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melancholicheart · 8 months

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All This Time- Chapter 8

cw: implied/referenced transphobia, trans male pregnancy (past, mentioned), angst, miscommunication, fluff and happy ending

Simon hears Johnny loud and clear. Nods his head a little and sits back into the couch. He tries to speak, no words coming from his mouth, and he eventually commits himself to silence.

He agrees with Johnny. He doesn’t want to die in the field, lose his life on foreign ground, potentially not even get a slither of his body back to even bury, and he can’t imagine Elizabeth having to cope with that. He doesn’t want her to end up as fucked up as he was.

Before he can comprehend even making a full sentence, his phone vibrates on the chair beside him and Price’s name lights up the screen.

“We can carry on talking later,” Johnny assures, “I know you’re going to want time, Si. Take Price’s call.”

Simon nods and grabs his phone, placing it to his ear and managing a small ‘yeah’ as he answers the call.

“I have answers.” Is all Simon gets. No hello, no ‘how are you?’, just work. “Gaz and I are going to come over, we need to talk in person. I take it you’re with John and the kid?”

Simon mumbles another ‘yes’ before Price can be heard by both men in the living room, “Wheels up in 30. Be with you in about an hour, two tops. Be good to see Soap again, more excited about meetin’ the little ‘un though.”

“She’s great, Price.” Simon mutters and Johnny watches him from the side, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Elizabeth peaking around the corner and she jumps back when Johnny spots her. He smiles at her and beckons her over, the little girl racing to Johnny and jumping onto him as she dives for the couch. He catches her under her arms and swings her up onto his lap. Simon places his phone down and sighs. He turns and sees Elizabeth sat on Johnny, playing with his hair and squeezing his face and smiles.

“Price and Gaz know something.” He informs, “They’re on their way over, wanna talk in person. I bet you’ve missed them, Gaz especially I presume. He’s missed you, I can guarantee that.”

Johnny nods and smiles, cuddling Elizabeth close and nuzzling her chin with his nose, making her squeal with laughter as he tickles her, “Papa stop!”

“Never,” Johnny growls, tickling her more and she shrieks out again, “I’m never letting you go!”

“Daddy, help!” She wails and Simon chuckles, snatching his daughter from Johnny and holding her away from him.

“He’s so cruel to you isn’t he darling?” Simon muses, holding Elizabeth like a baby and kissing her forehead lightly, “Such a meanie.”

“A big meanie.” Elizabeth agrees as Johnny pouts.

“Hey!”

For the umpteenth time in Johnny’s life, time seems to both halt and fly by. Before he knows it, there’s a knock at the door and Johnny’s breath stills completely. Five years. Five fucking years since he’s even spoken to his best friend and former Captain, never mind seen them. His stomach sinks as Simon clambers to his feet and answers the door.

Johnny grabs a tight hold of Elizabeth and stands, slowly making his way to the door too where he sees Price and Gaz. Price is carrying a folder, tucked under his arms, and a casual jacket covers his arms. His facial hair is most certainly within ‘old man beard’ territory now with his hair curling a little behind his ears. Certainly longer than Johnny’s ever seen it.

Gaz is timeless. There isn’t a hair out of place on his head, not a single wrinkle or crease extra to be found. His biggest change has nothing to do with aging at all, more like trauma. Blunt force, to be specific. There’s a bump on his forehead, no doubt aging now since it isn’t bruised, but fresh stitches cover a slight cut in it. Likely from the butt of a gun. Johnny’s own head aches as he remembers the many injuries of the like he himself sustained.

“Papa,” Elizabeth mutters, eyeing the men cautiously and nervously tucking her face into his neck, “They the men in the pictures?”

Johnny nods, “Yeah sweetheart, they’re mine and Daddy’s friends. Uncle Gaz and Grandpa Price. He ain’t really your Granda’, it’ll just drive him mad if you call him that.”

“Soap,” Price says, pushing past Simon with Gaz in tow. Gaz claps a hand onto Simons’ bicep before following after the Captain. Johnny feels like he’s about to be chewed out for dangerous decision making or the likes when Price stands before him until he takes note of the man’s eyes. Relief, “It’s bloody good to see you son.”

“You too, sir.”

Price turns to Elizabeth and holds a hand out to her, “I believe you’re Miss Elizabeth, is that right?”

She nods and gently puts her hand into Price’s, him shaking her hand with a warm smile on his face, “A pleasure to meet you, kiddo.”

Elizabeth wiggles out of Johnny’s hold and runs over to Simon, wanting to be held by him instead, and Gaz takes the opportunity to throw himself at Johnny. Johnny holds onto Gaz and feels tears brewing in his eyes.

“You’re a fucking moron, Soap,” Gaz mutters, “You and Simon. God I’ve fuckin’ missed you, brother.”

“I’ve missed you too, Gaz,” Johnny whispers, “Coulda done with you throughout all o’ this.”

Gaz chuckles, “I bet.”

Simon taps Gaz’s shoulder and gestures to the angry looking child in his arms, “She wants you to stop swearing.”

“Oh shit, uh, I mean, yeah, sure kiddo! Bad first impression of your Uncle Gaz, ai?” Gaz rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. Elizabeth giggles at him and nods.

“Papa swears all the time!” Elizabeth chuckles.

“No I do not!” Johnny yelps.

Price chortles, “Nothing’s changed there then has it MacTavish?”

“No Sir.” He sighs.

Before long, they’re all well acquainted once more and Elizabeth takes her time playing with each of them and gauging how she feels about them all. She has taken a liking to Gaz, mainly because he does silly voices when she plays with him, but she keeps gravitating towards Price and climbing into his lap when she gets tired.

Eventually, she only wants the embrace of her Papa and climbs up into his arms. She seems tired, presumably from all the running around and playing she’s been doing, and she starts to nod off whilst tucked in between Johnny and Simon on the couch.

Simon, always believing in ‘no time like the present’, turns his attention to Price and clears his throat, “Are you going to tell us what you found or just sit and make small talk all day?”

Price chuckles at the Lieutenants tone but his smile quickly falls, “Yeah it’s- well, it ain’t pleasant stuff.” He turns and looks at Elizabeth who is pulling on Johnny’s shirt and dancing one of her dinosaurs on his stomach as her eyes flutter slowly. “Perhaps she’d be better in bed?”

Johnny nods and goes to move with Lizzie but she just whines and clutches onto Johnny tighter, “Baby, don’t you want to go to sleep? I will tuck you and Ricky in.” Ricky is her dinosaur pal.

She shakes her head, “A wanna cuddle.”

“We’re going to be having a rubbish grown up conversation,” He tries to reason, “Are you sure?”

She nods fervently, “I go sleepy here, Papa.”

“Alright, love, come here.” He holds her more comfortably and strokes her hair softly as she goes back to drifting off. He gestures towards Price and allows him to proceed.

“I’ll cut to the chase then,” Price clears his throat and stretches back into the chair, “Gaz and I did some digging, got in touch with Laswell too. All the calls are recorded and such and, well, the ones from you were locked away. When we listened, it was General Sutton that shut you down. I think he heard about your ‘situation’, John, because the last thing we picked up on was you saying you were expecting before the line went dead.”

Johnny shrinks into himself, “I- I already thought they hung up on me. That was the day I found out, I was sat on the bathroom floor crying and begging for them to let me speak to you or Simon.”

Price nods, “We know, son. Turns out, Sutton had plans for Ghost. Sent Simon out near enough the following day. Every call of yours, every letter, it’s been blocked or returned. Sutton wouldn’t let this slip up. He had heard what you said and knew that if Simon caught wind of it, he would’ve left and he didn’t want that.”

“That prick,” Simon grumbles, “Damn near killed me on those jobs and kept me away from this? From everything!”

“Sutton didn’t want to admit it, but Gaz and I- well- let’s just say we ‘forcefully’ took him, and we questioned him about it. He spilled his own secrets pretty quickly. Told us how he hated MacTavish, couldn’t believe the 141 took him in, hated the image we were giving the military by having John yet he recognised that you’re a bloody good soldier, Soap. He said that with you gone, we couldn’t afford to lose Ghost too and so, he elaborated this whole coverup so Simon would never find out about Elizabeth. Made you think that Simon forgot about you and Simon- he made you think John moved on.” Price finishes.

Simon looks at Gaz who is staring at his lap. He has anger seething from him and Simon recognises that they’re all hurt by this.

He turns to Elizabeth, tucked into Johnny’s side snoozing away, and sees his daughter. He’s not exaggerating when he says he could’ve died. There were a few close calls, a couple near misses and some poor timing over the last few years that nearly stripped his baby girl from ever meeting him.

Just like Johnny said, regardless of what he thinks of himself, his daughter looks at him like he’s made of gold and the thought of dying in the dirt without ever seeing her beautiful face or without ever making her smile the way she does around him almost kills him there and then.

He clenches his fist and mulls over Price’s words. It doesn’t fully sink in before Johnny speaks.

“Y’know when I was a kid and I first came out, I thought about the other kid’s reactions. How I was gonna be treated by them was all that mattered. I didn’t think I’d still be dealing with how people treat me just because I am who I am.” Johnny mumbles, curled up on the couch. Elizabeth is flat out and panned across Johnny whilst Simon is tightly pressed on the other side of her, practically cuddling Johnny.

He reaches behind the couch and grabs a hold of the scruff of Johnny’s neck. He pulls him towards him and Johnny gets the message and rests his head on Simon’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Gaz clears his throat and speaks up. His tone indicative of his fighting tongue; “Sutton has been discharged. Dishonourably.”

“Good fuckin’ riddance if you ask me.” Price mutters. He clambers to his feet and gestures to the sliding door that leads to the barely-there balcony of the flat. Smoke break. Johnny nods as he strides over to the door.

“Swear,” Elizabeth mutters, “No swearing.”

Johnny and Simon look down and Johnny pouts, “Oh sweetheart, you don’t look comfortable at all. C’mon, let’s get you comfy.”

He stands up and sits her on his hip, her head pressed to his neck as he carries her through to his room.

Gaz turns to Simon, “He’s a natural Dad, huh?”

Simon nods, “He’s fuckin’ perfect, Garrick. Could do it all on his own if he had to.”

“But you don’t want him to?” Gaz asks.

Simon shakes his head, “God no.”

Johnny sits on the floor beside Elizabeth’s bed, knelt on his knees as he ricks her in and makes Ricky the Dinosaur kiss her nose. She giggles sleepily and grabs ahold of Ricky.

“Love you, Papa.” She mumbles, snuggling her toy.

Johnny leans over and kisses her forehead, brushing her crazy hair back as he smiles, “I love you more, darling girl.”

He sits for a while, just watching her as she sleeps. He strokes her hair repeatedly and sighs softly, a warm smile on his face.

The door clicks behind him and his shoulders tense.

“Is she asleep?” Simon’s voice breaks the silence.

Johnny nods. He hardly trusts his voice right now. Simon sits beside him and a hand snakes around his waist, “Johnny? Talk to me.”

Johnny turns to Simon, makes momentary eye contact, and tears immediately trickle down his face. Simon falters but quickly bundles Johnny into his arms and holds him tightly.

“I’m sorry Simon, I’m so so sorry.” Johnny hiccups, “If I’d have just- I don’t know. You would’ve known her, you would’ve been here from the beginning if I’d have just been- if I hadn’t-”

“Johnny don’t you dare say that,” Simon shoves him aside a little and grabs his face, staring into his eyes, “Don’t you think for one second that this would’ve all been fine if you hadn’t of been yourself. We would’ve never met, Elizabeth wouldn’t even bloody exist and you- Johnny you wouldn’t have been you. Shit happens, especially to us, but we’re here now and we have a beautiful daughter to look after. Let’s leave the past where it bloody belongs.”

Johnny nods a little, not breaking eye contact, and the tears just coat his lashes whilst his eyes remain shiny with unshed pain. Simon pulls him in close again and feels Johnny hug back. A slight chuckle sounds from Johnny, “Never thought I’d hear the day you, of all people, would say to leave the past in the past.”

Simon laughs a little too and rests his head on Johnny’s, “Yeah well I’m a little sick of living in the past. I want to live in the present, right now, where I have you and I have Elizabeth. I have the two things I’ve always needed but didn’t know what I was missing out on until I had it. Until I had you both.”

“We need you, Simon Riley,” Johnny sighs, watching his daughter as she breathes peacefully through her sleep. Simon does the same. “We need you so much more than you’ll ever know.”

