#—🌼 writing

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

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#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon targaryen x you #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷 #-ˋˏ ༻addendums & extras 💮༺ ˎˊ- #🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 8: As it Lies Severed All Ties With It's Kin

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Violence, physical aggression, mentions of blood, character background, depictions of therapy, emotional distress, mentions of cheating, Strained family dynamics. Character study and introspection, no proofread.

Summary: The last blow is delivered. A new step is given.

AN: So nervous for this chapter. And Ahhh, finally hehe 🤭. Hope you like!

Previous

—Hey

The seen icon had remained there, unchanged within Peter's chat log. It had been a month and a half since that unexpected confrontation happened back at Peter's home.

And a month and a half since silence kept stretching between them.

It was clear he was ignoring him, and even more obvious his now ex best friend didn't want anything to do with him. Not after he disrespected his wife. His beloved MJ.

After that night, Miguel left the house with a powerful slam that could only rival his heart's frenetic beats.

He had been ambushed, attacked and mauled by a woman that not only was his friend's wife, but also your best friend.

How fucking good was that?

Life was surely proving him a point, yet he refused to believe in such nonsense.

Karma wasn't ruining his life. His bad decisions were, he acknowledged much.

Trusting the wrong people, saying the wrong things at the wrongest of times, had only earned him to be in the black book of everyone around him.

No longer being perceived as that reliable man that focused on his work and loved his fiancée, but a cheater, a liar and abusive man that had been causing so much pain it was hard to believe.

Consequences were hardly a thing on Miguel's life, since he always behaved, hubristic as he was, but he behaved. Until that fateful night at that damned Alchemax party.

His temper had been teased enough by Dana, and it all took a one night stand with a gorgeous stranger to have life setting it's eyes on him and finding the perfect chance to charge him for every bad thing he had done.

All his life was sent spiralling into the void of chaos cause of you. If he hadn't met you, he'd still have his annoying fiancée with him, he'd still have his routine and home; his friend and possibly an even better position at his job. He'd be hurrying Delgado on his project advances, not backwards.

Ever since you showed up, things had gone incredibly sour for him. He didn't know what kind of bad luck charm nested and irradiated from you, cause things worsened.

With a heavy and irked sigh he downed the glass of whiskey in a go, letting the liquid burn his throat deliciously before serving himself another.

He didn't turn to alcohol often, in fact, he barely indulged the habit, unless stress and anxiety were making him their personal toy.

And he hated this never ending play date with them. He didn't want them anymore. He wanted everything to go back to normal and keep his routine. Sudden changes alarmed and made him severely uncomfortable, even though he always ended up adapting.

Cause every time he thought something was going back to normal, life made sure to surprise him with something new that only added more weight to his falling facade of a good man.

At first he thought nothing but a little stress coming his way as Aaron Delgado was elected as his new boss. And the man surely enjoyed putting everyone's nerves on edge, his specially.

Delgado didn't take him in count with the new projects, including one Miguel had prepared himself.

How dared him to cast him aside from his own creations and things? How dared Delgado to call him subordinate to then assign him into another group of tyros that had no idea on what to do?

Miguel downed the whiskey in a gulp and served yet another shot. His resented eyes darted to Peter's log once more.

Nothing had changed. And by the looks of it, it'd remain like that.

A clear 'Fuck off.' from that goof he had for a friend.

He had to admit, that Peter's bravado had surprised and caught him off guard.

The years he had known the man, truly couldn't prepare him for that display of sudden and righteous anger.

Miguel had underestimated Peter and his life choices so far, even going at such extent as to call him a clown when drunk, that couldn't truly swot on whatever thing the family man spoke. His brain turned stupid the moment his friend punched him with his words.

Every single one of them, hitting and berating with unforgiving and brazen truth, turning them harder to accept and swallow.

Part of him was too proud to acknowledge that disrespecting MJ was a bit too much, but the woman had come for him, straight for his jugular and her kill, that left him no chance to prepare his ammo against her and Peter.

But they were too set into marring and scarring him like predators, waiting for him to weaken down so they could finish what they started. Defending their territory and their own like a matter of death and life. You included.

The thought of MJ going for him to slap him or cause any sort of physical damage, amused him to no end. It was like everyone that night had taken a double shot of bravery.

But she didn't waver, he had to admit it. The way she executed his own public hanging, was flawlessly achieved on her end.

And it all resumed into one person. You.

The one that ignited the spark of that roaring and blazing fire within the Parker-Watson realm.

He growled while his nostrils flared angrily, his hand grope the glass tighter. God, you infuriated him to no end.

You and your stupid righteousness to accept whatever shit life threw at you, were the main culprit of his current state. Disregarded by his peers at work, friendless, fiancée-less, living in a bare and big apartment that needed to be cleaned up and refurnished as soon as possible, wallowing into his poor choices and actually consider them for a minute.

But of course, to Miguel O'Hara is was rather easy to put half the blame on others. The weight of being an asshole sometimes hurted his back and he was generous to share that burden with the rest.

To his surprise, the main door of his apartment rattled softly as Gabriel pushed the keys in and opened the door.

And to the young O'Hara's surprise his brother was there, sitting in the breakfast island, sulking and drinking his problems away.

"Migue! ¿Qué haces acá, cabezón?" (What are you doing here, big head?)

Miguel chuckled at his brother's puppy- like excitement. At least he could feel a bit of that tension disappearing before downing his third whiskey shot.

"I live here, cabrón." he grunted while Gabriel laughed and pulled him for en embrace, before Miguel shrugged him off. "What are you doing here?"

"Was picking up some stuff before going to Kasey's. Have a date night tomorrow." His younger brother fetched some small boxes from one room, and closed it's door.

"Why don't you tell Dana to join us? We could make it a double date."

Miguel's frame went rigid and he exhaled deeply.

"We broke up."

The words came out off him, rehearsed and terse, as if pronouncing them alone was more than enough to scrape his tongue.

Gabriel went silent for a moment and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Shit, I forgot about that..."

Miguel's head snapped his head softly to him, fiery eyes pinning Gabri on the spot, suspicion and mistrust rising.

"What do you mean? You've talked to her?"

"She called me."

Another wave of uncomfortableness washed over Miguel. Anxiety rose heavenwards in matters of seconds. Both O'Hara's remained there, looking at each other. And by the sudden cold stare from his baby brother, his mind intuited Gabriel was already acquainted with the situation.

Gabri's face fell and looked away, his cheerful demeanor long gone. He was good a pretention, and wanted to see how much the nothing is going on here facade lasted on Miguel. Gabriel wanted to see if Miguel took initiative to tell him the truth.

But his brother failed in such a simple task. He didn't have the intention of sharing his secret either. Although the situation wasn't that much of a secret anymore. At this rate the only people left knowing were his coworkers and the city.

"Do I know the woman?"

Miguel shook his head and served himself another drink. His suspicions confirmed in that phrase alone.

Gabriel's body shook ever softly with an underlying sort of anger.

"You know... even though I'm happy she's gotten a taste of her own medicine for cheating on me with you a while back, this... is different."

Miguel refused to talk or face him, and just heard him.

"Why'd you do it?" Gabriel asked

The question often popped in his mind, and in everyone's mouth that found out about his doings and the answer still remained the same. He didn't know.

But Gabriel's question was different, his overall demeanor was discomfitting at best. Eerily calm and collected. Like him.

"I don't know. I was pissed and-"

"So... you just cheated on Dana cause the hell of it." He crossed his arms and quirked a brow.

It was more a statement than a question. Yet Miguel just nodded. Tired of repeating the same answer to the same question over and over.

"Pretty much." he shrugged and slicked his hair back. Tired of trying and defend himself.

"Hmm..." Gabriel put the boxes down and rubbed his face, "You know, I could give absolute zero fucks on what you do with your life. But being a complete dick about it isn't the solution."

"I'm not denying shit, am I?" Miguel's brows furrowed, completely peeved.

"True, you're not. But you're not being responsible either." Gabriel's hands gestured

Miguel groaned annoyed.

"Ya estoy harto de la misma cantaleta. Contigo, con Dana, con Peter, con todo el pinche mundo que se entera de lo que hice." (I'm so sick of the same shit. With you, Dana, Peter and everyone that knows what I've done)

And Gabriel's mocking laugh didn't help to wane his rising anger. The neighbor's aggressive and upbeat music, filtered through the walls, seeping ominously through the genius' apartment. Polluting the air with its own chaotic beats.

"Bueno, Migue, ¿Qué esperabas, cabrón? For everyone to pat your back and feel sorry for you? Don't be stupid, man." (Well, what did you expected?)

"Can you leave now? Not in the fucking mood. And I'm not stupid."

"You are." Gabriel nodded knowingly, while tossing some of hid belongings in the box he put aside, "Pretty stupid actually. But it's even more moronic to believe that people won't give you shit for the things you've done," he shrugged, " And for you to act like a boy when you're soon to be a father."

Miguel's whiskey glass couldn't stand the match against the wall. Obliterating itself within seconds as the reluctant daddy hurled it against it. Shards flew to the floor and part of the kitchen Island Miguel was sitting. Some pieces rested a few inches away from his trembling and rabid frame.

"Kinda reminds me to someone." Gabriel murmured with derision. Unable to hold back the anger caused by his stupid brother's poor decisions.

Miguel's eyes screamed murder when gazing at his brother, as if daring him to say the words he could sense forming in his mouth and mind.

"But of course! Like father, like son." Gabri squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for the upcoming blow, and tilting his chin up defiantly.

The chair fell to the ground, as Miguel was already pouncing on him, the latter didn't hesitate nor wavered in keeping himself grounded with his stance. It was the younger O'Hara's turn to get everything he carried within, out of him.

As soon as Miguel's hands grabbed him by the collar, Gabriel wasted no time into connecting the perfect punch on Miguel's livid face, breaking his plump lip in the go. It stunted his brother for a minute.

Miguel remained nonplussed, brown eyes widening in shock. It wasn't a you punched me, but rather a how dare you fight back sort of shock

Who was him to put him in his place?

None of his intimidation worked on Gabriel, none of his mean and scary dog privilege served against his brother.

"You're just like him!" the latter hissed the accusation, "Didn't you learn shit about what Ma told us about him?!"

Miguel butt headed Gabriel and both landed on the floor with a loud thud. Miguel's fists didn't fear to collide against Gabriel's torso, knocking and forcing the air out of his ribcage.

But if there was something Gabriel could outmatch him, was his temper. Irish blood ran through his veins after all. And it was rare when it soared alive.

Gabriel connected another punch on Miguel's nose as he pulled his luscious hair, earning an enraged groan, but the older O'Hara didn't quiver, if anything the punches had sparked that fury within and returned the punch on Gabriel's cheekbone. Marring him as well.

This wasn't like the usual quarrel they used to fight as children, where Conchata would separate them and spank them afterwards. This was pure anger manifesting itself through their fists, hair pulling and cursing words.

Finally unleashed to tear each other apart, and making up for every single fight left without an apology or unfinished; for every urge to punch each other by the naughty things they got blamed for as youngsters.

But also, revenge for an innocent life that would bare the burden of having Miguel as a father.

Gabriel achieved what neither Peter or you wanted to do but were unable to do.

"Cállate!" Miguel roared and he punched again, earning a whimper from Gabriel.

"You're exactly..." Gabriel panted, "like Tyler." to then seethe and Miguel's chest constricted painfully. And he hated the feeling.

His enormous fists tightened their grip on his beaten brother's shirt collar, but refused to keep punching, instead, Miguel's hips weighted Gabri's torso down. Keeping him still.

It took Conchata a while to come clean to both their children regarding their parents. To Miguel it remained an open gash, and this situation did nothing but add salt to it, even worse when Gabriel now held that piece of information against him. Gabriel's words kept flowing, like the coppery taste in his mouth.

"You've already abandoned your child." Miguel couldn't help but punch again, furious for the comparison he was being subjected to, but Gabriel didn't have intentions to stop.

"And got mom's cheating side!" Miguel punched harder, tired and peeved that he had to shut his brother like this, but again, how dared he compare him to those that had hurt him the most?

"Congrats, cabrón, you're the worst of both worlds."

Miguel held his fist in mid air, trembling, panting the rage and need to beat his brother to bloody pulp, off his body. Just cause he told him the truth.

The guitar riffs died down, like the strife between them. It had served as an angry metronome for their beating.

Gabriel pushed him off his body, staggering away from him, panting like he had run a marathon. He spat the accumulated blood on the floor and stood with a pained groan.

"A fucking Tyler wannabe"

Miguel's lip twitched as he also spat blood.

"Leave."

"From all the things you could've learned from that piece of shit and mom... you picked the worst."

Gabriel shook his head, disappointed as he mumbled, and Miguel looked at his brother from his spot.

He was no longer that little boy that hid in the sheets with him after a thunderstorm, or cried whenever George  threatened to beat him if he failed at school again.

His little brother had grown, beat him with his bare fists even, only to prove him he wouldn't tolerate his shitty attitudes. Gabriel was no longer afraid of him.

"And you know what, Miggy?" Gabriel panted before wiping his mouth and touching the throbbing and swollen cheekbone, "I hope that child never finds out who you are, and that woman makes her life away from you. Cause you're not worth the trouble."

"You done? Fucking leave." Miguel nearly roared again through raged breaths.

"You're not worth anything good they have to offer. Nor their time, nothing." Gabriel sniffed and wiped his nose.

Miguel growled as he rose, shaking with the remnants of his misdirected anger, supporting himself in the nearby chair.

"Hope you get to see how other man takes your place and raise your kid."

Shut up

"Cause I wouldn't want to be associated with a coward like you neither. I'd be too embarrassed to say you're my father."

Cállate

"Why the fuck you're still here then?!"

"Just came to pick up my stuff, genius. Don't want you to dirty them with your shitty ass attit-."

"Te me largas a chingar a tu-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up and man up." Gabri growled before standing up. Bloodied and beaten, but it didn't matter. He had given Miguel a lesson.

With pained steps, Gabriel left him with a loud slam on the door.

Not only Miguel O'Hara was now minimized at his job, friendless, fiancée-less, but now, with one of his favorite shirts stained in blood and a busted lip and brotherless.

The latter however had wounded him enough to drown a shaky exhale as he blinked away the bloodshot tinge within his eyes. But as he rose completely on his feet, so did his wounded pride.

He didn't need Gabriel, neither Peter or anyone that was on his side first. He didn't need anyone. They'd come to him eventually, like they always did.

