#too tired to be angry is what solved my anger issues

[pininiu]

quick doodle of my two idols that I aspire to be

[barbswo]

I think I missed the Q&A :(

I was going to ask, what interested or drew you to Lucemond as a ship? (I know I have many reasons;) & what aspects/traits about them do you think attracts them to each other the most in ‘Tides’?😉

Don’t worry, I’ll host more! I had too much fun with you guys on the last one)

Moving on to your question:

You know, I had to go back and reread the texts I was sending my bf after having watched the first season, because I couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which I first thought about those two as a ship. I vividly remember seeing Lucerys grinning at Aemond across the table at that family supper and thinking “oh, that one will be a menace” (at that point I never opened ‘Fire and Blood’) and then the 10th episode hit, and I was mad. And what do I do when I’m mad? Yup, I go to ao3.

After spending an ungodly amount of time searching for fics that would be to my liking, I stumbled upon Lucemond. Then my tiktok fyp caught up, I bought myself a copy of ‘Fire and Blood’, read it, and my brain started spinning with the same infamous question that made me itch with a need to sit down and write my version of a story since I was like 12.

“But what if?..”

What if Lucerys had time to grow? What kind of a person he would become? What would his role be in the Dance, had it been postponed?

Lucemond sort of came as an afterthought. I was tired of seeing the same toxic, arrogant, devilishly handsome yet blank character Aemond was being written as in 90% of stories, because I couldn’t help but think what it would be like to be thrown as some kind of souless weapon into a war you had no intention of starting, being what? A teenager? How would he realistically react to all of that, being fed the idea of Rhaenyra and her family being the enemy since he was a child? How would his morals shift? What would their dynamic with grown Lucerys be like, once their skills reached the same level of excelence?

All those questions started giving me ideas, and I couldn’t find one story that would encapsulate them, so I sighed, opened a notebook and started writing.

Now about aspects and traits that attract those two to each other in ‘Tides’.

For Aemond, it obviously started with jealousy. Not only the bastard that took his eye isn’t punished, he has a brother that actually cares for him, speaks High Valyrian like a pro and refuses to burn—while Aemond is rotting in the Red Keep, alone and angry, his potential never recognized even by those closest to him. Jealousy spikes anger, anger spikes fury, fury bleeds into astonishment—and voila, our boy is hooked. Aemond is a simple guy at his core, to be honest. You tell him you hate him and he tilts his head and asks you to prove it.

For Lucerys, it was frustration. Imagine being called names over and over again, every insult followed by promises of vengeance and death—promises that never come to life. And then you spend some time apart, grow up, learn to defend yourself, and suddenly realize that the person you are supposed to be scared of is just as messed up as you are, and far more stupid. And you just want to shake them and bellow, “What do you fcking need from me?”, but they keep surprising you, so your frustration grows into curiosity.

Hadn’t Viserys died, I think they would’ve solved their issues in weeks. Because before the Dance hit they weren’t enemies, not really, more like rivals that had some bad blood between them, and most of their intense feelings were born out of bottled-down attraction. Once they got over themselves and talked, everything would be okay. Unfortunately for us, this is a story about a civil war.

And wars are never pretty.

I could go on and on about the intricacies of Tides!Lucemond, but I’ve never liked explaining my writing, because in truth, it’s all already out there. At this point in the story they both have seen the good and the bad in each other and accepted both sides of their coins. I’ve said this before, but I don’t believe in Lucemond if those two aren’t equally psychotic, and I wrote them to match “each other’s freaks”, so I guess their shared insanity works like a magnet there, too.

They still have a long road ahead of them. Both will make mistakes and choices. Tides are changing.

New chapter out soon.

[lonely-soul-02]

Noel leaves Oasis: reading between the lines

From Tales From the Middle of Nowhere

Translating Noel:

The Roundhouse was...erm...very odd: that was fucking excruciating and my heart was ripped to shreds.

What' siz' name exploded with pretend rage: Liam was the angriest I've ever seen him

Strange cat: I know exactly why he was angry

Probably on his man period: I know exactly why he was angry

Didn't notice him getting any more hairy though: it's a miracle he restrained himself as well as he did

Onwards and sideways: we are fucked

Didn't stick around for the gig...couldn't be arsed: didn't want to fight with Liam, especially with him in that state and me in my state

Too many squares for my liking: Liam's people suspect I'm leaving and are not shy in letting me know what they think of me

The Gig in question, The Roundhouse Liam's anger on full display

Translating Noel:

I didn't enjoy it one bit: worst night of my life, maybe even worse than the Roundhouse gig

Dunno: I know exactly why

Couldn't get into it: couldn't concentrate I'm so upset

Very strange: we are fucked

Don't feel too clever: Don't know if I'm doing the right thing

Outrageous stomach ache: I feel sick with the stress and anxiety of what I am about to do

I'm coming down with summat: I can't handle this

Might have to get the doctor out: I'm not ok

Hope it came out of the speakers all right: hope nobody noticed my distress

Gutted: Heartbroken

Oh well there's always tomorrow: I know we're done

The gig in question, V Festival, Oasis' last

Translating Noel:

Dearly beloved: Dear Liam

I have been forced to leave Oasis: you have forced me to leave Oasis

The details are not important: the details are too much for me to handle

...the level of verbal and violent intimidation towards me has become intolerable: Oasis is no longer a safe space and I am too tired and emotionally vulnerable to try and resolve our many issues

The lack of support from my bandmates and management: no one will help us, everyone just stands by and watches us destroy our relationship

...has left me with no other option: I know I've always claimed to be the band's problem solver but I can't solve a problem as big as us by myself

...seek pastures new: I have to look out for myself

Thanks to @lily-bluey for the PDF

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby - Chapter 20 - Gangster

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@vanhelsingsbigtoe

@ell0ra-br3kk3r June 1924, Warwickshire

Tommy simply cleaned up and drove away. He had to complete the final deal. I sat on Charlie's bed, staring out the window absentmindedly. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I just really disliked that Russian woman. Maybe it's because I didn't know how to handle her, and I don't like things slipping out of control. Plus, she was too fearless, too crazy, and her gaze towards Tommy seemed too naked, as if my husband could be used as a bargaining chip. I dare say she wouldn't mind making love to Tommy right in front of me. God knows what goes on in the minds of these Russians!

Fortunately, I won't have to see her again after today. The sky gradually brightened, and I listened to the birds outside and the sound of cars passing by, feeling tired. Wrapped in a cashmere shawl, I leaned back on the sofa and closed my eyes. My eyes were just a bit tired…

"Mrs."

I opened my eyes and saw Jenny with apologetic eyes. "Sorry to disturb your rest, but Mr. Mos called, looking for Mr. Shelby."

I felt a bit dizzy when I stood up, thankfully Jenny supported me. "Mrs., would you like to have something to eat first?"

I smiled and shook my head at her, picking up the receiver. "Good morning, Officer Mos. I'm Diana Shelby. My husband is not at home. You can tell me what you need, and I'll relay it to him word for word."

"Alright, I understand. Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Shelby."

As I hung up the phone, I almost stumbled to the ground. Luckily, Tommy caught me in time and carried me back to the bedroom. "What did Mos say?" Tommy skillfully massaged my legs.

"Birmingham Police issued arrest warrants. Arthur, John, Polly, Michael, none of them can escape." I looked at my husband with a heavy heart. It was Churchill's blatant threat: he knew Tommy's weakness was his blood ties, but not arresting me and Charlie was to avoid Tommy causing chaos. Not arresting Tommy was to keep him obedient and working for him.

Churchill's problems are easy to solve, but I can already imagine the resentment the Shelbys will have towards Tommy after today.

Tommy kissed my lips. "You should rest, Diana. You're carrying a child." He looked at my slightly bulging belly, touched it, and said, "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

"And then what? Are you going to handle everything on your own?"

"Diana, you're pregnant." He finally looked up. "I don't want anything to happen to you and our child."

"Then what? Are you going to bear everything on your own?"

"Diana, you're pregnant." He finally looked up. "I don't want anything to happen to you and our child."

"……"

I was awakened by the noise downstairs.

I got up from the bed. My head was still dizzy, and I felt confused. I turned the doorknob, wanting to see what was happening outside, but found that the door was locked.

Then I remembered Mos's call this morning.

It began.

I sat back on the bed, closed my eyes, and waited for the commotion to pass.

I heard someone fiddling with the doorknob of our bedroom, trying to open the door.

I heard Tommy's angry questioning, suppressing his anger. "If you have any dissatisfaction, you can say it out loud. What are you doing sneaking around my wife's door?"

… It was Linda.

They were arguing, and I couldn't hear it clearly through the door, but I knew Ada, Esme, and Lizzy Stark had also joined in. Advice and arguments mixed into a mess.

In fact, Linda couldn't argue with me. In fact, among the people I know, there are few who can win in a verbal dispute with me. And as a sister-in-law, as the wife of the head of the family, I have absolute confidence in handling Linda and Esme's dissatisfaction and soothing their emotions. But Tommy is too cautious and worried. He's afraid they'll impulsively hurt me and my unborn child, so he locked me in the bedroom.

Finally, at the cost of a slap, the noise outside returned to calm.

I was awakened by the noise downstairs.

I got up from the bed. My head was still dizzy, and I felt confused. I turned the doorknob, wanting to see what was happening outside, but found that the door was locked.

Then I remembered Mos's call this morning.

It began.

I sat back on the bed, closed my eyes, and waited for the commotion to pass.

I heard someone fiddling with the doorknob of our bedroom, trying to open the door.

I heard Tommy's angry questioning, suppressing his anger. "If you have any dissatisfaction, you can say it out loud. What are you doing sneaking around my wife's door?"

… It was Linda.

They were arguing, and I couldn't hear it clearly through the door, but I knew Ada, Esme, and Lizzy Stark had also joined in. Advice and arguments mixed into a mess.

In fact, Linda couldn't argue with me. In fact, among the people I know, there are few who can win in a verbal dispute with me. And as a sister-in-law, as the wife of the head of the family, I have absolute confidence in handling Linda and Esme's dissatisfaction and soothing their emotions. But Tommy is too cautious and worried. He's afraid they'll impulsively hurt me and my unborn child, so he locked me in the bedroom.

Finally, at the cost of a slap, the noise outside returned to calm.

Quiet.

The whole house was quiet.

These big houses are like monsters, devouring the worldly atmosphere, silently watching the joys and sorrows inside. When the house is quiet, like now, every piece of tile, every inch of wooden furniture is chilling to the bone. The sun is so big, but it can't illuminate every corner of the house. I can't tell if this kind of emptiness is glory or curse.

After a while, the door rang, and Tommy walked in. There were still handprints on his face. When he came in, he was lighting a cigarette, and when he saw me awake, he quickly hid the cigarette behind him. "How did you sleep?"

"Quite well." I walked up to him, took the lit cigarette from his hand, and put it in his mouth. "I'll allow you to break the rules once."

He smiled and let me press him on the bed gently. "You should rest too, Mrs. Shelby."

Tommy slept beside me, and I lay beside him. Even though he was asleep, he still furrowed his brows slightly. What could he be worrying about in his dreams? I helplessly smiled.

Actually, if he was willing, I could go back to London and deal with things. My father was a conservative, and I used to be a patron of the conservatives. Since Solomon could reconcile with Tommy, businessmen and politicians should be no problem. Tommy seemed to hear my thoughts in his dreams. He raised his head, "You're pregnant."

"Then what? Are you going to bear everything on your own?"

"Diana,

you're pregnant." He finally looked up. "I don't want anything to happen to you and our child."

"What's next? Are you going to handle everything on your own?"

"Diana, you're pregnant." He finally looked up. "I don't want anything to happen to you and our child."

"……"

Mrs. Shelby 21 Gang - Vanessa's Poplar Tree

After a while of rest, Tommy started his early departures and late returns, busy with Churchill's orders.

Ada was the only Shelby who still wanted to associate with us. She would bring Carl to accompany Charlie when I attended Shelby Charity Foundation events.

Tommy originally disagreed with me traveling around with a big belly. He hoped I could stay at home and rest peacefully. "The foundation's matters can wait until after you give birth."

