#i’m not the worst thing i’ve ever done and neither are you!

[gardenofnoah]

part one: you’ve been running behind, i’m afraid you’re too late

wc: 5.7K chapter tags: MDNI, dark content (domestic abuse/physical abuse within a romantic relationship (not between reader and shinsou), general violence, nonconsensual quirk use??, graphic descriptions of injuries), ptsd, healing and forgiveness, undefined relationship between reader and shinsou, gn reader (no pronouns), pet names (“angel”, “baby”), probably inaccurate description of shinsou’s quirk idk

Kyoji was good to you. He was older, he was handsome–he exuded a confidence that you’d not yet been privy to. He spoiled you, really–with gifts and dinners and glimpses into a lifestyle that your young naivety latched onto–you liked him for that. You were taken by his charm, and how he always knew exactly what to say. 

The very things you adored seemed to turn to sharpened weapons that nicked at your skin. But he was careful not to draw blood until he knew he had you.

You’d met at UA, you in your second year and he in his last. You were inseparable from the start–you hung off his arm like a little trophy he could carry around. What he’d ever done to earn that, you’ve no idea now. 

Hitoshi had been weary of him from the start. 

“I don’t know, angel,” he told you, sprawled across your extra long twin bed while you did your hair in the little mirror that sat on your desk. “He seems a little…” pausing between words, treading carefully, “off.”

You’d gotten angry with him at that. You told him that he just didn’t like that you were happy and not hanging out with him–that he was only jealous that he couldn’t follow you like a lost puppy anymore. Your words had very clearly wounded him, but he recovered before you could think too much of it–the hurt bleeding back into his practiced indifference. 

“Just be careful, okay?” he asked quietly as you all but tossed him out of your dorm. “Call me if you need anything.”

You’d brushed it off, along with everyone else's thinly-veiled warnings, and continued to see Kyoji. Things were going well enough–he graduated and took you with him. There might have been something foreboding about it, but it was fleeting and you didn’t put up a fight–didn’t dig your heels in at all as he was picking up the boxes made up of everything you were before him and loading them into the back of his car. You completed your last year at UA from the bedroom of the apartment you were suddenly sharing–all tall ceilings and chrome appliances. All for show, sparking and without a sign of life–just how Kyoji pictured it. There wasn’t a sign of you anywhere–all of your boxes had ended up in a storage unit not far from UA. They hadn’t even made it the whole drive to the apartment–it hadn’t taken long at all for him to convince you that he could buy you things that were far nicer than what you had in them. 

You still saw Hitoshi, but your interactions were rare. If he caught wind that you were on campus for any reason, he’d seek you out–joyfully ignoring the cold shoulder you usually tried to give him. He’d loop an arm around your neck, laughing at the way you bristled at his touch. You pretended not to notice how forced it was–how he raked his eyes over you, searching for something you didn’t want him to see. Both of you caught in a bizarre performance of make believe in front of your other friends, who all regarded you with the same, thinly-veiled apprehension. Scanning for something that wasn’t yet there, but that surely would be. All of you a group of dangling marionettes, creaking clumsily toward the final act.

Kyoji didn’t like Hitoshi. He’d made that clear from the beginning. He thought that your relationship with the purple-haired hero was strange, going so far as to tell you that Hitoshi was “toxic”– someone who was “isolating you from the people who cared for you”. The fact that Hitoshi behaved like he did–mostly aloof, eager to wound with his quick tongue–made it an easy sell, despite him only ever regarding you with a gentle fondness. Kyoji stressed that he was only worried, because clearly Hitoshi had manipulated you into some semblance of friendship with him–one that was surely only transactional to him. It had always been clear, to Kyoji–who was wiser and older and only ever wanted the best for you–so you let him steer you away from Hitoshi. You closed your eyes when he turned you away from your other friends, too–letting him take the wheel. He knew better than you did, you were sure. 

Now you know it was bullshit, but you were in love, supposedly–you believed him because you had no reason to doubt him. And he loved you–he told you so, in all of his elaborate, and often very public, displays of affection. Each overblown effort made you uncomfortable, but he’d gone through so much trouble–and made sure you were aware of it. So you let him love you like that, even if it left you feeling a little hollow. 

You scoff at the memory, now. Curled up in the corner, locked in your bedroom. Bruised and weak, you reach for your phone on the floor next to you. You scroll until you find his name.

He watches your face pop up on his phone on the coffee table. Half asleep, he reaches to pause the movie he’d been watching, and presses the green button by your name.

“Hi, angel.” he murmurs through a yawn. 

“Hitoshi,” you croak, and he’s upright immediately. By your tone, he knows you’re not safe. He curses himself for not catching this sooner–he should have known that things had gotten worse when you stopped answering his texts a few weeks ago. He’d given you space, hoping that time show you what kind of person Kyoji really was, but it’s apparent now that it only served to isolate you further. He’s made up his mind, though–the gears in his brain slip into place automatically, and he won’t let himself feel remorse over what he’s about to do–not yet, anyway. He’ll ask his questions–give you the chance to lie to him, like he knows you will–but he’s already decided. He hopes that you won’t hate him for it. 

“What’s going on?”

“Just–” a sharp intake of breath, like it hurts you, “so tired. I’m so tired of this.”

He takes a breath himself–deep and rattling in his chest, pleading with himself to keep a level head. He needs to, or he won’t be able to do this. He just needs to get you out–to get you somewhere safe. He squeezes his eyes shut, and pictures your reality–alone, hurt, and curled into yourself. He feels his pulse pick up, and tries to think of something else.

Questions be damned. He needs to do this now. 

He says a quick, silent prayer to whomever is listening. To please let this work. To make you understand–to maybe forgive him, one day. 

He steadies himself, and opens his eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

“Um–no, I don’t know, I–”

He’s flooded with pain, all at once. Sharp and radiating, in his eye and over his rib cage, and across his throat in a way that feels suspiciously like–

You were hurt, then. 

He’s overwhelmed by the full range of your emotions, too, as intimately as if they were his–shock, at first. He jolts as you startle, like the lights have just flickered out during a heavy storm. He feels the moment the recognition hits you–when you realize what he’s done–and he feels it when you start to fight it. 

“Please stop,” it’s a whispered plea that comes from him, into the receiver he keeps up to your ear. He hears your breath hitch.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he says, and he’s moving now–already down the front steps and out the door.

It’s effort, like this–he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to use his quirk over the phone. He’d asked Aizawa about it, who eyed him for a long time before he’d answered simply, “You should really think about it.”

And he has, but he sees no other option. Hitoshi knows, very acutely, that he is hurting you– that he’s not doing a good thing right now. The thought of it turns in his stomach, but he can’t stop. Not until he knows you’re safe. 

He envisions your body in his mind. It’s fuzzy, at best–the outline of you is warbled and distorted, but he can do this. 

“We’re gonna move now, baby,” he rasps, suddenly fatigued by the exertion of keeping himself moving and keeping you in his grasp. Like a villain, he thinks, and promptly ignores.

He starts to move you and the feeling is nearly blinding–you’re in pain. His own rib cage seizes and it knocks the breath out of him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he tries to placate you, even though he knows it’s shallow, “We just need to get you standing. Can you do that for me?”

It’s stupid of him to try to ask anything of you right now, and he hears you echo the sentiment–you’re still fighting him, though not as valiantly as before. He can feel how exhausted you are, and it’s not your injuries that make his chest ache now. 

He hurries past a gas station and realizes he’s closer to you than he thought. He hadn’t been paying attention, not really–hadn’t even bothered to disguise himself with more than his black hoodie pulled over his head. He hears voices to his right and realizes that he really didn’t think this through–that he could easily be caught off guard right now, with all of his focus on you. Driving wasn’t an option, though–it was dangerous enough just for him to try to walk and do this.

He catches himself trying to create distance in his mind. To call it this, instead of naming it. Because if he allows himself to recognize what he’s really doing to you, he won’t be able to keep you under his quirk, and he just needs to get you out–

He feels a bump to both knees, and he realizes that he’s gotten you up and moving. He sees the vague outline of your bedroom window, and thanks whatever god is up there that you live on the first floor. Now that he’s closer to you, your body is more in focus. He can manage like this.

He comes to a stop at a street corner, less than a block from your house. He takes a breath in, and focuses again. 

“Okay angel,” he says, keeping his voice soft, “we need to get this open. I’m going to be gentle, but it’s still going to hurt.”

It does–immediately. Having to lift the window with one arm to keep the phone to your ear–the only way to keep up the connection–is putting too much strain on the fractures of your ribs. He feels you thrash in his mind, and he almost wishes he could hear your voice, just so you could scream at him. He wishes he could at least give you that. 

All at once the pain is cut off and bleeds into something different. Panic, he recognizes. Hitoshi feels the adrenaline spike in your body and realizes he’s run out of time. 

He needs to get you out now.

He takes off in a sprint toward the direction of your apartment. His hold on you falters, only for a second, but it makes you stumble. He feels his own fear spike. 

“I’m coming,” he tells you, and it comes out like a plea, “I’m right there baby, just hold on–”

He hears the yelling as he rounds the corner. He sees you then, half way out the window, and he knows if he lets go of you now, you won’t make it out. 

He feels a bruising pain wrap around his wrist, and he goes cold.

Hitoshi makes it to the window before he knows it and lets you go. He wraps his arms around your middle as you go limp, and when he looks up, he is face to face with the man who did this to you. 

Kyoji, who is still crushing your wrist in his hand. 

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi grinds out, and it is lethal when it leaves him, “are you doing?”

“What am I do–” 

He doesn’t give Kyoji any time to give a real answer before he’s in his head. The fatigue is stifling, but his adrenaline fuels his quirk. The grip on your wrist falls slack. He pulls you the rest of the way out of the window, careful not to aggravate your ribs further. You whimper, not yet fully conscious, as he sets you down gently in the grass.

“Give me one second, angel,” he tells your limp form, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

He takes a step forward, as does Kyoji–rigid and clearly unwilling, but he moves despite himself, because he’s no longer in control. Through the window, Histoshi takes a long look at him, and feels nothing but contempt. He lets it bleed into the connection between them–feels only a white, hot anger coming from the man in his hold, and it makes him smile.

“You won’t make that mistake again.”

He watches from outside himself, then, as he leads Kyoji’s hands through the open window. Hitoshi feels nothing as he slams it down over his fingers. He lets the bastard go right as it connects.

Hitoshi hears the crunch of splintering bone, and only watches as his victim comes back to himself. Feels nothing as he watches him process what has just happened. And then, as a howl of pain breeches the silence, a sick part of him howls back—feeling more than a little justified. 

He watches for a second more, and then turns his attention back to you. Still limp in the grass–whether you’re still unconscious or you’re pretending to be, he isn’t sure, but he couldn’t blame you if it was the latter. Hitoshi gathers you in his arms, and you don’t fight him. He wonders if you have any fight left. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against your temple in some vain attempt at comfort as he walks, “I’m so sorry.”

Hitoshi is a nervous wreck. 

He fumbles through his own kitchen like he’s never been in it before. He opens cabinets, closes them, and opens them again. He’s opened the fridge at least three times in the last five minutes, like something will be different each time he opens it.

He has no idea what to do with himself. 

He comes to a stop, finally, in front of the counter and braces his hands against the cool stone. He lets his head hang and takes in a deep, shuddering breath through his nose. The only thing he can focus on is the knowledge that you are asleep in the next room.