#call of duty #mw2 #ghostsoap #mw2 2022 #soapghost #john soap mactavish #ghost #soap #family #simon ghost riley #trans mpreg #trans man

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branches-of-time · 2 years

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It Ain't The Whiskey

"You climb the rest of the way up, and settle down behind him, wrapping your protective arms around his small frame.

He takes note of your trembling hands, and gently wraps them in his.

He takes a deep breath in, thinking for a moment, and breaks the silence.

'You smell like chocolate… and coffee.'

You huff a little, more of a laugh than a noise of offense, and nuzzle your face down into the soft black hair at the nape of his neck.

'Mhm..' you hum, and pull back, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. '…and you smell like wine.'”

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship, GN!Reader

Word Count: 6,831

Synopsis: One too many people give their two cents on Venti- both his appearance and his music, leading you to learn something about the God-turned-bard that you'd already suspected for a long time.

Contains: Angst, Excessive Drinking, Fear, Graphic (?) Descriptions of Violent Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Past Trauma, Implied/Suggested Past Sexual Threats, Reverse Comfort, Slightly Possessive Thoughts, Unwanted Suggestive Commentary

(I don't think the fic is as dark as the CWs make it seem I just want to be thorough!)

A/Ns: This is fic 2 of 16 that I'm doing based on combining prompts from this list! (maybe I'll have them all up by the end of the year lmao)

Day 2 (Wisp) & Day 17 (Drunk)

Title is from the song that inspired this fic- 'It Ain't The Whiskey' by Gary Allan.

Lastly, some context- Reader is part Riftwolf, can manipulate all seven elements but has an affinity for Geo.

Believe it or not, Venti isn't everyone's favorite bard in Mondstadt.

He's popular, sure, but even he can't possibly please everyone's taste in music. Having lived for as long as he has, he isn't usually bothered by the occasional negative comment made about his performances. But you've watched some people be downright mean to him about it and he still won't retaliate. He always responds in the same friendly tone, no matter how harsh some people's words are. Like maybe if he's nice enough, it'll rub off on them too.. or something. You're not really sure what his reasons are for the way he behaves sometimes.

You love him regardless of his tendency to be a bit of a pushover. Besides, you can and have been aggressive enough to balance out his gentle nature on many occasions. Not to him, mind you. You're not sure if you could be aggressive towards him if you had to. Towards everyone else though.. your tolerance for bullshit is low. You've finally found some peace, and you're going to protect it.

It's almost funny, how different the two of you are. He's too nice, you're too mean. He's passive, you're aggressive. He's light, you're heavy. He's bright, you're dark. He's warm, you're cold. He's loud, you're quiet. He plays with the wind, you command the earth. He fights from a distance, you run straight into the fray. He takes his hits and you put up a shield.

He was kicked out of heaven... and you crawled out of hell.

He's taught you many things since the two of you met. One of those lessons being- some things don't get easier to handle with the passage of time. If you don't treat them, if you don't nurse the wound... some things actually just get worse.

You're working the bar alongside Charles at Angel's Share tonight.

You didn't expect your appearance there during Bartender's Academy Week to turn into such a popular event, but even after all this time, wherever you go in Teyvat, a crowd seems to follow. So, after it was over, and when Diluc realized that he wasn't going to be able to escape the never-ending questions from patrons about when you were going to return, he offered you a part-time position. Well, really, it was more of a- "I know you're busy but could you please stop by the tavern and work a shift whenever you're in the area so they'll stop pestering me about it" -type of offer, if you were to quote Master Diluc verbatim.

So, your appearances slowly became more and more frequent as you began to fall in love with the job. You weren't really in dire need of the mora, you just genuinely loved being there. After many, many years of traversing worlds, fighting Gods and monsters alike, settling down for a while and spending time in Mondstadt was a very welcome change of pace. Mixing and serving drinks, chatting with your favorite people, and- of course- watching Venti in his element.

Standing in your spot behind the bar, your left hip is propped against it, leaning back with your shoulders against the wall in the far right corner of the room. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in deep and listening to the sound of your partner's voice filling the tavern. Looking down, you stir and sip on a hot, fresh Moonlit Alley that you’ve just made for yourself, cradled in your always-cold hands. Your third of the evening, actually. Another perk of working here, besides admiring Venti in your free time, is making your own drinks. Honestly, with the fact that both you and Venti drink here for free, and that Diluc’s paying you, you’re not sure how he isn’t losing out on mora here. You’ll file that question away for another day, you suppose.

Charles has stepped out the back door for a break, leaving you to man the bar for a little while. Fine by you, considering that business has slowed down considerably for the day anyways. The evening has slipped into night, and the usual rush of customers has settled down to just the regulars that tend to stick around until closing.

Venti, in his usual high spirits, has haphazardly kicked his shoes off and perched himself atop a table in the center of the room. Sitting with his legs crossed and lyre in his arms, he’s currently performing one of the songs he plays most often. You know it by heart at this point, with how much you hear him strumming the tune, but you could never get tired of hearing him sing.

The same thing cannot, apparently, be said by one particularly inebriated individual sitting at the far end of the bar you’re leaning against. He’s been unpleasant all evening, grumbling to himself about one thing or other underneath his breath. You been trying to be nice and not bother him, hoping he’ll drink his fill and stumble on home sooner than later, but things never go as smoothly as you hope when alcohol is involved.

Without warning, he slams his fist down on the bar, the impact and the noise causing you to flinch. The sudden movement sloshes your drink all down the front of your shirt, and you quietly curse. The music coming from the other side of the tavern immediately ceases, causing you to look up and momentarily lock eyes with Venti. You see something alert and intense flash in his eyes and the next second it’s gone- replaced with his usual half-lidded, relaxed, ten-glasses-and-seven-shots-in expression. He saw the way the man made you flinch.

Before you can register what could have possibly set the man off, or question Venti’s momentary break in character, the man is stomping his way over to the group of people gathered around the bard.

Well, stomping may be putting it generously. While he is of a pretty large stature, and his loud, drunken movements are a bit intimidating, he’s more-so stumbling than he is stomping. Which is intimidating in it's own right considering he looks like he could and would crush any unfortunate soul he happened to land on if he fell. He gets a little too close to Venti for your liking and you don’t understand why your body won’t move. You want to go over there. You want to put yourself between Venti and this threat. You want to knock him on his ass and drag him out the door after the way he’s been acting all night.

Instead of doing any of those things, your feet stay glued to the floor and your back stays pressed against the wall behind the bar. You can’t believe yourself. You’ve fought literal Gods and you can’t make yourself face one angry, drunk man. Maybe you really have gotten soft, spending so much time in a place as safe and calm as the City of Freedom.

You suddenly remember how Barbatos said he'd help you learn about peace and composure. How to cope with your innate urge to fight. You're starting to think that maybe you've learned too much, because now your body can't decide what to do with itself.

With Venti’s intimate connection to the wind, he can easily hear how rapid your breathing has become, even from the other side of the tavern. He can tell that you’re fighting with yourself over what to do here. Wanting to defend him, and wanting to hide. Not knowing which side of yourself to obey.

Venti knows you. He knows what you'd do to the man if you got your hands on him. When you look up again to watch the scene unfolding, he catches your eyes and whispers something that somehow, only you can hear.

“Stay where you are, love.

You know I can handle this.

It’s okay. I swear.”

Of course, leave it to Venti to speak so poetically while you’re having an internal crisis.

His words do distract you enough to calm you down a bit, though. You try to focus on your breathing as Venti shifts his attention to the man who has braced himself against a table, thankfully not trying to get any closer to Venti. Apparently he just wants someone to yell at, given what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do you even KNOW any other songs?!”

Venti cocks his head to the side a little bit, doing a great job of looking genuinely confused at the man’s words. He keeps any hint of offense out of his voice when he responds, friendly and upbeat as ever.

“Uhm.. pardon me, Sir? I know many songs! If there’s something else you’d like to hear, I’d be happy to play it!”

How he can be so kind in the face of cruelty will never cease to astonish you.

Images of him on the ground in front of the cathedral flash in your mind. The way he refused to fight back against Signora. You remember ice, and hands forcing you down to the concrete. You remember being weak. You remember burning rage. You wanted to claw your way inside her chest and tear her heart out for having the audacity to lay hands upon your God.

You wish he’d quit letting people take their anger out on him, but... maybe he knows something you don’t. Maybe he feels responsible to take these people's rage. Maybe.. maybe he’s just too goddamn passive. You quickly dismiss the upsetting images and thoughts, shaking your head so hard it makes you dizzy for a moment. You do not have time to be caught up in the past right now.

You tune back in to the man’s slurring words.

“Oh, don’t give me that act, bard. Sitting here all pretty in that little outfit... trying to.. tryna’ be all cute and polite 'n ssshit.”

You bristle upon hearing the man call Venti pretty like that.

You know what he's implying and it makes you want to wrap your hands around his throat. Dig your razor sharp nails in deep. You'd watch as his skin beneath your hands begins to dissolve in response to your Corrosion. Watch his blood seep out between your fingers. You want to make him beg for your mercy. Make him repent for uttering such words in the face of a God.

You want to.

You need to move.

Why won't your fucking feet move.

As you silently fight yourself, the man keeps speaking.

“You’re no better than the rest of us drunkards here and you know it. Comin’ in here every night and slammin’ drinks back, pulling out that fuckin' harp 'n playin’ the same. damn. songs. every night."

His fist slams down on the table over and over as he speaks, emphasizing his words.

You flinch every time.

Why can't you breathe?

He sweeps his arm out across the table as he stands up, knocking a bottle and two mugs off in the process. You hear the glass bottle shatter, and watch the spilled alcohol spread out across the floorboards as if in slow motion.

"I’m sick of hearin’ it!”

The room quickly erupts into a cacophony of drunken arguing. The well-meaning patrons jumping to Venti’s defense would have been heartwarming if it weren’t for the chaos being created, the burning hot coffee soaking your shirt, and the indecipherable look on Venti’s face. He’s still sitting there, an almost hurt look in his eyes, gripping his lyre tight as he watches everyone argue around him. He doesn’t look scared as much as he looks... disappointed. Concerned. Solemn.

Sober.

Your eyes break away from Venti when Charles comes into your field of view, and you barely register him asking if you’re okay. You nod on instinct, dismissing the mess on your shirt and the counter, far too focused on the ever-rising voices arguing in the background. He turns his attention to the man that is continuing to cause a scene, and quickly makes his way over to diffuse the situation.

“Excuse me.. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave..”

As Charles uses his years of experience dealing with drunk, upset people to bring the arguing to a close and ushers the men out of the tavern, you just can’t stop watching Venti. He’s acting so.. different. The way he instantly went from loud, drunk, almost tripping over himself climbing up onto the table earlier, to now, looking as sober and solemn as ever.. it’s odd.

He takes a deep breath and dismisses his lyre back into the void. Your eyes follow him as he gingerly slides down off the table, quickly slips his shoes on without any trouble or sign of losing his balance, and quietly makes his way up the stairs to the second floor of the tavern.

Like he was never even drunk in the first place.

Like he was acting.

As the last of the customers leave their apologies and payments at the bar and make their way out of the tavern, you finally pull yourself out of your thoughts and back into the present. Your breathing is still shallow and fast, but your feet will move again, your body finally obeying the commands you’re giving it. You curse yourself over and over for freezing up the way you did.

Grabbing a towel, you start wiping up the mess on the counter. Your racing thoughts wander to places you don’t want them to go.

If that man had wanted to.. he could have…

He was close enough to Venti to…

Would he even have defended himself if that man had…

You weren’t there to protect him.

Charles comes back in as you’re attempting to soak up the worst of the drink you spilled out of your shirt.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve known the moment I went out on break somebody was gonna cause a scene.”

He watches as you aggressively scrub at the mess, honestly just making it worse.

He cocks his head at you.

“You sure you’re okay?”

You realize your efforts to remove the stain are pointless. You breathe a heavy sigh and turn your attention to Charles.

“Yeah… yeah man, I’m alright. I’ve faced far, far more intimidating things than some big drunk guy yelling a bunch of nonsense. You know me. I’m good... he just caught me off guard.”

Why do you feel like you’re lying?

You’re fine.. right?

You wished your voice sounded more sure of your words, but you can’t really help it at this point. You just want to go find Venti, but you continue trying to explain yourself. Charles is already more aware of your.. issues than you realize but he listens nonetheless.