"But you know, Tommy, you can leave me at home, but you can't keep me from worrying about you. I have to find something to do to distract my attention."

Tommy glanced at me, hesitated, and finally spoke, "You know those people won't allow us to enter their halls."

"Oh, whatever." I certainly knew that those aristocrats looked down on the Shelby family. The flattery of those noble ladies was only because of my title. But it didn't matter. My goal was not to please them.

I want the people of Birmingham to feel the grace of the Shelby family and build a good reputation for the Shelby family in Birmingham. With both grace and authority, we will establish our own system on our land. We are no longer street thugs but businessmen wandering in the gray area. I don't care about how those aristocratic ladies perceive us; what matters is how we handle ourselves.

They may want to erase us insignificant little people, but I won't let them have their way.

Actually, both of us didn't know exactly what we were busy with. But Tommy remembered my due date even more clearly than I did.

Since December, he began to nervously watch my bulging belly, forbidding Charlie from playing around me, and often supporting me on walks in the garden.

Tommy's efforts were not in vain. Arthur and the others were released before Christmas, and Tommy also received an OBE medal. Tommy, who just got the medal, looked like a kid who just bought the Mona Lisa, proud even without saying a word. Until he found that I had almost no reaction to it.

"There are still Commander medals below OBE, and above that are Knight Commander medals and Knight Grand Cross medals. Only citizens awarded the top two grades of honors are considered to have received a knighthood, and they can add the title of Sir before their surname." I explained to him like reciting a textbook.

Tommy fell silent after hearing this.

Today is Christmas, and I don't want my little prince to feel unhappy. I quickly put on a smiling face. "But this is a leap from zero to hero, isn't it?"

He shook his head and smiled self-deprecatingly. "I thought… the weight of those things would be heavy enough."

Maybe in their hearts, we who hold those things are not important enough.

But these are not things we need to care about now.

I felt a warm flow between my legs and pain in my lower abdomen. I curled up, hoping to alleviate the pain as much as possible.

"Tommy… the amniotic fluid broke…"

Bloody Gang - Mrs. Shelby - Tommy Shelby

After a while of rest, Tommy started his early departures and late returns, busy with Churchill's orders.

Ada was the only Shelby who still wanted to associate with us. She would bring Carl to accompany Charlie when I attended Shelby Charity Foundation events.

Tommy originally disagreed with me traveling around with a big belly. He hoped I could stay at home and rest peacefully. "The foundation's matters can wait until after you give birth."

"But you know, Tommy, you can leave me at home, but you can't keep me from worrying about you. I have to find something to do to distract my attention."

Tommy glanced at me, hesitated, and finally spoke, "You know those people won't allow us to enter their halls."

"Oh, whatever." I certainly knew that those aristocrats looked down on the Shelby family. The flattery of those noble ladies was only because of my title. But it didn't matter. My goal was not to please them.

I want the people of Birmingham to feel the grace of the Shelby family and build a good reputation for the Shelby family in Birmingham. With both grace and authority, we will establish our own system on our land. We are no longer street thugs but businessmen wandering in the gray area. I don't care about how those aristocratic ladies perceive us; what matters is how we handle ourselves.

They may want to erase us insignificant little people, but I won't let them have their way.

Actually, both of us didn't know exactly what we were busy with. But Tommy remembered my due date even more clearly than I did.

Since December, he began to nervously watch my bulging belly, forbidding Charlie from playing around me, and often supporting me on walks in the garden.

Tommy's efforts were not in vain. Arthur and the others were released before Christmas, and Tommy also received an OBE medal. Tommy, who just got the medal, looked like a kid who just bought the Mona Lisa, proud even without saying a word. Until he found that I had almost no reaction to it.

"There are still Commander medals below OBE, and above that are Knight Commander medals and Knight Grand Cross medals. Only citizens awarded the top two grades of honors are considered to have received a knighthood, and they can add the title of Sir before their surname." I explained to him like reciting a textbook.

Tommy fell silent after hearing this.

Today is Christmas, and I don't want my little prince to feel unhappy. I quickly put on a smiling face. "But this is a leap from zero to hero, isn't it?"

He shook his head and smiled self-deprecatingly. "I thought… the weight of those things would be heavy enough."

Maybe in their hearts, we who hold those things are not important enough.

But these are not things we need to care about now.

I felt a warm flow between my legs and pain in my lower abdomen. I curled up, hoping to alleviate the pain as much as possible.

"Tommy… my water broke…"

[babblable]

So, I'm not deaf(?), but I just bought some hearing amplifiers because I'm poor and tired and figured I needed *something* to tide me over until I talk to my doctor on the 5 of August. Why did I do this? Well, over the years of my life I have suffered a lot of trauma, from my mother screaming at me for "ignoring" her and asking "what?" too much- to teachers doing the same thing for the same reason, all the way up til now, as an adult in a safe environment with unfortunately declining health in various ways due to childhood neglect, still asking those questions but getting affirmed with a repeated answer or a gentle "did you hear me?" Followed by a repeated answer if I responded to that with "no"! But!!! Because I've been able to hear 75% of things- level and quality of hearing those things having constantly been claimed unimportant by the adults throughout my childhood- I've just come to believe that my hearing is Fine and I'm just "being difficult".

Apparently, that was wrong and I only found this out because I work at a call center now and before a couple days ago, we shared desks.

And my deskmate? A small little elderly lady with no problems with her hearing.

I noticed one day that she always had the volume turned to half on the phone. Meanwhile, me, believing that my hearing Totally and Completely Fine, had to turn the phone volume to MAX and I STILL struggled to hear the customers who'd call in.

After a week of this, I decided "fuck it" and bought a pair of hearing amps on a whim.

Y'all when I say I was blown away by the fact that the world is so much more noisy, I wasn't joking.

I thought that there was Silence outside when I'd pick up delivery orders, outside of the occasional car passing by of course.

But no. No no. My best friend, @chuubifrog, had to tell me that Silence Does Not Exist when I asked him about it and that the humming I was hearing now when going outside is a mixture of the wind, the cars from the highway which is more than 500ft from our house, the entire neighborhoods A/C units, a wind chime from a neighbor down the street and a cricket somewhere nearby.

"W. what the fuck do you MEAN there is no Silence???"

"I'm honestly surprised you've experienced Silence at all. This is what the world sounds like."

"no fucking wonder everyone's always so angry."

I ALSO LEARNED that SODA fizz makes a noise! That I was always thought of as being aggressive or giving an attitude because it sounded like I was slamming things when really, I THOUGHT I was being GENTLE based off the noise of what I was "slamming".

I learned that the dog we have isn't just annoying to hear scrambling throughout the house bc of his nails, but downright painful to hear. I learned that the vents at work are so loud I can't hear myself think very well and I'm m surprised that we all manage to speak over it.

I learned that the reason my mother and other people I live with tell me to turn things down so often is because I couldn't hear it unless it was loud, and that it was REALLY disruptive to everyone else!

I learned that my phone is fine, actually! It's NOT busted because I had to talk to people on speaker and have it close to ears to hear it on max volume! I just couldn't hear in general.

And so, I realize now that so many issues I had growing up would have been so easily solved if the adults around me had bothered to listen when I said "I can sort of hear it...(But not very well)" or "I can't hear it.." instead of playing the noise again and making me "focus" on it really hard, often times resulting in their increased anger when the answer remained the same, I chose to lie to please them or they gave up, claimed I was being difficult and marked me as having perfect hearing.

I walk a line, apparently. And that line is "not enough to be marked as disabled, but too disabled have good quality of life without aid". It isn't the phrasing I wanted, but it's what my brain could put together.

And I am now conflicted between the euphoria of being able to hear all the things that I couldn't hear before, being overloaded sensory-wise and sadness as I sit here wondering why it took 26 years of abuse, neglect, a safer environment, an elderly coworker sharing my desk and a really cheap set of knock off hearing aids for me to realize that I'm hard of hearing.

I'm choosing to see the bright side, but I'm also going to ask my doctor about it on the 5th.

For anyone else who may think they might be HOH because of similar reasons, try out a cheap set of hearing amplifiers from Walmart or something. If you can hear the wind or the soda fizz with them on after years of Silence, then you should ask your doctor about the subject.

[vampr1x-bl00dx]

Hi hi hello! I'd love to request a normal matchup please. For Genshin Impact! My pronouns are she/her, I'm in my 20s, my gender preference is males!

For my personality... I love bantering with people! However, I'm not the sassy kind, not at all. I'm the one who makes witty remarks, using loopholes in your argument, and makes childish, aggravating remarks until you are lost for words! My friend once called me an annoying brat that's a pain to be around (but somehow he still sticks around, weird).

I know my limits, though! I don't want to anger people much, because angry people scare me off. So I think, how to shut me up is to show that you're angry with me.

I am childish, and people may see me as someone with no care or worries. That is... Not true! I have my own problems, too. But I tend to keep quiet about it and shoulder it alone. Making me talk about my problems is almost impossible. Bribing me might work, though.

I can be... Dramatic at times. I'm loud. I literally don't care about what people think about me. I will screech in public if I want to, and I will wear the gaudiest outfit out there if I want to.

I'm not very ambitious! I tend to live a slow-paced life. Though, that doesn't mean I shove my responsibilities away.

I don't think I have listed my... Good qualities. Hmm. I think I'm... Honest? If I don't like someone, I won't pretend that I like that person. I'll show that, yes! I dislike them. I don't know if that's a good quality or not, though! I think it's more like a problem.

My love languages are physical contact and act of service.

This is getting too long... I'm sorry! I hope this is not too confusing to read, though. Thank you so much~ Stay healthy and happy!

Hi! Thank you so much for requesting! And yes of course silly!;3

I see you with…..

DILUC!!

You two would definitely enjoy a slow paced life together in the Dawn Winery and tending to Angels Share

He wouldn’t force you to open up about your issues if you aren’t ready nor want to but he’ll want to hear about them and figure on how to solve them

He would allow you to cuddle or hug him. And he’ll definitely will surprise you with a kiss every now and then. He’ll also wouldn’t mind cooking dinner for the two of you when you’re tired or just don’t feel like cooking

He would understand your ambitions and would help you with them

[wrenqueenisboss]

Chapter 18: Foxglove Sevaan

wc: 3,458 this is from the pov of Zira's older sister. Foxglove is Kamara's eldest daughter and the heir to the throne. tw: weapons, body horror, implied abuse, war, implied ptsd, implied trauma responses

note! this is very roughly edited :)

ENJOY!!!

Foxglove straightens her circlet, brushes invisible specks of dirt off of her gown, and takes a deep breath before knocking on the door to her mother’s office. Just in case, she sweeps a delicate hand over the rich, terracotta-colored fabric, other hand holding a folder full of papers.

The rings on her fingers make loud sounds when they connect with the wood.

One, two, three sharp raps on the door. Same as always.

Stuffing her hand back into the hidden pocket of her skirts, Foxglove runs her fingers over the smooth hilt of Zira’s knife, the one she picked up from the hallway floor while frantically trying to convince the guards to stop restraining her sister.

That was three days ago, the girl reminds herself. Three days, and you still haven’t mustered up the courage to go return the knife.

Returning the knife would mean facing Zira again. Facing the young girl would inevitably bring back memories of that day, everything that had been said and done. Facing her would mean remembering the nearly deadly reflex, the complete unresponsiveness, and the truth in her sister’s trauma.

Zira won’t notice if you keep the knife for a few more days.

Queen Kamara’s lady-in-waiting opens the door. She steps aside and gestures for Foxglove to enter, bowing her head slightly.

“Good, you’re on time,” the queen says from her desk chair as Foxglove sits down across from her. “We have much to discuss.” She busies herself with a stack of papers, signing and reading as she waits for her daughter’s response.

Foxglove tries to sneak a glance at the papers her mother pores over. “Have you received anything from Lazian royals?”

Kamara sets down her pen atop the documents, sifting through them. “I was sent a very angry letter from Queen Anastasia.”

Foxglove huffs a laugh. “What is she mad about now?”