He’d brought you in and set you on his bed, checking to make sure none of your injuries were life threatening. When he was satisfied that they were not, he turned on his heel and all but sprinted out of his room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him. Sleep wasn’t an option for him after that. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, knuckles straining in their grip on the countertop. He was nothing if not cowardly. 

He nearly comes out of his skin when his phone rings next to him. He spares it a glance, and feels his stomach lurch when he sees who it is. He hits the green button, and it’s not a second after that the voice on the other end lays into him. 

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Bakugou seethes, “what did you do?”

Hitoshi has never experienced Bakugou as quiet as he is right now. The silence on the other end of the line stretches and expands like a living thing–it’s suffocating, but he allows it to drag on. He won’t be the one to break it.

He hears Bakugou sigh and lets out a breath of his own.

“The injuries–” he says finally, sounding tired in a way that Hitoshi hasn’t heard in a long time, “are they–”

“Not life threatening,” he grits, hearing the strain in his own voice, “I can take care of them here. But Bakugou–”

“I get it,” Bakugou cuts him off, gruff. For the first time in Hitoshi’s life, the constant of his harsh inflection is a comfort. “Was fuckin’ stupid, and you’re real lucky I was the one to respond. But I get it.”

Hitoshi says nothing. He can’t say anything. Bakugou sighs again, long and resigned. 

“I’ll handle it,” he says finally, and Hitoshi can barely breathe, “Just take care of your shit.”

“I will,” he whispers, but Bakugou has already hung up.

He stares at the phone in his hand then, like it might come alive at any second. Now that he knows what he can do with it, he thinks he ought to throw it down and crush it under his heel. 

His mind goes back to where it always does–to you. He knows that it’s a vile thing he’s done, and he doesn’t know how he’ll face you now. He just couldn’t stand the way your voice cracked every time you called–he isn’t too proud to admit that he was afraid. He’s responded to so many of these calls, and he knew of the few that heroes didn’t make it there in time–he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you like that. He couldn’t sit and wait for that to happen–that was never an option. 

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He tries to resign himself to what's coming when you wake up. Tries to tell himself that it will still be worth it if you hate him–and he knows that it is, because you’ll be alive. But he will be another man that you can no longer trust, and as much as he deserves that, he can’t stand it.

He swallows thickly, setting the phone down and pushing off the counter. He supposes he could at least make himself useful and get some food ready for you while you slept.

You don’t know how long you’ve been awake, but it feels like far too long.

Every jagged intake of breath rattles an ache through your rib cage. It shouldn’t feel like that, you think, but the thought fizzles out of your mind with the rest of them. It’s enough effort to force your lungs to inflate. You reach out a hand, slowly, ignoring the pain that radiates up your arm when you close your fingers around the sheets beneath you. They’re soft, and they’re not yours. But you knew that.

You don’t have the luxury of survivor’s amnesia. You remember everything. 

You won’t cry. You wish you could, and you think it’d do you well–but to cry requires energy that you just don’t have. So you blink your eyes open through the sting, watching the fuzzy outline of the ceiling fan come into focus. It whirls around lazily, and it seems silly that it’s not doing much of any cooling, but you think that maybe Hitoshi couldn’t stand for things to be still when he put you there, so he turned it on. 

Hitoshi.

You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth at the flash of pain. You feel it everywhere, and you are catapulted back into the feeling of your limbs moving against your will. It makes you want to curl into yourself, but you have a feeling you’d risk puncturing a lung if you did, so you lay there and let the feeling wash over you, pinning you to the bed. 

You might be angry at him–you can’t be sure. You feel what could be anger, broadly, but you have a feeling that it’s true target is beyond Hitoshi, beyond Kyoji, beyond the way you’ve been rendered immobile more times than you care to count. You can’t reach it yet, but it is certainly there. 

You know that your injuries are severe, but that they will heal. The physical ones, anyway. You don’t know how to go about healing what lurks beneath the surface–what’s been circling in the dark for years now. You’d reached a point about a month ago, when the verbal abuse became physical–a new place, one without much feeling at all–that had startled you at first. But you found it was better when you allowed yourself to lean into it–the physical pain from a throttled neck or a broken bone paled in comparison to the vast emptiness of the quiet void you could escape into. But the feelings come back, as you lay here, and you yearn for the dark nothing again. You know suddenly that it’s not the broken ribs keeping you here in this bed.

Despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop, you push yourself to a sitting position. It takes a while, and you have to twist like one of those wooden snake toys you had as a child. You feel your bones clink off one another similarly, and you breathe out something that sounds to you like a laugh. It’s ridiculous, the whole thing–to be reduced to something so fractured and still feel the need to stand up and keep going. It’s hard for you to see the merit in that right now, but you do it anyway. 

Hitoshi nearly comes out of his skin for the second time that day when he sees you standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

He looks at you and he knows he should stop, because he’s not in control of his face right now and he wants to be composed for you. But he is not, and he knows you can see it. 

He can’t look away. There’s a bruise that spans from your cheekbone to your eyebrow that he’s fixated on, which feels like the safest place to look right now because he knows if he looks at the one across your throat, he will lose out to the animal growling in his chest. Knows he will walk out the door and not stop at Kyoji’s broken fingers. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. When he looks at you again, he can’t tell what you're feeling. You are more devoid of emotion than he’s ever seen you, and it scares him. He opens his mouth, because the tension is crushing him.

“I–”

“Overstepped.”

He blinks, unsure if he’s just hallucinated. It isn’t until he watches your mouth move around the words that he’s sure he didn’t.

“You overstepped,” you say again, flatly. 

“I know,” and he does. He thinks that’s an understatement. “I’m sorry.”

He watches the corner of your lip curl into something he doesn’t recognize. 

“You’re sorry.” You repeat him like you’ve never heard the words before. “What is it that you’re sorry for?”

“I know that I shouldn’t have used my quirk on you,” he says, too quickly, “I just knew that he hurt you and I was–”

“You were what?” the tone of your voice is a warning when you cut him off, “hoping to be the hero that saves the day? You were inside me–did you think that wouldn’t hurt me?”

“No–I know it did,” he hears the plea in his voice and hates it. He knows he has no right to ask you to hear him. Really, he shouldn’t say anything, but he keeps talking anyway. “I know it did, and I’m sorry, I just knew you needed help–”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, and then a hiss, hands hovering over your abdomen like you’re trying to wave away the pain. He feels it in his own body, quirk or not. 

“I never asked for your help, Hitoshi.”

He’s quiet then, feeling the phantom ache spread to his limbs. He knows you didn’t–it’s not often that abuse survivors do. It didn’t matter how close you were to him–you were out on that island alone, all the same. 

“Would you have ever?”

You glare at him. You open your mouth and close it just as quickly–he hears your teeth clack together like you’re biting down on what you really want to say. He watches you think about it. 

“No.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. He knew the answer, but it’s not any less jarring to hear you say it. 

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” he whispers, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

You let out a laugh–clipped and indignant. A knife, thrown right at him. 

“You didn’t have a choice?” you snarl, and he wants to grab his words out of the air and swallow them, but he knows he’s too late. “You took over my body and you want to talk about choice?”

He can’t say anything. He watches the emotion flood you and knows it’s his doing. 

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, “did you ever consider asking me what I needed, before you did that? Or did you think that being a hero meant you knew better?”

It’s startling, how on the mark you are. The shame lumbers over him like a tidal wave– he’s never asked anyone what they needed, not really. He just acted. He was always just acting, never thinking first. Until now, the former made him a great hero.

“What I really need is for everyone to get their fucking hands off of me and to let me have the control that I deserve to have over my life.”

He can’t look at you, and he knows for that he is a coward. He knows that he has done something so unforgivable and he hates the way he wants to get on the ground and beg for your forgiveness anyway. He knows this is the part where you walk out of his house and never speak to him again. He considers telling you that he’ll call someone to come get you so you don’t have to stay here.

And that thought gives him pause, because there he goes again–deciding what’s best for you. 

He wants to stop doing that. He’s been looking at you as a statistic, and that alone breaks his heart, because you are his best friend.

You are his best friend—the love of his life—and you are hurting right now.

So he gathers all of his resolve and meets your eyes. He tries very hard not to flinch away from the anger you pin him with when he asks, “what do you want to do right now?”

Your face twists with an emotion he doesn’t recognize for an instant, and then it’s gone, and there’s that blank, unfeeling look staring back at him. You sigh, and it surprises him when he hears it tremble. 

“I–there’s blood. On me.”

“Yeah,” his voice is a whisper, “do you want to shower?”

You sag against the doorframe, like someone’s let go of your strings for the first time. He smothers the urge to go to you and hold you up himself. 

“I don’t think I can stand,” you rasp, eyes shut tight. 

“Can I run you a bath?” he asks gently, rising to his feet.

You nod tightly, watching him as he approaches you. He stops a foot in front of you, cautious. 

“Can I help you to the bathroom?”

You eye him like you think it’s a trap, and it’s a twisted knife in his chest. But he doesn’t waver—he waits. He leaves room for a no. 

He bites back the relieved sigh that wants to escape him when you reach for him. 

It takes a minute to figure out how to support you without hurting your ribs. You settle for looping your arm through his, and he covers it with his other hand, careful of your wrist. He gets you to the bathroom and sits you on the toilet while he turns on the faucet. 

“Hitoshi.”

He almost doesn’t hear you, over the water, but the shake of your voice has him whipping around, posturing to protect–

“Don’t do that again.”

And it’s him, then, who has hurt you– who continues to hurt you. He watches the tears pool in your eyes and feels so, so sick. 

“I won’t,” it’s quiet, but he hopes you understand that he means it, “not ever again.”

The water that ripples around your body is tinted pink. You wonder how long you’ll have to watch pieces of you slip down the drain until you’re whole again. 

For a while you just sit–the warm water offers some small comfort if you close your eyes and pretend that this is a regular day for you. That you’re not coming apart at your seams. But the temporary lull is interrupted when the water grows cold. 

“Hitoshi,” you call, quietly. You have a feeling he’s sitting just outside of the door. 

“Mm?” He is.

“The water is cold.” 

“Do you need help getting out?”

“No, I–” you struggle a bit, to vocalize what you need, despite so adamantly wanting that not 20 minutes ago. All of your bravado from earlier has slipped down the plumbing with the rest of you. “It’s cold.”

You think you can hear his brain go through the mental gymnastics routine you’ve tasked it with, and you try to feel a little sorry for him, but before you can get too carried away he catches up.

“Can you pull the curtain closed?”

It’s hard, and it hurts, but you manage. “It’s closed.”

You hear him come in and kneel beside the tub. You watch him reach into the water–the water that’s saturated with you–to grab the plug from the drain, and your heart kicks in your chest. 

“Hitoshi, the water is all–”

“It’s okay,” he says gently, and you hear the seal break with a little bubble beneath the surface, “It’s alright.”

He lets about half of the water out before he twists the faucet. You feel the water warm up again and you sigh, trying to relax a bit. Hitoshi dips a hand into the tub, moving the warmth around.

When it’s full, he twists the faucet back and moves to stand.

“Do you—” the words taste uncertain when they leave you, “do you think you could sit here with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and it makes you feel a little better. You hear him move to sit next to you–you watch his outline through the curtain. When you look down, the water is clear. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you whisper. Not quite willing to apologize, but still feeling like you should say something.

“Yes, you should have.”

You pause, and when the tears come, you let them. “I’m tired, Hi.”

He lets out a breath at the nickname and you wrap your arms around yourself, needing to feel some sort of comfort.

“I know you are, angel.”

The silence is stretched between you, but it’s permeable this time. He’s trying to extend an olive branch—you decide to let him. 