“The atmosphere here is usually so calm at night, and I was just watching Venti like usual and.. I don’t know. That guy’s rage just came out of nowhere and made me jump. I’m fine. Honestly.”

There’s something knowing and empathetic in Charles’ eyes.

“Alright, well.. if you say you’re okay, I believe you. But still, Venti seems to have vanished, you've clearly had a long day, and I’m sure you want to go home and change clothes. Why don’t you let me clean up here and you can go ahead and head out?”

Wasting no time, he's already started picking up the pieces of the broken bottle on the floor.

As tempting as the offer sounds, you feel bad just walking out of here like this. The mess isn’t that bad but still…

“I- I can’t make you do that, it’s not even your mess and it won’t take that long to clean up.. I mean-"

You stop speaking when he turns around and gives you a pointed look, a kind smile on his face.

“I’ve cleaned up this tavern by myself more times than I can count. If I really didn’t like it, I wouldn’t work here. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to wrap things up here.”

You sigh, making a mental note to pay him back for this favor, and you gratefully accept his offer.

“Okay.. okay, yeah.. thank you, Charles. I really appreciate it.”

You quickly make your way over to the stairs, following the fading trail of Anemo feathers that only you can see.

“Hey, don’t mention it. Just go find that boyfriend of yours before he disappears into thin air again.”

Charles laughs a little, a lighthearted sound, as he says that. You process what he said about halfway up the stairs and you whip your head around to look at him. You almost speak up to ask how he knew you were following Venti's trail but he’s already made his way into the back room to gather cleaning supplies. You shake your head, deciding to let it go because right now… with the way he worded that… you are too tired to try and figure out exactly how much he really does know about Venti.

Besides, bartenders are good at keeping secrets.

Venti isn’t on the second floor. Your elemental sight tells you that he didn’t sneak his way up to the storage room on the third floor either. Following the little Anemo feathers that Venti leaves in his wake, you instead are lead out to the balcony. Stepping outside, you immediately take in a breath of fresh, cool night air. As much as you love spending time inside the tavern, the first deep breath you take after exiting the establishment is always a welcome relief.

It would be even more relieving if Venti were out here, but of course, he’s never been that easy to find.

The trail of Anemo feathers has ended in a sizable group of them scattered across the edge of the balcony. Almost like he summoned the winds to take him up higher…

Oh.

Of course.

He’s on the roof.

As you make your way up to the top of Angel’s Share, you hear a familiar sound. It’s not a sound you’d ever heard before coming to Teyvat. After all, nowhere else you’ve been has had creatures such as these.

Peeking your head up over the edge of the roof, you see exactly what you thought you would. He's sat down, straddling one of the higher ridges atop the tavern. Several little wind wisps are hovering around him, chirping and speaking to Venti in a language you’ve yet to understand. They’re flocking to him like he’s their mother or something.

Hm.

You quickly file that question away for another day, too.

You haul yourself up onto the roof, as gracefully as you can after the night you’ve just had, trying not to disturb any of them.

Venti’s head tilts, looking down at you. He looks so tired… and there’s a quiet sadness in his eyes. It’s times like this that he looks a lot less like Venti, and a lot more like Barbatos to you. To the unfamiliar eye there probably isn’t much of a difference, but you know him better than that.

It’s something in his face. Something in his eyes. In the way he carries himself, and the way he speaks. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A knowing look that can only come from centuries of experience. A sort of… quiet acceptance.

He is fascinating to you, but you didn’t come up here just to stare at him from afar.

Nodding towards the wisps flitting about all around him, you softly speak.

“Do you think they’ll flee if I get any closer to you?”

He smiles a little bit at your question, his eyes soften, and he shakes his head slowly.

“They’re not afraid of you. I’ve told them who you are. You're welcome to come closer if you’d like.”

He says that like he doesn’t already know how badly you want to wrap him up in a hug and apologize for everything that happened this evening. You know it’s not completely your fault but you still feel so guilty, like you could have done more. Like you should have done more. Like you failed him when your body betrayed you and chose to freeze instead of fight.

You climb the rest of the way up, and settle down behind him, wrapping your protective arms around his small frame.

He takes note of your trembling hands, and gently wraps them in his.

He takes a deep breath in, thinking for a moment, and breaks the silence.

“You smell like chocolate… and coffee.”

You huff a little, more of a laugh than a noise of offense, and nuzzle your face down into the soft black hair at the nape of his neck.

“Mhm..” you hum, and pull back, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “…and you smell like wine.”

You look down and watch as his hat, discarded on the roof beside him, begins to float a little bit. Before you can even be properly confused, one of the wisps slips out from underneath it, and chirps in success as it ascends to float around with the others.

“Did you trap that thing underneath your hat?”

That gets a proper laugh out of him, albeit a small one, and he shakes his head again.

“No, of course not. I'll have you know that it crawled under there of its own volition.”

He gently reaches out and slowly picks his hat up, revealing two more wisps cuddled up together like they were camping and his hat was the tent. They chirp loudly in protest of having their cover blown. Venti smiles.

“They like to hide in there sometimes, what can I say?”

You watch as he gently places the hat back down over them, and reaches back to his lap to take your hands in his again.

They’re shaking a bit less now.

You think for a moment, and speak again.

“They’re really cute, you know. How they’re so playful with you. They really trust you, don’t they?”

He nods, slowly reaching one hand out and holding it open in the air. One wisp flies over and gently lowers itself into his palm, curling up into a ball and resting there.

“We’re like family, you know. They know that I’ll protect them.”

Watching him like this, perfectly still, calm, steady and gentle, it’s really hard to believe that less than an hour ago he was just drunk off his ass, throwing back shots and climbing on furniture to sing whatever song was requested of him next.

Like, really hard to believe.

You figure now is as good of a time as ever to ask the question that you've been sitting on for quite a long time now.

“You’re completely sober, aren’t you, Venti?”

To his credit, he doesn't even seem caught off guard by the sudden question. He knows that you've suspected this for a while, and was almost waiting to see how long it would take you to figure him out.

He nods, looking straight ahead, out over the empty streets of the city. From your position behind him, you lean to the left, around his side to try and see his expression better as he answers you.

“I always have been, love.”

You breathe a sigh of relief that you didn't even notice you had been holding, and it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"You watch me so closely... and you're around me so often, I'm almost surprised it took you this long to ask me that, Windblume."

He doesn't sound disappointed, or upset that you've figured out his secret. He almost sounds relieved.

"Well, I think I've known it for quite a while, actually, I just.. wasn't sure, and didn't want to ask until I was. I always thought that with you being.." you lower your voice even further before you speak your next words, "an Archon..."

As you pause to choose your words carefully, you slide your right hand up his arm, from his wrist to his elbow and over his bicep, stopping to rest on his right shoulder. Absentmindedly, you start to massage your thumb into the tense muscles there. He's always holding more tension than he seems to be.

"...I thought that you might just have a really high tolerance, and that it wore off really quickly afterwards, too. But then sometimes, while I watch you perform, or just joke around with people in the tavern, you seem to almost.. break character sometimes."

He hums and nods a little in response to your words, not interrupting but wanting you to know that he's listening.

"Like.. like you were acting, for lack of a better way to put it. You could snap out of it and right back in so quickly that I started to wonder if you were ever actually drunk in the first place. Just like tonight, when you suddenly broke character to tell me that everything was okay. Then, the way you watched the scene unfold and quickly slipped out of the room... it just didn't add up how you could switch so quickly if you were truly intoxicated."

Venti leans back into you and lets your words hang in the air for a moment, processing them.

"You're too damn observant, you know that?"

You're relieved when you can clearly hear the smile in his voice.

"You're right though, about all of it. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough wine in the world to get me drunk. Archons aren't capable of getting drunk on something as weak as alcohol. No matter how strong the brew, it just doesn't affect us like that. It's like trying to get drunk off of apple juice. It tastes really nice, sure, and too much of it can make you feel sick from the sugar, but it won't intoxicate you."

You hum in thought, and another question pops into your mind, though you believe you may already know the answer.

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, why do you drink so much? Or... why do you drink it at all?"

Due to the way he's leaning back into you, the laughter that bubbles up out of him in reaction to your question jostles you both.

"How do I explain it... Well, you know how you love the taste, and the experience of making and drinking coffee?"

"Yeah..?"

"Still, you don't like what the caffeine does to you, so you drink decaf instead."

Of course, he's found another parallel between the two of you.

"It's like that! I truly do love the taste of wine, and all sorts of spirits for that matter. I also love the atmosphere of the tavern. I get to be among my people, sing and drink to my hearts content, and.. yes, I do get to act like... like someone I'm not, I suppose."

He sighs a little bit, almost feeling guilty about the admission.

"I get to forget that I'm this powerful celestial being and for a while... I can just be Venti. He's a fun character to play, I guess. Not that the things I do and say when I'm 'drunk' aren't genuine, mind you."

He reaches up and does little air quotes around the word drunk, and you smile.

"I'm always me. There's just.. two different sides of me. They mix quite often, and I'm usually somewhere in between Barbatos and Venti at any given time. I'm sure you've gathered that by now."

You nod, and now it's time for you to do some explaining of your own.

"I have, love. I've definitely gathered that. Also, for the record, I love both of you, equally. I fell in love with all of you, not just one side, or one part."

You reach up and carefully tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"I don't mind it when you're 'drunk', honestly. I obviously wouldn't be with you if I were constantly upset by part of who you are. Honestly, though... you've always kind of been an enigma to me. I never pictured myself with someone like you. Not that there's anything wrong with you, of course not. We're just so.. different. It's something that's always baffled me.. given.. my past."

Venti reaches up and removes your hand from where it's toying with his hair, pulling it forward and you let him take it. You watch as he turns his head to the left in order to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

It's still hard to revisit your past, and explain why you are the way you are. You're grateful for his silent reassurance that you don't have to go over it again. He already knows. The two of you have spent many sleepless nights with you clinging to his cape as you stain his bright white shirt with your black tears.

You already know you're gonna revisit tonight's effect on you at some point in the future. Venti knows that he'll ask you to tell him more about the first man that taught you to be so afraid. Not tonight, though. Tonight he will listen, and nothing more.

"I guess now I know why it never bothered me. Maybe deep down, I've always been able to tell that you're not really intoxicated. Now, are you high on life? Maybe, yeah.."

You both laugh at the expression, but he doesn't deny it.

"I mean, you do have quite the lively spirit when you're doing what you love. But I've never felt unsafe around you. I think my body knew that you weren't going to hurt me, even in the beginning, when my mind wasn't sure."

Venti feels a tightness in his throat upon hearing that you feel safe with him. He pushes the feeling down and speaks through it.

"I'm glad you know that you're safe with me, love. That's all I've ever wanted you to be, and equally importantly- to feel. Safe and sound."

From his own words, the need to protect you suddenly hits him again, and he sits up a little straighter.

He told himself he wouldn't pry tonight, but he has to ask one thing.

He needs to know you're gonna be okay.

"Speaking of, how are you doing? After everything that happened in there, I mean. I could tell that that man wasn't actually going to harm me, you know he couldn't even if he tried, but I know it still scared you. I'm truly sorry for that."

After everything, he's still putting your needs above his own.

You won't stand for that. You're not gonna make this about you.

Not tonight.

"Sorry? No, no- Venti- I should be the one saying that. He was posing a threat to you and I just... I just fucking froze. I should have stepped in to protect you."

There's frustration in your voice that you fail to hide, and you pray that he knows that you're upset with yourself, not him.

Venti leans away from you at that, and for a moment you think you've offended him. Your damaged mind is always thinking you've done something wrong. You watch as he carefully turns himself around to face you, disturbing the many wisps that had settled down to rest on his idle form in the process.

He looks you square in the eyes and counters your protest with a question.

"You do know that I'm with you because I love you, and not just to use you as my personal guard dog, right?"

You nod your head, and smile at his phrasing. Somebody once mentioned, upon seeing the two of you out in public together, that that's kind-of what you look like. Presumably due to the way you tend to watch over him so closely, ready to stand between him and the world, if need be. You're protective of him, and you make no effort to hide it.

"You didn't owe me anything back there, love. I knew you wanted to jump in. I also didn't want to further aggravate the situation. That's why I told you to stay behind the bar. I knew that everything would be fine."

You shake your head.

