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milksnake-tea · 7 hours

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FOR THE LOVE OF A DAUGHTER

summary: the price she pays for being the adoptive daughter of the outstanding dr. ratio wherein love and support are out of the question.

pairing: dr. ratio. . . hsr (the reader is included)

was it requested? nope

genre: angst, adoptive father x adoptive child trope, lack of love from a parent, burdened by academic pressure, visible favoritism, ooc dr ratio?

note: this bond is strictly platonic in the story and also the reader here is around her teenage years, let's say 16. this is purely based on fiction, nothing in this fic is really based on the character behind the story. i might also plan to make it a small series as a continuation of this story. wahahaha, this is the first time I'm writing a story after a year so it's to be expected that the quality is not the same as before and some parts might not make some sense.

In Dr. Ratio's assigned classes, only one qualified student has caught his interest among the other idiotic students he has to deal with daily. Witnessing another genius who stands on the same level as him is a rare opportunity for him to finally engage with someone who understands his complex theories and ideas.

This student's intelligence and passion for the subject matter reignite Dr. Ratio's own enthusiasm for teaching and push him to delve even deeper into the material during their discussions.

The subject itself is significant enough to warrant attention. Many students were initially intimidated by Dr. Ratio's high expectations as they strived to work harder in order to pass his challenging classes. However, envy brewed within some students as they witnessed the special connection he formed with this particular student, leading them to see them as a threat to their own academic success.

It is uncommon to hear Dr. Ratio lavish this student with such praise, but it is an absolute privilege to behold. The student is very lucky to have Dr. Ratio's mentorship and support, as it is clear that he sees great potential in them.

Unfortunately, it is not the student whom Dr. Ratio has adopted and formed a private father-daughter relationship with. The student who always received average grades and rarely stood out in the class is not favored by her adoptive father due to her lack of academic achievement.

Her name is [Y/N] [L/N], and though she is legally adopted, her adoptive father preferred not to share his surname with her, as he only wanted to be associated with excellence.

A found family? No, this was a mistake. [Y/N]'s relationship with Dr. Ratio is more transactional than familial, based on abiding by unrealistic expectations rather than genuine care and connection.

Burdening such weight upon her shoulders has led [Y/N] to constantly strive for perfection to gain her adoptive father's approval, creating a sense of pressure and inadequacy in her academic pursuits.

There were many uncomfortable moments where she tried to persuade Dr. Ratio to see her as more than just a student, but these attempts were often met with dismissal and disinterest.

One day, when she received an almost perfect score on a test she had worked hard to achieve, especially when the subject was not her strong suit, she finally felt a glimmer of hope that maybe she could prove herself worthy in Dr. Ratio's eyes.

At their shared home, she eagerly showed him the test, hoping for praise and validation. "Father, look! I did really well on my test!" she exclaimed, holding her breath in anticipation of his reaction.

Veritas Ratio merely looked at the test paper and scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why are you so proud of this mediocre performance? You still have a long way to go before I will be impressed," he remarked coldly, crushing her hopes with his harsh words. She felt a sinking feeling in her chest, realizing that no matter how hard she tried, it may never be enough for her father's approval.

"Why can't you be like one of the top students? They always excel in everything they do," he added, his disappointment palpable in his tone.

He shook his head and walked past his daughter without a second glance, leaving her feeling dejected and unappreciated. The girl clenched her fists in frustration, attempting to battle off the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Upon her firm grip, the paper in her hands crumpled, almost accidentally creating a small hole where her father's words had pierced through her confidence.

This is not fair to her.

Aren't fathers supposed to be proud of their children's efforts and support them unconditionally? Then again, this is Dr. Ratio she is referring to; it's nearly impossible to earn his approval if she's within average.

She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply as her shoulders nearly fell in defeat. In Dr. Ratio's eyes, becoming the ideal student is the only way to repay him for all of his sacrifices to ensure her a comfortable life.

Her having a place to call home and food on the table every day is a great privilege that she was granted because of him. He gave her a second chance to excel in life to secure a future for her to proudly walk on. However, as a teenager in need of unwavering love and support from a figurehead, she wanted her father to be proud of her, or maybe love her the way she is.

Tears were already forming in her eyes when she opened them. She quickly entered her bedroom while trying to stop the tears from falling, but her quivering lips betrayed her attempt at composure.

The cries only increased when she entered her room, following her door lock immediately. She sat on her bed and grabbed the nearest pillow she could find, burying her face in it to muffle the sobs that wracked her body. "What should I do?" Her voice was shaking as she whispered to herself, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions.