They always do.

With bruised knuckles, he took another glass from the shelf and served it full this time.

They fucking always do

Your hands clutched tightly at your tote bag's handles, letting the rough material to soak up in the faint sweat of your hands and constant rubbing.

Here we go

The first appointment had arrived and certainly that ever familiar tingling sensation upon facing the soon not-so-stranger's door, buzzed through your body. The protocols were something you were well versed in.

Introducing yourself, sharing pleasantries and exposing your deepest traumas to a total stranger that at the end of the session, would take a cut of your already reduced paycheck.

But doctor's and MJ's orders, were orders.

Your thighs spreaded a bit more and your hands went immediately to your abdomen, letting a soft exhale to leave your lungs. The belly's weight was starting to slowly but surely sink in your body. A hand rested ontop of it, caressing in tinny circles those pressure points that caused mild discomfort.

Your fingers relished in the warmth of your skin for a minute, and your stomach fluttered. The anxiety crawling back on the surface had your knee bouncing, eyes darting to the crisp white door, that matched on your baby blue two piece comfortable outfit. zthe soft smell of jazmine flooded that zone of the clinic.

And now I need to pee, great.

Your throat dried as minutes kept on ticking and ticking. Dragging the imminent vis-a-vis meeting with the professional.

Although your medical records showed a couple of psychiatrists and therapists listed, meeting one since... well, forever, always made your nerves to juggle in a deathtrap.

Nevermind. Just focus.

Some had been good, others bad an unprofessional. Imposing their beliefs and going ti the extent of condemning you for such thing as focusing on yourself rather than your mother's forgiveness. Some people were weird like that.

But they all mattered little to nothing, not when the new addition to the list was about to introduce themselves and sojourn into your life for a bit of time, enough to give you the right tools to set your life back in track.

Or so you hoped.

Your breath hitched as the receptionist called your name a couple of minutes after, and opened the door for you. Your brief grip on the tote bag's handles grew impossibly tight.

Everything will be fine.

In a few strides, you entered Dr. Graham's office. Her polite smile immediately met you and coaxed you to take a seat before her.

A silent sigh escaped your mouth and soon, you accommodated in the seat, the main door clicked as it closed, leaving you, your simmering anxiety with the doctor alone.

"Nice you meet you, Miss Primrose."

The surname still sent uncomfortable jolts through your body. As pretty as it was, it was the only tie that kept you tied to Mother's memory. Sadly, you couldn't turn into an Aster or a Jameson since none of your progenitors were nowhere to be found to relinquish them your rights. So a Primrose you stayed.

"How are you doing today, Miss?"

A nervous smile crept on your lips as you acknowledged the question with a nod.

"I'm alright."

"I can see your belly is causing a bit of discomfort. Would you like an extra cushion?"

You blinked a couple of times and nodded faintly. The doctor passed the cushion and you placed it right in your lumbar area, relishing the much needed support. Your eyes darted through her desk and the several papers scribbled with yout name on them. It was your medical record. All of it.

"Thanks."

"So, What can I help you with?"

Dr. Graham spoke as she pulled the most recent papers from the unwilling visit to the hospital and your new meds prescription.

"In all honesty, I haven't visited a therapist in years. But I know how this will go." The health professional raised a brow at your words, "You'll ask me questions I'll have to answer if I wanna have at least some sort of... control on my life back."

"So you feel you're not in control?"

"At all..."

"What about the pregnancy?. Would you say it helps to keep you grounded?"

You sighed, a prick of upset rising through

"It's the reason why I'm here, doctor." You murmured almost bitterly, and the doctor just watched for a moment in silence, pondering and thinking her next words to thread carefully.

She gave you a bit of space and pulled a box of tissues out and write some notes afterwards

"I know you might know this questions, but it's unavoidable for me to ask, how does that makes you feel?"

If it wasn't for the routine interrogation you would've already broken down. Instead, your hands clasped before you, resting some inches away from your belly.

"Scared to no end. Terrified of a shit ton of things. Sorry for my language."

"It's alright." She wrote some more and sighed, "What would you say it's your biggest fear at the moment?"

"Not having enough to keep up with all these future demands this baby girl will do, even after adopted I know that it'll be a bit crazy."

"I see. You're worried that you're unable to provide for your child in the meantime and afterwards birth."

You nodded, looking at your little belly poking out.

"That and... that I might hurt her."

"Hurt her?"

Your fingertips tapped nervously on the flat of your thighs, a tad uncomfortable with the first share of true personal details.

"I'm afraid to... hurt the baby once she's born. My eh... Mother had this thing. Postpartum Psychosis. It wasn't even depression, just... her and her need to hurt me."

"And you believe you might have it? or would suffer from it in a future?"

"I hope not." a nervous chuckle flew out of your mouth to then clear it softly, "I really hope not."

"Although your fears are completely valid, Postpartum Psychosis is a rare condition, Miss Primrose. It's not hereditary."

"It's not?"

Dr. Graham shook her head with a small smile at your confused face.

"No, dear. Sadly we haven't found a true reason why it shows up. It simply does."

You gulped and bit the inner flesh of your lip.

"But rest assured, you're in good hands. I promise."

So far you weren't a potential candidate for it, but it's prevention turned into a priority, specially with a medical record like yours. Meds were just the tip of the iceberg.

Again, you nodded

"May I know about the baby's father?"

"I'm on my own." Your borderline snappy remark made Dr. Graham to scribble some more on her notes.

"I see. May I know how was your relationship with him?"

"I... don't feel comfortable speaking about him."

More goddamned notes.

"Alright. Tell me about the baby. Is everything going good?"

"A little underweight, but healthy."

"I see. You must be proud of it, doing it all on your own."

A weak smile donned your lips as she spoke through her praise.

"Thanks, though... I... I initially wanted her gone. And... I tried to get rid of her." Your fingers fiddled against each other, upset and impatient. Unable to look at the professional in the face. Too ashamed to withstand her piercing yet non-judgemental gaze.

"But I couldn't. And here I am."

"You coming here to try and get the help you need for you and your baby, is one of the most selfless acts a future mother can do."

"Even if I'm giving her up for adoption?"

"Even that, yes. You're doing it for her best of interests. You're loving her by seeking that baby's wellbeing as your main priority."

"I don't know if love actually is the right word for it."

"It is love, even though it does not looks or feels like it to you. Love can manifest itself through so many ways, not precisely only on the platonic and romantical aspect of it." Dr. Graham nodded with a patient yet caring smile.

"However, perpetuating guilt over initial choices is just another trauma response, Miss Primrose. I understand that your initial choice couldn't be achieved. May I know why?"

Your throat turned drier than the desert. Too arid and scrapped to rebut. But with a deep inhale, you finally gathered the courage to muster

"I didnt... I don't want to be like my mother." A pause, and then you spoke again, "She was always complaining about how much she wished to... abort me when she had the chance. Selfish... I know."

The annoying sound of her scribbling pen was chipping at your patience. But you also understood it was protocol.

"I see. And is why you've decided to giving up the baby for adoption?"

"Mainly. But it's a money wise sort of thing for me. Sure, I did... want kids but much much more ahead. Not right now, not when my paycheck keeps growing shorter and shorter each month. But the baby is here so..."

"If the circumstances of having the baby would be different for you to keep her, would you?"

"I guess so? I don't want to have kids in an unsafe or stressful environment or a place that is prone to be one."

"Why?" Dr. Graham secured her notes and looked at you, expecting your answer. She had nailed one of the many roots of your problems.

"Because... It-." You voice trailed off, and the doctor pushed the box of tissues before you as your throat swallowed the thick lump with difficulty, "It reminds me too much of my messed up upbringing."

"And if you could resume it, how would you do it?"

"Social services were my friends, Different foster homes, not all of them loving, failed adoptions, that sort of thing." You chuckled nervously, trying to  sound as calm as possible, but your heart was beating like a rabbit's.

The doctor nodded and took a look at your med prescription. Dr. Graham asked about the meds and how it made you feel. But also noted that no matter how personal the question, you refused to break down. Too used to violence and harmful situations. Something to not be proud of.

Questions kept coming, mostly regarding your pregnancy since you rejected talking about Miguel. What would you have to say about him anyways? It was about you and the baby. There was no space in here for him to also pollute it with his poisonous violence.

The therapy kept stretching until time was up.

"I'll recommend some mood stabilisers once you reach your twenty weeks, the Zoloft is a must. So keep taking it. And if possible, I'd encourage you to talk to the baby."

She chuckled at your confusion for a moment and nodded.

"I know you don't wish to grow attached, since adoption is on the way. But creating a bond, even if temporary, is vital for your and the baby's health. Same as sleeping properly."

"Oh... Alright."

"If there's nothing else to discuss, then I'll see you within two weeks."

Supermarket shopping was one of the things you'd never expected to require assistance with.

The clerks were kind to fetch you things you couldn't reach from the top shelves, and gave you tissues after a wave of sudden nausea and retching at the bathroom.

Once at home you'd finish the paperwork for government aid, and looking into the adoption programs MJ suggested.

In the meantime, you got into the line and waited your turn. A couple of groceries and vegetables nested in a side as snacks and other little indulgences rested on the other along some new slippers.

The beeping machine echoed constantly, marking your products, and when the woman stopped and dictated a total, your chest felt a bit constricting.

"I'll return the snacks and will keep the slippers."

Shame didn't do your face justice, as you avoided seeing everyone directly in the eyes. Maybe it was a miscalculation on your budget or prices had gone up, but not having enough to pay for some simple snack bags, added yet another toll on your already loaded brain.

You quickly paid for whatever you could and left the super, face and mind awash with embarrassment. With a sigh you looked at the curve of your belly.

"Nothing personal, but you're not exactly cheap to feed." You mumbled while rubbing your tingling belly, at the fluttering sensation blooming from within.

"But can't really blame you" You patted the curve softly, "I like eating good stuff too."

Once the groceries were secured, you drove home.

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187  @xylianasblog  @aockskcw @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @innyxp @smartyren @creepyronix

@serpentstarr @randomnobody187   @8xbygirl   @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @kate-ohara @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog   @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @frompeach @innyxp

#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #of flowers and hummingbirds 🌼🐦 #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara angst

[daysofyellowroses]

beef

carmen berzatto x reader | 900 words | based on this very lovely request | no real warnings, just pretty damn cute if i do say so myself 🫶🏻💗🌼

In the sanctuary of your own thoughts, you can admit that when you were first getting ready to plan your wedding with Carmy, you were..nervous. 

Not because you didn't want to get married, you were over the moon when Carm proposed. It felt like the perfect next step in your relationship, and being engaged was such a wonderful feeling. 

But of course, you had to begin wedding plans eventually. Suffice to say, when you have a fiancé who's prone to stress and panic attacks, planning the biggest day of your lives is never going to be easy.

Except..it was?

Okay, it wasn't entirely 100% smooth sailing but for the most part..it was actually enjoyable. 

Maybe it was something to do with you and Carm not wanting a typical huge wedding, maybe it was that everyone in your lives sensed the stress that could happen and stepped in to help. You liked to think it was a little from column A, a little from column B.

You were determined to keep things as close as possible to what you and Carm wanted, the plans you'd casually talk about while making dinner or relaxing on the couch watching TV.

Of course having your friends and family be involved was incredible, and you and Carm appreciated their support and ideas, but there were some nights you had to turn your phone on silent, unable to look at another suggestion for a venue, or dress, or a cake, or a DJ. 

As it turned out, you found the perfect location when you weren't even trying. It was a random weekday that you and Carm had decided to take off, wanting to switch off from everything for a while and just enjoy each other's company. At someone's suggestion, you couldn't remember which of you had said it, you ended up at the botanic garden. It was so peaceful and beautiful, and walking around hand in hand with the love of your life, surrounded by colorful flowers and laughing at stupid jokes and stealing kisses made your heart soar. That evening, when another venue was suggested, you and Carm both looked at each other before you replied that you'd already found the perfect one.

Food was obviously a big part of your wedding plans, and you weren't sure why you were surprised that Carm and the bear crew insisted they could take care of it. You had hoped you'd at least have Syd on your side, but you were forced to take a stand on your own. It wasn't that you didn't want them all making the food, obviously it would be delicious, it was more a case of..you wanted them to be involved in the wedding in a different way, not just to be working as they always did. 

You wanted them to be bridesmaids and ushers, to read poems and be in your wedding pictures. You wanted to dance with them all night, take shots, and stuff yourself with desserts. What you didn't want was for them all to be too exhausted to do any of that. In the end, you agreed that Carm could choose what would be on the menu, he just couldn't make it. One day off wouldn't kill him. 

The guest list was surprisingly one of the easiest parts of the wedding plans. You and Carm both agreed you didn't want to invite great aunts you'd met once as a toddler or your entire kindergarten class, so you settled on family and friends who you were actually close to and wanted to celebrate with. You ended up with under hundred invites, just, but it felt like a little victory.

The dress..was not your favorite part, if you were honest. The dream of walking into a store, finding a dress, buying it and putting it aside for the wedding was dashed quickly when you were dragged into several bridal stores. It was am experience, sure, but standing in your underwear while an old woman squinted at you before hauling a dress over you was not ideal. You didn't want some huge Disney princess gown, and you weren't going to spend thousands on a dress you would wear once. In the end, you found a dress on a random website one night, sending the link to Syd and immediately buying it when she said she loved it. $150 and with some sneaky tailoring it could be worn again, that was definitely a victory.

By the time you'd got your dress, the wedding seemed to be closer than ever. Spring had seemed so far away when you'd gotten engaged, but when the air felt warmer and the leaves were coming back onto the trees, you felt an excitement that it was really happening, you would wear the dress and stand in a beautiful garden in front of everyone you loved and tell Carm you would always be by his side. 

Because that was what it was all for. 

When you woke up at two in the morning in a panic that you'd forgotten to book a photographer/DJ/makeup artist, Carm was there to reassure you it was all okay, everything was under control. When you would be sitting on the counter listening to him tell you about his day, watching him smile to himself, when you would be laying on the couch watching TV and his hand would just gently stroke your arm or your waist or your hair. 

There was never a doubt in your mind about marrying him, and through all the planning, that was what you focused on. 

And when the big day finally came, you knew you couldn't have planned it any better when you were standing side by side with the man of your dreams, ready to take the next step.