"Is it though? Are you fine? I mean.. the things he said... you know that's not true, right? None of it was. People love you, and your music, and it's his loss if he can't appreciate the stories you tell in your songs."

His eyes soften, and he sighs a little bit before he responds to you.

“Listen to me, dear. It is not your fault that he apparently had a bad day and decided to take it out on me. Everyone has their own taste, and it doesn't make him wrong for disliking my music. Was it out of line for him to berate me like that, in front of God and everybody?"

You can't help but laugh at him using the phrase that he picked up from you after hearing you say it so often. Of course, he's still trying to keep the mood light. He wants to see you smile, and you do, as he continues.

"Yeah... probably. It's okay, though. I can take it. I won't shatter just because someone got a little too drunk and decided to tell me their honest opinion.”

You can't help but notice that he's only mentioning what the man said about his music, and nothing about what he called him. Nothing about what he implied. You're torn between not pressing the issue and doubling down. If he's taught you anything, though, it's the importance of delicacy.

Gentleness.

You reach out and take his hands in yours once again. Your hands are steady now, allowing you to notice the slight tremble of his own as you thread your fingers together.

"I know.. I know you're strong. I know you can take it. But- but just because you can take it doesn't mean you should have to! You are so, so passive and... it's admirable but.. I don't know, Venti. I guess I just don't know how you do it. I'm afraid that you're secretly carrying all of these negative feelings and that one day they're gonna be too much for you to bear. I just.."

Your grip on his hands tightens.

"I don't want you to break on me, love."

Venti looks a little surprised at your words.

He bows his head and looks down for a long moment, taking a few slow, deep breaths. Both of you sit in the silence for a little while.

The wisps gather around the two of you again as you both remain still, and they get closer and closer to Venti, landing all over his form. It's almost like they're trying to hug him, you muse to yourself.

You eventually feel something wet land on your hand, and your first thought is that it's starting to rain.

Great, now you're both gonna be sad and wet.

You look up, but feel nothing hit your face. You feel another drop on your hand and you look down to where they're held in Venti's grip. Thanks to the fact that it's dark out, you're able to see that the liquid landing on your hands isn't clear rainwater. It's turquoise, and it's glowing.

He's crying.

For a brief moment you're too stunned to speak. You're not used to seeing him cry, but you find your voice in spite of your shock and speak to him softly.

"Venti? I-I didn't mean to make you cry, love.. I just.."

Your words trail off as the metaphorical dam breaks and his shoulders begin to shake from the force of his silent sobs.

"Oh, honey... sweetheart, come here."

You pull him further towards you, guiding him to wrap his arms around your waist and letting his head rest on your shoulder. He's so quiet when he cries, you'd never know it from just listening to him. His shaking body and glowing tears are a bit of a giveaway, though.

You rub circles over his back and he slowly but surely calms back down. He makes no move to pull away and neither do you, opting to stay together just as you are as he speaks again.

"I- I don't know what got into me.. I'm sorry."

"Venti, you do not ever need to apologize for crying, or for being upset."

"I just... I'm still not used to anyone caring so much about my wellbeing. It caught me off guard. I mean.. yeah, I get my feelings hurt sometimes. I'm not immune to the things people have said to me just because they think I'm some small, weak bard that can't fight back. Not to mention the things that have been said to me because they know I'm some small, weak God that won't fight back."

He pulls in a shaky breath and you pull him a little closer as you continue listening to him.

"I'm used to it.. I guess. I'd rather just let people speak their peace and carry on, thinking they got the upper hand, than cause a scene by fighting back. I'm tired of fighting, and over time I've learned it's often not even worth it. It's no fun having to act like things don't bother me, but over time I got pretty good at it."

Your heart breaks at the way he's learned to handle things.

You gently pull back from the embrace, wanting to see him properly. His cheeks are flushed from crying, and his eyes look so tired.

"Those words can still hurt you, Venti. Over time, they build up and if you don't process them somehow, they'll eat you alive."

He looks down as one of the wisps bumps into his arm. It looks up at him and, having gotten his attention, makes a series of noises that you can't decipher. From his response, it seems the wisp was echoing your sentiment.

"I know."

He looks away from the wisp and back up to you.

"I do. I guess my coping mechanisms aren't as fool-proof as they once were. I usually keep a good handle on it. I guess it's just gotten harder to do over time. Sometimes, I do wonder if I'm not getting weaker, instead of stronger, as time goes on."

He tilts his head back, looking up at the stars that decorate the night sky. The midnight breeze feels nice on his warm, flushed face.

"Sometimes I just don't know."

You reach forward and slip your finger underneath the bow that holds his cape together. The weight of the cape tends to pull the bow back, and it ends up pulling on the base of his neck. It looks uncomfortable, so you gently ease it forward, and reach out to pull the cape further forward across his shoulders, trying to alleviate the pressure.

You speak to him as you fiddle with his clothes.

"Sometimes, I think that all a person needs is to speak, openly and honestly, about the things that are weighing them down. Like we're doing here, right now. There's power in language. I know you know that. I believe that part of that power is in the relief we feel when we share our burdens with someone who cares about us."

Shifting his attention away from the heavens and back down to you, he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He watches the way your lips move as you speak.

"I care about you, Venti. An awful lot... and I am always, always willing to listen to you. No matter what it is, good or bad, a song or a story, I want to hear it."

The way his focus flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips is not lost on you. You lean a bit closer to him, and reach out to cup his cheek, still warm from crying.

You lower your voice to a whisper.

"Please, promise me you won't keep carrying all of these feelings by yourself. Someone as light as you should never be weighed down by the negativity of others, nor by the hate in the world."

He breathes in deep, and nods once.

"I'll try... to let you help more. To let you in. I promise you."

Your hands stop toying with the soft ends of his braids, and one moves to gently cradle the back of his neck. He leans into you on instinct.

His eyes fall closed as you pull him towards you, closing the remaining gap between the two of you.

You lean up and place a soft kiss on his forehead.

"I won't let your burdens drag you under, Barbatos."

You move down and place another, feather light, on the tip of his nose. He smiles.

"I will not let them."

Your lips finally meet his, and you feel him fully relax in your hold.

When you break the kiss, neither of you pull back, instead leaning your foreheads against one another and breathing softly.

Chocolate and wine pair quite well together, you think.

#venti #venti x reader #genshin #genshin impact #ventober #lunasmr #venti x you #venti genshin impact #venti genshin x reader #genshin venti #genshin fic #venti fanfic #venti angst #venti comfort #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #*banging pots and pans whilst shouting into the void* COME GET YOUR VENTI ANGST COME GET YOUR VENTI ANGST #i'm so sorry i swear i'll write something more lighthearted one of these days. but i'm full of the rage bloodlust hatred wrath #i put so much effort into this silly little fic i sure hope someone likes it and i didn't make it so niche it's unenjoyable. that's my fear #Venti & Reader's dynamic in my fics is like the concept of Scary Dog Privilege. or like the Person On Leash ship dynamic. u know the one.#hoo boy. apologies for the upsetting argument (fight?) scene in the tavern (and all the angst in general) I just...#I was listening to Track You Down by Matthew Mayfield on loop while writing it. and somethin' just came over me. that song makes me Feral.#'fear wraps it's claws around his neck and squeezes tight' and all that.. anyways go listen to it it's a good song #don't ask me why reader works at Angel's Share if they're scared of drunk people i can't explain it. i'm self-inserting don't look at me #every bartender in Mond. hates alcohol. even Charles isn't interested in it he's like idk man i just work here. now what can i get you #reader is just doing their part to keep the tradition alive and well

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be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie · 9 months

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Do you have any recs for the black phone?

DO I????

Do you guys know how exciting it is to get an ask that isn't about Avatar? Don't get me wrong, I love the Avatar ones, but the other kinds are such a fun change of pace. I have an equal obsession with a lot of other things, if not a bigger one.

So, I have a03 collections for a lot of things, and I do have one for The Black Phone as well. Check out The black phone was legit just like a fine movie it wasn't even that good why am I neck deep in this fandom sometimes I add more. As a massive fan of Steven King's IT (Reddie fics that don't make me think about the fact that this is a horror novel), I absolutely adore horror gay children, and as a massive stan of Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch (the goldfinch fics that don't make me sad and feel hatred towards english majors), I also love doomed love stories. Blah blah "the real horror is the blatant homophobia and trauma inflicted on the children that causes the death of pure imagination and dreams" there are better posts and essays written about that. So naturally I am a rinney stan so it's all rinney fics.

WARNING: This movie is a horror movie about a man kidnapping, heavily implied to be sexually abusing, and straight up murdering children, so there are some serious content warnings for some of these recs. Read at your own discretion. Avatar is a fandom I read pretty light shit for, I don't for The Black Phone always, so I'll try to be super clear with them.

the electric, synthesized, rock ballad of why finney blake can't have nice things by ECLIPSEWXTCH. I literally just made a post about this fic in relation to the pink concert. It's a modern au rinney fic where Robin and Finney lost touch as kids and find each other again as young adults, Robin a successful musician and Finney a student in college. If this fic is never completed I will burn this website to the ground. I have no content warnings for this fic unless you have an aversion to pure wholesomeness. Content warning for there never being as good a boyfriend as Robin Arellano? But we all knew that already.

Coffee boy by mikki_strange. It's a coffee shop au, man, it's adorable and it made me happy. No trigger warnings or anything, simply rinney fluff.

Holding On and Letting Go by Nizhoni93. CW: homophobia, implied underage rape, legit so much trauma and sadness. This is SUCH A GOOD FIC, oh my god. It's one I've reread a couple times now, despite it's length. I have recced this before because I brought it up in reference to the beloved and famed nocorro ghost au. Holding On and Letting Go is the INSPIRATION for all my sad nocorro ghost thoughts. It's entirely from Robin's first person pov after Finney has killed the Grabber and they other boys have moved on. Robin can't leave Finney, and spends his time haunting the other boy and watching as he suffers while Robin struggles too. It is. The biggest bummer ever. It's so heartbreakingly tragic. Even as Robin is describing all these big feelings, his love for Finney or the guilt he feels for having hurt all these people with his death, he'll say something like "And I was thirteen" and I remember he's a fucking eLEMENTARY SCHOOLER. I cried a counted total of nine times reading this fic. Highly recommend especially if you're into the nocorro ghost au. The chapter where the psychic tells Robin he's only hurting Finney by being there? I'll literally kill myself. The homophobia is fairly blatant, and although mentioned rarely the rape and Robin's disgust and shame around it is a hard read.

We Stand Together by HeavensAether. Serious trigger warnings for this one. It's almost a dead dove, tbh. Basically a rewrite of The Black Phone where all the kids are alive and in captivity at once, so they develop a fairly strong bond. The main draw for me was the psychological depth it takes into Finney as he works with the ghosts around him and tries to retain his sanity, his relationship with Robin, and the mystery of how they'll get out with Finney's powers. If dark bummers of a fic aren't your jam, this isn't for you! CW: underage rape, disassociation, homophobia, transphobia. Tbh the rape is (while not graphic) fairly disturbing and goes as a method of showing a characters disassociation. If it was in an earlier chapter, I'd probably not have continued reading. As it were, it's pretty easy to skip those parts, which I would recommend as what little I did read I did not enjoy!

And You Keep On Living by Nichknack (BBCotaku). CW: more common The Black Phone homophobia and also trauma and abuse, but I think so far this one is non-con mention free. It's basically just a post movie fic but where the timeline changes essentially, Finney and Gwen wake up and the ghost boys are all back and the world around them doesn't remember the Grabber and all of those events never happened. Some good rinney as always with a side of brance and it's very interesting, I can't imagine where it'll go.

Five Times Someone Discovers Finney is Spider-Man (And One Time He Is The One To Say It) by sleepysheep (mynameistadashi). CW: nothing let the boys be happy and in love and full of friendship. This one is a silly and cute rec, it just makes me smile. Let the boys be happy. It's just as it sounds, it's Spider-Man Finney and a 5+1 of everyone discovering it.