“Will you help me out of here?” you ask quietly.

It takes some maneuvering to get yourself standing, and when you gather the bravery needed to draw back the curtain, Hitoshi is already holding up a towel and looking starkly away from you, the tips of his ears a little red. You’d laugh if you could, but instead you just lean into him and let him wrap the towel around you. It’s warm, and you realize he must have put it in the drier at some point during your bath. The consideration has you stepping out of the tub and further into his arms–wrapping yourself around his middle before you can think better of it. He goes rigid for only a second before you feel his arms around your shoulders, caging your head in and pulling you closer. It’s startling how familiar it feels–how safe it feels, despite what he’s done–and you don’t fight the sob that tears through your throat when he presses his cheek to your temple and runs his fingers through the damp tangles of your hair. 

He sways gently, rocking you like he’s consoling an infant. You don’t have it in you to be anything but comforted by it. You let out a broken whimper of his name through your tears.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs as you gather the material of his shirt in your fists, “I know.”

Before either of you know it, weeks have passed. You haven’t mentioned leaving and Hitoshi wouldn’t dream of asking you to go, so you stay. He takes every day as an opportunity to gain your trust. 

It’s a fickle thing–he notices every time you flinch away from him when he accidentally brushes against you. He notices how far you sit from him on the couch, and how quiet you’ve been. It hurts tremendously, but he knows it is his fault. He’ll give you all of the time and space you need. 

He cooks for you–both because he’s not sure how else to care for you right now, and because he just likes to know that you’re being looked after. He remembers how often he’d call in the middle of your “dinner”–something frozen and microwaved because Kyoji hadn’t bothered to follow through on the plans you’d made and you were left alone. Hitoshi thinks this is the best way he can help you heal–to make sure your body gets all of the vitamins it needs. It’s a small thing, really, but he hopes it means something. 

He sees you out of the corner of his eye–leaning against the doorway, watching him. He smiles softly at you before he continues slicing the vegetables he’s picked out.

“What are you making?”

“Soup,” he tells you, sliding the cubed carrots off the edge of the knife and into the broth that boils beneath it, “seemed like a good day for it.”

He hears you hum, a sweet little affirmative that makes him smile again. He pulls a potato from the vegetables in front of him and turns it over a few times in his hands–checking for blemishes and wondering if he should cut it differently than the carrots, to give it some variety–if you’d appreciate the extra effort.

He startles when he feels pressure between his shoulder blades–goes rigid when he realizes it’s your forehead pressed against him. 

“Angel?” he croaks, cautious.

“I’m trying, Hi.”

He lets out a breath, setting the knife down in front of him. “I know you are.”

“I just,” you start, pressing a little harder into him to emphasize your frustration, “I don’t want you to think that I’m punishing you–”

“Hey,” he calls to you softly, trying to interrupt whatever self deprecation is happening in your brain, “I don’t think that. I know that it’s going to take some time.”

You sigh, a strained thing, and when you wrap your arms around his middle, he indulges himself in the unbridled relief that comes with the knowledge that you want to forgive him. He looks down at where your hands cross over his abdomen–the bruise on your wrist is nearly faded now. A tiny yellow stain on your skin. He wants to smooth it away with his thumb, but he doesn’t–he keeps the ball in your court and his hands glued flat to the countertop.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” you pause, thinking about it, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of you, “you want to go find a movie to watch? The food’ll be done soon.”

You hum, untangling yourself from him to do just that. Hitoshi finds that the weight of your absence is far heavier than he expects it to be.

It’s a start. There are undoubtedly things you still need to say and questions that you need answers to. He’ll give them when you’re ready. For now, he reaches to turn up the flame on the stove, stirring the broth with new intention.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[vilentia]

Hey just wondering if you still write for tangerine? If you do I was hoping you’d write one about tangerine having to most sweetest and kindest wife and everyone always wondering how could she marry a big grump like him? Like tangerine is on a job and he’s due back in a few days and these men have been sent to kidnap his wife and she sees them infront of her house and goes out asking if they are lost and invites them inside for some tea and makes them lunch and they end up leaving without her because of how sweet she was and tangerine comes back recognising the men leaving the house and his wife waving goodbye to them lol if that makes sense thank you

Disarmed by Kindness

Tangerine x reader

Found this in my requests and finally felt inspired enough to write something. Sorry for the long wait and I hope it was worth it. 🫣

Tangerine wiped the sweat off his brow as he stood on the rooftop, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. His job was nearly done. Just a few more days, and he’d be back home, where things were different—where he wasn’t just Tangerine the assassin, but your husband, the man who couldn’t figure out why someone as sweet as you would ever marry a grump like him.

His thoughts drifted to you: your warm smile, gentle hands, and that voice of yours that could soothe him even on his worst days. Every time someone learned that you were his wife, their brows would furrow, and their lips would purse in confusion. How could someone so kind, so impossibly good-hearted, be married to someone like him? It was a mystery that followed you both everywhere, but one that neither of you cared to solve. You fit together in a way that made sense only to you.

Meanwhile, back at your cozy home, you hummed a tune as you prepared some fresh lemonade. You had just finished baking a batch of lemon tarts, knowing they were his favorite, even though he always pretended to prefer more "manly" desserts. He’d be back soon, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he bit into one of the tarts.

As you set the table for lunch, you noticed a group of men lingering just beyond the front gate. They were tough-looking, with hard expressions and eyes that flickered with suspicion. Your heart skipped a beat, but only out of concern that they might be lost or in need of help. You quickly slipped on your apron and stepped outside, your bright smile leading the way.

“Hello there!” you called out, waving as you approached. The men, all too familiar with violence and the rougher side of life, were caught off guard by the sight of you—a small, smiling woman heading straight for them.

One of the men, clearly the leader, cleared his throat and put on his best menacing face. “Ma’am, we… uh… we’re looking for someone.”

“Well, you found me!” you beamed. “But I’m afraid you might be mistaken about who you’re looking for. Are you lost? Why don’t you come inside for some tea? I’ve just baked some lemon tarts, and they’re still warm.”

The men exchanged confused glances. This wasn’t how these things usually went. But something about you—your warmth, your kindness—disarmed them completely. Before they knew it, they were nodding and following you into the house, each one feeling more out of place than the last.

Inside, you bustled around the kitchen, brewing tea, slicing tarts, and setting out an array of sandwiches you had planned to eat alone. The men sat around the table, their bulky forms hunched awkwardly over the delicate teacups you handed them.

“So, who is it you’re looking for?” you asked sweetly as you poured them more tea.

The leader, struggling to remember why they were there in the first place, muttered, “We were sent to… uh… collect someone important.”

“Oh dear, I hope it’s nothing serious. You know, my husband is due back any day now. He’s such a dear, but I do worry about him when he’s away.” You sighed softly, the picture of a concerned wife.

The men felt a pang of guilt they weren’t accustomed to. They looked around at the cozy house, the floral curtains, the homemade meal. How could they possibly harm you or take you away? You were like a ray of sunshine, and they were nothing but storm clouds.

As they finished their tea, you packed up the remaining tarts into a neat little box and handed it to the leader. “For the road,” you said with a smile. “I wouldn’t want you going hungry.”

The men, now thoroughly confused and utterly charmed, left the house without so much as a harsh word. As they walked down the driveway, they glanced back to see you waving them off, your smile as bright as ever.

Just as they reached the street, Tangerine’s car pulled up. He stepped out, eyes narrowing as he recognized the men from a job he’d finished the week before. His hand instinctively moved toward the gun under his coat, but he stopped short when he saw you at the door, waving at the men with that sweet smile of yours.

The leader of the group met Tangerine’s gaze, and for a moment, it seemed like things could go south. But then the man raised the box of tarts, nodded once, and muttered, “You’ve got a good one there, mate.” And with that, they left, the mission completely forgotten.

Tangerine watched them go, then turned to you, who had already started fussing over him. “You’re back early! I didn’t even get a chance to make your favorite dinner yet,” you said, pulling him inside.

“What were those men doing here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Oh, them? Just some lost souls looking for directions, I think. They seemed nice enough once you got to know them,” you said, dismissing the incident with a wave.

Tangerine couldn’t help but smirk. Of course, you had no idea who they really were or what they had intended to do. You saw the good in everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. And somehow, that goodness had protected you.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You looked up at him, your eyes full of warmth and love. “And you’re my grumpy bear. Now, come on, I’ve got lemon tarts.”

As you sat down to eat, Tangerine couldn’t shake the image of those hardened men walking away from your house, a box of tarts in hand, thoroughly disarmed by the woman he loved. You had a way of softening even the hardest of hearts, and in that moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

No one would ever understand how you worked together, but that was fine. As long as you had each other, Tangerine knew he’d always have a reason to come home, no matter how tough the job.

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- kingsofeverything -

[1]

“It wouldn’t annoy me. I like talking to you. Hearing from you. You know that.”

Louis does know, though he tries not to think about it. Every time Harry says something like that, something kind or sweet or sincere, Louis laughs it off or makes a joke or changes the subject. It’s bad enough that he has to live with Harry, sleep beside him every night, spend all of his time with him… He has to fight it because he can’t let on how easy it would be to fall back in love with him.

It’d end badly. There’s no way around it. Because when Louis leaves in nine months, he’ll be gone for the next five years of Harry’s life. Five years that Harry hasn’t lived yet—Harry’s future—and neither of them know what’s coming. Louis can’t fall for Harry again when he knows it’ll end in heartbreak.

Once was enough.

[2]

“So, um…” Louis taps his fingers against his knee, and Harry wants to lay his hand on top of Louis’ to stop him, but he refrains, unsure what casual touches mean between them anymore. “We’re having a baby?”

Harry turns to find Louis looking at him hopefully, eyes wide. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. “It’s not a fantasy, Louis. Jesus. This isn’t a game.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry says. He clenches his jaw and then forces himself to relax. Stress isn’t good for the baby.

“Harry, I’m not— I know this is different.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, because it doesn’t even seem real to him right now.

“Yes! I told you about all my siblings. My mom’s a midwife, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry cringes. “Sorry.”

[3]

“You think you’re going to fix the house by yourself? What if you fall off the roof?”

“I’m not going to fall off the roof.”

“Still. You can’t. I’m not okay with that.”

Harry rolls his eyes and closes his laptop. “Fine. Then after the insurance agent is done with their shit, we get someone else to do the work. I know people in town who can do it. I was just trying to save us money.”

“You misunderstand, Styles. I mean I’m not okay with you doing it by yourself.” Louis crosses his arms and smirks. “I’m going to help.”

Harry laughs so hard that when Louis shoves him he actually slips off of his stool and stumbles a bit. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. You’re going to push me off the roof, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

[4]

Harry glances over, line between his eyebrows, lips pursed. “Okay. Let's start simple. I want you to be the Louis who sits at the desk across from me and sometimes brings me coffee and makes fun of my favorite salad. And I want you to also be the Louis on this trip who tickled me until I almost threw up and who held my hand in a hot air balloon and who cleaned the sand out of my eyes. And, even though you have, like, some other guy out there with like ‘circumstances’ or whatever keeping you apart, I want you to be my boyfriend. At least for a little while.”

“Harold,” Louis says, pressing his fist to his lips and closing his eyes as the feeling of relief settles over him.

“What?”

“The circumstances are that he, well, he had a boyfriend. And we work together,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows, and waiting for his words to sink in. 

“Oh…” Harry scrunches his nose and twists his lips, but can’t hide his smile. “It’s me.”

