#behind the writing: the pick me chronicles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jomamaofficial · 1 year

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Not sure if u do all Mha characters but could u do an all might angst of him having a daughter he doesn’t pay attention much too?

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: Anon, I’m not going to lie, when I first read this request, I was like ehh… idk if I’ll enjoy writing that. And then I actually sit down and write it, and I’m like, WHAT IN THE WORLD, WHY AM I SO INVESTED IN THIS. So anon, you are a genius and you made my day with this request <3. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. TW: Mentions of blood. Masterlist Edit: Part 2 Word Count: 3548. Summary: Adopted by All Might at the age of five, Toshinori Y/N was being trained to become the ninth user of One For All. With the quirk Element which gave you the ability to control all four classical elements: Air, Water, Fire, and Earth, you were set for victory in the hero-society. However, after your quirk was stolen, your path led astray, the clear neglect was getting obvious, day by day, as your father found a new student to mentor.

——————————————————————————————————

The phone didn’t even ring for a second and he had already picked it up.

“Y/N, my child, could you get the door? Midoriya-Shounen has come to visit.”

Silently, you obeyed your father as you promptly left your work.

Midoriya Izuku. It was a popular name in the Toshinori household. His name managed to sneak into every dinner conversation, and every evening walk.

And now, he was just outside the door, seconds away from intruding your peace.

You released a breath, fingers on the door handle. Your shoulders dropped down low and you straightened your spine, standing an inch or two taller.

It was finally time to meet him.

So with your best rehearsed smile that still didn’t reach your eyes, and your well rehearsed speech playing continuously in your suffocating mind, you opened the door.

A bouquet of flowers and an earnest grin– this was the first time you met Midoriya Izuku.

A few seconds passed as both of you stood still, your throat running slightly dry as you saw confusion build up in the young man’s face.

“Um”, he took a gulp and stepped back. “I’m looking for the Toshinori household…?”

You blinked at him before clearing your throat.

“Yeah, you’re at th- um, yeah this is- I mean, I am-”

“Midoriya-Shounen!”

A loud and hearty voice greeted the young boy with a warm hug, apron on, spatula in one hand. You winced as you rubbed the shoulder your father swiftly brushed past.

You pressed your lips together as you stood beside the embracing pair, hands behind your back as you hid them further into your sweater.

“Five minutes early as always, my boy! Come on in!”

With an excited nod, the boy stepped inside the house, slipping his shoes off into the side of the genkan before following your father into the living room.

Unspoken words remained discarded in your mouth.

And they led, and you followed.

“You have a lovely house, All Might! I was really afraid I was going to run late. I had a bit of a heart attack when someone else opened the door… I thought I took down the wrong address, my mother told me it would happen but I was so surprised that I didn’t even think to confirm it beforehand or anything and it was so-”

“Midoriya-Shounen, please. Relax,” Toshinori chuckled, resting his hand on the worried boy’s shoulders. “You are here now. Please, sit down.”

Midoriya ran his hand to the back of his hair, sheepishly rubbing it as he took a seat across from you. His cheeks became flushed as his fingers adjusted the neck of his sweater.

Toshinori rushed into the kitchen without another word, grabbing a plate of meticulously placed mochi in one hand, and a tray with two glasses and a pitcher of water in the other.

Midoriya immediately got up as he saw his mentor struggle through the narrow doorway, extending his arms to take the tray from him.

They set the delicacies on the glass table, and without being told, Midoriya placed three coasters that were piled on the side of the table. His nimble hands made quick work of removing the glasses and pitcher from the tray.

“Always a step ahead, my son!” Toshinori commended with a proud grin that stretched across his tired face.

You moved to the side to make space for your father, tensing your legs so you could cramp yourself in the tiny corner of your tiny sofa.

‘My son’.

You watched as your father approached you, a glass of water in hand. Your eyes brightened.

But your fingers barely brushed the cold glass before your father walked past you.

The loud shut of the door shut the sparkle in your gaze and your jaw seized as you observed Midoriya, who moved to the side for your father who sat in the remaining space.

Your hands immediately guarded the sliver of your exposed neck, the pads of your finger rubbing against your collarbone.

Their lengthy conversation bled into a distance, and like a required prop, you just sat in the corner, spacing out onto the clear surface of the table that stood in between, dividing the pride and the disappointment.

Your lips became dry as the shallow inhales and exhales latched onto the chapped skin of your lips.

Water.

You needed water.

But the only glasses in the room glared back at you, half-empty.

“Oh, I’m sorry… Did I take your glass by mistake?”

Midoriya caught on quickly, his eyebrows furrowing apologetically.

You opened your mouth, drawing a breath in until-

“Fret not Midoriya-Shounen, the glass was yours. I must have forgotten to bring the third glass, there wasn’t enough space on the tray, you see.”

Your father had responded once again. And your unspoken words were discarded before they could even be said.

“Y/N, go get yourself a glass, if you please. And on your way, maybe refill the jug too?”

Midoriya stood up with the jug in his hand, “allow me to help you Toshinori-san!”

“Ah nonsense, she can do it herself, my son.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, your father sat Midoriya back down. “We don’t need to ruin the flow of our conversation, young man! We have much to speak about.”

Midoriya tensed his brows as his gaze lowered. But in the end, with a curt nod, he settled into the comfort of his seat and the jug was placed back on the coaster.

Hours passed. Evening twilight wound into night darkness. The bags under Toshinori’s eyes held greater weight, yet his dark vacant eyes held the reflection of the green-haired man in front of him, gleaming in a halo of pride.

It wasn’t until Toshinori’s lungs gave way to a bloody cough that the pair realised that the jug was empty.

It wasn’t until the pair halted their conversation, glasses in hand, that they realised that the sofa in front of them was empty.

After the last few finishing touches, you stepped back with a breath of relief; your aching hips required some support from your hands, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

An infectious pride was blooming in the depths of your chest, painting a ray of sunshine onto your cloudy face. The apples of your cheeks, full and bare; the crinkle of your eye, unfamiliar but genuine. You held your chin up high with your sleeves rolled to your elbows.

“It looks amazing, Y/N-chan!”

You basked in the sonorous sound of your supervisor, who had just stepped besides you.

“This is revolutionary, Y/N-chan, it truly is… I expected one or two sketch designs, but you… I have no words for how proud I am…”

Your lips turned upwards as you met your supervisor’s eyes, beaming her a wide grin before turning back to your exhibition where before you, set delicately, was the accumulation of two years of hard work.

Five scaled down prototypes of iron suits were set on display– standing tall and noble. Each suit was paired with leaflets in their respective stands, with a bold font printed across the face: ‘The Iron Suit and the Quirkless Hero’.

“I couldn’t afford any mistakes sensei… I just couldn’t. This was my dream. It’s been my dream since I was a child...”

And your inner child couldn’t let it go.

So you grabbed her tiny hand, and pulled her far away from her sorrows, protecting her, nourishing her.

The manifestation of the first quirk was regarded as a mystical phenomena; straight out of a sci-fi movie. But as time passed, quirk manifestations spread into common reality. ‘Professional Heroes’– a profession that would have garnered snickers and laughs a century ago, became the most sought after job globally. As the occurrence of a quirk grew, the government instilled quirk academies to scout the best and strongest quirk. Businesses began funding them when the first few heroes were churned out, and so the race to become the number one hero began from age five for many families.

Like all races, it was a test of strength, endurance, and resilience. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, and only the most courageous could join it.

But there were some who just couldn’t join the race? Not because they didn’t want to, no. But because they didn’t even have the legs to reach the starting line.

Toshinori Y/N was adopted by Toshinori Yagi at the age of five. And already, by such a young age, you were sprinting far far ahead.

Your quirk was Element– the ability to control all four classical elements: Air, Water, Fire, and Earth. Your father watched as he created the most powerful vessel for his ultimate goal: to turn his daughter into the ninth user of One For All.

You had the motivation, you had the strength.

You were thrown head-first into the twisted fate of hero society where nothing could bring greater joy than breaking yourself in the name of progress.

Hero society was a place where the pain of training was the sweetness of improvement, and the scars and fractures were the evidence of determination.

So one fateful day as all good things came to an end, you were walking back home, hair pulled back in two pigtails with a kitty lunchbox in one hand. A bag way too big hung on your ten-year-old shoulders, and your quirk was ripped away, gone forever.

The planes of the neighbourhood harboured pained screams of a disturbed soul that haunted every passing parent for the next two months.

Your legs were torn away in the middle of the race. And all you could do was stare at the passersby who mocked you as you tried to contain your spilling blood in order to survive.

Your smile faded and the storm had returned. Your memories were a recurring nightmare.

And you couldn’t wake up from them.

“Your father will be so, so proud of you, Toshinori-san.”

“Mmm…”

You pressed your lips together, lowering your eyes.

“I know he’ll be proud of you.”

You felt her comforting hand squeeze yours.

“Yes, sensei. He will be.”

Hours went past since your exhibition started. Countless people and countless pats on the back. It was a haze.

“Your call has been forwarded to the automated messaging sys-”

“For god’s sake.”

You cut the phone.

The lines on your forehead deepened as the number of missed calls grew.

Where was he?

Mentally, you replayed this morning’s conversation with your father. You had vividly remembered that you told him three times: “my exhibition is at five, dad. Please don’t be late.”

You had set alarms on his phone with small reminders attached to them: one at 4:00 PM, one at 4:15 PM, and one at 4:30 PM.

Where was he?

Your heart beat a bitter drum as you watched some fathers with roses in one hand whilst the other was pressed against their hips as they gasped for air.

“I couldn’t be late for my angel’s exhibition now could I?”

It was 9:00 PM.

The crowd had died down and you watched as they drained out: proud fathers holding their daughter’s hand, embracing them in unconditional love. Your once eager eyes were tired, exhausted from searching and scanning for the only face you had internally begged for.

Had you not expected it, you would have cried.

Your thumb hovered over your father’s name on your phone, hesitant.

But there was no point. You switched your phone off.

“Hana,” you asked the few friends that were left, “can you help me pack my things please?”

The pitch black darkness dragged the walk back to the nearest bus station. With your hands occupied with bags that contained the remains of your exhibition, periodically, you peered at the dimly-lit empty street behind you.

The street lights flickered sporadically, teasing your lone steps that were getting faster and faster.

The bus ride home was fine. You met a few friends waiting at the stop with their parents. Although when alone on the outer seat, hood still up, your eyes may have lingered too long at the napping daughters resting their head on their smiling fathers’ shoulders.

Your stop approached in forty-five minutes.

It was 10:36 PM when you got off the bus. The usual hustle of your neighbourhood had settled, so it wasn’t too hard to spot a head with green, curly hair leisurely walking towards your bus stop.

“Midoriya-kun?”

The young boy lifted his head from his phone to look around.

You gave him a hesitant wave, receiving a warm smile in return.

“Toshinori-san?” he asked, taking off his earphones.

“Uh, yeah, it’s me.”

You shoved your hands in your pockets.

“Wha- what are you doing here?” you blurted, staring at the ground.

The abrasive nature of your words caused Midoriya to stand straighter. He blinked a few times before answering.

“Oh um, All Might called me over for a chat. He told me you weren’t home so he said it would be a good chance to discuss more… things?”

The young boy ended his sentence with a wavering voice, getting quieter as he saw your body stiffen.

In the moments of your wordless exchange, a warm ache began to develop in the walls of your skull.

