#He most likely had to listen to even more cruel accusations and gossips | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoichee · 4 years

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Hey! I read your Kise imagine recently and I adore it, it's rare to see someone write about manga!kise and I really loved it. Furthermore your writing is so so good to read 🥰 I wanted to ask you Kise x reader prompt 1! I would really like to read about him in such a situation ☺ Thank you Iain advance 😘

WAHHH TYSM ANON <33 IM SO HAPPY HEHE, and phew yall thought asshole kise was something but... have yall heard of TEIKO-era asshole kise??! NO?? dw, bc he’s debuting here // i wanted to really showcase his dual sides through more of dialogue (so we won’t really see what’s in Kise’s mind for this), so here it is hope you enjoy this anon!

Kise x Reader

Prompt: “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

Word Count: 2120

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it, Kise.”

“Huh?” he mocks with a condescending tone. “I didn’t peg you as someone who’d pull shit out of their ass like my last ‘ex-girlfriend.’ Just because I let you hang around me doesn’t mean you can parade around campus with an inflated ego.”

Your hands shake furiously at your sides, trying not to punch the basketball player square in the face.

“Me? With an ego? Look who’s damn talking!” you seethe. “I’m tired of the fact that we keep playing this stupid flirting game for months, only for it to go absolutely nowhere!”

“Have you ever stopped to use your brain and think about how flirting inherently is done in good casual fun?” Kise explains slowly, implying that you were the immature one in the situation. “Meanwhile, you have the audacity to get mad at me when you’re the one who’s using me for your own selfish gain!” Kise sends a heated glare but his eyes were tinged with betrayal.

“What the hell are you even talking about? Are you out of your mind?”

“Fuck this,” he scoffs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m leaving, I’m not dealing with this shit anymore. If you want attention, I’m not gonna entertain you anymore.”

“No, you will not leave!” you yell, trying to stop Kise in his tracks. He merely ignores you as he holds up a hand to do a wave with his back to you. “You’re going to explain what the hell you were talking about!”

You sprinted and held onto his sleeve to tug him back to face you, only to be met by the most bone-chilling gaze from him. You would’ve absolutely cowered in his presence if it wasn’t for the fact that you were irrationally angry from the false accusations Kise threw at you prior. You can definitely tell that Kise was biting his inner cheek to keep himself reasonably calm.

“Ryōta,” you say.

“Don’t call me by my first name anymore,” he says flatly.

“Where did you get the idea that I was using you?”

“Hah! Why? Does it matter? Are you gonna go to them and try to threaten them after? It’s so clear from the way you’re talking right now that you only see me as a prize to show off.” You inhale a huge breath to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret.

“I never saw you as some object, Ryōta,” you mildly scoff. “Let me make myself clear. All I wanted was a clear answer from you every time I asked you if you wanted something serious, but every single damn time, you changed the subject or never answered the question!”

“It’s all done in good fun. Does it really need to be serious?”

“But I want something serious with you!”

Kise merely turns away in silence, but you can see his body slightly tremble.

“... Ryōta?”

“Don’t lie to me like that…” he says, slightly sucking a breath. “... Look, if you really wanna use me to boost your popularity, just… just come clean, okay? I’ll go along with it if you tell me now. After all, we’ve been… good friends.”

“Lie? Why would I lie? I never thought once of using you or having any motives other than to get to know you personally as a friend, Ryōta,” you say, looking down on the grip you had on his sleeve still.

“What reason is there to know someone like this other than to activate a ticking time bomb while playing a game to pass that time? Isn’t that how it’s always been? Isn’t that what we are right now?”

Your senses tell you that something deeper beyond this surface argument has been troubling him. You slowly let go of his sleeve, before turning away with a sigh, leaving Kise absolutely confused.

“I think we both need to cool our heads,” you sigh. “We’ve both said too much, and… just… forget what I said, okay? And I’ll forget about what you told me.” Kise’s eyes widen at your statement.

“(y/n)-cchi…?”

“We can still do light-hearted banter like we always do the next time we see each other, okay Kise?” Your fists on your sides tremble before you hold up your head to give him a cheerful smile that’s eerily all too familiar to his own. You turn to walk away, but his heart squeezes painfully at the sight of your back to him like this. You’re so far from him. So far.

“Hold it, now…” he says, slightly sprinting to catch up to you. He grabs your hand, still balled tightly by your side. “You’re cruel, you know that? Demanding me not to leave but then leaving the conversation on your own accord? You’re a hypocrite.” He spins you around to see your eyes barely struggling to hold back fresh tears. Little did he know that your countenance was a mirror to his own.

“... Our heads aren’t in the right place, Kise. You should probably let go.”

“I probably should, huh…” he says, but still giving no sign that he was actually going through with it.

“Knowing you, you’d really hold my fist until someone has to actually separate you from me.”

“And knowing you, you’d probably punch me before anyone else had the chance to do so.”

“You know me so well, hm?” you muse, a tiny curl of your lip a different world than the one you gave moments before.

“... No,” he says with a slight frown. “I don’t think I know you well enough.”

“I don’t know you enough either, Kise.”

Silence falls between the two of you, frail as thin ice, before you eventually break it.

“... You’re right, this whole friendship we have right now… it’s a time bomb. It’s bound to fail and fall apart.”

“W-Wait,” Kise slightly says in shock. “That was… I didn’t mean it like—”

“No healthy relationship of any kind would last if we keep dancing around each other like this. I wanna be honest with you for once… I… don’t wanna do this banter anymore. I don’t wanna do these flirting games. I’m kinda tired of it. Especially when you always keep me at a distance.”

“Pfft, (y/n)-cchi,” he snorts loudly, flashing his sunny smile. “I’m practically so close to you holding your hand!”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you sigh, and you avert your gaze away. “You feel so far. I just… you feel so out of reach even when I’m in the same room as you… even as of now. I just want to know where we’ll end up.”

You firmly shake his grip off you, watching his hand falling back to his side as he does nothing but stare at you. You don’t know if he’s angry, offended, or shocked, but whatever his expression was, you couldn’t tell, not when you still stared at the concrete to the side rather than at him.

“Of course I wanna be friends with you,” you continue. “But can you blame me for believing that there’s something more between us when we do romantic gestures and flirting for months on end? If we’re just going to be friends, that’s fine, but I’d prefer if you’d also stop addressing me with -cchi, just to draw a clear boundary between us.” You finally look up to see Kise, but to your own shock, he looks quite bitter.

“You say that you’re confused about what we are, but then you go prattle to everyone else that you’re my significant other when we haven’t even talked a single thing about being a serious thing. You’re so fucking confusing.”

“I… did no such thing?” Your eyes, still puffy from the tear ducts, shine in genuine bewilderment.

“You… didn’t?”

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“I… um… oh…” All he could do was to stand there completely stupefied, mouth gaping as multiple realizations suddenly hit him like bricks. He rubs his neck as he shamefully looks away.

“So tell me,” you slowly say, giving him a more bone-chilling gaze than the one he gave you. “What exactly have you been hearing in the hallways?” You both stand there in silence again as Kise struggles to think of a way to explain it without sounding completely dumb.

“Okay, look… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors so easily, especially since I despise them too, but… they were about you, and I just couldn’t help myself…” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I… the thought of you getting close to me to use me really, really hurts.”

“And you thought just cutting me off on the spot was the most reasonable decision you can think of?”

“H-Hey…! Don’t put it like that! I thought I knew you well, but when I heard what people gossiped, my mind just went somewhere, and I thought maybe I misread you at some point. If you really did have ulterior motives, cutting you off wouldn’t be as easy as that other girl. Because I… w-wait! Where are you going?!”

“Home, Kise,” you flatly say. “It’s after school after all.”

“At least hear what I have to say!” He tries to catch up with you, but you only speed walk to outpace him. “Let me explain myself!”

“Hypocrite~” you say, using Kise’s mocking voice. “I don’t recall you letting me explain myself in the beginning.”

“(y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! I’ll pay for all the outings we’ll do this week! And um… I’ll always talk to you if something’s bothering me—don’t ignore me!”

“Didn’t I tell you not to use -cchi?” you sigh, stopping abruptly, causing Kise to accidentally bump against you. “I’ll forgive you, but we’re still only friends. I guess I’ll apologize for assuming things on my end, too.” Kise drops his head on your shoulder from behind, and you only roll your eyes in amusement at the familiar contact. “Oh dear, Kise. I didn’t think you were the type to be so clingy after a fight.”

“Okay, I’ll ‘fess up,” he says, voice muffled by your uniform blazer. “Even though we’ve always gotten along so well, there’s always been a part of me who’s been on the lookout for any possible signs that you only saw me for my reputation. While I enjoyed having you around, I had always been ready to cut you off if I saw anything suspicious, but… lately the thought of letting you go ached so much… and then I heard what the other students were talking about… how you were acting the entire time… how you somehow screwed over other people before… couldn’t really think properly after that.”

“Boo hoo,” you huff. “Do you want a kiss to make you feel better?”

“... I actually do.”

“I think our heads haven’t completely cooled down. I’m going ahead.” You were about to walk away, even though you very much enjoyed his head on your shoulder, but his arms wrap around you to stop moving any further from his side.

“You said that you wrongly assumed what we were…” he whispers. “But you’re actually right. We’ve been more than friends for a while without me really acknowledging it,” he chuckles at your groan, “I guess you really do know me well… I’m really attached to you… but it’s not fair that you’re so collected even when I’m hugging you like this.”

“Kise, you’re an idiot, do you know that?” you snort. “How are you hugging me but not noticing how fast my heart is beating?”

“H-Hey! Can you call me by my first name again? I said it without really thinking, okay? It hurts me every time you do that.” He gives the most comical pout, but you only punch the top of his head on your shoulder before walking ahead.

“I’m still mad at you. I’m going home.”

“(y/n)-cchi, w-wait! Let me walk you home, then!”

“Don’t call me that either. I’m still mad at you.”

“But aren’t we dating now? I can call you that if we’re a thing.”

“But I’m still mad. You still said all those horrible things, and that stung. You think you’re the only one hurting right now?”

“I’m really, really sorry! I’ll make it up to you, and I won’t say anything like that again, and…”

“You’re not being really convincing.”

“I know I was being immature and the one with the inflated ego, and I said things that aren’t remotely true—”

You sigh before you turn back to a panicking Kise behind you.

“Then you better make it up to me by cuddling me and telling me some sweet nothings, because I can really use that right now, Ryōta.”

#knb x reader #knb #knb fic #knb fics #knb scenarios #kise x reader #kise ryota #kise ryota x reader #kise ryouta #teiko middle school #teiko #knb teiko #manga kise

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years

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how to be a heartbreaker: rule five - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 4.8k

a/n: here she is the last rule. all i have to say is we’re sorry and we love yall so much, don’t cancel us on the dash. please please please leave us feedback, freya and i read every comment and cry, love you guys so much!!

“Is this last rule even necessary?” you rolled your eyes, listening to JJ blabber on and on. John B jumped in now and again to add extra information that JJ glossed over but for the most part, your blonde friend took the lead again.

Kie chimed in, “I don’t think that y/n of all people needs to be reminded not to fall.”

“Yeah, do i look stupid enough to fall for Rafe Cameron’s charms?” You said, giving JJ an inquisitive look.

JJ smirked at you, shrugging his shoulders, “Look, I trust you but you John B thought it might be a good one to add.”

“You never know what life could throw at you, kid,” John B chuckled, sipping on his bottle of beer, “to be on the safe side.”

You stood from the couch, a grin on your face as your hands rested on your hips, you looked at each one of your friends in the eye. “I promise you all now, I will not fall in love with Rafe Cameron.” JJ smirked at your response to the worried looks, reaching out to do your handshake with him before he started to talk about the next rule.

“Rule five: when they call, don’t be the first to fall”

Weeks passed in a blur, punctuated with spending more and more time with Rafe - more movie dates in the back of his truck, spending time at the driving range as he jokingly accused you of embracing your inner kook, taking you for rides on his yacht (which you had to admit was much more impressive than the HMS Pogue), and eventually taking you to that fancy restaurant on the coast. It was also interspersed with less and less time spent with the Pogues, you were pulling away from them whether you realized it or not.

On a night when Pope finally convinced you to spend time with them all, you were perched on a broken lawn chair as your friends sat around the dying fire with you.

As you sat there, nursing a can of warming PBR, your mind wandered to what a certain kook was doing. You thought about the way he made you laugh, how his body felt against yours, the slow way he claimed your body and your mouth, the look in his eyes after you had both finished, sweaty and spent, wrapped in each other’s arms. You thought about the soft way he played with your hair as you laid your head on his chest, the way it felt to fall asleep next to him, and the soft and quiet joy you felt waking up with his arm around your waist. Panic set in as you realized the implications of your feelings. Your.... feelings. You felt your chest tighten and your eyes widen as you began to comprehend the truth, stupid bet and stupider plan be damned, you were falling for public enemy number one, Rafe Cameron himself. Your mouth went dry and you began to have difficulties breathing. Suddenly a mess of blonde hair was in your face as JJ kneeled in front of you. Despite your earlier fight, you were still his best friend and when JJ noticed you about to slip into a panic attack, he reacted quickly.

You vaguely recognized the words leaving his mouth as your name and, ‘are you okay?’ but the sight of him was distressing you more. How could you be falling in love with Rafe Cameron when you were already deeply in love with the boy in front of you? The two were bitter enemies, no love lost between them. The thought distressing you more and more you could only shake your head and weakly attempt to push his hands from their place on your knee, gasping out “Pope, I need Pope.”

JJ’s face fell, the realization that he’s no longer the one you turn to for comfort stings but he calls out for Pope, stepping back at letting his friend help you through it. He watched intently as Pope calmed you down, breathing with you and trying to get you to focus on his voice and your surroundings. JJ stumbled over a branch, watching you grip to Pope like a lifeline, and he realized then that he lost you. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, and if he did, it was for ten minutes maximum. He’d come by your house and it’d be empty, he’d wait in your bedroom and each time your bed looked as if it hadn’t been used in days. His messages went unanswered and it was getting hard to ignore the gossip of Rafe Cameron dating a pogue that fell off every middle aged woman’s tongue as he mowed their lawn.

He took one last look at you before turning his back to his friends and stalking away from the chateau with only one mission evident in his blurry mind. He ignored the protests of Kie and John B, feeling his friend grip his wrist to stop him but he made a clear break to his bike, jumping on it and starting the engine, making a beeline to figure eight.

An hour or two later you were making your way down the beach away from your friends. You had noticed JJ wasn’t there when you’d finally calmed down in Pope’s arms, but you just shrugged it off, assuming he’d found some blonde barbie touron and gone home with her. Your heart was pounding in your chest at the anticipation of seeing Rafe, he had messaged you earlier to meet him down by the lifeguard station. Despite your earlier freak out, you knew that your feelings for Rafe were genuine and you couldn’t wait to see him, to put all this behind you and start a real relationship with him, if he’d have you.

Spotting his tall figure sitting on the beach, you smiled to yourself and approached him quietly, covering his eyes with your hands and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. You felt him tense up, and your brows furrowed, Rafe had never acted so stiffly around you. Not since you’d started whatever was going on between you.

“You don’t have to do that,” he spoke lowly, sounding as though his throat was raw as he pulled your hands off of him.

“D-Do what?” you asked, stepping in front of him and grabbing his face in your hands. He leant into your touch for a moment, eyes closed before they slowly opened, revealing his red eyes.

“Pretend,” he looked right into your eyes and deep into your soul as you felt your heart shatter.

“Pretend? Rafe?” you don’t know why you were asking him, the realization had set in quickly that JJ wasn’t off with some touron, he was off ruining your happiness. Rafe stood up from the sand, his stature towering over you but he didn’t look as intimidating or as confident as he usually did, he looked heart broken. You had done it, you thought bitterly to yourself. You had perfected how to be a heartbreaker.

“Maybank told me everything, your stupid little plan, the stupid bet. All of it,”

“R-Rafe,” your voice broke, taking a step closer to him but he stumbled away from you, “It’s not what you think.”

Rafe scoffed drily, shaking his head, “You’re going to do that now? I know everything, y/n! You can’t fucking deny it! I trusted you with things, I-I opened up to you about everything… my mother,” he cried, ignoring the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t care how he looked in this moment, he couldn’t care less if someone was filming him to expose him at some big party; he fell in love with you and he was broken, he wanted you to know how you made him feel.

“Rafe, when I agreed to do this, I wasn’t thinking about the ending… I was just thinking about how to get back at you for all the shit you put us through.”

A loud, heavy sigh passed his lips and the anger furried behind the agony, “That’s the problem with you and your fuckin pogues,” Rafe snapped, “You think you’re all innocent and I'm this awful monster you can pin the blame on. As if Maybank doesn’t start half, if not more of our fights, as if he’s never said something disgusting about my sister to me thinking he could get away with that. As if you didn’t pretend to fall in love with me just to see the look in my eyes when you tell me it was all a lie.”

“Yes, okay, I admit it, I was pretending at the start,” you shouted at him, feeling all your emotions piling over the edge, “But I wasn’t pretending for the last few weeks. Rafe I-” You blinked back tears, sobs threatening to rip from your lips, “I fell in love with you too.”

“How do I know you aren’t pretending right now? I bet that would be real funny to you and your friends, convince me that you’re in love with me too just to make it hurt even more when you pull the rug out for real.” He shook his head in utter disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had been so wrong about you. He thought that you cared for him, that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. When JJ had showed up at his house, Rafe hadn’t believed him at first, you couldn’t be that cruel. But the look on your face when he said ‘you don’t have to do that’ confirmed it all for him. Rafe thought the worst pain he would ever feel in his life was standing over his mother’s casket at her funeral, but this came close.

“I'm not, Rafe, trust me… I’ve never felt this way about anyone and yes, I’ll forever regret how it started but-”

“You already won, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he shook his head, interrupting you and turning to walk away.

“Rafe, stop!” you begged, grabbing onto his wrist, but he easily shook you off.

“Congratulations, you got what you wanted, I fell in love with you,” Rafe muttered, disdain dripping from his tongue, “I hope you and Maybank are really happy together, don’t ever speak to me again,” he snarled, giving you one last look before he walked away from you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged, before you felt your knees give out, collapsing into the sand. The sobs you had barely been keeping at bay finally escaped your lips, the sound heart wrenching to anyone who was unfortunate to be near enough to hear them.

JJ must have been nearby, because he was on you in a second, “y/n?!” He was gripping your shoulders, attempting to pull you in for a hug, but you shoved him as hard as you could away from you, and frantically clawed at the sand to propel you backwards, away from him.

"This is all your fault!" You wanted to scream and shout at the top of your lungs, but you couldn't, your voice was a weak whimper. JJ watched you intently, his heart slowing at the sight of you, tears streaming down your face. He can count the amount of times he'd seen you cry on one hand, and it was a sight he wanted to erase from his mind completely.

"Y/n, i-" but he didn't know what to say. He knew what he'd done, he wasn't thinking about you when he said those words. He was solely focused on breaking Rafe's heart that he never considered yours.

“I know you couldn’t ever love someone like me, but that didn’t mean you had the right to stop everyone else from it. Am I that repulsive, that disgusting that you feel the need to ruin any chance I have at happiness?” You sobbed, head falling into your hands. You knew JJ would never love you the way you wanted, and you knew that he was always threatening boys to keep them away from you, but you never thought he would actually do this.

“Y/n, that’s- that’s not-” he was struggling to find the words to say to show you that wasn’t how he felt about you at all.

"I-I'm done, JJ, I'm done chasing something that will never happen," You shook your head, voice hoarse from the screaming and the crying. The one man you wanted to wrap his arms around you and comfort you couldn’t even look at you anymore; the man you shared the softest of moments with in such a short span of time, the man that made you feel something, made you feel wanted and loved.

“Y/n, we can work this out,” JJ pleaded, kneeling down in front of you but you shook your head, pushing him away again. “You’re my best friend and I love you, y/n.”

You choked out a strangled laugh, “Love? Fuck you JJ, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“That’s not true, I know I love you.” He pleaded again, stupidly reaching for you a third time. But this time his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to him and he crashed his lips against yours. You struggled against him, his grip strong and tight until you bit his lip. He let go of your wrists in shock and you took the opportunity to slap his cheek as hard as you could.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You cried at him, “You can’t just do that to me JJ. You know that I have been in love with you our whole lives, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to do this ever.” You finally managed to get up, tears falling from your face.

“Y/n, I-” he started again, realizing that he had well and truly fucked up this time, possibly ruining your friendship beyond repair.

“Congratulations, you broke Rafe Cameron’s heart… but you also broke mine.” You spit at him and walked into the night.

JJ sat there on his knees for a moment in shock, staring at his hands that had just held you. His lips were tingling with a kiss that he had craved since the first and last time when you were both fourteen. But it was all wrong. He had waited too long, thinking that you would always just be there in the wings, waiting for him to get his shit together and then you could be together. He had always just taken for granted his beautiful best friend, the one who he swore up and down he didn’t have feelings for, but deep down he always knew he did.

One minute, he’s wallowing in the consequence of his actions, the next, Pope is shoving him, telling him to ‘get up’.

“You idiot!” Pope shouted. JJ had never seen his best friend this mad before, and never at him. Not when JJ had pulled that gun on Topper, not when they had sunk that boat, not even when JJ had attacked you for sleeping with Rafe. But here Pope was, practically shaking with rage that was all directed at him. “When I said tell her how you feel, I didn’t mean destroy her relationship with Rafe and attack her with your face.”

“Yeah, but it was a relationship with Rafe. Cameron.” JJ enunciated the syllables of his enemies first and last name.

“A relationship that you unconsciously set up, and no matter who it is with, y/n is our best friend! We should support it, but we’ll never get the chance now because y/n is a sobbing mess in the house adamant that Rafe wants nothing to do with her. Because of you!”

“I- I didn’t want to hurt her,” JJ lamely replied, eyes downcast on the sand rather than look into the rightfully furious eyes of his best friend.

“And what did you think was going to happen when you exposed the plan to Rafe? Or when you tried to kiss y/n right after her heart was torn out of her chest, huh? What is wrong with you?”

“I wasn’t really thinking, man,” JJ ran his hands over his face, exhaling loudly.

“Clearly,” Pope replied drily, shaking his head at the idiocy of his best friend, wondering if there was a way to fix this, or if JJ had ruined everything.