- answers below -

1- The Second Hand Unwinds 

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

2- Say Something

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

3- Don't Want Shelter

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

4- Have Love, Will Travel 

Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

[gffa]

I made the mistake, after episode 7 of the acolyte, to look through the tags (I’ve given up on Reddit for sw discourse lol) and there are so many bad takes out there. It’s like people watched a different episode. I’m glad there are some good meta takes from people like you, or I’d be lost! I think nuance is dead in fandom and people just can’t see things as more than “Jedi Bad!” When there’s so much more nuance than that. Were the Jedi perfect? No! Of course not. That would be so boring. If all Jedi were always perfect, SW would be dull. It’s because they aren’t perfect that they are so compelling. That they try to do the right thing, even if it doesn’t always work out.

A quote that came to mind by Teddy Roosevelt: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Anyways, thanks for your continued good meta and cultivating a nice pro-Jedi space!

Hi! I hear you, it can be tough going into the tags sometimes (and I've given up on both Reddit and Twitter for any kind of discussion, I just do not have the time/energy for that when sometimes I still have to fight for my life on Tumblr) but I will say that the best remedy I have for that is to start posting the content you want to see! It's so satisfying to write down your thoughts just to have fun in your own space, I don't need other people nearly so much because I'm having a great time just making myself laugh or cry over my faves or nerding out over worldbuilding. It's a bonus that I've collected a bunch of really great people around me, both ones I vibe with and ones who are chill when our vibes don't match and we disagree on stuff. I've been having an absolute joy of a time after episode 7 of The Acolyte because I've seen some great posts, I've had some hilarious conversations, etc. And part of that is just. Letting go of a lot of fandom. I'm a lot more relaxed about the Star Wars media I consume because it's not Lucas' Star Wars, I can take or leave it as I will and, most importantly, I don't need the Jedi to be perfect to be good. So much of my need for the Jedi to be perfect once upon a time came from that any little mistake they made, ones that were completely reasonable, ones that were simply just "didn't solve everyone's problems instantly", ones that were present in other characters who were allowed to just be instead of being raked over the coals for it, and how fandom would use those as a bludgeon against the Jedi. And that wasn't fun! So, instead, yeah, the Jedi are flawed, because any character ever is allowed to be flawed. The most cinnamon roll character ever is flawed and that's okay. Luke Skywalker is flawed. Padme Amidala is flawed. Bail Organa is flawed. Yoda is flawed. Obi-Wan Kenobi is flawed. Mace Windu is flawed. Ahsoka Tano is flawed. Leia Organa is flawed. Han Solo is flawed. Lando Calrissian is flawed. Ezra Bridger is flawed. Kanan Jarrus is flawed. Hera Syndulla is flawed. And on and on and on. If those characters can have flaws and be seen as good, well, then that's how I'm going to proceed with my Jedi faves, too. Oh, Mace wasn't bending over backwards to smile and be soft when he was having the worst day ever? That's what you're bringing me to show that he was bad actually? Babe, please, Luke started out as whiny and annoying and he's amazing, so Mace is amazing, too. The Jedi were in a no-win situation, not fighting would mean people would die, fighting meant compromising themselves, they had to make a choice, there was no third way out, there was no secret magical answer in Star Wars, so they did what they could to the best of their ability. And it's not on them to fix everything in the galaxy, they're peace-keepers who were drafted into a war, they're not the whole of the government, they're not there to be social service agents, that's not who they are or what they're equipped for. And yet they still tried to help whenever they could. Everyone fucks up sometimes and that's okay, it doesn't suddenly mean they're the real villain all along, because otherwise they would have to be literally be perfect to be "good" and that's just bad writing imo. Ultimately, just take a break from scrolling through the tags if you can and join me in writing your own stuff, it's hard at first to get the words to come out the way you want them to, but with some time and energy put into it, I've found it to be so much more rewarding. <3

[thenarwhalgal]

Watched ride the cyclone for the first time recently. Wanted to touch on something I found interesting— namely! Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg! Resident gifted kid of Uranium!

She’s a difficult character to like, right? With how she treats everybody else around her and especially Constance, it’s really difficult to defend most of her actions throughout the musical. Luckily, that’s not what I’m doing. Instead, I want to give my thoughts on her, which I don’t think is a particularly new perspective but shut up I wanna talk about it okay?

Okay. So… here’s the thing I find really interesting about her. Ocean has no sense of self. Correction, she does have one main thing that she does know about herself, she is ‘the most successful girl in town.’ Where everybody else (besides Jane and we’ll get to how Jane and Ocean mirror each other in a second), gets a marker of how they act, Constance is the nicest, Ricky is the most imaginative, Mischa the angriest, Noel the most romantic. She’s the most successful. It’s not a facet of her personality, it’s a result. It’s an expectation. It’s external. It’s not a part of her it’s how everybody sees her. The very thing everybody else gets to break out of but she’s stuck in because she only has what everybody else sees her as.

She doesn’t have an internal self. Which is why where everybody else (again: except Jane) gets a song exploring their personal feelings, dreams, and realities… Ocean gets a song not about herself, but about her comparison to everybody else. She is the one who wants to win the competition the most, the one who needs to live again, but she can’t explain why because she doesn’t actually know. All she knows is that she’s the most successful. (Side note: The most successful would win the competition so if she loses… well there goes everything she likes about herself. This is why winning it is not just something she wants… it’s something she needs. She again, has nothing else. This will come back later in her parallels with Jane)

It’s common for kids who grew up in abusive households (as we know she did) to not properly develop a sense of self, and often they can look for that internal validation in external expectations or successes. What is Ocean if she isn’t the most successful person in town?

Basically, give her a few more years alive and when she realizes the same thing every traumatized gifted kid eventually realizes— that you will reach a point at which you begin to fail and your need to be perfect will reach a breaking point because nobody can keep up that level of perfection forever— she will inevitably fall apart and experience the worst case of burnout ever in the history of Uranium.

It’s also interesting to see how and why Ocean chooses Jane. She comments at the end that Karnak knew she could never choose herself. I’ve seen a lot of people assume if given the choice at the beginning she would have voted for herself but I don’t buy that. Ocean knows she could never have voted for herself and she says that straight, her original plan was to get Karnak (the almighty being/weird novelty machine) to pick her, then to get everybody else to vote for her. Both of these outcomes leave the choice in everybody else, because if it was her choice she couldn’t have done it. Because again, her own internal self does not exist, it is based on external success. So it only works if everybody else says she’s the best pick. Success and validation do not exist within her. This is why she’s so flabbergasted by how Ricky could concede. She assumes everybody else has nothing else besides winning either. When in fact the whole point of the musical is that they all do have dreams and wants and desires and internal worlds… except her… and Jane.

Jane Doe is… without a better term and also ignoring everything in this musical other than Ocean’s perspective… her worst nightmare. Being forgotten, not amounting to anything. Having neither an internal self or an external effect. If we consider Ocean to be the protagonist of RTC, Jane plays her direct foil. They are both empty inside, Ocean just has the illusion of personhood and ‘success’ to hide that fact behind… a name. It’s actually kind of interesting how throughout the play, Ocean discovers how much her own life she’s missed or disregarded, while Jane is the one to get a name (Savannah with the greenest eyes). One discovering their internal sense of validation with the other getting their external title. Ocean has to choose Jane because Jane shows her that she infact had her own life to be happy with all along, she didn’t need success, she didn’t need the validation of her peers because she had a life all along that she was ignoring. Jane doesn’t. Jane’s her foil because she shows Ocean the part of herself she missed, the thing she has that separates her from Jane Doe. That makes Jane Doe the only real choice to be brought back to life. Having had a life at all.

Anyway! I just think she’s interesting is all.

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Credits Dialogue

All This Shit is Weird

Trespasser Masterpost

—

Cassandra: What is this? A new book? “All This Shit is Weird.” Oh, Varric. That is a terrible title. What are you even thinking?

Cassandra: “The sky churned like a roiling sea on a dark and stormy night, centered on a gaping hole that led to the ass-end of nowhere. A hole that spit up many things that day: comets, demons… and a whole lot of trouble.” (Gasps.) It’s about the Inquisition!

Cassandra: “The din of the tavern cut the silence like it owed the Carta money. In the middle, in her element, Red Jenny. She looked me up and down—mostly down. ‘Not playing, weirdy,’ she said, gesturing with, and dismissively eating, a sandwich. ‘Don’t write that. Seriously, piss up a rope.’ Sera made the subtext text, which suited me fine.”

Cassandra: “The court enchanter swirled into the room like a drop of beautiful poison spreading in a wine glass. She sized me up with a glance. ‘I’m so glad you made it, my dear,’ she said, ‘I am Madame de Fer, the most terrifying person you shall ever meet.’”

Cassandra: “Leliana enfolded Alphonse in an embrace as warm as a serpent’s kiss. ‘I always knew I could count on your support.’ The count did not feel the bite of her poisoned dart until it was too late. ‘Even if it requires… your death.’”

Cassandra: “Drops of rain glistened on the griffon medallion grasped tightly in Blackwall’s hand. ‘The Silverite Wings of Valor. They mean nothing.’ He flung the medal to the cold and uncaring ground. ‘You don’t know what I’ve done! You. Don’t. Know. Me.’” (Sighs.) So romantic.

Cassandra: “Cole moved like a shadow that also moved like a knife, a shadow wearing a hat where dreams came to die. ‘It’s a riddle,’ he whispered. ‘A cold riddle that gnaws at your mind, but you’ll feel better when it’s gone.’” That… makes as much sense as anything Cole says.

Cassandra: “‘Do you place your Herald above the law, Ambassador?’ ‘Whose law, my lady?’ Josephine’s eyes glittered like angry opals. ‘The law destroyed by rebellion? By civil war? By poor fiscal management? We are the law!’”

Cassandra: “We left our mark on Adamant, but the dust hadn’t settled… and neither had Harding. ‘I can offer you a drink, if I catch your meaning.’ ‘If you’d caught my meaning, you’d have offered a double.’” What is even happening here?

Cassandra: “The Iron Bull was a great slab of muscle with horns that could hang a tapestry. One eye scanned for threats, while the other hid behind an eye patch like a Chantry sister’s old sins. ‘Come on,’ he barked, not looking back as he entered. ‘The dancer with the great rack comes on in five.’” That is… spot-on, actually.

Cassandra: “The commander had the look of a templar who had seen the worst of humanity, yet still had the time to style his hair. ‘This isn’t just a war,’ he said, his gaze steely like a dull blade. ‘It’s the only war.’” Cullen! That’s Cullen!

Cassandra: “The mage wore a class of handsome sneer cultivated by a thousand years of Tevinter elitism. ‘The name’s Dorian,’ he glared. ‘D-O-R-I-A-N. Spell it right, you marble-headed lump, or it’s… toad time.’” A toad? That’s hardly credible.

Cassandra: “The bald elf spun, mage staff crackling like the city after a good man’s murder. ‘You’re crazy!’ the red templar cried in terror. Moonlight glinted off ears like the knives you never see coming. ‘Better to fade out than burn away.’” Ugh. Varric.

Cassandra: Wait, where am I? I don’t… oh, here it is. “The Seeker clutched at my vest, her tears as desperate as they were pitiful. ‘Varric, I was wrong about everything,’ she sobbed. ‘Could you find it in your noble heart to forgive me?’” That dwarf, he… he… He put me in the book! (Giggles.) I’m in the book! I am reading the shit out of this.

[lavellenchanted]

Otp: I want the whole damn thing & 5?

