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01zfan · 9 months

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whose altar do you bow to? | s.es

politician!eunseok x fem. reader | 6.2k words

all may worship at your altar but whose do you bow to?

contains: religious themes, oral (fem. receiving), abandonment issues, problems regarding church culture, body worship, sub!eunseok

sacrilegious masterlist

eunseok left the church six years ago. you remember when everyone in your congregation hated him for it. he left the city to find opportunities and to do something more with his life. you had heard rumors of a prestige college, but many thought it was untrue due to his lax nature. unfortunately leaving the small town was unofficially known as the gateway to losing your faith. because of this, many considered him a nonbeliever.

truthfully, no one knew what eunseok did for those six years. nobody bothered to ask his family if he still practiced religion, because that would’ve been the logical thing to do. he never was a big part of the church socially, so when he left he was like a ghost. when eunseok disappeared without a trace, everyone saw this as an opening to spread rumors. you knew eunseok personally, the two of the oldest kids in the congregation. you two would be together in line for serving food, overhearing two women talk about another one.

“do they ever get tired of talking behind eachothers backs?” you ladle food onto a child’s plate.

“when thats the only thing to do, you can never get tired of it.” eunseok wasn’t even looking at the two women. he smiled at the next person in line, giving them a cup of fruit.

“still though. sometimes the congregation is so contradictory with their teachings versus practices.” you say.

“it is what it is. people will do what they want. thinking too hard about people’s actions will just cause unneeded stress.” eunseok says before smiling to an old lady. she declines the fruit cup, continuing down the line.

after the last person went through the food line, you and eunseok walked together to the prayer area. you two had a routine, falling into silence as you stared at the miniature altar for christ. you don’t know what eunseok thought about, maybe it was about leaving. you were too caught up in looking at him. as the same lady who was gossiping walked past you she gave you a fake smile on her face. your head followed her all the way down the hallway until she disappeared into another you. you scoff and return your gaze to the altar.

you knew eunseok was right, but you could never let it go. you had joined the church like most kids did when their parents were involved in the church. you didn’t consider yourself to be a nonbeliever, but you found yourself standing for what the church was supposed to represent. you liked helping people, you liked community service, you liked the kindness and acceptance that came with being a churchgoer. as you grew older you say that the way religion was practiced versus in theory was completely different. in your teen years, you clung to eunseok. he felt the same you did, but closer to when he left he seemed to accept it. your complaints fell on his deaf ears, and eventually he was gone.

you knew that what people said about him never bothered eunseok. you wished you could say he liked being talked about. eunseok was something like a celebrity of the church before he left. he was tall and kind. that was enough for him to be adored by the elders of the congregation. you were ignored and not held nearly as high in regard compared to eunseok. you accredited this to you constantly challenging the elders and calling out when they did something outdated. what bothered you was how unbothered he was when it came to himself.

when eunseok left, he left without saying a word. it would’ve been so easy to pass a note along to the pastor, or to say something during group. instead, he just left. so you had to deal with overhearing eunseok be the subject of gossip.

he left because he lost faith.

i heard he left town because he got some slut from his school pregnant.

he left to go to a city filled with drugs and alcohol.

he never learned hymns. he slept half the time.

may god guide that poor boys soul.

for six years you heard things you would be kicked out of church for repeating. you spent time defending the rumors at first. you would say the truth under your breath or tell the older women to mind their business with a smile on your face. you thought that you were invincible because you were equipped with the truth. you wielded the truth like a sword, trying to fight away rumors of someone you considered a friend. you learned the valuable lesson that the truth doesn’t overshadow the masses. you were protecting eunseok a little too fiercely, and ended up backing off when the rumors began to involve you.

she’s mad because she wanted eunseok to take her with him.

she should focus on finding a husband within the church instead of protecting one that has left it.

after becoming even more ostracized you started to adopt the same attitude eunseok had. you let the words wash off of you like rain. eunseok was lucky he wasn’t there for the fallout. you had become withdrawn and bitter towards everyone in the church. you would sit in front of the statue of christ, looking up at his pitiful outstretched hands. you don’t know how someone could be so merciful, so understanding. you were filled with unbridled rage looking up at his statue. that was the final time you bowed to the altar. you got up and dusted off your knees. you found this to be symbolic, brushing off what little devotion you had left to such a weak man.