Only a few feet away, you lay curled up against Kie’s side as she stroked your hair and let you cry on her shoulder. “I love him, Kie, I love him and he wants nothing to do with me. And he’s right to want nothing to do with me. What do I do?”

“Right now, you sleep it off.” She said softly, not understanding your love for the boy who had only ever made your friends’ lives hell, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t support it, support you. You loved her for that.

“And then?” You whispered sleepily, the exhaustion of the last hour of your life seeping deep into your bones.

“I believe if two people are meant to be together, eventually they’ll find their way back.”

Tag list:

htbah taglist (link to add yourself to the google form in the series masterlist!):

@solllaris @drewswannabegirl @starrystarkey93 @httpstarkey @sweetlysilent @drewstarkey @dontjinx-it @ultranikilove @spencereidbasis @meaganjm @starlightstarkey @thortheestallion @jiaraendgame @idocarealot @tempestuousjj @pink-meringues @dpaccione @arianabrashierstuff @softstarkey @loveylangdon @xenagzb @teenwaywardasgardian @prejudic3 @nxsmss @canibeoneofthepogues @outerbanksbro @obx-direction-sos @nqbmf @digniteas @annedub @colorful-queen-of-the-roses @yesp0ny @loveniallandharryonedirection @fantasticpsychicfanfish @girls-breaking-hearts @beautyandthebleh @casper17 @mozz-are-lla @parkershoco @unfortunatekiwitrash @loverofmineluke @slutforjjmaybank @skiesofthesketchy @httpstarkey @sugarcoatedcalum @amorisxx @trinnwazheree @stargazingstarkey @obx-saltlife @juliarose21 @hyperactive2411 @mcarignan @feyrecauldron-blessed @sportygal55 @popcrone818 @wtfkie @raekenliar @letsgotothehop @walkingtothesun @outerbanksbro @summerkaulitz @glux64 @itslilithsstuff @softsunlightskies @kaitieskidmore1 @mycowatemyhw @poguepunk

rodeo rafe babies who said they were interested:

@royalmerchant @outerbankslut @honeyycheek @jellyfishbeansontoast @ilovejjmaybank @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @https-luna @butgilinsky @rae131415

diverdcwn everything taglist:

@velyssaraptor @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @downbytheouterbanks @ilovejjmaybank @bricksatanakinswindow @jellyfishbeansontoast @sunwardsss @rudyypankow @im-a-stranger-thing @alexa-playafricabytoto @maybankfullkook @sortagaysortahigh @socialwriter @bluesiderudy @anxietyandtacos @diverrdown @stargazingstarkey

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #im so sorry #freyby writes #diverdcwn writes #htbah #did we end that on a gossip girl quote??? maybe #the end....right?

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notabloodmage · 3 years

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Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard.

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall.

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed.

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful.

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now.

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned.

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too.

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months.

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake.

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon?

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay.

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice.

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt.

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a .

So brave, even then.

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed.

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh.

It wasn’t a bad laugh.

Not condescending. Not cruel.

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter.

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.”

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly.

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted.

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that.

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell.

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest.

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin.

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them.

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day.

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates. Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop.

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too.

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows.

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause.

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest.

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...”

Always seeking justice, even then.

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows.

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth.

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her.

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get.

And it was good, indeed. For a time.

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own.

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly.

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots.

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to.

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been.

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good.

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills.

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense.

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.

#barlin is an icon ok i love that dude #he's just a crazy old man who like poison and i can respect that #anyway here's some Emotions #Hawke #bethany hawke #carver hawke #the hawke family #amell #leandra hawke #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #elf malcolm hawke #rogue hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #da2 fanfic #minerva hawke #handers #if you squint

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sweetiejunie · 4 years

Text

Fantasy

Summary: You’re the not-so-typical girl next door

Genre: Slight fluff, smut «60-70% is just smut»

Beomgyu x reader

—.*•—

A/n: this was the smut i was hesistant about posting. I thought about it for a couple weeks and decided to just post it •_•

[Note: If ure only int in the ‘smut’ part, it roughly starts at the —.✿ฺ— till the end]

=====================================

Beomgyu knew he recognised you from somewhere. He just couldn’t figure out where. The way you smirked, the way you played with your hair, all seemed familiar to him. But where?

That night soobin had invited him and yeonjun out to a diner with him and this girl he had been seeing, soyu. Apparently, and he quoted, soyu had ‘two hot friends that she met recently and thought a night out with everyone would be fun’. So in case you hadn’t figured it out yet, soobin invited them to some triple-date deal.

At first, beomgyu was reluctant to go. He didn’t like the idea of blind dating. The previous time someone had set him up with a girl they claimed to be ‘his perfect match’, the girl turned out to be the exact opposite of what he liked. She was loud, ill-mannered and overall just too childish. Honestly, he had no idea how anyone could have thought he would like her. Since then, beomgyu always preferred to choose the people he dated. But for some odd reason, he agreed to soobin’s proposal. Not sure why, but something told him he was going to regret it if he didn’t.

That’s how he ended up here, in a ‘U’ shaped booth with two of his closest friends and three, admittedly, really good looking girls. Aside from soyu, the other two girls were you and your coworker, Zoe. As these things would typically go, everyone would be paired up. In this case it was of course, soobin and soyu, yeonjun and you, leaving beomgyu with Zoe. Not that Beomgyu had anything against zoe, it was just that as the group started talking more, the contrast between you and Zoe’s personalities started to become more noticeable. Zoe was sweet, your typical girl-next-door, while you were more sly, mysterious. You were the girl every mother feared their son dating. Yet, something about you drew beomgyu in, something seemed like déjà vu.

Yeonjun was the first to point out this difference. “You know, you and zoe are pretty different, it’s kind of surprising you two are friends.”

“Y/N just started working at my salon recently and i dont know, the three of us just cliqued,” zoe stated.

“Where did you work before that?” Beomgyu asked you, hoping your answer could give some clues to his mystery.

“I just moved here from London last month,” you replied.

London, that’s one clue. Beomgyu made a mental note. You continued on about your story, telling them about, when you a teenager, how you had moved in with your grandparents and studied in korea until you graduated high school. How your parents thought your behaviour was getting out of hand and how they thought sending you abroad would someone solve that problem. In all honesty, they probably just didn’t want to have to deal with you anymore and sending you to an overseas dormitory seemed like a liable option. You were never a bad student, in fact you actually scored straight A’s and was always the too in your class. Your behaviour was what drew the line with your family, always getting caught skipping classes and trespassing on school property during the night. They were just done with it and sent you packing.

As beomgyu picked up each clue you dropped, he started to remember his neighbour when he was about 17. A girl that moved in with the elderly couple that lived next door and went to the same school as him. Rumours eventually spread about that girl. At school, he heard the students gossiping about her, saying her parents had threw her to live with her grandparents cause they didn’t want to deal with her. That in her previous school she seduced boys and slept around. Breaking school rules to the point of suspension, leading her here. Parents, including his own, were instructing their children not to befriend her and to stay away from her. The more beomgyu heard about the girl, the more intrigued he became.

Even though beomgyu was in a different class from her, just from all the talking, it felt as if he knew her. He saw her pretty regularly, in the cafeteria, in the halls and even at the bus stop, most of the time, if not always, she was alone. He felt bad seeing someone he ‘knew’ on their own but being the good child he was, he listened to his mother and stayed away. Of course, this made her an easy target for bullies, or so they thought. Every time they tried to pull a cruel prank on her, she never reacted the way they wanted. When they poured something over her head she would simple shrug and go to clean herself off.

When another girl talked behind her back, or straight up tried to insult her, instead of getting embarrassed or mad, she would laugh and reply with, “i know I’m a bitch. I never tried to hide it.”

Eventually, the bullying stopped and boys started wanting to get closer to her, something about her pulling them in. She however, never really showed much interest in any of the boys that threw themselves at her. Through her time in there, she never had any trouble getting one of the boys to be her ‘little assistant’ for the day, be it running to the nearest convenient store for her snacks or kneeling on the ground and tying her shoe laces. Any boy would have killed to be in that position, wanting to test their luck with her.

Throughout her time there, beomgyu never spoke to her. He never so much as asked for her name. But since they were neighbours, beomgyu saw her often, mostly on the bus, but he always kept his distance. Every now and then, students approached him asking for information about the mysterious girl, but he could never give them any, saying he didn’t know anything. People found it hard to believe, beomgyu was one of the most charming and best looking guys in the school, if he wanted to, he could get someone falling head over heels for him in minutes. But he knew better than to get involved with her.

She wasn’t the prettiest, maybe slightly above average at best. But her attitude automatically attracted people’s attention. The aura she possessed, one of power and manipulation. From what beomgyu had observed, she was a kind and friendly person and would have probably even made a good friend. But she had a strange way of figuring out what people wanted from her and then using it against them to do her bidding.

—.✿ฺ—

Beomgyu’s bedroom window faced out overlooking hers. On occasion, she would fail to shut her curtains all the way and beomgyu would look in, seeing a small section of her room, her figure walking past every so often.

One evening however, while beomgyu was studying, he suddenly heard a soft noise from across alley. Shocked, he snapped his head up. Only to see the curtains were still drawn. Looking out to the driveway, he realised the car that was normally parked there was replaced by a new black one. Thinking back, he couldn’t recall ever seeing the elderly couple driving it. It wasn’t their car. Intrigued, he continued to listen, hearing more noise which eventually he identified to be moaning. And suddenly they stopped, ending with a long sigh. Soon after, he saw her walking out from her house, in a plain tshirt, as she lead someone to the mystery car. It was a boy, one that he may have seen around campus before but never acknowledged. The boy placed a kiss on her forehead and entered the car, driving away.

At that moment, beomgyu knew. He cheeks grew red as he felt his pants tighten just at the thought. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he looked back down, only met by her gaze. She had turned around and saw his silhouette at his window. Quickly crouching down to hide, he clutched his chest. He was screwed.

That morning, he feared having to face her again. She saw him, he was one hundred percent certain about it. He stood at the bus stop, his mind still a complete mess. Hitting his head with his hand until he noticed her walking out of her house. Immediately he froze, expecting her to accuse him of his deed. But to his surprise, she didn’t. She didnt so much as spare him a single glance. Part of him was relieved, but the rest of him was starting to panic more, overthinking what it could possibly mean. But maybe she didn’t see him afterall. At school, beomgyu never muttered a single word about it to the others. The thought of having o share what he knew wasn’t something he was very fond of.

That night, beomgyu laid at his usual spot on his bed, reading. Interrupted when the sudden light from her bedroom lit up the otherwise dark alley. Looking across, she had just taken a shower, she was in nothing but a towel, her hair wet and skin sprinkled with water droplets. He couldn’t help but stare at the sight in front of him. No matter how perverted he knew he was being, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched as she entered her room, closing the door behind her. He figured next she would approach her window and draw the curtains, like usual. But instead, she sat on her bed, her back facing him. Placing her clothes next to her, she unravelled the towel around her, letting it drop and gather around her hip. Her bare back, now exposed to him. He knew it wasn’t much, but combined with the thought from the previous day, it was enough to get him worked up.

Not wanting to be seen again, he ran to turn his room lights off. He sat the edge of his bed, still facing her, as he started to palm himself. He studied her actions carefully, taking in the way she carefully dried herself with the towel, using a hairdryer to lightly blow dry her hair. He felt himself get harder in his sweats, just imagining what a front view would look like. Just as the thought came to mind, she stood up, towel falling on the floor, her rear end now on show to him. He wished how he could reach out and squeeze her with his hands. Sliding his hand into his boxers, he started moving his hand on his length. He felt as if he had a front row seat to the show that is your life. He continued jerking himself off as she continued on with her nighttime routine, struggling to keep himself silent. Eventually, she turned around to put her clothes on, allowing beomgyu to see her body clearly while she dressed herself. That alone got him to come undone, ruining his boxers as he continued to ride out his high. His hand lazily running along his now softened dick.

Again, the next morning beomgyu was terrified to see her. But once again, she acted as if nothing had happened. Whenever he passed her on the streets or in school, she always acted as if she didn’t know him. At this point, beomgyu thought he had gotten away with it. Cause he couldn’t think of any reason why someone would leave their curtains open, knowing that their neighbour is spying on then.

With the third night rolling around, beomgyu kept his lights off, using only his table lamp to study. Once again, he looked over, her curtains were open but today, she was just sitting on her bed, dressed only in an oversized shirt and panties, reading a book with her bedside lamp on. The lamp wasn’t the brightest, but it was enough for beomgyu to see what she was doing. He sat staring at her for nearly an hour, watching her switch between her book and her phone. Finally, she put her book down beside her. Beomgyu assumed she was probably going to bed until he saw her pull her panties off, throwing them on the floor.

He watched as she slowly slid one of her hand under her shirt, massaging her breast as small high pitched moans left her lips. His eyes widen, his mouth falling open. Immediately, beomgyu felt himself getting aroused. Moving closer to his window, as if one feet could get him any better of a view, his forehead was pressed against the glass. Her other hand moving down to touch herself. Beomgyu’s hand shamelessly moving to his own pants as she started pumping her fingers in and out slowly, as if she was teasing him intentionally. After a few minutes, she stopped, pulling off her shirt, exposing her body to him. Her hands going back to what they were originally doing. Only this time, he could see her kneading and playing with her breast as her fingers rubbed her clit. Beomgyu began stroking himself, eventually completely ridding himself of his pants and boxers, leaving himself bare for anyone to see.

Beomgyu closed his eyes, imagining that it was her hands around him instead of his own, the feeling of her small, fragile hands around his dick, pleasuring him. Suddenly, another moan escape her lips, causing him to shoot his eyes open, he stare falling back on her and how her back arched as she got closer to her high. Fuck, how much he wished he could jump over the alley and take care of it for her. The thought of roughly fucking her against her bedroom door, making her regret torturing him like this, even if she didn’t know it.

Beomgyu admired as her moans got louder, echoing across the alley, filling his ears, letting him bask in the sound. As he watched her fingers pumped faster, his hand speeding up its movement. His leaned against the window, not wanting to miss a second. Soon, he had to use his free hand to muffle to sounds of his own grunts, feeling himself coming as soon as she did, finishing at the same time. Streams of his cum dripping down the wall he leaned against. He was still panting for air as he stayed focus on her. Her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

Up till graduation, beomgyu would spend his evenings looking out his window, his hands down his pants at whatever she gave. Most days, it was nothing, just her studying or watching netflix shows. Some days it was her naked in front of the mirror, preparing for bed. But on the days he got lucky, he would be able to see her pleasuring herself. And on rare days, he would even be able to see her get fucked by other men. How he wished he could be one on top of her, but he knew that wouldn’t happen.

Beomgyu would admit that, within those months, what he did was wrong, but it just felt so right. Every evening he looked forward to the show she was going to perform. However one day, a few weeks after graduation, it all just stopped. Her blinds where drawn once again and all he could remember was overhearing his parents talking about how the elderly couple next door was sending their granddaughter to study in the UK.

For some reason, it stung. Even though they didn’t even know each other, beomgyu felt as if he had been abandoned. Now and then, he found himself checking out his window, in hopes she would suddenly appear again, but it never happened.

This brings us back to the present. Beomgyu sat in the booth next to zoe, unaware that she had been talking to him for the past few minutes.

Was it really you? What were you doing back so soon? Was all that was going through beomgyu’s mind.

“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun called, snapping his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Zoe’s talking to you.”

“What? Oh, sorry i spaced out. You were saying, zoe?” Beomgyu apologised, trying to keep his focus on the girl he was supposed to be giving his attention to.

But as she continued talking, he still found himself stealing glances at you. The way you laughed at something yeonjun told you. And the way you lightly hit his shoulder when he made a joke.

Just as zoe was about to say something else, beomgyu interrupted her, “yeonjun, let’s go order some milkshakes for everyone.”

“What-,” before yeonjun could reply, beomgyu grabbed his arm, forcing him to get up and follow him.

When he was sure they were far enough away, beomgyu spoke again, “listen, dont ask any questions. We need to trade.”

“What why? Aren’t you and zoe having a good time?”

“I- we are,” beomgyu started, “it’s just, i need to talk to y/n. I think she used to be my neighbour.”

“Then why dont you just asked her like this? There’s no way im trading. Zoe is cool and all but y/n is cool,” yeonjun replied, putting emphasis on the last part.

With that, yeonjun walked back to the table, leaving beomgyu to sigh in frustration. There was no way he could just ask you like that in front of everyone. Going to order a couple milkshakes, he returned to the table. This time, he noticed Yeonjun’s arm around the back of the booth. It was his usual, eventually, his arm would end up around you, pulling you closer to him. It was infuriating, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Some ways through the night, you had excused yourself to go answer a phone call. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, beomgyu excused himself after you. Following you to an empty hallway that connected with the bathrooms. An emergency exit at the end. He waited around the corner, calling your name the moment he saw you put down the phone.

“Y/n, hey.”

“Oh hi beomgyu, where you waiting for me?” You asked, perking an eyebrow at him.

“No-,” he considered lying for a second, but saw no point for it. “Actually, i was. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well what is it that you couldn’t say in front of the others?” You asked, folding your arms and leaning against the wall. After all these years, you still had the same powerful aura that left him speechless and flustered.

“I- er. I don’t think you would remember but... i think we used to be neighbours... We went to the same school.”

You chuckled at his hesitation, “i do remember you, beomgyu. The moment i saw you even.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Probably the same reason you couldn’t. Dont think I didnt know about you jerking off, watching me every night. I’m not blind beomgyu,” you smirked.

Beomgyu swallowed hard, looking at the ground as face turned a shade of red, “you knew? I’m sorry. But if you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Knowing that i got my hot neighbour jerking off to the sight of me was thrilling. Teasing you every now and then, my poor boy,” you leaned in closer to him before practically whispering the rest, “got me so damn turned on.”

Once again, beomgyu was at a loss for words. He felt the blood from his head rush to between his legs. The thought of him jerking off to you turned you on?

“I only wish you would have let me watch you as well,” you said out of the blue, causing beomgyu’s head to snap up in shock.

“I think you owe me. Don’t you, baby boy?”

By just listening to your words, beomgyu was getting harder by the second. Looking down, it was blatantly obvious to everyone.

“Poor thing. Do you want help with that?” You asked, you hand ghosting over his clothed dick.

Beomgyu tried to keep his cool but ended up frantically nodded at your statement, “why dont we go somewhere else?”

“You dirty boy. We’re in a public place and all you can think about is getting off. Tsk. I think you should take care of it yourself, don’t you?” This time, you walked towards the exit door, leaning against it and got beomgyu to face you. “I want you to jerk off. Right here. I think you owe me, after months of watching me do it.”

“But-“

“Or you know what, im just going back to join the others,” you quickly said, cutting off beomgyu’s argument.

“No!” He said, a bit too eagerly, clearing his throat immediately after.

“I knew you weren’t as innocent as your portrayed,” you shot him a smirk, palming him through his jeans and watched as beomgyu’s eyes shot open.

Undoing his zipper, you pulled his dick out, leaving beomgyu to savour that short moment of having your hands on him. He was almost completely hard by this point, the tip red, pointing slightly upwards. Slowly, he grabbed himself and started pumping his length.

Leaning closer to him, you put your arms around his neck and whispered, “have you ever fantasied about this before? You jerking yourself off in front of me in a public place.”

Shaking his head as a response, he started working himself faster, feeling himself get more turned on by your words, using the precum that was leaking out as lubricant. He felt embarrassed you could have this kind of an effect on him but he couldn’t care right now.

“Fuck, you know baby boy, since high school, ive always found you really attractive. And seeing you like this right now is actually really hot. I’m actually staring to wonder how you would feel.”

“Then let’s go somewhere more private. I swear ill take really good care of you,” beomgyu suggested, hoping it would convince you, losing his breath as he felt his dick start to twitch in his hand.

“No, i think i like it here. Do you remember how i looked back then? I always made sure to be within your view so you could see me.”

Beomgyu shut his eyes as he listened to you speak. He remembered those days as clear as crystal. Right now, he wondered if anyone walked by, would they know exactly what you two were doing? He felt nervous getting caught. But at the same time, the though thrilled him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so turned on, excited and worried at the same time.

“Look at me baby. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you come. I bet it must be so hot right? I wonder what your friends would think if they knew what you did. Would they think you’re a pervert? Would they think you’re so lucky right now? While they’re stuck back there being good boys with their dates, you’re here, getting off.”

Looking up at you, beomgyu saw your signature smirk as you watched his hand moving up and down his length. His hand moved faster as he got closer got coming. Never in a million years would he have thought he would be in this situation. The girl of all this teenage fantasies watching him jerk off in a public hallway. The more he thought about his, the closer he got. A struggled groan coming from his throat.

“Fuck, im- im cumming.”

Taking a step aside, you watched him spill his cum onto the back door. You gaze never leaving beomgyu’s face until he relaxed. He looked down, tucking himself back into his pants and laughed.

“Well, fuck. I never thought i would do that,” he stated, “so what do you want to do now? I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“I’m going back to the table,” you shrugged.

“Wha- I’m sorry, what? Why?”

“I left yeonjun alone. In case you forgot, he was supposed to be my date for the night.”

“You’re still planning to spend the night with him?” Beomgyu asked, completely shocked by your answer.

“Of course i am. It’s rude to leave halfway.”

“I was really hoping this wouldn’t be a one time thing,” he admitted, a different look in eyes.

“Trust me, it wont be,” with that you started to walk away from beomgyu, leaving him on his own to make himself decent again before joining you and the others back at the table.

Sure, it hurt seeing you still with yeonjun, his arm around your shoulders, whispering things into your ear that made you laugh. But the thought of being able to meet you again was enough the keep beomgyus’s head up. It felt as if all his teenage fantasies were coming through.

=====================================

Ahhhh i freaked out about posting this. Hope u liked this!!! Inspo from smt i read a few years back (i dont rly remember what cause its been so long).-.

Masterlist

#txt fanfic #txt au #txt imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu smut #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu au #choi beomgyu #txt smut #beomgyu #txt network #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop smut #kpop fanfic

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generallypo · 4 years

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move over maschenny, we’ve got a hotter and cooler Khun princess in the tower now.

introducing Khun Aguero Jahad, the one and only princess that Jahad actually, sincerely hopes never wins the competition.

excessive rambling under the cut + a short fic under that. all my warnings are dead and void as of now. cheers!