#this was so fun for me #the black phone #the black phone 2022 #finney blake #robin arellano #rinney #bruce yamada #brance #gwen blake #melissa's asks #melissa on the black phone

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thedahliafiles · 11 months

Note

alright alright last one, [ARM] with Guy and Honey :]]]]]]

[ ARM ]: after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

(A/N: Thank you darling, for being my first requester for these silly little games. It really means a lot to me :) ) cw: [headcanon pets: cat named Pepperoni/Peps] [Guy implied to have shoulder length-hair] [Honey implied to be shorter than Guy] [headcanon character: coworker named Krow] [implied that Honey is working through emotional trauma]

Honey knew they could be a bit intense. Between them and their boyfriend, they knew that Guy was the more affectionate of the two. More open, more unabashed. It’s not that Honey didn’t love him as much as they loved him, just that they struggled letting anyone past the walls they’d spent so long building. It was a work in progress, they were a work in progress. They were so thankful Guy didn’t mind that, so long as they kept making progress. They tried to be more open with telling him what was on their mind, even if they tended to cringe when they admitted anything remotely affectionate. When the line between still friends and something more became a little too clear and the side they stood on had switched. They were trying though, because Guy deserved that.

Tonight, they were trying a little bit more openly.

Guy had been working back to back double shifts and Honey could see it wearing on him as much as their over-energized boyfriend said to the contrary. Honey also knew that the pizza smell jokes were starting to wear his patience thin, but he still relented and showered after already being on his feet for hours. Tonight, that would change, as Honey had his favorite dinner prepared, and candles around the apartment lit. The scent of cookies could be smelled from the living room where they were baking in the oven. And the second they got the ping that he was on his way home, they’d be drawing a hot bath for Guy to relax in, with one of those fancy bath bombs he liked so much. His noise canceling headphones were charged if he wanted them, his switch was waiting on the loading screen of Mario Party, and the volume was low. Now all Honey had to do was wait for their loving boyfriend to get home.

-- “Honey, I’m home.” Guy called from the door. Honey hated how tired it sounded these past few weeks, like even speaking in his usual sing-song manner was too much expensive for the amount of energy he had left at his disposal.

Honey came out from the bathroom and smiled, “Hey babe, how was your shift?”

Guy shrugged and unlaced his shoes, setting them in the cubby by the door and dropping his backpack on top of it, “Nothin’ special, Rosa says hi, and Krow wants you to know he’s coming over next week to babysit Peps.” He stood up and kissed their cheek softly.

“I know, I know, I smell awful, I’ll go shower and get started on dinner--”

“Hey, stop, stop for a moment. First of all, it doesn’t bother me. Second of all, dinner is already on the warming shelf. C’mere, I have a surprise.” Honey grabbed his hand, thumb brushing the edge of his leather bracelet as they dragged him over to the master bath, showing him the setup.

Guy took in the bathroom, the first time he really stopped to take in his surroundings since he left for work that morning. Work had been hell from the moment he stepped through the doors of the shop, all the way to hitting autopilot on his way back home, the drive feeling like an hour long despite the short distance from their apartment to the pizza shop.

The lights were dimmed, candles providing more warm light in the quiet corners of the bathroom. There was music coming from his cozy playlist, the speaker propped up on the sink counter. There was still steam fogging up the mirrors.

“Honey, I..” He was speechless.

They dropped his hand, smiling up at him as they moved in front of him, their hand never leaving quite entirely though. Guy felt as their cold hands moved up the length of his arm, tracing his shoulder for a moment before resting and staying pressed to his neck.

“Let me take care of you tonight. Pepperoni and I got this.” Honey let a warm grin form before leaning up on their toes to press a kiss to the tip of his nose before brushing his hair behind his ear.

“Get in the bath, I’ll bring you some food.”

“Thank you, Honey.”

“I love you.”

#r.asmr #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted guy #redacted honey #r.guy #r.honey #guy.r.asmr #honey.r.asmr

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astarionfixation · 1 month

Text

Chapter 8: "Show me, and I’ll follow you"

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for mentions of sex and blood

CW: mentions of parental abuse, childhood abuse, forced prostitution, implied rape

Word count count: 2.5k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/139337191

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

The mornings after he feeds on her he has taken the habit to sneak out of bed as she’s about to wake up. Not for any nefarious reason other than finding sustenance to bring back to her, so she can replenish her strength as soon as she awakes.

*She lets me feed off of her in bed, seems only fair I extend the same courtesy*

This time his loot features a freshly baked cheese scone, still warm, and even a cup of coffee. Much like a small feline bringing food gifts to his human who clearly cannot be trusted to hunt and feed themselves properly.

His elegant movements devoid of any sound allow him to keep everything quiet enough so that hopefully they won’t be disturbed by anyone waking up at this ungodsly hour and with any luck, he will still have time to look forward to that morning, time he can just keep her all to himself.

His back pushes into the door of their chamber so he doesn’t immediately see, until he turns around and the cup of coffee almost falls through his long, delicate fingers.

She’s fully awake *disappointedly fully dressed* sitting against the headboard of their bed, her long luscious hair falling inordinately over her shoulders, the neck of her shirt falling down her arm leaving one of her shoulders temporarily naked. Though what makes him swallow in a panic has nothing to do with her tempting looks and everything to do with a shiny little tome, open, in her lap, as she is intently taking notes on it.

The same little shiny book he first thought held the secret to freedom, maybe a clever way to control rather than destroy the wriggling worms in their heads and that would have let him keep his renewed free will and sunbathing inclination, along with his own life.

The same insignificant little book that, once purloined by his deftly fingers, revealed her eye had been set upon him in ways he could have never suspected from her demeanour.

The same precious little book that he perused over hours, that night that feels so long ago now, after leaving her, intoxicated, in her bed, despite her plea for him to stay, which in hindsight revealed to him for the first time the way she felt about him.

The same vexing little book that revealed something through the way she skipped around words. Something eerily akin to his own tragic loss of ownership over his very own body that must have happened to her as well.

Despite the naive way she smiled, denying she had anything but a comfortable and happy life thus far to justify her longing for eternity.

Despite the smile never reaching her eyes.

She knew he had read it. At least that latter part, because in that one moment of anger, when for a brief instant he thought she would have denied him her body, her blood, he had to use something, anything to hurt her. And her trauma and abuse seemed the perfect place to hit because he knew how it would have felt if anyone reminded him of every time he had to bend his will and his body, sinuously, to every request of his master, and every desire of the simpletons he had to convince, one way or another, to walk happily towards their demise by following him back to Cazador’s Palace.

His mind is running faster through scenarios and considering the very real possibility of just sneaking away the way he came, disappearing until she goes to find him and hopefully, enough time will have passed by then that they can both ignore this uncomfortable moment. He’s about to swiftly move the heel of his foot through the door to slink away when her voice, still deep from her sleep, announces ineluctably that it’s too late for an escape

“Good morning Astarion”

She sounds… sweet? As always…

*Is she not mad? Is she not going to bring up my theft? Is she going to pretend nothing ever happened?*

He might be lost examining possible outcomes for a moment too long because when he doesn’t reply she continues

“What? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyway”

*Ouch!*

He can try to ignore what she clearly refers to, he can try to focus on his concern for her health which is true anyway…

“I see you’re full of energy this morning darling, maybe I can persuade you to come with me, have a full plate then to break your fast? I’ve got you these meanwhile…”

He resigns himself and closes the door behind him, while circling around the bed and leaving the coffee and scone on the bedside table next to her. He keeps his eyes on the food until she pats the edge of the bed in a silent invitation for him to sit down next to her. And the darn little book is still open on her lap.

“Thank you”

He can feel her eyes on him following her sweet voice, even as he’s trying to avoid her gaze but when the tips of her tapered fingers reach for his cheek he can’t evade it any longer

“Astarion? Is everything alright?”

Her tone is starting to sound almost concerned and so…

*Fine, there’s no need to make things sound worse than they are. If she isn’t mad yet there is nothing to worry about, nothing to fear… right?*

He’s never going to have as good a chance as this one to finally ask, to understand how her mind actually works

“You never wrote a single line about who I… what I really was… why?”

In truth what he wants to ask is why could she wax lyrical about him -as if she was almost in love!- in her book, while she’d never let anyone suspect -not even him as he holds her every night!- anything of the sorts. But that is as good a start as any to get there…

“Exactly because someone could have gotten hold of it”

*Touché*

But it doesn’t sound like the accusation it should be, and it leaves the door open for more of his prying

“Yet there's so much of your vulnerabilities there, perfectly mapped to strike best. Wasn’t that something to avoid putting down too if you ever thought someone could have…”

He can’t spell it out, of course he’d done it, he stole the book, but the shame catches in his throat. The fear still lingering, ready to have him spring the moment this vulnerable conversation becomes the rightful attack on him it should be.

“That was my hit to take, not yours. I wouldn't put you in jeopardy just because I understood. I can afford a hit myself, but not you.”

She was protecting him way before he ever thought he needed her to be on his side. Even whilst pouring out her mind she had put up enough premunitions just in case his own secrets needed safeguarding.

“That was incredibly… kind of you, sweet thing… I hope I can… somehow return your kindness, some day…”

His gaze finally rises to meet hers and she is just softly smiling at him, her head giving a slight nod towards the food he went to find for her before she replies:

“You already do”

And then it’s like even without the tadpole powers she can read his mind because the reassurance is confirmed by her words as well and she continues:

“Is there anything else you'd like to ask me about it?”

This time his own hand reaches for hers, both resting on the open page she was writing on just before this surreal conversation started.

*What if we could finally talk? Actually talk and learn, truly learn how similar our stories might just be?*

He had those glimpses from her diary to suggest so after all. A part of his mind is already screaming at him to turn it all around in a joke and get as far away as possible from that dangerous subject, but his concern, his need to understand and possibly finding slivers of himself in her is impossible to push away.

“What happened to you… before?”

She lets his words linger for a moment, and he’s left wondering if there was any other way, any clearer yet kind way to ask about something he knows will be painful if remotely akin to his own experience. Her voice comes out calmly as her hand holds his so that the other one can close the book and set it aside.

“You mean the men I had to sleep with?”

He can feel the grimace that’s taking hold of his own features, while she seems as calm and ethereal as always, no different from when she bid him good morning just moments before. But he knows, or he thinks he does? He must! It must be close to what he has gone through! And that is a way as good as any to begin tracing this sad parallel of theirs

“Would it help if I said I certainly had to sleep with more?”

She shakes her head, a sad smile taking hold of her delicate features

“I am sorry you had to go through that too… for me it was my mother. I don’t remember when it started… but every time she’d let one of them stay in my room… the farm got better equipment, I was getting small knick knacks and little gifts, so it was as good a way as any to think it was bearable.”

His other hand had come to reach out for hers, now both covering, cradling hers. Every fibre in his body wants to hug her, to hold her, to promise her nothing even remotely similar will ever happen to her again. To either of them. At the back of his mind a part of him is tearing and devouring innards and flesh of the horrible excuse for a parent that did this to her, distracted by the idea of how many minuscule pieces he could mince her into, until absolutely nothing resembling a living thing would remain of her so called mother. He knows he has to weight his words so everything gets pushed back while he only allows himself to share:

“I am so sorry my sweet”

He’s not used to hearing his voice being that strained, as if something is threatening to strangle his throat from the inside. When she speaks her next words he realises the corners of his eyes are getting weirdly moist

“Truly, don’t worry Astarion, it was a long time ago… and I ran away as soon as I could manage anyway. It’s in the past. I am as far from that as you are from your mortal life, trust me.”

*The irony of being two broken pieces accidentally fitting against each other.*

His silence and traitor expression must give away more than he meant to because she continues her explanation of her own volition

“That’s why I asked you… I told you we couldn’t kiss. I needed a boundary that was… mine. I know it sounds silly to you but because you didn’t push that… I know I am safe with you.”

Suddenly the pieces are beginning to form a meaningful picture in his head and her behaviour, her rules, her need for him she seemed to deny herself, they all make perfect sense, coming together in a mix of conflicting feelings and desires she never had a chance to explore safely.