#the bear #the bear 🐻 #the bear fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #request #this was beyond fun to write #🌼💗🫶🏻 #spot the simpsons reference

[fatuismooches]

I have returned (I don't know how long it's been since I was last here). All I know is, it has been months since I last played Genshin and I came back just for Father Arlecchino <3 So this rare occasion of my presence comes with a brainrot.

I don't know if you write self-aware AUs but the thought is; imagine how smug she would be- knowing she is the reason that you, the player, came back again after a long hiatus. Oh I just know that she would lowkey brag about it all the time.

Love, 🌼 anon

All of the characters were greatly disheartened when the Creator departed from their world. Logged in one day ago? That was normal, you were a busy person after all. A week? You must have exams or be very occupied with work. Then a few weeks went by. Then months. Needless to say, they missed your presence very much, despite only being able to see you beyond a screen. Arlecchino felt similarly, even though she had yet to see you as she had not made an appearance yet. Her children too - they wanted to see you as well. However, her annoyance was assuaged the moment she saw your giddy face staring right back at her, as she sat on the sofa.

She could hear the repeated clicking from your phone, most definitely from all the screenshots you were taking, remaining as cool and collected as ever as the other three listened on awkwardly at the tea party. Did you return... just for her? Well, what a nice, sweet, surprise to go along with these cakes.

After that, she could hear everything. How you've been grinding through all the stuff you've missed in a desperate attempt to pull her after so long. Speeding through random side quests, finally upgrading some statues, using all your resin the moment her materials got leaked. When she departs Fontaine, she has no worries anymore, knowing she'll be back soon enough, right in your party.

Just don't leave her again, alright?

(Meanwhile, the others are greatly concerned for you and what your priorities are...)

#smooches talks #🌼 anon #arlecchino love notes <3 #im glad you've returned for arlie 🌼 anon!! may your pulls be blessed! #i actually want to try and write more sagau bc i think the idea is cute but idk how- i hope this isn't too bad 💀 #BUT ARGHHH THIS IS SUPER CUTE #i imagine the other harbingers would be secretly jealous too... #but she doesnt care bc she has your love <3

[onigirio]

Hi! I love ur workk!! :) Could i request percy x child of apollo where hyacinth flowers bloom where they walk and they can summon them? (Yknow, bcz of apollo)

🐝: TYSM! i really liked this concept but i feel like this may be too short...lmk if you want a part 2!

camp half blood was no stranger to miscellaneous flora. after all, it was a camp in a forest, so there was bound to be a lot of plant life. however, recently, percy noticed a drastic increase of a new kind of flower, especially around the apollo cabin.

normally, he would ignore these things since flowers weren't his forté (he left gardening to the demeter kids) but the way the flowers were popping up seemed...too intentional. they formed intricate pathways from cabin 7 to the dining pavilion, or to the shooting range. hades, they were even popping up during capture the flag games!

damn his curiosity, but when percy noticed a new path, how could he not follow it. it's like someone was leaving a trail of bread crumbs for him to follow. the flora went from cabin 7, to the big house, to the dining pavilion. sometimes he would get mixed up with the different paths, but keen ocean eyes noticed that the colours differed from day to day, and today they just so happened to be blue

of course they had to be blue.

it was like the gods were poking fun at him. now everyone was wondering why percy jackson was walking around camp with his eyes glued to the ground. as far as he knew, he was going to get duped. this seemed like the perfect set up for a youtube prank video. fortunately for him, that wasnt the case

the trail of blue flowers led up to the edge of the strawberry fields, and right at the fringes sat someone overlooking the fruit as they baked in the summer heat. percy didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned, because yay! he wasn't getting pelted by eggs or falling into a pit of snakes, but at the same time, he wasn't sure what exactly this meant.

before he could ask the mystery kid about it, they turned around and immediately started blushing and rambling about cleaning and distractions. the ocean eyed boy only caught something about a "stupid sun god" followed by a significant amount incoherent mumbling. when they finished, percy just looked at them with a confused expression and they sighed

"my bad, i thought you were coming to complain about the flowers" they said sheepishly.

percy could only smile, "no, I'm not here to complain I just- decided to follow the weird trail of blue flowers".

this caused them to laugh, a sound that clearly had the ability to make flowers bloom considering the reason he was there. it made his heart run laps in chest.

"they're hyacinths" they clarified, unable to hide their amusement with him, "they bloom wherever i walk, because apollo had a crush on this guy named hyacinthus or something. either way, it's not exactly the best combat ability" they said with a small laugh, and it seemed that today percy's heart decided to be a track star

"If it's any consolation, I think they're very pretty" he took a seat next them, sitting criss cross applesauce as they overlooked the strawberry fields

"thanks bubble brain"

percy quirked an eyebrow at the new nickname they had given him. usually he'd feel a little bit offended, but after seeing the smile on their face, he couldn't help but smile too.

"what? you're that poseidon kid right?"

percy laughed, "well, yeah. does that make you buttercup?"

"they're hyacinths, bubbles" they reminded him with a playful nudge, "and my name is (name), but buttercup is also accepted"

'note to self ' percy thought, 'stop and smell the hyacinths more often'

#pjo #hoo #rio writes 🐝 #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #asks! 🌼 #pjo headcanon

[shimmershy]

There's Only One Thing Left to Say, This Time (Undertale Fanfic)

New fanfic time! When I started writing this, I got the idea mostly because 1. I've been having trouble "moving on" from things in my own life recently and wanted to try processing it through fic and 2. it was the end of the school year for me and I had been saying a lot of goodbyes, so it felt thematically relevant. I wrote almost the entire thing impulsively at like three am a couple weeks ago and really impressed myself lol.

Chara Week Day 7: Free (I know it's over, but shhhh it still counts)

Summary:

You're having trouble saying goodbye, but the thing is that you don't have to! If you keep Resetting just before it's all over, you'll never have to be by yourself again. Right? You haven't known them long, and maybe they weren't super nice at the start, but they were there for you every step of the way. They listened to you and helped you when no one else would. You can't just let them disappear… You can't. ...But you can't keep doing this forever, Frisk. You have to let me go.

Characters: Chara and Frisk

Word count: 4,763 words

(Ao3 link in reblog!)

There's only one thing left to say this time,

I hope you're fine, goodbye.

– “Goodbye” by The Altogether

It isn’t until the third True Reset that I realize what this is all about, and when I do, I feel silly for not realizing it before.

I can still feel the way the bitterness worked its way under my skin the first time you brought everyone back. Which, is actually quite impressive on your part! Seeing as I don’t have skin anymore. I suppose it worked its way under your skin, then, because you wouldn’t stop apologizing to me in your head as you made your way through the Ruins. I should have been the one apologizing to you, Frisk. It’s no business of mine what you do with your own life, and you have no business feeling my emotions for me. This connection we have can be troubling, at times.

Still, it felt like a betrayal, and you offered me no explanation, so I could not understand.

I understood a little better when you decided to stay with Toriel for a while. Despite my obvious frustration and impatience, you sat and listened to her snail facts. You let her show you that bug-hunting spot she mentioned, and you spent time helping her run errands and letting her teach you how to cook. You even got to the point where she started giving you classes, as if you planned on staying. I assumed it was sentimentality, then. Perhaps there was something about the Underground that you didn’t want to leave behind. Maybe you weren’t ready to go back to living on the surface just yet. It’s not as if I could blame you for that one.

What I didn’t notice (and what I am noticing now), was how much attention you were giving me. And well, it’s not that I didn’t notice. I was just too busy being annoyed about it, and rightfully so. Can’t the narrator of your life narrate in peace? I do not care for superfluous conversation. And that’s not even the worst of it. Frisk, you should not be so casual about sharing control of your body, That’s like, the one thing you should never have to share. Sure, it happened one time, but I only stepped in because you were so afraid, and I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was me that the spears were getting shot at. That’s different. I will not take control of your body just to eat a slice of pie. Your pity for me is insulting.

What’s troubling is that it doesn't seem to be going away.

You take your first shivering step into Snowdin (for the fourth time, I can’t help but note) without so much as a glance behind you. This time, you left Toriel with no hesitation, and I know it’s because you know I didn’t want to stay. You’re not even trying to hide it. This is when I finally decide it’s time to confront you.

What are you doing? I ask.

“I’m…walking?” you respond, confused, through thoughts. Your boots crunch satisfyingly through the snow to prove your point. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I huff in frustration.

Frisk. Why do you keep Resetting?

This stops you (and your crunchy boots) in your tracks, and suddenly I can feel anxiety radiating off of you. You weren’t expecting me to ask you this directly.

When you don’t respond, I continue, a little bit of venom coating my words despite my best efforts. For the third time now, you have made it to the end, broken the barrier, only to start all over again. Do you not feel even the slightest bit of remorse?

“Of course I feel bad!” you’re quick to say, as if you’re surprised I would assume otherwise. “But…we’ll still get there again in the end; it’s not that big a deal.”

That’s a horrible excuse.

“Why’re you so angry about it?” Your voice comes out sharp in the frigid air.

Why are you so stubborn?

“What’re you even talking about?!”

You’re trying to delay the inevitable.

You’re about to debate me on that, too, in a defensive way rather than a genuinely angry way. But you stop, because you suddenly understand that I understand, and the anxiety returns. You continue walking after a brief hesitation.

Goodbyes are never easy, I say, as gently as I can. (It ends up sounding forced anyway.)

You ignore me, and I allow you to.

~~~

What are you going to do once you get back to the surface? Once you decide to stay?

You’ve made it to Waterfall at this point, having made it through Snowdin without much event. You’re getting a little tired of doing the same thing every time; I can tell, but you would never admit to it.

You kick a stone on the ground, watching as it disappears into the dark grass. “I dunno.” (“I dunno-”) (“-dunno-”)

Your own voice travels around you in echoes and fragments. You really shouldn’t talk out loud like this in the middle of all these echo flowers. Number one, it’s annoying, and that should be reason enough, but number two, you shouldn’t make a habit of talking out loud to the voice in your head at all. People are going to think you’re weird. And I mean, you’re already pretty weird, but do you really want the reputation of “the weird kid who talks to themself” stuck to you even after I’m gone?

I didn’t even realize you were listening to all that, but you flinch at that last part, not only mentally but physically too, and I try to ignore the fact that you’re proving my point.

I hum thoughtfully. You “don’t know”? That’s certainly an issue then, isn’t it?

You start to fidget with the hem of your sweater and return to talking to me through thoughts, much to my relief. “I just haven’t thought much about it.”

This is a lie. But I don’t point that out to you.

You’re in a part of Waterfall that you’ve never seen before. Admittedly, it’s not much different to the parts you have seen before, but the fact that it’s new at all is good enough for you. You’re trying to explore the area as much as you can this time around, because you’ve realized just how expansive Waterfall really is and the curiosity you came here with the first time still hasn’t left you. You’ve barely seen a fraction of the place, and you definitely won’t manage to see all of it, but you’re certainly going to try.

I might take this time to remind you that no matter how many times you’ve befriended her in the past, Undyne is still hunting you down in this timeline. So maybe taking the time to look at every blade of grass there is to look at isn’t the best idea. But whatever.

There are quite a few echo flowers growing in this area, as I mentioned before. It seems more secluded than the rest of the caverns that make up Waterfall, if that’s even possible. You can see the main path you usually walk from where you’re standing, separated from you by a large expanse of luminescent cyan water, and an overwhelming sense of calm washes over you. It’s like this is a little cove carved out just for you, safe from everything that may hurt you. It’s hard for me not to feel the same sense of calm. Whether it’s just the spilling over of your emotions or completely and entirely mine is hard to tell, but it doesn’t really matter.

Why don’t we sit here for a minute? I ask. You let out a breath and descend to the ground, hugging your knees and resting your head against the rough cavern walls without hesitation, as if you were waiting for me to say just that.

It’s nice to just be here, for me, with you, like this. Together. Your hands are intertwined in the way that I know means you’re trying to hold my hand, in whatever way you can. We look out at the stillness of the water, listening to the sound of rushing waterfalls in the distance. We both must be thinking about the same thing, now, because although I don’t agree with the Resets, I understand why you don’t want to leave, to some extent. Have you convinced me that you’re right? Have I felt this way the entire time and simply didn’t realize until now? I can’t say for certain. But I’m becoming increasingly aware of my own fear of reaching the end.

“Chara?” you say, voice cracking a little. The sound of my name spoken aloud and echoed around by the echo flowers startles me. “It’s just that…I really, really don’t wanna be by myself again.”

I feel tears pricking at your eyes. The honesty in your voice stings.

You won’t be by yourself, I try halfheartedly. Everyone will be up there with you.

You reposition to rest your head on your knees. “You know what I mean,” you whisper, and after a moment you say. “You’re not gonna be there.”

…Right. Of course.

That is the funny thing about good things, see. About journeys and stories. And lives. They end. Sometimes (always) too soon.

I do not know what I was expecting the first time you made it to the surface. What, was I just going to live inside your head forever? Would you want that? Would I? The strangest thing happened when you stepped over that threshold where the barrier once stood, when everyone else followed you out. I felt you pull away from me, and then I watched the back of your head as you walked out into the sun. It was a bit disorienting. I wasn’t seeing through your eyes anymore, I was just…there. Watching. Barely even there, because I couldn't feel you there justifying my existence anymore.

I don’t think there was a doubt in either of our minds about what that meant. As everyone else chatted in awe of how beautiful the sun was, you looked back at me (although I don’t think you really saw me, just the empty opening of the cave). There was confusion, or sadness, or panic on your face. I’ve never had to read your face from the outside before, what a funny thing to realize. Whatever emotion it was, it was enough to make you Reset. And then again, and again. It really was for my sake, then.

This makes me feel a strange mixture of things, but the feeling of guilt sticks out like a sore thumb. Frisk, I don’t want you to feel any sort of…obligation? Or anything? To keep me alive. I’ve been wanting to be dead for a long time.

It’s a lame attempt at humor to lighten the mood, but as soon as I think it, I realize how unfunny it sounds. It kind of stops being a joke when it’s true.

Still, you reply, “It’s not like that. You know that.”

You are making some awfully bold assumptions here, though they’re not entirely false. I’m inclined to ask, what is it like then? Would moving on with your life not be the best option here? Everything is going to work out for you. And, hey, you won’t even have to put up with an annoying ghost in your head anymore.

“What if I like the annoying ghost in my head?”

Well, then you’re weird. But we’ve already established that.

That gets a smile out of you. “See? You always make me feel better,” you think, and I want to roll my eyes at that. I want to remind you of all the times I made you feel worse rather than better, but I stay quiet for now.

“…Before I came here,” you start, eyes trained on the ground as you fidget with the grass there, “I was alone a lot. It wasn’t so bad, but…it wasn’t so good either.” You shrug one of your shoulders. “I dunno. I didn’t think about it much. I had to take care of myself, and there was never anyone there…to say it’d be okay, or to tell me dumb jokes, or just be there…y’know?”

Yeah. I do know.

…

“I kinda panicked when I left the Underground and you weren’t there. You were just…gone, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even really mean to Reset, I just didn’t think, and I-“

You sigh.

“I just really care about you. You’re like my best friend, Chara- ‘N that’s what it’s like. It’s like saying goodbye to your best friend.”

Oh.

Ha ha. Yes, I really do know that, don’t I?

“Wait, augh. I-I probably shouldn’t’ve said it like that, I’m sorry-“

No, Frisk, there is no need to apologize. It is fine. It’s fine.

Your fingernails claw into the grass and the dirt beneath.

I know. I know what you mean. I really do.

I try not to think of my brother. I fail.

I did not think you would care so much. It’s- (stupid), I want to say, but you are not stupid. (See, caring about me always gets people hurt), I want to say, but that’s not your fault. (What did you expect?), I want to say. (I don’t believe you), I want to say. (I don’t understand you), I want to say. I can’t- I can’t say any of that. I can’t say anything to you, right now.

You- you nod, a little concerned, but you give me space. You bring your hands together again and gaze out at the water again for a minute. Then, finally, you decide to continue onwards. You have a fish monster to face.