six years later, you were still involved. you don’t know why you stayed. you often compared your relationship with the church as a friend you hated but couldn’t let go of—it weighed down on you but random moments of happiness made you stay. being in the building made you lethargic and looking at the whispering ladies made you sick. you didn’t see them as believers, you saw them as aimless people looking for something to poor endless praise upon. you saw them as less than nonbelievers.

despite your disdain for the church, you had more responsibilities than you did when you were in high school. the church often interfered with your career and part time job, but you also used it as an excuse. who was going to deny you the right to leave work early so you could worship? who would give you a penalty on an assignment that you missed due to you being needed at the church? clerical responsibilities were left in your hands. this was the effect of people leaving the flock too close together. you stopped caring why people left, or even learning people’s names in general. after some time, you would look around in the prayer halls or the lines at confessionals and you wouldn’t recognize a single face. you adopted the mindset that eventually, everyone would leave the congregation. you were just waiting your turn. you walked around the halls of the church and whispers followed you everywhere. they called you a nonbeliever, embodiment of an evil demon sent to destroy the church. you were blamed for people leaving, claiming that you were pushing people away from the path of righteousness. you found this ironic because your work for the church behind the scenes was one of the few things keeping it afloat.

maybe that’s another reason you stayed. as much as you hated those four walls you couldn’t stand to see them be torn down. eunseok was the same way.

you were assigning youth pastors to their groups when you heard his name for the first time in six years.

“song eunseok? why does that name sound so familiar?” mark said. instantly you looked up from the paper to eavesdrop on his conversation.

“song eunseok?” you repeated. mark and yeri look at you. you go back to looking at your schedule, gripping your pen a little tighter.

“yeah, do you know him?” mark says scratching his head.

“he used to attend the church when i was the same age as you guys.” you said. you remember the first time you met eunseok, thanking god for sending you someone who understood you. you almost chuckle looking at the paper recalling memories. if only you had known then what you knew now, you would’ve rebuked eunseok the moment you saw him.

“no freaking way, he went here?” yeri says, hitting marks shoulder.

“was he a youth pastor like us?” mark visibly gets excited as well.

you completely look away from your schedule now. how would these two know about eunseok? were there rumors floating around about him again?

“no, but he did help out with the church. why?” you say, trying to remain as neutral as possible.

“because he’s like a government official now” mark said. yeri looked at him and they both laughed, surprised you didn’t know who he was.

“what?” you abandon all efforts of sounding neutral.

“yeah look!” yeri shows you her phone.

you wish you could say you remained calm. your eyes nearly popped out of your head when you saw the headline. eunseok had made it out of your small town to a much bigger one, a place where he was included in making laws. you saw the article commend him for coming from nothing to graduating from a prestigious school and pursuing law. many people thought he was a revolutionary, demanding for progressively legislature despite only recently joining the board.

“oh my god.” you say.

“i don’t think you can say that.” mark said. the pair giggled again, but you were too caught up in looking at eunseok. he looked so different from the last time you saw him, but still the same. that was your eunseok. the one who giggled with you during confessionals. eunseok who stole extra crackers from communion because he could. the one who left you.

“i can’t believe it.” you say. the schedule has been completely forgotten. the iron resolve you had at church was broken in an instant. you could tell yeri and mark were shocked to see you show so much emotion.

“you must have been pretty close with him.” yeri says, grabbing back her phone.

“we were friends. like you two are.” you pull yourself out of your shocked state, trying to put on the same cold demeanor. you turn back to the group assignment, but every name you read looks like his.

“well you will probably be happy to hear that he’s coming to the church during tonight’s service,” mark said. he looked over your shoulder “are the schedules done yet?”

“what?” you can’t hold back the shock in your voice. your two youth group leaders laugh at your expense.