Midoriya’s gaze, which was travelling to and fro, fixed upon the bags hanging from your wrists.

“How about you? Um… Where did you come back from?”

Your mind tried to console your heart, hushing the bubbling feelings of resentment towards the boy in front of you.

You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders drop low.

You were tired.

“I came back from an exhibition.”

“Oh really? Were you presenting? Is that what the bags are for?”

Your lips found themselves smiling at Midoriya’s observation.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “they have my exhibition prototypes in them.”

Your ears perked up at the approaching sounds of relaxed footsteps.

“May I see them please?” Midoriya asked.

Finally, you lifted your head to meet his eyes.

You mumbled, passing him the bag with your prototype inside. “Yeah… sure.”

Minutes passed in complete silence. Timid glances found themselves analysing the look on Midoriya’s face, who was carefully reading the contents of your pamphlet, cross-checking it with your prototype. You felt a warm flush on your cheeks as the boy looked up at you, eyes wide and bright.

“You made this? By yourself?”

He was baffled: eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling. You pressed your lips together in attempts to hide your grin as you nodded.

“It took me two years.”

Midoriya carefully placed your prototypes back into their respective boxes, passing the bag back into your hands.

“I didn’t expect this at all- I mean, of course, you’re All Might’s daughter but just, being quirkless and everything? I just-” his expressive face comforted yours.

“You’re so cool, Toshinori-san. You’re so cool!”

The swells of your cheeks began hurting as you stared at Midoriya, your waterline becoming annoyingly emotional.

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun…”

“Please,” he chimed, “call me Izuku.”

You let out a chuckle just this once, sneaking a swipe to wipe the corner of your eyes.

“In that case, please call me Y/N.”

Izuku’s wide grin ignited a mellow flame in your disappointed heart. You cursed your heart for every ill thought that crossed your mind about the boy that stood in front of you.

“I am honoured to meet a brilliant mind like yours Y/N-san… The amount of lives this can save… The amount of innocent lives this can protect from harassment… You’re amazing Y/N-san,” he repeated, bowing down.

You blushed, your hands immediately reaching out towards the young boy to lift him up, “oh, Izuku-kun, please don’t bow…”

“My younger self thanks you Y/N-kun…” he whispered.

There was a small crack in his soft voice.

Your eyebrows twitched and the cold air travelled through the small opening in your mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘younger self’...?”

Midoriya’s big green eyes were frosted on the surface. He straightened his back, staring off into the distance.

“I’m sure your father told you, Y/N-san”, he cleared his throat.

“I was born quirkless.”

Your fingers felt cold.

“Quirkless…?”

“Yes. I was born quirkless. The doctors didn’t know what caused it. My parents had a quirk. My mother can float small objects towards her. And my father has a powerful quirk: fire breathing.”

His voice began quivering and the young boy had to take a pause.

“All I wanted as a young child was to become All Might. I still do, to be honest. I had a little All Might onesie. And my mother bought me all the All Might action figures. I would play hero with her. She used to act like a citizen in distress and for that short amount of time, I was her hero. And that led to me wanting to become everyone’s hero.”

His tears reflected the moonlight waning in the sombre sky.

“I was five years old when I was told my dreams were basically worthless. That I should give up… and become a police officer.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks, hiding your hands inside your pockets.

“I didn’t eat for three days. I couldn’t stomach anything, so at some point, I-I guess I ended up fainting, and my mom had to rush me into the ER.”

Two bodies stood underneath the cold, clinical street light, incredibly still.

But the loud noises pinched you to disturb the silence.

You had to know.

“But… what about your quirk now?”

The door creaked open into a fully-lit living room. Toshinori was sitting in front of the television, phone in hand, swiping through his texts.

Trays and glasses– two glasses exactly– were lazing on the table with cubes of melting ice piled up on the bottom. The cushions were moved to the side, and the couch covers relaxed comfortably with deep wrinkles.

An unnoticed figure slipped inside the house and Toshinori felt two eyes settle onto him.

“Y/N, when did you come back?”

Nothing.

“My child,” he stood up, reaching towards your shoulder.

You shrugged his hand off as soon as it touched you, lost in the voices consuming your mind.

“Y/N! What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s eleven.”

“What do you-”

“It’s eleven!”

Your father’s body tensed as he stepped back, his brows knitted in pain and confusion.

Your throat, strained and dry, struggled to find words as it battled against the bitter rise of bile.

Your jaw trembled as your eyes burnt with unshed tears in the now blurring room. The cries of betrayal felt so weak. What should have been anger– a hellflame spreading throughout your house, came out a sniffle and singular tear. Anger that should have engulfed the sounds in the room and overpowered the drone of the television and the tick of the passing time was nothing but suppressed by the overbearing eyes that scrunched in concern.

“What do I have to do to get you to pay attention to me, dad? What do I have to do…” you weeped, your hands consoling your own body because no one else present could.

The cries of betrayal felt so weak because it was someone else’s incompetency, someone else’s fault that pained your wailing heart. And the cries of a wailing heart begging to be loved was a silent sound that overpowered all sense of self.

“What does he have that I don’t, dad? What did he do that I failed to do?”

You broke down into his arms. You found refuge despite his false embrace; it repulsed you because you knew it was going to be short-lived.

It was a fake.

“Why did I have to find out that my father was quirkless from someone else’s mouth?”

You felt his chest fall as your father squeezed you tighter.

“Why didn’t you tell me, dad?” you whispered.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

“Am I not worthy enough… Was I not worthy enough to find out?”

Your ears preened, begging for reassurance, begging to hear: ‘that’s not true my child’.

But it never came.

“I’m sorry for not being strong enough, dad… I’m sorry for letting him steal my quirk, dad.”

You tore away from his chest, sniffling away your tears for the last time.

“But why didn’t you tell me that One For All could work with quirkless too?”

Toshinori crossed his hands in front of him as he averted his gaze from yours.

“Why can’t you talk to me? Was I not good enough! Am I so weak without my quirk? That you blindly gave your power away to a boy you met a day ago! Dad, look at me!” you screamed, far too lost to control yourself. “Why couldn’t you give it to me, your own goddamn daughter? What did I not do dad, what did I not do!”

Why did All Might extend his hand to save Midoriya, when his daughter gave up her whole life to burn for his dreams?

His silence spoke a thousand words, so it was about time you spoke your final words.

“You’re a great hero, dad. But that’s all you’ll ever be… you’ve been a great hero but you’ll never be a great dad.”

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in-any-universe-ever · 2 months

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Hey Anon - that particular prompt isn't my jam, but it still inspired me to write something, so here's a similar situation for you (translations at the end):

Luke and Rhaena sat across from him. Aemond had picked this spot on purpose so he could avoid looking directly at anyone, but once the bastards entered with their betrothed, Luke moved a chair to the end of the table so they could sit next to each other. Aemond was forced to watch as Luke held out the seat for Rhaena and tucked her in to ensure her comfort.

There was nothing more infuriating than Lucerys Velaryon. Everything about his existence was designed to test Aemond's patience. He and the other Velaryon boys were living insults to the crown, treason in Targaryen colors. Even more, he was the one who'd torn out Aemond's eye and left behind a hideous scar and a lingering tightness that ached when he smiled. He hadn't had reason to smile in years, all because of this boy.

They had not been sitting for long, tension mounting between two sides of a family that loathed each other, when the servants brought out the main dish, a small roasted boar, and set it right in front of Aemond. He looked at it, at the representation of the torment he'd faced his entire life, and beyond it was the smirking, snickering face of his nephew.

His heart lurched in his chest as he thought about the day Luke led a pig from the dragon pit, laughing along with his brother Jace and Aemond's brother Aegon, who'd likely orchestrated the event. Now Luke was grinning, his face lit up with his repressed joy, his green eyes shining upon Aemond's pain. Luke had been at the Red Keep for little more than a day, and so far Aemond had seen that smirk four times.

First, when Luke and Jace entered the training yard and looked around with nostalgia. It had been years since they'd been at their former home, and in a break between spars with Criston Cole, Aemond watched as Luke took in the surroundings of his former training grounds. Back then, Criston would frequently pair Aemond with Luke and Aegon with Jace. While they were not evenly matched due to age, Criston knew Aegon would play dirty if faced with his brother and Jace would go easy upon Luke. Aemond was now the best sword in the yard, and he had longed for a chance to face Luke again, so see how his skills had developed. Even if he had improved, or even if he had excelled, Aemond could bring him to his knees with ease.

Second, at court. Aemond had no involvement with the succession of Driftmark yet he attended all the same, eager to witness an argument and hoping for a fight. His hopes were far exceeded when Vaemond Velaryon lost his head by Daemon's sword. It was gruesome and awful, but it was the highlight of the day. It was also during that session that the betrothal of Rhaena to Luke and Baela to Jace occurred. It made sense, as they were now step-siblings and it would ensure untainted Velaryon blood would sit at Driftmark, but it made Aemond's heart harden and his mouth tighten in a way that tugged at his scar. When it was announced Luke looked to Rhaena and smiled, and Aemond hated every second of it.

Third that afternoon in the library. It was Aemond's custom to study in the library in the afternoons, and so he sat with a chronicle of Driftmark. His knowledge on the realm's history was unmatched, yet he retained little of the history of Driftmark, specifically. He was deep into the tome when he heard steps approach. No one bothered him there apart from messengers delivering official business, and so he looked up, annoyed, and found an apprehensive Luke at the end of the table.

"What do you want?" Aemond had asked in High Valyrian.

"Can I have that when you're done?"

Luke's grammar and pronunciation was perfect. Effortless.

"Shouldn't you know this already, Lord of the Tides?"

Then Luke smirked but Aemond's lips pursed together in a scowl. He had yet to see it this close, but there Luke stood, less than a meter away, and Aemond could truly see how it changed his features. Luke's face was his mother's, and although his eyes were an unusual color, they were shaped just like Rhaenyra's. His hair betrayed him as a bastard, but Aemond knew the Targaryen blond would have detracted from his features. His cheeks still held the weight of youth, but he'd grown into a handsome young man, and Aemond could not deny it. The smirk, however, crossed the line from handsome to frustrating, and it made part of Aemond's body react in a way they had never before.

He could not stand to look at Luke for another moment, so Aemond shut the book and handed it over, Luke's soft fingers touching his in the exchange. He stormed away, flexing his hand as if he'd been burned.

And now the fourth smirk, and Aemond could not control his reaction any longer. There was no escaping this meal, this table, this look. Something was going to happen this evening, and he could not be held accountable for his actions.

Aemond had been punched in the face by a kitten. Luke's face had been slammed into a table. When all were dismissed, Aemond found the boy in the hallway, heading toward his rooms. He was alone, and this was not over.

"Āeksio hen Elēdrar."

Luke stopped, clenched his fists, but didn't turn. Aemond continued to approach and stopped behind him, close enough to catch the scent of him, something pleasant undercut by too much wine.

Aemond leaned in, close to the thick mop of dark hair that covered Luke's left ear. "I thought you liked it," Aemond whispered, ensuring to keep his voice low and soft. He was not concerned about being overheard, as no one spoke the ancient language apart from those related to them, and the rest of the family had already dispersed. He wanted to see Luke squirm, and he was successful. Luke shivered and turned. Aemond's eye flickered up to his forehead, where he had an angry red welt but no other sign of injury. Aemond stood straight; he was the one smirking now, regardless of the ache is caused to his ruined cheek. The ache was worth it to see the surprise on Luke's face. "You do, don't you? Or should I call you my Lord Strong instead?"