~~~

Being here doesn’t get easier, no matter how prepared I am after each Reset. The grey, achromatic walls and floors. The feeling of despair in the air. The stillness. It directly contrasts my memories of warmth and color and love in this home. It reminds me too much of dust.

I stay quiet as you kneel in front of the save star. It glows in a steady, consistent way, light flowing out from the center and disintegrating at the edges. A comforting feeling washes over you, as it always does, and you step into the house.

It’s as lonely as ever. You should just get this over with. The monsters that are always here to greet you at this phase of your journey stop you on your way to the kitchen.

“A long time ago, a human fell into the Ruins,” one of the Froggits begins. You stand there with your hands clasped together and listen politely, as you always do. I put up a mental barrier between myself and the world and try not to listen, as I always do.

The key on the kitchen countertop glints in the other room. You wait for the Froggits to finish speaking before grabbing it and returning to the hallway. You make your way to the far end of the hall to grab the second key, too, before entering my old room.

You open the gift boxes and take the locket and dagger out without a word. I relish the familiar weight around your neck as you reach back to fasten the locket’s clasp. It helps me find the words I want to say.

Frisk. I don’t want to keep doing this.

You’re surprised to hear me speak, but you listen.

What we talked about earlier… It’s not that I don’t want to stay. I think…you’ve helped me a lot too. And I’m really glad I met you. I’m just tired of feeling stuck in the past. A part of me…wants that, but. It hurts, being here but not being able to do anything. To fix anything.

Plus, I mean. You!! The barrier’s broken thanks to you! You and…Asriel, of course. At least, it will be. Again. It’s… I’m glad it worked out in the end. Even if it took a really long time.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could stay, at least a little longer, but I don’t want to take this away from them. Or from you. I made my choice a long time ago, and this is already more than I deserve.

…

Are you…crying?

You’re holding your arms around yourself, as well. What is this???

“A hug,” you say through thoughts, sniffling.

Oh.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that.”

It’s not your fault.

“I shouldn’t’ve kept Resetting, though. I knew it upset you the first time…”

I understand why you did it now, though. It’s okay, really.

“Okay…”

You rub your eyes with your sleeve and stand up, giving yourself a self-assured nod.

“Don’t worry. This will be the last time.”

~~~

When it’s time to fight Asriel, we’re both filled with determination. The nothingness surrounding us erupts in color and light, illuminated by kaleidoscopic starbeams and glimmering stardust. Attacks rain down on you from above, and you weave your body between them masterfully. You can’t evade them all, but I’m there cheering you on. A blast from Shocker Breaker shatters your soul; I reach out to press the pieces back together. But it refused!

Asriel floats above you, smirking with confidence in his power. You aren’t afraid of him anymore. You know all too well what he’s capable of, but you know him better now than you did when you first encountered him, just a human and a flower with a million untold secrets between them. He’d laid all his puzzle pieces out before you, and you can’t help but see the whole painful picture before you now. He’s stuck in a cycle, much like you but nothing like you at all. You’re going to help him bring it to an end. (Once and for all.)

The attacks keep coming, but you persist. You reach out to your friends within Asriel’s soul and remind them of who they are. Undyne, whom you admire for her enthusiasm and sense of justice. Alphys, whose intelligence and desire to do better inspire you. Papyrus, whom you enjoy hanging out with for his optimism and dedication. Sans, who tells you jokes that make you laugh and whose laid-back attitude puts you at ease. Toriel, who cares for you as her own child and made you feel safe when you first found yourself in this unfamiliar place. Asgore, whose presence is both comforting and sad, knowing of the difficult decisions he’s had to make in his life. Once you’ve reached out to all your friends, there’s only one thing left to do.

It seems that there’s still one last person that needs to be saved.

So you reach out to Asriel. And I do, too. He’s not the same as he was all those years ago, when we were just two kids playing in a muddy flower garden, and neither am I. But it’s still him, despite everything. He resists…and he’s still crying out to you as if you’re me. It hurts. I watch him do this every time, desperately latch on to the belief that I’m not really gone, and the ironic thing is that I have been here the whole time.

“I’m not ready for this to end,” he says, confident façade cracking.

It ended a long time ago.

“I’m not ready for you to leave,” he says.

I know.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again…”

…

“So, please…” His voice shakes, laced with despair. “Stop doing this… And just let me win!!!”

He raises his arms and summons all his magic for one final attack. Your vision is overwhelmed with color as the blast hits you, and you barely register the way he screams at you to stop holding on as your HP drops, with each passing second, to an impossibly low number. But it never reaches zero. You don’t die; your soul doesn’t shatter, because you’ve made it this far and you’re not about to give up now.

Finally, the world grows silent as the sound of magic rushing past your ears subsides. You’re exhausted, though Asriel is barely even paying attention to you anymore. He closes his eyes. Suddenly he seems so small inside his godlike form, too small to really be the Absolute God of HYPERDEATH.

“I’m so alone, Chara…” he says. “I’m so afraid…” They’re echoes of words I’ve already heard him say three times before, but they feel like acid nonetheless because it’s my fault and I’m the reason he’s like this, but you firmly tell me that it’s not. I don’t know if I can believe you, but I lean into you and try not to say anything more.

…

The world fades to black, and Asriel stands before you, looking the way I remember him once again. He’s covering his face, wiping away his tears and probably trying to hide the fact that he’s crying, too. He always was a crybaby, wasn’t he?

“I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?”

Ha. Indeed.

He pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “…I know. You’re not actually Chara, are you? Chara’s been gone for a long time.”

You open your mouth to protest, but… Come on, Frisk, I can’t do that to him. Not after all that.

“But… Are you sure?”

I’m not… I am not here to stay. It would be a mistake to get his hopes up.

You twist your fingers together, disappointed, but you close your mouth anyway.

I’m only half-listening as he continues, asking for your name (which you have given him three times already) and apologizing for his actions. This is the last time I’m going to see him, is it not? He will break the barrier, and then you will go to the surface with everyone else. And I… Well, I don’t actually know what will happen to me. I won’t be able to come with you. I know that, at the very least. It looks like it might really be the end for me. I don’t know how to feel about that.

You tell him you forgive him, as you do every time. It seems only fair to you, after everything he’s gone through. A part of you understands him, even though most of you doesn’t, and you hope the knowledge that somebody in the universe forgives him gives him some solace. He smiles at you sadly.

He can’t stay, he tells you. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes in concentration. The human souls gather around him as he rises into the air, hovering around him in a circle, and the monster souls follow suit, glowing in the darkness. With the combined power of the human souls and every monster soul in the Underground, each pulsing with the same desire…the barrier is finally broken.

It’s over. There’s a weighty sense of resolution to it now. I don’t want you to Reset again. I know you won’t.

I stare at Asriel through your eyes as he lowers to the ground again, head tilted down, eyes closed. He looks so tired. He tells you that he needs to go, that you should go be with the people that care about you. You should just forget about him, he says. As if that would be possible.

Every word feels like a countdown, and I want to do something, but I can’t move. I need him to forget about me. I can’t be here messing everything up. I don’t…want him to forget me. But I don’t want him to hurt remembering me. I don’t want to stay here… I don’t want to go.

You hug Asriel. To my surprise, your arms tighten around him as you allow me to slip into control. “Just for a minute,” you think. The feeling of warmth and his sweater under my fingers and my chin on his shoulder hits me so suddenly that I can’t stop my tears from running down your face. I relax into the hug, though. I close my eyes and try to forget where we are and what we’ve been through. I don’t want to let go…

When he finally pulls away, he gives me a weird look, but it’s gone in a moment.

“I’ll miss you,” I say without thinking.

He laughs. “Please don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

“You okay?” you ask as you slip back into control. Your presence is comforting beside mine in your mind.

I am, I say. Yeah.

~~~

Outside, clouds drift lazily across the sky, a beautiful gradient from lilac to yellow to frame the setting sun. Over the edge of the mountainside, you can just barely see the tops of trees stretching out into the distance, leaves tousling gently in the breeze. Tall buildings silhouette the sky on one side, and on the other, more mountains.

The light streams in through the exit to the Underground, of which you stand behind. One of your hands is cupped over the other in front of you, and you run your fingertips over the knuckles absently. You have been standing here for a while, hesitant.

Congratulations, partner, I start in an attempt to ease the tension, you’ve saved everyone once again.

“We did,” you correct. “And Asriel.”

Of course. And now, think about it. Everyone is free for real. They can see the sun, the sky, the stars… There’s a whole future ahead of them. And you get to be a part of it. That’s amazing, is it not?

“Mhm…”

You could stay with Mom. She would make you breakfast in the morning, read you bedtime stories at night. I bet Undyne would be willing to teach you some sick fighting moves. Anime nights with Alphys.

“I could hang out with Sans and Papyrus.”

Yeah! You could learn how to make music with Napstablook. That might be fun. And Mettaton might need some help becoming a star on the surface, too.

You giggle. “I think he’s got that covered.”

Maybe. I smile along with you. But, aren’t you excited? Not everything will be easy, but you have so many people supporting you.

“I know…” You sigh through your nose. “You deserve all that too, though; it’s not fair.”

Hey. The lilac is disintegrating from the sky, fading into a deep orange. Some of the wind makes it into the cave, crisp air whistling through the doorway and cooling your skin. Hey, you know what? It’s worth it. It’s okay.

I think there are tears in your eyes again. Come on, please don’t cry.

I can’t stay here forever. I’m already overstaying my welcome, being dead and all. I was supposed to be gone a long time ago, but…I got to meet you by some miracle, and that makes it all worth it, I think. Even if I can’t stay.

“Charaaa…”

I laugh a little. Don’t worry about me, Frisk. Really. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

You hug yourself- “Hug you,” you correct. Oh. Okay. You hug me, and I, try to hug you back? It’s a little bit awkward, but I appreciate it all the same. The emotional vulnerability is starting to make me uncomfortable, but I need you to know I care about you. I know you’ll be okay.

Ha ha, this goodbye stuff is pretty hard, huh?

“Goodbye,” you say simply, with a teasing smile.

Oh, not so hard for you, it seems. Well then, “goodbye” to you, too.

I pause. …And good luck out there, partner. I think Asriel said it best: take care of everyone for me, okay? Even him.

You nod and give me a shaky little thumbs up. That’s the spirit! (Pun always intended.)

With a glance over to the others, who are in the other room, chatting amongst themselves and waiting for you, you decide you’re finally ready to go. You let everyone know, and the excitement in the room is palpable as you all make your way to the exit. They make a fuss out of you, ruffling your hair and smiling back at you. You let them leave first, and then at last, you step over the threshold yourself. I feel our connection sever.

And then I’m watching the back of your head as you walk away again. Before you reach the others though, you turn around to give me a small wave.

That’s it, I guess… I can’t exactly wave back, but I wish you well and thank you for everything. Together, you and I allow time to continue on.

#chara week #chara week 2023 #they're not in the cover art but the fic is mostly about them and Frisk so #undertale #safeutdr #chara dreemurr #frisk dreemurr #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #my art #chara #frisk #undertale frisk #undertale chara #🌼 #also in reference to what I wrote at the beginning of the post. I wrote that a couple weeks ago. when I THOUGHT I would finish this #but of course I procrastinated on writing the last scenes so now I'm posting it quite a bit after the school year ended. oh well #still thematically relevant #writing is hard for me /except/ when I impulsively write at 3am and realize I've gotten to 2000 words without really trying. apparently. :I #also as a sidenote. this is just a one-off 'what if' scenario for me because the idea of chara not being able to come with frisk to #the surface makes me sad so. :( #sidenote number two. HOW did this become longer than Thunderstorms dude....... that was not intentional.