One thing that differentiates her from her adoptive father is how she easily adapts to her own emotions. To her perspective, it's considered her strength, but to him, it's considered a weakness.

Another thing that the both of them can't relate to one another besides excellence and personal preferences.

[Y/N] removed the pillow from her face, revealing a visible damp trail of tears on the fabric. Her cheeks hurting from the force of her sobs, she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

She was beginning to zone out, her mind wandering to a place of solitude where she could process her emotions without judgment.

"I just want him to be proud of me," she whispered, her gaze undeniably sorrowful as she wiped off the last remnants of tears from her cheeks.

Many days had passed since the embarrassing event, and recalling the painful memory still brought a pang to her heart, but she cringed at the way she presented herself at that time.

She scoffed at herself. "I can't believe I let myself act like that," she muttered, feeling embarrassed and frustrated. "Father wouldn't even approve of my behavior if he saw me like that."

Once more, Dr. Ratio argued that expressing emotion was a sign of weakness, yet she couldn't help but feel exposed in that situation. This is yet another concern besides academic performance: struggling to maintain composure and control over her emotions in front of others.

She could not take the chance of listening to his tirades about self-control. Not when it means that she is being called "emotionally immature" for displaying even the smallest trace of vulnerability and that she is being compared to other students who managed their emotions better than she did.

In her father's sharp words, "Crying is meaningless and only shows that you are unable to handle your own emotions like a mature adult. Take an example from one of your classmates, who always remains composed and never lets their emotions get the best of them. Understand?"

It didn't take a guess who he was referring to; it was always the same student, the one who seemed to have it all together. A card that her father always uses whenever he wants to highlight her shortcomings and push her to be more like the "perfect" student.

She had no choice if she wished to gain his approval; she made a conscious effort to suppress her emotions and put on a facade of strength both in public and to her father, even when she felt overwhelmed inside.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a mild throbbing in her forehead. Gosh, even her physical pain is such a hassle. She massaged her temples, trying to alleviate the discomfort.

Dr. Ratio, however, was occupied conversing with his favorite student. It was the longest record to see him fully engage with someone other than himself.

They both exchanged their own theories or perspectives on the topic at hand, with Dr. Ratio showing genuine interest in his students's ideas and later giving praise for their insightful analysis.

It's a common occurrence between the two of them. After class, Dr. Ratio would sometimes invite the student to one of his discussions in his office, away from the idiotic students who always spoil the intellectual atmosphere.

No one could understand their conversations as much as they do, as they delved into complex topics with ease and understanding that surpassed the comprehension of others.

It irritates the gambler to no end.

Aventurine regarded the exchange with a hawk's eye. He is aware that the doctor has an adoptive daughter from behind the scenes, as he is trusted to keep it a secret from the public.

He isn't stupid enough, though, to ignore the neglect the doctor shows toward her. The doctor's indifference towards his adoptive daughter is evident in the way he rarely mentions her or includes her in any activities, causing Aventurine to question the doctor's responsibility as a legal guardian.

He planned to rile him up with the issue at hand privately today, but with the favored student present, he needed to get them out of the way first.

Before making another flamboyant approach to the doctor, the man quickly fixed his appearance. He opened the door widely and greeted the two individuals with a boyish grin, his arm resting on his waist in a casual yet confident manner.

"Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise to see both of you here. I was just about to discuss something important with the doctor if you don't mind stepping out for a moment." Despite his friendly smile, he spoke with his eyes narrowed toward the favored student.

With an awkward glance at the doctor, the student got up from the chair and excused themselves from the room while Aventurine kept staring at them with a sharp gaze.

With an irritated groan, Dr. Ratio returned his attention to the remaining visitor. He asked sharply, cocking his head suspiciously, "What brings you here, gambler?"

Aventurine chuckled and replied, "What? You should be used to my presence by now, Doctor. I always seem to find my way into interesting situations." He dragged a chair closer and leaned in, observing him with a dead stare.

"Such as?" Dr. Ratio questioned, crossing his leg and tapping his fingers on the armrest. He can already smell trouble from a mile away, and Adventurine was always at the center of it.

Aventurine smirked. "To see you constantly hanging out with the top student instead of your daughter is a bit odd, don't you think?" He straightened his posture and slowly walked towards the doctor, his intimidating purple eyes never leaving his. "Don't tell me that you're forgetting your responsibility as a parent, doctor," he added with a sly grin, his face slowly inching closer to Dr. Ratio's.