"What is your problem, Aemond?" Luke asked. In his anger he began rolling his Rs, and Aemond briefly longed to hear him read aloud, or speak at length, just to hear the vibration upon Luke's tongue.

"Nothing at all."

"And so you can have nothing more to say to me. Good night, uncle, and geros āzālās."

Aemond's smile fell at once. "Geros āzālās?"

The smirk returned on Luke's face for the fifth time, which ignited a fire inside of Aemond. "Good night," Luke repeated in the common tongue before he turned to leave.

Aemond grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "No," Aemond snapped. He abandoned High Valyrian in the event that Luke said another word he did not know. "No, we will not end our night like this. You infuriate me, nephew."

"Then leave and be done with me."

"I cannot. Why are you like this?"

"I am not like anything. I am not doing anything to you. I am simply here because I was forced to be. If I had my way I would stay upon Dragonstone until my mother takes the throne and dismisses each of you permanently. I would not longer have to spend my life afraid of you."

"You've been afraid of me?" Aemond asked with a laugh. "I am the one missing an eye."

"And yet I am the one who suffers. Let me go, Aemond. I want to be out of your life and out of your mind. Every time I see you I'm lost in memory of what we were and the thought of who we could be, yet you look at me like this."

"How?"

Luke stopped struggling, defeated. The smirk was long gone and Aemond missed it. He actually missed it, because the boiling in his blood was a welcome feeling. Aemond relished in this new emotion, and the longer he held Luke in his hand, the closer he was to identifying it.

"Like you wish to devour me. Enchant me. Consume me. How can I not be afraid of what I'll do in return?"

Aemond refused to loosen his grip and instead took Luke's other arm as well. His grip was tight but Luke was pliable. Aemond could mold him into any form and Luke would allow it. His breath sped up to chase his pounding heart, and Luke had yet to look away.

"What would you do in return?"

Luke's eyes were filling with tears and Aemond had but one to flicker between them, to see each swell of liquid as it glazed over. The light in the hallway was dim at this time of night, but even so, Aemond could see the flickering flames in Luke's wide pupils.

He gave Luke a shake.

"Tell me," Aemond demanded.

Luke's head had tilted back to keep contact, and when the first tear fell, it slid from the outside corner, over Luke's temple, and into his wild hair.

"I would let you," Luke whispered.

There it was. The emotion Aemond had been chasing all day.

Desire.

"Qȳbor. Kostilus."

In an instant Aemond had kissed him. Had dropped Luke's arms in favor of his waist. Had pulled him close so they pressed against each other.

Luke let him, and kissed him in return.

Āeksio hen Elēdrar = Lord of the Tides Geros āzālās = I made this up. Literally "the way of the forsaken" but really means "good riddance." Qȳbor. Kostilus. = Uncle. Please.

#ask #lucemond #ficlet

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 6 months

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𝒐𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆

pairing: vampire!acheron x gn!reader

genre(s): au (unspecified), light angst, eventual fluff, hints of hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers

word count: 3.4k

warnings: written before acheron's release and v2.1, blood, mild descriptions of violence, slight nsfw (it's just during the bite scene and is nothing too intense)

notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my mind, so I hope you enjoy it! I decided to write this as a chronicle almost, of spontaneous meetings before a more conclusory end. I would be up for a part 2 eventually if you'd like to see it! I should also note that because only her trailers have been released, and this is an au, some elements of her character may be missing or not fully expanded upon, but I hope that doesn't interrupt your reading! :)

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Water trickled down from the murky sky, leaving shadow-wrapped puddles on the stone street. The step of a steady heel interrupted one’s stagnance as a figure emerged unshrouded from the alleyway. Another walked to her right, clothes beginning to soak from the rain. Blood trailed behind them, tainting the clear water with flowing scarlet.

“Why did you follow me?” they queried, pausing to lean against a nearby lamp post.

A violet gaze cast in their direction, yet the woman did not speak. She simply watched her momentary companion wince at the persistent ache of a flesh wound. Her fists tightened at the sight – the innate response to a long-held desire. A rising heartbeat flickered in her ears as she observed the form before her. A quirked brow, torn and stained cloth, a slight shiver from the chilled rain.

Striding forward, she was soon halted by their hand.

“Please, answer me.”

Instead, she took that cold limb in hers and brought it over her head, resting it on her left shoulder. She placed her other arm around their waist, and guided them from the lamp post with careful ease.

Calmly, they walked together.

The storm began to intensify as the wind picked up, flurrying droplets against the pair while lightning crackled across the sky.

“To fulfill my duties.” she spoke, strong and smooth.

“Pardon?”

“Why I followed you.”

“Oh…”

“Those beasts have been permeating the city. I seek to remove them. One had been following you to your destination, and I became involved as early as I could. I apologize for your injury. Had I been sooner it could have been avoided.”

“As long as I remain alive, I will consider you a savior."

She hummed, a calm and thoughtful sound in time with the rolling thunder.

"What constitutes a savior to you?"

A thin burst of light painted the dark sky lavender, casting the surrounding buildings in a haze of purple rain.

“A person who protects others, whether doing so is simple or difficult, and will see their work through no matter the cost.”

“I see… Rest your eyes, we will be at an infirmary soon.”

She felt their head fall on her shoulder, hair tickling against her neck. Their breathing had not yet evened out, but their heart rate had begun steadying.

There was a doctor at the end of the block, seeing patients out of his office and an emergency tent that had been placed on the empty lot next door. This would be the seventh time in three days that she would bring a new victim of the ongoing crisis.

She knocked on his door before being greeted by a disheveled man. He quickly understood the situation and turned back into his practice to grab supplies while she lay them down on one of the beds. A hand grasped hers tightly as she began leaving, walking toward the door.

“Wait…”

Their quiet voice reached her ears and beckoned her back to the bedside.

“Thank you, drifting savior.”

“Acheron.”

A small smile grew on their face. “Thank you, Acheron.”

“There’s no need, but… you are welcome nonetheless.”

“Will you stay here?”

“I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere, but you will see me somewhere in the future.”

“Then I wish you luck and safety in your endeavors, until we meet again.”

—

The weekend market still bustled despite the city’s circumstances. Shoppers in a variety of outfits and colors paced up and down the streets, carding through wares, food, and clothes. A basket rested in the crook of your left elbow as you approached a fruit stand. Greeting the shopkeeper, you asked for a few peaches before perusing through the lemons.

You squeezed each one gently, hoping to find one filled with enough juice to add to a marmalade. When two were to your liking, you exchanged payment with the shopkeep and received your produce bag of white peaches, placing all of your main ingredients into your basket.

Bidding farewell, a flash of familiar violet caught your eye amongst the crowd.

You weaved through the people quickly, hoping to catch up to Acheron. A throb began developing in your side, but you did your best to ignore the increasing pain. Finally, you had the opportunity to meet her again, and in a much less dire setting this time. You watched as she strode with an aloof confidence, the crowd slowly moving out of her way.

When you reached the end of the sidewalk, you had the chance to reach out and tap her shoulder. She turned abruptly and faced you, however, before you could make contact.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“I could hear your footsteps approaching.”

You questioned how with the amount of activity there was. Deciding to ponder it later, you reached into your basket.

“Would you like a peach?”

She looked hesitant for a moment, before lightly shaking her head. “I have already eaten.”

“Alright.”

"How is your injury?"

Her question brought your attention back to the dull ache in your left abdomen.

“It is much better, though it will still become irritated from a lot of activity."

“Let us sit down, then. Hand me your basket.”

“Oh, thank you.”

The cool metal of a nearby bench slowly warmed under the heat of your palms. You sat in silence with Acheron, who was leaning against the back of the bench with one leg crossed over the other. It was not uncomfortable – far from it in fact. You felt safe around her, and resting became much easier.

—

You crossed paths next at a gently lighted bar.

She quietly slid onto the stool beside you, a sharp gaze watching your movements. After taking a sip of your cocktail, you met her eyes.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Of course.”

Rising first, she took your right hand in hers and brought you out to the sparkling dance floor. In a swift motion, you were spun into her arms. Deft fingers grasped your hips, turning you around to face her. She brought your arm up over her shoulder, stepping backwards for four beats before bringing her hand to rest delicately at your nape. Shifting your hand to replicate the same, you placed your other hand at her left elbow, and began shifting rapidly from side to side with each step toward her you took. You remove yourself from her, running your hand down her arm and casting her away in a spin. When she returns, she steps at your right foot, sending it back in a kick before it arrives up at her hip. Her hand cups the underside of your knee as yours sit at the back of her neck. She elegantly drags you backward before letting your foot fall to the floor. After, she sets her left hand on your shoulder, walking around you before stepping away, and spinning back into your hands. You dip her and catch her eyes for a moment, watching a flame stoke behind them.

When you bring her back up, a pair of your hands remain connected until you’re within arms distance of each other. You walk in a circle like this – watching her predatory gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable sensation to be underneath, if anything it makes you want to match her pace more. You come back into her arms, in the same position you started in. Your back is to her front, breathing heavily as her fingers ghost over the site of your injury. Only now do you note it’s stinging tenderness, but it slowly begins to dissipate as she rubs over it. You glide together like this over the floor before she sharply turns you out in the hold of her hand. The scene becomes muddled, but a part of you feels an odd joy at the usually uneasy sensation. When you’re finished, she brings you back to her. Your fingers land awkwardly at her sternum and your dance is complete.

As you catch your breath, you begin to notice the lack of a second heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers.

Yet, that couldn’t be, right? You were mellowing from the performance, yes, but you still would be able to tell if there was a beat outside of your fingertips. When you caught Acheron’s eyes, you could see what seemed like a cloud of thoughtful storm behind them. Without another word, she left.

You remained on the floor, wondering just what lies underneath her violet gaze.

—

A soft wind blew against your cheeks as you rested underneath a large willow tree. The sky glowed in beautiful warm shades, followed by a vibrant indigo. Flipping a page of your book, you attempted to block out the sounds of the park. Children ran and played together as some walked their dogs. A few people stopped at a stand for snacks while talking or heading home.

A shadow and a wisp of white clothing appeared before you, the color of coming evening blending into her hair.

You closed your book and gave her a small smile. “How have you been?”

She looked in your eyes pensively, before reaching out her hand. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

“I don’t see why not.” you replied, taking her hand and standing up.

Together you strolled down the paver path, watching as the street lights turned on. The tip of your shoe caught on one of the uneven layers, causing you to stumble forward. Luckily, Acheron caught you carefully, bringing you to a standing position and helping you regain balance again. You lightly laughed off your blunder, doing your best to calm down again after the momentary scare.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, you felt a tired relaxation start to well within you. When you looked to your left, you realized the opposite could be said for your companion. She seemed alert, and ready for combat if the need arose. Her head nudged to the right, signaling for you to turn there, no doubt so you could go deeper toward the forest and avoid others.

“I apologize for what I must do. Please find somewhere safe until I am finished.”

“It is alright.” you responded, deviating to find a temporary shelter from whatever beast was trailing you.

A grotesque, dripping, jet black creature with multiple ice blue eyes came from seemingly nowhere, with a small group of winged beasts accompanying it. You rushed underneath a bench across the small courtyard space, doing your best to breathe silently but your book fell loudly to the ground. Your eyes met the cold ones of the monster, but a flash of purple soon bloomed as horrible screeches filled the air. A shadow expanded over the scene not long after, removing Acheron and the wretched animals from your field of view.