[sourscratched]

got caught in one of the back wheels of the bandwagon, extended corniverse headcanons be upon ye

my bryce and clark are based on the lovely lovely designs for them made by @gaybearwedding !! (well they at least were initially. things may have gotten away from me)

additional dumb doodling under the cut

(and one for my little team illinois + nebraska ocs ⬇️)

notes, headcanons, etc:

- the Wicked shirt and the blue button down (from the group pic in the first photoset) are both shirts i’ve owned for a long time and are still in my closet right now

- the team illinois and team nebraska captains are named dani (daniela) and miya and pretty much exactly what happened between bryce and clark also happened with them. they also spent a summer road-tripping together; prime grounds for homosexual thoughts to happen

- for anybody who’s watched the off book episode The Kids Are At Night with Mary Sohn (10/10 episode highly recommended), i imagine that most nights after clark gets done helping his sisters* with their homework he’s probably looking up online editions of Boy Boy Magazine. gotta get connected to the culture

* = my headcanon is that he has two sisters, one older one younger

- the Away Team is from the same country as Princess Emily but they’re diehard Nothing Everything Children Glass fans (is there an actual name for the group who made it?? tag with your headcanon for the band name) and there is a rivalry between the two factions

that’s all ive got for now thanks for reading all my weird little ideas!! 💖💖

#my art #play it by ear #im extremely late to the party #anyway!!!! #these were really fun to make #*slaps the cornhole in one characters* you can project so many queer young adult life experiences onto these bad boys #i haven’t been super active recently but ive quietly been keeping up on the content everyone’s been making and it’s so good and cute #it makes me super happy that more and more people are jumping in and making stuff for the series #💐🌸🌹🌼💝 <- for the pibe fans make sure to take one with you #anyway. my hobby is connecting elevator pitch to as many parts of the improvised musical universe as possible #i have more thoughts but im not collected enough to write them out.. maybe later #i feel like ive been so in my head with the hcs for this universe that there’s a lot of stuff in this post that must be ??? to everyone #but hopefully it’s like. mildly intelligible at least

[metamorphesque]

tathève, indigo

#indigo #my writings #poetry #he just knows how to heal #been listening to it on repeat #rm #joonie 🌼 #music #color series #quotes #literature #dark academia #romantic academia #light academia #my poems #kim namjoon #blue #bts #bangtan #loneliness

[writing-whump]

I loveee your newest fic...and I got an idea for a new one🤭

Imagine Seline and Isaiah coming back from their trip and finding Matthew completely sick and barely awake. I wad craving some sick Matthew and I just saw this as an opportunity...

-🌼

This is sweet and got me obsessed with a very vivid scene, so let's make something shorter out of it.

Sick or not

"Matt? Hey, bud, are you asleep?"

Matthew groaned loudly, opening one eye at Isaiah. "Oh, hey. You got back on Sunday already?"

Isaiah frowned. "It's Monday afternoon. What, was it too hot in the apartment?" Now that spring officially set in, they stood in front of the challenge of seeing how their new roof place would fare against the climbing heat.

"Huh? No." Matthew rolled his shoulders, lifting himself up on his elbows. He was sprawled asleep in his jogging clothes on top of the bed, the curtains blocking any light. "Got a bit winded during training and fell asleep."

"On Sunday? Did you just sleep through the whole night and day till Monday without noticing?" Isaiah sat down on the edge of the bed, scrutizing Matthew. Then he put the back of his hand to the side of his face. "You are a little warm."

"That's just from sleep." Matthew swatted his hand away, sitting up. He moved so slowly and sluggishly, Isaiah's suspicions weren't quelled.

"Where is Sel?" Matthew rubbed the back of his head, hair sweaty and tangled up.

Isaiah grinned. "Found out you didn't do any shopping and shot out to catch the opening hours of the store. I think you just got some minus points for that."

Matthew gave him a weird look, something between distressed frown and widened surprise. "Ahh, whatever. Everything is closed up on Sundays in Austria. I still can't get over it."

"You feel hungry?" Isaiah offered him a hand to get him up. Matthew blinked at it slowly, without understanding, before grunting and grabbing it.

"Ehh, not really," he yawned, "think I will just get some coffee to wake up." He couldn't seem to shake off the tiredness, his eyes still dazed with sleep.

"Maybe you are coming down with something. Sleep is the best cure. Just get back into bed," Isaiah suggested, his movements flowy and graceful as he got up.

"Nope, I'm fine. I'll take some coffee and be good."

Isaiah followed behind his second, not sure what to make of the weird behavior.

Matthew put the water to boiling. He opted for Isaiah's strongest back coffee instead of Seline's milky cappuccino sort. He didn't seem to have a favorite. Isaiah actually didn't see him drink coffee that often.

Matthew watched the kettle like he was hypnotised. It took Isaiah clearing his throat pointedly to snap him out of it.

"Oh right. How was it?" Matthew asked, leaning against the counter from behind.

Isaiah gave a thoughtful nod. "It was nice. They are very special. Seline's parents. Very smart, very talkative. Wouldn't stop watching me the whole time. Very protective of them."

"So they don't mind you being a wolf or anything?"

"They knew I was and they are apprehensive, but I don't think they mind per se. They just want their daughter to be happy." He hummed. "I wonder if her brother is going to be harder to convince."

"Did he not show up?" Matthew swayed lightly, both hands gripping the counter from behind, his gaze drifting around the room without focus.

"Nope. I don't know if he is avoiding me or if he just doesn't care," Isaiah said lightly. "You sure you up for coffee? That's pretty heavy on an empty stomach. What about some mint tea?"

"I don't want any fucking tea," Matthew grumbled, turning his back to Isaiah to pour the water into the mug with three big spoons of coffee. "This will wake me up. Stop giving me those looks. I'm fine."

Isaiah still didn't like this. But Matthew could be overheated from the sleep and maybe he was just tired from the whole week?

Matthew sat down on the table on Isaiah's right with the steaming mug. He didn't take any milk. Planting his elbow on the table so he could lean his head on his hand, he gave Isaiah a shrug. "Just sleepy." He waved him off.

Isaiah bit his lip. "We got some of the cake with us. It would go with the coffee-"

"Oh, for the love of Shadow, stop fussing," Matthew complained, rolling his eyes. "You can't just control everyone all the time. Democratic and open leader my ass."

Isaiah chuckled at that.

Matthew took a big sip of the coffee, his typical grumbly look on his face.

"We should all go together next time," Isaiah mused, propping his chin on his connected hands. "For Seline's birthday. It would be fun meeting the rest of the family. And they should meet you. All three of us as a pack."

Matthew sipped on his coffee with more vigor. "Will humans understand what that means? I know our...ehh constellation looks weird to them."

Isaiah smiled. "Like we are all together or something, right? Wolves sure have something interesting going on with the format of packs. It just proves how culturally learned it all is. Humans and wolves are both social creatures, and the pack or family forms we consider normal are just learned concepts that we adhere to-"

Matthew interrupted him with a burp, belatedly slapping his hand against his lips. "Ugh, sorry."

"So I think the sooner they get to know us as a pack, the easier they will accept it," Isaiah finished. He wouldn't mind at all, if it wasn't for the way Matthew hunched over himself.

Only about half of mug was finsihed, but he got considerably paler, hanging his head over the table. He wrapped his hands over his stomach, groaning quietly.

"Matt?"

The redhead swallowed heavily. "Uhm...maybe the coffee wasn't such a good idea."

"What is it?"

"I'll just-" Anther burp snuck his way out. Matthew swayed, grabbing onto the table to lift himself up. He looked into the direction of the bathroom, but then changed his mind and made two steps to the kitchen sink instead.

He held on to it with both hands, leaning over and letting a long spit into the granit. "Ughhhh."

Isaiah got up too, standing next to him. He planed a hand on his shoulder as Matthew swayed.

"Don't tell me 'I told you so,'" Matthew said in a strained voice, spitting again, which brought out another loud burp turning wet at the end. "God, my stomach is cramping up."

"I mean, if you wanted to find out for sure if you are sick-" Isaiah said in exasperation, rubbing Matthew's sweaty back.

Matt leaned against the sink heavily, before gagging suddenly with a harsh heave. His whole body arched into Isaiah's touch with the gag, making him jerk up violently.

Only the third gag was actually productive. It brought up a wave of the coffee. Matthew moaned, but his stomach wasn't finished yet.

Another violent gag brought up the rest of the coffee and left him heaving with water and dribbles of yellow stomach accid. It was the only thing he consumed in two days.

"You are okay. Just relax. All better now," Isaiah said, rubbing his hand in the middle of his back while holding him steady by the shoulder with the other. The violent jerks Matthew's body gave didn't seem in his control at all.

Matthew retched emptily over the sink, the retch ending with a burp.

Isaiah put his hand at the front of his shoulder to push him away from the mess. "Shhh. Deep breaths. You are alright."

"My stomach hurts," Matthew mumbled, swiping a hand over his mouth and runny nose.

Isaiah reached for the paper towels on the side without looking with a sigh, offering them to Matthew to clean up. "Coffee for you." Putting a hand to Matthew's forehead he was sure he had a fever. It was warmer than before when he first got up.

"Let's get you to bed, hmm? You can sleep this off in no time," Isaiah reassured him, pulling Matt's hand around his shoulder when he swayed again. Better to drag him away from the mess in the sink.

Matthew leaned heavily against him, finally not protesting. His other arm remained wrapped around his middle.

"Hey, Zaya?" Matthew stopped for a second, taking a shallow breath. He gave Isaiah a serious look, eyes glassy. "Thanks."

Then he burped right into his face.

Isaiah chucked, blinking rapidly. "No problem, man."

#emeto #sickfic #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #burping #fever #bromance #werewolf wip #my writing #Matt #thanks for the request!! #🌼anon

[papyrus-in-places-he-shouldnt-be]

Papyrus shouldn't in therapy

Because he should be okay!

#Papyrus was just too busy in France to post but I'm back! #Ok OP here. I couldn't post because of my poor mental health state #and fanily issues I also got busy running a tournament and stuff so I just took a big break. I will try to post every day drom now on if #I remember to do so haha! I have ADHD so umm... Wish me luck remembering 😂 #I'm glad to see people are still supporting this! #Papyrus will come back from therapy soon! #Even Papyrus needs help 🌼 #*family (I wrote 'fanily') #therapy #papyrus in places he shouldn't be #papyrus #papyrus undertale #undertale #undertale papyrus #the great papyrus #*from. no 'drom' #excuse my poor spelling I write too fast

[darlingofvalyria]

As lovers, you and Aegon were the best. As exes, you and him might be the actual worst. But he can't help himself, and you're powerless to your own desires. A Halloween Party, more than hard liquor, and glances that attempts to stifle stares of want— everything comes to a catalyst.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ INTOXICATED, DOM/SUB DYNAMICS ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,359 ] [ masterlist ] | Modern!AU Aegon Targaryen II x F!Reader

contains— smut, angsty - exes to lovers, frat parties, college au!, possessive, cheating (not you or aeg), intoxication - messy sex for the messy exes, sorta toxic if you squint - petnames: sweet angel, sweet girl, sweetheart - mention of drug usage, slight hint addiction - nsfw: fingering, overstimulation, marking, dubcon + enthusiastic agreement, degradation, praise kink, dom!aeg— dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink if you squint, creampie - no betas.

a/n— hopefully this works for the request! it's a little... sadder and smuttier, but hey! ahahah! this is why i don't do daily kinktober. as an overwriter, it's just not possible to be quick jsdhjsh. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

It starts with, "Don't look, it's your ex."

And you pause. You freeze. You physically feel the adrenaline course through each and which way vein in your system, finding the end of your epidermis and hairline. It's a lot and you still have yet to land your eyes on him. The punch you've been offered not long ago that's slowly been condensing between your fingers register in your brain as cold, a drink, alcoholic— that you toss your head back and chug.

You sputter and choke afterward, your friend slamming her hand on your back in sympathy. "F-fuck. That's gross."

"Dude," she nervously giggles. "I don't think you were supposed to throat shot that."

"It tastes chemical, like chugging a nuclear reactor. I don't recommend it either." You exchange each hand to wipe the wetness on your skirt and holding your glass, trying to settle your nerves. "Where is he?"

"Got waylaid by two frat brothers, Dumb and Dumber, I think... think he's chatting up— yep, Frat President, with... an Olsen Twin on his lap. Fuck. I'm sorry, bestie."

You try to laugh but it comes out strangled. Because of course. Aegon is a pretty comet who streaks by, just as pretty and just as infrequent, coming to pass like a godly miracle and people just devours him.

Because he's Aegon, always the shiniest star, the bestest friend, somehow everyone's first something. First kiss, first messy hookup, first 'and he did this thing with his tongue, oh my gods, I saw five stars and the moon!', etcetera.

You aren't his first love and you sure as shit aren't going to be his first heartbreak. You wonder how many heartbreaks it'll be tonight; there's a running tally of three heartbreaks within one party, a fantastical rumour, a proud, mysogynistic chidding between male friends— before you got together with him, before your sphere ever clashed with Aegon Targaryen when he too was just a comet to you, a moon, an asteroid— always on orbit but always outside, unknown to the taste of his lips when he giggles between kisses, nor the pretty sighs when your fingers find the bulge in his pants.

Fuck. You're getting teary and you're in your first Halloween party since breaking up with Aegon. You got dressed up and had gotten your makeup done by your more creative friend.

You need to stop wasting emotions and cruelly painful thoughts for the star haired boy.

"Fuck it. Where's the hard drugs?"

Your friend snorts. "I'm not letting you do hard drugs. I am going to do very nice grass with you from very nice people on the sofa already hallucinating."

"Fine. But we're doing shots."

Aegon didn't see you the first time he arrived, but he will always, always find you in a crowd.

It's your laughter that triggers it this time, a sound embedded in his bones that he turns like a dog at the sound, as if finding his master. And then you're there, loose and happy, his heart stuttering at the pure joy and fun in your face, in your body, as you swayed slightly the beat, holding a freshly emptied shot glass.

He swallows. Fuck. You're still so pretty.

Your makeup is done sharper, your lips glossy and bright— a cherry red. His mouth watering when you pout dramatically at your friend, the pulsing lights caressing every dip and bow, every curve and edge of you. Your hair is loose, framing your face with a fake, paper halo over your head that sparkles in glitter, matching the body glitter across your shoulders and collarbones, even the peeks of your thighs under the white, silk dress that, with a jump in his throat, has his cock standing at attention.

He knows that dress.

He remembers the ghostly echoes of the lace detailing atop your chest, how it feels under his palms when he skates his hand over to squeeze your tits, the feel of the silk against his stomach when you lean over his body as your pussy flutters, clenching, while you roll and grind against him, trying to find pleasure—

"Fucking hell," he downs the punchy, mysterious liquid that's just straight vodka with rum, soda and strawberry syrup (absolutely disgusting but good enough for college students on a Friday), because he's fucking hard, and you're just there, oblivious, dancing, looking gorgeous, and his heart is aching. You're everything he's ever want, desired and should have kept better care for— fuck all the arguments, all the fights, all the stupid little reasons that he can't remember anymore why you two broke up —

And his stare is heated, penetrative, because the next thing he knows you're looking back at him. A thread of swallowing gaze, of empty thought but the baseborn sound of a Halloween party and two people who can't look away. Their past is twisted between them, their future uncertain, but their present is here and the want is certain.

The shared heat is gone when a hand is on his shoulder and he is forcibly turned. Qoren Martell shakes his head, lips turned down.

"No, dude. That's a bad idea."