-- -- -- -- -- --

i sat on my salt for a couple of days -- and then finally, finally decided to do something about it. my previous TOG post kinda went ham on that. yeehaw.

i imagine jahadprincess!khun is a little more snakey than the original (is that possible?). having climbed the tower at a blistering pace following her selection, she’s also a more competent fighter, though it additionally means she needs to use her brain less. though she plays more by her family’s and Jahad’s rules, she’s not particularly ruled by her bloodlust in the way Maschenny is, or utter complacency like Repellista. her outfit is shamelessly ripped off of Yuri’s and the casual officewear aesthetic khun sports in s1.

anyways, i did The Big Write. it has been 3 years since i have attempted such a thing. the process was complicated and stressful, i drank milk tea to compensate. i wanted to depict the moment of a big decision in which a characteristically selfish person does something shockingly altruistic, as well as the bystander who questions her motives. it’s not quite khunbam, more like an intense, one-sided dedication and some sorely needed soul searching.

played fast and loose with characterization, timelines, general TOG canon while banging out this beast. like every middle child, i’m not super proud of it, but it gets the job done. i had a great time with it! really!

-- -- -- -- -- --

Unsurprisingly, it’s Yuri who finds her first.

Her heels, lustrous and scarlet, click faintly on the rooftop tiles, and their mild echo belies nothing of the thunder on her face, or the sibilant presence of the Black March at her side. Aguero turns to meet her, inclines her head in response.

“Why, princess Yuri. It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Cut the crap, Aguero,” she snaps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Aguero raises her hands. From one of them, Manbarondenna dangles innocently, unclasped buckles gleaming under fake starlight.

“Waiting for my ride. I’m not expecting a plus one, though.” She smiles pleasantly, eyes narrowed. “Run along now. This is a single-passenger trip.”

Yuri growls. “Seriously?” She steps forward with intent, and Aguero momentarily tenses, fingers flying to her bag — but just barely, Yuri’s features soften, and she stops. Dramatically, she cocks her head, ponytail bobbing with vigor.

“You,” she points emphatically. “You’re actually going to do this. You’re not worried about the consequences.”

She states it like an accusation, but the palest shade of concern colors her voice. Are you sure of what you’re doing? Leaving this place -- leaving all of us? A complicated expression crosses her features, and she scowls.

“This won’t just affect you, Aguero.” Firmly, her hand rests on the Black March’s handle. Do you want me to stop you?

“… I’m aware.” A pause, and oh, ugh, Aguero’s doing it again — that nasty, calculating look on her face, the one that reminds onlookers, in no uncertain terms, exactly how the princess had come by her position. Yuri balks uncharacteristically, and steps away.

It’s not like she doesn’t think she can take Aguero in a fight… but it’s not what she had come here for in the first place. After knowing each other this long, the least she can do is offer her support, not another enemy. Aguero has no problems with making — and gleefully crushing — the latter.

She looks at the woman before her. Khun Aguero Jahad, formerly surnamed Agnis. Not so long ago, a nameless little nobody — somebody’s second, second-choice, second-rate daughter, born in a family with too many offspring to invest attention into a daughter lacking outstanding martial prowess or an especially fetching face. A forgotten girl, wholly incongruent to the imposing figure Yuri knows her as now.

The air around them vibrates with tension, laced with an inexorable chill -- it’s not a trick of the light, Yuri notices, that her breath seems a little more visible than normal, that the sweat on her forehead feels almost solid to her skin. Aguero is watching her, face bright and predatory, and it’s a stark reminder that even beautiful things can be cold and unforgiving.

The crown jewel of the Khun family sneers, and Yuri braces herself for impact.

— — —

Khun Aguero Agnis had almost always been a slippery, unremarkable thing, with willow branches for arms and a sullen, snarky mien. On her placid, faintly superior face sat two intelligent, gem-blue eyes — pretty enough, but also afflicted with an attitude chilly enough to wither even the most persistent suitor’s desire. To her family, and an equally hostile Tower, she was both undesirable and unsupported — and consequently, insignificant.

Yuri had met her before, once. It had been an event much, much longer ago, during a nameless, perfectly ordinary mission to deliver some sealed goods. A loaded favor of sorts, from one family to another. Bright and on the cusp of princesshood, hair still bound in youthful twin tails, she had been greeted at the door of one of the numerous Khun establishments by a slim joke of a girl.

Thanks for your work, the girl had said, eyes blue and sleepless and unreadable. I’ve been expecting you. With mechanical efficiency, the girl received, inspected, and stowed the package away, vanishing from the gate within seconds.

Baffled, Yuri withdrew, scratching her head. She’d been given a verification stamp to use at the end, but the package had made it to the correct address regardless.

I’ve been expecting you, the Khun girl had said. That counted as a mission complete, didn’t it?

If not for the silvery-blue shock of her hair, no one would have guessed the girl a child of one of the great ten families. Favored Khuns, after all, were generally not disposed towards handling petty messenger duties. The observation had barely registered for Yuri, and not much later a more exciting adventure came along to wipe the encounter from her mind. Favored or not, there were more interesting, deadly things in the Tower to focus on.

A couple hundred years ago, though… things had changed, and drastically so. Yuri doesn’t know or exactly care for the inner politics or delicate power balances among the characters of Jahad’s court, but the truth of the matter is this:

Khun Aguero Jahad might have only been recently crowned — but she has always been a threat.

Since the dawn of the ten families, the Khun staples of education had remained true to three essential subjects: warfare, politics, and assassination. The children learn young, or not at all. A daughter true to her heritage, Khun Aguero Agnis had bared her fangs only at the most opportune moment, sinking them firmly in the throats of her blood sister, a rival from a nearby branch family, and a number of prominent, up-and-coming girls vying for the princess candidacy.

It had been, without a doubt — a flawless victory, the perfect display of brains and cruel strength. And of course, with those eyes, a blue as deep and pitiless as the sea: beauty, and the arrogance to wield it.

It had taken the entire upper floors by complete surprise, propelled Aguero’s name to the top of the gossip columns, and whispered unrest among the current princesses in a way that hadn’t been felt in at least half a millennium. All it had taken was a hundred years’ worth of waiting, a lighthouse, a well-placed knife, and some dead girls.

As expected, a mere three months after her candidacy was announced, Khun Aguero Agnis became Khun Aguero Jahad, and not a single voice spoke out to disagree.

— — —

“Are you going to stop me?” Aguero’s voice is low and cool. Like magic, a small blade glimmers in her hand, and while Yuri can’t predict what kinds of weapons her sister carries on her person, she knows better than to think this is her only, or most lethal one.

“... No,” she admits ruefully. “I don’t think I’d be able to, anyway.” Deftly, she stows the Black March in her inventory, and spins around to sit cross-legged by the princess’s side. It’s always a gamble, relying on Aguero’s temper, but it’s more likely than not that the other girl isn’t actually looking for a fight. She can’t afford the attention a real one would draw, or the physical exhaustion it would inflict.

Aguero lets her, and she grins with satisfaction. “I’ll wait with you until your ride is here!” The and buy you time, if necessary, goes unsaid. Yuri yawns, and then stretches, eyes crinkling with cheeky fondness. It won’t take long for her to get bored. What better way to kill time than with invasive questioning?

“Is he really worth it, Aguero? That boy?” Yuri pouts, eyebrows raised. “This better not just be because he’s cute.” Her words have the subtlety of a berserk Shinheuh, but she’s genuinely curious, and Aguero will understand.

A quiet huff of laughter has her squinting in surprise. Dawn hasn’t quite made it to their corner of the rooftop, but she can make out the faint, yet unmistakable curve of a real smile.

Huh, thinks Yuri, wide-eyed. It’s not a bad look on her. It’s not that Aguero has never smiled, per se, but the intrinsic softness of it all is a wholly foreign creature to her, and she likes to think Aguero does consider her a friend. Or at least as close to one as a Khun is allowed to call a person.

“Oh, he’s cute all right. Like… a puppy, I guess. Big, gold eyes, really nice voice, listens to everything I say.” Aguero snorts, fiddles with her hair. “… For the most part, at least. There was a girl that he came here chasing after — ” and here she pauses briefly, expression hard like ice chips — “but she’s, ah, not a problem anymore.”

Yuri blinks. By her feet, frost gleams in elegant, spiraling patterns. For a moment, curiosity steals across her thoughts— what kind of girl could that have been, to catch the eye of Aguero’s sweetheart? To make even the pride of the Khuns lose her famously unshakable cool? And what the hell had even happened? But instinct cautions her otherwise, and it’s yet to lead her astray.

Yuri shakes her head. Best not to pry into those matters.

“Okay, then. And what are you going to do after you go?” she presses. “You know you can’t come back.”

At first, there’s no response. The seconds slide uneasily by, thick like a finger swirled through honey. The other girl’s face is thoughtful as she slowly replies: “I’m gonna help him climb the Tower.”

Aguero shifts slightly, and meets Yuri’s gaze. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure about that either at first. He… he’s really weak, you know.”

Yuri cackles, just to fill the silence. “That bad?”

“That bad.” Aguero exhales. “But he’s a monster, too. He has these… moments, when he gets a certain look in his eyes, and it’s almost terrifying. It’s funny, because he’s the gentlest thing I’ve ever met. But he’s going to be amazing in the future. I know it.”

“... Like Jahad? Or better?” Is it the boy’s power you’re after? His life? It’s not like Yuri can’t understand. But in the Tower, the asking price of violence and overwhelming force comes laughably cheap, and for something as easy as that Aguero would never be so reckless. The conditions of their status are admittedly stifling, but few things are truly unreachable for a Jahad princess.

Or is it something else?

“They’re nothing alike,” Aguero says flatly. “And I don’t want him to be.”

Frustratedly, she runs a hand through her hair, gesturing vaguely. “It’s hard to explain, but he…he’s good, Yuri. He’s good. All those years stuck in a cave, all the trials the Tower ran him through, all that death and backstabbing and grieving that they make the Regulars practically eat and breathe — he fought through it purely by his own merit, and still, nothing's broken him of it. I can’t understand it myself.”

Aguero murmurs to no one in particular, looking bewildered herself. “… It’s dazzling, honestly.” It only lasts a heartbeat, but there’s a heat to her entire bearing, an unexpected intensity, and it looks a lot like hope.

“He’s going to flip this Tower on its goddamned head, just you wait. He’ll need someone to watch his back when he does.” She smiles again, sharp and secretive — and it leaves Yuri reeling from the whiplash, this girl — who suddenly looks more like sunlight on new snow, like devotion underneath domed ceilings and glass sculptures praising unshakable belief, than the glacial stoicism of her bloodline. “The Regulars are supposed to form teams, right? I intend to be his light-bearer.”

“A-aha…I see it now. You’re crazy,” offers Yuri, more weakly than she would prefer. She thinks she can see the bigger picture now. She isn’t sure whether she likes it or not.

… So it’s his love you’re after. Do you think it’ll make you happy?

“I’ve got it all planned out, of course. I had a quick chat with Headon about starting fresh as well, so the Ranker rules shouldn’t apply to me.” It shouldn’t be possible to make throwing away your life so easy, so fulfilling, but Khun Aguero does it somehow, conviction radiating firmly from her entirety. She laughs, bright and determined. “We’re gonna give the floors so much hell, Yuri.”

“As for being a princess,” she continues, “I have a couple of ideas as to making sure no one looks too closely. That’s a secret, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Aguero shoots her a mild look, and it’s the end of that discussion. She flicks her fingers with impatience. But one last question still burns a hole in Yuri’s chest, the one that hadn’t actually been answered, and she can’t let the other girl leave without a proper response. If she does, there won’t be a second chance.

The first hints of day yawn loomingly across the horizon. Shades of carnation and marigold, thin and pale, send tendrils of light across the sky. In just a few more minutes, the stars will disappear, eclipsed by their vibrance. And Aguero will be gone, gone, another name to be struck from the records.

After all their years of friendship, this is where the line gets drawn. It’s a little lonely, if she thinks about it. Yuri steels herself. A younger, less jaded girl might have asked Aguero to reconsider. But regardless of whatever answer she would have been given, it’s not the one she needs to know right now.

No regrets now, Aguero.

Princess Yuri Jahad looks the defector in the eye, feeling fully well the pride and colossal pressure of her status. Bending the rules has never, ever seemed so daunting before. Maybe the weight thudding cold in her chest is her grief. Maybe, she thinks sheepishly, it’s her jealousy. She wouldn’t be surprised if it were all of the above, and more than just her own fair share of the bitterness.

Believe it or not, she has been a princess for a very, very long time. The other girls would want to know the same.

It’s with hushed longing that she opens her mouth again, one last piece of idle gossip. With resentment, for countless eras spent in solitude and misplaced spite; loneliness, for every generation of lost, loveless young women. Every missed opportunity, every broken dream, every petty, contrived falling-out. She’s old enough to remember most of the worst. Aguero is escaping their shiny little showcase of a birdcage, at the price of losing everything else.

Please, she thinks desperately. Let her be right, this time. This is one of their sisters, after all. They must not have another Anaak Jahad.

“...Aguero. He’s worth it?” she repeats.

Khun Aguero Agnis steeples her fingers against her chin, staring forward. The sun rises ahead of them, unrelenting and pure, and the light catches on her face and draws it all out in ferocious streaks of gold.

“Yes,” she answers. “He is.”

#tower of god #TOG #kami no tou #webtoon #khun aguero agnis #jahadprincess!khun #fem!khun #genderbend #fanart #sketches #fic #writing #princess!khun runs away from home #yep that's it that's the fic #long ass emotional screeching

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priorireverte · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations Storm!

Your application for Molly Weasley has been accepted. Of all the Weasleys I ever thought we’d get, Molly was not one of them. I am delighted to have been proved wrong.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Storm, they/them

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I should be able to post a few times a week and keep up with the activity requirement! I wouldn’t apply if I didn’t think I had the time to actively participate.

ANYTHING ELSE: Graphic depictions of gore ( more of a squick than a trigger; it just makes me uncomfortable, but if I see it it’s not the end of the world! This would apply mostly to gifs and images / aesthetics though )

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Molly Elizabeth Weasley

BIRTHDATE: October 30, 1950

DEATHDATE: n/a

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female ( she/her pronouns ); bisexual – Molly has always been comfortable with who she is, and her sexuality is no different. She realized she liked both men and women from a young age and was unashamed of the fact because, unlike muggle society, sexuality wasn’t deemed a problem like blood status would be. It didn’t matter in the end, though, because once she laid eyes on Arthur Weasley, she knew he was the one for her. No crush could compare to the pure love she felt for the bumbling redhead who stole her heart.

BLOOD STATUS: pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

OCCUPATION: Unemployed. Molly, at one point, considered returning to school as either a professor at Hogwarts or an educator for young wixen children ( sort of like muggle pre-school ), but after her marriage and many children, work was never in the cards. Now that she’s older, she’s once again considering offering a daycare of sorts for young children – she has time to spare with her children all grown up, and she’d rather be looking after and teaching children than left to her thoughts.

FACECLAIM: Amy Adams

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM

Molly had the disprivilege to live through not one, but two wars started by the same sick man, and they both had no small impact on her. During the First Wixen War, Molly wanted no part of it, staying firmly neutral even though her beliefs were aligned with the Order of the Phoenix. She and Arthur were married with a small brood of children by the time it picked up in earnest, after all, and her primary thought was to stay by her little boys to keep them as safe and innocent as possible – going out to fight and possibly die would do no one any favors. Her point was only proven in the death of her younger brothers, something that was a catastrophic blow on her soul. She and her brothers were close, after all, or as close as they would let her; Molly would have done anything for Gideon and Fabian. It was their deaths that made her question whether or not her choice to stay out of the war, as logical as it was, ended up being the right one after all. What if she’d been able to save them somehow? What if she’d been at least somewhat involved in the order and privy to their plans? Maybe she could’ve convinced them to stay home that evening. None of those regrets mattered, in the end – her brothers were dead, and soon after you-know-who was dead as well. Things were over… or so everyone thought. The Second Wixen War was unexpected, but Molly was more involved that time around. She didn’t volunteer to go out on missions; she still had children to look after. She was involved, though, particularly once Ron brought home young Harry Potter himself. Molly cared for Harry like her own son, and he was smack in the middle of the war to start with. She hated that her children were involved in a war, but this time would be different – this time, she would do all that she could to keep her family safe like she couldn’t with her brothers. Fred’s death took that resolve, chewed it up, and spat it right back at her. How foolish was she to think that her family, so involved as they were, would not be drastically impacted by the war yet again? Five years did little to ease the pain of losing a child, and she was certain she would be burdened with that pain for the rest of her life. She could still see her darling Fred’s face, still in death with the ghost of his last smile as she sobbed over his body just as much as she could see him alive and playing tricks on the family with George in her mind. Encumbered by grief like she was, Molly hardly paid much mind to the first report of the Returned making its way around. The second report piqued her interest ( and her confusion ), and despite herself, she kept watching and waiting for those she lost to return to her. She got her wish in the form of Fabian, young as the day she lost him, but that only made the Returned become something of an obsession of hers. If one brother was back, surely Gideon would be right on his heels? If her brothers were back, then surely she’d see her little Fred again, back from the dead and finally home? She knows the obsession isn’t healthy and is only making her grieving process worse, but Molly can’t bring herself to give a damn. She just wants her loved ones to finally come home.

PERSONALITY

Molly is and always has been a homebody. Family has always meant the world to her, the Prewetts having been a loving family who could lean on one another through thick and thin. While some would appreciate that and move on, Molly took that as a core part of who she was as a person and became what people dubbed “the mom friend” to her friends during school and beyond: she fussed over those she cared about greatly, to the point of being an annoyance, and worried over strangers if they looked like they needed a friendly face or shoulder to cry on. This tendency made her a rather outgoing person, and she was rarely judgmental if she could help it; Molly just wanted others to be happy. Some, however, saw this more as annoying than anything else. her caring nature backfired half of the time, painting her in the light of being far too nosey rather than concerned and wanting to be helpful. She’s guilty of eavesdropping on others, and while she says this is out of concern, she secretly knows it’s because she loves to listen to gossip as well. Molly likes to be in the know, whether she’s told directly or not. This has led to more than a few fights with friends, family, and strangers, but it’s always been part of who she was. Molly is unapologetic about who she is. These arguments are never small, either; Molly is short-tempered and can get easily annoyed when she’s not watching herself, and arguments where she’s been accused of something bring up this fiery part of her more than anything else. Despite her flaws, Molly tries to, first and foremost, be kind. Everyone needs a smiling face to look toward, and in a world as cruel as theirs, she tries to be that person for whoever needs it. If someone needs somewhere to stay, she’ll open her home up gladly; if someone needs to vent, she will lend an ear. She’s particularly fond of children ( if her own seven didn’t give that away ), and taking Harry and Hermione in whenever they wanted or needed to stay at the Burrow wasn’t even a question in her mind – of course they were welcome. war has taken much from Molly Weasley, but she refuses to let it take her kind heart.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

The Prewetts were a loving, if loud and obnoxious, family, and Molly wouldn’t have had it any other way. She was the daughter of upstanding ministry workers, Mr. and Mrs. Prewett both being respectable in their departments and showing their children to be so as well. Respectable, however, didn’t necessarily mean disciplined, and most of Molly’s early childhood was filled with the yelling of her brothers, the soft croons of her parents’ voices, and the mewling of a stray cat Molly begged to keep ( creatively named Cat ). It was through her parents that she learned the value of truth and the power of words, learning from a young age that her greatest weapon won’t be her wand, but the words that come out of her mouth. A debate is just as deadly as a spell, her father would say. Speaking the truth shows the true value of a person, rather than lies that anyone can spill from their tongue, her mother would add. Molly took both to heart, making her quick-witted and stubborn to a fault when she knew she was right. As a Weasley, life was quite similar, though her role was reversed. Her home was still loud with the sound of screaming children, the heavy thundering of footsteps running through the house echoing what she experienced as a girl. Instead of partaking in the running, however, she was instead the one to scold like her mother did, but never fully discourage. Her family was part Prewett, after all, and Prewetts were nothing if not a little wild. It was she that taught her children the power of words, rather than the one learning them, and listening in as her husband taught their children how to be kind and judge others based on character rather than anything else. Life as a Weasley was dancing in the kitchen with her husband in the early hours of the morning, breakfast cooking while the radio crooned in their ears. Life as a Weasley was just as full of love as life as a Prewett was, and Molly cherished every moment. She always would.

HISTORY

Life was a series of moments, and Molly’s was no exception. Those moments formed her into who she was, after all; who would she be without being sorted into Gryffindor? She never would have met Arthur, whom she swore to this day that she fell in love with at first sight ( that wasn’t quite true; no first year knew love like theirs at such a young age – she fell hard, but love didn’t come until later, when she knew she would marry him before they both left Hogwarts ). Hogwarts introduced her to her friends, people who would become close enough to family that she’d introduce them to her children as aunts and uncles alike. Hogwarts made her a Prefect, though not Head Girl, and brought out her motherly side even more as she helped first years adjust to being away from home in an overwhelming environment. Being a Prefect prepared her to care for young children, though she still fumbled her way through Bill and Charlie’s infancy – she was much more prepared by the time Percy came around. Her children introduced her to their friends, who would grow their family even further ( both in marriage and in simple friendship; all friends were family in Molly’s book ). Each person she was introduced to expanded Molly Weasley’s capacity to love and to be loved in return, which made the Battle of Hogwarts that much harder as she saw others that she knew lying dead in the rubble. She mourned for Fred, but she mourned for the friends of her children as well, and for the friends she made through the order. It all hurt so much, but she’d rather take that hurt than lose that capacity to love.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I was introduced to this rp by Nic, aka Fabian Prewett, and it looks absolutely phenomenal! The plot is super intriguing, and I honestly can’t wait to start playing in this verse with everyone.

ANYTHING ELSE? https://pin.it/23mXrSb <<< I wrote Molly elsewhere too who had a connection to Bellatrix, so ignore that section! Every other section is relevant to Molly here however.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

This section is only if you are applying for a character that does not yet have a biography written (i.e. a character not listed on the character page). Any character can be applied for, so long as they can realistically fit into the plot and add substance to the roleplay! It may be a good idea to send a message to the main before applying to a non-bio character so we can work with you.