5. Angry Kiss

“April, what the hell are these?”

Jackson’s voice isn’t quite angry (not yet, anyway), just flat and tight, like he wants to sounds neutral but just can’t manage it; but when April turns to look at him, there’s bewilderment written across his face more than anything else as he stares down at the iPad she has so very stupidly left on the kitchen counter open and with the screen on.

A screen that is currently showing house and apartment listings around Boston.

Slowly, Jackson’s eyes lift to meet hers and she feels a guilty blush steal across her cheeks – which is almost immediately followed by a surge of irritation, because she doesn’t have anything to feel guilty over. And she finds it incredibly galling that he would look at her like that, with his eyes soft and confused and betrayed when he’s the one who –

“I was just browsing,” she blurts out, because she doesn’t want to think about that. Except that she already has, which is probably why she sounds so snappishly defensive. “I mean, I’ve got to look at some point, right?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows are drawing down into a frown, and like a mirror of herself she can see the irritation building in him as well. 

They’ve always been too good at that, reflecting their worst emotions back at each other.

“This was only ever temporary.”

April waves a hand, a gesture meant to encompass not just the kitchen but the entire house. A house they had started sharing when they first moved to Boston because that was easier than trying to find two places at the same time, but which was never meant to be her and Harriet’s permanent home here. Just his. 

Except that it has become her home. Worse, it’s become theirs. It feels like cutting out a part of herself to say it isn’t, but how can she stay now? 

“Did I do something? I know you’ve been mad about something for a while.”

She almost wants to laugh because of course he knew. No one has ever been able to see through her quite so easily as Jackson can. It used to frighten her, the way he seemed to strip her bare and see everything, all her fears and insecurities and hopes and dreams, with just a single glance. It also thrilled her, though she tried to deny that for the longest time.

At this particular moment it’s just making her angry, because how can he know her so well and still not understand?

“No, you didn’t –” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

It’s mostly the truth. Okay, maybe she’s mad at him a little bit, but really she’s just mad at herself.

Because she thought that maybe they were –

But she was wrong. Of course she was wrong. That was made very clear last week, when she saw him looking cosy with some annoyingly long-legged blonde woman at the Foundation. 

Intellectually, she knows it’s not Jackson’s fault. She may not have done anything wrong but neither did he, not really. They’re still divorced, and neither of them have ever mentioned dating or getting back together or anything of the sort. A few lingering looks here and there or flirtatious remarks don’t mean anything. They aren’t promises or declarations.

Still, she feels so stupid that it makes her want to scream with an anger that’s sharp and bright and far preferable to focus on than the hurt drumming at her insides.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jackson says drily.

April glares at him. “I just thought that it’s about time Hattie and I found somewhere else.”

Jackson’s jaw tightens. “So when were you going to tell me? Or were you going to tell me? Was I just going to come home one day and find you both gone?”

“Of course not! I was going to tell you when I found a place. Why are you so pissed about it anyway? I thought you’d be glad to have some space back. Then you could bring all the blonde friends you want back here without us getting in the way.”

The words have spilled out before she can stop them, bitter and jealous. She bites down on her lip to stop herself saying any more but it’s too late. Jackson’s staring at her, his expression growing darker, and then suddenly he’s striding across the kitchen to stand right in front of her, towering above her so she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Blonde friends?” he says furiously. “That’s what this is about? I don’t know what makes me more angry, April, the fact that you saw me schmoozing someone who is considering making a huge donation to the Foundation and assumed I was hitting on her, or the fact that you didn’t talk to me about it and just decided to deal with it by moving out. I thought we were past this, the not talking to each other about things.”

April blinks, thrown for a moment by this new information and desperately trying to ignore the sudden, painful burst of hope radiating in her chest, then feels her cheeks warm as her thoughts catch up to what he’s saying.

“Oh, like you talk to me? If I made assumptions, maybe it’s because we’ve been in Boston for eight months and I still don’t know what you want from me, Jackson! You asked me here but I don’t know if it’s just because you didn’t want to be that far away from Harriet, or if you actually want me around –”

She doesn’t get a chance to say any more because Jackson cuts her off, catching her face between his hands and covering her mouth with his. It’s not a gentle kiss – they’re both still too angry for that – and his lips are almost bruising, insistent, each stroke of his mouth delivered with deliberate passion, like he’s making a point and wants to be very clear about it. 

Maybe he is; she curls her fingers into his shirt and pulls him closer, kissing him back with equal fierceness, running her tongue over his bottom lip and then catching it between her teeth. Her heartbeat is roaring in her ears and she can hardly breathe, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to breathe right now. She only wants to keep kissing him, to feel the fire that’s burning through the veins as she presses herself against him and gives in to the hunger and the longing that she’s been trying to bury for months.

Jackson lifts his mouth briefly, tilting his head the other way and between kisses he’s saying, “I want you. I have always wanted you. I will never not want you.”

She brings her arms up to wind them around his neck and whispers back, “I want you too. I want you so much, Jackson.”

Finally, when her head is swimming and her legs feel weak and shaky and like they might collapse any moment they break apart, though she keeps her arms around his neck and he brings his hands to her waist. They’re both breathing heavily, their eyes locked on each other, and April can feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

“I guess we both still need to get better at the talking thing,” Jackson says. “But let me start with saying that I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me.”

April smiles. “Then I’ll stay.”

kiss prompts

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - November 26th

I’m traveling this weekend (at this point I’ve been in the car about 5hrs and have another 8 to go today) so I asked for a few tropes to share fics from. Thanks so much to @ishipallthings & @iwillsinkwithmyships for their suggestions. 

As evere, please leave comment and kudos for your author. 

~*~ 

Bodyguard AUs: 

it goes like this -- by Areiton 

It goes like this, really--

He wants Tony. 

He wants him like he needs air to breath, wants to wipe away all the ones who came before him with mouth and tongue and bruise tight hands. 

He wants Tony and he’s terrified. 

I could lie tangent to your curves by RurouniHime 

Steve is bodyguard to a prominent young socialite with too much genius on his hands... and who has taken an unfortunate shine to him.

(Written for royal_chandler, who won the bid for my offer in Marvel Trumps Hate 2018.)

Triple-A Rated by iam93percentstardust 

Three assassination attempts in two weeks. That's gotta be some kind of record. Three attempts - and that doesn't even count the Ten Rings. Tony's pretty sure that Stane's trying to kill him again. Fury's pretty sure of the same thing, which is why he starts sending agents to protect him. It's just that Tony doesn't like any of his new bodyguards - except one.

Safety by CSHfic, VSfic 

The suit needs repairs, and Tony thinks he's being clever when he tells the Avengers that Iron Man is away on personal business...until Steve helpfully volunteers to be Tony's bodyguard in his place.

Historical AU 

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

Maybe Tomorrow by scifigrl47

Tony Stark may well be the richest man in America. In the depths of the Great Depression, that's no small claim. When a plot is hatched for him to take in an orphan for a week, everyone knows it's a publicity stunt. No one knows it better than Officer Steve Rogers, but he's got a job to do, and he's going to do it. Doesn't mean he's going to approve.

Yes, it's an Annie AU.

Yes. That Annie.

Love Match by FestiveFerret

Tony had but one goal for the season: secure a marriage proposal from an alpha with the position and means enough to remove him from his father's house. Love was wholly irrelevant to the matter.

Peep Show by BladeoftheNebula

“Alright there, Sugar?” A voice came from behind him and he whipped around to see an omega with a little box of tokens. “You know you got to put one in to start right?”

Steve felt his face heat. “Yes ma’am. I was just uhh—“

“First timer?” He nodded and she gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, don’t worry, there’s glass behind the curtain, so the omegas can’t bite.” Then she winked. “That costs extra.”

Steve’s face got even hotter. He certainly wasn’t doing that.

Steve knew he wasn't any omega's first choice, or hell, even third. But what starts as a visit to a seedy Peep Show in Manhattan ends up changing his life for good.

An Inglourious Affair by morphia

In 1944, Steve's commando team, The Basterds, are off to fight nazis in France. Tony joins their efforts after intelligence suggests that Herr Kleiser, a German scientist, has set his sights on making a massive nuclear bomb. Their mission: Get to Kleiser before he completes his evil plan. What neither of them had planned for, however, was to fall in love in the middle of the worst war either of them had ever seen.

Mail Order Bride/Arranged Marriage 

Object: Matrimony by BladeoftheNebula

Omega Tony Stark craves adventure and an escape from the life his parents have planned for him in New York. He places a listing in a marriage catalogue to seek a match with an alpha out West, and Sheriff Steve Rogers answers his advertisement. But finding a nice alpha doesn't mean it's all smooth sailing from there...

I Whisper Your Name on Each Star I See Falling by JezebelGoldstone, littleblackbow

The day Natasha first told Steve her idea, he never would have dreamed that her fool notion would land him here: watching the train roll into the station and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that somewhere in there is the man who agreed to marry him.

Steve, an alpha farmer living outside a small town in the Rockies who doesn't want to admit how lonely he is, has been exchanging letters with omega Tony for nearly a year. When at last Tony arrives in Big Eden, Steve is confronted with the fact that he doesn't know Tony as well as he thought he did - and falls for him harder than a landslide anyway.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile) by starklystar

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

[niki-phoria]

Helloooooo can I request a song fic with yeonjun x male reader with Taylor swift's song "enchanted"? It gives me 'they broke up predebut but years later after meeting decided to try again' vibes LMFAOOO I VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR WORK AND OMFG I SAW THE LISTS OF YOUR UPCOMING WORKS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AUTHOR LOVE YOUUU

pairing: yeonjun x male!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angstish to fluff word count: 504

includes: exes to lovers, not exactly a songfic but based on the bridge of enchanted by taylor swift, the reunion part is kinda awkward lol, they both cry

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :)) and i love you too <33 based on this prompt list from @novelbear

“y/n?” yeonjun whispers in disbelief. turning around to face him, you freeze at the sight of the man before you. you blink once. twice. three times. he tenses as he watches the recognition set in. 

you look different than he remembers. you’ve grown into your features since the last time he first saw you. you were only a nervous high schooler then - anxiously fidgeting with your fingers with each step you took, face littered with acne, and voice cracking with nearly every syllable that left your lips. 

a soft smile pulls at the corners of your lips after a few seconds, much to yeonjun’s shock. the tension in your shoulders relaxes slightly. “yeonjun?” 

“it’s good to see you again,” he finally murmurs. 

you nod, if not a little stiffly. “you too.”

“are you… seeing anyone?”

you bite your bottom lip, eyes flickering down towards the ground before you meet his gaze once again. “no. not since…”

since me, yeonjun thinks. not since i left.

guilt racks through him at your admission. he uncomfortably shifts underneath your gaze, readjusting the position of his hands in his pockets. “yeah, uh… me neither.”

you awkwardly purse your lips before taking a small step backwards. “maybe i should go,” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

“y/n, wait,” yeonjun catches your wrist in his hand before he can stop himself. he lets go almost immediately, though neither of you attempt to make any other movements. “the worst thing that i’ve ever done was leave you that night,” he whispers. tears sting at the corners of his eyes. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

yeonjun’s hands tremble as he cups your face between his hands. you let yourself relax into his touch, coiling yourself even closer to his skin. despite the time that’s passed, he still knows how to make you shiver. how to calm you down. how to make you feel loved.

squeezing your eyes shut, you let instinct take over. your grip is unrelenting around yeonjun’s shoulders, tightly pressing your bodies together. your head still fits into the crook of his neck like it used to. his hands feel warm when they wrap around your waist, sending familiar shivers down your spine. your tears mix together; hearts beating in sync, replicating a pattern you haven’t felt in years but still remember. 