The queen hands her daughter a piece of paper. “She found Zira’s interview with Mr. Callidus from The Imani Post extremely offensive, and demands that we have it removed.”

Amusement pulls at the corners of Foxglove’s lips as she reads the Lazian queen’s letter. She skips the formal pleasantries, past the exhaustingly diplomatic greeting and dry introduction.

Princess Zira’s interview is insulting to both of us, the letter reads. It makes you look like a fool and it makes my family and I out to be evil and cult-ish. Have the piece removed immediately, and I’ll refrain from mentioning you in my next interview.

Foxglove sets the letter down. “Empty threats again?”

Kamara waves her lady-in-waiting over, whispering something in the woman’s ear before sending her off to complete some mystery task. “I’m not sure this one is, but there’s nothing Anastasia can say that hasn’t been said before.”

At Foxglove’s raised eyebrow, the queen merely scoffs and waves a dismissive hand. “My point is, I don’t see the point in wasting time negotiating with the Post to get the piece removed.”

I see where Zira gets her over-confident recklessness from. We can’t afford to anger them if we want to maintain the people’s favor.

“Tell Mr. Callidus that if he can get the Post to remove the interview pieace from all future issues printed, that he has a guaranteed exclusive interview with Lady Sidus and I after we present our project,” Foxglove offers, decisive in problem solving.

Queen Kamara’s eyes narrow as she writes a reminder. “Why do you care so much about this, Foxglove?”

“We need peace,” the princess answers simply. “This war has gone on too long. Too many people have died and I’m tired of you doing nothing but anger the Lazian’s even more.” Foxglove traces mindless patterns on her skirts, quelling her brewing frustration. “We need to work harder towards ending this.”

The room darkens. A shadow twitches.

“Despite our best efforts, neither side has been able to agree on any form of settlement.” Queen Kamara says slowly, threateningly. “The land we’re fighting over is extremely valuable. Both sides would benefit from the ocean access and the sheltered bay.” 

She takes the letter and places it back on the little stack of papers.

“Unless you’ve suddenly sustained an amnesia-inducing injury, you should be quite familiar with this, child. Achieving peace isn’t simple. You know this too.”

Foxglove feels her eyes blaze, feels her own powers buzz in response to her anger.

“How much blood on your hands are you willing to have on your hands because it just wasn’t simple?” Foxglove sneers, spitting out the last two words 

“Excuse me?” Kamara challenges, cool anger turning her irises silver. The crown sparkling atop her head makes her look more like a queen than a mother.

Kamara’s eldest daughter may not be General of the Army, but she certainly wasn’t raised to be weak. Spinelessness is a shameful quality no self-respecting member of the Sevaan family would ever be caught exhibiting.

Foxglove doubles down.

“While you sit here, pondering the semantics of arranging a peace meeting with other conceited royals, our people are being slaughtered in a war that could have been settled diplomatically!” the princess shouts, slamming her fist down on her mother’s desk.

Queen Kamara picks up her pen a mere second before it would have rolled onto the floor.

“Sit down, child,” she says, even tone and blank expression hiding how livid she really is.

Kamara’s eldest daughter may be neither weak nor spineless, but even still, she knows when to shut up and listen. When the queen herself demands something of you, there’s no other option than to obey.

I feel no better than a dog, Foxglove thinks as she sits back down.

“Ruling a kingdom is no easy task,” the queen starts. “You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it is during wartime.” Her eyes flash, silver swirling with the beginnings of fury. “No matter what decision I make, people are going to die.”

Kamara silences Foxglove before she gets the chance to speak, taking off her gold crown and setting it on the desk before her. Her fingers twitch before they pull away, manicured nails barely brushing the diamonds set into pristine metal.

“I have blood on my hands, no doubt, but queenhood wears down everyone’s conscience.” 

Foxglove shivers when her mother meets her eyes again, wringing her hands together.

“Some day, Foxglove, you will be forced to do things that make you question morals you thought were set in stone,” Kamara says, every syllable spoken gravely. “If you don’t have the stomach to make those choices, then you should abdicate and leave the throne to your sister.”

The queen sighs, reaching up to massage her temples. “I’ll whip that girl into shape soon enough.”

Fury blazes a hot trail through Foxglove’s body. Her powers react accordingly, shadow doubling in size as she bursts up from her chair.

“No,” the princess snarls, the arm of her shadow darting out. She manages to get a hold of her anger before it could attack the queen, taking a frantic breath to quell the emotions sizzling in her veins. “I will be a better queen than you could ever be, and you will not harm another hair on Zira’s head.”

Kamara grins, flashing white teeth with a feline curve of her lips. “My child,” she almost purrs, “the throne is no place for weakness.”

Foxglove snaps her fingers and her shadow withdraws, returning to normal. “Prove to me, right now, that you still have a heart– that you can still feel remorse,” she demands, chin tilting upwards.

“How would you suppose I do that?” the queen shoots back, perfect posture unnerving as she smiles wider. “Should I cut my heart out of my body and present it to you? Would that be enough?”

It’s been a while, Mother, but once again, I find myself afraid of you.

Rolling back her shoulders, Foxglove clasps her hands firmly behind her back, hating the way she has to hide the way they tremble.

“Tell me, how many people have died because of your inability to make good decision– or even a decision in the first place?” she demands, letting confidence lilt the ends of her sentences.

The queen scoffs. “I don’t keep a list, Foxglove. Asking me to remember every one would be like if I asked you how many breaths you have ever taken.”

“So it’s as easy as breathing for you, letting people get killed?”

Kamara rolls her eyes. “Your debate skills are lacking, child. Stop pretending you know what you’re doing here.”

In the safety of her thoughts, Foxglove laughs, and it’s bitter when the sound rings through her headspace. I know well enough what I’m doing.

“Overconfidence is fatal. Needless boasting makes you an easy, pliable target,” Queen Kamara had said years ago, as Foxglove pored over the thick volumes assigned to her. “Exploit this weakness in others.” Kamara had pointedly met Foxglove’s eyes then. “You may not be on a battlefield, but you still go in for the kill.”

Foxglove takes a breath, and follows the old advice.

“If you did have a list, Mother, would Dad be on it?”

Kamara goes still, color bleeding from her face.

Time freezes, like it always does in the suspenseful seconds before someone crumples to the floor, blade still embeded in their guts.

So used to only dipping her toes in the ruthlessness her sister and mother so readily seem to bathe themselves in, the shock of jumping in fully shakes Foxglove to her core. Malice soaks into her bones, expelling empathy.

Vindictive, Foxglove twists the knife.

“Will Zira’s name be on that list?”

Much to the princess’s surprise, Kamara doesn’t explode.

The queen points at the door to her office. “Get out,” she whispers, broken voice echoing off of the rich wood surfaces in the study. “Leave, right now. Get out of my sights.”

Unlike her sister and mother, Foxglove’s cruelty is quickly followed by overwhelming guilt. Remorse feels like molasses as she stands up and backs away, only the light sound of terracotta fabric swishing filling the tense silence.

 Halfway across the threshold, the girl pauses, opening her mouth to speak. Her mother cuts her off.

“Someday. Foxglove Sevaan, maybe you will begin to understand that leading a kingdom is not easy. If you kill your weaknesses, maybe you’ll survive on the throne.”

I’ll do just fine on the throne. I’ll make this kingdom thrive, and I won’t need to ruin my family or sacrifice other lives to do it.

A shadow closes the door.

◄ ◆ ►

Foxglove stirs underneath her the heavy comforter on her bed, still restless. She looks at the clock on her wall, realizes she has wasted hours staring at the high ceilings of her bedroom chambers.

Through the gaps in her curtains, moonlight shines through, creating little slivers of silver on the floor and the edge of the bed.

Why do you have to hold the moon so high tonight? Foxglove whines to the God of Night. 

She turns her head, dragging thick locks of light brown hair across the soft fabric of her pillowcase. Foxglove’s gaze falls to the knife still resting on her bedside table, the sharp edge of the blade illuminated by the moon.

“I am not falling asleep anytime soon,” she mutters into the silence, as if the interruption could ground her hurricane of thoughts.

Foxglove moves with the fluidity of a river as she gets out of bed and throws on a long cardigan over her silk slip dress. The fabrics wrinkle and fold like ripples. Every little sound adds to the silent symphony of a tranquil night.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Foxglove grabs Zira’s knife off of the bedside table and drops it into the pocket of her sweater. It tugs the garment down slightly, an incessant reminder of its damning presence as she slides on slippers.

The door to the princess’s bedchambers opens silently, and Foxglove slips into the hallway, paying the guards at her door no mind.

I haven’t done this in years, Foxglove realizes, thinking back to the times she and Zira would wake each other up to steal pastries from the kitchens. I feel bad waking her up, but heavens above, we need to talk.

The few portraits on the walls and suits of armor stare accusingly, demanding to know why she’s still awake so late into the night. Ignoring their gazes, Foxglove focuses on the shadows blanketing the hallway.

With a hitch of her breath and a small flick of her slender fingers, the shadows melt away, parting like a log splitting the flow of a running river. They ripple and shudder as the princess walks past, but Foxglove’s control keeps them at bay.

Only when they’re behind her does she finally let the shadows return to their original spots.

She walks further down the long palace corridor, passing guards and maids cleaning the floors and polishing the gaudy decorations hanging on the walls. With every step, her face heats up more and more, self-consciousness bringing a blush to the apples of her cheeks. 

Every footfall feels incriminating, soles of her slippers making soft sounds against the cold, white marble. Still, Foxglove continues, ignoring the crawling feeling of the guards’ gazes trained on her back.

I’m just going to visit my sister. I’m not doing anything wrong.

Foxglove knows that if the guards noticed the knife in her pocket, they’d tackle her on the spot. She messes with it, rubbing her thumb over the hilt.

Her pace slows at the sight of four guards stationed outside of Zira’s door, lips curving into a deep frown.

“What are you doing here?” the princess calls down the hallway, voice raspy with hours of disuse. She draws nearer, irritation increasing her pace. “Is something wrong?”

One guard steps forward, and Foxglove doesn’t miss the way his hand drops, likely straying to a weapon.

Foxglove thinks of the knife in her pocket again, thinks of the sharpened blade and its innate ability to maim, she finally stops, just short of Zira’s door.

Her hand drops too.

“Why are there four of you outside my sister’s door?”

The guard swallows nervously, shooting a glance back at the other three sentries behind him. “Her Royal Majesty stationed us here, said it was a necessary measure after Princess Zira’s outburst three days ago.”

Lithe fingers dip between subtle cuts in fabric, finding their way around a smooth hilt.

Shock and confusion steal the words off of Foxglove’s tongue, swift and coordinated as they summon rage to take their place.

“What?” she breathes, the single syllable barely audible.

The guard’s face pales. “Your Highness, I’m sorry, but Queen Kamara stationed us here for a legitimate reason.”

A vague shape on the marble floor, the guard’s shadow twitches. The shift doesn’t match its owner’s movements.

“Zira won’t hurt anyone.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, she tried to kill you.” The guard smiles tentatively. “This is for your safety, Princess.”

Foxglove’s face falls, melting into anger.

And though she shares some features with her late father, she’s never looked more like her mother.

“Leave.”

The guard splutters, looking back at the others again. “Your H-”

“Right now. All of you.” Foxglove points down the hallway, eyes fixed on the wood of her sister’s door. “Go before I get rid of you all myself.”

Foxglove Sevaan is a princess, heir to the throne. She has been taught the ways of a puppet master and has learned to play the role well, expertly tugging on the strings of those she needs to control.

The guards’ retreating footsteps mimic distant cheers of victory.

Foxglove rubs the knife’s hilt again, finding comfort in the smooth surface.

She takes a step forward, breathing shakily as her other hand drifts forward, seeking the cool gold of the doorknob. Her fingers hang in limbo, a hair’s breadth from the shiny thing.

This is stupid. Zira needs to sleep.

Foxglove’s hand, the one in her pocket, strays too far. Her thumb grazes the sharp blade of the knife. A glimmer of pain shoots through her nerves, but she doesn’t withdraw her hand from her pocket, not wanting to see the little cut.