And Aegon smirks because that's what's expected of him. His fingers tingle as he clench and unclench them. He can't be seen mooning over an ex.

"Not if she wants it."

It's a douchebag reply, an Aegon Second of His Name reply, but Qoren knows him better than that, even Jason who's not even looking at him, staring at Solana who was grinding against some frat bro from Beta Theta while staring directly at him.

Aegon snorts when Qoren smacks Jason's head.

"So that's why you didn't bring Johanna, you fucker." Aegon takes another beer, itching for the paraphernalia hot in his pocket. You've turned away and the itch is back, low but steady.

Jason shrugs. "I don't know what you mean."

"I am not babysitting both of you, motherfucks," Qoren mutters. "You're both responsible of your mistakes tonight I'm meeting Somi tomorrow and neither of you messy fuckers are going to ruin that for me, alright?" With that, he slaps a hand on both of their backs, making Jason curse as his beer spills.

When Aegon watches Qoren leave, he turns back to you and see you're already staring, irises too wide, full lips slightly open, and the thrum of heat, nice and striking, runs down his body.

He's going to fuck you. Or you're going to fuck him. It's set in stone, written in fate's ink. When you move away, his stare hooked on you, he smirks the moment you turn back to see if he's still watching, starving, and cocking your head as if asking,

Not going to follow?

But of course he does, it's you and him.

It doesn't start with a kiss. It's a hungry stare meeting in a bathroom mirror spotted by dry water, and he knows what you need, taking your hair in his hand as he stands beside you, tugging you toward him as a gasp leaves your lips, your hands winding to his hips, anchoring yourself.

"How much have you had?" he asks, moving his hand to your neck, stroking the edge of your jaw, watching your wet lashes and licking lips. "Come on, sweet angel." His other hand moves to the edge of your white silk, running his nails across your thighs.

"Does it matter? I want you." A breathy whimper leaves your lips as his mouth latches on your neck, tugging your hair to the side to start sucking bruises as his hand finds your panties and a groan rips out of him.

"You're this wet, sweet angel? All for me?"

"I was grinding on, hhh— Jon, don't flatter your—" You yelp, a sounding slap on your wet cunt and your wetness clings to his hand. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens, cupping your centre with his thick hand.

"This is my pussy," he hums sweetly, cheekily, but you know better. Aegon got sweeter when he was jealous. He smiled brighter when he got angry. He goaded when he hears warning in someone's voice. Daring them. Daring you. "How fucking dare you let someone— Snow, that creepy, depressed asshole, really, sweetheart? — my pussy?"

A flash of heat in your eyes meets his mullish blue gaze. Heat and hurt. "We've broken up, Aeg. You don't get to own me."

His heart thrums, head swimming— but not much as yours. You don't do drugs as hard as him, and you've been hitting something tonight. Your irises are wider, blacker even when you're turned on. You kept wetting your lips even as slick already covers your gloss. With a hum, he thrusts two of his fingers inside without preamble and you keen, arching against him as he kept a steady, fast pace, using the meat of his palm every few chuckles to rub your clit until your leg shakes.

"F-fuck, fuck, Aeg—" Your hands hold onto him for dear life as you feel your orgasm tide but he doesn't let up, continues his humming with his fingers, his mouth sucking your neck until you feel slobbered through the haze, until it starts to hurt with your overstimulation, forming bruises continually sucked on— and you cum again, too fast and too painful the second time. Pushed rather than pulled into the peak and he coos as he slows once you start crying out, tears in your eyes, mouth agape, patting your pussy and even you can hear the squelch.

His last pat is more of a slap, making you jolt and wail.

He smiles as he meets your watery gaze in the mirror, leaning back against the tiled wall to pull your skirt up, bracing you against his knee so you can see your wet and abused fluffy folds.

"What'd I tell you, darling? This is mine. Even she recognises me when you couldn't. For being an angel, you sure do got a mean streak."

You sniffle, nodding along in your hazy mind. "S-sorry. I'm sorry, Aeg."

"Aw, it's okay, only hurt my heart a little." He gives you a sweet peck on the cheek, fingers running down the wet path of freshly forming bruises on your neck. "I've missed you s'all."

"Me too. I-I've missed you too, baby," you say, eyes burning as you blink at the sincerity, smile turning a little softer, more real. "Wanna feel you."

"You already did, sweets, you did well too. How many special grass have you had?"

"Just okay." You twist in his hold, his knee straightening as you turn to him with your hands on his chest, looking up, pouting. "But I want you."

His cock throbs and you feel it against your thigh, but his face remains neutral, tinged with amusement as if he doesn't want to hoist you and fuck you into oblivion.

"It seems such the angel has forgotten her manners." He presses his thumb against your lip until he pushes it deeper, pressing it against your tongue before letting you suck on it, lashes fluttering.

"That's not what we say when want something. Use your words properly, baby," he mock, heat sizzling inside you, cunt throbbing. Though pleasing him has always been how your dynamic works, enjoying the way your mind blanks, filled only with the desire to be his sweet girl, his good girl while he relishes in dominating you.

Physically manhandling you was one thing, puppeteering your wants to mould his was another.

Loss of control was a soft tissue in Aegon's armour. And though you had gotten close, he had never opened up that part of him.

It was one of the reasons you broke up.

Your intoxicated-addled mind comprehends that, to a level, this is bad, but b, he's close, distracting you with his presence, his thumb on your mouth a familiar action, and you never get just one orgasm from Aegon so it doesn't linger long. The thought vanishes like a salt-licked ghost from a too recent past before you're holding on his hand and you're smiling sweetly.

"I want you to feel good too, Aeg," you whisper. "I want your cock inside me."

And he smiles— won, lost, who knows anymore. "There she is."

The next events are truly hazy. All you can remember is that he's close, closer than he's been in months, in you and stuck to you, snapping his hips against yours while your legs are up and jelly, bunched up in his arms while you hold strong against the wall.

The world is mush of thought, tongue, and messy kisses that are more spit and moan between your familiar, favourite cock driving into you again and again. A steady, almost sweetly, rock of his hips driving into that spongy, hard part of you that makes your toes curl and the pleasure to overwhelm. There's sweat and there are tender presses of his lips on your face when you both calm down, almost too sweetly, too needy for the Aegon that you know.

But every time you're about to come down from that high, he's rocking into you again, squeezing your thighs, your tits, using the mess of your cum and his to rub against your clit, and you're gone again.

The pleasure, driven again and again, wipes your memory of the more tender words he murmurs against your skin.

"L-love you so much, baby, god, you don't know how much I've missed you."

"You cumming again? T-that's a good girl, so sweet f'me, fuck, so good."

You don't know how you got to the room the morning, but you're dry and clean and the morning is stale but not head pounding. And you wake up alone, no trace of Aegon at all.

If it wasn't for the trail of bruised kisses against your throat, the throbbing between your legs, full of shared cum when you dip a finger in— you could've said he was nothing more than a ghost of the past, a pretty little dream.

Hooking up with your ex ends with a toughened heart, too empty to cry as you read a message from him.

BLOCK HIM: i'm sorry.

#aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii angst #aegon targaryen ii fanfiction #aegon targaryen ii smut #aegon targaryen ii angst #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #︶꒦꒷♡ elle tries kinks ♡꒷꒦︶ #🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻

[daysofyellowroses]

ride

david von erich x reader | 1.5k | based on this lovely lovely request 🫶🏻 | no real warnings, just some softness 🌼💗

It sometimes makes you laugh when you think about how ridiculously stereotypical your relationship is in some ways. You love it, and wouldn't change it for anything, of course, but you really hit some classics.

Neighbors? ✔️

Met as little kids? ✔️

Went through school together? ✔️

First kiss? ✔️

First time? ✔️

Prom King & Queen? ✔️

But, while there are a lot of typical things about your relationship, you like to think you still have your own thing going on too. You and David have been officially dating since you were fourteen years old, you know each other better than anyone. You have your own private jokes, references, pet names, memories. 

It wasn't planned, of course. To get together so young and go through your life together. Hell, you both had a lot of life to live yet. Early twenties weren't exactly over the hill. But you just felt like what you had with David would be forever when you first got together. So far, you haven't been proved wrong.

The two of you always support each other, build each other up and push each other to go for your goals. Sometimes your friends ask if you get jealous now that David has joined Kevin in the ring, and has so much attention from girls. You just laugh when it comes up, there's really no reason to be jealous. If anything it just makes you feel more secure in your relationship. You know David enjoys the attention but he only has eyes for you, you're the one in his bed, in his truck, laying beside him in the grass, his hand intertwined with yours as he talks about your future together. 

It doesn't feel scary, thinking about a future with David. You can see a home, kids, a dog, the whole nine yards. Even if it was just you and him forever, you would still be deliriously happy. 

“What are you smiling about over there?”

David's voice snaps you from your thoughts, and you glance over to the driver's seat. 

“I would tell you but your hat wouldn't fit anymore,” You tease, looking back to the window. “And I would feel guilty, can't have that.”

“Aw come on,” David grins, his hand reaching out to touch your thigh. You're wearing shorts and the feel of his hand on your bare skin feels, as always, deeply comfortable and satisfying. “take the risk.”

“Nope,” You look over and stick your tongue out playfully. “You know anyway. I don't need to tell you.”

“Who says I know?” David is a terrible liar, always has been. 

“You know,” You grinned, shaking your head. “There's very few things that I allow space for in my daydreams.”

“True,” David nods, looking back to the road. The smile on his face has you wanting to kiss him. “And obviously I'm top of that list.”

You roll your eyes with a smile.  

“Stop being so cocky.”

“I don't think so darlin’,” David gently squeezes your thigh. “you love it.”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, knowing you both know the answer.

A comfortable silence falls over you, your hand resting on top of David's. You wonder if you'll ever get tired of this, of getting into his truck with no particular destination in mind. You don't think you could get tired of it, not when it feels so perfect. 

“When is Kerry coming home?” You ask, glancing over to David. He lets out the smallest of sighs, his thumb gently stroking your thigh.

“He leaves tomorrow morning,” David tells you, his eyes still on the road. “Should be home by the evening.”

“Okay,” You nod, gently stroking David's hand. “Just curious.”

“Could you..could you be there?” David asks after a moment. 

“Of course,” You nod, looking over to him. “You think I wouldn't be? It's like you don't even know me, babe. ”

David smiles a little and you feel yourself relax.

“Can't wait to see him though,” He says. “I mean, the circumstances ain't ideal but I can't say I ain't missed him like crazy.”

“It'll be nice to have him back,” You nod. “I'll have to fill him in on all the juicy gossip.”

“Do I get to know?” David teases, glancing over to you. “Or is it top secret stuff?"

“Oh it's just a silly thing,” You sigh with a smile, looking over to your window. “The blonde Von Erich boy is a big hot-shot wrestler now. On TV and everything, you should hear the filth that comes out of his mouth.”

“Oh he sounds incorrigible,” David gasped dramatically, making you laugh. “What a scoundrel.”

“Tell me about it,” You grinned, looking down at your hand on his. “I heard he's got a hot little girlfriend though.”

“Lucky him,” David grinned. “I bet she's got men throwing themselves at her feet, I'm sure he's extremely grateful she chose him.”

“Well when you can have the best, you get the best,” You smile, looking over to David. “And ain't nobody better than you.”

“Not true,” David looked over to you with a cheeky smile. “You're better, and I won't hear otherwise. I was lucky enough to get you and I don't plan to lose you.”

You still felt butterflies in your stomach when he said things like that, and you hoped that would never change.

“I don't plan to lose you either,” You grin, resting your free hand over your forehead. “You're stuck with me.”

“Then I'm the luckiest man alive,” David murmurs softly, you just catch it and it makes your heart soar.

You watch the world pass by the window for a while, the smile etched onto your face. In the moments David needs to move his hand from your thigh you feel the loss, your hand just waiting to hold his.

It's a little embarrassing, really, how in love you are. You have to laugh at yourself sometimes when you get moody because you haven't seen David for a couple of hours, or because he didn't hold your hand long enough. You suppose the fact that you're aware of it makes it better, and it's not really a bad thing. You're lucky enough to have an amazing relationship with a man who you love and who you know loves you.

You look over to him, watch him hum along to the radio, his fingers drumming against the wheel. These are the moments you treasure. All those girls screaming for him and desperately wanting his autograph only see one part of him. They see the confidence and the strength and the charisma, which are all amazing qualities, but they don't see what you see.

They don't see him snort out a drink because you made him laugh unexpectedly, they don't see him singing in his truck, or giving you a bunch of flowers on a Tuesday morning just because. They see what he wants them to see, and you feel beyond honored to see the real David.

“Oh hey, pull in up ahead,” You tell David, sitting up a little and gesturing at the window. “I need to grab something.”

“Your wish is my command baby,” David grins, parking up the truck and giving you a curious look as you wink at him and slip out of the truck.

You don't take long, coming back to the truck with a grin and two ice creams in hand.

“You're such a child,” David laughs as he opens the door for you and accepts one of the cones. “Making me stop for ice cream, really?”

“Well you ain't gotta eat it,” You shrug, closing the door and resting your leg up on your seat. “But we both know you will so stop complaining.”

“Oh I ain't complaining,” David smiles, leaning over and giving you a kiss. “far from it.”

“Eat that before it melts,” You murmur with a grin, leaning in to give him another kiss, pulling back after a moment and holding your ice cream between you both. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma'am,” David grins, sitting back and taking a lick of his ice cream. 

You laugh softly to yourself, looking out the window and licking your ice cream, David's hand finding yours across the seat.

The heat has your ice cream melting a little quicker, conversation is paused while you work on not getting strawberry all down your hand. David finishes before you, as always. You shuffle over and lean against him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Occasionally you hold the ice cream up and he takes a lick, insists you have it yourself.

You wonder if a day will ever come when you don't feel stupidly, wonderfully, madly in love, looking up and meeting David's eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you and you lightly jab his cheek with the ice cream in your hand.

“You started it,” You tease as he protests.

“Don't start a war you can't win.”

“Oh it's on,” David grins. You sit up and turn to look at him, your face starting to hurt from smiling so damn much.

“Then give me all you got.”

