grant's shoulder.

Grant said nothing, just held up a washcloth, and Phil silently took it.

He eased back a step, as Grant leaned forward, and was thinking of how gentle he'd have to be when he paused, staring at Grant's back.

The bullet hole wasn't the only scar there. There were other, older lines, cuts, burns that almost looked like finger prints, and... was that-?

"Grant. What is this?" He could barely hear his own whisper over the running water.

"What-?" Grant started, before he froze under Phil's touch.

Phil's stomach churned as he traced the raised flesh, the hollow-eyed skull and the eight curling tentacles. Bile rose in his throat, hot and scalding, but he swallowed it back. "Who did this to you?" He hated how his voice broke, how tears burned behind his eyes.

"Sorry, Garrett's already dead."

With a curse, Phil turned away, slammed a fist into the metal wall, but Grant's flinch yanked him back from the anger better than the pain in his knuckles did.

A deep breath, before he found a word. "Why?"

Grant seemed to shrink under his gaze, curling under the weight of that awful brand. But his words came as steadily as they would in any debriefing. "He said I was his. After I– I tried to escape. They tortured me, but he wouldn't let me die. And then he had me branded. To make sure everyone knew which master to send the mutt back to.

"Did you know?" He sat straighter, as if the bitter words gave him strength, glanced over his shoulder up at Phil. "Did he tell you he came to recruit me? In juvie? He got to the detention centre ten minutes after we left. He wanted me for HYDRA. But you beat him to it." A rusty laugh. "The way he harped on that, you would have thought you'd done it on purpose." He sighed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "After- after I broke, after I shot Firenze... he said he won. He said he got me in the end."

The warmth on Phil's cheeks was not water; it stung in his eyes, burned in his throat. Words, where were they? What was he supposed to say?

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We should have searched harder, we should have found you, I should have saved you. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came.

Blinking away tears, he looked down to where his hands rested on Grant's shoulders, water pattering over his fingers and dripping steadily down from his wrists... washing over those scars. On the right, the brand of HYDRA. On the left, the shattered mark earned from saving Coulson. He wished suddenly that the brand could have been on the left, could have been punched through by that bullet. Because which one had been Grant's choice?

"He didn't."

It came out in a croak, and Phil cleared his throat.

"He didn't get you in the end. You were willing to die to save me. The whole time he thought he had you, you were waiting to turn it back on him. He might have had your hands tied, but he didn't have you."

Grant sat quite still in front of him, head bowed, and suddenly Phil needed to see his face, to make sure Grant understood the truth. He ignored how water soaked his shirt as he stepped around to turn the shower off, and in the ringing hush, sank into a crouch in front of Grant.

Naked, dripping, hungry, exhausted, scarred, and in pain—this was Grant Ward at his most vulnerable. Phil only hoped he could get it right, could say and be whatever it was Grant needed most right now.

"Grant," he murmured.

A sniff, a shaky exhale, a hand rubbed across his face, but Grant did not look up.

Phil shifted to one knee, reaching up to cup the back of Grant's neck, rest their heads together. "You did what you had to do to survive."

Grant shook his head, drew back. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and wet. "You taught me a long time ago there was more to life than survival."

"I trust your judgement on the cost. You're a good man, Grant. Making the hard choices doesn't change that."

Tears brimmed over, and he turned his face away again.

"You stayed alive," Phil whispered. "And I'm grateful."

A shudder under Phil's hand, and then a sob broke out, Grant shaking his head hard. "But I didn't! I didn't try to survive! He wouldn't let me die."

How could his heart hurt anymore? Phil wondered. Not that he could really pretend surprise. Torture could push people in all kinds of directions. But he needed to keep Grant talking, dig out whatever was festering in his heart.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"This scar," Grant gulped, lifted a shaking hand to the pink line running down from in front of his right ear to under his jaw. "That wasn't Garrett. That was me."

And now he was sobbing, slumping forward against Phil's chest. As gently as he could, Phil wrapped an arm over Grant's back, their positions making it awkward to offer more physical comfort.

He wished he had a towel to wrap around Grant's shoulders, knowing the chill would get to him sooner or later. Cool water was dripping down inside his collar, and the hard floor was hurting his knee, but Grant had a fistful of his shirt, and Phil would not have pulled away for the world. He pressed his cheek against wet hair, and closed his eyes.

"What happened, Grant? Talk to me. This is our debriefing. Just us. Talk to me."