“the pastor is pretty hush hush about it. but i heard a rumor he’s coming to give a speech about donating something to the church.” yeri says.

mark grabs the group assignments off your desk and hands one to yeri. yeri audibly groans once she sees who she is assigned to. the pair leave quickly after getting their assignments, leaving you alone to your thoughts. eunseok had left the church for reasons unknown. you thought he would come back, the way poor sinners came back crawling in the rain, shaking their metal cup begging for an ounce of forgiveness. now he was coming back as someone who people would put on the altar next to god himself. did he even still pray? did he still remember the hymns that were drilled into their minds as kids? or did he truly forget it all to follow a life of fame and fortune? that wasn’t a lifestyle fit for a man of god.

you debate on leaving then and there. night service doesn’t start for another hour, and technically your duties for the day are done. you could slip out through any exit, and not come back until the next time you’re needed. eunseok would be long gone, and you could just hear about the rumors spread about his visit for the next six years. the thought of being in the same room as him made you sick, the same sick you felt seeing the gossiping sinners of the church stick their noses up at you.

with a power beyond your own, you feel yourself get up from your desk. you walk through the mostly empty offices, and head down the stairs. you try to be quiet, to not let the floorboards tell you their age underneath your feet. you can hear the low murmurs of men behind doors talking about things that have to be whispered. you’re sure they’re talking about the allocation of what you assume to be the heavy donation they’ll be receiving tonight. you can’t believe eunseok is becoming the very thing you hated. unfair donations, things that would be better off at any other organization instead being funneled into a failing church. it made you feel like a kid again, spying on the grownups trying to stay hidden. the only difference was that your previous partner in crime was the one you were hiding from.

you looked through the crack in the door and saw him. eunseok was wearing a suit not so different from what you remember him wearing six years ago. but he was different now, so different from the boy you grew up with. this eunseok had a more defined jawline, the baby fat from his cheeks was completely gone. he had a different hairstyle now too, one that made him look more mature. this eunseok towered over the men he spoke with. there was an aura now surrounding him now. he was already confident when you two had met, but now there was another layer to it. more depth. his boyish charm had turned into charisma of a handsome young man. you watched as he stood and listened to the men in robes bicker. so much had changed about eunseok but he still remained disinterested in anything pertaining to church.

you didn’t see eunseok speak until they brought up the lunch program.

“my donation is for the lunch program. i want all the funds to dedicated to the plan i emailed you before. you accepted the donation under the promise that the funds would be allocated there.” eunseok said. you figured the man with the briefcase and nice suit beside him was his lawyer. you leaned closer to the door, trying to gather everything.

apparently you were wrong about the donation. eunseok had plans to help the church expand who the lunch program would reach. instead of just a line inside the church, he wanted several stations in town near impoverished areas. he wanted to also expand the date and hours. you watched him explain his plan with an even head, but his hand flexing at his side told you he was getting frustrated.

when the conversation was over you had to quickly run away, flexing your feet so your presence wouldn’t be known. you don’t know how long you had stood there, but the night service was starting. you got caught in the flow of the crowd into the room that was much more packed than usual. mark and yeri left you a seat. you squeezed into the seat and picked at the hand fan that was passed around the room.

you were more nervous than you wanted to admit. you fidgeted and looked around for most of the service, waiting for eunseok to come out. you wished it would be over, each time the congregation stood your restless legs yelled at you to run.

when eunseok came out you stood still. mark had to nearly pull you down to sit after the hymn.

the pastor was speaking, but you couldn’t listen. all you could see was eunseok stand off to the side, hands in front of him as he listened. you wondered if he even remembered you, how surprised he would be that you were still here at the church you complained about everyday to him. then you thought about if he would even recognize you in the crowd of churchgoers. alot can happen in six years and you don’t doubt that eunseok has met his fair share of people. you think your face has blended into the mass of people sitting in the pews. you see his eyes look over the crowd, coming closer and closer to you. you prepare yourself to be filled with more disdain, more pain when he eventually looks over you.

when he sees you in the crowd, his eyes widen. you haven’t taken your eyes off him the whole time, wide and confused like he’s a mirage standing on the stage. you think he must have you confused, that he just paused in the crowd. his mouth opens in shock, the same shock you had seeing his name in the headlines.

“i think he recognizes you.” mark says, looking between you and eunseok.

you shush mark as the preacher continues to speak.