“I am not that naive, I know what we do… what we share… it’s more… and believe me, I want more… still you never tried to break that one rule and… well… no one ever showed me such consideration before…”

His mind has gone blank

*What did she just confess to!? What is this???*

His mouth must have fallen open because he finds himself in need of swallowing, yet no words, no ideas as to how to reply to that revelation come through. His hands are still resting over hers and suddenly he realises her fingers are pressing harder against his own, interlacing them with his. Her gaze falls to their intertwined fingers, her voice is low and barely a whisper now

“They always just took from me”

*They always just wanted me to give more*

His eyes are transfixed on their hands, holding onto each other so intensely he's worried she will bruise. Her voice comes out more hesitant and trembling now

“I was never asked… I don’t think I know what I actually… want… like”

*I was always demanded to do… and I don’t think I know how to give up that control, that’s all I latched onto…*

Her heartbeat resonates like a drum in her chest and he can see the blood blossoming in her cheeks, her voice trembles and she stumbles upon words but her thoughts coming out of her lips persistently, as if she has kept so much behind that she needs to get out now

“The way you look at me at times makes me feel like I can walk a little bit taller, head a little bit higher. I was trained to accept them… taking from me… as the only compliment… but with you…”

He can see the effort it’s taking for her eyes to raise again to look into his, the warmth emanating from her rosy skin just another herald of her determination despite the toll this seems to be taking on her

“I see something going on behind your eyes, I know you wouldn't do anything I did not ask you to, and that is more than I've ever been tamed to accept…”

*I want to kill everyone who ever laid a finger on you… my poor, sweet, precious love*

Her words seem to catch in her throat, she keeps taking breaths and then releasing them without words until finally the silence he holds for her seems to be enough for her to fill

“I have never been given the chance to… explore… I don’t know how to… ask… how I want… what I want… but I do know I want… you.”

He thought rushes of emotions were exclusive to the moments he could sink his fangs into her but he was sorely unprepared for… this.

*Did I actually hear her say that she wants me?!?*

All of a sudden all his centuries of expertise and understanding as a consummate lover come rushing to the front of his mind to show their silver lining.

Because he cannot relinquish control, even to his own pleasure, but maybe the saving grace of two centuries going through the motions is that he can do this for her? With her…

“You have me my sweet… If I could show you how… would you want me to?”

It feels so bittersweet to think of centuries servicing others being what built his professional knowledge of physical pleasure. That might be where his teeth clenching comes from for a second, but what about hers?

*Is that… fear??? Why?*

It lasts until the moment she nods

“Please Astarion…. show me, and I’ll follow you”

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thetentaclecommander · 2 months

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On a Devil's Wings

OaDWs (part 4 of the Devil's Saga)

((Header Pic for the series done by Lil-Chilo)) On a Devil's Wings Rated E; has adult/intensely heavy themes and very explicit content Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Nemesis/Jill Valentine Side Ships: Jill Valentine/Albert Wesker, Carlos Oliveira/Ada Wong, Original Character/Original Character, Nemesis/OC, others in light passing Chapters: 32/?

CW: graphic depictions of violence, psychological trauma, implied medical torture, implied/referenced torture, major character death, heavily implied incest and rape, on-screen dubcon (full tag list on AO3) Summary: ~Does beauty truly conquer the beast, or does the beast conquer her?~ ~It’s save, not conquer, my silly prince.~

The final arc of TDS taking place right after TSoD/Domesticity. This is where hard decisions and painful truths that change everything known up to this point occur. Do not expect the fairy tale ending to stay completely pretty. The last remaining brother to Nemesis, Zeus is a creature of not sound mind nor understanding of the value of life. He is 'free' from his 'Father' Simon Ghandon, but is ensnared by a deeper want - to find his brother and to clean him of his failings including his weak female and child. This arc digs deeper into 'what is' about Nemesis both physically, psychologically, and emotionally. It will explore darker themes and topics: it will basically not shy away from nor sugarcoat the violent or suggestive situations within. ________________________________________________ Excerpt from On a Devil's Wings: Prologue-

It's hot…

Father

Why is it

So hot?

Where did brother go?

Where are we…

Body feels lighter yet heavy. The feeling of thrashing underneath skin registered to the 'mind'; the sensation curling through bone and muscle culminating into the sick ripping of tentacle pushing through skin. More and more purple-black tendrils push through the headless corpse of the 3rd NE-T to have ever existed.

The head was still pinned to the wall, the sword hilt sticking out of a maw gapingly open in a monstrous permanently shark-toothed smile. The head was staring blankly at the world with empty bloodied sockets. …Not that in life the artificially reddened eyes gazed with any more life unless the gaze of madness hidden behind them counted as such. The body still vaguely registered the sensation of sloppy jagged cuts the sword that struck him down left along what was left of the neck.

But the one that did this to him – the male that had his own head burnt away by a frail, hapless human in one point and time – had hurt the body but did not end the mind. The parasite that was in name Zeus had merely retreated deeper into his stocky body, letting brother Nemesis behead him. A necessary sacrifice to survive and a gamble that paid off. As his former head stared blankly with still wet ichor dripping down the wall, his parasitic tentacles like bloody fingers pushed out through his neck. His limbs had begun to move albeit jaggedly only sensing heat but nothing more.

If there was pain, he could not register it. Not that he really understood what pain was in 'life'. Pain was like another touch. Another way to touch, mark, claim…brother. Where is brother? The NE-T's body had risen with the grace of a zombie, only having touch to guide his way, the senses of sight, taste, smell, and sound denied him. It feels so warm now. Too warm. The parasitic brain that maneuvered the body like a headless marionette did not dare emerge out for fear of losing what it had claimed as 'himself' for so long.

The body had after a few moments of moving around blindly, stood stock still. The many tendrils protruding from the severed line of his neck reached outward like spidery fingers. They roam out nearly crossing the entirety of the room grazing along old toppled overstuffed and positioned dead animals, to the blank expanse of wall where a tapestry once hung. A tendril touched the wall, dragging along the layer of dust the large wall hanging had hidden.

It dragged downwards still till it wrapped around something metal, along with wetness. The tentacle wrapped tighter still around the metal before pulling on it. With inhuman strength, the tentacle ripped the metal item from the wall. Had he had the ability to hear, the sickening sound of muscle ripping along with the thud of the heavy unattached head hitting floor would have registered. The metal item was dropped to the floor, the bigger prize now somewhere on the floor.

More tendrils shot to the floor, the mass now certain of where the missing head was. They curled around that broken, bloodied pile of flesh, bone, muscle and whatever filled the head of the 'dead' Tyrant before lifting it up towards the stump where it should have been at the Tyrant's neck. Almost immediately they began to penetrate the head – still warm for it was very recently he had even lost it – from the bottom, the tendrils filling key portions of it. From within the parasite began to fill the fatty mess of brain and cortex; the organ itself not important for it only gave the parasite more cushion. The Tyrant body Zeus 'inhabited' was long mentally dead anyway. The reintroduction of the parasite would revive what needed to be.

He could not see, but he could vaguely hear and smell again. Smoke and the loud countdown to some sort of purge. His eyes were damaged; he could not see for brother made sure to blind him. It would take a while to fix what was needed.

Too long...it's hot here.

We are confused. Why are we here?

We…We need to rest. Father why is it so warm.

The strangely reattached head shifted and held on, the parasite slowly trying to blend it with the body again, making both one. But it…he needed time. So much energy needed; this place is too warm. Like a blind worm the risen Tyrant's body shifted through the eternal darkness, grasping along the thick dusty walls. The sensation of the ground moving was odd but warned him something wasn't right.

Father wasn't right…no. Father is dead. Father and that female…and…and…

And?

Despite being blind, despite feeling the not so complete reattachment of his head, the parasite known as Zeus slowly reclaimed his body and along with it the memory of what landed him here. Father was dead now. He, in other words, was free. But what is free? No, Father is just dead in body, that's all. There is no 'free' for us. Freedom meant being unneeded. Unnecessary. Like brother.

He could only understand the freedom of anger, complete obedience, and rage at the image of who did this to him. This last pushed him through halls full of debris and rubble he could not see, through fires he could only feel, the scents of blood and viral agents filling his hidden nostrils. The loud and obnoxious warnings of a long-dead human's voice rung in his ear holes. But most of all he could almost taste him…taste the lingering presence of his 'killer' on a tongue that licked across sharp teeth.

'Oh Zeusy, are you still being a good dog? Good dogs know to lie down when beaten.'

If he could work his not quite functioning voice box, he would've snarled at the voice. Brother even now is trying to make us fail. Ruining our thoughts with your lies!? But that's okay, we will prove you wrong. We will make you lie as Father taught us. We won't…won't let you confuse us. We are too filthy for that. Yes…too filthy. Even with the voice of brother roaming in his head, he was not deterred; if anything Zeus could only feel the rising excitement from not only their last fight but in still feeling his lingering presence in the air. Even his bloodstained leathers held splatters not his but of his brother.

Oh yes.

We will find him.

We will find and destroy such weakness, and make brother see his error. Brother is so wrongly made, Father. Why doesn't he accept our assistance? We are his better. We will strip him clean of his filth.

So much filth coats you, brother. (Continue reading the prologue of On a Devil's Wings on A03)

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kiwisfics · 1 year

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A/N: Gotham Knights verse. Basically a rewrite of that scene. You know the scene. I always feel like rewriting scenes makes my writing... stiff? But that anon really hit the nail on the head on my kinda content. I love me some hurt/comfort.

CW: Descriptions of trauma responses, reader is implied to have trauma of her own. Had to throw in a couple of [Name] descriptors since it would've got confusing with two characters with fem pronouns.

There was almost always something warm in her chest. It wasn’t constant around him, but only just shy of constant; it was fairly obvious that the feeling related to the adoration she held for him.

There was something off in the air today, making that comforting warmth that encased her heart turn lukewarm and making her jittery, even as she clung to him.

She’d hopped onto Jason’s back nearly the moment he’d entered the belfry, arms wrapped around his neck and legs hanging limply as he moved around, almost like proximity alone would quell the odd feeling.

“We are way overdue for a rematch, Mr. Todd.”

Her head peeked over Jason’s shoulder in response to the words, meeting Barbara’s grin with a smile of her own before her attention turned to the tv and she let her grip around Jason’s shoulders drop.

“Whoa, you got the horror classics expansion pack!”

“How could I turn down scares and beats?”

“Babs is a woman of great taste, Jason, you’d do well to remember that.” As Jason moved past her to his place, he gave her a playful nudge, earning himself a dramatic show of her collapsing to the sofa and gasping, “How rude!”

He rolled his eyes, not without affection, as he turned to face the tv, only just catching the way she stuck her tongue out at him.

Despite the weird feeling that continued to buzz in the back of her mind, she was content in observing the game, feet kicking in the air like a lovesick schoolgirl while she laid stomach-down on the sofa, eyes trained on Jason’s back. And, okay, she’d admit it, lower too, even if his sweatpants didn’t give anywhere near as good of a view as his suit.

Her brow furrowed instantly as his movements faltered, the game announcing the fall in score as she sat upright, her own body tensing as his hands glowed green before he fell back and hit the sofa beside her.

She wasn’t a stranger to Jason’s bad days, just he wasn’t a stranger to her bad days, but suddenly the weird feeling in the air made sense. Bad days on his part came with an air of hostility, expression constantly pulled inward as if he was seconds from snapping, but some days were just… off days. The off days never had solid signs. They just happened.

She knew it because she’d been in the same position before; happy moments shattered by past trauma that leeched from every moment it managed to infiltrate.

Jason’s hands met his face, breaths coming in hurried pants.

“Jason? Are you okay?” [Name] gently blocked Barbara’s hand from meeting Jason’s shoulder, giving her a slight shake of the head. Taking the hint, Barbara moved to the other side of the sofa, sitting behind her form.

“Jaybird?” He didn’t respond, position remaining the same and shallow breaths continuing to race. “Jay,” she moved to crouch in front of him, waiting for his eyes to open, making sure he knew it was her, “can I touch you, hon?”

The slightest nod of his head was all it took for her to place her hands against his thighs and pull herself into his lap. He was still shaking, leg bouncing up and down even with her weight against it. He shook his head in an effort to clear the memories that were still gnawing at his mind. She knew because she’d been there.

His hands were hesitant as they finally rested against her waist. Taking the movement as a cue, she rested her own hands against his shoulders, running circles against the tense muscles in them.

“The Lazarus Pit?”

[Name] tensed at the words, mostly because she’d nearly forgotten that Barbara was there.

Jason hesitated, nodding his head shakily before speaking, “Yeah. It’s stupid… I’ll be fine.”

Her grip tightened on his shoulders, “Jason, it’s not stupid.”

“She’s right. You died. It’s okay to not be okay with that.”

Jason’s breaths finally began to steady, face falling forward to rest against Kiwi’s shoulder—a show of vulnerability that she hadn’t expected from him in front of Barbara. Then again, she supposed a flashback was nearly as vulnerable as you could get. [Name's] head fell forward as well, mirroring his position against her shoulder.