Dr. Ratio's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes as Aventurine's words hung in the air. He is aware that Aventurine is jabbing him where his conscience lies, questioning his priorities and loyalty to his own child.

"Foolish question," Dr. Ratio finally replied, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I assure you, Mr. Aventurine, I take my responsibilities very seriously." Aventurine scoffed, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I'm sure you do, Doctor. But actions speak louder than words," he retorted smoothly. "Your child may need more than just assurances."

Dr. Ratio's jaw clenched, a flash of irritation crossing his features before he regained his composure. "You may think you know best, gambler, but meddling in my personal affairs is not your place," he shot back, his tone cool and controlled.

However, Aventurine could see the doubt lingering in Dr. Ratio's gaze, a crack in the facade that only he seemed to notice.

"Suit yourself," Aventurine chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye. "But remember, sometimes a little help is all it takes to make things right."

Dr. Ratio's expression hardened as he glared at him, his resolve unwavering despite Aventurine's words. "What are you trying to propose, gambler?"

Aventurine simply shrugged, his smile never faltering. "Just offering a friendly suggestion; leave the kid to me," he replied casually before turning to leave, leaving Dr. Ratio to ponder his words in silence.

Leave [Y/N] to Aventurine?

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, knowing that trusting the gambler was a risky move. He couldn't ever pass his child to his companion when he knew Adventurine's background was filled with deception and unpredictability. What does he know about parenting anyway?

It's funny that as soon as he thought those words, they stuck with him as well.

What does Dr. Ratio know about parenting? He knows that a parent must always let their children get involved in their academic pursuits if they wish to secure a future or be worthless. He knows that, as a parent, emotions are useless, a distraction from the ultimate goal of one's dream, and an inconvenience to be avoided at all costs.

Dr. Ratio knows what he's doing when it comes to raising successful children, even if his methods may seem harsh to some. He doesn't need someone like Aventurine to remind him about something he doesn't know.

"Insolent fool," Dr. Ratio mumbled, rolling his eyes at the thought of Aventurine questioning his parenting skills. He is confident in his approach and believes in the importance of discipline and focus for achieving success.

It will continue to be that way.

#reblog #honkai star rail #dr ratio #oh this one hit home #DR RATIO U GRGRRGRGGRRRG #love u ur amazing #BUT NOT HERE #aventurine cmere lets go get corndogs or smth #IM SNIFFING A BIT OF PAST TRAUMA FROM RATIO THO #HIM THINKING THAT THIS IS WHAT PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO LIKELY COMES FROM HIS UPBRINIGNG #WHEN THE CYCLE OF ABUSE CYCLES #aven save me #save me aven #favorite #really excited to see the part 2 !!

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milksnake-tea · 1 day

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lay your life down and pretty

various hsr x gn!reader | wc: ~2k

In which you die (or they've already lost you).

tags/warnings: character death (reader), it's implied in dh's part but explicit and semi-graphic in hanya's, descriptions of mara and the insanity that comes with it, hardcore angst, hurt no comfort, there may be Lore Inaccuracies

notes: this was originally supposed to be four parts. i'm sorry it's only two but it's just been uhhh... hope you enjoy & thanks for the incredible support lately <3

Dan Heng makes the best pancakes.

You’ve expressed this undeniable fact to his face multiple times, louder in their progression just to see the tips of his ears burn that endearing red. These declarations are reserved for breakfast. At this time you also chide him for trying to weasel his way out of eating the most important meal of the day!

And he’d sigh, letting you hound him about food options until he’d crack under the weight of your grin and end up mixing batter at 7:30 in the morning.

(“I tried flipping them in the air once and the pancake slapped me in the face,” you’d regaled, head resting idly on your fist.

Dan Heng stared into the black of the skillet. “...Somehow, I don’t doubt it.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” you huffed.

He almost let not-quite laugh slip then, but because of his stuck-uppery, he just managed to look peeved. “I would appreciate it if you passed me the butter.”)

Instead it is around 9:00 in the morning, and Dan Heng is alone.

He’d stayed up late the night before doing some reading, causing him to oversleep and rush the process today. He’s almost burned his hand on the stove eye twice, nearly dropped an egg on the floor, and has just narrowly avoided burning the batch. Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you were), and he is painfully aware that he is late.

After he plates the food, the oven clock reads 9:19. He gathers everything, including two sets of utensils and one awkward wad of napkins - before setting the table by heart. Your plate goes in front of the chair closest to the window, and his goes in front of the one adjacent to yours.