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION: Molly has a ton of connections to characters both already in play ( Fabian, George, Ginny ) and available to play ( Bellatrix, the golden trio, potentially Fred and Gideon if they’re brought in down the line ), so I think it would be interesting to have her there to bounce off of others and let her bounce off of them in return. She’s a pillar of support to many people and is happy to offer that support to many more, but I plan to make her more than that. Molly is dynamic as a person: she’s kind and warm, yet fiery and firm in her beliefs. She has an obsession with the Returned because of how many people she’s lost in such a short span of time, to the point where she might use her free time to try and figure out how they’re coming back even though she’s not part of the Ministry and is missing a lot of critical information. Whether that goes anywhere is up to the admin team, of course, but it’s a line i’d love to look at in more detail.

PRESENT: Though life has improved slightly over the past five years, Molly is still very much riddled with grief and a shadow of who she was a decade ago. She still has her warm heart and does her best to be who people expect her to be, but sometimes she’ll see a shadow, or see a flash of red hair, and fall into herself once more while she mourns Fred’s loss. News of the Returned only made this grieving process worse, because instead of learning to move on, Molly clings to the fact that she’ll see her loved ones once more – something that intensifies once Fabian returns to them. Now it’s more akin to an obsession than anything, and Molly wouldn’t stop the obsession even if she wanted to. She just wants her loved ones to finally come home where they belong.

#prioriacceptance #molly weasley

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alottanothing · 4 years

Text

Left to Ruin Chapter Six

Summary: Kahmurnah makes a decision that affects more than just his brother’s happiness. Nouke struggles with the life she finds forced upon she and her family.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 5209

Warnings: none

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: This one sorta jumps backward a bit—stora a “meanwhile at the palace” while Ahk and Meren are venturing. Hopefully that’s not confusing. Also, thank you once again for the love you’ve been showing this story! It’s such a great feeling knowing others are enjoying something I’ve poured so much into. I wanna give you all hugs! 🤗🤗 Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible. Keep in mind that Nouke and Ahk are the same age, so at the beginning of this she’s 13 years old.

The first few days after the prince left were the hardest. Nouke was angry; angry she'd convinced Ahk not to ask his father whether or not she could accompany him. The likeliness of the pharaoh allowing a servant girl to join the princes' adventure was slim, but she’d snuffed out the flame of hope before it could even spark. Which meant it was her fault she missed him so bad.

After two weeks, the days began to feel less empty. The atmosphere of the capital was calm; no sense of impending doom lingered without the wise ruler Merenkahre there to guide them. The queen was keeping Kahmunrah in check; or at least that was the word around the palace according to the servants. With Akhmenrah away, Nouke’s gossip all came from the women she worked with. They loved to talk, and Nouke found their stories both intriguing and ridiculous but listening to the drama helped the hours go by faster.

Her day to day routine was the same as it had been since she’d begun her life of servitude; the only change was the amount of work she took on. Nouke encumbered herself with more work than a girl of thirteen was expected to do, she liked the distraction and how often her work bled into the evenings. Evenings were the hardest to endure with her friend away; the garden just wasn’t the same without his warmth.

Her world no longer held the same spark with Ahk away, but Nouke was glad for the routine she found with her responsibilities. Life was dull, but pleasant; at least for a time.

The sun was still high in the sky the day two brutish men ambushed her while she was hanging linens to dry. Instinctively, Nouke kicked and shouted, trying to squirm her way out of their strong grasp; her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, startled. They were not usual palace guards who had seized her, she could tell by the armor they wore. The pieces they wore were shoddy and not the golden regalia of palace guards. The men who carried her were dressed like mercenaries: Kahmunrah’s hired compatriots.

Nouke knew very little about Ahk’s older brother. He had a reputation among most of the servants as being needlessly cruel, and from how Ahkmenrah spoke of him, she knew that the eldest prince wanted nothing to do with any of his siblings. Her friend had spoken many times about wishing Kah would act like a brother to him—share a kinship. Nouke never understood why anyone would want such a man to be their sibling.

“What have I done?” Nouke spit out, a little more harshly than she intended. “Where are you taking me?”

Her captors met her with a stone-faced silence that caused a trickle of fear to seep into her. In a flash, her mind searched through all the chores she had tended to, desperately trying to recall one she may have missed or done wrong—Am I being punished?

Without Ahk to keep her up to date on royal happenings, Nouke knew only that the pharaoh had left his eldest son in command, with the queen watching over his every move. But the queen was away too, hosting a week-long festival for the goddess Isis near the temple at the opposite end of the city; a fact Nouke was privy to only because of her mother’s closeness with the queen.

With Shepseheret away, the only person left to bark commands was Kahmunrah. Nouke had purposely avoided the displeasure of his company, but the gnawing in her stomach told her that was about to change.

Gaining no answer from the men who drug her through the halls like a woven sack of perishables, Nouke’s fight faded, knowing her best option was submission; she had no other choice but to keep her mouth shut and obey. Even so, she kept her resolve steady; her emotional strength was the one thing she could flaunt. It gave her a way to fight back without physicality: a way to show whoever had summoned her that she would not easily be broken.

Nouke’s captors brought her through the towering doors of the throne room and stopped several paces back from where Kahmunrah sat radiating a suffocating air of lordliness. The eldest son of the pharaoh Merenkahre had adorned himself with surplus raiment; jewels sparkled off of his wide collar, bracers, belt, and rings. He was wrapped in a golden cape, decorated with the fur of a mighty beast as though to further sell the lie. Kah wore everything except the one thing that truly made him the ruler he thought himself to be—the crown.

Nouke decided quickly that there wasn’t even the smallest fraction of the man before her that reminded her of his younger brother. Everything she needed to know about Kahmunrah was there in his cold eyes and smug expression. She couldn’t help but frown at him, her eyes narrowing skeptically—how could the man before her hold any relation to her sweet prince?

Surrounding the wannabe king was a group of men who’s attire was significantly less lavish, but they collectively held a mein of power that was blatantly domineering. Their eyes weren’t as cold as Kahmunrah’s, but they looked down upon her as though the very sight of someone of her class was detestable. As for Kah, he had hardly glanced her way. He’d given her an inferior side-eye with an added sneer and nothing more. He found her presence irritating, but Nouke couldn’t help but feel the same way about him.

Just as Nouke began weighing the likelihood of making a churlish remark without reprimand, the throne room doors swung open again as two more sets of Kahmunrah’s men entered. One pair had a hold of her father, who like she had been, was kicking and trying to wrangle free. The other two had her mother, and the fear she found on her mother’s face was enough to strike a crack in her resolve.

“I am a soldier in the pharaoh's army! I demand to know what is the meaning of all of this!” her father, Ramentukah said through bared teeth, addressing the false king.

Kahmunrah remained pompously relaxed on his throne, looking down on them as though they were insects he wanted nothing more than to crush beneath his feet. He said nothing for a long while, purposely letting Ramentukah’s question hang in the air between them as a reminder they were in no place to make demands of a member of the royal house.

His cold eyes leered as the smug simper faded into a firm line, morphing into a look of disgust. Finally, he stood, and when he spoke, his tone was condemning and dark.

“It has come to my attention, that my brother’s prized tablet has gone missing from its temple. It is also my understanding that you—” Kahmunrah shifted his gaze to Nouke’s father. “Ramentukah, were the last soldier to stand guard at the temple doors.”

Nouke’s mouth popped open, and her narrowed eyed glare zeroed in on the eldest prince, shocked that her loyal father would even be accused of such a crime. The pharaoh Merenkahre and the Queen had always treated her family kindly. It was even the pharaoh who had given her father the opportunity to better himself by becoming a soldier instead of living his life as a farmer. Nouke knew without a doubt her father would never do anything to sully what he had achieved—especially by stealing the princes’ tablet.

Nouke’s mother even gave Kah a look of disbelief, shaking her head, not giving in to the accusation.

Nevertheless, Ramentukah bowed respectfully. “Your Grace, I assure you I, nor my family have no involvement with this crime.”

Kah’s sneer grew more repulsed, taking her father’s denial as a challenge.

“I owe all that I have become to the pharaoh—your father. Why would I do anything to slight he or his kin? I have been a loyal, obedient soldier for many years. My wife and daughter, loyal, hard-working servants—friends to her majesty the queen and the prince. Why would I partake in a crime that would jeopardize those relationships?" Ramentukah kept his head bowed as he spoke, to show that he meant no offense, but his tone was steady and full of conviction.

Despite all the words of logic and her father's obvious obedience, Nouke could see from the look of his callous features, that the eldest prince was still unconvinced.

“Why indeed?” he quipped with a shrug. “Yet, to me, your story seems highly suspect.”

Kahmunrah paused to think, rubbing the point of his chin until a flash of wickedness gleamed in his dark eyes.

“A crime of this caliber surely had accomplices…” his serpentine eyes moved to Maketaten and Nouke.

Suddenly, a knot twisted into Nouke’s stomach, and her throat grew tight as her heart pounded loud enough and quick enough she was certain everyone in the throne room could hear it. The anticipation and the speculation were causing her breaths to fall short as she watched Ahkmenrah’s evil brother work in his mind how best to destroy them.

“Involvement with a thief demands a punishment equal to the severity of the culprit,” Kah grinned fiendishly. “Execution—all three of you.”

Nouke stared blankly, vision tunneling, emotions rearing to an eerie calm despite the dreadful sentence; she was frozen. Her mother, however, broke into loud sobs and quiet pleas while her father tried to reason.

“Your majesty, it was me that stood guard. If someone must be punished, let it be me. I beg of you—mercy for my family. Let Anubis judge only my soul.”

Tears were fighting to spill from Nouke’s eyes as she listened to her father plead; his willingness to die to spare them enough to make her stomach churn sickly in her gut. She wanted to scream, to fight—to fling her fists at Kahmunrah’s smug face. But doing so would surely make things worse, so she stayed quiet, drowning, and frozen in her emotion.

Kahmunrah stood, savoring every moment as her father and mother continued to beg for their lives and the life of their daughter. She could see the glint of honest joy reflect in his eyes as her parents groveled at his feet. Nouke hated him.

Just before guards could be called to take them away, the men standing behind the false king spoke up, looking displeased.

“Enough, Kahmunrah!” an older man spoke robustly. “You’ve had your fun—you know only the queen holds the power to sanction such punishment while the Pharaoh is away.”

The frown that took hold of Kah’s lips was significant enough to shake the earth; he turned to the man who had spoken and Nouke could hear the irritation his face held.

“The queen. Is not. Here.”

“And need we remind you. You are the discarded prince of the pharaoh; you hold no more power than we,” the same man said sternly. “Our pharaoh gave you command out of pity, not thanks, I assure you.”

All at once, the throne room was hotter than the desert sun as Kahmunrah’s anger boiled over. He shouted and argued, cursing the men who advised him, filling the nearly empty hall with malevolent words that were as sharp as knives.

While he screamed, Nouke wanted nothing more than to run to her mother and father, but each of them were still restrained. A single tear slid down her cheek, breaching her composure, finding that it was not for herself, or her parents but for Ahkmenrah. What would he think when he returned and learned of her family’s persecution? Would he believe the rumor? Would he be glad Kah had sentenced them to death on account? Nouke shook her head—her friend would never be so cruel. He would be brokenhearted by the whole situation and the thought of his warmth being consumed with sadness almost sent another tear down her cheek.

Ahkmenrah would know neither she nor her family was involved in such lunacy; the only anger he may hold would be on account of his brother destroying innocent lives.

An entire lifetime could have passed before Kahmunrah relented his arguing. The irritation heavily creased onto his brow lent a glimmer of hope. Had he turned to address them with delight and malice in his eyes, Nouke knew they would be killed for sure. That annoyance lingered—lips pursed tight as he toppled back into his throne, eyeing them.

“My advisors feel that the lack of evidence dictates a different form of punishment.” He said boredly. “The first involves the three of you being locked away in a cell, where you will await trial until the tablet is found, and evidence to your involvement may be denied. If you are innocent, you may return to your duties as usual. If found guilty—execution.”

“And the second?” Ramentukah asked, voice steady.

“Banishment—effective immediately," Kah stated, just as boredly. “You will be removed from the palace grounds ensuring you will escape execution, but you will be stripped of titles and privileges you currently hold.”

Ramentukah glanced to his wife and daughter looking beaten and betrayed. He had always been proud of the ranks he’d earned and the placement he’d gained for his family; a life in the palace—even as servants—was better than a life on the streets.

“Make your decision, soldier, or it will be made for you!” Kah shouted, growing impatient.

Ramentukah glanced toward his wife and daughter, sighing out of relief, or defeat, Nouke couldn’t tell.

“Banishment, my lord. Give us banishment so that I may see my daughter grow, and so I may continue to love my wife with all my heart.”

The sentiment was lost on Kahmunrah, and his annoyance grew having been denied the prospect of executing them in the future.

“So be it,” he sneered. “And I will warn you. If any of you are discovered on palace soil again, I will personally see to it that you are given a swift execution.

With an errant wave, he instructed his men, “Remove them.”

Just as quickly as before, the men holding her by the arms pulled her through the corridors of the palace. They were given only moments to collect their things from their rudimentary quarters before being hastily escorted through the palace with weapons held behind their backs.

Nouke’s tears began to fall in earnest, in quiet streams unable to hold them at bay any longer. Her nerves were frayed—emotions a chaotic jumble in her head. Some of those tears spilled in relief: relief that she and her parents would live to see another day. And some fell as the realization she would never see her sweet prince again finally settled.

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest with that thought, and she wondered if he would miss her as much as she would miss him.

***

Nouke had never seen the capital of Waset first hand until the day her family was cast out of the palace. Most of her life was sheltered behind sturdy walls, venturing beyond them only when she and the prince would make use of their secret passageway in the West Garden. Even then, they had never dared to stray too far, at most seeing the city from a distance.

The city streets were loud and dirty and teeming with people from all walks of life. For a moment, it sparked her sense of adventure seeing sights she had only ever heard about from the merchants who came to sell their goods to the palace. Still, Nouke never strayed too far from her parents as they fell in line with the flow of foot traffic. It seemed like they walked for hours, and her feet hurt when they finally took refuge in an inn close to the city's center.

That first night, and every night thereafter for several months she and her family stayed within the musty walls of that inn. Much of her time was spent alone in their single room while her mother and father took odd jobs to save money to purchase land with the hope to one-day farm.

Those days were the hardest. The small space was drab and dark compared to the bright, beautiful halls Nouke was used to—they seemed to mirror the sorrow she felt. Most of all she missed her friend.

Before long, Nouke said farewell to the drab walls of the inn, and home became a plot of land on the far end of the city. The high walls, golden statues, and towering columns she was used to became a structure of modest means; a dwelling constructed of mud and bricks with enough land to plant on.

Ramentukah wasted no time in teaching Nouke and his wife how to best till the soil, calling upon teachings he’d learned in his youth. The work was hard, grueling in the desert heat, but Nouke caught on quickly. When harvest time came, her father showed them how best to bushel and bundle their crop to sell at the market, and after two bountiful harvests, their farm grew even more.

Her father hired hands to help them and even bought livestock to ensure more lucrative income. Nouke was glad for the routine of it all: the early mornings, long hours in the field, trips to the market, then early to bed for it all to begin once more come the dawn. It left her with little time to dwell on things she’d been forced to leave behind—especially the prince she would never see again.

But she did see the prince again; two times from afar and each time more heartbreaking than the last.

The first time she saw him, Nouke had been in the market square with her father, trying to sell bushels of produce from their latest harvest out of the back of a cart. Usually, she enjoyed the clamor and the fresh faces she saw in the busy streets of Waset. They were colorful people she liked to imagine were adventurers with significant means and a head full of stories to tell her, even though most were simple common farmers like she and her father; simple people trying to make enough coin to keep food on the table. Still, the game helped the hours pass while she sat with her father, munching on the pieces of their harvest that were less likely to sell.

That morning, however, Nouke awoke with a peculiar melancholy lingering in the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling that dulled the world around her; a sadness she couldn’t quite place and all she wanted to do was stay on the farm where her usual chores offered enough distraction to steal away the poignant ache. Not even her game of making up grand tales for all the merchants could deter what she felt. Her mind instead wandered, and without really meaning to, she counted the month’s her family had been living in exile. A frown weighed on her lips, inducing more ruefulness to stir in her gut, realizing it was easier to count the years.

Two years as a commoner were not so terrible. There was a sort of freedom in their banishment but also uncertainty too. Those who worked in the palace were promised shelter and at least one meal in exchange for servitude. Nothing was promised as a farmer except longer working hours in the desert sun.

Two years.

Two years of a lifetime under that sun and dirt under her fingernails. Two years of a lifetime praying the gods gave them bountiful crop. Two years of a lifetime away from her friend.

Nouke's frown plunged deeper, and a sigh escaped her lips. She missed her kind prince.

Just as she turned to beg her father to go back to the farm, craving the meticulous distraction that awaited her, a commotion stopped her words before they could fall past her downturned lips, drawing her attention elsewhere.

The market was always a symphony of indistinct chatter as the merchants swindled customers: chickens clucking in their cages and children screaming as they ran wildly about. All of it had become a familiar thrum Nouke was used to. The crash of drums split that normal wiring with an echoing beat Nouke easily plucked from the typical chaos. In rhythm with the drumming fell a softer sound of marching, growing louder moment by moment as the source approached.

Curiosity swelled in her stomach, devouring the melancholy ache that had plagued her all morning, and she stood on the edge of the cart, eyes darting around in search of the exciting new sound. Drums and the accompaniment of marching could only mean one thing, a parade, a royal parade.

The last time such sounds resonated throughout the city center were the day the pharaoh and the prince returned after years away. Nouke missed that one, stuck at home working in the fields with her father and the boys they employed to help. Another parade so soon could only mean one thing; her friend now wore the crown.

She wasn’t going to let herself miss another chance to see Ahk. Nouke jumped from her father’s cart and pushed her way through the gathering crowd until she found a stoop that gave her an unhindered view of the approaching procession. Her heart was beating out a rhythm much too quick to keep in time with the methodical pulse of the drums ringing in the air; hope began to surge through her, that in her mind she knew would only make that ruefulness she felt earlier return worse than ever.

When she finally saw him, her fervent heart almost stopped completely; he was ethereal from a distance.

Ahkmenrah rode proudly in his golden chariot pulled by white stallions. His gilded raiment shimmered in the sun’s light, glittering jewels on his wesekh and belt, with a crown on his head. Her prince had become a Pharaoh—one step further from her reach. Even so, Nouke couldn’t keep from calling out to him; she wanted to let him know that, despite all that had befallen her; she was okay. She wanted to tell him how proud she was of him and that no matter the paths they tread she would always be his friend. However, amidst all the commotion, Ahk never so much as glanced in her direction.

The smile slowly faded as Nouke watched him come and go, feeling a heaviness in her heart that she’d not endured since the day she and her family were banished from the palace.

***

After four years of plowing, harvesting, and haggling at the market, Nouke’s life had never felt more normal. The youth she’d spent in the palace seemed more akin to a dream the longer time went on. She would always cherish those memories with the entirety of her heart, even if they did often make her heart feel heavy. Her time to play in the palace gardens had ended, but she never wanted to forget her friend.

The closest thing she had to that mystical garden of her childhood was the Waset city square. It was open and teeming with life, both greenery, and people. She would sit under the shade of the manicured palms or on the edge of the large fountain, reveling in the life she held. A part of her was glad for the exile wrongly given to her family. Her entire world would have been cooped up in high palace walls forever serving and never seeing.

Nouke thought seldom of her past life whenever she could spend a day at the city's center. However, when she ventured to the roof of their modest farmhouse, Nouke always let her mind wander while her eyes looked to the horizon, seeing the palace sparkling in the distance. Especially then thoughts of her youth began to tug relentlessly on her heartstrings. She’d spent countless evenings among the nest of makeshift cushions and mats she’d acquired over the years with tears in her eyes as she looked to the ever-present reminder of the friend she was forced to leave behind.

***

It had been the talk of everyone for over a week in the capital; the pharaoh would soon take a bride. The excitement was tangible from the market square all the way to the docks along the Nile, especially when the nobles began to arrive to join in on the festivities at the palace.

That week was long for Nouke. Every merchant and customer seemed more animated with the prospect of citywide celebration, but Nouke could not bring herself to share the collective elation. Nevertheless, she put on a smile anytime someone came to her and her father’s cart to make a sale speaking of the upcoming union, then her face would fall back into its perpetual frown.

Her heart ached more than she cared to admit, and though she knew it wasn’t her place to harbor such unfathomable anguish about her sweet prince marrying another; the idea ate at her every moment. Never so much as the moment, she saw him again.

Sleep never came to her the night before the pharaoh was to take his queen; she spent every hour tossing and turning, envying her soundly sleeping parents on the opposite side of the room. Nouke felt like grieving, but she was too stubborn to let herself shed any more tears over a life she knew could never be hers. Sadness, however, was almost worse without the release of tears.

Before the sun breached the horizon, Nouke ventured up to her nest atop their home, resting against a stack of sacks and the quarter wall that lined the roof. She looked to the stars in the sky, watching them fade as the sun’s light consumed them. It took her most of the early morning to work up the nerve to let her sight find the palace on the horizon, knowing what torment it would bring her already laden heart. For a moment, she thought maybe her time in those far-off walls was only a dream: her golden childhood a glittering illusion her spirited mind cooked up. Nouke hoped it wasn’t merely a dream—she didn’t want Ahk to be only a dream.

Nouke lingered on her rooftop hideaway much of the morning, too disheartened to worry about the chores she was ignoring. She spent those hours mulling over the want to gather in the city square with the hope to catch a glimpse of the pharaoh and his queen. She wasn’t sure her heart could take that. Yet, the notion of seeing Ahk again was too intriguing to let pass by.

Nouke, against her better judgment, left for the city center just as the sun reached the middle of the sky, hoping she hadn’t missed the parade. Much of her walk she spent promising herself not to shout his name to stir the hope that he would see her; she would watch along with everyone else with no thought of ever becoming more than she was.

The crowd was already beginning to gather when Nouke reached the largest part of the city's center, finding every face alight with smiles; joy her heart was too heavy to properly hold. Quickly, she perched herself on the wide edge of the fountain, standing, before anyone else had thought to do so. Others joined her on the platform, pushing and shoving until she stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Nouke envied them all of their ignorance; they were there to see their king and marvel—she was there to catch a final glimpse of the life she had lost.