“i never stopped loving you,” you choke out. tears roll down your cheeks in waves. 

“i love you too,” yeonjun sniffles. you can barely make out his silhouette in front of you through your blurry vision. he reaches up to rest a hand against your face, gently pressing your foreheads together. “can you give me another chance?”

pain stings in your chest. it rattles your lungs each time you breathe. despite your better judgement, a selfish part of you wants to cling to yeonjun. despite your better judgement, you pull him even closer. despite your better judgement, you don’t let go. “please don’t make me regret this.”

“you won’t,” he whispers. “i promise you won’t.”

[gerardpilled]

literally stop being an mcr fan then! why can you forgive gerard but not lynz? everyone will pretend they support the idea of allowing someone to learn and grow and change but then they'll see a woman and go oh no not her she's irredeemable like? the double standards are ridiculous

It’s so crazy… I’ve seen countless people say that she needs to explicitly apologize for her actions and yeah I guess that would be nice. I just think it's a more complicated and nuanced situation than it might seem. Her apologizing for being in msi and participating in complicit racism would implement a lot of people and make them guilty by association. It would imply everyone including the sound guys who worked shows would then be connected to "having worked for a racist band" and could seriously complicate relationships - both working and not.

Also, I sometimes really don't understand why this is a discussion worthy of so much time other than reflecting on the atmosphere that allowed such a band to rise within the scene? (I think there's a real meaningful conversation to be had about the excusing of racism from a lot of people within the alt music scene even today.)The band hasn’t toured since 2014? Acts like Marilyn Manson - who among all his other crimes also used racial slurs as shock value - is actively touring. And for the double standards - Frank fucking toured with msi in 2013 like why not cancel him for that LOL!!! Or god forbid, Gerard for working with Jimmy Urine in 2018.

Even forgiving Gerard for saying he’s Japanese while dogpiling Lindsey for saying she’s partially Indian when she doesn’t even know her birth dad is wild to me. The tweets are very similar to each other - and neither of them have apologized? I've seen people start excusing Gerard's tweet, extrapolating info like "he must have taken a DNA test" well, there's no proof of that, and why not extend that benefit of the doubt to Lindsey? Like yes, she shouldn’t have said it but Gerard shouldn’t have either! I also just can't help but think there are more important issues oh my god!!! I've seen people - both Indian and East Asian alike - express discomfort with both Lindsey's and Gerard's actions, and I completely understand that! I just only ever see Lindsey's held to such irredeemable levels, and that's usually by white people who I personally feel are overstepping their role. I just can't help but think some white people do not have meaningful, real life, conversations with the demographics they are supposedly advocating for.

I am definitely not the person to absolve her of her sins or excuse anything she’s done and people she’s hurt, but do people (and I mean primarily other white people who - from my experience - are mainly the ones posting hate about her) realize she has probably been the most clear and explicit about her anti-racist learning curve? Out of anyone even remotely connected to mcr, she has posted and done more direct funding and outreach for Black organizations than anyone. Yes, that’s Twitter activism and doesn’t exactly amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but if people who hate her judge her off of her internet footprint, why not use the same to realize maybe she has learned?

I recently tried to see if she had acknowledged any of her faults publicly- and to my shock - she has!

I’m not saying this is the best response to every thing but I also never saw this mentioned ever before.

I truly think some of the worst stuff she’s done is publicly support Jimmy Urine after the allegations came out but again everyone who just spreads that as a fact completely misses the context of her ex friend spreading unhinged rumors about her for like a year before those allegations came out. Jessicka Adams accused Gerard of sexual misconduct and started claiming that Lindsey was in cahoots with a man who accused Jessicka of sleeping with him when he was underage. Truly unhinged stuff.

If I was Lindsey and my ex-friend was doing that, purposefully targeting people close to me, I also might immediately assume she was behind those against the lead singer of my old band! She should NOT have voiced her suspicions publicly, and I do think that was wrong, but it’s not like she doubled down on it since? I know a lot of people would like to think they would act differently if they were in her shoes, but really think about it! If allegations that arose online came out against a man you called a friend - who you let watch your daughter - would you immediately publicly turn against him? She should have apologized when it became clear the allegations were not unfounded, but even when the news first broke she was liking tweets which better explained her mindset. Also last I heard, they are no longer friends at all.

Again with the double standards though. I've seen no noise around Mikey’s wife publicly defending wife abuser Johnny Depp (a person she does not even know) when he won his trial? Or the fact that Gerard was also very good friend with Jimmy and most likely shares a similar opinion as his wife?

I've also seen people say things like "well she should have known because of all the signs" I think this a dangerous oversimplification. What about the band No Devotion? Everyone loves them here. They formed after their old lead singer was exposed as rapist with multiple situations of him sleeping with young girls on tour. Why didn't those guys know about it?

I also just feel like using this case a justification to hate her alongside stuff like "she made a mikey hate blog!!" (she didn't) just feels so wrong to me. It’s like people are happy this happened to a woman because it gives justification to hate Lindsey. I see no attempts to support this Jane Doe with tweets of support or some kind of fundraiser. It's always just rooted in hatred of another woman.

[emjiroki]

Prince Shoto x Court Lady Reader

Warnings: love confessions, cuddling/kissing

“F-Fuyumi, what are y-” You stammered before one of her slender fingers pressed against your lips in an attempt to quiet you. 

“Before I ask you anything I have something to get off my chest,” She said in a hushed but almost hurried tone, “I know about you and Shoto, about his wishes to marry you. He’s told me everything, from the very beginning I’ve known. I know you two snuck away to the gardens tonight”.  Your cheeks were burning so hot it felt like your skin had stolen the heat from her candle, and your palms began to sweat. But you couldn’t muster anything to say before she continued. 

Passing through the kitchen to get to the servant stairway that leads up past their courters to the main hall. Just as you turned the corner to tiptoe past Fuyumi’s door again, it creaked open, the Princess peaking around the doorway in her nightgown with a candle illuminating her soft cheeks. Before you were able to say anything she was reaching her hand out, wrapping her fingers around your wrist and tugging you through her doorway, shutting the door behind her softly 

“And… And I know that my mother knows now,” There seemed to be something heedful in her tone as she finally looked up from her shaking hands to look deep into you with her dark eyes, “I’m deeply afraid for your safety if my mother decides it to be in her best interest to tell my Father”. This was your concern as well, the Queen was enough of a threat on her own but to get the King involved would be the worst kind of blunder. 

“I- what do I do?” You asked honestly, nearly begging as tears pooled in your eyes. She took one of your hands in hers, squeezing it as you had to her earlier that day.

“Nothing. Don’t do anything, act as if nothing has changed and then I-” She paused for a moment, contemplating her next words as her eyes searched yours, “Leave. Flee from this place as fast as you can and start a new life somewhere”. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks at the same time you watched hers trail down and drip from her jaw. But she steadied herself, ever poised and sure of her movements as she turned to her wardrobe, shifting a panel in the wooden side that you had never seen and retrieving a leather coin bag.

“This is all the money, and small pieces of gold jewelry that I’ve saved and gathered over the last few years for-,” Again she cut herself off, wiping away tears with the sleeves of her nightgown with a faraway look before shaking her head as if she thought of something silly. “It doesn’t matter, I want you to take it". You both knew the Queen would never allow you to travel with the Princess to her new kingdom now, would come up with every reason why you couldn't, and then have you thrown out or worse after Fuyumi was gone. Neither of you had to say it. She set the bag lightly in your hands, her soft fingers gripping yours around it. 

“I am going to be selfish and ask that you wait to leave until after the Ball, I need you to be there,” She said earnestly, taking a breath to steady her nerves.

“Of course,” you nodded, slightly proud because as far as you know Fuyumi had never done a selfish thing in her life, but a rock still sat in the pit of your stomach. “I’m really not sure what I’m going to do”. ‘How am I going to tell Shoto’

The next few days went by quickly, preparations for Fuyumi’s big night making the castle the busiest it's ever been. People bustling around with large flower arrangements, servants polishing the floors to a near mirror-like quality, cooks and bakers swarming around the kitchens and pantries. It was all very overwhelming and a good distraction from the elephant that seemed to loom in every room you had the displeasure of sharing with the Queen. Rei was polite and almost subdued at her best moments, aloof and barely even acknowledging your existence just as you hoped, but venomous at her worst. Never a steely word spoken but if looks could kill you would be decomposing in the garden. You would never catch her eyes on you but feeling her dark gaze following every move you made had your skin breaking into goosebumps. You stuck close to Fuyumi, assisting her with any and everything she needed, never letting a moment pass where you were alone anywhere until night when you could escape to your room just down the hall from hers and lock the door behind you. Lying in bed the night before the ball had your mind racing, thinking of all the preparations still not done. Being with the princess through all of the errands and fittings and various meetings with the family florist, you had been left so exhausted once dark fell that you could barely keep your eyes open. No bag packed, no plans made other than just the need to get out. Everything in you wanted to tell Shoto but you knew if you did it would only lead to him coming with you and then the entirety of the King’s army trailing to find him soon after. There would be no escaping if he came with you and it made your heart ache. It was a restless night of sleep, tossing and turning until you heard the servants shuffling about in their quarters above your head. It was still dark out, with no sign of the sun just yet as you attempted yet again to close your eyes and rest for even a few minutes. A soft knock startled you into sitting up in bed, heart pounding in your throat. 

“Who’s there?” you called softly, putting your feet on the floor. 

“It’s me, open up” Shoto’s voice was muffled as he lightly jiggled the knob. You were quickly moving to the door, allowing him in quickly before shutting and locking it again. 

“What are you doing? Your mother probably has someone watching us” You said in a harsh whisper. 

“I made sure no one followed me,” He said, stepping away from the door and pulling you with him so your voices couldn’t be heard, “I wanted to see you”. 

With everything happening and being so busy, especially with the issue at hand, you hadn’t been able to steal away and see each other for even a moment over the last few days. You wrapped your arms around him with a heavy sigh, it had only just occurred to you how drained you felt. You lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping so strongly just below your ear as your eyes shut, soaking in his warmth and just savoring the moment. It was going to hurt so bad to leave this. 

“Let’s lay down for a while, we’ve still got a couple of hours,” Shoto said with a soft kiss on your temple.

“But-”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” He said with finality in his tone, toeing his boots off to stow them at the foot of your bed. You couldn’t argue with that, the people who shouldn’t know already do, and the door is locked, the King and Queen more than likely still sound asleep along with half the guard. You climbed into bed under the simple blanket and could finally feel yourself relaxing in his comforting presence. He pulled you closer until you were against his chest again, strong arms around you and holding you close as if any slack would allow you to slip away. 

“I just wanted to spend a little time with you before all the craziness today,” He said with a soft sigh as he relaxed with you finally in his arms after far too long, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I won’t be able to see you until tonight”. Excitement jolted through you at the thought, Shoto was always so handsome in his Family’s reds. You had only seen him in them twice, both times he had headed out to meetings with his Father. 

“I’m asking you to dance with me tonight,” Shoto said and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” You asked, a soft smile adorning your face as well. He shrugged, chuckling as you squeezed him tighter.

“No, but as of now I do not care and I certainly won’t care later”. You were both so close in the bed, warmth bleeding into each other as your cheeks began to burn and your heart began to race. It didn’t matter how many times Shoto had been here before it never failed to feel like the first time. Though the relationship between you hadn’t gone farther than kisses, whispered words, and clinging arms, the lack of space between you and the situation at hand made the moment feel so much more intimate. You could feel his fingers trailing up and down your back, his heart thumping evenly in his chest, his steady breaths. 