“so thank you to song eunseok, previous member of our parish for the generous donation.” the pastor says.

all around you people stood and clapped. you were amazed, seeing people that had spread rumors about eunseok cheer and clap for him now. as he bowed, people only clapped louder. the ones that called him stupid praised him for speaking to elegantly. when he thanked god, the ones that said he was a nonbeliever cheered the loudest. when eunseok got up from his bow, he kept his eye contact with you. it was a gaze of someone all knowing. he looked at you like he was trying to convey that it was all for show. eunseok was alot of things, and an entertainer was one of them. he was fit for the life of worship, a standing ovation suited him well. it made you sick how easily praise fell upon him, when you had worked so hard for this church just to be whispered about all day.

it was fanfare and fireworks for the next thirty minutes, everyone in the congregation practically tripping over themselves to get a picture with eunseok. handing him babies to kiss, asking for him to consider legislature that would benefit him. you noticed photographers trying their best to remain inconspicuous as they took photos. occasionally he would look to you and you had to look away. you wanted to avoid him all night, you don’t even know why you stayed. yeri and mark eventually made their way to him too, smiling in their group photo. you wanted to run away when you saw eunseok following behind mark and yeri.

“eunseok says he’s joining us for youth group tonight.” yeri says smiling.

when youth group split up you found yourself being short on handouts. eunseok’s appearance at the church brought in an influx of people, a number the church hasn’t seen in a long time. you were short on prayer pamphlets and eunseok volunteered to help you.

you tried to not be self conscious of the man behind you. you had walked through the church a million times before, but you felt yourself bump into walls you knew were there and turn the handles on locked doors. it was embarrassing having him follow you up the old and creaky outdated staircase. everything about you now felt so archaic. eunseok represented a time that was advanced past the chipping paint on the walls and the frayed robes the priests wore. it made your stomach churn thinking about how he didn’t remember where he came from. everywhere you turned there were people wanting a photo. you watched eunseok’s demeanor completely change to turn on some sort of charm. you didn’t say a word until you opened up your old desktop, printing out copies of papers from the dusty white printer.

“i didn’t expect to see you here.” eunseok said. you ignored him, only focusing on the sound of the old printer doing its best. you wish you could say you hated giving him the cold shoulder. being the one to deny him praise or acknowledgment felt like the justice you had been denied for the past six years.

“are you still mad at me? for leaving?” eunseok said. he moved from the door, coming to stand near your desk.

“i don’t care. you did what you did with your life eunseok.” you refuse to look at him as you speak.

you can hear his feet tap on the ground. being so cold is against your religious practices but you didn’t mind hell if it meant denying him heaven. you imagine someone like the eunseok that stood before you reveled in the attention good or bad. without any attention you think he would shrivel up like a plant without sun.

“i wanted to see you. but i couldn’t leave.” eunseok is standing beside you now. he crouches, look up at you trying to see your eyes. you focus your eyes so hard on the desktop that the typed words start to become blurry.

when he gets on his knees in front of you then look at him. your eyes are wide and shocked as he looks to you with genuine sadness. you are shocked to see eunseok look so lost. he has always been so sure of himself. the same person that projected confidence onstage was groveling at your feet.

“i know what you think of me.” he whispered.

the assumption of knowing you makes you bristle. if he knew you he would’ve never left you alone all those years ago.

“you don’t know anything.” you feel your years of being misunderstood bubble up to the surface. you spitting words quietly at eunseok is the only thing that keeps the anger at bay.

“i don’t know anything.” eunseok agrees with you. seeing him so easily give up makes you instantly regret your rage. your first instinct is to forgive him, to say sorry for being so cold. but then you think about the dust you brushed off your knee when you got up from the altar. you let out a sigh. nothing feels right anymore.

“you could’ve atleast called.” you say quietly.

“they wouldn’t let us have phones. i only recently got mine back.” eunseok says. he shuffles even closer to you, placing a kiss on your clothed knee. “the first thing i did with the money i’ve earned was to try and pay you back. to show you how sorry i am.”

having someone where eunseok was at in life look to you for forgiveness made you confused. after years of being denied autonomy, only becoming an extension of something else. when eunseok was here, you were an extension of him. when he left you became an extension of church, maybe even of god himself. but now you had eunseok kneel before you and talk to you as your own person. how did he not forget about you after all of that time. why did he rememberyou to the point that he made a donation to your church to apologize. you use your hand to tilt eunseok’s chin up. he finds your eyes, placing a hand over yours. you lean over to his shoulder.

“you’re pretty loved now. people treat you like a god. like you can change the world.” you say. eunseok nods his head. he agree with anything you said to him.

you looked down at eunseok, on his knees kissing your legs. he had lifted up your dress to get more access to your skin. after you get up from the chair you stand before eunseok. you think about the statue that hung above the altar the last timed you prayed. even though it’s been years since you looked to god for answers, you will never forget the desperation that rolled off of you in waves. it’s the same desperation that filled the room, the same desperation that filled eunseoks’ eyes. you felt like god now, extending a forgiving olive branch to someone who wronged you.

eunseok looks up to you from your feet. he had always been so much taller than you. now it seems like he had shrunk himself under your gaze.