“Know what?” Barbara chimed in again, “I’m hungry. I’ll get some takeout from Big Belly Burger. You want your usual?”

Jason nodded wordlessly against Kiwi’s shoulder, body language still screaming discomfort and fear.

“One Bacon Ultra-belly burger comin’ up! You want anything, [Name]?”

She moved her face just enough for her voice to be heard, “Make it two, please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Barbara stood and was almost at the stairs before Jason rose his head, “Hey… Thanks Babs.” As her footsteps sounded against the stairs, Jason’s head fell back against Kiwi’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Kiwi hummed, head tilting to the side and hands fidgeting with his jacket just enough to move it away from his neck, allowing her to rest her lips over his pulse. “You don’t need to thank me for caring, Jay. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

Jason’s hands tightened against her hips, and she could just see the glow that hovered around them as she peeked up from his neck, “And you always thank me.”

Kiwi snickered a bit at the call out, “Okay, yeah, fair enough.” Her lips pressed against his pulse again, just long enough and hard enough to the slowly steadying beat of his heart. “You need anything, love?”

“Just you, right here with me.”

“And our burgers?”

Something close to a laugh escaped his throat at that, “And our burgers.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc #dc x reader #gotham knights jason todd #gotham knights

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kaiisers · 1 year

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BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA ꒰ dabi ꒱

none of the following works belong to me. credits to rightful authors. contains mature content, aimed for +18 audiences. reader discretion is advised. most of these works are f! or afab! reader. ALSO! minors + blank + ageless blogs will be blocked.

⿻ last updated: jan. 09, ‘23

⌕ LEGEND

personal favorites : ♡

reader discretion advised, read content warnings : ✧

a burnt rose. ──── complete

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ You and Touya parted on bad terms. Six years later, he spots you visiting his father, a red-headed kid in tow. He’s determined to find out what you’ve been up to while he’s been gone.

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cw. angst, fluff, smut. MANGA SPOILERS IN THE EXTENDED ENDING. manga war arc!au, single-parent!au, unplanned pregnancy!au. heavy smut, ( literally 5k of it ), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of semi-toxic!relationships, struggling with parenting, blackmail ??, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, losers ), handjobs, oral sex ( female receiving ), fingering ( female receiving ), choking, branding, squirting, spit!kink, needy touya

♡ antecedent. ──── 16k+

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cw. angst, hurt/comfort, sorta fluff. single (?) parent au. canon divergence:spoilers for touya backstory and chapters 349 onwards. AFAB reader (referred to as ‘mama’), established (kinda toxic) relationship,secret family au (post arrest), original child character (‘Kaiyo’; he is your shared biological child), parent todoroki touya, mentions of canon attempted suicide and canon child abuse, themes of generational trauma, family feels, todoroki family centric, villain rehabilitation, dealing with trauma and recovery, second chances

autumn chill. ──── complete

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ You find yourself needing a place to stay after setting an apartment on fire.

cw. angst, smut. villain au, blood, panic attack, death (not main characters), 18+

biting down. ──── 5.3k

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cw. f!reader, explicit content, some angst, violence, vampires, Dabi picks reader up, detailed descriptions of blood and gore (lots and lots of blood), blood kink, self inflicted harm (reader cuts her palm open), Dabi is a little mean sometimes, biting (he bites ur neck, thighs, chest he drinks ur blood he’s a vampire), pain play (biting to puncture skin, biting and drinking from already open wounds), drinking each other’s blood, fingering, (bloody) oral f!receiving, bloody sex, unprotected sex, marking, bruising, corny vamp dialogue

touya dabi isn't as smooth as he thinks he is.

can you feel my heart beating like a hammer? ──── 5k

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ You watch from your spot, shoulders tense as you anticipate the arrival of yet another creepy clown or zombie when you see him.

He’s not like the other actors. He’s not quick with his movements and doesn’t yell or jump at anyone. His terror lies in the fact that he does none of those things, that he stands across from you and stares.

And then he grins.

Your stomach turns but not in fear.

cw. f!reader, explicit content, scare actor!dabi, Dabi is touya (quite literally he is not called Dabi in this at all ajhssjsjjss), sex in public, fearplay (kind of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (very brief), oral f!receiving, fingering, multiple instances where Dabi rests his hand on ur neck but never chokes u, biting (shoulder, neck), ‘baby’ and ‘angel’ as pet names, use of ‘good girl’, frightening (debatable im not that good) depictions of scare actors and haunts, one description of gory makeup, fake weapons

✧ count for me. ──── 3.8k

cw. punishments, shibari, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, squirting, degrading, some praise, dabi is mean to reader, spanking, minor burning/branding, it's all consensual.

hardly human. ──── 3.2k

cw. Touya x Cisfem Selkie!Reader. degradation (slut etc), praise, fingering, unprotected sex, maybe slight coercion but not really, maybe a little angst but mostly smut, bit of plot.

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cw. angst, smut, hurt/comfort. villain au + strangers to lovers

♡ I’m melting in your eyes, like my first time that I caught fire. ──── 13k+ (½)

cw. pro hero!au. explicit language, fluff, angst, shouto is a menace, touya has tattoos instead of scars

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⌜ ୨୧ ⌟When you are suddenly uprooted from your life to enter an arranged marriage with Prince Touya you are unprepared for how greatly he defies your expectations, nor for how quickly you fall for him.

cw. AFAB FEM reader (referred to as ‘wife’ ‘daughter’ and 'my lady’), royalty au, prince todoroki touya, arranged marriage, no quirks, historical setting, perceived unrequited love, fictional contraceptives, horseback riding, fluff, angst, protected vaginal sex, vaginal oral sex (reader receiving), dubcon, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, hurt/comfort, canonical child abuse, bathing together, outdoor sex, talk of not having children/preventing pregnancy

leather cushions. ──── 6.7k

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ touya hates the couch in the living room, but for you, he’d sit on it every second of the day.

cw. smut. quirkless au, college au, roommates au, best friends to lovers. shitty frat/rich boy!keigo, reader tells keigo no & he ignores it, soft, sweet, consensual sex w touya.

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cw. NSFT, GN reader, friends to lovers, Dabi POV, pre-LOV, implied PTSD, mention of child abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, blood (he cries during sex), spit, unprotected sex, emotional sex, no power dynamic

secrets. ──── complete

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ Life isn’t a fairy-tale and you find your soulmate through unconventional means.

cw. angst, smut. soulmate au. death mention, violence, spoilers (?) – set in PLF arc, abuse mention (not directed at reader)

she washes all of my wounds for me. ──── 15.2k

⌜ ୨୧ ⌟ “I called you by your name. Is that okay?”

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And it isn’t because he doesn’t want you to know his name. He’s already announced it to the world. Of course, you’re going to know it. It certainly isn’t because he hates the way your lips so easily form the two syllables. It isn’t because he no longer wants to associate himself with the name.

He’s simply afraid of his greedy soul becoming attached to the way you somehow manage to make something that used to cause his skin to crawl to now bring his heart a peace he’s never known before he saw your face.

cw. fem!reader. Smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fem reader (AFAB anatomy, femme pet names/pronouns), major spoilers for manga chapter 290, heavy religious imagery of angels/gods/heaven, one (1) instance of sir kink, so so much hurt/comfort, several mentions of past family abuse and trauma, mild blood and gore (Dabi tending to new burns/scars), verbal argument that has Dabi breaking furniture (reader does not get hurt) and being an overall asshole, alcohol use (Dabi is drunk and emotional), soft desperate-to-be-loved-but-too-scared-to-ask Dabi, oral and fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, very soft and emotional smut

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cw. AFAB GN reader (called ‘angel’ once), NSFT, established relationship, fluff and smut, bath sex, vaginal fingering (mostly clit stimulation; reader receiving), heavy petting, quirk use

unprofessional. ──── 5.1k

cw. smut. modern / business au. fem! reader, blow jobs, cum swallowing, humping, natsuo walking in on yall lmao, unprofessional work relationships, ceo’s son! dabi aka touya

#⨳ 𓏲˖ 📓 ˖ ࣪ recs archive ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.#⨳ 𓏲˖ 🖋️ ˖ ࣪ recs ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.#🖇️ ˑ ִ ֗ my hero !#﹙ ❀ ﹚— touya #dabi #todoroki touya #todoroki toya #dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi x afab reader #dabi todoroki

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sparrowmoth · 1 year

Text

Siúil a Rún • [AO3]

Teen | 3.1K | Malvie | Em. Hurt/Comfort, Angst (Happy Ending)

A/N: Much love and thanks @villainsnest and @finitevoid! <3 Detailed story notes can be found on AO3, if you want them.

CW: Heavy themes (trauma, mental illness, death of a parent, implied suicidal ideation)

Maleficent’s name had been erased from the history books—with a sharpie. It isn’t enough, though. It isn’t enough. Not when Mal still sees the name so clearly in her mind’s eye. The name that… should have been hers—one day—when she impressed her mother, maybe took her throne. Could she have done that? Would she have been permitted? If she had stolen the wand, given it to her mother—

Given her such power, she could live forever. To not need an heir…

Mal tightens her grip on the sharpie, as ever struggling to remember her own strength—and the strength of her feelings, at that. There’s an audible “snap” as the sharpie breaks and a splash of ink splats across Mal’s face and falls in blotches on her textbook—

She doesn’t even react; or, at least, it’s delayed.

Evie’s there before the curses form on Mal’s lips. Evie’s there, with one hand on her arm and the other tugging at the textbook. She says nothing except with her body, her actions—the way she looks down at the ink sprayed over the history of the Moors, once Maleficent’s kingdom and what should be Mal’s home, but isn’t—never will be, probably; the way she looks at Mal, brushes her hair back gently behind her ear, then cups her chin until their eyes meet—

Evie doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t not.

She sets the book on the nightstand next to where Mal’s been laying stomach-down on the bed, her usual position. Evie doesn’t close the book, or try to clean the pages, and especially does not comment on the many streaks of sharpie that will make the book unsellable at the end of their semester.

Evie slips out of her heels and onto the bed, not needing to ask Mal to make space for her. They maneuver up toward the pillows against the headboard, where they settle with Mal half in Evie’s lap, a sigh escaping to tickle Evie’s skin above the cut of her blouse.

Still saying nothing, Evie reaches up and runs her fingers through Mal’s hair, attentive to her body. She’s stiff as a bow string ready to snap, so Evie looks to the lights with a silent command—

The lamps fade quickly from yellow to black. The numbers on their clocks fall away, one by one, like a short line of dominos. The exit sign above the door gives a stubborn flicker, but extinguishes, as well, and finally even the TV, the router, and a night light set to glow in the bathroom are decisively darkened by Evie’s will.

Mal doesn’t thank her. She doesn’t have to. Evie knows.

Things like that are still difficult for them both—not just to say it, but to hear it: thank you, I love you, I don’t know what I’d do without…

Evie takes a slow, deep breath and continues stroking Mal’s hair, eyes wide open in the darkness, ears attentive to Mal’s breathing.

Minutes pass, then an hour, but neither speak—

Until Mal does.

“I used to dream about it,” she whispers, and Evie knows she means the Moors. “I didn’t think it was really… anything. I mean, it didn’t look real. It was—” She shifts against Evie, tilting her head up. Evie knows this from the soft glow stirring up around Mal’s pupils—the only light in the room now. “Beautiful,” says Mal, echoing Evie’s own thoughts as she looks into Mal’s eyes. “I wanted to hate it.”

“You were supposed to,” Evie answers, hand stilling on Mal’s neck.

Mal makes a noise of agreement, looking away. “My mother loved the Moors,” she said quietly, laying her head back against Evie’s chest, “but the place she told me about was so, so different. It was burnt and ugly and good-forsaken. I could see myself there. I…”

Evie waits, listening, knowing there’s more.

“I felt like… one day, I’d belong there.” Mal pauses again on a shaky inhale. “But that place isn’t real, E. It’s not… without my mother. If she’s gone—” And she is. She is gone and has been gone and Mal is struggling not to accept it, but to believe that this time—THIS TIME—she will rot. She will rot and not return. They won’t fucking resurrect her, won’t let her live to make a daughter—

“I shouldn’t even exist. I don’t belong anywhere. I never have. I—”

“Hey,” says Evie, gently, stroking Mal’s arm as she starts to tremble.