She tears her gaze away from the door, looking down both ends of the hallway. Of course, no one rounds the corners, still sleeping soundly in their beds.

The guards must have warned off the maids, too.

Foxglove sits down next to her little sister’s door, long sweater and silk slip riding up slightly as she slides down the wall. Her tired body groans. The floor feels oddly comfortable, though, when she finally settles.

Royals are supposed to be more than comfortable with silence, but something about the cold marble or lack of light feels eerie. The suit of armor’s empty stare from across the hall only adds to the unsettling atmosphere.

It feels like the closed door is breathing down my neck.

“I’m sorry,” Foxglove blurts out, then winces, because her voice sounds far too loud as it echoes around the lifeless space. “I’m sorry,” she tries again. This time, she whispers.

Of course, there is no response. No one calls out to comfort her, but the princess keeps talking anyway.

“I’m sorry for everything you’re going through, little sister– both with the war and with our mother.”

Foxglove lets herself laugh, sad and bitter. “I’ve noticed you don’t call her “Mother” anymore. She does too.” She looks to the side, at the door. “Do you do that to hurt her, or to protect herself?”

 Something about the simplicity of night steeps her very being in unfiltered honesty, brewed truth spilling from her lips.

“Mom tries her best, Zira, even if it doesn’t seem that way,” Foxglove begins again. She thinks back to the reports of random bruises, barely restrained anger, and obvious flinches.

The princess takes a deep breath, trying to combat the stinging feeling in the corners of her eyes and the knot in her gut. 

“You and Dad look so much alike,” Foxglove chokes out. “Mother sees it too. It’s what scares her– seeing him every time she looks at you, because we both know his death changed something in her.”

Foxglove’s gaze falls to the floor. “It changed something in all of us.”

“Mom compares you to Dad, because that’s what she sees. She’s pushed you to fight on the battlefield because that’s what he did. She’s human, just trying to ease her own grief.” Foxglove wrings her hands in agitation. “She’s trying to ease her own pain, and in the process, is making ours worse.”

The princess leans back, back of her head knocking painfully into the wall behind her. The dull thunk echoes faintly, bouncing around the practically vacant space.

A sob sneaks up on her, forcing its way past her lips. It makes her chest cave.

Foxglove breaks. “That illness wasn’t supposed to take him. He was supposed to live, but it weakened him too much.” She weeps, tears soaking the edge of her sweater when she goes to dry her eyes. “Mom wants you to be strong, Zira. She doesn’t want to lose you too.”

Her breath hitches, and it’s a struggle to draw air back into her lungs.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

The admission shatters her last remaining sliver of resolve.

Foxglove Sevaan cries and cries.

The steady stream of hot tears erodes her cheekbones, carving deep chasms, permanent reminders of her lingering grief. They puddle next to her, each new droplet creating perfect ripples.

She remembers the knife in her pocket, its smooth hilt and sharpened blade. She wonders – amidst drowning in sorrow – if picking herself apart to cut out the cracked parts of her heart would hurt less.

It’d be so simple.

We humans are fragile; we are damaged too easily, choosing to repair ourselves with more mutilation, because sometimes, the best solutions are the ugly ones.

Foxglove thinks about it, how cathartic it would be to flay the grief and pain and suffering from her skin. The gory mess would be worth it, worth being freed. Scarlet bloodstains would replace tear-hewn fissures, heartlessness would replace agony.

It would be worth it.

The body has limits, though, and Foxglove coughs, wheezes as she struggles to breathe. Her tears dry on her cheeks, leaving behind almost sticky tracks. Every fiber of her being trembling and aching, Foxglove forces herself to stand on shaky legs.

She faces her sister’s door, presses a hand to the wood surface. Absently, she manages to take pride in the fact that her body remains in one piece.

Foxglove speaks, even though she knows the girl she’s talking to won’t hear.

“Come find me tomorrow, little sister.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

jetlagged anger

bungou stray dogs | T | 913 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc

you don't take too well to radio silence while chuuya is off on a mission. chuuya doesn't like your attitude.

chuuya is tired.

he’s one of the select few who can go solve the production issues at a warehouse they’re connected to in europe because god forbid any of the other mafiosos learn french besides him. and then he’s gone for weeks. two weeks, mori had promised, which rolled into five. he doesn’t fly home until his job is done, so he’s a full three months longing for yokohama when he finally arrives.

all he wants to do is melt into the arms of his lover and decompress, but by god, why did he come home to find you in such a temper?

even mori looked more pleased to see chuuya than you when he gets home. his eager “i’m finally home, fuck!” dissipates into a tense, thick silence, where you’re sitting on the couch across the room sipping tea. there’s surprise in your eyes.

“wow, you’re actually alive.”

chuuya frowns. “did you doubt that at all?”

“i mean, it was hard not to,” you say, putting down the mug on the coffee table. “welcome home. sorry i didn’t prepare anything, i didn’t know you were coming home today.”

“well, i wanted to surprise you,” chuuya explains. “but you don’t look that eager.”

you open your mouth to argue, but snap it shut before you can get any word out. “i don’t want to get into an argument with you right now, love. should i run you a bath while you unpack? or maybe—”

the frown on his face deepening, he approaches you, this time with a mix of anger in his gaze. “you don’t ‘want to get in an argument’ with me? is there something we should be talking about?”

“again, not now,” you repeat yourself, standing up to end the conversation, but he holds your wrist, makes you sit back down on the sofa.

chuuya is firm. “tell me.”

“look, you’re probably tired, and jet-lagged, and—”

“no.” he shakes his head. “we’re talking now.”

you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you now accept as the inevitable. looking at chuuya in the eye, trying your best not to falter, you ask what you’ve been dying to ask him for months.

“why weren’t you answering my calls?”

chuuya blinks.

“babe, you should think about the time difference, when you call, it’s—”

“i’m not stupid, i know about the time difference! you think i hadn’t been doing mental math counting backwards on the clock for three months?” you say, aghast. “and not once did you think of calling back? or even sending a goddamn message?”

“those assholes at the fucking warehouse were a pain in the ass, you should’ve seen the work i had to do—”

“you couldn’t even glance at your phone while on the commute?!”

chuuya glares at you. “fuck, there was not one day i wasn’t thinking about you while I was there, and yet here you are—"

“chuuya, chuuya that’s not the point,” you say, anger and desperation rising in you. the only way to tell him this is straight on. “i just wanted to know if you were safe. if you were alive. for two months—after you’d dropped off—it felt like the port mafia would knock at the penthouse door any day and kick me out because you’ve died on your mission!”

there are two ways this conversation could go. you know, because you’ve replayed it about a dozen hundred times while he was away.

the first one is simple. he would see and accept his mistake, the consequences of his actions upon you, and apologize.

the second way, however, is the one you felt would happen. he would get angry. chuuya has quite a temper when he’s on the brink of falling forward due to exhaustion. anger does not suit chuuya, at least for you. you have seen him angry. you have never seen him angry at you. you imagine what it would be like, his gravity, making him all glow red, his angry gray eyes, the weight and strength of his hands on you. the violence he could cause. you would cry all night. and he can ask for forgiveness, when he’s calmer and his mind is straight, but you might never quite forgive him.

you’re ready for the second. at least you think you are. you’ve mentally prepared yourself for the worst. god, you were ready to hear that he had died.

so on instinct, after your confession, once chuuya lifts a hand and opens his mouth for a fraction of a second, you raise your arms over your face in a defensive stance, ready to shield yourself from his blows. you close your eyes.

you feel a gentle, light touch over your closed fists, his hand unraveling yours. only then do you realize you are shaking—and you are crying. chuuya is quiet, slowly pulls your arms away from your face.

and then he embraces you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice broken and so obviously shaken from your show of fear of him. “i’m sorry. i should have—i should have made time. i wasn’t thinking. i was so caught up in the mission i’d forgotten. i’m sorry.”

it is only then your walls fall. tears streaming without end down your cheeks, you take him into your arms and clutch him close, trying to embed his warmth onto your body. a warmth you’d longed for, a warmth you’re sure you’d lost.

“don’t do that again.”

“i promise.”

“you’re stupid.”

“i know.”

…

“welcome home, chuuya.”

“i’m glad to be back.”

[chococustard]

completed list of my omegaverse kids babyyyy it’s cleaner now too finally hhh most things are stil the same with the old design so uh if there’s any contradiction it’s this one//shot quirk mechanics are the same tho

their ages are just in comparison to each other, they’ll be however old they’ll be per story;w;/

more info under the cut!

TOKOYAMI NIKOLA quirk: shadow frogs -can make many shadowy frogs or one big one. they’re sentient likes to keep to herself but she cares about people very much. she doesn’t talk much but when she does she’s very honest, sometimes even when it hurts. doesn’t get fazed by many things as she’s very close to uncle souji, has seen his face without the mask, and is perfectly fine with it

SHINSOU KAZUYA quirk: siren - makes people do as she wants as long as she sings the command bubbly and easygoing but pretty selfish, not wanting her whims to be refused. once she’s into doing something she’s hell bent on finishing it tho her attention span is as short as they come. the house cats go to her when they want to play

SHINSOU MAMORU quirk: mind reading - reads people’s thoughts, depends on how fast they talk your mom’s an assertive and passionate woman, your little sister is loud and hyperactive, and everyday you feel like you wanna die. he’s tired as shit and would rather be in quiet places.  he doesn’t like getting caught up in people’s issues and try to stay away from problems as much as possible. the only reason why he’s willing to help his dad is that he uses his quirk only when he’s sure the suspect won’t know about him.

MIDORIYA CHIHIRO quirk: pyrokinesis (hell fire, non hero ver) - makes and controls fire she’s bright and really expressive, unlike her sister she likes being around people. she’s really energetic and optimistic. likes heroes but mostly their costumes and the contraptions they used. she idolizes aunt mei and melissa for all the cool things they makes. good at cooking from hanging around grandma inko and uncle katsuki. and also because of uncle katsuki she tolerates spices. baby of the family, both the midoriyas and todorokis

MIDORIYA YUKARI quirk: hydrokinesis - makes and controls water she's told by her parents that she was almost kidnapped at birth so she's told to lie about who her parents are and to cover up when they go out together. hates strangers and crowds so she gravitates to family and friends and gets very protective of them. idolizes heroes and strives to be one.her hair can’t keep still and needs to constantly be brushed. the type to hold grudges.

TOGATA TSUMUGI quirk: sound replication - has a mouth on her stomach that can replicate sound goes with the flow and tries to see the bright side most of the time. however she's quick to anger, threatening people she’ll chew them up with the large gaping mouth on her stomach (it can't). she and yukari had been friend since pre-school being the first one to get her to open up. she lives in the moment wanting to make the best of things

BAKUGOU KYOUSEI quirk: eruption - lava flows from his skin in katsuki’s own word, literal fucking sunshine. idolizes eijirou very much he tries to copy him. however he could very well be seen as blood thirsty and aggresive when angry tho that doesn’t happen all that much. he’s able to calculate situations on the fly easily and do things well after a few tries, text book studies however is not his strong suit.

TETSUTETSU SHIINA quirk: mercury - can turn himself into mercury, pure or variations of it with the nature of the mercury in his body, he has to be mindful of keeping his body in check as to not accidentally poison people. he’s more often than not stays quite as he gets jittery and becomes scared easily, where he would melt away into a puddle and tries to run away. however he’s very stubborn and won’t stop until he achieves his goals. close to kyousei as their parents hangs around a lot even though they live in different cities. likes hugs but only from family

OJIRO ASAHI quirk: prehensile hair - strong and can be controled like an extra limb, very tough tooru likes to spoil her and dress her up in cute clothes, hates it how her hair takes away all the nutrients she eats. tooru gets called to go on a lot of info gathering missions so she's not home often, and when she does come home she showers her with a lot of attention. she finds it overbearing. close with dad, he teaches her martial arts for fun. has both a cat and a hamster, they're the only ones allowed to touch her hair.