Although they seemed to be gone, you didn’t dare move.

She emerged not long after, a lovely shade of red disappearing from her arms – yet her hair remained white. Another row of creatures came from the forest, and she fought each one effortlessly with a strength and capability that most would not have. Although, the closer you looked and the more little hordes that came, you could feel a sense of exhaustion coming from her. There were a few hits that she couldn’t dodge in time, and one that looked especially deep from where you hid.

As she dealt a final blow, her breath became heavy. She did her best to walk to you with a stoic air. You quickly left your cover, jogging to meet her where she was and watching as she stumbled forward. Surprised, you caught her in your arms, trying to keep her upright.

—

“Thank you for the concern, Bertha, but there is truly nothing to worry about. Care for a jar of marmalade before you go?”

“Oh, that would be excellent! Thank you very much.”

You walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbing one jar of the peach spread you made two days prior. Returning to the entryway, you handed it to your neighbor with a smile. After exchanging goodbyes, you shut the door and made your way back to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of clean water.

The door to where Acheron was resting sat half-closed, a sign that she had probably begun leaving before resigning to sit back on the bed. With a gentle kick, it opened all the way and revealed your contemplative… friend, now. After many bedridden chats over the last week, you felt closer than before, even if a chilled distance may still remain.

“How are you this morning?” you questioned, placing the bowl on the bedside table and grabbing a fresh cloth from its drawer.

“Better. There is still a persistent fatigue, however.”

You hummed, “I have noticed you sleeping more. I assume it is not helping, then?”

“You would be correct. I am not sure how much longer I want to stay in this bed.”

“Is it not comfortable?” you teased, walking to her side to remove the bandage on her arm.

“No.” she replied with a hint of a smirk.

“Well then, you’ll just have to start moving to other areas of the house.”

“You want me to follow you around all day?” she quipped.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t be entirely averse to having you with me more often. Our chance visits are beginning to be too little for me, I’m afraid.”

“I guess I will have to fix that. Where would you like me to be?”

You felt a light heat grow in your cheeks, and did your best to keep a straight face as you softly rubbed the wet cloth over her cuts.

“Right beside me.” you whispered.

She hummed, looking almost regretful.

After you finished, you offered her a hand. She took it, and calmly you helped her get to a chair in the small dining area off of the kitchen. Her speed and strength had definitely improved since the first day she woke up. Faint and injured, she had tried to rise and leave, but you stopped her. She needed to rest and be given care for a while. Within the minute, she had already fallen back asleep, and you began tending to her stressed wounds once more.

Her hair has yet to fade from a gleaming white.

Putting a slice of bread in the toaster, you didn’t bother asking Acheron if she would like a piece. In all of the time that you have known her, she has never eaten or drank anything.

“Do you want to ask me something?” she queried, head tilting slightly in your direction.

She always had such attentive hearing – too honed almost. Impressive strength and stamina, something that was almost inhuman. She had no heartbeat that you could sense, either. From all of the tales that you have heard in your life, you could only find one conclusion.

“Actually, I do.” Taking a seat across from her, you folded your hands over the table. “Are you a vampire, Acheron?”

A beat of silence crossed the room before she replied, “How adept of you.”

The toaster popped, and you paused a moment before rising to check it. Placing it on a plate, you opened the butter dish and retrieved a knife before spreading it over your toast.

“You need blood, then, correct? In order to soothe your fatigue.”

“Yes.” she returned simply.

Brushing your fingers on a nearby towel, you slowly strode to her side of the table.

“Use me.”

It was a bold request, and one that she could very possibly turn down. Still, you were going to see her care through to the end. Even besides that, you were starting to consider her a friend.

She seemed stunned, although her face could never communicate the extent of which. As if betraying her features, her hands started traveling around your waist, bringing you slowly onto her lap.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.”

With no hesitation or restraint, she licked up the right side of your neck, bringing her left hand up to tug at your hair and angle your head over. Your fingers curled into the front of her shirt, one that she had borrowed from you. The tip of her tongue crossed the cusp of your ear, making your grip tighten. Her thumb started rubbing your scalp as she bit down. It burned initially, but within an instant became truly pleasurable. Her lips tightened around her bite as she sucked and licked the area, drawing blood out and leaving you in a daze. One hand remained tightened around her shirt while the other drifted to her hair, holding her closer. Your breath echoed in her ear, one that was likely catching the soft whimpers that left you, only spurring her on more.

Your body moved against her, seeking any more of her you could get. A small nick from one of her teeth made you whine as you repeated the same motion. She did it again. Her other hand fell from your waist to your hip, sliding underneath your shirt and rubbing your lower back. You relaxed into her, sliding your hand further down her body, shifting closer to her as that hand moved to her stomach, stroking underneath the borrowed fabric.

You felt her begin to pull away below your left hand, and so you brought it out of her hair and down her cheek. The white started leaving her hair, but your gaze remained only on her eyes – and the remnants of blood on her lips. In a swift motion, you licked her bottom lip, tasting what she so craved. Before you could shift backward, she tightened her grip in your hair and kissed you with the same passion you danced with weeks ago. She leaned back and you cupped her cheek, bringing your other hand up to her bare waist. Tracing over the cool skin, you remained on her for a small minute before finally, she parted from you.

—

A knock hit your door right before you were set to leave for the day.

When you opened it, none other than Acheron greeted you.

“I remember you dropped this during my battle, so I came to return it.” she stated, handing over your leather-wrapped book.

“Thank you.” you replied, turning away to leave it on the table by the door. When you looked back, she had something else prepared.

“I also wanted to bring you this gift.”

You accepted a white box with purple and red ribbon. A letter rested underneath the bow, and you saved it for last. After undoing the neat package, you opened it to find a well-forged dagger.

“I wanted to give you something to start with, so that if the time comes and I am not there, you will have a weapon.”

It was a beautiful present. A winding snake wrapped around the hilt, its head resting on the tip. It had a sharp shine to it, and weighed light under your hands. It was held in white leather, and displayed a dark metal when you removed it. You would be sure to cherish it.

Exchanging the blade for the letter on the table, you slid a letter opener under the seal and lifted out the paper. While it was not very long, it seemed incredibly heartfelt.

I must start this letter by telling you how much I appreciate all that you have done for me. I am not accustomed to such care, much less the tenderness that you showed me. It is an… odd feeling. But one that I am not very against. Though I cannot say that I can stop my drifting across the country, I can say that I will always return here, to you. I want to stay for the next few months, and teach you some of what I know. I hope you will consider my offer, and me.

Sincerely yours,

Acheron

Wordlessly, you set the letter down and crossed the threshold, placing a kiss on her cheek and wrapping her in a hug. She hesitated at first, but soon crossed her own over your back.

In a whisper, she posed a question. “Will you accept?”

“Of course!” you returned quietly.

“Great. We will begin tomorrow.”

A complementing smile grew on her face, one that showcased a great amount of joy that you had never seen from her before. It was lovely, and you were sure that the next few months with her would feel the same.

#coff writes for hsr 🍾#title is once again from tbh&c #specifically the ultracheese :)#hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr acheron #hsr acheron x reader #honkai star rail acheron #honkai star rail acheron x reader #hsr au

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

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Kiss It Better

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: If you love someone, show them. If you're feeling broken, cry. And so if someone you love asks, 'are you alright', when you shed your tears, do not feign falsehood so not to worry them. After all, what point is it to fake your temperament to your love who's memorized you like verse and would burn the world if your tune ever soured?

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral reader, war criminal daemon™, yn having a bad day (aka me), hurt/comfort?, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hello. im not having bad day per se, its mostly just that i find myself unable to do anything creatively, which is horrible considering im a music major and its our midterms and i have to do creative stuff. and i also have many reqs waiting to be done. anyway, writing this to manifest daemon to come into my life and kiss it better, also as like... a palette cleanser. hopefully i can write reqs soon <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise also @sloanexx because you said you watch hotd now you can read my hotd fics too <3

"You there," Daemon calls the attention of a passing servant, "have you s-" He is caught off-guard when the tiny woman makes haste before he could finish his statement. The prince can only watch as she flees.

Well, it was not out of the ordinary for servants to shudder under his gaze and quiver at his requests in certain moments, but he was not particularly threatening today... at least not yet. Daemon would say he woke up particularly chipper actually, so he had no idea as to why that girl fled.

No matter.

Again, he was in a good mood, he can simply go about and continue looking for who he was looking for-- his fire, his heart, his love.

What cruel ridicule it was of the gods to make his person precisely opposite to him on this day.

Much like other instances, Daemon was successful in finding his beloved in the place that he often did. And so upon opening the library doors, he was both relieved and concerned to see his darling sprawled in the middle of the room, looking up to the ceiling as though it held the meaning of life.

He turns over his shoulder, aware of how much talk your position on the floor would elicit from blabbermouths, and closed the door behind him.

Daemon's brows knit. He did not think that the carpet was clean enough for your current use. He made internal note to have someone clean it later.

He turns back to you as you sigh as though many troubles plagued you. And so the prince reacted the way he normally did, he snorted under his breath and shook his head. He did not doubt that you were likely overanalyzing whatever chronicle it was you found entertainment in this time.

Daemon places his hands behind his back as he walks over. The concern in him reemerges when you don't at all move in your place, but then he supposes you knew it was him that was approaching, thus did not bother, since there was no threat.

"Mmm," he leans slightly forward, "enjoying yourself down there, my love?"

You do not move, save for your pupils that dart to him.

Daemon finds himself chuckling under his breath. He raises his brows, "what would you have done if it were not I that walked in?" He clicks his tongue, "not even I can save you from your beloved teachers."

A lie. He would never not save you from anything.

You furrow your brows a fraction. You retort as though you were offended, "I knew it was your footsteps, Daemon."

Daemon straightens up, allowing his hands to fall to his sides, "that does not answer my question."

The prince then walks over you, heading to the chair near the lit fire place. Daemon sits down and watches. You remain a log on the floor. He leans on the back and sinks into his seat, widening the gap between his legs as he looks out to you.

Daemon shakes his head, "come now, you hammy babe. Pick yourself up before I drag you over by your heels."

He calls out your name. He narrows his eyes when you do not answer. He calls out again, and by the third time, he finds offence and bangs on his armrest. He sighs when you still do not move still.

He waits a moment. He waits for your response. Nothing comes. He crosses his arms at your deviance.

"Will you make me repeat myself?" he words slowly.

Still, nothing.

He growls your name out.

Finally, you growl yourself and turn to him. Daemon raises his brows in response. You grumble something under your breath as you begin to shuffle and sort yourself up until you were on your feet.

Daemon watches as you walk over to him. He hides his pleased smile by tutting at you and clicking his tongue, "are you giving me attitude?"

You roll your eyes, "no, your grace."

Daemon tilts his head up, bringing his hands back on the armrest once you're before him, "you just rolled your eyes."

"It's a show of affection, my prince."

He masks his amused breath with a sigh, "very well. I will allow it," he pats his thigh, "now sit on your throne."

You sigh in response. He knits his brows when he spots the pout upon your lips. Daemon pulls his head back and takes your cheek into his palm. Surely, you did not react like this because of his jest.

Daemon is pleased that you chuckle. You claim your spot, legs dangling on the right side of the chair while your head rested on his left shoulder. He kisses your neck and pulls you into him by your thighs, "better, is it not?" He exaggeratedly dusts off your clothes, "you're filthy now."