“Kiss me,” You whispered, angling your head up to look him in the eye, to press your lips with his as he immediately moved forward with a soft groan, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. Starving for it in silence. He was always so gentle like you were made of glass and any wrong movement would shatter you, his lips soft against yours, his breathing almost hesitant as if he wasn’t sure when to stop. You pulled away for a moment, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed quietly.

“What for?” He asked, taking a deep shaky breath. 

“For everything,” You said without hesitation. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping across the skin where an unknown tear had fallen.

“Don’t apologize,” He whispered, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, we’ll get through this,”. You nodded, allowing him to hold you close, his fingers on your spine and your hand in his hair lulling you both to rest for the time you had left.

[forgedroyalseal]

His Worst Nightmare

Chapter 9

Halt stood patiently as Horace silently paced back and forth in front of him. After leaving Will at the cabin, they walked out to a clearing, not a single word muttered between the two. Horace had been trying to gather his thoughts for quite some time, but Halt did not rush him, did not push.

“Ok.” Horace says finally, staring Halt down. “I kind of hate you.”

Halt nodded, “I kind of hate myself too.”

Horace frowns, “That, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

Halt shrugged, “That doesn’t change the fact that that’s how I feel.”

“It’s just,” Horace groaned in frustration, “Will is like my brother. And I am sick and tired of him getting hurt again and again because of the rangers. Because you feel guilty about what happened to his dad. Because you took a shining to him when we were kids. Because he’s desperate to impress you, even if it kills him.”

“Will has impressed me every day since we first met. He could have decide to be a farmer instead of a ranger and I’d still be proud of him.”

“Does he know that?” Horace asks, but they both know the answer.

Halt had the decency to look somewhat regretful. “I should tell him more.”

Horace scoffs, “If you start now he’ll just think it’s out of pity. Or guilt.”

“I want you to know that I really appreciate all that you’ve done for him these past couple weeks.” Halt redirects the conversation, trying to get it back on track. “You’ve succeeded where I’ve failed him. Neither of us will ever forget how you’ve taken care of him. And I can’t imagine how hard it is for you now that we are all here. But everyone in that cabin,” Halt points down the path, “are here to help both of you.”

Horace feels his hackles rise in defense. “I can take care of him.”

“I know, you’ve more than proved that.” Halt placated. “But you deserve help. There’s not a doubt in my mind that if you had to, you and Will could be perfectly fine all on your own. But you aren’t on your own, you don’t need to do it alone.”

Horace sniffs and turns away from Halt. “I don’t know how to be ok with you.”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t expect you to be.” Halt gently turns Horace back to face him and wipes the tears that had fallen onto his cheeks. “I just ask that you let us help. And if the most helpful thing I can do is stay away, I’ll do it. But know that I’ll always be here for both of you.”

Horace sighs. “It’s not fair to Will if I ask you to stay away for my own comfort. He missed you. And after everything, he doesn’t deserve to have any more suffering.” Horace straighten, “So, you’re not going to stay away. You are going to be here. You are going to show up for Will because you need each other. And if it gets to be too much or too hard, and you abandon him again, I’m going to hunt you down and kick your ass.”

Halt bit down a smile and nodded seriously, “I’d expect nothing less.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“-And so I was like, I don’t know who you think you are, but my brother is engaged to the crown princess so I’m pretty sure that means I out rank you.”

Horace and Halt catch the tail end of Jenny’s story as they step back into the cabin. The group is sprawled out around the room, with Will tucked between Jenny and Alyss, and Gilan leaning against the couch behind Jenny. George has pulled a chair over to sit in front of Will, and Crowley and Pauline watch the entire interaction from the kitchen table where they are sipping coffee out of steaming mugs. The scene is so warm and domestic, Halt momentarily forget what called them all together.

Horace passes by Halt with a groan. “Jen, how many times do I have to tell you, Cassandra and I aren’t engaged yet, you can’t keep telling people that, at some point, someone is going to believe it.”

“That’s the point! If you’re going to drag your feet about this whole thing, spreading rumors about you might actually be forced into getting a move on!” Jenny protests.

Will grins, “Yeah man, what’s the hold up? You wait any longer, Cass might come to her senses and find someone in her league.”

“Ugh, I forgot how awful you two are when you gang up on me. Alyss, make them stop.” Horace flung himself to the floor to lean against Alyss’ knees. She instantly began scratching his head just as she used to when they were children and he couldn’t sleep.

“Don’t tease him.” She chastised Will and Jenny. “It’s not his fault he’s a bit slow.”

“Hey!”

The wardmates continued their bickering as Halt took a seat beside Pauline.

“How was your walk?” She asked softly.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

Halt let out a heavy breath. “Hard. Those boys, they, they’re struggling. And it’s my fault.”

“Halt,” Crowley said sternly, “you did what you had to do to save Will’s life.”

“That’s not what I mean. They are struggling because I left them. I left Will when he needed me the most. I left Horace to try to figure out how to keep Will alive and sane all by himself. I put my own feeling above their needs.”

Crowley and Pauline glanced at each other, and Halt has known them long enough that he could read the look they shared.

“And you both know I’m right.” He sat back.

“The only reason to look behind is to guide your steps forward. There’s no point in rehashing the past. What are you going to do moving forward? That’s what’s important.” Pauline says.

“To start with, I’m moving back in. Tonight.”

Crowley nods, “I’ll speak with Rodney first thing tomorrow morning. He’s had a knight or two lose an arm. I’ll see if he’s got any suggestions for making Will’s life a little more accessible.”

“And most importantly, you both need to ask Will how he wants to move forward. Find out if he’d like to retire or if you need to start looking into how he can maintain an active role in the Corps.”

Halt and Crowley both frown at Pauline. “How could he still have an active role? Pauline, he can’t-“

Pauline cuts Crowley off, “We don’t know what he can or can’t do right now. Will is extremely clever, if anyone could work out how to live their life in this condition, it’s him.” She looks over at the young man, whose head was now dropped on Alyss’ shoulder, a sleepy smile painted on his face as he watches Jenny hit Gilan over the head with a pillow. His eyes shift to her and he offers a little wave. Her voice softens, “He just needs to be reminded that he still has options, that he can still have a happy future. That his life isn’t over.”

[thesungod]

their theme is so inconsistent like at the beginning it feels clear, being who you are and accepting each other’s darkness, but the way its done is 😬 and then it switches up to being literally budget toa saying “well everything can change yk??? don’t stay in the darkness” but in a horrible fashion and they’re acting like this is what they’ve been trying to tell me in the past 400 pages when it ISNT dont LIE to ME

i don’t think EITHER of them was reading the book as they write they were just mashing words together bc im watching a book promo for it rn and rick’s saying that will likes nico bc he likes nicos ““darkness”” and how intrigues him and mark’s saying neither of nico or will wants to change that core part of the other. which explains away him in BOO trying to tell nico that nobody disliked him—being that will was projecting his own feelings about nico onto others—and also relates will to apollo even more with their need to reach out to outcasts and love them. but then they didn’t write that they literally wrote that will doesn’t like it and he wants to fix it. thats my STEP SON and they did that to him.

rick did not want to write this book at all, and mark probably projected their nico stanisms onto the other characters without justifying the stanisms. you can really tell when rick has a passion for writing something and when he could not care less. the subtle toa promo in one of the gorgyra scenes and apollo’s updated glossary—he wants you to read toa so bad he could not gaf about this book. and yet apollo is never mentioned positively like give him back to me.

speaking of mark i think this is just a consistent issue they have when writing. i read reviews of one of their books (anger is a gift) and some were very negative about the way the narrative made the protagonist the most righteous person ever and completely revolved around them. ifl that issue bleeds into this book as well.

i saw people (including the writers) say this book is darker than a lot of rick’s other books and i really need them to shut the fuck up; THO literally had kids tied up in crucifixes to be burned at the stake 😭

ok sorry for the ramble i see the letters tsats together and i go on a rampage

you absolutely ate this up!!

also laughing at you calling it “budget toa” because that’s exactly what i said to a friend about this book once. i felt almost offended over the authors trying to fit the “everyone can change!!” narrative last minute and make Nico the symbol of re-invention after five whole books of ToA. i was very “how dare you stand where he stood” about it which is childish but alas.

i’ve also mentioned several times how will and nico’s conflict in the book was not intriguing to read about because it was inconsistent. not to mention that according to the timeline they’ve been together for a year!!! an entire year!!! and the book still has Will acting #shocked that Nico, idk, likes darkness.

the Mary-Suing of Nico literally the worst thing to ever happen to me. i’m usually all for my faves winning, but that’s after they’ve been through the mortifying ordeal of losing, yk. and i get that Nico has been through a lot but the book was basically a 400-pages-long ass kissing and i couldn’t do it.

i couldn’t even feel particularly moved or vindicated by Bob pledging loyalty to him in the end because it wasn’t cathartic at all. i was like we get it dude lol

same with his “friendship” with Piper tbh. not everyone needs to like Nico😭 i would have totally loved it if the book had shown a friendship progress organically through their grief for Jason or common interests (even if just briefly narrated through a recollection!! i’m not saying we needed chapters of flashbacks or Piper as a third main), but Nico does not mention her once ever. they didn’t even like each other in HoO!! then at the end of the book he calls her and he is all like “of course she wouldn’t be angry at me for not calling after Jason died <3 she understands that grief is complicated <3”

my king Piper isn’t angry at you for not calling because she dgaf about you. why would she. who are you to her

another thing I’ll never get over re: Nico and Will’s relationship is how, per the book, Nico encouraged Will to come out and was the first one of the two to do so, when every. single. thing written about them in the Hidden Oracle suggests the opposite.

why the fuck is Nico so reticent and embarrassed about admitting to be Will’s boyfriend in the first book of ToA if it’s Nico who came out first? IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP might I add?

because i get that coming out to someone doesn’t necessarily mean being comfortable coming out to everyone, but Nico announced his crush IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP. and asked Will out. and Will wasn’t out at the time. so whyyyy is their dynamic on THO literally the opposite of this? with Will pushing Nico to be more open about their relationship while Nico plays coy? because Apollo is Will’s father? idk, maybe i guess😭

but it’s pretty obvious the change in the dynamic was established later on and that the impression we were supposed to have while reading THO is that Will was the one more comfortable and in tune with his sexuality. like, come on.

[anneapocalypse]

15 lines of dialogue

Thank you for the tags @redwayfarers and @lilas!

Tagging: @farfromdaylight @dreadfutures @rosella-writes @darethshirl @ecosystem-administrator @ialpiriel @ishgard

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

These are all going to be from unposted works in progress, but here we go. 😉

"If this is the price of the Blessing of Light—if you're going to take everyone I love, over and over again, then I don't want it! Do you hear me? I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't…"

"You didn't have to do this. You helped save Ishgard, too. You should be here to see the changes you wrought."

“I’ll be honest, I never imagined anyone would use the word ‘formidable’ to describe me. I do most of my work standing behind someone with a sword.”

“It’s not that. I’ve trained under people who didn’t like me or believe in me before. I can handle it. It was… he started going on about how archery was a Wildwood discipline, passed down through generations. He said I could never understand.”