The rhythm of distributing each item eventually leaves him with empty hands. Everything is ready, but there is still something colossal missing from the scene.

Dan Heng stares hard at your empty seat before taking his own.

The pancakes are blackened around the edges, but it’s nothing a good heaping portion of syrup can’t fix, and the smell that wafts upward is sweet and inviting. The sun’s rays shining in from the outside world paint the kitchen in flecks of light that occasionally catch on his arm when he brings his fork to his mouth.

Resigned, his silverware clatters noisily to the table.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry that I was late.”

Predictably, there’s no response. Dan Heng’s throat feels like it’s closing up on him, and the syrup definitely isn’t helping. He dabs his mouth with his napkin for a good long while.

He is sorry. It wasn’t enough that he’d stayed up late the night before, but that he deliberately kept glancing at the clock and counting the hours until daylight arrived - reminding himself that if he drifted off, the next day would come much sooner.

He isn’t the type to procrastinate either. Even when you’re not here anymore, you seem to have a profound effect on his character. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. The sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the lonely kitchen is unwelcome. “Happy birthday.”

It’s strained, imperfect, and painful; which only serves to remind him of your insistence on celebrating his birthday as well. You had practically prostrated yourself at his feet, begging him to let you fuss over him - even if it made his vision hazy and palms sweaty. He needs to return the favor, even if the mere idea of another important date passing him up without you makes him want to hide.

So here he is.

Here he is, floundering terribly, missing you terribly, loving you terribly. Dan Heng wrenches his hand from its secure position in his lap to drum on the table.

“I got you something,” he says. “I… I didn’t know which color you’d prefer more, so…”

You’d tease him into an early grave if you were able to see the knitted oven mitt he’d picked out over two months ago. It’s an almost hideous shade of teal that he’s sure you’d love, especially since you forced him to bake with you regularly.

(He was shopping with March 7th when he’d seen it and then reflexively dumped it into his basket. His companion only asked him if he was planning on using it as kindling for the fireplace.)

Dan Heng closes his eyes and slides it over to your placement. For a second, he almost fools himself into thinking you might magically appear to brush fingers when you accept the gift with a bright smile. He has no such luck.

Your breakfast is getting colder, and there’s nothing to be done today; his friends, as much as he can say he appreciates them - also meddle quite a bit. His schedule was mysteriously cleared up and he was gently encouraged to go home and take the day off. The feeling of three pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he complied was a bit too potent to be coincidental.

So he sits there and pretends he’s eating with you for as long as he can. The stutters in the familiar rhythm that comes with today are things he can smooth out over time, even if it feels like a betrayal to you. You would never see it like that, which is why he can even live in a home without you in it at all.

(The oven mitt rests beside your full plate until the afternoon, because he cannot bring himself to clean up just yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to.)

Dan Heng is not a man who can afford to hope, but he’s already been in debt since the moment of his birth. If just one of his prayers is granted, he hopes it’s the one he runs through his mind every night:

In the next life, please let us cross paths again. And if there’s room for it, please let me love you for as long as I can.

He’s never been one for optimism, but it’s all he looks forward to.

Hanya’s hands cradle the expanse of your face.

Her fingers ghost over any healthy glow remaining in your cheeks. You’re slipping, rightfully so, but does it make her a monster if she wants to claw and rifle through the sands of time to search for any universe where you were spared from this cruel fate?

(She thinks it does.)

You can’t get the words out, but there’s a resigned film that glazes over your eyes - one that tells her that she needn’t lie about where you’ll be going. Your mouth forms silent syllables punctuated by wheezes that will surely send her careening under the depths of the unconscious at record speed.

“Han.. ya,” you croak, “Stay.”

“I will,” she promises, because she needs to - over and over, until you remember it always, even when you’re gone. Even when you’re suffering through the last moments of your fledgling life. “I will remain here.”

Her duty as a Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission is to oversee life and death on the Xianzhou. When Hanya drifts aimlessly like a spectre between inky darkness and blinding daylight, it has occasionally struck her that one day she might have to oversee yours.

Presently, your mind is being swallowed by the maw of mara, a madness that she’s all too familiar with; faced with her dull countenance, she must have witnessed thousands succumb to the fate of infernal life.