YAOYOROZU ITSUKI quirk: marionette - has a cord at the back of his neck, objects poked by it can be controlled gender is a social construct. doesn’t see the benefit of holding things back. easy going and laid back, going through the motion as he sees fit. he’s very close to his parents, sharing the same interest in music as kyouka and momo happily spending as much time as she can with him, hoping to do things she wasn’t able to with her parents as a child, so he really doesn’t feel lonely all that much.

ASHIDO KURASHI quirk: hallucinogen - produces hallucination inducing liquid looks like she wears her heart on her sleeves and doesn’t bother with hiding anything. looks like an air head but not really. when her quirk started to show many adults became wary of her, equating her quirk to that of drugs and not want her anywhere near them or their children.more into non violent approaches. she’s also very touchy.

KAMINARI ARASHI quirk: technopath - controls electrial appliances and uses them as he pleases at 7 years old he was saved by denki during a break in after being used by a group of villains. ditching his old self he changed basically everything about himself as he can and took a new name. he and denki likes to play together, and he can often be found with hanta on top of tall buildings in tokyo. he especially admires katsuki’s no-shit-taking personality and is a big fan of his. he’s no good with dark cramp places

IIDA TENMA quirk: repulsor - creats blasts from his palms and soles, can be used for prepulsion ochako and tenya had him soon after graduation before they really made a name for themselves. cheery and very dedicated, he trains from a young age in various styles of martial arts. he’s doesn’t half ass what he does. he often get into fights helping people, so much so that that’s when he got his quirk, where before the exhaust on his palms and soles only gives out puffs of smoke. can often be seen not wearing shoes. his hair is very fluffy

IIDA FUBUKI quirk: ac - expels hot and cold air she’s strong willed with a strong sense of justice, asping to be a hero, tho in a different kind as what her father used to be. she strives to help people with issues that couldn’t easily be solved by heroes. she love kids, often babysitting her cousins, more often than not mostly tenma uses her to cool himself after training.

TODOROKI YUKIMURA HOMURA quirk: cremation - burns whatever she touces with all her fingers dabi and tomura fucked during the later's heat. he never wanted kids so when she was taken he never fought it. dabi and his family never knew about her until rei was contacted to take her cause her quirk was unstable and the orphanage felt threatened. natsuo and his wife took her in and she moved with them to hokkaido. she visits during vacation to hang out with her cousins. dabi made a pack with the hero commission to be let out of tartarus to be under hawk's watch to be there for her however he can. she knows the most about her family’s pasts

[maxwell-grant]

Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?

Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).

But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.

There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.

There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.

And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way

"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!

Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.

...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-

The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.

Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.

A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!

The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.

An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.

He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.

The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.

A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.

The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"

"Hard to say. We'll do our best."

"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."

Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.

Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.

He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!

Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!

He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.

This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.

The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.

Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.

But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.

Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.

Annabelle.

She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.

A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.

"Mommy? Mommy's here?"

Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.

"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"

It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.

"Yeah."

Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.

"'kay."

The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.

Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.

One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.

Sometimes I get cold at night.

"Even in the summer?"

Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.

She nodded.

He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.

She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.

The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.

She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.

(Art by Jill Thompson)

[lovelybnhaimagines]

@bbslayed​ thank u for your request! I hope I didn’t make it too sad for you <3 love u. I got carried away oop made it 2K words

A little pink plus. That’s what the pregnancy test came back as. You put your hand over your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. Try after try, you never got it. But now, you do. Wanting to surprise your husband, you decided to wrap it up in a box.

You would make sure to grab your camera to take a picture of his shocked face. When he came back from his hero work, that’s when you would celebrate.

He missed dinner. You expected it. Typically, Todoroki would be on patrol for hours, never taking a break for himself. Or for you.

You checked your phone to see if he called or texted or something. Sadly, nothing. Glancing at the box, you put it up getting yourself excited to show it to him when he finally came home.

He didn’t come back. Not at least while you were awake. When you went to bed, you felt the mattress sink down on the other side and a small kiss on your forehead. It was Todoroki. You were too tired to get up and tell him now. You went back to sleep.

The next morning, you expect Todoroki to pull you in his arms like he normally does. He wasn’t there. You groan. He left early for patrol work.

You figured he would come home later in the day. A better time to tell him. Maybe you should make a surprise dinner. Maybe a cake also saying it. You went to the store to get all of the ingredients.

You spent all day making the cake. When you frosted it, you wrote a little surprise on it, because this child was going to surprise him.

He still hadn’t come home. You checked the time and see it was the afternoon. No big deal. You cleaned up the small apartment, thinking you’ll need a bigger one soon. The baby room was going to be yellow. That’s what you wanted.

After making dinner, you checked the time. It was becoming late, and you still had no word from him. You were frustrated. The food was getting cold, and you just sat there staring at it becoming colder. He wasn’t coming.

You did the normal routine of packing up the food to have for later. You put the cake in a box to put in the fridge. You’ll just have to celebrate later.

Same routine. Todoroki comes home late at night, and he’ll leave early in the morning. You were becoming angry now.

The same routine as usual. You buy food, you clean the apartment, and you make dinner for the two of you. This time, you texted him

Are you going to be home?

Satisfied so far, he probably come home after your text message. Remind him that he did have a wife and a home to come to. And soon, a kid.

A ding came from your phone, and you felt like a teenage girl texting her boyfriend. You quickly grabbed it and read the response.

Sorry, I’m going to be late

Sorry over text message is all you got. You had to remind yourself that he is doing hero work. This was his big break, and he needs to put in the hours to become successful.

You gave a simple response.

Ok

You packed all the food up and went to go put them in the fridge. The cake as sitting there on the top shelf, calming you down. It will come soon enough and then he’ll get time off work to celebrate.

Same routine, once more.

And over, and over.

You felt like you’ve lost your husband.

“Are you feeling ok Shoto?”

“I’m ok.” He sounded blunt. He was finding gear that was rarely used for this mission.

“Are you going to be at home for dinner?” He looked at you and gave his usual honest answer.

“I don’t think so.”

You took a sharp and deep breath, trying to calm yourself as he left. He was your husband. He’ll have time off soon and that’s when you will tell him.

After you came back from the grocery store, you walked in to see a very tired Todoroki.

“Shoto! You’re back.”

“Not for long, I thought I should see you.”

“Of course,” you sat next to him and started to play with his red and white hair. He looked beautiful with it and his eyes matched too.

“Works been hard I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” Todoroki isn’t much for words, but he was never this bad.

“I’m sure you’ll get the break you need as well as the position.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation ended there before his pager beeped. He kiss you goodbye and walked away. You finally had him. Tears started to wheal up in your eyes, but you took a deep breath. You were over acting you said. He’ll come home soon

Soon turned into days turned into weeks. You were practically almost about showing. You wanted to surprise him the way you planned when you found out immediately.  You still had faith in your husband.

After leaning on the couch, he came in looking pretty rough, “Oh my god, Shoto are you ok?”

“Yeah (y/n), I’m ok” is all he said. You started to treat his wounds, maybe now would be the perfect opportunity to give him the pregnancy test.

“Hey Shoto-“

“I’m going to go back to work. I should be back before midnight.”

You glared at him, not going to him leave.

“Shoto, you’ve been working so much. I feel like you don’t care anymore.”

“I do care. I’m just busy.”

“I know, but do you ever consider asking to take the day off or getting off early. I know you’re a hard-working individual and one of the strongest heroes alive. I just want to see my husband.”

“I know but-“ the pager starts beeping louder. He groans and puts it on silent, “Can we talk about this later?” You couldn’t say no. You had to do it his way. You had no choice in the matter. They were taking your choices away.

You bite your lip as you walked to the fridge and threw the cake into the garbage. It was going stale and needed to be cleaned from the kitchen. You stare at the pieces in the trash can and started to feel negative feelings again.

You wish you could drink a bottle of wine.

This routine continued day after day again. You were tired of it.

“Shoto!” You shouted when he finally got free time at home, “We need to have a talk.”

“I figured you would.”

“Don’t get that way with me. I want you to put more effort in this relationship!”

“I do put effort-“ You let out a gasp of anger, not believing a word that is coming out from his mouth.

“No, you haven’t! You’re never home. You don’t text or call to let me know if you’re ok or if you’re coming home.” The tears started to fall down your cheeks. It took all the strength you had to have this conversation.

“I’m sorry (y/n). I’ve been busy with-“

“Hero work.” You completed his sentence and rolled your eyes, “Can’t you see that I’m neglected! I’m your wife you should spend time with me.”

“I do spend time with you. I have to work to help substation us. I don’t see you doing that.”

You saw red, “I can’t believe you said that! You asked me to stay home and cook the meals in this household. And I’ve done just that, and you’re never home for any of it. I’m sick of it you know.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I still have to do hero work” You realized this, and you couldn’t get in between him and his dream.

“I know you do. I just ask that you let me know that you’ll be out late.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Your fist clenched. More tears started to fall down your face. He didn’t comfort you, and you wanted to scream at him about it. You knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

His pager beeped, letting him know that he was needed. Todoroki didn’t say anything. He gave you a peck on the check and left.

Once more, you were alone.

With the same routine as always, you’d cook dinner, pack it back up, and clean up the apartment. You would spice it up and watch a movie instead of the news. You became tired, and you wanted to see him get home. You still wanted to discuss the issue at hand.

You did exactly that when he came back, “You’re back. Are you back for good tonight.?”

“I’m on call but for now I am free.” Todoroki sat down stretching, you could hear every bone pop. He must have had a hard day.

“I know we talk about your schedule, but when do you have free time?” You hoped it would be some time soon. You were still excited to give him his gift.

“I don’t think so. I’m booked on patrolling for the rest of the week.” This did it for you.

“Why can’t you be with your wife? You know the one who wanted to be with you for the rest of your life? I was hoping it was the same way.”

Todoroki looked caught off guard. He quickly tried to fix the situation, but he couldn’t come up with a response.

“Unbelievable. You’re really choosing work over me?” You gripped on whatever object that was nearby, “you know I had big news for you, but I’m not going to tell you unless you take me on a date. I was to spend time with my husband. Not the hero that everyone relies on.”

Todoroki looked as if he was going to say something, but his pager rang. Your heart stopped; words caught in your throat.

“We’ll discuss this later.” He then walked out the door to go to work.

“Liar.”

He actually did come home early, which surprised you. Todoroki walked through the door to see you on the couch reading a book.

“Ok, (y/n) what’s wrong?”

You closed your book to put on the coffee table, “You’re always gone. I never see you anymore. I miss the cuddles; I miss making you dinner. Ever since you became a pro-hero, you’re gone all the time. I just want and need you to be here.” You felt tears start to fall down your face. He quickly came over to wipe them off of your face.

“I know. I’m sorry. I need to take more time off. I-“ His pager rang again. You pushed him off of you.

“I’m tired of this! Can’t you let another hero do it?”

“You know I can’t do that.” Todoroki looked at it to see where the location is, “I promise I’ll get tomorrow evening off. We can have dinner then. I promise.”

You had to take him on his word. You gave him a kiss, and he was gone again. After thinking a bit, did you even want him with you? Would he even be a good father?

He was gone early the next morning. No surprise.

You went to make yourself breakfast. When you were cooking some eggs, you heard your phone ding. It was a text message from your husband.

I got the night off. We can be together

A smile grew on your face. You could tell him tonight. The box now sat on the counter, ready for him to open.

A dinner needed new groceries. You got dressed and went to the supermarket, humming to yourself. Getting what you needed.

You left, needing to cross the street to get to the bus stop.

“LOOK OUT!”

The next thing you saw was a car. Heading right towards you.

Crash

--

Todoroki was the first one to the hospital after he heard what happened. When he saw you in the ICU, you had bandages all over your face and body. The doctor looked at him, sadness on his face.

“Thank you for visiting Mr. Todoroki. Your wife is stable right now, but she’s in a critical state. I don’t think her, or your baby will make it.”

What? Todoroki paused, processing what he said.

“A baby?”

“You didn’t know. She’s almost 10 weeks pregnant. With the lack of oxygen she had, the baby is probably not going to make it, even if your wife does. I’m sorry.”

Then the doctor left. Todoroki felt numb, not knowing what to say or do. He became quiet.