Before long, drums filled the air with a familiar rhythm, and with each nearing beat, the communal exuberance stirred. Nouke’s heart began to beat faster, nervous knots growing in her stomach. The louder the drums became, the more Nouke questioned why she had talked herself into enduring such heartache. Still hope swelled in her breast and she yearned to shove through the sea of people, stopping before her pharaoh’s golden chariot to beg he take her back to the palace.

Nouke wanted to feel the warmth of his kindness one more time, even if all she would ever be to him was a servant. However, she knew her place was to do and say nothing to him; he was the ruler of an empire, and she was the daughter of a suspected thief. Their paths were destined to remain forever divided.

Cheering and clapping pulled Nouke out of her rueful thoughts when the parade was upon them. The pharaoh Ahkmenrah and his Queen Setshepsut rode by slowly, hand in hand with smiles on their faces. Nouke couldn’t help but offer a soft smile seeing Ahk’s little sister Set, grown into a beautiful young woman. The prince had always been protective of his youngest sister; how perfect it was that she became his queen. He could be happy with her, and that gave Nouke a sliver of solace.

As they passed, Nouke uttered no words or shed no tears despite the emotions writhing inside of her. It was crushing to realize she would never again know him, but she tightened her jaw with stubborn disapproval of her own feelings. There was no sense in them.

“He’s so handsome,” the stranger next to her thought aloud.

Nouke nodded.

“Yes,” the stranger's friend rebuked unenthusiastically. “But I bet he’s nasty. The handsome ones always are.”

“No,” Nouke said before she could stop herself. “You’re wrong. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

The two women cast her a skeptical glance, “And how is it, you know that?”

“My family used to work in the palace,” she confessed without missing a beat, eyes still locked on the king and queen as they rode further away. “He and I grew up together. He was my friend…”

Nouke’s voice trailed off as memories she cherished rushed to fill her mind. It wasn’t until Ahk and his queen were swallowed by the sea of people that she finally blinked back to reality. Both strangers were staring at her as though she’d spoken utter nonsense, and Nouke wondered what had possessed her to come to Ahk’s defense; though she was glad she had nonetheless.

With a sigh, Nouke left the throng of people before the sound of the drums faded completely. The image of Ahkmenrah and his queen was cumbersome in her mind as she strode through the empty streets. She knew her heart would never truly forget him, but if she could push as many of those memories out of her mind, maybe life would be easier—less painful. If she willed herself to lock him away, to forget everything about her friend that made her feel whole, then perhaps she could find peace.

And for a while, she did.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Seven: What We Lost

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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missrkl · 3 years

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The Temple Chapter Four

Rachel was at home by now. She had a lot things to be dealing with. Her emotions was one of them. Rachel got on her knees and prayed this prayer:

“Listen to this prayer of mine, God; pay attention to what I’m asking. Answer me—you’re famous for your answers! Do what’s right for me. But don’t, please don’t, haul me into court; not a person alive would be acquitted there. The enemy hunted me down; he kicked me and stomped me within an inch of my life. He put me in a black hole, buried me like a corpse in that dungeon. I sat there in despair, my spirit draining away, my heart heavy, like lead. I remembered the old days, went over all you’ve done, pondered the ways you’ve worked, Stretched out my hands to you, as thirsty for you as a desert thirsty for rain. Hurry with your answer, God! I’m nearly at the end of my rope. Don’t turn away; don’t ignore me! That would be certain death. If you wake me each morning with the sound of your loving voice, I’ll go to sleep each night trusting in you. Point out the road I must travel; I’m all ears, all eyes before you. Save me from my enemies, God— you’re my only hope! Teach me how to live to please you, because you’re my God. Lead me by your blessed Spirit into cleared and level pastureland. Keep up your reputation, God—give me life! In your justice, get me out of this trouble! In your great love, vanquish my enemies; make a clean sweep of those who harass me. And why? Because I’m your servant.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭143:1-12‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Rachel knew that she couldn’t confront the people in The Temple if she herself was in sin, or if she didn’t pray. Prayer was everything in this kingdom. Prayer was the gateway to Adon, a way to get into His presence, a way to speak with Him and to hear Him speak to you. It was about a relationship, not a way of daily activities. Worship also did that. Worship wasn’t always the way The Elitists did it. Worship was about having the heart of worship, really knowing Adon and being grateful for Him and all that he’s done. His protection, his breath of life, his mercy and Grace, his forgiveness, his protection, blessings and so much more. Rachel chose to pray some more:

“Generous in love—God, give grace! Huge in mercy—wipe out my bad record. Scrub away my guilt, soak out my sins in your laundry. I know how bad I’ve been; my sins are staring me down. You’re the One I’ve violated, and you’ve seen it all, seen the full extent of my evil. You have all the facts before you; whatever you decide about me is fair. I’ve been out of step with you for a long time, in the wrong since before I was born. What you’re after is truth from the inside out. Enter me, then; conceive a new, true life. Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean, scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life. Tune me in to foot-tapping songs, set these once-broken bones to dancing. Don’t look too close for blemishes, give me a clean bill of health. God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. Don’t throw me out with the trash, or fail to breathe holiness in me. Bring me back from gray exile, put a fresh wind in my sails! Give me a job teaching rebels your ways so the lost can find their way home. Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God, and I’ll sing anthems to your life-giving ways. Unbutton my lips, dear God; I’ll let loose with your praise. Going through the motions doesn’t please you, a flawless performance is nothing to you. I learned God-worship when my pride was shattered. Heart-shattered lives ready for love don’t for a moment escape God’s notice. Make Zion the place you delight in, repair Jerusalem’s broken-down walls. Then you’ll get real worship from us, acts of worship small and large, Including all the bulls they can heave onto your altar!”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭51:1-19‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Rachel was getting tearful by now. Adon’s presence was strong, she knew she had been forgiven now for Adon was “The Lord is merciful and compassionate, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.” (Psalms‬ ‭145:8‬ ‭NLT‬‬). The only thing required was confession and repentance, meaning to turn away from ones sin.

Rachel knew that the line between confronting a people between ‘love and hate’ could get blurry. You could hate what a person did, but you should never hate the person. You could be angry at what a person or a people are doing, but never hate them. You never should hold bitterness in your heart. That’s why Rachel did her best at all times to deal with anything that could truly lead to immense hatred, bitterness, rage, anger, malice. This is what a lot of the Temple people operated in within their secluded groups. This is what they gossiped about within their social circles that they kept closed. That is what segregation and separation did and they were blind to it. Rachel didn’t know why. The leaders always talked about ‘family, friendships and unconditional love’ but they never actually displayed it. Rachel didn’t understand where they went wrong. The history of The Temple was extremely powerful, supernatural even. Healings, miracles, signs and wonders, yet all that went away, it went away because they had departed from the faith and gone straight back into The Law. The Law was something that was before Christ, a ritualistic laws of orders that they had to obey to the thousandth degree, and if they even failed at one aspect they would die, get cut off, be separated, for life. Then Christ came along, Adon in human flesh, taking all the punishment of their sins and therefore fulfilling the law. The Holy Lamb of God who had come to take away the sins of this world (John 1:29). Rachel was sure The Temple had missed their mark and somehow they needed a Billy Graham to set them right again. She didn’t know if she was that ‘one’ either way, too many people had been hurt and wounded in this house, and it was time someone done something about it. Most especially about the gossips within the place. The gossips.

Everyone didn’t think much of The Voiceless, they were seen as ‘none-important nobodies that weren’t worthy of their space or time.’ Categorised and labelled as ‘defects within the society’ The Voiceless could only dream of ever truly belonging, being a part, called a family, labelled a friend, given love, given comfort, given support, given protection, given faith, loyalty and so much more. So far, In this temple, you had to ‘earn your love, family, friend, comfort, peace, protection, support, faith and loyalty.’ It wasn’t given just because Adon Christ had bought it for you. Plus The Voiceless were seen as a people who would ‘never be worthy’ of any of that because they weren’t Elite, they weren’t Dazzlers, they weren’t Argumentalists, they weren’t Loyalists. Instead they were seen as ‘outcasts’ and ‘foreign’ and ‘ugly.’ This is what Rachel had to contend with. The Holy Book of Adon told her one thing, told her she was loved, favoured, forgiven, unconditionally loved, comforted, belonged, ingrafted into the vine. Yet thee people seemed to work their hardest to cut The Voiceless out of the vine, clearly seeing them as either a threat or a demonic force under the name of Jezebel. Because they had no favour with the leadership of the place, all they could do and be was ‘voiceless.’

Unknown to Rachel was the spiritual battle within the heavenly realms, The Dragon was there in the presence of Adon breathing his fire of hatred, dividing the people. The Dragon used to be a Royal Prince carrying the worship of Adon to Adon himself, but he had fallen, he had missed the mark. Like the Elitists he had become proud of his own beauty, he wanted to be his own god, he thought he could do a better job than Adon ever could, even though Adon had created him. The Dragon was there accusing Rachel of only being a Good Steward of The Faith because she had always been protected as a little girl, because Adon was always looking out for her. Adon complied saying that Rachel was a ‘good and faithful servant’ and had permitted The Dragon to drive her into the ground. The Dragon did this by making sure she was ‘always alone, always unwanted, always uncared for, always rejected, always hated, always seen as a threat. Labelled a lunatic, psychotic, vengeful and angry person.’ That was the talk of the town about her. Yet nobody, not one person, sat down with her ‘in person or face to face’ to get to know her. Instead they had all ‘worn masks’ to hide their petty little white lies of hard hearted ness, self-centredness and truly cruel acts of highly despicable behaviours that went on ‘behind closed doors’ where the cameras couldn’t see. You see, The Temple had a ‘strong surveillance team’ they were the ones who protected The Temple from unwanted guests and the likes of Charles who they all watched at night locking up for the night before breaking in, was only ‘the fringe’ of that surveillance team. These people were like hawks and not all of them had good agendas. A lot of them were ‘hypocrites in disguise’ veiling their faces with sweet little smiles of sweetness, but in reality that was again ‘a mask’ a weapon of disgrace. No Grace was to be found within this temple, only if their reputation was at steak did they ever consider showing any Grace ‘just to save their face.’ Their time was coming to an end, and Rachel? She had more to do than just ‘confront the people’ with their ‘masked society of fakeness.’ Rachel had a lot of forgiving to do first. She couldn’t attack something ‘with love’ if IF she hated them. That would just empower The Dragon to the highest level and completely destroy Adon’s Elysium Estate here on earth. This had to be done properly. So Rachel was here praying on into the night, biding her time, sorting herself out first. You never win the war without being prepared yourself. You never went to war without your armour on and Adon’s armour was Light, Forgiveness, Unconditional Love, Grace, strength, patience, long suffering, keeping no record of wrongs, gentleness and peace. Rachel still had a way to go with this armour, but with the help of Ecclesiasties and the gang she was getting there.

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indiavolojones · 4 years

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anon your MIND…

YE━(｡･`ω´･｡)ゞ ━S!!

Idk if you meant this as a request but I did it!!! I hope you like this incredibly spur of the moment, university wicked au lmfaoaoooo

5kish words, gen, asmo/solomon

“I can’t concentrate on coursework or go to bed if you’ve got someone moaning in your bed every other night.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Asmo sniffs, and Solomon very quickly finds the situation slipping through his fingers. All of his phenomenally constructed arguments for why Asmo should be a respectful roommate have disintegrated in the face of Asmo’s pure obstinance. “Besides, where would I take my partners if not to my room?”

“Their rooms. A car. A bathroom. A dark alcove somewhere. I don’t care--anywhere else but here.”

Pls keep in mind a bunch of small notes:

-I haven’t seen Wicked, only listened to the soundtrack! I don’t remember what happened to make them room together/much of the plot hahaha. This is less of a wicked au and more a magical college au, whoooo~ -I made up so much shit for this. I was pulling lore outta my ass like nobody’s business -Everyone is human! -I skipped around a lot, so if there’s something that doesn’t make sense pls ask and I’ll clarify hahaha, I wanted to keep this short!! (is,.... 5k short...)

“We're all supposedly the best of the best, and yet none of us could stop a burst pipe," Solomon bemoans the status of their old dormitory.

“In our defense, it happened in the middle of the night and we had no idea what was going on?" Simeon offers, tilting his head with a sympathetic smile.

"But midway through the semester!" Solomon won't admit that the loss of one of his few friends being constantly at his side is more daunting than he thought it would be. Simeon is a phenomenal roommate, and understands Solomon better than anyone.

With the unfortunate mad dash to get all the affected students into new, undamaged rooms, the two of them are being split up, and now Solomon will have to get used to another, likely annoying roommate.

"I never realized you were this dependent on me." Simeon teases, and Solomon glares at him. Simeon swirls himself around in Solomon’s desk chair while Solomon walks by, cardboard box in his arms. Just to annoy him, his foot shoots out to stop Simeon mid-spin, and Simeon huffs, looking up at him.

“Didn’t you say you were going to help?” Solomon asks.

Simeon laughs.

“You asked me to come help move boxes? I thought it was for sure because of you freaking out at getting a new roommate.” Solomon’s lips quirk downwards, and turns his head away with a scoff as he brings the box to the corner of his new dorm. Simeon props an elbow up on Solomon’s desk and watches the other.

“What could you possibly do to help with that?” Solomon asks, palm pressing to the box and releasing the sealing spell on it. “Do you have a solution for this?”

He gestures at the other half of the (thankfully) large room.

Instead of the traditional bunk bed and lower desk set like on Solomon's side of the room, the other half of the room consists of a large wardrobe as additional closet space, an extravagant vanity filled with beauty products, and a nest. A massive nest of pillows, sheets, and blankets—describing it feels ridiculous, but to look on its glory is surprisingly enticing. It does look… very comfortable.

“I think it looks rather nice,” Simeon examines the fairy lights strung up around the walls near the bed. The edges of his roommate's influence barely encroach onto what Solomon would consider to be his side, but as he’s the one imposing on this person’s space halfway into the year… he’ll bite his tongue.

Realistically, there’s no reason for RAD to have shared dorm rooms--the school is prestigious enough that each student could probably get their own living suite… but the chancellor of their particular location is the direct son of the president. He’s a bit eccentric, and enthusiastically vocal about the benefits of shared dorms as integral to the relationships they develop with their peers.

(There are things Solomon’s heard of him too: how he’s the youngest person in his role, how despite the accusations of nepotism he’s completely taken the magical community by storm in his unconventional approach to education.

An interesting man that Solomon would enjoy meeting face to face, rather than admire on a podium, even if he is quite handsome.)

Simeon purses his lips, before snapping his fingers, “A privacy screen?”

Solomon rolls his eyes hard enough that they feel like falling out of his sockets.

“I don’t know why you’re so up in arms about this. I’m sure your roommate will be fine,” Simeon says then, gentle--Solomon looks at the opposite side of the room and has his doubts. “It’ll be good for you to try making more than three friends, you know.”

Taking the books out of the box and lining them up on the shelves of the book case, Solomon tosses a glance back at Simeon.

Simeon isn’t wrong.

Solomon could be the most powerful sorcerer in the world, but it means absolutely nothing if he can’t effectively operate in the modern magical community. Maybe if he was born several hundred years earlier he could have swept up the world in the sheer magnitude of his power, but nowadays, politics infect everything. Solomon can’t patent a spell to wipe his ass without a sponsor, and no one wants to sponsor the intense kid with a bad attitude.

His ability to cast magic without any kind of aide or incantation launched him into the spotlight at an early age. Solomon has always been aware of what other people thought of him. When empty praise didn’t ingratiate his sycophants to him, it just as easily turned to criticism; kids are cruel, after all. As a result, Solomon has always struggled connecting with others.

By the time he realized he would have to work on his people skills to get anywhere, he was halfway through high school with a bad reputation, no friends, and no open doors.

(Funnily enough, it was around the same time that he met Simeon that he realized he needed to be less of an asshole if he was to ever get anywhere in life.

Simeon has been integral in teaching Solomon "how to person", as he puts it.)

“Who’s your new roommate, anyway?” Simeon asks when Solomon doesn’t respond to his comment. “I don’t think you said their name.”

"Did I not?” Solomon hums, “It’s someone named Mephistopheles.”

“Mephistopheles?” Simeon parrots, head tilting to the side, “Didn’t he get expelled?”

As Solomon opens his mouth to question Simeon, the door handle jiggles as someone unlocks it.

It swings open unceremoniously, followed by the quiet moans and shuffling of clothes as two people stumble inside the threshold. Simeon and Solomon can only watch in stunned silence as the taller, curly haired man presses a shorter woman against the wall, his face fully obscured in the curve of her neck as he lavishes it in open mouthed kisses.

Her eyelids flutter, he must be doing a great job--but the second she makes eye contact with Solomon, she shrieks.

“Asmo, Asmo wait--” The girl bats at his chest, her face bright red, “There’s people here!” Asmo pulls his face away from her skin to look at the room, a gorgeous smile on his face as he notices the others does not falter in the slightest.

“Oh, you’re Solomon!” Asmo smiles, before looking at Simeon, “And you’re Simeon. Lovely to meet you both.” Solomon looks at Simeon for some kind of hint as to what the fuck he should do here, but Simeon also seems at a loss. Before either of them can say anything, Asmo slides a hand up the girl’s side to cup her cheek, speaking to them even as he stares deep into her eyes.

“Now, would the two of you kindly get out?”

The rest of living with Asmo is pretty much a continued repeat of their first meeting. Multiple times a week, sometimes once or twice in a day. Solomon has no fucking clue how someone like Asmo gets any schoolwork done, or hell, when the other gets sleep?

Regardless, it’s two weeks of Asmo getting laid and Solomon not getting proper amounts of sleep, and he’s sick of it.

“There need to be,” Solomon grimaces, swirling around in his desk chair but faltering as Asmo emerges from the bathroom, toweling his hair and jeans hanging low on his hips, “...ground rules.”

Asmo tilts his head, “Rules?” He says the words like it’s a foreign language, new and clunky in his pretty mouth. Solomon wants to sock him.

“You can’t keep bringing partners back here,” Solomon says. Asmo goes back to toweling his perfect fucking hair.

“And why is that?”

“I can’t concentrate on coursework or go to bed if you’ve got someone moaning in your bed every other night.”

“Their rooms. A dark alcove somewhere. A car. A bathroom. I don’t care--anywhere else but here.”

Asmo ponders this for a moment, before he shrugs his shoulders as he walks across the room to his drawers by the window, “Nope. I don’t think that’s considerate for them.” He digs through to presumably find a shirt, and Solomon bites the bullet.

“You’re on academic probation, aren’t you?” Solomon says, and Asmo freezes with his back turned to Solomon, tension evident in the line of his shoulders. When he turns around, his expression is colder than anything Solomon’s ever seen directed at him. In his brother Levi’s words, there it is: the infamous Bitch Smile.

“I didn’t know you cared about gossip,” Asmo looks like a dragon picking his teeth with human bones as he sits against the window sill.

The afternoon light drifting in through the sheer curtains casts him in an ethereal glow, and Solomon bites back his unnecessary request for Asmo to move out of such flattering lighting so he can negotiate with him properly.

“I don’t, which is how I know it’s true.”

“And? What? You’re going to try and blackmail me with this information?” Asmo sneers, but even crippling distaste is an attractive look for the other.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Solomon scoffs, “I’m offering to tutor you.”

Asmo blinks at that.

“I won’t tell anyone. You know my grades. Half of our required classes are together, so it’s not like it would put me under any more stress than not sleeping. And I’m not unreasonable,” Solomon says, “If you must bring people over, just let me know in advance and I’ll go to a coffee shop or the library. I do need to sleep, so I want them out by nine or ten at the latest.”

Asmo doesn’t immediately say no like Solomon thought he would, so things are already going much better than he expected. However, it still does not prepare him for Asmo’s response.

“Fine. Is that all you want?” He asks, and Solomon pointedly ignores the double entendre.

“I want one of the shelves in the bathroom cabinet,” Solomon blurts, because Asmo has too many beauty products and there’s no space for him in the current set up. Asmo’s brow rises, even as his mouth twist into a wry, surprised smile.

“Maybe.”

“I can work with maybe,” Solomon smiles in return, standing and extending his hand out for a shake. “It’s a deal, then?”

Asmo stares at the hand, his expression unreadable, before something seems to break. He pushes off the window sill and in a few short strides, huffing with laughter, “What’s with the handshake? So formal.”

Solomon doesn’t rise to the bait even if there is a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. This is the first time they’ve touched, he realizes as his magic hums as Asmo’s hand is warm and steady in his own.

“It’s a deal.” Asmo says, and there’s a hint of interest in his eyes as he seems to see Solomon in a new light.

Solomon doesn’t mean to overhear it. He spends so much time in RAD’s library that it’s essentially his second home.

“How’s your shady roommate?” He hears a voice say, and it’s familiar enough to jarr Solomon from his thoughts.

A tinkling laugh, and Solomon blinks in realization. Asmo? Solomon tries to not eavesdrop, tries so hard to not let his interest wander from the potion formula in front of him, because it really has been giving him trouble...

“He’s not bad. Too stiff. Looks great when he comes out of the shower,” Asmo purrs. Solomon feels the bright pink blush rise to his cheeks. They’re talking openly about this in a library, of all places. RAD’s library is unreasonably huge, though--even on a busy weekday, one could be several aisles away from another human being in this space.

They’re both taking the same potions class, so it’s not too far off the mark that they’d both be in the same area looking for reading materials. Solomon should really just leave before he hears anything else that makes his ears burn.

“I don’t trust him.” Asmo’s brother, Satan, says. Of course. Solomon grinds his teeth. Asmo hmms.

“He definitely has a weird powerful vibe about him. I don’t blame you. His face just looks like he’s up to something,” Solomon swallows the spike of hurt that hits at Asmo’s words, even if he’s heard them before. Two months since he started tutoring Asmo. Three months since he moved in. Their cohabitation isn’t domestic, but it is at least civil. “I’ve seen him sleep but I don’t believe it, you know? I’ve never seen him do anything for fun. He’s so pent up and proper that I’m not sure how he does it.”

“He doesn’t.” Satan tsks, “You’ve heard about what happened, right?” Solomon feels his blood run cold.