“D-Don’t cry,” you beseech. There isn’t much time until you’re no longer Hanya’s secret reprieve, but instead a writhing abomination - and she only has herself to blame. Had she not embraced you so tightly, would you be free of this curse? Would you still be smiling and dragging her by the hand through Exalting Sanctum?

“I will not send you there,” she breathes, “You are not deserving of—”

The agonizing cry you let out next is still beautiful. Even now you can mitigate the emptiness that’s dug its claws in her heart so deep that it’s become symbiotic with the organ. However, instead of the empty, Hanya feels its distant relative: the pins and needles. The hollow white noise crackles until she’s pierced with an arsenal of skeletal knives.

She could take it, and she would take it, if it meant that you weren’t about to die and then awaken again as a monster that desecrates the very concept of you.

She releases your now matching tear-stricken cheeks before seizing both of your arms. The thrashing has crept in, meaning that there isn’t much time before you start sprouting leaves and weeds like a statue abandoned by its devotees.

A sharp inhale through clenched teeth. “You have… to. M’gonna hurt—” you convulse in her grasp, “—somebody...”

Of course you’re worrying about others right now. Kindness is a relic of the past that you’ve somehow managed to exhume, restore to its full glory, and gift to Hanya like she deserves to touch others’ lives in the same way you have.

Every shopkeep knows your name, face, voice, and smile. Your warmth is infectious - even before she knew you in person, she knew of you by word of mouth. Xueyi had told her that the reason Huohuo was so resolute in her duties lately was because of “the person who defeated a bunch of reprobate hooligan bullies tormenting her”.

If her big sister held you in high regard, she figured you were one she wouldn’t mind exchanging greetings with if you ever crossed paths. However, the thing about you is that you always give more than you take; you too eventually gave her your smile over tea, your opinion on her writing, and a perspective from the light she usually only smothers upon first contact.

It seems that it was just a matter of time before Hanya extinguished you.

“You are not ready,” she begs pitifully, “You are not!”

She knows it’s never about being ready. Bad things always happen to good people - to sons, daughters, friends, big sisters, and lovers.

Lovers.

The word is foreign on the tip of her tongue. It’s strange to be actualized and even stranger to ascribe that label to your relationship, but Hanya doesn’t know what else to think when the knives stab her over and over to the elegy of I love you, I love you, I love you.

The trek from Fyxestroll Garden to the Alchemy Commission is sizable. The Dragon Lady could see you and do her best, but she’s seen where that’s led; best efforts gone to waste, inconsolable loved ones given false hope because they were too stubborn to let go.

Is that what she is? Too stubborn to let you go, even when she’s brought this karma upon you?

(Yes, something ugly whispers, this is your penance. Now it’s theirs too.)

“I...” you let out a strangled groan, and when your chest jerks upwards, it barely registers that you brush your lips against hers. There’s tears and snot everywhere, and you’re getting stronger - too strong for her to hold. Hanya’s forearms ache with the strain as gingko leaves begin to ravage your humanity and rip you apart.

The transformation process is cruel, but she promised to remain by your side. Twigs protrude from your neck, nestled between thorny brambles that poke and prod. You are not a Cloud Knight, so your screams aren’t muffled by armor - or muted by the numbness she feels when dealing with other cases.

It’s too real, it’s too much, and it’s not enough.

Drowned out by the previous mantra of I love you, the background vocals of I’m so sorry peter off into whispers that are soon lost among the sickening squelch of Xueyi’s blade cutting through you in one clean motion. The tip of the sword rests over Hanya’s heart, stained with your blood.

“...That’s not them anymore,” her sister says. It’s off-kilter, the way her brow is furrowed in a silent apology.

One can only hope.

taglist: @hanyi-writes, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#reblog #honkai star rail #dan heng #hanya #i love it when readers die IVE SAID THIS WAYY TOO MANY TIMES BUT IT REALLY DO HIT HARD #DAN HENG GOING THRU IT ON OUR BIRTHDAY :((( ITS OKAY BRO ILL WEAR UR MITTENS IN THE AFTERLIFE #sorry just the image of him sadly eating pancakes by himself BROOOOOO #AND HANYA GWEN SHAKES U U ATE SO HARD HERE #IM NOT A HANYA KISSER BUT OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO GOOD #U CAPTURED HER BLANK PERSONALITY SO WELL AND THEN WHEN SHE BROKE #xueyi going thats not them anymore OURGHHHHH #AND THE TWIGS GROWING .... NO ARMOR SO SHE GOTTA HEAR EVERY LAST SCREAM #loved this gwen this was worth the wait <3333 #others' writing

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