"Was the plot your most recent read so tragic that you're so woeful?"

You look up at him, pout intensifying, "I can't read, Daemon. I haven't read anything in weeks," you reiterate with much more emphasis, "I. Can't. Read."

He knits his brows tightly before raising them. He watches as you crash your head into him. He looks at your frustrated face, finding his own copying the expression, "well, I never thought you of all people would forget such a skill, but if I must, I will teach readily, starting from the alphab-" he cuts himself when you begin to push yourself off him. He breaks into a laugh, hooking his arms around you, "alright, alright, ñuha jorrāelagon, perhaps it wasn't very funny of me."

You find yourself quickly unable to wrangle when he seals you in his arms. You look at him, unamused look, but he only returns it with a smirk, "I say, it was, in fact, hilarious."

His body pulses with his soft laughter. You roll your eyes, "I'm glad you find this amusing."

"Of course it's amusing," he chuckles, "you're awfully dramatic about it, my whiny baby."

You scoff, flicking his nose, "says the boy who landed Caraxes on the roof of the Lord who dared try to dance with me."

Daemon yelps, clutching his nose before clutching your jaw, "that hurt."

"Oh, please," you hiss, "you're so dramatic about it," you mimic with an exaggerated Daemon impression.

He snorts then grunts. He takes his turn rolling his eyes.

You stick your tongue and headbutt his shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of his neck, "doesn't feel nice, now, doesn't it?"

Daemon leans his head against yours, "it feels nice when I do it you though."

You hum, "that says a lot about you."

For a moment, you both enjoy each other in the silence. Daemon rubs up your arm and massages your scalp, "are you truly so torn about not being able to read books?"

In truth, it was a ridiculous question. Of course being unable to read was not enjoyable to a reader. Daemon knew that sometimes even he stood nothing against bound pieces of paper in your eyes. He's glad you explain your emotions to him anyway.

You huff, "it's... it's just so frustrating. I want to read something. I want to read something so badly, but at the same time, I can't bring myself to do it. The idea seems exhausting, daunting, even."

You let out a laugh as you brush the lines on his face with your thumb. He softens at your affection, "perhaps it would be better if you stop reading for a while then."

You turn to Daemon. Your face twists at his expression, seemingly so appalled by the thought and so genuinely trying to make sense of it.

"Daemon, I haven't."

"Well, stop thinking about wanting to read."

You knit your brows at him as he continues, "maybe your mind is tired of reading the same stories over and over again."

You snort, "I barely make sport of rereading my favorite stories. I'm afraid I won't like them anymore if I do."

"Then if that's the case," Daemon says, "reread something."

You watch him brush his hands on your thighs, "if new stories are too daunting, then something old will comfort you, surely. After all, you already know what happens. It takes less work, since you won't wonder what happens next."

For a moment, you look at your prince, your rugged prince who had no place for reason when it came to certain matters of you, your darling that flew to the North on a whim because you mentioned there was were tomes there that you had always wanted to borrow, your Daemon that broke a pageboy's arm in anger because he accidentally spilled hot soup on you. He seldom made sense, and yet here he was, offering you all the sense he's got.

Of course, his lack of sense you had to make up for, as you personally apologized to the Starks for the theft of their beloved books, and, of course, you tended to the poor boy Daemon injured yourself while apart from offering a much needed generous compensation.

You look at him and feel your stomach mush at his gentleness.

"You don't think I've gone mad?" you mutter.

Daemon's face twists. He opens his mouth for a moment before speaking, "do you truly believe you would be the mad one between us?"

You laugh. You laugh because he's right. You laugh into his shoulder, curling into a ball of delight. You laugh at yourself but explain, "it's quite mad for me, don't you think?"

You roll your eyes at him.

Daemon pulls you close. You wrap your arms around his torso and kiss his jaw. He releases a deep sigh, "oh, yes. How utterly tragic. I've not yet made you a Targaryen, and yet here you are, succumb to madness," he raises a brow at you, "I ought to do something about it, shouldn't I, my sweet little lunatic?"

Daemon kisses you. Your mind slips into a haze at the feel of his mouth, "pardon me. I meant my mad Targaryen."

#daemon drabble #daemon x reader #daemon fanfic #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x you #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen hurt/comfort #house of the dragon fluff

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whatbigotspost · 2 years

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What I wish I could get people who didn’t grow up in highly controlled, abusive environments to understand is that when the very people who are forming you are really fucked up and bad, you are FULLY incapable of knowing that as a kid.

You’re not capable of “damn my dad is really not ok” or “mom is toxic” for a long time. It’s years and years of “this is life. That is my dad. That’s my mom. It’s just how it is.” It often takes PAINFUL moments of realization to get to even questioning if your life isn’t normal. In fact, in my experience, it takes many painful moments to eventually get you there. Someone at school making fun of your parents, for example. Or some outside caring adult noticing things they seem worried about w/ you. Or a particularly extreme incident of abuse that shakes you. Or reading/hearing someone recount abuse they survived and you get the sick realization it’s like a mirror for you.

When your primary caregivers are your means of survival, your brain wraps you in many many many protective layers of denial and whatever the fuck else it needs to so that you can get through it. Many folks like myself will spend more time healing ourselves as adults from our childhood than we spent in the childhood of trauma itself.

Also, let’s be real, an implication I’m making here is that a lot of folks don’t even pick at the thread of “was I abused?” because it’s too overwhelming all together. Or even “was my childhood kinda fucked up?”

Spoiler alert. If your childhood was kinda fucked up, it’s better, in the long run, to acknowledge and address that. Anyway, this is my characteristically long winded way of wanting to recommend some books on the subject that I have found deeply relatable and meaningful:

•Jeanette McCrurdy’s memoir I’m Glad My Mom Died: If you’d be up for an unflinching look at a deeply difficult childhood that includes physical, sexual, and emotional abuse and neglect and disordered eating in the Disney-universe, this is your read. Thinking about what McCurdy has had to overcome chills me to my core but the feelings she shares in words felt deeply relatable and I know they will help many.

•Ashley Ford’s memoir Somebody’s Daughter: I’m biased to love her because she’s a fellow Hoosier but you will love her too. Incredibly well written and deeply moving, Ford’s memoir covers her childhood with an abusive mother, a father in jail for rape, and survivorship of her own rape, as well as her place thriving now. She offers us such meaningful processing of her story. (And just writing style wise, this one is a mega fave.)

•Grace Cho’s memoir Tastes Like War: this one is a deep dive into Cho’s upbringing with a mother (who like one of my parents) has schizophrenia. I found her account of having a first hand seat to a parent’s mental health decline too relatable. The components of her story that focus on her mom’s experience of war and immigrating from Korea and the role that Korean food plays in their lives, are moving beyond words.

•Tara Westover’s memoir Educated: having been raised in a very isolated, survivalist Mormon family and tiny community in Idaho, Westover shares her personal story of a quest for escape and education. Although my family was nowhere nearly so unusual and isolated as Westover’s, I feel what she chronicles will highly resonate with anyone raised by someone who seeks to keep you away from “mainstream influences” or who is any level of survivalist.

Obviously, these are heavy reads and DO NOT check them out if you don’t feel in the right headspace. Each one moved me to tears multiple times. But if your awful/strange childhood and leaving it (them) behind makes you feel alone trust me YOU ARE NOT ALONE ❤️

I also recommend these reads for anyone who wants to see at an anecdotal level what are experiences of people raised in highly abusive environments and/or raised by parents struggling with mental illnesses and/or people raised in high control situations. Chances are you know/love someone who fits that description and you may gain helpful insights.

#abuse #rape #mental illness #child abuse #neglect #resources

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adrianasunderworld · 10 months

Text

The Chronicles of Isabelle attempting to do Witchcraft and Demon magic on memory and guess work alone

*frantic running up the stairs and slamming it shut*

Crowley: What has gotten into you?

Isabelle: Nothing. Nothing at all.

Crowley: Why did you run out of the basement then?

*unholy screeches of something down there*

Isabelle: Um...I got a new pet?

Vil: You know, in all the weeks we've been here for training camp, I haven't seen you do much for skincare, and not a single zit. What's your routine?

Isabelle: Nothing special. Just some generic makeup wipes, moisturizer, black magic.

Vil: Haha, very funny.

Isabelle: I wasn't joking. I know a potion for breakouts.

Vil: ....so what's the recipe?

Ace: Hey, you're back from town.

Isabelle: Yep. Had to pick up some stuff.

Deuce: *picks up a jar* What's this?

Isabelle: Pigs blood.

Ace and Deuce: 😱😱

Isabelle: What? I needed it for a potion.

Ace: Where do you even get that!?

Isabelle: Butcher in town. I tutor his daughter in English, I get discounts. It's worked out great for me so far. I also got bacon, hungry?

Isabelle: Hypothetically speaking. Say someone was conjuring in the woods on a full moon and a shadow creature followed them home. How would one exercise it?

Sam: Are you sure this is hypothetical?

Isabelle with a gangly shadow moving on its own behind her: Yes.

Epel: So what did Sam say?

Isabelle: Hes looking into it. But until then, I figured out the shadow creature likes French fries and watching Strawberry Shortcake.

Jack: How did you even figure that out?

Isabelle: It stole my fries in the cafeteria and was watching TV and it seemed interested in cartoons and I kind figured it out from there.

*unholy screeches*

Jack: That thing is still in the basement?!

Isabelle: Her name is Lemon, and she's hungry ok?

Epel: I'm afraid to ask what Lemon eats.

Isabelle: Cat food mostly. But she does also like candy.

Crowley over the loud speaker: - and this Friday will be Casual Dress Day. So uniforms are not required. And lastly, whoever keeps leaving strange ritual circles and infernal symbols out in the woods, stop it.

Everyone in class: *looks at one person*

Isabelle: *slowly sinking into her chair*

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst yuu #miss yuu #isabelle rosa #Isabelle is a bit of a goblin tbh #dire crowley #ace trappola #deuce spade #epel felmier #jack howl #twst sam #vil schoenheit

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ruiningsalads · 2 months

Note

Finding a letter they weren't meant to see for Solavellan :D Happy friday!

woof! I had trouble deciding which way I wanted this to go.

this is set after Veilguard, once the dust has settled.

"Vhenan?" Solas ventured into Lavellan's workroom, expecting to find her busily writing at her desk, as she so often did. To his surprise, she wasn't there. Her desk was covered in letters for her friends and former inner circle, but his eyes were drawn to a thick stack of parchment laid off to one side. Had Varric finally returned her accounting of the Inquisition? The dwarf had agreed to help her edit, but Solas suspected he was also pulling from her writing to supplement his own book.

Curious to see Varric's comments, he sank into Lavellan's chair and pulled the stack closer to him. Immediately, he could see that it was not her manuscript, but was instead a large stack of unsent letters -- addressed to him. It was beneath him to snoop, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he read.

Though written like letters to him, he quickly realized she used them as a sort of diary. The earliest pages were fresh with pain, betrayal, determination -- but as he read, he could feel as she grew ever more tired. Her arm no longer troubled her, but the pain in her heart, the pain caused by him, festered. He had known how much she suffered, at least to some degree, but to read it laid out in her handwriting chronicled over the decade they were apart...

He felt unworthy of her. After all she had done, all she had sacrificed, he broke her heart and left her behind for his own selfish purpose. Of course nothing went to plan, and that served to bring her back to him, but would it have been better if he kept his distance? Guilt weighed heavily on him, seeping under his skin like the vallaslin he so despised, leaving him marked and tainted.