That was different. It was an accident. He was a child. He was weak then. Solomon would never do anything like that on purpose again. Surely, surely Asmo wouldn’t--

“Of course! It figures though, all the super powerful kids are fucked in the head. But other than that, he’s not bad.”

But he’s not bad. But he’s not bad. As if Solomon would ever settle for not bad after such an callous description of his person. Fury, the kind that makes his magic churn under his skin at a rolling boil, rises in him: at Satan, at Asmo, at himself for.. For what? Believing that Asmo may actually have been different? That they could have been friends?

“What was that?” Satan asks, likely sensing the swirl of Solomon’s magic.

Cursing inwardly, he wrangles his wild emotions under control through years of practice. He will not prove them right. Solomon closes his textbook. His chair screeches against the floor as he stands, Satan and Asmo crossing out of the aisle into the open study area where Solomon has been seated, completely unhidden.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Satan accuses, his bright green eyes sharp and disdainful.

Years and years of diligently studying. Never losing his temper. His single minded determination to better himself has erected a wall that others look on in contempt. Do not prove them right about you, Solomon tells himself, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave red crescent marks. Do not let the rumors be true.

He cannot look at Asmo, so instead, he smiles at Satan.

“No,” Solomon laughs, and the politeness in it is so fake that it hurts, “I was studying for the same test that Asmo is studying for. Voices carry quite well in a library.”

Satan glances at Asmo, but Solomon still cannot look at him. Tossing his book haphazardly into his bag, he throws it over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave the two of you to it, then.”

“Solomon, hey, wait!” Solomon is not running away, but he has a very brisk pace and does not feel bad when Asmo has to job to catch up with him. “Listen, about what I said--”

Solomon stops sharply enough that Asmo almost runs into him, but Solomon uses his magic to help steady Asmo. It isn’t to be helpful, it’s to stop Asmo from getting close enough to touch him, as if that will protect him from all of these hurt, churning emotions. He exhales through his nose.

“Since you’re actually taking the time to go to the library… I don’t think you need my help anymore.” Solomon forces himself to look at Asmo, steeling himself against whatever petulant expression is probably on the other’s face.

“Right?”

Asmo’s face is not petulant in the slightest. He seems… upset? Solomon feels the beast snarl inside him, a lick of rage at the downtrodden expression on the other’s face. He gets caught shit talking him openly and then has the gall to look hurt when he gets his free tutoring cut off? Asmo’s family is disgustingly rich and well connected. Let him lose his pride and ask them for help.

Solomon will last the year. He and Simeon will room together next year. Asmodeus will not be what breaks him.

Asmo falters at the intensity of Solomon’s gaze, the severity of his words.

“... Right.” Asmo says, and Solomon lets his feet carry him away before either of them say anything else.

- - -

After a week of tense, peaceful avoidance, Satan dropping into the seat opposite him at the campus coffee shop is the last thing Solomon expects.

“I apologize for my conduct the other day.”

Solomon blinks at him.

What is Satan doing here? Irritation immediately blossoms in his chest--he may not be furious anymore, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see Satan, nor had he expected to.

After cancelling their tutoring sessions, he’s made it a point to spend as little time in their (when had it become their room? It was always Asmo’s room at first) room as possible. Sure, it means spending garbage amounts of money on overpriced coffee and shitty wi-fi when the library gets too stuffy, but at least he can breathe.

None of that explains why Satan is here. Apologizing to him. Surely it must be some kind of a trap? A childish prank? Really? Would Asmo stoop so low? He doesn’t know either of these brothers enough to truly say. It’s best for him to be polite for now, until he can figure out Satan’s true motiv--

“You realize that a lot of people don’t trust you because there’s a moment on your face where you look like you’re actively plotting, and then you say some polite nonsense,” Satan says, and Solomon’s brain stops like a record screeching.

“Is this really an apology.” Solomon says, drily. Satan shrugs his shoulders.

“That was an observation. This is the apology.” Satan clears his throat, looking Solomon straight in the eyes. “It was unbecoming of me to speak of you like that in public. I should know better, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s what you thought,” Solomon says, because it’s true. It’s what they all think, and for a good chunk of his life, Solomon rarely tried to make them think differently.

“It was ignorant.” Satan’s bright green eyes stare into his own, and Solomon senses no dishonesty in his words. When Solomon speaks, he finds that he actually might believe them.

“Apology accepted.” Now leave me alone.

Satan narrows his eyes, “Really?” Solomon resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, really.”

“Will you speak to my brother again, then?”

“It’s a little presumptuous of you to ask for my forgiveness and a favor in the same breath.”

“Asmo flunked the last test,” Satan says, in lieu of a proper answer, “He’s in a world of shit at the moment.”

“Why doesn’t he try flirting with the professor?” Solomon scoffs.

Satan props his chin up on his hand with a lopsided smile that’s far more relaxed than he’s ever seen from the fourth brother, “That’s the thing, he hasn’t. Lucifer chewed him out about it and he took it with his tail between his legs rather than kick up a fit about it too.” Solomon’s quick mind lets him skip over the next lines of whatever shitty banter they’ve got to reach Satan’s point.

“You want me to tutor him again.” Solomon asks in disbelief, despite himself. Satan snorts and leans back.

“Nothing so pedantic as that,” Satan waves the notion away, “Just stop avoiding him at every turn, and hear what he has to say. If you’re still mad at him after that, then that’s perfectly reasonable too, considering my brother is one of the biggest assholes to ever exist. He’s unbearably dramatic when he gets into fights with his friends.”

“... Friends?”

Satan stares at him like he’s grown another head, “Obviously.”

Solomon laughs so hard, he’s sure that he’s confirmed all of Satan’s weird opinions of him.

“Solomon?” Asmo breathes his name, hand lingering on the doorknob as he enters the room to see Solomon sitting in his desk chair.

“Satan talked to me,” Solomon says, reveling in the stunned look on Asmo’s face, before crossing his arms, ”He apologized for what he said. And then he asked me to at least hear you out because you’re sulking.” Asmo pouts at Satan’s words, and Solomon quirks his brow.

“Is he wrong?”

In response to this, Asmo’s face looks pained, lips pressing together as he glances to the side. He’s like a petulant child, Solomon thinks, even if he’s somehow still amused by the other’s expression.

When Asmo looks at Solomon, and he throws his hands up in the air, “I shouldn’t have said it. There, are you happy?”

“Not really,” Solomon admits, “I understand why your brother might think that of me, but to hear it from someone that I’m helping out...” He adds a little bit of a softer, sadder tone to his voice to make Asmo writhe, and ha, does it work.

Asmo groans, ruffling his hands through his hair, “Alright, I’m a dick! Are you happy? I’m a gossipy bitch and I say things I shouldn’t. You helped me out and I.. took advantage of it. I’m sorry!” Asmo’s arms cross, and he looks so genuinely uncomfortable that Solomon wants to laugh.

“You’re terrible at this. I was confused as to why Satan might say I can still be mad at you after you say your piece but.. I get it. You’re even worse than he is at it, dare I say.”

“You haven’t met our eldest brother,” Asmo sniffs, before continuing, “Besides, words and emotions are hard, bodies are easier,” Asmo shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“You sound like a bad high school drama,” Solomon scoffs, rolling over Asmo’s affronted gasp, “In any case, I heard you flunked the last test we shared. Maybe if you spent less time flirting with the TA in that class, you could retain the information on the board.” Solomon brings his knuckles to his chin, holding his elbow in his other palm.

“It can’t be helped. If we can get you set up with some extra credit there and you ace the next few exams that should keep your grade above water.” Solomon runs the numbers in his head, but Asmo is waving his hands in the air.

“Wait, wait, waaaait! You’re forgiving me?”

“I’m considering it. You have to make it up to me somehow, but as for the tutoring.. we’re too close to exams for me to want to deal with another roommate if you get yourself suspended. I don’t have blackmail material on anyone else, unfortunately.” Solomon’s kidding about the blackmail, but Asmo deserves a little ribbing after that awful apology.

Although Asmo doesn’t seem offended by the joke. No, it actually seems to be... the opposite? As he speaks, Asmo’s looking at him with a blinding smile.

“Are you listening to me?” Solomon frowns, knocked off balance by Asmo’s expression, “Because if you aren’t, I swear i’m going to--”

A flurry of motion, Asmo crosses the space of their room quicker than Solomon’s ever seen him.

Asmo’s hand cups his face, the other lands on his hip; Solomon has very little time to think, because Asmo’s gorgeous face is in centimeters away from his own. The scent of Asmo’s perfume fills his senses, rendering him stunned--Asmo glances down at his parted lips, and then back up at Solomon’s eyes.

Asmo kisses him, and Solomon’s magic blows out the fuses in their entire building.

In the chaos of their plunge into darkness, Solomon’s hands shooting out to shove Asmo back accidentally activates his magic, and Asmo stumbles a few paces further before falling to the ground.

“Ah,” Asmo yelps, at the same time Solomon rises from his seat, “What the hell, Asmo?”

They’re not in total darkness, thanks to the dim light from the streetlamps outside, but it still takes Solomon’s eyes a few seconds to adjust. Asmo’s vague form is still seated on the floor, propped up on his elbows.

“What was that?” He demands, still haunted by the firm press of Asmo’s lips against his. Asmo shifts to get up, and Solomon’s arm immediately reaches out to offer his assistance. Asmo huffs at the motion, but takes his hand anyway.

“I thought I could make it up to you this way.”

“By offering to, what, make out with me?” Solomon says, disbelief mounting. Asmo shrugs his shoulders, one hand trailing up Solomon’s hip.

“Sure, we could do that. We could do whatever you want,” and now that Solomon’s eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting, he can see the coy smile playing at Asmo’s lips, “I see how you look at me, how could you not? Besides, you’re quite handsome yourself…” Asmo purrs, his free hand reaching up to graze against Solomon’s blushing cheeks.

For a moment, Solomon hesitates--Asmo is gorgeous. Even if Solomon were deaf to the campus’ adoration of him, he would have to be blind as well to not realize that just by existing near Asmo. There’s always a mix of challenging and inviting in his eyes, an ease that shows itself in all of his movements. Asmo exudes a level of sensual energy that is a powerful skill in its own right, and Solomon is a healthy young adult…

But Solomon has no desire to fall into Asmo’s bed like another one of his hundreds of admirers, clamoring to get into the other’s bed space. He has more important things in mind.

“That’s not what I meant by making it up to me!” Solomon is very proud of his voice not cracking as he pushes Asmo’s hand away, and the coquettish expression is quickly replaced by Asmo’s pout.

“Well, how else am I supposed to show you how truly repentant I am!” He whines at his failed seduction.

“I can’t even begin to explain how screwed up that is, Asmo.” Solomon groans, running his hand through his hair, “You could have offered me another shelf in the bathroom cabinet or more sink space and I would have considered it a start.”

Asmo blinks, tilting his head to the side, “... Really? That’s all you want?” He seems stunned that someone would turn down his body.

“Now that I know you were going to offer your body, half of the sink sounds too fucking small, doesn’t it?” Solomon retorts, and Asmo laughs.

A loud knock startles both of them out of their conversation, and he hears the muffled voice of their RA from the other side.

“Are you alright in there? There’s been a power outage -- will you be alright casting magelight, or do you need flashlights?”

Solomon, in desperate need of a reprieve from Asmo’s… Asmo-ness… goes to open the door as the RA speaks. After a quick exchange of assuring the doting senior in their pajamas, Solomon shuts the door with a sigh. When he turns around, Asmo is seated in his desk chair with a soft pink magelight floating idly nearby. Asmo seems to be deep in thought, and Solomon approaches him with slight hesitation.

As soon as Solomon gets closer, Asmo’s gaze snaps up to look at him so suddenly that Solomon almost balks.

“I know what I can do for you,” Asmo says, his eyes twinkling with mischief and utter glee. The pink light casts an almost eerie, and somehow still enticing shadow on the other’s face.

Solomon isn’t too proud to admit he’s terrified by whatever Asmo is about to offer.

“... So you didn’t sleep with him?” Simeon asks, and Solomon chokes on his tea.

“What! Of course not!” He coughs through his instantaneous response, pounding his fist on his chest. “He said… oh hell, I can’t say this, it’s ridiculous.” Solomon covers his face with his hands, an unbidden blush rising to his cheeks.

“He said he was going to make me popular,” Solomon groans, a little quieter in volume. Simeon is silent for a long enough time that Solomon takes his face out of his hands to look at him questioningly, but Simeon’s got one hand over his mouth as he shakes in stifled amusement.

“Wh--” At Solomon’s confused expression, Simeon is unable to contain himself any longer, bursting into a loud fit of laughter. Simeon throws his arms around Solomon in a crushing hug, even as Solomon tries to shove his way out of it.

“Oh, this is going to be great.”

I feel like this would definitely be considered #crack or #ooc slightly because it’s always hard to translate personalities that are defined by specific experiences (such as being alive for thousands of years) into any AU, but especially ones where they’re only 19/20 year olds lmaaoo

Facets of their personalities I tried to keep: Solomon’s ambition/the fact that people think he’s so shifty, and Asmo’s sexual bravado/blatant insecurities of his person. Who knows if that comes off here, but hey, I had fun lkajflaks

As always, ty for reading!!! I appreciate your kind words and responses on my stuff ;w;

#ch: asmo #ch: solomon #pr: asmo/solomon #obey me fic #obey me asmodeus #obey me solomon #writing #ch: simeon #is here #and so is #ch: satan

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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Day 3 of Wangxian Week 2020.

Prompt Palette is Rebirth - Mememtos - Celebrity AU.

When Lan Wangji broke up with Wei Wuxian it destroyed him; he'd thought they were in love and happy together.

Two years later a gala event they're both required to attend throws them back together. It was Lan Wangji's choice to break up, so why does he suddenly want to talk to Wei Wuxian after all this time?

A Second Chance

Jiang Yanli placed a hand over the top of his as he paused to look at the picture of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji smiling into the camera in front of the Parthenon in Athens. He should cry at the chasm of emptiness that opened up inside him at the feeling of loss, but he didn’t have any tears left at this point.

He put the picture in the cardboard box, along with the rest, and all the stupid little trinkets and mementos that reminded him of Lan Wangji, and their life together, before Lan Wangji had broken all ties with Wei Wuxian.

One of the most cutting things about it was, as they were both celebrities, in the public eye, their relationship had been secret, known only to a few close friends, family and work colleagues.

And so Wei Wuxian was expected to work tomorrow; he had a recording session, and he would have to look and sound like he was perfectly normal, like his world hadn’t collapsed around him and left him lost and confused.

“You don’t have to deal with this now, A-Xian, we can leave it until it’s a little less fresh if you want”

“No, jiejie, I want them gone, I want them out of here tonight. Tomorrow is a fresh start. A rebirth, new me, no more Lan Wangji, he can go to hell”

He slammed the lid on the cardboard box, then checked his phone, “Jiang Cheng should be here soon, lets tape this up so he can go throw it at Lan Wangji tomorrow” Wei Wuxian was raw and hurting, and still at that point he didn’t care what he said about the other, Lan Wangji was only lucky he hadn’t felt the need to call him or drive over there and give him his entire mind, never mind a piece of it.

Better, in case he said something that couldn’t be taken back. Not that it mattered now.

His horrible week didn’t get any better when the pictures of Jiang Cheng punching Lan Wangji in the face were splashed all over every news and gossip tabloid and website in the country.

Wei Wuxian thought he should have felt some spark of satisfaction at Jiang Cheng putting Lan Wangji on his ass in defence of him, but he didn’t.

It didn’t help that Lan Xichen, trying to restrain Jiang Cheng, had accidentally broken Jiang Cheng’s arm which had resulted in a ridiculously long, nerve wracking operation for he and Jiang Yanli to sit through, on his already frazzled nerves.

Jiang Cheng received the dressing down of his life once he came around from the anaesthesia. Wei Wuxian had never heard their jiejie so angry and cutting, either before or since.

2 Years Later

“Wei Wuxian is forced to attend to promote his new collaboration album with MianMian, Lan-xiansheng, perhaps you should consider advising your client to give this event a miss”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, and leaned back in his chair as Jiang Cheng’s face flushed in temper and he unconsciously reached up to rub at his right forearm while he listened to whatever was said to him.

“That is, of course, your client’s prerogative, Lan-xiansheng. I see. Well, please inform him of the situation. If your client still sees it as necessary to attend we would appreciate it if you would provide us notice via email” there were no pleasantries as Jiang Cheng hung up the call and tossed his earpiece onto the desk in front of him, frustration evident in the move.

“Asshole”

“Flirting with Xichen-ge again, I see”

“Flirting? With the man who snapped my fucking arm like a twig?” Jiang Cheng demanded in irritation.

“In fairness you did punch his brother, and he explained it was an accident; he was only trying to restrain you. He even sent you a fruit basket and flowers to apologise”

The former of which Jiang Cheng had given away to charity, and the latter to their jiejie, but still…

Teasing Jiang Cheng took his mind off of the very real problem of possibly having to meet up with his ex at the charity gala evening, which was why he did it. And it was fun, besides.

“It was a spiral fracture, Wei Wuxian, it took eight months to heal, like flowers and a fruit basket make up for that. It fucking hurt”

His complaint made, he dropped the subject, and, knowing Wei Wuxian had taken in all the information he needed from his half of the conversion with Lan Xichen, he changed it to discussions of some fan signings they had arranged next week with co-artist MianMian.

***

As the event grew closer things became frantic. Jiang Cheng told him that he’d been informed Lan Wangji would definitely be attending. So now was the perfect time to prove he’d moved on, he told himself, that Lan Wangji was nothing to him more than an ex boyfriend.

Despite these words he didn’t feel hopeful he was up to the task, however.

Then a tabloid ran with an article speculating that he and MianMian were in a secret relationship. It genuinely wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last of it’s kind linking him romantically with someone but it caused a frenzy and he and Jiang Cheng were busy enacting damage control with MianMian and her management team.

A few weeks later, another article was run in another tabloid claiming through rigorous investigative journalism it had been found out that a celebrity reporter at a rival paper had been blackmailing and harassing celebrities with threats of exposure. Wei Wuxian had never liked Su She and it was easy for him to believe it was the truth; he had never come across as particularly ethical, but that paper claimed initially that the accusations were false; pure mud-slinging.

The thing about mud-slinging was, if enough was thrown, some of it stuck. The melee culminated in the resignation and disgrace of Su She, as the other papers were suddenly full of stories of celebrities who claimed to have been blackmailed and bullied.

***

With all the fuss he hadn’t had that much time to dwell on his imminent meeting with Lan Wangji. Nor had he really had time to mentally prepare himself.

The night of the gala, therefore, he felt like he was on the back foot and unprepared.

He didn’t know what to expect nor how he was going to react to what did occur.

The feeling only intensified when, calling an acknowledgement at the knock on his dressing room door, it turned out to be the man he dreaded encountering.

The other came in and closed the door behind him, his elegantly handsome face was expressionless, but he wavered in front of it like he didn’t know what his reception would be.

Wei Wuxian could help him with that.

“Lan Zhan, I thought our management teams had agreed that we would keep a respectful distance. This is hardly that”

“Wei Ying…” the tiniest look of consternation crossed his face, before it disappeared. “Your team wanted that, I never agreed. Can we please talk?”

What could Lan Wangji possibly think there was left to talk about at this stage? The only way to find out was of course to agree, but having Lan Wangji here was proving he wasn’t as over him, and what he had done, as Wei Wuxian hoped. It hurt. It still hurt. It was silly, two years later he should have moved on from this, stopped giving Lan Wangji this power to hurt him.

“I’m not sure what you think there is left to talk about, Lan Zhan” he said tiredly, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with a finger and thumb.

“The truth. The things I didn’t tell you”

At those words Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open; what did he mean? He looked back at the other, the only way to find out of course was to let him talk. He waved vaguely for the other to sit, Lan Wangji followed his gesture and perched on the nearby stool.

“You saw the news about Su She, the reporter, recently?” he asked, knowing Wei Wuxian couldn’t really have avoided it.

“Yes”

He nodded as Wei Wuxian agreed. “We were being blackmailed, Wei Ying. I broke off with you to protect you. Su She threatened to smear everything over his grubby little tabloid, it could have destroyed our careers”

“If you paid why would you break up with me? And is your career really that important to you? How the fuck is that protecting me?” as far as excuses went it turned Wei Wuxian’s temper up to eleven.

“Wei Ying, my career meant nothing to me, I was protecting yours. I broke up with you so Su She wouldn’t have any future leverage, no reason to leave me alone and come after you. Blackmailers don’t stop” that soothed his temper a little, but still…

“Who the hell were you to decide my career was more important to me than the man I loved? We could have gone anywhere, done anything. I wouldn’t have cared about it. Typical Lan arrogance, assuming you had the right to make that decision alone”

That seemed to shake Lan Wangji a little, “I only wanted to protect you”

“Well, it didn’t work, you ripped my heart out. But thanks, I guess?”

“I’m sorry, Wei Ying, but I did it because I love you” he almost missed the present tense of the admission in his anger. What was he to make of that? What did he even want to make of that?

They were silent while Wei Wuxian pondered.

“Are you really seeing MianMian?” the question was low, tentative, unlike Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian looked at him, caught the gaze of those pale amber eyes. There was a cruel part of himself that wanted to say yes, claim they were now a thing, try to hurt Lan Wangji. But he didn’t listen to it.

“No, its one of those stupid, fake, tabloid ‘they’re spending so much time together’ pieces of fiction. We’ve just released a collaboration, of course we’re spending a lot of time together now we have to do the promo”

Lan Wangji nodded his acceptance of Wei Wuxian’s words. Was that a flash of relief in his eyes?

“Do you hate me, Wei Ying?” well that question came out of the blue. He was caught off guard by Lan Wangji’s unusual directness.

“I don’t know” was the only honest answer he could give, again, ignoring that voice that told him to hurt the other and just say yes. “I thought I did, I think I should. I’m not sure. I don’t know”

“Then please give me a second chance, Wei Ying. I’ll earn your love again” Lan Wangji leaned forward suddenly, pressing a short, almost-chaste kiss again Wei Wuxian’s lips. Should he punch him? Push him away? Enjoy it?

Lan Wangji pulled back before he could decide; he was confused, and oh but he had missed those lips on his.

His voice was still sharp, “Do you think one kiss is going to make up for everything, Lan Zhan?” he demanded. He had been hurt, destroyed, and here was the other begging for a second chance. A chance he was beginning to think he dearly wanted to allow him.