“but whose altar do you bow to, eunseok? is it still gods’?” you ask.

eunseok looks at you deep in the eyes. it’s still the same eyes that left you alone all that time ago, the same eyes you thought about in the confines of your bed.

“i bow to his altar only to pray for your forgiveness. i feel devotion for you and you alone.” eunseok says.

“people call you a nonbeliever. is that true?” you ask.

“i believe in you. isn’t that enough?” eunseok says with a solemn expression on his face. he goes back to kissing your body. he lifts your dress higher and higher, exposing even more skin. he kisses up to your knee, lifting more of your dress. he looks to you one final time before you pinch the fabric of your dress. you lightly pull up your hands, exposing your mid thigh. he purposely puts the end of your dress in the palm of your hands, letting you control how much of your skin he gets to kiss.

he sucks and kisses on the exposed skin, working from your right calf up. when he gets to the highest part of your exposed body he works his way down the other leg. you stand in front of the powerful man. the same lips that will eventually address a nation kiss you timidly, like you are going to run away. the same hands that will write legislature pull you close. you slowly lean back until you’re sitting on the edge of your computer desk. you bring a leg up to prop it on the chair. eunseok looks to you as you bring the fabric of your dress to rest underneath your chin.

“i want to worship you,” eunseok looks up from a kiss placed on your thigh. his fingers enclose on the waistband of your panties. he looks to you for approval, for permission to go further. “i want to show you how regretful i am. how apologetic i feel.”

“then do it.” you say.

without missing a beat, eunseok pulls your panties down your legs. he’s delicate with the way he removes them, lifting you legs so you don’t have to do any of the work. eunseok crumbles the pair into his pants pocket. you don’t ask for it back, the image of him treating your undergarmets like a rosary, gripped in his hand while he tries to remember what gods touch felt like. he put large hand on the back of your thighs and lifts. you have a leg over his shoulder and the other still is in the chair. you lean back on your desk. you think about your body weight straining the old oak. if it breaks, you will just ask your loyal devotee to buy you a new one.

eunseok doesn’t take his eyes off of you, looking for visual cues on what to do next. he places sweet kisses on the area surrounding your heat. you lift your hips he brings an arm from your thigh to rest on your stomach, holding you in place. he doesn’t dare to tell you what to do, just hoping you will listen to his physical pleas for control.

he places a single kiss on your core. you ball the end of your dress and put it inside of your mouth to try and muffle any sounds you may make. eunseok goes back to placing kisses on your thigh. he grabs your hand and places it on his head. you immediately use your hand to hold his soft brown hair. eunseok kisses your heat. he keeps his lips there, continuing to give you chaste kisses. you try to keep your composure but fail when his tongue comes from between his lips. he takes a long stripe and you can feel his tongue inside of you. you moan into the fabric of your dress and bring him closer with your leg behind his back. you are acting on your own volition, using your heels and hand to bring him even closer to your core. with your spare hand you grab eunseok’s hand and squeeze. you feel an absence and look down at eunseok between your legs. he has slick covering his mouth as he looks at you wide eyed.

“can i ask for forgiveness?” eunseok smiles before placing a sweet kiss to your thigh.

“ask god.” your chest heaves with each word. you don’t know when you lost your breath, but each words comes out in rushed huffs.

“i am.” eunseok says before diving back in between your legs.

he’s more aggressive with you this time around. he uses the hand that was holding your stomach down to spread your folds. you keep looking at eunseok, and he pulls back to look you in the eyes again. he spits on your clit and you throw your head back in ecstasy. how can something so filthy feel so exhilarating. you can’t stop thinking about how this is a sin you would die on the cross for. eunseok puts his middle finger inside of you and sucks on your clit. you arch more and more into his mouth, holding his hair tightly. your muffled sounds get higher and higher as eunseok becomes more intense. you close your thighs around him but he doesn’t pull away. his tongue is coated in forgiveness as he bows into your altar. he takes everything, sucking and licking you until you come down from the heaven eunseok took you too.

mindlessly you pull eunseok up to you. he hesitates at first but obliges, letting you gather him into your arms. against your knee, you can feel his hardened length. you think about how you’re ignoring your duties as the one keeping your oratory going. you consider yourself to be a selfish god as you reach for the belt of eunseoks’ slacks.

his hands consume yours. you are forced to look up to him now, as he stands taller than your perch on the desk. his eyes are wide and show you conflicting emotions. he shouldn’t be scared to do what he wants in your home. you decide that you make the rules as you continue to undo his belt.