"I could never figure out where to send those." He whipped his head around to see her leaning against the doorway, watching him. "You never left a mailing address."

"I... Vhenan, forgive me. My curiosity got the better of me, and..." His voice trailed off. No explanation felt sufficient, not after reading her soul laid bare.

"It was written to you." She padded over to the desk and picked up the page he had been reading. "I never thought you would actually read these, but it brought me some comfort imagining that somehow you would."

He felt unclean, like the lowest darkspawn skulking in the deep roads. When he moved to get up, she placed her hand gently on his chest to keep him in place. Then, she perched on his leg, much to his surprise.

"You already know much of this." She sorted through the pages, skimming the details briefly before moving on. "You had agents tracking me all along."

"I... Yes, I knew most of it."

She lowered the pages to look at him, one corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "Careful, Dread Wolf. Your reputation will be ruined if word gets out that you have such a soft heart."

How did she do it? How could she bear to look at him and smile after everything?

"Solas." Her warm hand on his cheek shook him free of his spiraling thoughts. "You're here now. You've made amends. I need you to acknowledge that." She peered searchingly into his eyes. "Don't run away from me this time. Please."

He sighed and wrapped her in his arms. "For you, vhenan, I will try."

#dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #solavellan #late to the dadwc party

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graaaaaayy · 5 months

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hi. you now know I exist. congratulations.

i wouldn’t recommend following this blog just trust me. or you can. i’m not the boss of you

side blog for chaos : @maniccaffeineaddict

intro post under the cut :)

the basics

hi, i’m gray. no colour jokes please

🇬🇧/🇮🇹 (i live in canada now tho) | 16 | chaos book blog | self proclaimed genius

i’ve been forced (affectionately) to promise to post my writing at 100 followers. fortunately i have some time before that’ll happen

edit : not much time now

fandoms

I’m involved in and sometimes post about all of these fandoms: (in no particular order)

musique

I used to put my favourite artists here but yknow what, here’s my spotify. my playlists will either make you cry due to the lack of organisation or you’ll just get it. here you go, listen and weep fuckers.

DNI : TERFs , queerphobes, transphobes, racists, xenophobes, and generally shitty people.

controversial opinions not welcome this is a no politics zone.

asks

ask box is always open. send as many asks as you want :)

off anon is on this blog (main) and anon asks are on my clusterfuck of a side blog @maniccaffeineaddict. that’s my side blog for random shit, and most of the time it’s just asks on there. the most random unhinged asks.

random facts time

trying to read 150 books this year (lagging behind at 66 so far. oh well)

i have a tendency to info dump. this is a book blog BUT there’s a lot of random shite on here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I speak english french italian and a tiny bit of spanish SEND ME ASKS IN ANY OF MY LANGUAGES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

i have ADHD + a photographic memory. so i remember either everything or nothing at all and im also dyslexic i can’t spell to save my life.

very chaos bi vibes. my blog is a dumpster fire and so am i

my blog is just my name but if someone was yelling it because i didn’t want to pick a name specific to one fandom.

that would make it seem like i have a favourite child that i like more than the others. and im not very creative with names. so graaaaaayy it is.

okay bye.

July 2024

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neochan · 8 months

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– ever wondered what the prideful gamer would look like in a movie? checkout the mood board below!

[link to fic] ⭑ gamer!hyuck x best friend!reader ⭑ challenge/bet!au, smut, fluff, minor angst ⭑ ft. jeno and jaemin

#behind the writing: the pick me chronicles #series: the pick me chronicles #haechan x reader #haechan smut

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alynnl · 9 months

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A line I read in one of the Sherlock short stories ("My friend never stood on the dock") and my recent fixation on the Ace Attorney series led to me asking one question.

"What if Sherlock Holmes did go on trial, being accused of murder?"

The short story title would refer to the courthouse (maybe The Old Bailey, referenced in The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles.)

Immediately following his arrest, Holmes sends a message to Watson. In the note, he tells Watson not to get sentimental and visit him in jail that night, but instead to investigate the scene of the crime, and see what he can deduce from it. Showing great trust in his friend, Watson does just that and takes very detailed notes on his findings.

"There was never a greater test of my own powers of observation."

And because of Holmes's status as a sort of celebrity, he will have a closed trial, with only members of the judiciary and key people on the case attending. This is to prevent the trial from becoming a media circus, and ensure the verdict will be reached by evidence and testimony rather than public opinion.

Godfrey Norton, who is now Irene Adler's husband, is serving as Holmes's defense counsel. Irene herself is attending the trial, watching from the gallery. (This is the final way Irene outsmarted Holmes in A Scandal in Bohemia - everyone believed Norton was a prosecutor working on her behalf, when he was actually a public defender.)

The opposing counsel is Charles Culverton-Smith, a prosecutor who is on track to become Director of Public Prosecutions. There’s a possibility that he took the case to add to his reputation (but that’s just speculation on Watson and Norton’s part.)

Watson tells Holmes of this theory when they speak in the defendant's lobby just before the trial, but Holmes is skeptical.

"If Culverton-Smith truly wanted to bolster his reputation, he would insist on a public trial where he could show his legal prowess to a larger audience. There is something else at play here, something far more sinister."

The trial begins. Both Norton and Culverton-Smith give their legal arguments, supporting their stances with evidence and witness testimony.

Watson is the final witness to speak in the trial. He describes his findings at the crime scene, and tries to use factual language (as Holmes remarked to him before, when talking about his writings.) Everyone in the courtroom (including the judge and the prosecution) believe Watson's observations to be so important, that they agree to call for a thirty minute recess. During the pause in proceedings, Lestrade and other policemen to look over the crime scene one more time alongside Watson to confirm what he said was true.

Sure enough, Watson's deductions prove that Sherlock Holmes couldn't have been the killer. When court is back in session, Lestrade gives his report. Based on the new information, the judge hands down a verdict of "not guilty" to Sherlock Holmes.

There is little time to celebrate, as Holmes immediately whisks Watson away to the streets of London. He insists they make haste the nearest carriage, because "There's still time to catch the true mastermind behind this devious plot!"

Lestrade picks up on Holmes's pursuit and decides to lead his own forces to block one of the main exits to London.

Meanwhile, Holmes and Watson enter a high speed chase against the true culprit, who's been behind at least two other incidents of framing people for murders he committed.

At the end of the chase, the criminal is surrounded by Lestrade and his police force on one side, along with Holmes and Watson (who is armed with his revolver) on the other side. He finally surrenders and gives himself up, at last being taken into custody.

Watson is astonished at this turn of events. "My dear Holmes, you've done it again! I'm speechless!"

"Indeed I have, but I insist you don't undersell your role in this, dear Watson. This case would have a much darker conclusion without your thoughtful analysis. I trust that you will reflect that in your writings, if there is ever a time you will be permitted to release the details to the public."

Charles Culverton-Smith catches up with Holmes and Watson. He didn't get a chance to speak with them after the trial, but wanted them to know that he harbored no ill will towards Holmes. He was simply doing his job as a man who practices law, and couldn't imagine leaving the trial to anyone else. Because everyone deserves a fair trial, and many other lawyers are biased either for or against Holmes, depending on how his actions affected their cases.

Holmes comments that Culverton-Smith will make a fine Director of Public Prosecutions when the time comes, since his integrity speaks for itself.

"If I am ever on the dock in the future, I would trust your judgment."

Watson insists Holmes not talk about "the next time in court" because he doesn't want there to be a "next time."

Holmes agrees to move on from the subject. He points out there is still ample time for breakfast and sets off to find the nearest place that will serve Watson's favorite dishes. "My treat, naturally."

Watson concludes the story mentioning that five years have passed since the first and only trial of his friend, Sherlock Holmes. The events in the closed courtroom have been made public, to teach students of law how to conduct a fair trial of a famous (or infamous) client.

#Sherlock Holmes #ACD Holmes #John Watson #Inspector Lestrade #Sherlock Holmes OC #Charles Culverton-Smith #Sherlock Holmes fan case #Watson does deductions #Sherlock goes on trial #courtroom drama #Letters from Watson

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dr-spectre · 2 months

Note

Oh that last post is perfect timing for this question lol. A friend of mine mentioned that it'd be cool if they brought back Shifty Station back for the Grand Festival. So my question for you, oh cool dude on the internet, do you have a favorite Shifty Station map and/or which ones would you like to see again if they had the balls to actually bring them back

Honestly it's very hard for me to pick a single favourite one because i haven't played those shifty stations since they came out. I haven't even went back to them in private battles. So i just looked through inkipedia to see which ones i remember liking.

So first we got Zone of Glass.

This had the invisible platforms on it and i think this was my first ever shifty station. I think! I don't remember! I think Action vs Comedy was my first ever Splatfest so that's why i think this is the very first one i played on.

Then we got Cannon Fire Pearl.

Being able to use Ink cannons in multiplayer was awesome. That's all i gotta say really, it's just a cool gimmick.

Then we got The Bunker Games.

This is just a sick concept, being trapped in a dome as you battle in a small space. That's fire, i love it.

Then we have Grapplink Girl.

I like the grapples and it was fun to zip around from my vague memory lmao.

Sweet Valley Tentacles.

Squid vs Octopus was a crazy Splatfest in hindsight huh? It was a full on race war.... And they just treated it like a silly little competition... Man, Inklings and Octolings are fucking crazy and so unserious HAHAHAHA!

Railway Chillin'

Listen, I'm a Sonic the Hedgehog fan, grind rails make anything 100x better idc.

Gusher Towns.

I like gushers, they are just fun to climb up and reach new areas. Also... the jokes write themselves about gushers... not gonna elaborate, but look at the ink colour....

The Maze Dasher.

I LOVE DASH PANELS! THEY ARE SO FUN! WOOO!!!!!!!

Bridge to Tentaswitchia.

I LOOOOVEEEE THIS ONE! I love how you can see the enemy team on the other side of the map, i love the gimmick of having to ink enough on a surface before it eventually goes behind glass. It's so cool, love it.

The Chronicles of Rolonium.

I mean there's something so satisfying about chucking these giant ass things at enemies and splatting them. There's this primal satisfaction to it... I can't put my finger on it....

MC. Princess Diaries.

I mean come on. I don't even need to explain why this one is so good. You already know! YOU ALREADY KNOW!

Anyways that was my ramble about Shifty Stations, i love the vibes of them and i want them to COME BACK NOW!!!! IF WE DON'T GET AN ORIGINAL SPLATFEST STAGE FOR SPLATOON 3 GRAND FEST I WILL ACTUALLY MURDER SOMEONE! I WANNA PLAY IN THE CRATER! PLEASE! LET THE FINALE OF SPLATOON 3 BE CLIMATIC AS ALL HELL! DO IT NINTENDO!!!!! ROARRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!

Also by the way... look at the Shifty Stations on Inkipedia, their names are actually references to stuff! Really fun read, go check it out!

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #splatoon marina #marina ida #ask me stuff #ask blog #ask me anything #sonic the hedgehog #shifty stations #images

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vacantgodling · 7 months

Text

oc kiss week day 2: rain

WIP: the chronicles of lathsbury (tcol)

SHIP: lath, guardian of valor (pre-guardian days; he/him) x ensio of argos (pre-sword of guardian days; he/him)

SUMMARY: lath was always rash and hasty, always getting himself into trouble even over the most mundane of things. as always, ensio is there to reign him in.

worldbuilding notes: this is BEFORE the day of fissures (aka about 3k years ago in terranean history from canon), so this is when the city of argos was still standing; when lath and en were simply scouts in the army.

shout out specifically to @henrike-does-writing-sometimes who's the biggest lath fan ever as well

About half past midday, dark clouds covered the sky. Not too long after, large droplets of rain began to pour over the Citadel of Argos.