"My home is gone. There’s nothing for me to go back to. I’m not Gridanian. I’m not Ishgardian. I’m not anything. I’m not even… I’m not even one of you. The Scions. Not really. You’ve all known each other for years, you knew Master Louisoix, you have all this history. I’m just some farm girl you pulled off the street because I had headaches and saw things. No matter what people call me, even the ones who think I’m a hero, I’m never one of them. I save the day, and then I move on. I never belong anywhere.”

"I understand you developed a unique variation on the carbuncle? I should love to hear about the theory behind it."

“He’d turn me loose in his library, and then ask me about what I’d read and what I thought of it. No care for what was appropriate for children, either! Ma used to argue with him about it, until she realized it was fruitless. ‘Books are for everyone,’ he’d say. ‘If she can understand it, then she can read it, and if she doesn’t she’ll put it down soon enough and find another.'”

“Urianger, this is important, so listen carefully. I want to hear everything about the fae. Everything. Should you ever doubt my desire to hear about something, you may ask me, ‘Ariane, wouldst thou care to hear of the intricacies of the customs of the fair folk?’ that I may assure you, my dear friend, that I do in fact want to hear all about it.”

“You knew that I would do what needed to be done no matter what, right? You knew that I would not turn from the plight of this star, no matter the danger to myself. That isn’t why you kept this from me, is it?”

"A smile better suits a hero. Perhaps it does, love. Perhaps it does, but I haven't one to give, at the moment."

"What do you know of his history? Do you know how it has haunted him, what he did to Minfilia? What he kept from us? Did you see him shut himself up in the Waking Sands, convinced he deserved neither comfort nor forgiveness?"

“How would I have done otherwise? When have I ever done anything but what other people told me to do? I couldn’t defy my own mother until she was dead.”

"Sometimes she was. Other times, she was a woman who gave in to all her worst fears about the world, one for whom everything beyond our doorstep was deadly and terrifying, and would have denied me a life because of it. But I dare say she was right about the tea. And the soup."

“I loved a woman once who gave up her life for me. And then I loved a man who did the same. And I’m so tired of losing people, I’m so tired—I don’t want anyone else to give up everything for me. I just want someone who will stay. Live with me. Be by my side. Be with me, whatever we face—together. I said I couldn’t ask you to change who you are, but it’s more than that. I don’t want you to change who you are. Just be with me.”

"Perhaps some things are meant to be. But the secret of our art is it's as much shaping the future as it is reading it. You've said yourself, love—you may accept what you see foretold, or defy it. As our dear Minfilia stood before the Flood of Light. It gives me some comfort to think that things can be changed. To believe—and I do—that the future is not set in stone."

[2baddiesfanfics]

‘Til Eternity Do Us Part

Pairing: Ei x Miko

Tags: Scissoring, Wedding Night, Weddings, Vaginal Fingering, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Sex

Summary:

Yae Miko and Ei are finally married, and after a whirlwind ceremony and reception, they’re looking forward to some privacy. It seems they’re not too tired to christen their wedding bed. 

Read on Ao3

The day had passed in a whirlwind of emotion. Though the two were now married, the reality simply hadn’t sunk in yet. After 500 years apart, Ei and Miko had much to catch up on. The one thing that couldn’t wait was making a new vow to one another - that neither would leave the other ever again.

The kitsune had suggested it wasn’t necessary, but the Shogun had insisted.

I’ve already made the worst mistake of my entire existence by abandoning you once. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, my dearest Miko.

The kiss, the cake, the dancing. Ei felt as if she was observing the ceremony and reception as a third party - it just hadn’t seemed real. They were no longer bound by a duty to just Inazuma, but now a duty to each other.

They had agreed they would split their time between Tenshukaku and the Grand Narukami Shrine, but the latter seemed to be the more appropriate place for the celebration to be held. After most of the guests had gone home, the two retreated to Miko’s living quarters on the grounds to wind down for the evening.

The guuji flung open the sliding door and was just about to rid herself of her shoes before Ei put a hand on her shoulder.

“I believe it’s tradition to carry the bride over the threshold,” she informed her.

“Ei, dearest, we’re both brides…whoever will carry whom?”

“Do you think you’re strong enough to lift me?”

Miko scoffed at the ridiculous notion. “Heavens, no! I suppose that settles it.”

Ei rolled her eyes before sweeping the kitsune off her feet. The scent of Sakura blossoms tickled her nose and she began to dream of how lovely it would be to come home to this every day for the rest of their lives.

“Welcome home, my love!” Miko teased as she kissed the Shogun’s cheek.

Ei laughed as she carried her to the bedroom. “Home certainly has a beautiful ring to it. Definitely beats meditating in the Plane of Euthymia. But, my, you sure are energetic all of a sudden. I thought by now you’d be ready to fall asleep after the day we’ve had.”

“Maybe I’m just excited to be with my wife tonight and used my foxy shrewdness to convince our guests I was oh-so-tired,” she responded with a dramatic hand to her forehead.

Placing her down on the bed, the Shogun kissed her before saying, “Well thank goodness one of us took the fall. If I had to hear Chiori try to explain the intricacies of our dresses to that oni fellow one more time…”

Ei began to assist Miko in removing her outfit, guiding the straps off her shoulders while kissing her neckline as she went. “I’m glad we finally get to be alone. Seeing you in this all day made it hard for me to focus on anything else…”

She grabbed for her zipper, her index finger slowly trailing along her spine as she slid it downward. Miko purred, her back slightly arching at her touch. The guuji let the fabric fall to the floor, eager to watch Ei slip out of her own dress.

“Need help?”

“No. Sit back and wait for me,” the Shogun commanded.

“Tsk. So demanding.”

When she had shed herself of her clothing, Ei crawled on top of her, desperately seeking her lips. It started as a slow, simmering passion. They’d done this countless times before, but it still felt new and exciting after everything they’d been through to get to this day. Miko was the first to intensify, lightly nipping at the Shogun’s bottom lip.

“You can’t always be in control, you know. We’ll have to work on that.”

With a smirk, Ei ignored her comment, peppering kisses down her chest. Her hand slid between the other woman’s legs, teasing the sensitive flesh there.

“Oh, hush. I know you may be used to bossing the shrine maidens around, but I think you secretly like it when I take the lead.”

Latching onto her wife’s nipple, she sucked and swirled her tongue. The Shogun moaned and the vibration caused it to perk in her mouth. Miko’s slick practically oozed out of her, drenching Ei’s fingers as she entered her.

“Archons…” the woman gasped as she slowly pumped in and out of her. Her thumb stroked her clit in time, and she could feel the guuji start to clench around her digits. The kitsune’s hips rose to meet her thrusts, silently begging for her to move quicker. Then, suddenly, the Shogun stopped.

“Ei! What are you doing?! I was almost…oooooh…”

The other woman had stopped to adjust their positioning, their legs now entwined as she pressed their cores against one another. Rocking back and forth, Ei ground out, “Patience, love. We were united in one way today…It’s time we consummated that vow - together.”

Miko whimpered as she felt her wife’s bud slide against her own, aching for release. They kissed deeply, their tongues mimicking the movement of their hips. The sounds of their gasps and moans spurred them ever closer to their orgasm.

As their grinding hit a fever pitch, Ei slid her hand into her wife’s, their fingers intertwined in a way that mirrored their bodies.

“Come with me, my wife,” she whispered. The two thrashed as waves of pleasure crashed over them. Placing a kiss on the kitsune’s sweat-drenched forehead, Ei shifted to rest next to her.

“So…can I assume this is a preview of our eternity?” Miko teased.

The Shogun chuckled. “I do believe the mortal saying is ‘Happy wife, happy life,’ correct?”

[mutable-manifestation]

Hello, I’m Ameera a 23 years old Muslim lesbian who is trying to come out, I’ve been in the closet with my girlfriend for way too long, because of how dangerous and hard it is to come out as a lesbian to a religious Muslim family, but me and my girlfriend have decided to do whatever it takes and risk it all to come out, do you mind supporting and encouraging us?, though I know we all have what we dealing with, so I’m not imposing we just need all the support and encouragement we can get, check my pinned post for more information on how you can support, if you are a Muslim queer and you are out, please help with tips on how to make it less complicated, any word of advice is also really needed, we really wanna come out but we need y’all 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ pride please come through for us, I believe pride is for all

Hi Ameera!

I saw on one of your other posts that you already have an exit strategy and are prepared to move out and cut contact should that be necessary for your safety, so I don't see any reason why you shouldn't come out if it's what you want!

I shall be wishing for your family to surprise you with acceptance and support, and for your contingencies to be unnecessary.

I am a Christian rather than a Muslim, so I can't speak to the specifics of your situation, but - if you haven't already - I'd recommend looking into what your religious text(s?) say about the LGBT+ community.

The first thing I did when I realized I was a lesbian was research.

The most I'd ever heard about gay people growing up was "gay marriage bad >:(" and even that only seemed to crop up around when gay marriage beginning to get legalized, so I looked into all of the relevant verses and tried to reconcile my sexuality with my faith.

I didn't want to go looking for validation, I just wanted answers, information, so I could gather my thoughts from there. So I looked at both sides.

The arguments I found that explained the bible as not against LGBT+ were all rooted in study and logic - meanings of words that were oversimplified in translation, historical contexts that I had been lacking prior, etc. All of it was rooted in trying to understand the original texts as and when they were written.

The arguments against LGBT+ all seemed to parrot the modern bible and "homosexuality is a sin" with no other arguments - or at least, no other arguments that could be applied only to homosexual people (example: "but gay couples can't have children!!!" yeah okay neither can infertile/sterile people and they can still get married/it isn't a sin for them to be in relationships). They were also all written with a hostile, hateful undertone (or overtone in some cases). Which. Christians are supposed to be known for our love, so any rhetoric based in hatred... and not even logic to back it? yeah. No.

The arguments explaining gay = okay were all based in love, compassion, and understanding - in logic and research.

So.

It was easy enough for me to reconcile my faith and my sexuality because, as it happens, there was nothing incompatible about the two!

(To any side b or x christians who may read this: this isn't an invite to debate, you literally cannot change my mind and also I will simply block you. This is not my Theological Discussions account)

I'm not quite sure how Islam sees the LGBT+ community in terms of religious rhetoric - from my (very) brief research the only thing I could find was a quote or two about Sodom and Gomorrah, which I've seen plenty of break-downs regarding, though what the Quran (or other Islamic texts?) says may differ.

Once you've done your research and come to terms with the information as needed (again, if you haven't already), I'd write a list of common questions and arguments you're family might make and come up with responses.

I don't know your family. They may shut down and simply tell you to get out and never return. (the worst case scenario [I hope - I don't know your family but if you think there is any possibility of physical violence I would definitely recommend either a video call - so you can see facial expressions - or staying near an exit while coming out])

They might ask you for space to think (okay scenario - kinda in limbo here).

They may surprise you with acceptance (best case scenario)

But they may ask questions and try to argue (middling case scenario).

They may ask things like why you're gay, argue that it's against your religion, etc. In this case, you have a chance to talk them into being supportive.

So.

Lists.

Brainstorm questions with your girlfriend - as many as you both can think of - and go through them. A lot of answers will be easy, some you might need to think more about/do research on (at least, that's my experience). But at least you'll both be armed with all the information you might need in the middling scenario (and it makes it harder for them to make you doubt yourselves, if that's something either of you might struggle with).

Of course, if you've already accepted the possible need to cut contact and gotten ready to move out you might've already thought of all this. Still, I hope this has been of at least some help to you, even if that's just by serving as a reminder that you aren't alone in this and that there's a community out here that supports you.

I'll be wishing you luck; I hope both you and your girlfriend get the best case scenario :)