“you have my forgiveness and maybe a little more than that,” you say. eunseok’s eyes become hooded and his expression becomes hungry. “but now i need you to fuck me like you’re making up for lost time.”

eunseok lets you undo his belt. the unbuckling sound gives his desperation its wings as he goes back to your dress. he unzips the back of the dress and pulls it over your shoulders. it falls forward and you stay in your white lacy bra. you both decide you don’t have enough time to completely abandon your clothing. eunseok takes the lead on undressing himself, unzipping his pants and letting them fall to the ground. he comes back to you and rubs his clothed length against your knee. you moan and tilt your head to see him get lost in the pleasure. you bite your lip looking at him. you can feel him pulsing against you as he lets his head lean back. he’s sighing in relief and you wonder if things stress him out now, if he feels pressure to do well as a politician. you decide wordlessly to take on all his stress and hardship like a good god does. you reach for his briefs and unclothe him. eunseoks’ hard member bobs up and down before pointing straight towards you. it’s angry and red, the tip leaking with precum. eunseok moans from the cold air hitting him. you never took him as the sensitive type.

you reach for him and stroke him gently. eunseok has his eyes closed but finds your shoulder easily, holding onto you to ground himself. his head retreated into your neck as you gently jerked him off. he says something that sounds like a confession into your ear, talking about how he’s never felt this good in his life. how he has only thought about you in moments like these, no matter the circumstance.

“devotion looks pretty on you eunseok.” you whisper into his ear. you guide him to your entrance and eunseok looks between your bodies to see where you two meet.

eunseok kisses your neck as he slowly sinks into you. you tremble and suddenly six years of complicated feelings becomes incredibly simple. you lift you leg that was hanging over the desk to rest on the edge. this angle changes something in eunseok. he pulls away from the crook in your neck and places a confident hand on your bent knee. he doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls all the way out. eunseok’s gaze doesn’t falter when he puts it back in with a hard and fast thrust, one that makes everything on your desk shift. eunseok does it a second time and for a split second your resolve breaks. you only have a little bit of time to compose yourself when eunseok pulls out all the way again. when eunseok does it for the third time you falter, eyebrows contorting in pleasure. eunseok smiles.

“you feel that?” eunseok says.

before you can respond. he changes the pace after seeing you falter. he hips work in a steadfast motion. you can hear things shift out of place and fall off your desk. the floorboard creak from the commotion and your boobs jump in your bra. you have to lean forward and grab eunseok for stability. he hooks his arms underneath your legs pulling you closer to him. the new angle has you whimpering and you can see eunseok’s dress shirt becoming wrinkled under your grip. your whimpers become high pitched and whiny when you hear eunseok’s grunts from above you. everything feels so surreal you forget that you truly are human. you can’t make the pleasure last forever, you must go through the same ups and downs as the rest of humanity. you grip onto eunseok harder and bring him down so you can kiss him. you want to bask in whatever high you are about to feel so you can remember it next time you bow at the altar. eunseok pulls away and quickly pushes things off the desk. he lays you down and puts your ankles behind his head, placing an arm over your thighs to keep your legs straight. this angle has you feeling him drag against your walls and you can feel him hitting a spot deep inside of you. this position makes it easier for eunseok to flick your clit. you shake around him and you can hear the slapping of your skin against his.