From his perch in the western watchtower that he had been delegated to for his “punishment” for speaking to the Patrol General out of turn… again, Lath stared, unblinking out from where he sat on the sill of the open-air arches, his leg kicking back and forth. He’d been forbidden from climbing out onto the roof the last time he was up here—not that rules would stop him—but with the rain beginning to pick up to a downpour, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to even. He was a lover of high places, through and through, but the stone and mortar that the watchtowers (and most of the city) were made of, made it far too slippery to scale his way down during inclement weather. Lath opted to simply bide his time; gazing out at the distant green hills that were silhouetted shapes that no one had dared to venture. The swamps that separated Argos from them were vast and deadly; filled to the brim with monsters and beasts alike. Those foolish enough to even consider the undertaking were mad. Perhaps Lath was. Ever since he was a boy he’d dreamed of what lay on the other side of those hills. Dreamed of what sorts of lands and biomes lay beyond the borders of the fortress walls. But as with the rain, he bided. Never mind that he hadn’t convinced Ensio to come with him yet.

The trapdoor that lead up to the watchtower had a rusty hinge for as long as Lath remembered. Even from the first time he was taken up here on watch; through the winding, dusty stairwell that had most certainly seen better days, the trapdoor’s third hinge always squeaked. It was a comfort and a warning so no one bothered to replace it. But as it were, Lath turned his gaze from out to the hills to the trapdoor. No one should be coming to see him, as he was told by the general he wasn’t to be fetched for another day and a half. The General—as most—was at his wits end with him and Lath didn’t blame him. He’d never taken well to authority. He knew his tenacity as a warrior was the only thing that kept him off of the streets, but even then he couldn’t find it in himself to be thankful. The only person who’d ever deserved his respect was—

“If you’re trying to sneak on me En, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

From the trapdoor, a familiar, broad shouldered figure appeared, so broad that they barely fit into the hole left by the door. His brown hair was matted and wet against his face; the tight ringlets it usually existed in losing both their shine and shape. Water dripped off of his sun-kissed skin, down the freckles, and off the metal beads that held together the tiny braids in his beard. He didn’t scowl at Lath, but he did give him one of his unimpressed looks.

“Is that any way to greet your savior?” His voice was laced with amusement. Lath’s face stayed virtually the same, except one of his eyebrows, that quirked. “Has the General gotten off his high horse yet so I may come back down?”

Ensio snorted. “I said savior not miracle worker. You ran your mouth quite badly this time.” With a little shimmy, Ensio hoisted himself fully into the watchtower, and let the door fall shut behind him. He took up residence in the place that Lath should be sitting in, which was a rickety old chair that was fitted in halfway decent tanned leather. “I don’t see what you’re saving me from then.” Lath said, flatly but not unkindly. “Unless you mean boredom. If that’s the case, see yourself back down and fetch me a jester.”

“Oh ha ha.” Ensio rolled his eyes. He set about shedding the jacket that he’d donned to protect himself from the worst of the rain (and failed, really, he still looked like a drowned rat. Lath told him so, and dodged slightly to the side when Ensio threw a rogue game piece leftover from the last watchman who’d been in this tower. It sailed out of the window and into the city streets below). From beneath his jacket however, he produced a wooden jar that was sealed tightly shut with a cloth and a bit of twine. He passed the jar to Lath, and when he touched it, the wood felt hot.

“Have you finally resorted to poisoing me, En?” Lath asked bemusedly. Without waiting for an answer, he unwound the twine from around the jar’s top and the smell of thick herbs and spices hit his nose, suddenly making him aware of the everpresent rumbling of his stomach that he’d long since begun to ignore.

Ensio smirked at him. “I wouldn’t waste mother’s stew on petty poison. I’m saving you from starvation, you dolt.”

“Thank Cerullius for your mother then! But, I’m sure there’s some crumbs or two left around up here. I would’ve prevailed.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have snuck through the guards on the way here to save your sorry ass then.” Even as he said it, Ensio reached into the breast pocket of his moderately damp linen shirt and produced a metal spoon. He passed it to Lath. “Oh the horrors of your siblings, I presume.” Lath replied back sarcastically. He took the proffered spoon and immediately dipped it into the stew, bringing some up to his lips, as he was famished. Before Ensio could warn him, Lath touched the metal spoon to his lips, shoving it past them. It was hot.

He swore, yanking the spoon out of his mouth and juggling the hot stew between his tongue and cheeks until he was able to swallow it down and it scorched his throat anyway—the spices not helping in the slightest. Ensio was quick to jump up, taking both the spoon and the jar of stew away from him.

“Stars and hills, Lath, be fucking careful!” He hissed, but the irritation in his voice was sharp contrast to way his hands gently came up to cup Lath’s cheeks. Lath’s lips were always sensitive and Ensio’s mother loved to overspice her food, to make up for it’s lack of substance—not her fault, of course. Famines had been rampanet. Still, if it were cooler, Lath would’ve been fine, but it wasn’t, and Ensio knew that. Without even thinking twice of it, his used his thumb to wipe away the piping hot, spicy stew from his lips, but Lath whined in the back of his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was hot!” He complained. “You were already eating it before I could say anything!” Ensio said with a roll of his eyes. In a swift motion he leant in and pressed his lips over the hot spice burning on Lath’s own. They were still cool from the rain and blessedly so, to ease blisters. Ensio released Lath’s face after a beat, and Lath struggled to remember when his eyes slipped closed.

“Must you always be so difficult?” Ensio murmured, but his voice was low in the back of his throat, low like the way his eyes were almost partially lidded. Lath stared at him, as he was prone to, until Ensio complained and Lath let out a bark of a laughter.

“I’m difficult because it’s you.” He declared.

“Lucky me.” Ensio groaned. He sat himself back in the chair, holding open one arm. “Get over here before you catch a cold.”

#ockiss24 #again what is gayer: gay sex or WHATEVER these two have going on #the answer is them because My God #anyway #i love these two very much #s: tcol #ren writing

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queenie-ofthe-void · 8 months

Text

Completed Works

All of My Love: Steddie || ~1.1k words || rating M || cws: getting high || It's my boys being soft and falling in love over a week of Led Zeppelin || ao3

Confessions: Steddie || ~2.3k words || rating: T || cws: post-vecna, post-stancy, angst, robin buckley just being herself, not nancy wheeler friendly || ao3

Gentle Noise: Steve & Max || ~1.6k words || rating T || cws: implied child neglect and abuse || Steve can't help but wonder what it's like being a kid in Max's home compared to his own.

Just the Girls: Robin and Max || ~1.6k words || rating T || tags: depression, child neglect, platonic stobin, max and steve have a sibling relationship

Hear Me Out, Keep Me Guessing: Steddie || 2.5k words || rating T || tags: alternate first meeting, pre-S4, fluff and angst, Steve is the best babysitter || ao3

Immortal Eddie Munson (bittersweet): Steddie || 373 words || rating G || cws: none || As the Party ages around him, Eddie's reminded of how much he's loved.

Immortal Eddie Munson (hurt/no comfort): Steddie || ~1.6k words || rating E || cws: DEAD DOVE. All CWs are listed at the top of the fic PLEASE do not ignore them || Eddie watches his loved ones age and eventually leave him behind. This is an alternative telling to bittersweet.

Stuck: Steddie || ~1.5k words || rating T || cws: dissociation, unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illness || Steve and Eddie struggle to recover after a chaotic day with The Party || ao3

Tiger Club: Steddie || ~6k words || rating: M || tags: meet cute, single dad steve harrington, dustin and max are twins, teacher eddie munson, eddie and chrissy are best friends, fluff and humor || Unaligned pick up times force Eddie to meet all of the Harrington twins' family members except for their elusive Dad, and he's totally normal about it. Ao3

WIPS

The Babysitter Chronicles: Steve and The Party 5+1 || rating: T || cws: none (referenced domestic abuse, neglect, head trauma) Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 || Mayfield pt 2

A Desperate Fool: Steddie || rating: M || cws: hurt/comfort, break-up fic, rockstar!eddie regular guy!steve, Modern AU || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || ao3 (Homesick)

Prompts

Pin: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 388 words || rating T || cws: innuendos || Steve and Dustin argue the appropriateness of their chosen game and Eddie intervenes.

A Desperate Fool: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 454 words || rating: T || cws: hurt/no comfort, break-up, rockstar!Eddie, ride-or-die Robin Buckley

Father's Day: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 483 words || rating: G || cws: references to bad fathers || Unexpected guests surprise Steve and Eddie on their lazy Sunday.

Moles: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 111 words || rating: T || cws: nudity, tooth-rotting fluff || Steve and Eddie have a lazy morning.

Promises: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 1,111 words || rating: T || cws: hurt/no comfort, cheating, custody and divorce, panic attacks, child tantrum

Cough Syrup: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 437 words || rating: M || cws: sick fic, reference to child neglect, references to sex

Poolside: Steddie (steddiemicrofic) || 399 words || rating: M || cw: extremely horny

#QueenieWritesStories

Current brain soup ingredients include

Steve Harrington (Steddie)

Formula One (Carlando)

The Magnus Archives (JonMartin)

Lord of the Rings

The Locked Tomb trilogy (Griddlehark)

The Clone Wars (501st shenanigans)

Stormlight Archives (shakadolin)

Percy Jackson

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Over the Garden Wall

Arcane

What We do in the Shadows

Our Flag Means Death

Anything N.K. Jemisin writes EVER

#finally introducing myself #come say hi!#I swear I'm nice I only bite if prompted #QueenieWritesStories #queenie's void brain

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bcofl0ve · 2 years

Text

Invisible String (Part 5)

(part 5/9)

ship: austin butler x fem!reader

summary: a summer fling when you were working on the set of the shannara chronicles turned your life upside down with a positive pregnancy test after austin returned to the united states. a pregnancy test, and a daughter that you never told him about. until the elvis biopic found him back in your orbit and forced you to face the music.

chapter summary: no multi-chapter fic is complete without the ‘male love interest does some severe ball fumbling’ chapter. *drops this and runs*

word count: 2500

authors note: rated m for explicit smut in the 2nd chunk/day.

i live for comments and love talking about my writing, feel free to pop me an anon anytime!

xxx

June 21st, 2020

Cora was excited to see that Austin was there in the morning, though as you expected less excited by the fact that you had to take him to the airport to go around the globe for a week. She was quiet for the entire car ride, until you pulled around to the gate he needed to be at.

Baz had arranged for him to go through a private terminal after Austin told him you’d be bringing Cora to drop him off, the four year old in question bursting into tears as soon as the car stopped.

Austin got out to grab her while you opened the trunk to get the duffle bag you’d made a pit stop to pick up. And when you peeked around from around the back of the car you found him sitting on the curb, Cora on his knees.

“Gonna go to America and forget ‘bout me again,” She said through hiccups, wiping her nose on her sleeve. You winced and saw Austin do the same, what you thought had been a fine explanation of his four year absence coming back to bite him in the ass.

“I didn’t forget about you baby, I didn’t know about you. And those are different things, right?” He replied and she nodded her head, still in tears.

Me too kid, you thought.