Todoroki entered the room to hold your hand. You didn’t squeeze his hand back. You just laid there.

He stayed there as long as he could, but he had to go to bed. Todoroki trusted the doctors to take care of you until he can be with you again tomorrow.

When he got back to the apartment, he walked in to see a tiny box that sat on the counter. He dreaded opening it; but when he did, he saw a pregnancy test with a tiny pink plus on it. Under it was a note.

You’ll be a wonderful dad <3

He gripped the test, feeling a crack come from the plastic. If only he had been with you. Maybe you would have gone out to lunch together or go to your favorite bookstore. He was stuck with what ifs.

Suddenly he heard the phone ring. Walking over he felt his heart race, he normally didn’t show emotion, but his face was full of worry. Scared at what was to come.

“Hello Mr. Todoroki, it’s Musutafu General Hospital, Dr. Takai. I’m sorry to say…”

Don’t say those words.

“Your wife has passed away.”

[alwaysbeliev]

Same as the Last

pairing: Arthur x Reader

summary: Mary Linton has summoned Arthur once again, and he has dropped everything to see her. You're left at Shady Belle to wonder what is going on and what it means for your relationship.

word count: 1,782

notes: you can find this on AO3 under the same username, if you wish to give it love there, too! it’s been a long time since i really got into writing, so i’m taking baby steps. it might be small, but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

Curse that Mary Linton.

Pacing, pacing, all you could do was pace. The others were getting tired of it. Mrs. Grimshaw had already given you several chores, all of which you completed at haphazard speed. The laundry was still dripping on the line, puddles forming underneath in the already soaked ground. It was gonna take a thousand years to dry. But you had other things on your mind.

“Is that from your secret lover?” you had teased Arthur earlier. A letter had arrived for him, brought from the post office by Pearson, and he had scarcely looked at it when you asked. He chuckled at your joke. But as he studied the writing and unfolded the paper, his smile fell, replaced with a strange mixing of emotions you couldn’t quite place.

“No, it’s…” His voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the words before him. 

“Arthur?” You tried peeking over his shoulder, but in a defensive move, he turned so you couldn’t see it. “Is everything okay?”

Your mind started racing as you wondered what it might be. As far as you were aware, the outlaw had no outside obligations. None of the gang did. Quickly, you started cycling through any recent or semi-recent events, wracking your brain for an answer, anything that might help solve this weird and uncomfortable puzzle. Maybe it was some kind of summons? You’d heard of the law issuing letters. But if that were the case, then the gang’s pseudonym at the post office was compromised. Was it related to unfinished business in Valentine? 

It suddenly clicked. Right as Arthur finished reading, you said, “Mary.”

“I, uh... “ At least he had the decency to look sheepish. He nodded.

Immediately, your mood had soured. And it had only gone downhill from there. The letter arrived this morning, Arthur had read it after breakfast, and offered it to you to read after he had finished. It was from Mary, alright. She was in Saint Denis, and, yet again, she was begging for Arthur’s help. You tried not to be angry, but you were. Mary was long before you and you knew that, and yet, you were still strangely jealous of her. Despite existing long before you in Arthur’s life, she was still receiving so much attention, so much of his time, so much of his… You couldn’t think of what it was exactly, but it was infuriating. 

And now, here you were. Mid-afternoon. Roaming aimlessly around Shady Belle, getting on everyone’s nerves. Pearson, who was usually one to nag those who were bored into helping prep the food, was avoiding you like the plague. You had taken to practicing your aim, your volcanic pistol in your hand, squinting at the glass bottles you had lined up on the end of the dock. It was cruel, but you imagined each one was Mary and Arthur. Bang! There goes the engagement ring. Bang! Their stupid faces kissing. Bang!

You jumped about a mile in the air as the last gunshot came from behind you. Whirling around, you found yourself face to face with Arthur, lowering his revolver. He was smiling, just a slight lift to the left side of his mouth, and he pretended to blow smoke from the barrel of his weapon, spinning it poorly around his finger before replacing it in his holster. He approached you with his thumbs hooked in his belt to admire his work. 

“Always were a strong shot,” he commented, nodding his head towards the bottles. 

“You’ve been doing this a long time,” you grumbled. Arthur chuckled.

“Not me, I was talkin’ about you.”

You could only half shrug. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, though you knew he was searching for yours. He sighed deeply and shuffled his feet.

“Look, can we- Can we talk? I don’t want this to be turned into a, a big thing.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes and met his. The look on his face was begging you to have pity on him, exposing a strange vulnerability you had been seeing more from him lately. It tugged at your heartstrings and you finally caved. You tossed your head back, staring at the sky for a second as you exhaled sharply, drawing strength from the clouds above you. 

“Fine.” 

With a flourish, you extended your arm in a sweeping, “Right this way” motion, indicating he lead the way to a quiet spot. He stared at you a moment before stepping past you, walking towards the house. You trailed behind him, your mind returning to its tumultuous state it had been in most of the day. He had been gone so long, the sun was starting to go down, painting the campsite in orange hues. What could he have been doing all day? Mary hadn’t said what was going on in her letter, just hinted at it. You had spent an hour looking over it and scouring it for information. Man, your stomach hurt from the anxiety.

The two of you ended up in your shared room on the upper floor of the former plantation home. Arthur had held the door open for you, and you found yourself unable to sit down. Behind you, Arthur tried to encourage you to sit, but you could only shake your head. He edged past you to take a seat instead.

For a long while, you just stared at each other. Arthur removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. You couldn’t bring your mind to form any words for him. All the anger you had had that morning started to drain out of you at the sight of him. There was a sad air around him, something had happened, but you weren’t sure you wanted to hear what. He finally broke the gaze you had each other trapped in and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“How’s Mary?” Your voice finally broke the silence. You cut him off preemptively, scared of what he may have been about to say.

“She’s just fine,” he answered, apparently relieved to hear you speak. “So’s her father, the bastard.”

“It was about her father?”

“Yeah, no good asshole spending money he don’t even have.” The venom in Arthur’s voice made your skin crawl. It was easy to forget, in more tender moments, that he was an outlaw. The fire in his eyes lasted less than a second, however, rapidly replaced by the strange sadness from before. “He, uh… He tried to sell her mother’s brooch. For his.. Hell, I don’ even know, whatever he keeps spending money on. Same shit it’s always been.”

You were frozen, watching him carefully. He didn’t look up. Thinking there was more, you allowed the silence to continue, but the air was still heavy and you needed the weight off your chest.

“Was that all?” you finally asked. Your voice came out soft and fragile. You had your answer when Arthur turned his head upwards, the slightest guilty smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, and the churning feeling returned to your stomach. “Well, did you-- Did you kiss her?”

Arthur let out a bark of laughter. Suddenly, you felt very silly for even asking. 

“Darlin’, no,” he said. With a whoosh of air, your shoulders relaxed, and you even felt a smile approaching your own face. “I didn’t kiss her. But I’d be lyin’ if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.” The tightness returned as quickly as it had left. Anger bubbled upwards, rushing hot to your head, and you opened your mouth to accuse him, but the look in his eyes registered: it was pain. Pain?

“Arthur,” you whispered, “what happened? Please tell me.” 

Making eye contact once again, the cowboy shifted on the bed and gestured for you to sit beside him, this time closer to a command than suggestion. Hesitantly, you joined him. Your hands were placed gingerly in your lap. He returned to his previous position, elbows on his knees, and he barely looked to you as he recounted everything that happened. He started with Mary shouting to him from the balcony, to their almost argument about the what-ifs of their past, through pursuing her father and chasing down the brooch. They had gone to the theater together. A date? And, finally…

“Mary… Mary asked me to run away with her.” 

The range of emotions running through your head was making you dizzy. Too much to process, too much to consider, so much anger at her, anxiety towards Arthur’s thoughts. You stared hard at your fingers, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread on your clothes. You wondered at what the conversation was like, what Arthur had said, what his expression had betrayed. Did Mary mean it? Was she truly still thinking about him all these years later? Would she ever stop trying to take him away?

“Say somethin’.” His gaze turned to you, the worry clear in his voice. His piercing blue eyes were burning into the side of your head. Without enough time to compose a kinder phrasing, you spluttered out the first thought you had.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Why--?” Arthur chuckled, a low rumble deep in his chest. Relief, you realized, was the cause for his sudden change of tone. “Mary has played me for a fool more times than I can count. We was just kids, then. We’re… Well, we’re grown now, things have changed. Besides, I love you too much to disappear like that.”

Every other thought left your mind. I love you. I love you. I love you… He had never said those words to you. They were spoken every day through action, sure, but out loud… They were almost taboo. Tears filled your eyes as you looked up into his face. His eyes widened in alarm.

“You love me?” you managed to say, your voice strained by the tightening of your throat.

“I have, for a while,” he said. “I-I’m sorry, I jus’ didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it’s the truth. I do love you, darlin’. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Relief in the purest form of ecstasy washed over you. You threw your arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. He stiffened for a moment before returning the embrace. His warmth filled you up and washed out every bad feeling and thought you had that day. 

“I love you, too,” you said softly, burying your face in his neck. He still carried the smells of Saint Denis with him, but you didn’t care. He didn’t smell like Mary Linton, and he never would. He was yours.

[dayurno]

under the cut is the kandrew throw down of the year™ aka my attempt at reasoning the ch*king scene in therapeutic context. the events in this happen in betsy’s office, on the grounds that andrew asked her to fix them a few weeks after canon. could probably be the kickstarter for a kandreil fic but who knows. i sure don’t

tw: discussions of abuse, choking, kevin flipping his shit (aren’t you tired of being nice? don’t you just want to go apeshit?)

"You’re a spineless, despicable, selfish, obsessed and self-righteous person—” Andrew starts, a tinge of anger simmering under his words. It’s almost dangerous, but Kevin knew Betsy would throw Andrew out of his room if he tried solving this with his fists. 

Maybe it’s that safety that has Kevin cutting him off, perhaps just as viciously, “You are a man,” he says, pointing a finger in Andrew’s direction. “You are an average, lazy, boring, cowardly, success-fearing man. You have potential and you waste it. You think feeling nothing makes you have the upper hand, but that makes you average. It makes you so-so; irrelevant; not special. You settle because you’re a coward.” He takes a deep breath. “You think violence makes you a man. It does not. It makes you a petulant child with knives.”

“Not so spineless after all,” Andrew snarls, a cold fury settling all over him and tightening his muscles into unbearable tension, as if he was about to snap. 

Kevin does not find fear when he looks for it; most of all, he’s tired. He’s tired of Andrew’s leash and how short it is, he’s tired of pulling at his teeth, he’s tired of up-keeping a deal with a man who did not keep his word in the first place. “Do better, then. Stop acting like a child and do better. You can’t like me if you tried and I’m getting tired of pulling at your teeth.”

“Andrew,” Betsy interrupts before Andrew can —  most likely —  launch himself onto Kevin, “what do you think? How does that make you feel?”

He stares at her fixedly, avoiding Kevin as if he weren’t there. “I think that I want him out.”

She considers it for a second, then says, “No. I can’t let him leave, Andrew. This is the root of all your issues with each other, and you’ve asked me to fix you two. Let me help.”

Andrew takes a long, shuddering breath, so deep Kevin’s own lungs hurt as he follows it. Inhale; exhale. They do it as parallel lines, eyes pointedly away from each other. “I think,” he roughly replies, “that Kevin could simply go back to the Ravens if he wants someone that gets off to Exy as much as he does.”

“Oh, because that’s so mature,” Kevin fumes, at once the forest fire and the leftover ashes. “It’s so easy for you to throw other peoples’ abuse around, isn’t it? Andrew gets to have boundaries, Andrew gets to keep secrets, but God helps anyone who wants to do the same. No one can touch you, but you can hurt people however you want without a single care for the consequences. Doesn’t sound very fucking healthy to me, Andrew. It sounds like someone I know and you won’t like to hear who it is.”

Andrew’s gaze is stone cold. Kevin would shiver if he wasn’t so deep within the flames, and then again —  he's seen worse. If Kevin survived Riko Moriyama, he'll survive anyone.