“No, Wei Ying, but I have to start somewhere”

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #protective siblings #second chances #hurt/comfort #breaking up #making up #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi fanfic #the untamed #the untamed fanfic #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #Shay's stuff

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zoeytheweeb · 5 years

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Miraculous Ladybug: K-12 Chapter 1: Wheels on the Bus

AN: Sorry for disappearing, but I got inspired to write a new fic based off Melanie Martinez’s new album and, well, I ended up writing the outline for said fic (which was a lot easier to do compared to writing #notmychatnoir since I actually know how many chapters I want this new fic to have) so here we are! I might change the title, not sure yet, but for now, enjoy the first chapter of my new fic. Don’t worry though, the next chapter of #notmychatnoir is still in the works and Adrien will get his comeuppance! Also, you can read my new fic on AO3 here!

Chapter 1: Wheels on the Bus

I’m just looking out the window and it’s cold outside

There are two boys yelling behind me and I’m terrified

Counting trees as they pass me by

Marinette was bored. Well, not exactly bored per se, but she certainly wasn’t enjoying herself at the moment. She stared out the window, looking at the trees as they passed by. Her sketchbook sat on her lap, a new one that she had not used yet in case Lila tried anything when nobody is looking. That way, if her sketchbook did mysteriously go missing (read: stolen), then nothing she draws in it would have been of any real importance to her.

Currently, Marinette and her classmates, along with Ms. Bustier, were on a school bus making their way to their field trip destination. They were going to Maison de Victor Hugo to learn more about the well-known writer and write a report about what they have learned when they go home for the day. The assignment was worth a good portion of their final grade, but Marinette wasn’t worried about that.

Instead, she was very excited to go on this field trip. Even with Lila causing trouble and painting Marinette as a villain every chance she had, and taking most of her friends from her while she was at it, she was still able to look forward to going to school each day and not let Lila get to her. Although, it was not like Marinette actually had a choice in not letting Lila get under her skin. She is Ladybug, after all, she cannot afford to be akumatized, and even if she could, Marinette absolutely refused to let Lila of all people be the reason she would be akumatized in the first place. She would not give that brat the satisfaction of being her downfall.

And I’m trying not to look across the aisle

‘Cause Maya’s letting Dan put his hand up her skirt

And she’s got her hand down his pants

Speaking of which, Marinette glanced across the aisle from where she was sitting in the third row, rolling her eyes when she noticed Lila clinging onto Adrien’s arm as they sat next to each other. Marinette never understood why nobody noticed how uncomfortable Adrien looked whenever Lila put her hands on him, or even got near him for that matter. For that matter, Marinette also could not understand why Adrien never said anything about it when he clearly wanted to. However, she understands that he is most likely used to such behavior, especially since he never did much other than attempt to dodge Chloe’s tackles when she used to act the way Lila currently is around him, key words being “used to.”

That was something Marinette, and most likely everyone else when they’re not fawning over Lila, was surprised about. Queen Bee must have flipped a switch in Chloe, because after Ladybug gave her another chance to be a hero, Chloe started to become nicer. It was small of course, with Chloe visibly stopping herself from insulting everyone she came across and apologizing to everyone for everything she had done. Then, Chloe actually started to do nice things for people, especially Sabrina. Marinette was very proud of Chloe and made sure to tell her that after they became friends.

Glancing behind her, Marinette saw Chloe and Sabrina sitting at the back of the bus, quietly chatting about something. Knowing those two, and for once Marinette was happy to admit that she knew them, they were most likely gossiping, probably about Lila if the scoffs they threw her way whenever she opened her mouth to spew another lie were to go by.

Chloe looked around, most likely feeling eyes on her, when she locked eyes with Marinette. She gave a quick smile, a genuine one instead of the cruel smirk she had gotten used to receiving from Chloe, before turning back to her conversation with Sabrina. Marinette smiled to herself, giving Sabrina a small wave when she looked at her as well, before turning around to look back at Lila when she heard her speaking.

“Of course I knew him! I’m actually the great-granddaughter of Victor Hugo’s daughter, Leopoldine,” Lila was saying, still clinging onto Adrien as she lied to anyone that would listen.

“Wow, Lila!” Mylene exclaimed, sitting in the first row in front of Lila and Adrien, Ivan sitting next to her. Although, with how tall he is, it looked like Mylene was sitting on his lap to fit.

“Cool!” Kim shouted, sitting in the fourth row behind Marinette’s seat. Marinette could not see his expression, if she had turned around to look, she would have noticed Max, who was sitting next to Kim, frown at Lila’s claim. However, he said nothing, and his frown was gone as soon as it appeared.

“That’s awesome, dude!” Nino stated, sitting next to Alya as they sat in the second row in front of Lila.

“Ooh, you have to tell us everything, girl!” Alya stated, already pulling out her phone and recording Lila.

I know the driver sees it

I know he’s peeking in the rearview mirror

He says nothing

Trying to ignore it, it’s fucking boring

I’m quietly observing, I’m saying nothing

Adrien said nothing, simply choosing to smile nervously as his eyes glanced frantically around him, probably looking for a way to escape Lila’s grip without being too obvious about it.

Marinette quietly scoffed, trying not to draw attention to herself lest Lila decides to accuse Marinette of bullying her again. If Lila and her followers had actually done research, they would know that Leopoldine died when she was 19, along with her husband and their unborn child, she thought. However, she took comfort in knowing that only a few of her classmates were actually paying attention to her lies. Other than Chloe and Sabrina, who had both learned about Lila’s true nature after overhearing her threaten Marinette again, a few of their classmates saw through Lila’s lies as well now. Marinette looked at the seat across from Chloe and Sabrina, noticing Nathaniel shake his head softly at Lila’s back while Alix glared holes at the back of Lila’s head.

Nathaniel found out Lila was lying when she talked to him and Marc, claiming to have met a famous comic book writer, shortly after said writer had died. Alix, on the other hand, found out about Lila’s lies when she claimed to have participated, and won, in a huge roller-derby competition that Alix had managed to convince her father to take her to see two years ago. Needless to say, Alix was livid, and most likely would have done something drastic if Juleka and Rose had not been there to stop her.

Juleka and Rose were another two of Marinette’s classmates who had learned of Lila’s true nature. Juleka had always been suspicious of Lila, only choosing to hang out with her because Rose was excited about how amazing their new friend seemed to be. However, one day Rose had talked to Prince Ali, eagerly asking him what it was like to be friends with Lila. Poor Rose was devastated when Prince Ali told her that he had no idea who Lila even was and that he has not invited anyone to stay at his palace or worked on charity cases for pollution. He had apologized but had to hang up due to his tight schedule. After that, Rose and Juleka distanced themselves from Lila and her sycophants, taking everything Lila said with a grain of salt and only talking to her when she addressed them.

Of course, the four students apologized to Marinette for believing she was bullying Lila, and although it took a while for her to trust them, Marinette forgave them and tended to hang out with them along with Chloe and Sabrina, although it took the others a while to trust those two as well. Unfortunately, the rest of their classmates still believed Lila wholeheartedly, with the exception of Adrien of course but he is still content to take the high road and let Lila do what she wants, including Alya. At first, it had hurt to have her own best friend believe essentially a complete stranger over her, but Marinette has long since given up on getting Alya to see reason, especially after Alya continued to accuse Marinette of being jealous of the attention Lila’s getting from Adrien whenever she tried to show Alya proof that Lila was lying.

If Alya had actually bothered to listen to Marinette, then she would know that she is no longer interested in Adrien. A girl can only take so much pain and humiliation just for trying to confess to the boy before she decides that he’s not worth it, after all. Besides, after Adrien told her to take the high road, Marinette began to realize that her crush was not as perfect as she made him out to be and that her methods of trying to get him to notice her were very unhealthy and borderline stalker-ish. It had taken a while, but Marinette had finally taken the time to think about her crush, and after looking around her room, she realized that she seemed more like an obsessed fangirl than a love interest, much less a friend.

It was not easy to admit, it was even harder to let go of her affection for him, but with help from Tikki and surprisingly Chloe, although Chloe does not know about Tikki of course, Marinette had taken down all of the photos of Adrien she had on her walls. After some consideration, Marinette had even sold most of the birthday presents she made for him, specifically the ones she made for when he was older, much older. She kept the ones she made for him for his next birthday, deciding that at least it would be easier for her to give it to him in person, so he does not end up assuming his father made him the presents again. After all, she may not love Adrien anymore nor does she actually trust him to have her back as he said he would, but she still considered him a friend, even if they have not hung out as much as she would have liked, with and without a crush on him being in the way.

While she was at it, Marinette made birthday presents for her friends as well, so she would at least be prepared for their birthdays next year, especially if she and Chat Noir do not defeat Hawkmoth before then. She would hate him even more if he sent out an akuma before she could make presents and celebrate her friends’ respective birthdays.

Marinette had also decided to keep the schedule up, though she made changes to it. Instead of having only Adrien’s schedule on the chart, she had her friends’ and classmates’ schedules as well. Despite being late to school all the time, although she has been getting better at waking up early lately, Marinette loved being organized. The fact that she is the class representative only made that love for proper organization grow. It is her job to make sure all of her classmates can attend a certain event or field trip, and reporting to Ms. Bustier if they cannot. Marinette has also learned her lesson after Max was akumatized into Gamer again, and has decided to make a schedule for herself as well so she would not be overworked with everything she had to do anymore.

Marinette’s phone buzzed in her pocket, she had taken it out of her purse since she did not want the vibrations to disturb Tikki, who was currently sleeping. Already knowing who was texting her, Marinette smiled as she pulled out her phone to double-check that yes, Luka was texting her, most likely to see how she was doing. A faint blush bloomed over Marinette’s cheeks at the thought.

Luka: Hey, how’s the field trip?

Marinette smiled as she replied, explaining that they are still on the bus and that Lila was making up another lie.

A few days after Lila became Chameleon, Marinette ran into Luka, who had somehow noticed her bad mood and talked to her. It took some nudging, but Luka had managed to get the story out of Marinette, and they had spent a few hours sitting on a bench at the park, Luka listening intently as she explained the Lila situation. When she finished, Luka looked at her with a frown on his face. At first, Marinette had worried that even he did not believe her, and she would not have blamed him if that were the case, he is Juleka’s brother after all so he would probably believe his sister compared to a girl he had not hung out with much.

However, Luka must have sensed her worries, and quickly reassured her that he believed her, and Marinette had never felt as much relief as she had at that moment that she almost would have cried. Thankfully, she did not cry, although tears did still prick the corners of her eyes. Luka had wiped those tears away, and they went to get some ice cream. They spent the rest of the day just talking and hanging out, until Luka had to go home, not before promising to call and text her more often, and soon they began to hang out and get to know each other more.

Then Silencer happened, and after Luka confessed Marinette was left confused. She was still trying to get over Adrien at the time, and Luka must have realized that because he never brought up his confession again. That did not stop Marinette from thinking about it whenever she could, though. However, with everything going on with Lila and trying to get over Adrien, Marinette felt like she was not ready to date at the time. Now though, she has friends sticking by her side and she is completely over Adrien and feeling a lot better about herself. Somewhere down the line, Marinette realized, she began to get a crush on Luka as well, but she still stood by her decision to take care of herself first before taking the chance to date him.

Marinette had made that decision two months ago. Now, after talking to Luka the weekend before this field trip took place, and telling him that she feels ready to try dating, with the request of going slow, Luka had accepted her decision, congratulating her on taking the time to recover from everything before asking her out. Marinette had accepted, and now they are dating, and Marinette has never felt happier than she does when she’s with Luka.

No one’s watching us, don’t give a fuck

Wheels on the bus

I’m holding it down up in the front

Wheels on the bus

(Ooh, ooh, ooh) Wheels on the bus

Marinette’s phone buzzed again, signifying another text from Luka. However, before she could look at it, a voice caught her attention.

“Marinette?”

Said girl glanced up, looking around until she noticed Lila staring at her with a faux expression of concern on her face. Marinette held back a sigh, already knowing that whatever was about to happen would give her a headache.

“Yes?” She asked, just barely managing to keep the annoyance she felt out of her voice. Looking around again, she noticed that all eyes, except the bus driver’s of course, were on her now. Marinette was wary, wondering what Lila would try to pull this time.

“I just wanted you to know that I hope we can put aside our differences so everyone can enjoy the field trip,” She stated, putting a hopeful smile onto her face. However, the gleam in her eye that had gone unnoticed by her doting minions, but was definitely noticed by Marinette and the ones who knew she was lying stated that she definitely had something planned today.

Before Marinette could reply, the bus stopped. Glancing at the front of the bus, she noticed that they were at Maison de Victor Hugo. Ms. Bustier stood up, calling for the students’ attention.

“Alright everyone, remember that this field trip is for a graded assignment, so try to pay attention and actually learn about Victor Hugo,” She said, thanking the bus driver as he opened the doors before walking out, her students beginning to follow after grabbing their backpacks.

Only Lila and Marinette stayed behind, Marinette being held back by Lila before she could actually step out of the bus. This time, Marinette did not hold back her sigh, clutching her phone in one hand and her sketchbook in the other.

“What do you want, Lila?” She asked, letting the annoyance she felt seep into her voice.

“I want to know what you think you’re doing,” Lila growled, glaring daggers at Marinette, most likely trying to intimidate her.

After getting some of her friends back, and hanging out with Luka, Marinette had decided to ignore Lila unless she accuses her of something she did not do, like steal the answer sheet for a test along with a necklace that Lila used to claim she was the wielder of the fox miraculous. When she was getting over Adrien, Marinette had accepted that her friendships with her classmates would never be the same even after Lila eventually gets exposed, and she figured that if her friends did not want to believe her, then they were no longer worth her time. She had tried to warn them about Lila, and only a few people came around before it was too late, so she was done.

“I’m trying to enjoy this field trip, you should too,” Marinette replied, quickly walking off the bus before Lila could say anything. She walked towards her friends, looking back to see Lila glare at her briefly before she stalked towards Adrien, who was talking to Nino and Alya before she latched onto him again.

Now that she had no more distractions, Marinette put her sketchbook in her purse again and focused on her phone, smiling at Luka’s text.

Luka: Good luck, Ma-Ma-Marinette.

Mari: Thanks, I’m not too worried about Lila though, even if she is planning something. Anyways, we’re at the museum now so I need to go. I’ll text you later though!

She turned her phone off and put it in her purse, noticing that Tikki had woken up, giving her a quick smile before turning her attention to her classmates who were already walking into the building. She quickly caught up to them, smiling at Juleka and Rose when they glanced at her curiously.

Marinette was really looking forward to this field trip, and nothing, especially not an akuma or Lila, would knock her down from the cloud she found herself floating on more often these days.

AN: So, what did you guys think? Should I keep the lyrics or not? This is my first song-fic and second fic in general, so constructive criticism and thoughts would be appreciated! Also, like I said, the next chapter of #notmychatnoir is in the works so don’t worry, I’m not abandoning that fic! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic as well! :D

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annoyedfanfiction · 5 years

Text

Jim Kirk x fem!reader (1)

“Please open all hailing frequencies,” you requested, calmly, sitting upright in the captain’s chair. The girl looked up from her console sharply. “Pardon?” she questioned, incredulously. “I said, open all hailing frequencies,” you repeated, firmly. “Signal the Klingon ships.” She tapped something on the console, then turned back to you, eyes still wide in confusion. “Robinson, to the transporter room, please. Do whatever you can to open transportation and beam that crew aboard.” “Hailing frequencies open.” You nodded, turning back to the screen. You were vaguely aware of the beginnings of chaos emerging in your peripheral vision. “We have a response,” the girl exclaimed, turning to you. “Requesting a line.” “Bring it up on the screen.” The screen flickered, then a grainy static transmission opened and a Klingon voice cut through. “Explain,” he demanded, roughly. “A disabled civilian vessel has drifted into your space, leaving all passengers and crew requiring rescue. I request permission to retrieve the ship and crew,” you answered, calmly, though you could feel your leg vibrating in its place. “This vessel does not belong to StarFleet?” the voice questioned, lowly. More to himself than you. “The Klingon Empire operates by a code of honour. We will return the ship to your space. Do not enter the Neutral Zone.” “MajQa’,” you offered, “Understood.” The Klingon nodded, and the transmission ended. You pressed the comm to transporter bay. “Robinson, you can relax. The ship is being returned to our space. Ready the transporter to beam crew aboard.” Five minutes passed before a Klingon Bird of Prey emerged from the Neutral Zone, dragging the civilian ship behind it. “All passengers and personnel of the Kobayashi Maru safely aboard,” Robinson reported, breathily. The simulation lifted, and each of the appointed bridge crew exited the room. Admiral Barrows caught your eye, shaking his head subtly, and you settled yourself back into the chair, preparing yourself for whatever lecture he had planned.

“What the hell was that, Cadet?” he demanded, folding his arms. “I was responding to the situation as it was presented, Admiral,” you answered, raising an eyebrow. “I was unaware that it was recommended practice to follow only the two options given in campus gossip.” “You’re not James Kirk, Cadet,” Barrows insisted, still towering over you. “Whatever stunt you pulled here, you’re not going to –” “Admiral Barrows.” The interruption was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Barrows spun to face the incoming figure, and you recognised the quiet, worn dignity from the moment he stepped into the room. “Admiral Pike, sir,” you stood, hurriedly, offering a smart salute. “Cadet (L/N),” Pike responded, easily. “As you were. I admit I have been following your progress with interest.” You stiffened a little, unsure. “Sir?” He smiled, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “Relax, Cadet,” he replied, gently. “Hospital confines gave me a lot of time to explore the emerging promise in our new recruits. Consider me impressed, even James Kirk was not fast-tracked as quickly as you were.” Barrows stiffened at his tone, narrowing his eyes. You relaxed, again. “Thank you, sir,” you offered a small smile. “I believe, Cadet, you have an advanced xenolinguistics class in five minutes,” Pike answered, smiling broadly. “It would be best not to besmirch your attendance record, would it not?” “Yes sir,” you collected your book bag from beside the captain’s chair and made your way out, “Thank you sir. Admiral Barrows.” You nodded to each of them, then escaped hurriedly from the room.

Their voices followed you, and you could hear Barrows’ complaints echoing over Pike’s steady responses, but you didn’t stop to listen. You rounded a corner, and quickly dodged the man in your path, before you recognised the blond hair and the path to Admiral Pike’s office. “Captain Kirk, sir!” you exclaimed, bowing your head as he turned to you, “Admiral Pike is currently in the simulation room with Admiral Barrows, sir. I ticked off Barrows’ temper, sir. Fair warning.” You turned to scamper away, towards your class, but he caught your wrist. “Are you alright, Cadet?” he questioned, eyeing the familiar stoicism in your face. “Yes, sir,” you answered, face breaking into a small, but warm smile. “Thank you, sir, but I must get to class.” “Of course.” His blue eyes twinkled. “May I get your name first, Cadet?” “(Y/N) (L/N), sir.”

<<Cadet (L/N) to Admiral Pike’s office, 0900.>> The StarFleet issued message on your comm wasn’t a surprise. Pike’s name was more so. You couldn’t imagine Barrows giving in easily, but Christopher Pike was possibly the most respected man in all StarFleet, following the events with the Narada, and his recovery from almost inevitably fatal injuries from Khan. Barrows was rather destined to lose that fight, but why Pike had begun it was another question entirely. You straightened your dress uniform, irritably, the grey collar scratching at your throat, then stepped out of your room. The San Francisco wind was cruel, biting through the stiff threads as if they were barely there. Huffing, you tightened your arms around you and made your way across campus.

The hallway outside Pike’s office was crowded, for some reason, with a broad array of photographers and reporters alike. They paid very little attention to you as you slipped towards the door, navigating the tiny gaps. “Cadet (L/N)?” the secretary questioned, as you tipped up to the door, finally escaping the suffocating crowd. His voice was barely above a whisper, but instantly the crowd turned on you both. “Cadet (L/N), do you have a comment about your performance in the Kobayashi Maru simulation?” “Is your meeting with Admiral Pike concerning the allegations made by Admiral Barrows that you cheated the simulation?” “Cadet (L/N) do you have a response to allegations that your performance in the Kobayashi Maru was a result of cheating?” You raised a hand for the crowd to quiet themselves. “I cannot comment on this morning’s meeting as I have not yet taken part in it, nor can I comment on Admiral Barrows’ assessment of my performance in the Kobayashi Maru simulation. I will say that I did not attempt any interference with the simulation or its code, and had no contact with it outside of the test parameters. I have no further comment, relevant information will undoubtedly be relayed to you through official channels. Thank you.” You took a seat, ignoring the immediate clamour of the reporters in front of you, the cameras and microphones shoved immediately towards you. You closed your eyes against the uncomfortably sterile brightness of camera flashes, then the door opened behind you. You stood, immediately, but caught only a flash of blond hair and the immediate shouting of “Captain Kirk! Can we have a comment on the recent updates on the Enterprise?” “Captain Kirk! Do you have a comment on the accusations of cheating in the Kobayashi Maru?” “Captain Kirk! How are you associated with Cadet (L/N)?” “Captain Kirk! How did Dr McCoy treat you for such severe irradiation?”, before you were dragged inside and the door slammed shut behind you.

“Is this what you put up with every time you come to earth?” you questioned, turning to the exasperated but smiling face of James T Kirk. “No wonder you prefer space.” Kirk laughed, warmly, and clapped you gently on the back. “You handled that very professionally, Cadet,” another voice commented, drawing you back into your surroundings from the warmth and safety the Captain radiated. Commander Spock stood before Pike’s desk, with the Admiral himself seated behind it. “Thank you, sir,” you acknowledged, gently bowing your head. “I sometimes wonder if the courses in diplomacy are more for managing press than alien species.” “You need something much stronger than diplomacy to hunt the press off your tail,” Kirk scoffed, moving to stand next to Spock. Pike smiled, wryly, as he stood. “I take it you have met Captain Kirk, Cadet,” he surmised, before gesturing to Spock, “And I’m sure you recognise Commander Spock?” “Yes sir,” you answered, nodding. “I am honoured.” “She beat your test, Spock,” Kirk pointed out, smirking at his first officer. “Without even cheating.” Spock raised an eyebrow at his captain. “Indeed,” he answered, keeping his hands folded behind his back, “I believe that means she bested you also, Captain.” You and Pike both muffled laughter at Kirk’s outrage. “However, I am sure Admiral Pike did not invite us all here for you and I to rekindle our debate regarding your performance in the Kobayashi Maru.”