You’d gotten so used to having him around, especially recently, that a one week absence was taking you back to 2015 in some ways. When you’d dropped him off at this very airport not knowing if you’d ever see him again, unknowingly already a few weeks pregnant.

Cora calmed down after a few minutes, and Austin pressed a kiss to both of her cheeks before he stood up to get her back in her car-seat. “I’m gonna miss you so much Cora Jean, could never forget about my favorite girl.”

“P’omise?” She asked, and he linked their pinkies together. “Promise.”

He slid the door halfway closed before going around the backside of the car to you, glancing around to make sure you were alone before pulling you into his arms.

Hell- what was breaking another rule anyways?

Austin kissed the side of your head and you couldn’t help the content sigh that it got out of you.

“Gonna miss me too?” You said as you pulled back to tilt your head up at him, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mm, ask Baz how much I argued with him about needing to go do this.”

Austin laughed lightly, biting loosely on his bottom lip. And if you weren’t still so paranoid about the paparazzi you would’ve kissed him senseless right there on the sidewalk.

“Text when you land in one piece.” You said instead and he promised he would, giving you a tap on the hip as he let you go to grab his bag.

He stopped by the passenger side door to say one last goodbye to Cora, and walked backwards with a wave as he went inside, your gaze following him until he turned and disappeared through security.

---

June 23rd, 2020.

You knew you were going to miss Austin. You just didn’t expect it to ache. And it was to an extent that you didn’t know if you’d be able to enforce the ‘no sleepovers’ rule when he came back.

How much you could break the rules without needing to revisit your (not) relationship status wasn’t lost on you. But it wasn’t something you exactly wanted to think about either, not that it stopped the thought from swirling around your head as you tried to sleep.

You almost jumped when your phone started buzzing and you saw that it was Facetime from Austin as though he could’ve been reading your mind.

A little puzzled as you clicked the answer button because of how early you knew it was in California, a sleepy smile greeted you on the other end.

He was sitting up in bed and you didn’t think he’d left it yet judging by the state of hair, which he pushed out of his eyes lazily.

“Mornin’” You said softly. “What time is it there?”

“5:30.” He replied through a yawn.

You were about to say something about how he sounded like he needed to go back to sleep, but he just kept talking.

“You were in my dream, woke up thinkin’ about how much I miss you.”

That was sweet, you thought, only realizing what he’d been implying by it when his face faltered and he let out of a harsh breath.

Oh.

“Austin,” You started and he let his gaze fall back to you, face growing flushed. “Are you touching yourself?”

He swallowed. “You alright with that?”

“Show me.”

There was some shuffling as he set the phone on his nightstand and sat up more, his lower half coming into view. He was stroking himself, and the little sounds you could hear him making under his breath made you press your thighs together.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, and moved to hold your phone with one hand as you tugged down your pajama shorts.

“You,” He said gruffly, reaching for his phone to flip the camera and give you a closer view of what he was doing. “How beautiful you look when you’re straddling my lap and I can feel how turned on you are.”

The closer view of his dick, leaking precum that he swiped over and smeared down the shift made you feel damp, your center throbbing as you tugged your panties down.

Circling your clit slowly, you didn’t make a scene of announcing what you were doing. But a little moan escaped and you could sense when Austin heard it.

“Yeah yeah, touch yourself for me.” He mumbled and you squirmed as you circled your bundle of nerves faster, loosening up in regards to the sounds leaving your mouth.

“The noises you make are so pretty. Miss hearing them in my ear when you’re all filled up with my cock.”

Finding your senses enough to flip the camera off of your face, the low “Shit baby.” you heard when he saw the view went right at your arousal.

You pumped two fingers inside of yourself, but couldn’t go long without needing stimulation back on your clit.

Slowly pulling them out, you dragged the wetness up your slit back to the bundle of nerves where you went back to rubbing yourself off.

Austin’s voice shook when he started talking again, his tell for when he was getting close. Managing to talk through it, he blabbered incoherently about how much he missed you and couldn’t wait to be home.

And the use of home would’ve been something you gave more thought if you weren’t edging up to your orgasm, chest heaving.

“Aus, I’m gonnna-” You choked out, your own words cut off with a whine as you tried to hold back.

“Lemme see that pretty face when you come.”

Barely able to focus long enough to do so, you hit the button, Austin appearing to have the same struggle flipping his camera. You only got a brief glance at him before your head dropped back against the headboard, thighs shaking as you reached your peak.

“Iloveyou.”

He whispered those three words slurred together as one as his climax rolled through him and came in his hand, the phrase cutting through the overdrive your orgasm had sent your brain into like a knife. When you came back to your senses and looked at your phone you were met with a view of the hotel ceiling.

You cleared your throat and there was some shuffling before Austin came into view again, face flushed.

“Dropped my phone in all the excitement,” He joked with an exhale and you laughed softly.

You almost forgot what he had just said a few seconds ago until you didn’t, a remembrance which made you suck in a breath. But if he noticed he didn’t say anything.

“Go get some sleep and I’ll talk to you later ‘kay?” He said tiredly and you said your goodbyes.

Yeah, you thought, sleep was going to come so much easier now.

---

June 24th, 2020

“Okay whatever you’re hiding, out with it.”

You hadn’t seen Leah for longer than a quick coffee run the past couple weeks, a combination of both your actual schedule with Elvis and how much time you’d been spending with Austin. You knew she was smart enough to put together the pieces in regards to you asking her to come over for the night for the first time in weeks the second Austin was out of town. So really, you should’ve expected the interrogation.

“Are you pregnant?” She asked, voice serious, and you choked on the water you were sipping.

“No!” You said through a laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you plopped down next to her on the couch. “God no, you’d know if I was.”

“I mean I also thought I’d know if you and Austin were back together,” She started, and her tone was light but you could tell there was some degree of real hurt behind it, even if small. You’d told each other everything since you were in 4th grade. Except you hadn’t looped her in about Austin, her or your mother. It was embarrassing, but a part of you was scared the second you got too excited about it it would all come crashing down.

Not to mention you felt especially anxious about the fragility of it all after when he’d let slip on the phone. It hadn’t come back up, not yet, which you knew you should’ve been grateful for.

But the idea that he regretted it, or worse didn’t mean it all made your chest tight.

“It’s not personal,” You said to Leah and her eyes widened at the confirmation before you could finish your thought.

“Hey- I get that. But I also kinda wasn’t expecting to be right!”

She was damn near giddy, leaning forward with her hands folded under her chin.

“We aren’t in a relationship, just. Just friends with benefits,”

“And a four year old.” She supplied, and you gave her a half serious glare.

But before you could quip back your phone was ringing where it had been resting in your lap, Austin’s caller ID flashing across the screen.

Doing quick math in your head you realized with some concern that it had to be a little after two in the morning in California. So you picked up, gesturing at Leah something to the effect of “If you say a word I’ll kill you.”

You barely got out a “Hi” before Austin was talking, talking so fast he was almost stuttering. “You gotta listen to me, you’re gonna see something soon, probably, and I need you to know it’s not what it looks like.”

You hadn’t put him on speaker phone but Leah was sitting close enough to hear him, her eyes widening. She pulled out her own phone and started tapping it at, and you already didn’t like where this was going.

“What’s not what it looks like? I don’t understand,”

Your stomach dropped when you heard Leah gasp next to you, and she tried to turn her screen away when you leaned over to look but wasn’t fast enough.

There was a tabloid headline you couldn’t really process, eyes going right to the photos underneath it. You recognized Vanessa leaning against the wall just inside what looked like a hotel lobby. And then you recognized Austin in front of her, head tilted down in Vanessa’s direction with a hand on her upper arm.

He must’ve realized what your silence meant, clearing this throat before he started talking again.

“She wanted to talk, get the timeline of when Cora was conceived. I owed her an explanation,”

Blinking, you sat back against the couch arm, gripping your phone so hard your knuckles started going white. “In the middle of the night?”

“She’s been just as busy as me,” He supplied and that felt like a lie, but if it was that was the least important aspect of all this at least.

“Did you sleep with her?”

There was a pregnant pause, and your chest contracted even more than it already had, the rationale that you weren’t in a relationship so you couldn't be that hurt leaving your body.

“Iloveyou.”

“Hey- last time I checked you and me aren’t in a relationship, so-” Austin started again, voice growing tight.

You cut him off.

“The kid running around with your face is just a figment of my imagination then, yeah?”

Some part of you knew bringing Cora into it was low, but you also didn’t have it in you to care all that much.

Standing up off the couch because you couldn’t sit still anymore, you avoided Leah’s concerned look.

“She might as well have been to me for the past four years! You know what, sometimes it’s like you don’t even feel a little bad for what you did.”

He’d raised his voice and you raised yours right back, even though your hands shook as you did.

“And this is exactly why I don’t! Cora deserves better than someone who freaks out and full 180s the second things get a little too hard Austin."

“Whaddya mean by that?” He replied after a beat, voice lower. “I told you I tried to get out of this trip, Baz-”

“I heard you last night. “I love you.””

The line went nearly dead silent then and you only knew he hadn’t hung up by the sound of his breathing.

You waited a little bit for him to say something, anything. Until you felt tears pooling behind your eyes and knew you needed to get off the phone before this got even more embarrassing than it already was.

“But it’s good to know you didn’t mean it.”

“Y/N wait, please-”

You felt a sob bubbling in your throat and hung up three words into whatever he was going to say, dropping shakily back onto the couch.

You couldn’t make yourself meet Leah’s eyes and just stared at the ground, fidgeting with your hands as you tried to keep from completely breaking down.

“Oh honey,” She whispered, scooting closer and letting an arm fall around you. You let your head drop to her shoulder and one- two seconds passed before you were really crying.

About the fight, what you were sure it meant for Cora, alongside your job. And over how stupid you felt for thinking that maybe things would actually work out this time.

---

austin ⚡️

June 25th, 2020 at 8:05 AM

“Hi, it’s me. You already knew that I guess. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now but I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I hate fighting with you and I know you had your reasons for being pissed but I wasn’t bullshitting when I said there was more to it. Vanessa and I didn’t sleep together, we’d been drinking while we talked- and we made out. I know you’re not gonna like that either. But she wanted to go farther and I said I couldn’t, that even what we did was a huge mistake. She asked if it was because I was involved with you and I told her everything. About how it’s felt to fall back in sync with you after all these years, and the rules that we kinda stopped keeping and what I let slip on the phone- that bein’ a dad has given me a lot to think about.

I think we need to talk when I get back. About us, and about what I said and what you wanna do with all that. Give Cora a kiss for me, okay? I uh- I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.”

xxx

tag list (tags don’t always work, i do my best!): @chernayawidow @theinvisiblecapricorn @aalishifts @mavericksicybabe @cryingabtab @kittenlittle24 @invisiblee-smoke @mrs-munson-quinn @cevans-winchester @kikilovesdankmemes @oh-austin @chrissie-soula @starcatchxr @butlervol6 @thedeviltohisangel @redhoods-gf @gabrielajimenez @stlover288 @alqvarde @loudwombatmugkid @austinbrainrot @ab4eva @m0ndayagain @marlowmode @kingbouji3 @gardenavenue @yeonimii @eliseinmemphis @blurredcolour @tiddieshakeshownu @fallininlovewithurlove @briannaisanxious @amiets2 @karamelcoveredolicity @amnmich @mrsniallhoran505

#invisible string by bcofl0ve #austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler fanfic #austin butler headcanons #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction

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