#the iron claw #the iron claw fanfiction #the iron claw fic #david von erich #harris dickinson #david von erich x reader #david von erich x you #so happy to be writing david again #my precious baby #🫶🏻🌼💗

[onigirio]

Good night! Hope you’re doing great, could I request some headcanons about Percy dating a daughter of Apollo please?? Thanks you <3

a/n: YES YES YES this is everything to me anon! i referred to apollo!reader as sunny once or twice! hope you enjoy <3

warnings: 1 mention of sensory issues

okay first of all

i love this

you are HIS SUNFLOWER

percy has never been very possessive imo

but he’s a physical touch kinda guy

back hugs, cuddles, linking pinkies

lots of pda

but it’s very unintentional bc you both have adhd

like you could be practicing your shooting and he’ll just come and hug you from behind

he does it mostly when you’re in the infirmary

if there’s been a particularly violent game of capture the flag, he’ll come and sit with you

you appreciate the company, especially when you have to monitor someone long term

however

if he’s the one in that bed?

whew

he feels so bad when you have to take care of him

like he doesn’t want to inconvenience you

however you don’t mind

+10 kisses for percy!

he’s deffos a late sleeper

and i believe most apollo kids have the same sleep schedule as the sun

so you always fall asleep before him

and he wakes up after you

you always make sure to leave him a little snack or a note reminding him to eat breakfast

he’ll never tell you but he keeps all the notes

SWIMMING ! DATES !

a million underwater kisses

trust you cuddle afterwards

you’re quite literally a heater

when you guys have your sleepovers and you have one of those demigod dreams

percy stays up with you until you’re ready to sleep again :( <3

if you’re a performer?

percy is your biggest fan!

like he brought sally to one of your shows because he loves showing you off

definitely the type to take lots of videos and pictures

“this is when they won a competition, and then this is their acceptance speech-“

always makes a point to show you off

keeps a little polaroid of you guys after a particularly stressful performance in his wallet

it’s of you jumping into his arms after you won

you’re both beaming, it’s like you can feel the happiness radiating off of the picture

sally obvi took it

percy has this calming effect about him

like the early morning ocean waves

so he’s always there if you need a hug or a little advice

SALLY LOVES YOU

whenever you go to their place you always make sure to help out around the house

for your birthday she makes you sweets with little sun motifs!

this year it was sun cupcakes

percy wanted them to be blue

sally had to remind him the sun isn’t blue

percy sulked a little

the icing was blue

like a little sun in the sky

SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS

it’s getting hard for you guys to one up each other

you always make a point to get each other the best gifts

last year he got you something you’ve been saving up for in your hobby

like a guitar, a set of paints etc

they’re always thoughtful gifts too

there is never a last minute gift with you guys

anniversaries are more chill

little movie dates and more gifts!!!

you’re a very low energy couple

i’m projecting a little bit but whenever you make plans to go out

like for a concert or a place with a lot of people

you end up leaving because sensory issues

the joys of neurodivergence

but you’re always there for each other <3

like the picture perfect couple

but when you do fight or have a disagreement

you don’t like going to bed angry

you’ll always talk it out and make sure both parties are happy

healing with hugs!

but fr you’re never angry at each other for more than a day

like in the morning you could be avoiding each other but by dinner you’re laughing around the campfire and everyone is like??? huh

people are jealous!

speaking of jealousy

percy is not a jealous person but if he sees someone making you uncomfortable

he’ll just come and smack a kiss on your cheek and hold your hand

that usually gets the message across

people know you’re his sunflower

not vice versa though

ppl will flirt with him and he just smiles and nods

then he hits them with “oh i have a gf”

they’ll ask who and then he points to the girl shooting arrows very aggressively on the range

they get the hint

playful couple

you’re the kind of people that have bets running at all times

“why is percy suddenly into archery” “oh him and sunny swapped weapons for a week. first one to complain loses”

you won btw

$20 and one of his hoodies

another oversized blue hoodie for your growing collection

you don’t just take his clothes though because he steals your stuff too

your rings and earrings have been disappearing a lot recently

you were confused until you caught the culprit wearing your signature sun earrings

safe to say percy always makes sure to ask

on one of your anniversary’s you got him a little sunflower necklace!

he got you an ocean themed charm bracelet before

so now you two match !!!

*sobs* you two are so cute

10/10 couple, absolutely relationship goals <3

#rio rambles #rio writes 🐝 #asks! 🌼 #pjo #hoo #pjo headcanon #percy x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson universe #pjo drabbles #apollo!reader

[shimmershy]

Thunderstorms (Undertale Fanfic)

The fanfic I kept talking about is finally finished! >:) I haven't written a full story in ages, so it's not the best thing in the world, and I feel like the pacing leaves a lot to be desired, but I enjoyed writing it. Also, I came up with the idea in like... 2020, so I'm mostly just glad I finished it at all lol.

Summary:

The rain outside your window is loud, but your thoughts are louder. Now that everyone's settled onto the surface, even you, the past is behind you for good, but your bittersweet memories are endlessly trying to crawl their way out of the recesses of your mind to take hold of you again. You don't think you would be able to handle this on your own. Luckily, you don't have to. (Written from Chara's POV, second person.)

Characters: Chara and Frisk

Word count: 4,465 words

(Ao3 link in reblog!)

You awake to a buzzing in your head, a stabbing in your eye, and a flash of light from outside. Thunder booms, rattling you to your bones. Your heart beats violently in your chest as you sit up and tilt your head up to the glowing stars on your ceiling to catch your breath.

The rest of your room is dark and silent, save for the hammering of rain outside and the steady, quiet breathing from across the room, Frisk’s. Another flash fills your vision, momentarily illuminating the room before casting it into shadow again, and another crash of thunder follows – barely two seconds after, you note. As your pulse returns to normal, you notice the prickly yet comfortable chill in the air. As the panic ebbs from your body, you find yourself alone in the dark.

Reflexively, you bring your hand up to your left eye, only to wince in pain as your fingertips brush the petals clustered there. Right, right. You’d forgotten. You groan and wrap your arms – also speckled with little clusters of golden petals – around yourself. Another nightmare, you conclude. By some stroke of luck, none of the details stuck with you, but you can still feel the darkness and the fear in the corners of your consciousness, lingering with all the allure of a memory just out of your reach. Perhaps if you weren’t so used to this routine already you could find it within yourself to be frustrated, but right now you just feel tired. You know you won’t be getting back to sleep tonight, though. You never do after a nightmare.

Part of you wants to go to Mom – she could offer you a hug and some comforting words, which you could really use right now – and another part of you wants to wake up Frisk – they’d understand – but the part of you that wins out is the one that doesn’t want to be a burden. So you stay curled up on your bed and listen to the rain instead.

The drops on the window are so thick and so numerous that they all just coalesce and run down the glass in a single, constant stream. You keep trying to single out a couple to watch them race, but none of them last long before melding with the rest of the raindrops. The water distorts your view of the backyard; it’s a sorry sight, all mud and leaves.

The weather has been like this nonstop lately. It feels like the dark clouds are here to stay, permanently, like this is your new reality and you have no choice but to get used to it. You don’t mind it, really. You’ve always liked the rain. Besides, having a body of your own again means you’re sensitive to things like the sun and the heat, and you absolutely hate it, to say the least. The sun can stay hidden for as long as it desires. But you can tell it bothers Frisk a lot. You can always tell when something is bothering Frisk; after sharing a soul with them for so long, there’s very little they can hide from you. Staying cooped up at home isn’t their speed at all – they’d rather be out exploring or playing with their friends – but there isn’t much that can be done with all this rain. Unlike you, they thrive in warm and happy places, and this bleak weather has been weighing them down like a sack of boulders.

That’s the thing about Frisk. Everything about them exudes warmth, really. Their selflessness, their optimism, their smile… They really are the “sunshine child”, aren’t they? They’re the kid who could show mercy to a kingdom full of monsters trying to steal their soul. They’re the kid who could stay determined through it all, so much so that not even death could stop them. You feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, tinged with bitterness. They’re the kid who broke the barrier, and they’re the kid who saved monsterkind. They were able to do what you failed to do, and then they found a way to bring you back, too, just to tie everything up with a pretty, perfect little bow. Because “everyone deserves a second chance”, as they say.

It makes you want to laugh.

…

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself instead.

At first it bothered you, the way they’re so much better than you, that they succeed in absolutely every area you fail. It was certainly…painful, to watch them clean up all your mistakes so easily, to see how perfect they were, in everything they did. But eventually you realized that they definitely weren’t perfect, actually. They were just a lot better at acting as if they were. In some ways, the two of you are like two sides of the same coin, and with time, you’ve grown to love that. Haven’t you? They even out your rough edges. They keep you grounded and stop you from doing stupid things. And in return, you’re their voice of reason, a loyal friend who will listen and won’t hold back an honest opinion. Not to mention a practically limitless source of information who will gladly (and proudly) help them with their homework.

The fact that they tolerate your near-constant presence at all confuses you, but…you’re glad they do. What would you do without them? Honestly?You glance over at them, snuggled up in the covers on their bed across the room. You don’t even want to think about what you’d do. You surely couldn’t handle living again, or the complications that come along with doing so, or just being here, without them. It was their idea to try to help you get a body of your own again, but of course you’d agreed, because you had been sure you’d intruded on their life enough already. They’d followed through with it, too, all the way to the end, despite all the moments when it seemed impossible.

The pattering of the rain continues steadily in your ears as you reminisce. They had stayed right there by your side when you stepped into the sunlight on your own two feet for the first time in so long. They sat there at the top of the mountain with you for what felt like hours while you took everything in, felt the sun on your skin and the blades of grass between your fingers, and they waited until you felt ready to see everyone else again. They held your hand when you saw your parents, when Mom and Dad could finally see you standing right there in front of them, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to push all the words you wanted to say past the lump in your throat. They didn’t complain when your grip became so tight you worried you might break their fragile fingers. They know how hard all of this is for you, and they don’t mind spending time with you when you don’t want to be alone. They feel more important to you than the heart in your chest that shouldn’t even be able to beat anymore.

They understand you in a way no one else does, in a way you doubt anyone else ever could. You wish there was a way to tell them just how much they mean to you, but you know by the time all those feelings are condensed into words they become nearly meaningless anyway. It almost makes you wish you still shared a soul with them, so they could understand your feelings just as clearly as you could understand theirs, but something tells you they already understand, to some extent. You hope so.

You groan and pull your blanket over your head, as if you’re trying to quiet your thoughts with it. Even with the rain, it’s too quiet. And your thoughts are too loud, like a bunch of buzzing bumble bees that could sting at any moment. You don’t want to be awake right now. You don’t really want to be asleep, either. You need to leave your room.

Sneaking another glance at Frisk’s side of the room to make sure they’re still asleep, you slip out of your bed and pad to the door as quietly as you can. Of course your blanket is still wrapped around you. For comfort. The door doesn’t creak very much, luckily. You know how inconsistent it can be. You’re cautious as you shut it behind you.

The hallway seems to swallow you up tonight. You can still hear the rain, but it sounds more distant in this part of the house, and everything looks like a shadow in the darkness that your eye is slowly adjusting to. You ignore it and make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe you could make yourself some hot chocolate, make the best of being awake against your will. You think there were some packets in the cabinet.

Gentle, dim light streams in through the kitchen window. As you make your way to the cupboard to grab a mug, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of peace and tranquility. You feel it in every part of you. There really is nothing to compare with the feeling of being alone in the middle of the night, with the sound of rain enveloping you. You’re glad that none of the bedrooms in this house are very close to the kitchen, because the microwave can be a little loud. You lean against the counter as the mug spins round and round inside of it, humming away.

You have a better view of the backyard down here. There isn’t much to be seen in the middle of the night with all this pouring rain, but your house backs onto a peaceful forest that you and Frisk have explored many times. There’s a small creek a little ways in – you’re sure it must be overflowing by now – and a huge, fallen tree with clusters of mushrooms growing from it in various places. It must have kept watch over the forest for well over one hundred years before meeting its inevitable fate, certainly the oldest tree in your backyard. It must have been around since before you climbed Mount Ebott even. The first time you and Frisk came across it, you picked up a few flowers laying nearby and set them on the rotting log, and the two of you held a little mock funeral for it. You felt somewhat bad about, ironically, outliving it, which must sound strange, but Frisk understands.

With all this rain, the flowers must be long gone by now.

The lightning and thunder are almost simultaneous now. You jump a little as the kitchen is flooded with light, and in that moment, the microwave starts beeping. Shoot. You rush to open the door and take the mug out and almost burn your fingers in the process. You must’ve gotten too lost in thought.

Setting the mug on the table, you pour in the hot chocolate powder and begin to stir. The spoon makes a little ting! each time it hits the side of the mug. You try to direct your thoughts in a less dangerous direction, more towards thinking of the future rather than reflecting on the past. What are you going to do tomorrow? (Or, well, later today. A quick glance at the microwave’s little digital clock tells you it is past midnight.) Maybe you could read a book, or work on your most recent knitting project. Even if the rain did let up eventually, it would be too wet and muddy to do much outdoors.

The hot chocolate is still very hot, but you brave a sip anyway, because of course you do. Bad idea. Now your mouth is on fire. You squint your eye in disappointment.

Hopefully Dad’s garden is still salvageable after all of this. You know how much effort he puts into maintaining it, and you enjoy helping out with it whenever you visit. You would hate to see all that hard work go to waste, and just when it was finally getting somewhere, too.

It always felt weird, when you thought about it for too long. You used to garden with Dad when you lived in the underground, too. You used to drink tea with him in the living room and have long talks, just like you do now. You used to sit and read with Mom, and knit sweaters in your room when you had nothing better to do. Sometimes it was as if nothing had changed, and you didn’t always know how to feel about that, because eventually, your mind would bring up everything that had changed. And that was a slippery slope of drudging up memories you would much rather leave buried.

You blow on your hot chocolate a bit and take another sip. Luckily, it doesn’t burn off what few taste buds you have left this time. It tastes like warmth and bittersweet memories and home. You feel the slightest tug on your heart and close your eye.

Mount Ebott isn’t visible from the kitchen window, but you picture it in your mind anyway, shrouded in dark clouds and pouring rain, looming in the distance against a dark sky. You don’t have to try very hard; it’s a familiar image. You were ten years old, and your world was hell. It was a mountain, and it promised an escape. You could think of no greater force between two pieces of the universe.

At first, you had been disappointed when you woke up after the fall. But then Asriel found you, and the world didn’t seem quite so dark anymore.