“Sorry,” Mal chokes out, that word so big in her throat, it almost never makes it past her lips, but when it does… always for Evie.

Evie shushes her and pulls her closer, entangling their limbs. She rocks them back and forth on the bed so that the mattress faintly creaks from the movement; then, when Mal has calmed enough, Evie tells her in a low voice, “She couldn’t take it all with her.”

“What d’you mean?” Mal mumbles, sounding exhausted.

“The Moors,” says Evie. “Who you are, Máel Breith na Móinteán.”

Mal shivers at the sound of her true name on Evie’s lips. Now, with her mother gone, she’s the only soul in the world it’s been entrusted to. And the only one who’s ever spoken it without asking anything.

Without demanding anything.

Though she could ask and Mal would give it—give her everything. She wonders if she knows that. She wants her to know that—

“We are not our parents,” Evie tells her, taking Mal’s hand in hers and tightly lacing their fingers. “You told us that, remember? I think now you need to hear it, so listen to me… you are not your mother.”

“I know,” Mal replies in a small, shaky voice. “I know, but…”

Evie wants to quiet her, but she doesn’t. She needs to hear this as much as Mal needs to say it, so Evie squeezes her hand and waits.

“Sometimes, I think I… still want to be,” Mal admits in a breathless whisper. “Sometimes, I hate myself more than I ever hated her.” She fists at Evie’s dress with her free hand, starting to speak even faster now, but still in a whisper: “My mother knew who she was—where she belonged. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t need me. But I—I don’t know who I am without her, E. I don’t know… how to belong somewhere beautiful when I—I can’t trust that I won’t become…”

My mother goes unspoken, but Evie hears it all the same.

She thinks her heart might spill right out from her mouth if she tries to speak, so instead, she pulls Mal impossibly closer, constricting like a snake and refusing to let go. She holds her and holds her.

There is no sound in the room but the both of them breathing.

“Sorry,” says Mal, after a long while, just above a whisper. “I’m such a mess. I’m such a fucking mess. I didn’t mean to drag you into—”

Evie does quiet her this time, finding Mal’s lips in the dark.

They’re startled out of the kiss by a light rap on the door. Jane’s little voice, with quavering authority, calls to them, “Lights out!” before she’s scurrying away, her sensible shoes tap-tapping into nothing.

“She only says that to us,” grumbles Mal, not for the first time.

“I know,” says Evie with a small sigh, leaning in to kiss Mal’s cheek. She lets her head fall back on the pillow, then, and squeezes their hands still held between them. Mal squeezes back and Evie smiles into the darkness, slowly letting her eyes shut and waiting for sleep.

An hour passes. It doesn’t come.

She can feel Mal is restless, lost in her thoughts; as still as she lays there, trying not to let it show, trying not to bother Evie, her body is rigid and her fingers keep twitching and her heart beats so loud—

Evie opens her eyes and places a hand there on the centre of Mal’s chest, drawing Mal’s own eyes to her, aglow like verdant embers.

“Talk to me,” says Evie, too gently to be demanding it.

Mal is quiet for a moment, but then she relents, asking in a tired voice, “Did you ever… dream of Weiss, before we left the Isle?”

Weiss—Snow White’s village; the former seat of the Evil Queen’s throne. Evie’s mother spoke about it often, but in spite of that—

“Not really,” Evie tells her honestly, “but I dreamt about Auradon, about castles and… princes.” Her mother’s dreams, yet her own—for a while, at least. Now, she dreams of dragons and a little stone cottage, the life she hopes to build with the girl here beside her…

Again, Mal is quiet.

“I used to dream of this place burning,” she whispers, at last, and she sounds distant from herself. She blinks and the distance is gone from her voice when she speaks again, asking, “E, would you ever go to Weiss, if you had the chance? Like, if there was a field trip…”

“You’re going to the Moors,” Evie realizes with a soft gasp.

“No,” Mal says immediately, almost defensive. “I don’t know,” she adds a moment later, letting go of Evie’s hand so she can roll onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. “There’s a stupid field school,” she explains, voice muffled by a mouthful of cotton. “It’s this summer. I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t even want to go.”

Evie sighs and moves her hand up, rubbing circles at the small of Mal’s back. “You’re afraid they won’t let you go,” she murmurs.

Mal flinches, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Have you applied yet?”

“No,” Mal mumbles, still not lifting her head from the pillow.

Evie hums in answer, moving her hand to trace up and down Mal’s spine, feeling the inhuman points of her vertebrae, near to piercing through her soft flesh. “You said you used to dream about it…”

“Yeah, the Moors, not field school.” Mal huffs out a sigh.

Evie says nothing, but continues her ministrations—up and down, up and down—feeling the tension lessen, feeling the walls start to crumble, feeling Mal’s breaths deepen and her heartbeat slow…

She isn’t asleep, though.

“What if the right thing to do is stay away?” Mal asks in a small voice, head flopping to one side so her cheek rests on the pillow.

“Right for who?” asks Evie, stilling her hand.

“I don’t know. Everyone.”

“You’re someone.”

“I’m her daughter—I don’t get to be her victim,” Mal spits out, eyes flashing. “She could have smothered me in the cradle and they still—” She takes a stuttering breath. “They still wouldn’t have put my name on one of their stupid memorials for all the people she’s…”

“I know, I know,” says Evie, gathering Mal to her chest as the light in her eyes fades. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe… you’re with me, you’re somewhere safe. Just breathe. Just breathe. Just…”

Evie’s voice fades out into a soothing ambient melody.

Mal inhales deeply—the scent of Evie, the spice of her magic, and something more: deep green woodland, rain-soaked roots, animal musk, and thick, sweet pollen—like a dream of summer—

She pulls back slightly from Evie’s embrace, just enough to tilt her head up toward the speckles of light appearing above them, where the dark ceiling was.

“E,” she says, a little breathless. “Look.”

Evie looks up with her, smiling, and Mal is not even looking at her to know it, but she knows. She knows that Evie sees it, too—not a ceiling, but a sky—a sky full of stars, blinking faintly blue and purple, just around their rough-hewn edges—

An owl hoots and swoops above them, close enough that the breeze washes over their faces. Mal sits up in surprise, steadying herself with her hands, but—the blanket feels different, more like…

“Moss,” she murmurs, fingers closing around a chunk and tearing it up from the earth. She has the strangest, dizzying feeling that the ground has just sunk like a deflating balloon and, all of a sudden—

She reaches behind her, but there aren’t any pillows.

What she finds is Evie’s hand, searching hers out in the dark.

“Look,” says Evie, pointing out where the window should be, and where it is, except that it’s changing—like the curtains are moving, billowing out, unthreading themselves and sprouting green leaves; they’re willow branches now and instead of street lights shining in to the dorm room, there is violet white moonlight and and and—

They are somehow, suddenly, in the middle of a forest.

They are somehow, suddenly, somewhere… else.

And the trees are parting like a crowd of nobles; and where the door used to be, there is a path lit by fireflies, or… a creature quite similar. They aren’t bugs, Mal realizes, but very, very small people—ghostly in their shine—blue and purple, pink and white—

Mal moves to stand, pulling Evie up with her, because she can’t—she won’t let go. She needs to feel Evie’s thin, smooth hand and the coolness of her skin and that squeeze of assurance. I’m here, I’m here.

I see it, too.

Slow and a little shaky, like a newborn deer just finding its footing, Mal takes a step across the mossy clearing. Her feet are bare, but there is nothing sharp here. The moss gives to her weight, softly squelching. She holds her breath, holds Evie’s hand—

At the start of the path, she turns to look at Evie.

Mal had been about to speak, but the words have all withered. She can only stare, taking in the sight of—flowers, white as moonlight, braided into a crown on Evie’s head, her long blue hair cascading in elegantly undone curls—embroidered vines and bluebells running down from her shoulders onto her chest, dripping down past her waist to layers of fine blue fabric in every shade of sky, sea, and sadness—every blue bird, berry, eggshell, gemstone, and iris—

“How are you real?” Mal lets slip from her mind.

Evie just smiles, lips red as ripe strawberry.

“Come,” whisper the fireflies, speaking over each other in a hundred thousand echoes of, “Come, come, come,” like tinkling wind chimes.

Mal looks ahead, down the path, then at Evie, who nods—

It’s a simple gesture, but it gives Mal permission.

Take the lead. I’ll follow.

So, she does—stepping lightly onto packed earth, edged by flowers that bloom in the moonlight, giving way to luminescent mushrooms; they go deep into the shadows of the strange wood, where branches are heavy with draped moss, ferns grow thick, and night birds cry—

A stream runs beside them and, on its other side, a deer-like thing…

Mal almost thinks she knows it.

She isn’t sure until the end of the path, when the woods start to thin and the world opens up onto wide swaths of… moorland. Hills and swamps—stirring grasses—tracts of mud—and the mist aglow…

And oh, she knows it. She knows it. She’s dreamt it.

But she just shakes her head, turning to Evie. “How are we here?”

Evie looks a little sheepish, chewing at her lip. It’s good, Mal thinks. It makes her more… human, less something ethereal. “It’s… where you wanted to go,” Evie tells her softly. “I just opened the door…”

“To—where I wanted to go?” Mal’s voice is faint, almost inaudible. She stares out at the Moors, unsure what she’s feeling. It feels like home, but is it just familiar? How could it even be that, just from a dream—even many dreams over? This isn’t her home. She doesn’t, she’ll never, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t—

No.

She’s something invasive. She’s something hated.

But there’s a hare just ahead, stepping out from the shrubs, and it’s fixed her with its black eye and it doesn’t look afraid. It… wants her to follow. She hears that whispered from the grasses. Go—go on now.

Evie squeezes her hand. I’m with you.

Mal’s heartbeat thumps in time with the hare’s feet as it leads across the Moors, up a hill, to a rocky place. There were walls here once—now just crumbling stone—and in the centre of it all…

Maleficent’s throne.

Not even thinking, Mal starts to bow—or her knees are just buckling—she isn’t really sure. But she knows that Evie catches her, stops her from kneeling, pulls her back to her feet and steadies her there—

Mal doesn’t pull away, even when she’s sure it’s safe to.

“Do you want to leave?” asks Evie, her voice as gentle as ever.

Slowly, at first, and then with more conviction, Mal shakes her head, staring the throne down. “My mother was supposed to protect this place.” Her voice is quiet, but so are the Moors now—like they’re straining to listen. “Instead, it needed to be protected from her.”

Mal pauses, thoughtful, and looks at Evie. “I don’t want to be her.” She’s said it before, but never like this: “I don’t have to be her.” It’s the first time she believes it, saying it like that, and she’s surprised that she does; she’s surprised that she can say—what she wants is—

Mal stops again, glancing back over her shoulder.

There’s eyes on her. She can feel them. So many eyes, but she can’t see a soul. Not even the hare who led them here to the throne…

Evie takes both her hands, causing Mal to meet her gaze.

“What do you want, M?”

Mal stands a little straighter. “I want to be what she wasn’t.”

All the sounds of the Moors fade back in with a rush, and the wind, like a cat, winds in circles between them, whispering affections that have both of them smiling. They hear it from the grass, too, and the birds and the insects, and the thump-thump of hare’s feet, and the chatter of vole teeth—the queen is dead, long live her daughter—

There’s an audible crack, drawing Mal’s attention.

Evie looks toward it, too, and sees it with her—a jagged line through the throne back, splitting down through the seat, and—the two sides come apart and fall away from each other, crumbling to nothing—

Stones left to inherit, and Mal’s never felt lighter.

She wakes in the morning, entangled with Evie and her memories of the Moors. She can feel the bed beneath her, hear the voices in the hall. They are back in the dorm room, like they never left, but…

Mal opens her eyes and looks at Evie, still with flowers in her hair, but completely dishevelled. She’s beautiful always, even like this—no, especially like this—exhausted from her magic, drained of all her defences, trusting everything to Mal as she’s resting close beside her.

This, thinks Mal—this love, alone, is enough, and she sees it now.

She will never be her mother.

She loves too much.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated. If you’d like to leave a kudos or comment on AO3, I’d really love that, as well! ♥

#descendants #malvie #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #descendants fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #descendants fandom #this fic brought to you by divine visions #really though the Images just struck me like lightning #I wrote this like a person possessed #and I have not read it #so hopefully it makes sense and there aren't any typos #honestly I feel proud of it so I'm just going to bask in that #djaskjgkdsjkg #ENJOY <3

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