 “Say it,” Andrew demands. “I dare you. Say it.”

“I don’t fucking do what you tell me to do,” Kevin snaps, struggling to keep his voice down. “I’m not your fucking pet, Andrew. Obedience under the coercion of a knife is not the choice you think you’re giving me.”  

“Is that how you feel?” Andrew asks, dead gazed. His lips are chapped and his hands are balled into fists; shaking with the strength it takes him to hold himself back from giving Kevin another necklace of bruises. “You were not forced to strike a deal with me. You did it out of your own volition. Do not speak of things you do not understand because you want to lash out at me.”

“He thinks I don’t understand what it’s like to not have a choice,” Kevin laughs, a cynical sound choked out of his throat. “Oh, aren’t you farsighted. Before I got out of the Nest, saying ‘no’ to someone was not even in question, Andrew. There are things I still need spelled out for me because I don’t know what it’s like to have personal fucking boundaries. When you choked me, I,” at this point Kevin’s hands are trembling at the same violent rhythm Andrew’s are, though a part of him —  untainted and scared; perpetual in its adolescence —  still thrashes at his insides at the mere thought of arguing back, biting back. “I didn’t even know. I didn’t know that wasn’t a thing you should be allowed to do. I didn’t have a name for that. All I thought was that I was submitted to you, and that it was right, and that I was paying for keeping something from you. I didn’t know and you did it anyways. You took advantage of me.”

Andrew’s entire body tenses up. “I didn’t. I didn’t. If you say something like that again, I’ll kill you.”

“Then be it,” Kevin replies, leaning back against the chair with a slump of his shoulders. “Kill me. Do it. Finish the job you started. Live with yourself afterwards. Live your sad, average, miserable life and feel free to tell me if it’s worth it in the end.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Betsy holds her palm up in a quieting motion, looking only slightly tipped off by Kevin’s blowout. It was probably the last thing he’d ever say to Andrew —  probably the last thing he’d say at all, if Andrew’s murderous wishes were to be fulfilled —  and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. “That’s enough, you two. Kevin, do you understand how heavy of an implication that is? You cannot take it back. You know Andrew’s issues with being taken advantage of.”

“But isn’t it, doctor? Isn’t it being taken advantage of?” Kevin spits out, “Isn’t it taking advantage of someone to hurt them from a position of power, thus rendering them unable to defend themselves? I think it is. I think I won’t allow him to make me seem crazy for being angry.”

Betsy blinks for a few seconds, searching for Andrew’s eyes. Andrew, on the other hand, is perfectly still, frozen from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. There is no pride in Kevin to have made him like that —  there is only tiredness, so deep it settles in his bones. His bones; the place he knows Andrew the best in. Kevin sighs, “I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to. But I can’t do that with you using me as your punch bag because you know I won’t hit back, Andrew. I can’t do that.”

“I did not mean to,” Andrew says in a whisper, almost a prayer. “I did not mean to.”

“Andrew,” Betsy calls, her tone unwavering, “breathe. Breathe. You can’t fix this if you’re having a panic attack. You’re with me, you know this. You’re in my office at Palmetto State University. You are safe. You are having a joint session with Kevin.”

“I did not mean to hurt you,” Andrew repeats, and it’s the most vulnerable Kevin has ever seen him. Something in his chest recoils sadly at the sight. “I did not mean to take advantage of you. I was just—  Neil—  I lost control.”

Kevin purses his lips, allowing his bruising heartbeat to will down. “I know you didn’t mean to be cruel. That doesn’t mean you were kind.”

“Okay,” the therapist sighs, adjusting her glasses. “Okay. Andrew, I don’t think Kevin shouldn’t be allowed to manifest his anger in a controlled environment. You hurt him in a way that hindered his own recovery, and triggered memories of his own abuse. You did not mean to bring those memories back, but it has happened all the same. Kevin, do you think this could be fixed?”

He wets his lips, gently thumbing along the skin of his throat where sickly yellow, green and purple bruises were only a few weeks ago. Andrew follows his movements almost obsessively, and something glossy shimmers under the layer of apathy Kevin knows too well; guilt. Self-loathing. Kevin huffs a soft sound, and answers honestly, “I don’t know if I can forgive it in a way that’s healthy.”

She nods. “Thank you for your honesty. Andrew, do you think there is anything you could do to make it up for him?”

Andrew exhales shakily. “He could hit back.”

Betsy frowns, but Kevin beats her to whatever she was going to say by uttering, “No. I won’t put my hands on you.”

It makes Andrew offer him a weird look, though he’s still far, far away, the guilt now a lot more emptier; cotton-white. He looks speechless, so Kevin completes it for him: “I’m not like them. I’m not like…” like you, he wants to say, but wills it away; it would be too cruel. “I’m not going to hit back. I just want… I don’t know, Andrew. I don’t know what you want me to do and I’m tired of having no choice. I'm tired of having the yes choked out of me.”

“I will make it up to you.” Andrew steadies his gaze onto Kevin’s face, gripping the armrest of his chair until his already pale knuckles turn white. It sounds like a promise. “I will make it up to you. You have my word.”

It doesn’t mean much to me right now, Kevin wants to say. Instead, he answers, “Okay,” because really, what else is there to do? Andrew’s word is the best he can offer. There is nothing else he can promise and not even Exy can mend —  whatever this is. Whatever Andrew has made of them. 

“Is there anything else you want to say, Kevin?” Betsy asks, gently, her words a feathery touch skimming down the side of his face. 

Kevin doesn’t answer, staring directly at Andrew, wishing that he could at least hold his gaze for a second, a minute, a lifetime —  enough that Kevin could peel back the years of apathy from him like jackets, meeting Andrew, for once, in all of his mess the same way he has met Kevin’s messes one too many times. “Yes,” he says, and Andrew snaps his gaze towards Kevin with something too akin to shame for it to be any comfort. Still, Kevin holds it like it’s a prize, challenges him, tells him something Andrew might have not believed until now: I am unbreaking. “Wash that look out of your face. It’s a waste of blood and sweat, and I won’t have it in my life or in my Court. You cannot break me. I am angry at you because you tried when you were supposed to have my back.”

“I know,” Andrew answers, his grief razor-sharp and stupefying. “I will not be like them. I will not be like him. I will make it up to you.”

“Good,” Kevin tells him, crossing his arms and baring his teeth. “I’m expensive to keep.”

Betsy looks like she wants to interrupt their relentless stare down; Kevin’s muddy green meeting Andrew’s forest fire hazel, a battle of wills years in the making. Kevin might not hit back outside of Court, but he does not pull away —  he is not the man to do it. If it aches in Andrew, then it should ache and ache and ache, until it balances out the pain he caused; until he rots into something new.

He is just a boy, barely a man, a shadow of what someone with such unrelenting morality should be and act like. Kevin looks at him —  really looks at him, no bias clogging his mind, and what he sees is what he’s always seen; a boy. 

Leave it to the rest of the team to mistake Andrew Minyard for a hero or a villain. Their eyesight is filtered through their own self-beliefs, their opinions are based on their inability to believe others have the same nuance and complexity they believe themselves to have. Kevin Day, though —  he has always had perfectly sharp vision, and he cannot be fooled by sharp knives and dead eyed gazes. He came from men much worse; he sat with the horrors of the world, unflinchingly, long before Andrew did.

If Andrew could only be what he pretends he is.

[littleoddwriter]

Annoying | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

"hi,,,, me again,,,, back,,,, with another request,,,,, 24 and 16,,,, with roman? like reader is talking about their hyper fixation (I don't mind what it is) while roman is trying to work on something and without thinking just snaps about trying to work and that reader needs to stop being so annoying, reader then withdraws into themselves because rsd is a bitchhhh and later roman is trying to act like he never did anything but reader is still :( and when roman asks why and reader is like "you called me annoying" roman just rolls his eyes and is like "you gotta stop taking things so seriously" which just further upsets reader (you can choose how to solve this, and stuff, how forgiveness is given and stuff idk) thanks ily bby" @theamazingspideymerc​ A/N: I hope this is to your liking. Ily2, my dear! 

summary; You talk about your current hyper fixation [Unus Annus, a (now in real time, but not in the fic) deleted YouTube channel], while Roman’s working, so he snaps at you. A small argument ensues, but you forgive and forget quickly.

notes: TW // Small fight/Fighting; RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) + Abandonment Issues (due to past trauma). Male!Reader; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Forgive and Forget; Actually communicating after a small fight; Hyper Fixations.

"And like it's gonna end soon and I'm really sad about it, right? But I'm also kinda happy because they'll have time for their own projects again and I can't imagine how stressful it must have been to put out a video every single day. Like, Mark and Ethan and Amy, Evan and all the editors were so busy every single day with it, but it was definitely worth it. And I mean, some of the videos were so fucking high quality and stuff. Most were like really long shit posts, though, and I loved it and I'm gonna miss it, but---"

"Fuck, y/n, could you stop being so fucking annoying for one second? I'm trying to actually get some work done here," Roman interrupted you harshly, piercing you with an angry glare.

Immediately your mouth clamped shut, your eyes filled with tears, your face and ears burned, and you lowered your head, as to not let him see your lower lip wobble.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Roman just turned back around and continued working. You were left sitting on the chaise longue, feeling exposed, hurt, guilty and ashamed. Curling in on yourself, you drew your legs up, so your knees were against your chest, as you wrapped your arms around them and lowered your head on them.

You just wanted to disappear.

This was it. It had to be. You annoyed Roman one too many times and now he would break up with you and tell you to fuck off, never wanting to see you again.

You tried very hard not to cry. You didn't want to disturb him any further by being loud while sobbing uncontrollably.

Though with the effort of holding it back, your entire body was quaking. You felt so uncomfortable. You just wanted to go, but you couldn't make yourself get up and go to the bathroom or bedroom, lest you would only annoy Roman by moving around.

A while later - you couldn't pinpoint how long it's been, but your entire body felt stiff and ached - Roman got up from the dining table and moved over to you, sitting down next to you.

"Come out of your shell, baby, hm? I'm done, now. If you like, we can eat then. All this fucking work's made me hungry," he said, tapping your shoulder and then squeezing one of your arms that was wrapped around your legs.

The lump in your throat felt so big, you couldn't make yourself talk, couldn't loosen it. Only a tiny whimper made it past your lips, making you cringe inwardly.

"Baby, come on. What is it, hm?" Roman asked, squeezing you again and then nudging you.

"You called me annoying." It was a hoarse whisper, hardly audible at all.

"Fuck. You've got to stop taking things so seriously all the time."

The grip your hands had on your legs tightened with what he said.

"It's not as easy as you make it out to be, Roman." Your voice broke throughout, it was so raw and hoarse from holding back those tears and not drinking anything for hours.

"Oh, come on. You know I wasn't serious. I was just busy and agitated by what I was working on. It didn't have shit to do with you. 'Kay?"

"That's not what it sounded like to me."

"Well, it's the fucking truth, though." Roman rolled his eyes and sighed.

You finally looked up at him, hurt written all over your face, your eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Look, I'm okay with you telling me that I need to shut it because you're working and I'm sorry that I haven't stopped talking sooner, okay? I just don't realise it sometimes. But you don't need to be such a fucking asshole about it."

Roman clenched his jaw and nodded jerkily.

"'Kay then," he rasped and got up, walking away from you, away from this conversation.

"Fuck," you muttered. "Roman, I'm sorry. Please!" Your voice broke even more as you raised it to still reach his ears, as he was almost in the hallway.

Roman halted and turned around, facing you again. His face was twisted with barely concealed hurt and anger.

"What?" He hissed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'm sorry. Please, come back. Can't we just talk this through? Please?"

He took a deep breath and sighed, his shoulders sagging with it, the anger leaving his face, but the hurt remained. Then he walked back over to you and sat down again.

"Fine. Let's fucking talk then."

"Thank you," you whispered.

He jerked his head in a resemblance of a nod.

"People always shut me up and told me I'm annoying, too much, a nuisance, and so on, when I would talk about my hyper fixations, you know? All my fucking life, everyone would make me feel bad and ashamed for it. Not like I had much control over it. Though I started bottling it up and shutting up, instead writing about it on the internet or whatever. So that I'd stop annoying everyone around me and possibly make them hate me."