You never deserved him. You knew that then, and you know that now. You…don’t want to think about him. You can feel guilt creeping in like thorns in your skin. Like the golden flowers that rooted themselves in your reanimated body, sharp and painful when you pull on them. You don’t want to think about him…

You hate being around Flowey. You wish you understood him, but you don’t. Time had created a rift between the two of you that not even the abilities of reality-bending determination could fix. It was hard to see him as the same person sometimes. It was harder not to feel guilty when you did. Even Flowey said so himself: Asriel died in that throne room years ago, and he was never coming back.

Your face feels wet and it’s not because of the rain. You let out a deep breath and take another sip of your hot chocolate. You wish you could just get over this – it’s certainly been long enough – but the past still infects your mind like weeds. Ironic, is it not? Ha.

But, no. Despite it all, you could still hear his voice in your head. Soft, as he asks, “Chara, can you tell me about the surface?” You can see the stars in his eyes as you tell him of the ones in the sky. You can feel his head on your shoulder as he yawns, his hands holding onto yours as he tells you you’re not a bad person. You can hear his shuddering breaths as he sits beside your bed and you can feel his fear as if it were your own and you feel a bullet through your- his- chest and-

A boom of thunder that you can feel at your very core startles you from your thoughts and before you know it, your mug has tumbled from your hands and collided with the floor in a manner that is far from quiet. The ensuing silence, however, is deafening.

You don’t even react to it right away. You just stand there and stare at the mess of shattered porcelain and hot chocolate on the floor with a blank expression on your face. You think, This might as well be a metaphor for my life. And then you make a move to clean it up.

Your hands are so shaky as you pick up the shards and there’s a well of frenzied energy building up in your throat. You kind of want to scream. The rain is still hammering against the earth outside. You think about how much Asriel would have liked thunderstorms.

…

You don’t notice the presence of another person in the room until Frisk’s avocado socks suddenly appear in your line of sight. You startle – again, embarrassingly enough – and look up, and sure enough, Frisk is looking at you with an expression of concern on their face.

“You okay?” they whisper. Their curly hair is sticking up all over the place, and they look about as tired as you feel. Immediately, you feel extremely guilty.

You nod. “It just slipped out of my hand... I’m sorry for waking you up.”

They shake their head as they kneel down to help you pick up the remains of the mug. “It was kinda hard to sleep with all the thunder anyways. Why’re you up?”

“Mm…” You hesitate. “Nightmare.” You’d almost forgotten that was why you were awake right now in the first place.

“You wanna talk about it?” they ask, glancing at you as they drop the shards into the trash.

“No, I don’t remember it. It was just hard to go back to sleep afterward.”

“Oh. Okay.”

For a minute, they quietly watch you clean up the hot chocolate with a wad of paper towels, fidgeting with their hands. Your eye is carefully trained on the ground, but you can practically feel them trying to think of something else to say.

“You should go back to bed. I will be alright on my own,” you say, knowing they don’t want to leave you alone right now, because they can probably sense your obvious agitation, can’t they? You don’t want them losing sleep for your sake, though. They’ve done that enough already.

Instead of responding, they grab a chair from the kitchen table and turn it around so that it’s facing the window, sitting down next to you with their knees curled up to their chest and their head resting on their crossed arms. They look at you expectantly.

You sigh and roll your eye but scoot your own chair next to them anyway. “You’ll be tired tomorrow,” you warn them as you get comfortable on the chair and bring your legs into a cross-legged position. “Then we will both be tired and grumpy. Is that what you want?”

They shake their head sharply and scrunch up their face. “Whatever!” They tug on the blanket you still have draped around your shoulders, so you slip it off and pass them one of the corners so the two of you can share. They smile and immediately drop their head onto your shoulder, leaning into you. You hesitate for a moment, but then you lean your head on theirs, too.

“I am more upset than I should be about that hot chocolate.” The sound of the rain fills the empty space between your voices. It almost sounds like it has calmed down a bit, but it’s still pattering away.

“Sorry,” they say.

You laugh. “It’s not your fault.”

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you don’t need words when it’s just the two of you together. Just being there is enough. The fact that they’re there with you at all immediately makes you feel a little less on edge. It makes the rain seem even more peaceful somehow, now that you get to share it with someone. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, and moments later, the low rumble of thunder follows. It’s nice.

The distant tick of the clock in the living room keeps the time, and you almost think Frisk has fallen asleep with how quiet they’re being, but then their voice breaks the silence. “You’re sure you’re okay, though. Like, really okay?” It catches you off guard.

You open your mouth to reply but find that the words get stuck. Oh. You are okay… You are. But the way they said it makes you aware of a pressure behind your eye, and you think you’re about to cry again. You’re able to mutter out a small “I-”, but nothing else comes out.

Frisk doesn’t say anything, either. You get the impression that they’re waiting for something, and for a moment that makes a frustration build inside you, because you can’t give them what they want, you already told them you don’t want to talk about it, no matter how hard you try you’re never going to get better at letting yourself feel things like they want you to- And now you’re even mad at yourself for getting frustrated with them. You don’t want to be like this. You don’t even…

“I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be here,” you finally say. Your voice sounds small.

Hm. You thought you had gotten over this, too.

“I know,” Frisk says. And of course they do. Of course they do. You can’t tell whether that’s comforting to know or not, but…it encourages you to continue.

“I’m…tired of feeling that way.”

Frisk reaches over to hold your hand.

“I have been for a long time. I thought… I was stupid enough to think killing myself was the answer-” You choke out a laugh, but it might have been a sob. You can’t even tell. “I get to help my family, and in return, I am granted the sweet release of death. Two birds with one stone, right?” Laughter bubbles in your throat and it’s a mess as it escapes you. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t stop yourself. You think Frisk is hugging you – you can feel their arms around your shoulders – but your eye is closed and all you can think about is the bitter taste of buttercups.

“A lot of good that did, huh? I literally could not have failed harder if I’d tried.”

The flowers growing in the socket of your left eye sting. Saying all of this out loud makes you feel sick, but for some reason, right now, you feel like you have to get it out of you.

“My brother is dead, and somehow, I am still here. And I still feel the same! Ha ha! If anything it’s only gotten worse! I should be dead, what, twice over? Thrice? And that’s not even counting all the times we- you died, with all the Resets. Do those even count? Does it even matter…?”

Your awareness slowly slips back into the present moment as you wrap your arms around Frisk. Their presence makes you feel steady, grounded, as it always does, and you subconsciously clutch fistfuls of their sweater in your hands.

“Sometimes all of this just feels like a sick joke. I don’t know. Like…maybe one day, I’ll wake up back… back then, and none of it will have even been…real. Or maybe I won’t wake up at all, ha…”

And maybe that would be for the best.

“I do not deserve any of this…”

Frisk says, “I love you, Chara”, and nothing more.

And somehow, it is enough. You take a breath; it kind of stings your raw throat. “I love you too, Frisk.”

You think about how lucky you are to have them, at the very least.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I think you’re s’posed to be here.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage right now. Because truly, you mean it when you say, what would you do without them? For a moment, you pause and try to soak everything in. You can’t tell whether you feel empty or…relieved. Both, probably. There’s a little bit of guilt there too as you catch a peek of morning sunlight reflected on the kitchen floor. The two of you must have been here for a while…

Finally you pull away from the hug and rub at your eye with the heel of your palm. “Jeez, I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Frisk replies with laughter in their voice. “Whoops.”

You didn’t even realize, but outside, the rain has almost stopped, reduced to nothing more than a slight drizzle. You stretch a little as you stand up from your chair and walk over to the back door, which is on the other side of the room and glass so you can see right outside. It’s very cloudy, but there’s a little bit of light shining over the horizon.

“Oh. It’s kinda stopped raining,” Frisk says as they meet you by the door.

“You wanna go out there?”

“In my socks?” Their voice cracks with disbelief on the last word and you laugh.

“Just for a minute. I need some fresh air.”

Frisk sighs loud and dramatically as they sit on the ground to take their socks off. You open the door – cautiously, as Mom is still asleep and you know this one has a habit of squeaking – and are immediately greeted by a wave of cool air. The comforting smell of rain envelopes you. It’s called petrichor, if you remember correctly, and it’s actually the smell of the soil as it becomes moist, rather than the rain itself. Interesting.

“Ready!” Frisk hops up and bounces on their toes.

You hold the screen door open for them, and the two of you slip outside. Luckily, there’s a little wooden porch here so you don’t have to be standing in the mud, but even the porch is a little wet and slippery. It doesn't have a roof or a cover or anything, so the little sprinkles of rain pitter patter on the top of your head and tickle your cheeks and forehead as you tilt your face to the sky. Frisk is giggling to themself as they splash around in the puddles beside you.

You feel vulnerable. You feel free. You feel terrified… But you feel safe. You think to yourself, this is what it means to be alive. To feel raindrops on your skin, to splash in puddles with your sibling, to feel the relief that comes after crying and to wait for the sunrise. And you wish this was something you could understand all the time, something you could always keep in mind when your thoughts start drifting in dark directions again. It’s so easy to forget how beautiful the world can be sometimes, when you’re always stuck in the shadows. Sometimes you need someone to remind you of why you’re here.

Frisk reaches out to you and does a little grabby-hand motion, so you take their hand, and the two of you spin and dance around the porch, kicking up rainwater. For just a moment, everything that lead you to this moment feels worth it.

#safeutdr #Undertale #chara dreemurr #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #frisk dreemurr #chara #frisk #undertale fanfiction #Undertale Chara #Undertale frisk #frisk Undertale #Chara Undertale #my art #🌼

[tarjapearce]

Lil heads up, Iridiscent is on hiatus, the outline isn't working for me so... yeah. In the meantime, I'll get you this new angsty sort of series c:

Of Flowers and Hummingbirds ✨.

In where you and Miguel have a one night stand and oops, consequences happen.

Will post in a bit 🫠

#talking with t✨ #Of Flowers and Hummingbirds 🌼 #t writes✨

[avonne-writes]

lucerys after undergoing puberty and becoming breakbones Jr: hi

aemond, internally: I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me

Expectations

Aemond hasn't seen his nephew in three years - since Vaemond's failure of a challenge against Lucerys' position - but he can picture him clearly. Round, rosy cheeks, big eyes glistening with fearful tears, hands like a maiden's and a body built for soft pillows and sugary cakes. Pathetic, really. Imagining him fills Aemond with familiar delight.

When it was announced that Rhaenyra would bring her entire flock to the capital for the King's nameday, Aemond could barely contain his excitement. He didn't have a chance to put his hands on the insolent little bastard last time, but he has grown since. He had years to prepare. He'll get through to Lucerys' pretty face even if his sister's rabid watchdog of a husband stands between them. Then, Lucerys will get what he deserves.

When Rhaenyra's carriage pulls to a halt in the courtyard, he's watching the door with thinly veiled glee, standing as tall and as menacing as he can in anticipation of his nephew. But he's left disappointed. It's only his sister - miraculously not fat with a babe this time - and her youngest sons who step out. Aemond has to resist craning his neck for a glimpse of floppy brown hair. He grips his own elbow tighter, gritting his teeth. Where is he?

Then, there's a roar high up in the clouds - a dragon, Aemond's ears recognize. Another roar responds to it, and laughter follows before two beasts land just outside the gate. Aemond is surprised that Rhaenyra allowed her precious, illegitimate offspring to arrive on dragonback. Wasn't she concerned that a forceful gust of wind would blow the little lord into the sea?

The first figure coming through the gate is Jacaerys, just as arrogant and irritating as ever. His hairstyle has not improved either, Aemond notes with smug satisfaction. But behind him, there's a man whom Aemond's mind refuses to recognize.

He's tall and broad and built with muscles big enough to pass for a smith. The golden seams of his doublet struggle to contain him. His breeches look tight too - perhaps Rhaenyra's seamstress hadn’t had time to refit them to his size. His cheeks are dusted with stubble Aemond could weep for but would never be able to grow, and his brown hair curls in soft locks around his ears. He's that brute, Ser Harwin - but younger, sweeter. Prettier.

His round eyes glitter not with tears but with joy that dims as they meet Aemond's gaze.

This is not fair.

Aemond's hatred boils in his chest as he glares, all his plans and dreams and fantasies crumbling, his mind grappling to rearrange them to fit this new image. His nephew looks disturbed by his scowl. He casts his eyes down, his smile faltering, then flicks them back up to Aemond as if unable to stay away for a long time. Good. Aemond wants that bastard to look at him all day. To never have a peaceful moment when he doesn’t think of Aemond watching him back.

They stare at each other with a fire that never wavers until Rhaenyra blocks Aemond's line of vision to make him go through the expected greetings.

As they proceed into the castle, Aemond makes sure to situate himself behind Lucerys to make him more unnerved. He's annoyed to note that Luke is not only tall but taller than Aemond himself, and his steps are heavy in his boots no matter how small and insignificant he tries to appear just to avoid Aemond's notice.

It's a ludicrous notion anyway. He'd have Aemond's attention even if he was a pitiful worm in the ground.

As they walk up the stairs, Aemond considers his plans to take Lucerys down. He runs his gaze up Lucerys' calves to his ass and up his back. When Lucerys throws a wary glance over his shoulder, he smirks, happy to see that it still intimidates the bastard.

Simple brute force isn't going to suffice anymore. He can't just grab his nephew's dainty wrists in one hand and use the other to tease him with his knife. Those wrists wouldn't fit in his grip at once, and Lucerys could just tear himself out of that hold and punch him. No, Aemond will need to wrestle him into submission properly.

He'd have to use his own weight, even if Lucerys is not as skilled as he is. Aemond is better with a sword than with his bare hands, but he needs skin contact to truly revel in his revenge. The nick of a blade wouldn't be as gratifying. It would be better to catch Lucerys unawares, when those bulging muscles of his are still too sluggish to react. In the middle of the night seems promising enough.

Aemond adjusts his hair over his shoulders, suppressing a smile. Yes, he would sneak into Lucerys' chambers in the middle of the night, straddle him in his sleep, bind his wrists and tear his clothes away to get at his skin, then torment him until he begs. He knows Luke's tears will look gorgeous as they trickle down to his cheeks. Aemond would pretend to be gentle and wipe them away, feeling the rasp of stubble under his palm, and he would slip his thumb between Lucerys' plump lips to make him taste the salt. Then, he'd see if those breeches have been tailored to trick the eye or not -

Aemond's thoughts screech to a halt.

By the gods, what is he thinking?

#lucemond #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #aemond x lucerys #my writing #anon #thank you so much 🌼 #i hope you enjoyed this little drabble 😄