“I don’t know, I think (L/N) and I might find this...debate rather interesting, don’t you, Cadet?” Pike teased, a broad smile dancing across his face. “There never was a final decision in that trial, Admiral,” you agreed, eyes laughing. “It would be fascinating to hear.” The door slammed open and closed again, and you all turned to face the newcomer. “...I’ll show them a comment when I shove their damn cameras where the sun don’t shine,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, before he opened his eyes. He zeroed in on his captain. “This is your fault, Jim. Couldn’t have just graduated and risen through the ranks like a normal person. No, gotta have the Jim Kirk flair.” “Oh, come on, Bones,” Kirk smiled, slinging an arm around the doctor. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Growling another series of obscenities under his breath, McCoy shoved Kirk off him and greeted the Admiral, before turning to you. “Cadet (Y/N) (L/N), sir. It’s an honour to meet you, Doctor McCoy,” you greeted him, inclining your head. His eyes flicked back to Spock, thoughtfully, but he offered his hand. “So you’re the one they’re all asking about the Maru for, then,” he mused, shaking your hand. “Congratulations, kid, just don’t wind up like him,” he flicked his head back at Kirk, “And you’ll be doing wonderfully.” “Hey!”

“I hate to interrupt,” Pike interrupted the two men’s squabbling, “But Spock was correct when he pointed out that I brought you all here for a reason. I’m sure five years in space will give you plenty of time for bickering.” McCoy and Kirk straightened, as Spock raised an eyebrow at the Admiral. “We already reviewed the recent updates on the Enterprise, so I admit I remain at a loss as to why we were called here,” Spock pointed out, calmly. “Given the presence of Cadet (L/N), I would assume it concerns her performance in the simulation yesterday.” “Almost,” Pike agreed, gesturing to all of you to take a seat. “I’ve had a lot of spare time confined to recovery recently, which has given me the opportunity to track the progress of promising new recruits. Cadet (L/N) has been fast-tracked through the academy faster than even you two.” He gestured to Jim and Spock. “What about Chekov?” Kirk queried, curiously. “I believe I proceeded through courses at the same rate as Ensign Chekov, sir,” you answered, tapping lightly on Pike’s desk. “However, I undertook a significantly different course of study, so it would be a difficult comparison to make.”

“Indeed,” Pike conceded, “Nevertheless, (L/N) is certainly the most highly qualified graduate available.” “I haven’t graduated yet, sir,” you murmured, quietly. “Especially given Admiral Barrows will be grading my Maru.” “Actually, I have taken over assessment of your performance in the Maru yesterday,” he answered, as though there was nothing unusual about that. “Barrows has been reassigned to management of Starbase 15.” Kirk and McCoy failed at concealing dry laughter. “So, congratulations, Ambassador (L/N), you have officially completed your studies.” He said it so calmly it barely registered, as he turned to Kirk again. “I’m personally recommending (L/N) as a member of your crew for the five year mission, as you will be moving into unknown space and she has qualifications in advanced xenolinguistics and diplomacy, which will make any first contacts easier. I also have a hunch that she will get on incredibly well with Lieutenant Uhura.” “Well, I think we can safely say it’s been proven that not listening to your advice usually ends badly, Chris,” Kirk smiled, warmly, earning a smile in return from the Admiral. “Send me her papers and I’ll get started, sir.” Pike nodded, pulling out a PADD and tapping quickly over it. “Wait, wait,” you interrupted, making all four men look over at you. “You mean you’re assigning me to the Enterprise?” “They move on a different plane, kid. You’ll get used to it,” McCoy answered, shrugging, as he stood and reached out to clap you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the crew, I’ll expect you in two hours for your physical. Is there a back door outta here or do I have to face the news demons again?”

#jim kirk x reader #james t kirk x reader #james t kirk #star trek #spock #leonard mccoy #Leonard Bones McCoy #s'chn t'gai spock #nyota uhura #enterprise #star trek aos #aos #chris pike #christopher pike

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saintorr · 4 years

Text

The Most Beautiful Parts

by St.Orr c. 2017

The most beautiful parts of myself glow when I have compassion for myself, for my pain, my joy and solitude; for the craters, bags and wrinkles that attach themselves to my face and body as I age. Along with these come the tears, smiles and feelings (stuffed and unstuffed) that constitute this lovely, divinely starborn (and sometimes stillborn) psycho-bionic being and oh so grounded human entity called myself. There are broken dreams and anger, the shadows of dark and the shadows of gold; both the ashes and the infinite parts of the pieces of the puzzle that make up the me, a man who thought he was a little girl, who then accepted the man he grew into, wrapped in all of the scars of that cocoon woven into a fleece of many colors, of many shadows, and seasons that make up a life.

I can see the grace and beauty of those larger than life stars as they sit at their tables at the great awards shows, the Golden Globes, the Oscars, etc. I sit at home and watch and wonder at their flow, their luminosity, their electric energy broadcast through all the wireless waves and satellites and piped into my monitor; I feed on them, consume them and think to myself because I can see their beauty, their grace, that I have it too! Because I can feel them glistening with unimaginable gentleness, grace, beauty and power, then I too must have those things in me. Or maybe some essence? Well, doesn’t every human being?

When these luminous ones come together to make their art, they overshadow all the neurotic news of bombastic tyrants and terrorist statistics; they shine through the fear, bloodletting, violence and hatred of the current world, circa winter, 2017. But they shine their fake smiles on all the dreamers and poets who still scrawl, write, and scrounge through the bottom layers of silt seeking a chance at the glamour and the gold of this crap game called show business where beauty is elevated to an art form that can inspire and lift. Their beauty too can be a trap—for it is the A-list, in-crowd that the agents and managers feed on and fight over, the stars we worship and adore. For, let's face no one wants or cares to hear about the losers whose dreaming destroyed them.

The only famous person I ever massaged was Clive Davis. Other writers have warned me never NEVER to use real names when I record my memoirs but here I go. My purpose is not to gossip or slander but simple illustrate how the high roads and pinnacles of great success can sometimes meet the everyday world of the common man and produce a strange concoction all its own. I was called to Davis’ black marble penthouse tower on Park Avenue late one Sunday evening. He was an elderly man, he owned his own massage table and after a very anti-climactic session he paid me partially in nickels and dimes. While I stood there, in his kitchen, receiving the coins in open palms, his sick, dying Cocker Spaniel had the audacity to throw-up on my shoe. I don’t think there were any pennies. Clive inspired me to write a song called “Park Avenue” which I later produced, recorded and played for him when he called me for a second massage. He didn’t seem impressed when he heard it. “Meh, it's not a killer” he said, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips. So much for inspiration.

There was one client who actually did pay me partially in pennies; a forgettable outcall in the West Village truly more deserving of the demeaning label of trick than that of massage client. Besides the backbreaking massage, this arrogant, cold-blooded white snake of a humanoid also demanded that I piss on him in his bathtub. I still recall the hideous, garish Kelly green and shiny silver wallpaper of that awful bathroom; and the urge to throw the carefully counted pennies that he doled out right back in his face as he paid me off, both of us standing by the door. God I so wish I had flung those pennies right back into his satiated, smirking face. This was after I rubbed him and worked him up to a sensual release as the bedside photo of his lover standing on some pristine Hamptons beach replete with foaming waves and pant legs rolled up in the sand looked on, a boyish smile sweetly singing into the camera.

The little boy in me has followed the man to the places where touch replaced sanity as the ultimate actor's “Survival Job” and the worship of the ecstasy of the orgasm was all, was enough, was better, truer and more real than any other form of working in the mundane “real world” could ever be.

Now, I am emerging from that cocoon. Emerging from all my years that are spread out like a long, murky dark night of the soul. Older, wiser, a bit slower and a bit less generous with my body and hands to the hungry, horny minions of men; for what choice does one have when the downtime waves come lasting for a week, two weeks, or two months? In years past, when I was younger, the downtime could be measured in hours or days, there was always an endless supply of male (and sometimes female) clients in and out and up and down the one flight of stairs leading to my one-bedroom East Village flat. Then I recall all the hours spent in spas, the Plaza, the Waldorf, the crème de la crème of the best hotels and spas in the city; those passive aggressive, peach and crème-colored torture chambers with their silken linen smells and serenely smiling blond aestheticians working the front desk, making bookings, taking payments, listening to the complaints of the rich and not-so-famous. How many times was I initiated into the true meaning of the embalmed slave-state of the so-called service industry mentality? The place where New age serenity smiles are glued in place like impenetrable plastic masks. Oh the ache of the pressure of hands on bodies, hour after hour, giving until there’s nothing left to give; to have to smile, to have to fight attitudinal managers over incorrect paychecks, explain yourself like a criminal when some cunt complains about something you did or didn’t do (“too much peppermint oil on my thigh, it started to burn!” "So sorry to rock your bliss lady, but the cap was loose and came off in my hand!” or “During the massage, his fingers felt much too close to my inner thigh;" or "he stole my Rolex watch”). Oh what joy to be jumping like a trained circus dog when the cruel but handsome, Latin bisexual manager snapped his fingers “Room 4-Go!” at the West Village “Nickel-Spa for men.” That was the summer of the blackout I remember. There, in a tiny massage room, in the dark, a client lay prone, waiting. And there, light from outside glowed through a slit in the door like some view into a World War II NAZI gas chamber that "Hector” would peep through to check up on you, his eyes searching and accusing, making sure you weren’t doing anything naughty! In the darkened room while you massaged, sometimes you fantasized about lunch, the end of the shift, fantasizing the clock speeding up so the hour would go faster. Also, sometimes there were mysterious energy shifts and exchanges. You would begin the massage with a sore wrist, back or an upset stomach and simply through the mindful meditation of touching--of giving--your malady would disappear. Miraculous. After many a massage too, the clients would reappear looking pleasantly-sleepy, refreshed and years younger. Healing hands are so underrated. There is a lovely Zen quality to simply touching and being paid for it. It’s a pure physical, intimate work on a much higher level than office 9-5 drudgery. I’m grateful too for all the joys the sexual release work have given me through the years. Talk about “sweet labors of love.” So it almost appears strange that after all this physicality and all this time I wonder why is it that now, when I find myself servicing a client’s sexual needs that an intense nausea rises in my gut and I’m forced to fight the almost overwhelming urge to vomit? Interesting that after what?--some thirty years of doing massage (I started in 1990) that this very ethereal thing called self-integrity that I thought I’d lost or abandoned years ago, (my lost soul perhaps?) has come back to own me with a vengeance. Or maybe I’m owning it, my dear, sweet self-soul, after all these years. Thank you, God. I guess there’s a point where every man grows into his skin and outgrows his tired, cock-heavy adolescence. It’s as if my gut is telling me “You HATE this.” But I ignore the feelings and my urge to puke when repulsion grips me. I know the hour will soon be done and this strange “stimulation/torture/meditation” meshing and merging of energies, fluids and fantasies called M4Mmassage will help me pay yet another month of my over-priced New York rent. In my new vision of this my “third ace,” I see myself fleeing this inflated, over-hyped, hollow, over-populated and all-too-neurotic place called New York City. Please God, soon, I pray, just the vista of the ocean and a small garden and I’ll be fine. Oh, and no more massages please, unless he’s my lover and not a client.

#fabulousfaggotry saintorr stevenorrwriter stevenorr nycmasseur

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titsoutforoverwatch · 6 years

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the long awaited priest fic

It hadn't been intentional. Everyone knew not to mess around in Pastor Morrison's class—the man was a hard ass and a huge stickler for the rules. But you couldn't get that stupid conversation with your friends from lunch out of your head, from when you'd been discussing sex and how your friend thought she'd experienced an orgasm for the first time. And of course you'd played with yourself under the sheets at night when you were sure everyone else was asleep, but you'd never actually had one. You'd never even had a boyfriend.

So of course when it was your turn to read aloud in class and you'd been distracted thinking about sex and what it might feel like to actually have sex with someone for the first time, you'd slipped up.

"An orgasm was to him something controlled by a formative organizing principle." You read, and then paused to process what you'd said. The class around you erupted into giggles and a few wolf whistles, but you instantly felt yourself go cold and breathe shakily as you looked up into Pastor Morrison's face. He was standing by his desk at the front of the class, fists clenched around his rosary, eyes dark and unfriendly.

You were in so much trouble.

"I see you have...other things on your mind, but I will not tolerate that kind of disgusting display in my classroom." Father Morrison said darkly, making everyone turn to face him at the front. You felt your face grow hot from embarrassment and looked down at your book as people stared while heavy steps approached your desk.

"Well? Anything to say for yourself? Or are you really such an impious girl that you won't even ask to be pardoned?" Morrison snarled down at you.

You swallowed before looking up at him and froze under the glare of his bright blue eyes.

"I—um. It, it wasn't in-intentional sir," you said as you stumbled over your words.

Morrison grabbed at your upper arm, causing your book to fall onto the floor. You winced at the pain and those who hadn't been watching turned at the noise. You were halfway out of your desk, Morrison gripping your arm tightly.

"My office, immediately after class. We will discuss your behavior and punishment later." He said before dropping you back down in your chair and returning to the front. You winced as you moved your arm to grab your book and avoided everyone's gaze as Morrison called on someone else to read the rest of the chapter.

When the bell rang to dismiss everyone for the day, your feet felt extremely heavy as you walked up to the front of class where Father Morrison was waiting. He said nothing as you approached, but put his hand on your lower back as you both exited the classroom. You immediately tensed at his touch but said nothing and dutifully followed him to his office. It was a bit far from the rest of the buildings, but it was known that Father Morrison liked his privacy. You entered before him and moved to the chair in front of his desk, jumping as he slammed his office door shut and locked it.

Fuck. You were in so much trouble.

Father Morrison said nothing as he sat across from you, simply putting his hands before him on the desk an staring at you. He had a Bible laid out on his desk, and you assumed he was going to make you read aloud from it or repeatedly write verses on forgiveness and redemption. You gulped and looked everywhere but him, feeling the same wave of hot embarrassment wash over you. Although he was much older than you, Father Morrison was still an attractive man, and you vaguely recalled all the dirty talk going on about him from your friends and fellow classmates. He'd been a soldier when he was younger, but still kept up his physique and could outrun anyone besides Father Reyes. All your friends loved to gossip about what he'd been like when he was younger and whether or not his libido could match the stamina he seemed to radiate.

"Are you listening to me, girl? Or are you so lost in your thoughts about orgasms that you're just begging to be in more trouble with me?" Morrison snarled, breaking you out of your train of thought. You squeezed your legs together as he slammed his hands down on his desk and towered over you. Your mouth opened and closed a few times but you couldn't say anything, and Morrison sighed.

Moving from his seat, he relocated to the front of his desk and leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him.

"You know, I'm trying to help you here. You could be home already, being a good girl and doing your homework. But you chose to be a brat and make things difficult, so now you're here with me. And I have to come up with some type of punishment that will make you remember who you are and how you should act," Morrison said evenly. Your cheeks flushed at his words and he shook his head.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or does that cute little act of yours work on anyone you bat your eyes at?" He asked. "You kids today. Don't even realize what kind of trouble you're getting into with premarital sex. As a woman, its your job to save you purity from the wicked. It's your responsibility to make yourself a reward for your husband. God gives you that opportunity to share such a special gift with your husband, but I bet you're the type of slut who just opens up for anyone."

You stared at Father Morrison in shock, unsure of what to say. You'd never heard him be so cruel with his words before, especially not aimed at you. You'd heard that he was averse to premarital sex and had a strict talk with everyone about it, but....this felt worse. Like he was trying to humiliate you for something you'd never even done.

"I don't. I haven't. I wouldn't," You protested, your voice coming out weakly. You wanted to leave and cry at his implications, but you were stuck here with Father Morrison.

"Oh, I'm so sure. I bet you've never gotten curious, never wondered what it was like to kiss someone. Never tried to push yourself onto some impressionable boy," Morrison spat at you. You tensed up, wondering what he'd accuse you of next. He stalked towards you, making you lean up to look at him and he gripped your face with a hand." You've never been on your knees like this for a man, have you? Just been a good girl and prayed for the good Lord?"

You pressed your legs together and Morrison noticed, letting you go and moving his hands to your thighs to pull your skirt up. He watched as your hurried to move your legs apart, but he gripped each knee tightly and you bucked your hips. Your eyes widened as he looked up at you and gave you a disgusted glare.

"I knew it. I'm here to take my time in saving your soul and all you can focus on is your lustful urges. What a pathetic little whore you are."

He let you go and you slammed your knees together hard before hearing a belt buckle being undone. Morrison slid his belt off and began to undo his pants and pulled out his hardening cock. Your blood ran cold and you pushed yourself as far back in your seat as you could.

"Father, what are you doing?" You asked, unable to keep your voice steady.

"You're going to get on your knees and you're going to ask the Lord for forgiveness," Morrison said as he leaned forward to grip your shoulder and push you to the floor. You struggled to stay upright, but the older man pushed you down until you sank off the chair and hit the floor harshly. You jerked your head to the side, but Morrison held your face with his hand again and squeezed until you opened your mouth before pushing the entirety of his cock down your throat.

Almost immediately you choked around him and moved to pull back, but he placed his hand behind your head and pushed you back forward. You choked again and he pulled back before thrusting again into your mouth and you began to cry. Morrison shushed you and stroked your hair before speaking.

"Do a good job and I'm sure He'll be proud of you. You want to be a good girl, don't you? Because I promise you the alternative is much worse." He panted as he began to slowly fuck your mouth.

You struggled to breath around him and your teeth raked against the tip of his cock, but he only moaned and tightened his grip on your hair. He moved his hips slowly, and for that you were grateful, but your jaw was already aching and you could feel your make up smearing from the tears. You moved your hands from his thighs but he growled at you and you put them back immediately, afraid of what else he might do to you.

"Touch me." He ordered, and you hesitated. You were unsure of what to do, as most of the work was being done by Morrison through you.

"Touch me," He snarled again and you slid your hands up to his hips and slowly moved them back down by the tips of your nails. Morrison's hip snapped forward and you gagged on his cock, pushing him away and coughing. You gasped as air flooded your lungs, but all too soon Morrison was pushing his cock past your lips again. He grumbled in dissatisfaction as he thrust into your throat and let out an angry snarl before pulling you up and slamming you on his desk.

"Girls like you, they just...they can never be good." Morrison said angrily as he placed a hand on the top of your skirt. You struggled against him and his hand flew to your ass, the slap resounding through his office. You cried out in pain and felt Morrison's wet cock grind against you through your panties. You moaned at the thickness of it and felt your skirt fly upwards before Morrison's hand smackrd your ass again, the flesh burning at the direct contact.

"I don't want to hear another sound from you. Your wanton behavior is the reason this is happening and you need to be punished," Morrison panted as he ground himself against your ass again. You struggled to push him off you but he laughed at your weak efforts.

All too soon you felt your panties being brushed aside as a finger ran up the length of your slit and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep still. You were afraid but you couldn't do anything. He was too big, too strong, and far too powerful for you to fight back. You screwed your eyes shut as the tip of his cock prodded you and your legs began to shake in fear. Morrison chuckled darkly and pulled you back by your hair, misinterpreting your reactions.

"You're just so easy, you're already shaking from anticipation. How filthy you must be in the eyes of God."

He pushed you back down against his desk and yanked your underwear down all the way before returning his cock against you and pushing in. Your body went tense and Morrison groaned at the tightness of your vagina as he kept forcing himself inside. A deep pain sank in your belly and tears rolled down your face as you bit your knuckles to stay silent. In all your wildest thoughts, this never crossed your mind. How could you be in this situation right now, losing your virginity to the man who had declared a personal war on sex?

Morrison grunted as his pelvis reached your ass and you pressed your forehead against his Bible, the cover cool against your skin. Morrison thrust forward, knocking you off the book and he pinched your ass.

"Don't desecrate my book," He said simply before pulling out and slamming back into you. He bit his lip as you screamed and pulled your arms back tightly until they felt as if they would pop out your body. His thrusts never slowed down, only hit you harder and deeper and you freely began to cry, hiccuping from the pain and ache in your stomach. Morrison was having the time of his life, feeling how silky and warm you felt around him, and he relished the feeling of being your first.

"Please, Father, please," You sobbed. "I'll be good please, just please stop, it hurts. I can't take anymore!"

Morrison smacked your ass once more and began to pick up his pace. "You'll take the punishment you deserve and thank me for it." He growled as he pushed himself deeper into you. You moaned from the pain and his hand found its way into your mouth. He pried your teeth apart before rolling his fingers around your mouth and you began to drool, fighting spirit completely gone.

Morrison's breath became heavier and his pace sped up again as he began to get close. He pounded you into his desk and you felt your entire body ache. He gasped and moved his hand to your clit and you squealed from the sensation.

"You spoke of orgasms so eagerly before," Morrison panted. "Thought I'd let you know what a real one feels like and what a dangerous sin it can be."

His fingers made rapid circles around your clit and you struggled to grab his wrist to stop him, but his other hand held both your small wrists. Completely at his mercy, you whined from pain and pleasure as Morrison fucked you before coming with a loud roar and releasing himself inside you. You cried as your orgasm washed over you and you began to milk his cock as you clenched around him. He lazily kept bucking his hips into you and you could barely hear his low voice speaking of not wasting his seed. When he finally pulled out of you, you shivered at the loss and felt a small dribble run down your sore legs. Your entire body was tense and sore from being slammed around, and your legs felt weak as you stood. You saw your underwear on the ground and moved to grab them, but Father Morrison snatched them up before you could.

"Get out of my office," He said tersely, already composed and his belt buckled. "I've realized there's just no hope for a sinner like you, unfortunately. What a waste of my time."

Your eyes filled with tears again and you hung your head in shame as you slowly moved to the large door. Father Morrison cleared his throat behind you and you turned slowly before he smiled at you.

"Don't forget, you might have made a simple man like me happy, but the Lord is always disappointed at a woman who so readily opens her legs for anyone."

#non con #non consensual #priest man Morrison #jack morrison #soldier76 #ppl have been thirsting over this for a month #here u go my little thots #be thirsty no more #unholy priest lore #overwatch lemon

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