You paused, swallowing thickly.

"Yet, surprisingly you listened, even though I know you couldn't give less of a fuck. You don't make me feel bad about this stuff, you just listen and sometimes say something about it or ask questions and it's nice, y'know? 'Cause no one's ever bothered to do that for me before. And now-"

A wry laugh left your lips. Tears welled up again. A lump developed in your throat.

"Now you called me annoying, just like everyone else. And I can't help but fear that you will leave me. That you fucking hate me, that I've been annoying you all this time and now it was just one time too many. Roman, I don't want you to leave me because I keep talking about things you don't care about. I don't want you to hate me because I'm fucking annoying."

You couldn't make eye contact with him throughout the whole speech, looking anywhere but at him, like you always did when you talked.

He inhaled sharply, which made you look at him. Tears shone in his eyes.

"Fuck. I didn't mean to- Fuck! You're not annoying, baby. You're not. I was really just tired and fucking done because of work, is all. Your talking was grating on my ears and making it fucking hard for me to focus. That's why I snapped. I didn't even think of what I was fucking saying. I'm not gonna fucking leave you for talking, baby. I'm not."

An ugly sounding sob finally tore itself from your throat and tears rolled down your eyes, as you lowered your legs after all this time. Roman wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in close, your head resting against his chest. Your tears soaked his expensive cotton shirt, but he didn't seem to care. He rubbed your arms soothingly, as you trembled with the force of your emotions.

"Ssshhh, baby, sh sh sh," Roman shushed you gently, pressing kisses in your hair and nuzzling it. "I'm not leaving you, 'kay?"

"O-Okay," you whimpered in between snivels. "I'm sorry, though. I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"Don't. It's over now, isn't it? It doesn't fucking matter anymore, yeah?"

You nodded against his chest. It didn't matter, not now, not anymore. Perhaps only until the next time he would snap at you again, but until then it would stay in the past. 

[luthien-t]

Pregnancy Scare

Loki X Female! Reader

54. Why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?

110.You passed out for like an hour.

7.You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today.

warning: Angst to fluff, mentions of abortions, mentions of death (if u squint), 

“Hey!! I saw your prompt list, could I request a Loki x reader, with numbers 54 and 110 please ? 🙂 “

“For Loki x F!reader 7 "you've gone to the bathroom 50 times today" and 54 "why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?" Where reader is too afraid to tell Loki she is pregnant because he has stated his fear of being a bad father and since reader is mortal, he doesn't know what will happen to her body. *angsty fluff pls!!*”

More prompts

“I’ll be right back, just gotta go to th-“

“The bathroom, yes, I know” He chuckled and you just stared at him like a deer caught in the headlight. “That wretched bathroom has been stealing you from me all day, love.” His eyes were glued to the book he was reading to you with a smile on his face and you chuckled nervously. “What?” You mumbled and stood, unlatching yourself from his body and looked down at him. “You’ve gone to the bathroom at least 50 times today, I believe” A smirk was printed on his face as he joked.

 “You midgardians and your fragile physiology” His eyes averted from the book and up at you, the smirk on his face slightly dropping and you laugh nervously this time, walking towards the bathroom, taking big large steps towards the door. “Heh, yep, be out in a sec!” You yell through the door and lock it, staring at the door before locking it again, just to be sure, you thought to yourself before pulling out the third test you’ve taken today, checking the results.

Your grip on the small test in your hand tight, your body trembling as you sat down on the bathrooms floor, the tears in your eyes fogging the view and you hoped that maybe it’s the reason why the test result is positive. You blinked your eyes quickly, moving your tears out of the way. The results remain the same. You assumed your period being late 2 months was just a hormonal issue, but now? You were terrified.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You mumbled and threw it in the bathrooms trash-can. This can’t be happening, this was the third test you’ve taken and all the results were all positive, all you can think about is him, about that one conversation you had with him months ago.

—

Your body laid flush against his chest, your head buried into his neck and his hands untangling the strands in your hair. “Aren’t you worried?” You mumble to him, you just asked him about the possibilities of you getting pregnant. “Why would I be worried? We are two completely different beings, darling. Besides, you’re on birth control. We will be fine.” His voice was calm, he sounded confident but you can feel his heartbeat speeding under your chest.

“We could be the exception, Loki” This time you adjusted your body, with your chin resting on his chest and eyes looking up at him. Lokis expressions flickered quickly between worry and fear. “Darling-“ He started, but you can hear the fear dripping from his tone. “We can’t even comprehend what might happen to you, if you ever carry my child” His eyes were distant and looking away from you and you remain silent, not wanting to ruin the vulnerability he is fighting to hide. “With me? A god? A frostgiant. You could-“ He then stopped and looked at you, as if trying to memorise your features and bit his lower lip, this time you nod slightly with a slow blink, showing him that you understand.

“Besides, I can’t be a father, you know I can’t” He whispered the words to you and you let out a sigh through your nose. You knew what he meant by that, but how can you convince him otherwise when he saw things you only heard through his stories?

—

A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts and you jumped slightly, your head turning to the door. “Y/n? Are you still in there, my love?” It was Loki, he must’ve noticed your long absence while you were lost in your own train of thoughts.

“Yes? Give me a minute!” You voice wavered and his shadow under the door stood still, you prayed that he didn’t notice and would drop it but you know he wouldn’t. Yet to your surprise, he said he ordered lunch and walked away. You let out a loud sigh, wiping your tears quickly and washed your face, you have to find a way to tell him.

Your mind starts to wander again as your feet lead you of the bathroom, what if he leaves you? What if this is the final straw for him and a wake up call that you’re just a midgardian who won’t even live past 80? “Darling?” He’s standing by the door frame of your room, watching you. “Is everything alright? I can feel your thoughts all the way from over here.” He chuckled lightly and walked towards you. “I’m just tired, thats all” You stumble on your words quickly and force a smile on your face as he wraps his arms around you, had he noticed your blatant lie? He didn’t show. His arms engulfed you in a tight hug, his lips pressed on the top of your head. “You look like you’ve seen the dead, whats going on?” He smiled lightly down on you and you shook your head, feeling light after his release, black dots forming in your vision. “Nothing, I’m just-“ You swallowed and walked towards your bed, needing to lay down. “woah, woah, woahh.” He whispered as he watched you rush towards the bed as your words slurred the same mantra. Im just tired, Loki. That was the last thing you mumbled before your body closed off on you.

You must’ve been asleep for a while because the sun was setting and the beams were reflecting off of the opposite buildings glass and righy into your eyes. You sat up and there he was, reading his book on the bed next to you. His brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, memories of the morning slowly coming back to you.

“Hey” You whispered, clearing your throat after.

“You’ve been passed out for like an hour.” His eyes remained on the book, his tone was stern as he flipped a page, even though his eyes didn’t follow the words on the page. “Sorry, I’m just-“ Your whispered words were interrupted by his. “Tired? Yes, I know.” His tone slowly became angry and your hands found the hem of your shirt, nervously tangling it with your fingers. You try to pinpoint why his anger was pointed at you, trying to find a way to solve this.

“Can we continue where we last stopped?” You refer to the book he was reading and his head turns to you, his eyes seeing right through you and you wonder if you’ve done something wrong to upset him. He stared at you for a while, his eyes flickering between your eyes and every inch of your body.

You can feel a wall being built between you two and that there is nothing you can do, both of you remained still and quite for a moment, just staring at each other.

“Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?” He goes straight to the point and you can feel your heart dropping to your stomach, your knees feeling weak and your hands stop fiddling with your shirt. “Wh-“ He interrupts you again. “Why. Is. There. A pregnancy test. In the trash?” He speaks slowly, though his voice was stern, you can hear the fear dripping through the words.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke quickly, tears threatening to spill in your eyes and you look up, away from him. He shuts his book with a slam and sits up, looking at you, reading your face and the multiple emotions switching in your eyes.

"I'm sorry" You repeat again, your words hidden behind the breaking of your voice and the sob threatening to shake through your body. Loki sat still, waiting for you to calm down, his brows no longer furrowed but his eyes still filled with anger. "What is all this, y/n? Is this why you've been going to the restroom all day?" He asks, whispering the words to you, trying to keep his emotions out of this. You nod and he lets out a sigh through his nose. "I can go get an abortion and we can get past this, Loki. I'm sorry for lying and I didn't want to tell you until I was sure and-"

"Stop." He rests a hand on your knee, trying to stop you from rambling on and on about this. "stop, before you say something you might regret." He continues and you bite your tongue, trying to decipher what he means by that.

"You know I love you, darling. But this is a lot to take in." He whispers to you, his head leaning towards your and you nod, blinking to try to stop your tears from falling. "I know you don't want a child with me, Loki." You whisper back to him and he shakes his head. "It's not like that." His eyes drop to your hands, shaking slightly. "I want one with you, but-" He looks up at you and you read his eyes, filled with fear and conflict. "I am not fit to be a father, darling. Not one worthy of such title." This time you shake your head and cup his head. "But you are, my love!" You hold his hands in your face and lean closer. 

"I don't even know how to hold a baby, Loki. But this is our child. We will manage." You smile gently at the words our child and he shakes his head slightly. "What would happen to you?" He asks, your shoulders drop, eyes looking anywhere but him. "What am I to do without you here? With a child I can not raise alone?" A chuckle escapes your lips and he furrows his eyebrows.

"If I am not fit to carry this child, My body wouldn't have allowed it happen, love." The hand Loki had on your thigh pulls you closer to him and you mumble to him. "I promise you, If I ever feel like my body is giving to much, I will tell you and we can find a solution. Like we always do." Your arms wrap themselves around his neck and he remains quiet. As if debating and calculating his next words.

"Ruma." He says before kissing you softly and you raise an eyebrow. "What?" You pull away from his lips, your head tilted slightly. "If the child is a girl, we will name her Ruma." A smile slowly appeared on his face and you chuckle. "Oh really?" He nods again. "And Murö for a boy." You giggle at his sudden shift and your head tilts backwards, your body shaking with happy tears.

"Already thinking of names? We're not even entirely sure, love" You look back at him, his arms snaked their ways around your waist, pulling you to his lap, adjusting your legs around his waist.

"Be quiet." He whispers, shushing you along the way and you try to hold in a giggle. "Let the child rest, now." One of his hands slipped under your shirt and you smile widely at the view unfolding in front of you, joyful tears forming in your eyes. 

[asexual-means-no-attraction]

(same anon who asked if it's okay to block people you don't like)

Ah, I see your point. I've always been taught and thought myself that it's necessary to be in state of discomfort regularly and get exposed to things you don't like, otherwise, if you are too comfortable, you won't be developing personally, and also that the negative reactions are the only source of information about inner issues that need to be solved. But to be honest, I've started to get tired of this idea. It's not like I can become the wisest person on Earth, or even that I can change anything much around me, so what's even the point in such hard-earned self-development? If some shit happens, I'll know from the t-gram news channels shortly. And maybe getting on my own nerves in advance isn't really a best strategy to get prepared for it. I'm still thinking on that, but thank you and @lgbtpolitics for sharing your thoughts!

This chart is a good thing to go by.

The blue area is your comfort zone. This is where you should spend most of your time. You should be comfortable, maybe a little bit of stress from day to day life, but your able to go to bed feeling good.

Green is just barely outside of your comfort zone. Doing things that make you nervous-- but not scared or angry.

Red is the danger zone. This is fear and anger. You want to avoid those things.

As you go out into the green more and more the blue circle will get bigger and bigger. So who knows, maybe a few years down the line you'll be comfortable seeing some of those posts on a regular basis. But if you're not there yet, forcing yourself to keep seeing them isn't gonna help. It'll probably make your comfort zone smaller honestly.

The point of life isn't to change the world. It's not to fix every little problem or make sure we're informed of every little detail. It's ok to step back and just enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. It's ok. Self growth is good, but you don't always need to be moving towards it.

@lgbtpolitics figured I'd tag you since anon thanked you.