"He told me they were dead," Grant choked out. "Fitzsimmons. But he kept me alive. Tortured me. No food. No water. Alone. In the dark. For weeks." A last sob shuddered through him, and he subsided to ragged breathing. He was collecting himself, trying to explain coherently. "Garrett wanted to break me. I tried to escape, but–" a deep shaky inhale "–they caught me. Beat me. When I woke up... he branded me. And I..." His voice caught, and he shook his head, shivered.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry."

That tearful whisper tore at Phil's heart, and a couple warm drops slipped down his own cheeks.

"For what?" Even though he knew the answer.

"I was supposed to die bravely. But I couldn't. I wanted it to end! I just wanted... it to stop, so I tried. I stole a knife, went for the carotid. When I woke up... Garrett said I wouldn't get away that easy.

"I gave in, Dad." Another round of sobs threatened, but he fought them back. "I wasn't trying to be a double agent, I just... wanted to eat every day. I wanted to wake up and not hurt. I don't even remember the Treehouse. Because he was right. I was no better than a dog."

"Grant Douglas Ward." His voice came out too loud, and he tried to soften it with a hand on Grant's cheek. "Look at me." He stared into bloodshot brown eyes, gripped Grant's face gently. "Sometimes heroes have to start by saving their own lives. And yours is worth it." A thumb stroked deliberately down the knife's old path. "So thank you. Thank you for surviving. I'm proud of you, son."

More tears, but quieter now, both of them worn and chilled.

Phil leaned in to press a warm kiss to Grant's forehead. "Come on," he murmured. "We better finish up and get you in some dry clothes."

"Okay."

As he stood though, Grant caught his hand, squeezed it. "I love you, Dad." His tiny tired smile was like the sun breaking through clouds.

It took a moment before Phil could answer.

"I love you, son."

He tried to move quickly, cleaning Grant's back, and helping him wash around the splint. The little gasps from Grant at any movement of his leg, told him the anesthetic had run his course, and his kid belonged in the med bay ten minutes ago.

But at the same time there seemed to be something lighter in Grant's eyes, in his air, and Phil was certain their conversation had been a good thing. What was that saying? The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable? Well, they'd gotten some of the misery out of the way.

Getting Grant dry and dressed was an arduous process, but at last he sat on the bench, clad in the borrowed flannels and Phil's jacket, preferable because of its zipper. Phil discarded his soaked button down, and took the t-shirt and sweater. May had forgotten socks, so he gave Grant his own, kneeling in front of him to gently ease on one and then the other, at least as far as it could go on the wounded leg.

As Phil hastily laced his boots, he glanced sideways at Grant's pale face, and closed eyes, the way he slumped back against the wall, still shivering.

"I'm carrying you." Not a question, a decision.

"You always carry me."

The words were barely audible, and he wondered if Grant had meant to say that aloud. But he clearly meant for Phil to hear him as he was set gently on the elevator floor, Fitz and Trip fussing around his leg. As Phil made to stand, Grant caught his sleeve, spoke soft but steady. "I'm glad I'm alive too."

Phil could only nod and smile.

Grant was asleep on his shoulder by the time the elevator stopped.

[sleepy-spacetronaut]

Detox old man yaoi - Queer platonic BillFord

Start note : Okay little clarification, Bill in the top right corner is crying, but the picture quality is bad so it’s hard to tell what the heck is going on. And I apologize for Ford’s weird haircut, I’ll give him his fluffy hair back (I tend to mess with character’s hair a lot…never on purpose , I swear 😁 unless I make them bald.).

Once Bill returns to Gravity Falls for the sake of his redemption arc, his relationship with Stanford is bound to be rocky. They bicker a lot and often cannot get along on the way to do domestic things. It would take a long time before they start to bond together again , considering how the trauma of the past abuse left Ford scarred for life.

Thought since Bill can’t do much with his limited powers, Ford doesn’t perceive him as a threat. They hang out together sometimes when Bill doesn’t have to work at the cash register or around the shack. Bill still had trouble identifying what exactly he feels for Stanford, and would try to pursue him romantically for around a month before giving up. (I headcanoned Ford as oriented aro-ace for this specific AU)

But sometimes they have wholesome moments they share: Bill and Ford seldom sit on the couch together, and when it happens, they cuddle up and Ford combs his fingers through Bill’s hair while reading, it’s soothing for both of them. Bill tends to fall asleep very quickly after that—he’s desperately touch-starved and has no idea—-

Bonus (something from my camera roll) :

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

Grojband, but as a band from an early 2000s shoujo manga