“i’m a saint. i want my god to cum first.” eunseok says smiling.

you can barely breathe as the orgasm rakes through your body. you put a hand on his arm that holds your legs and he abandons holding your legs to grip your hand. your legs become loose and eunseok bends them to kiss your face. you can barely focus on kissing him back, too busy trying to make gain control of your senses. everything is flooded with white and gold and sky blue. eunseok becomes rushed and sloppy making your pulsing erratic. you a new wave of pleasure hits you as eunseok throbs inside of you. you can feel years of lost time fill you to the brim and he slumps against you. things on your desk finally still and you breathe out heavily, finally regaining your composure. you can feel eunseok slide out of you and you let your legs dangle over the edge of the desk.

when he settles on your chest you pet his hair, trying to smooth out the strands that stick out in random places. he listens to your heartbeat, you listen to his deep breaths.

it feels like ages before you move from underneath eunseok. you had forgotten how big he is and how comforting it always was being in close proximity to him. eunseok gets off of you and guides you off the desk. you pull your dress back over your bra and eunseok puts on his clothes. as you grab papers from the printer eunseok brushes out your dress to help you look put together again. you return the favor, smoothing down his disheveled hair. you hand him his belt and you fix his crooked vote pin that resides on his lapel. you both do this in silence, working in collaboration to hide your secret church service.

as you fix his cuffs, you can feel his burning gaze. you don’t know why now you feel nervous.

“do you still remember the secret exit we’d take when sneaking out of youth group?” eunseok asks. when you finish with his cuffs you look at him and smile.

“yes. do you?” you ask.

he smile and nods.

“how could i forget?”

#01zfan: eunseok #seriez: sacrilegious #eunseok smut #riize smut

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ladykakata · 1 month

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I just saw your post about ian’s disorder and how it distorts his reality and makes him question why mickey remains in his life and you really hit the nail on the head. people rarely talk about gallavich’s relationship battles from ian’s perspective unless it’s to criticise him and I think a lot of people find it difficult to relate to his issues ig? but mood disorders go hand in hand with anxiety, identity and confidence issues. but I also think its a writing issue because so little of ian’s experiences with his illness comes from his own perspective. so it makes sense the audience tends to sympathise more with mickey because we don’t get to see ian’s personal struggle or his reasoning for certain behaviors and s10 is one of the rare examples where he got to explain his issues and the audience still couldn’t understand. sorry this is ranty lol but I’m just happy to see more meta that defends some of ian’s actions 😊

Thank you <3 It makes me sad to see so many comments practically demonise Ian, and while Ian DOES do questionable things, he's no more or less blameless than Mickey.

A comment on my post mentioned that Ian fought for Mickey just as much as Mickey fought for Ian ... in the early seasons. Remember, Mickey literally beat Ian up in frustration over the situation with Svetlana and the forced marriage. Does him attacking Ian get him off the hook for what he did? No. Does it justify it? No. It's context, not justification, which can be two entirely different things. Ian refused to let Mickey go, he loved Mickey and was visibly heartbroken at the idea his man was slipping away, even if Mickey was trying to cover up his own upset by acting aggressively. Stans might paint Ian as in the wrong again, saying he should have been supportive of Mickey going through the forced marriage and understanding it's not as 'easy' as Ian makes it sound for Mickey to just deny his father. But bearing in mind, their relationship was still very young, Ian knows Terry is a disgusting and violent man, but the sense of doom and horror is not the same unless you've grown up with it and lived it like Mickey.

Ian fought for Mickey. And Mickey fought for Ian during his bipolar struggles. Keeping score is NOT wise in relationships, so I wouldn't call this keeping score, more them trading places in who is asking the other to stay or saying they love the other during dark times.

Another point is that this was all before Ian's bipolar condition really started to manifest, so Mickey must have been even more confused that the man who was distraught over him entering a meaningless marriage was suddenly pulling away and questioning his devotion. Emotional permanence is difficult in a lot of conditions, again I am not bipolar myself but DO have pretty erratic emotional issues that mean I can go from feeling adored to feeling like the scum of the Earth everyone hates, and there's the persistent background hum of feeling unwanted that's lifelong. Ian gets a triple-hit in that he's a middle child (younger than Fiona and Lip, older than Carl, Debbie and Liam), he's inherited Monica's bipolar disorder and his chronically unstable home life tends to lead to the idea of feeling wanted by his parents and forgotten by most. I wouldn't be surprised if he felt like his mother just rejected him/abandoned him considering how often she is gone, Frank has literally attacked him unprovoked and it was only when he grew in height and gained some confidence he really started to push back, and he is neither the baby of the family nor the parent figures that Fiona and Lip were forced to be. The people he tends to form relationships with tended to lean towards lust with no real chance at a stable, happy relationship (Kash, a married man with children, and Ned, who is the same albeit Jimmy is an adult) before Caleb and Trevor, which wouldn't surprise me if he again subconsciously thought he was disposable.

I guess I'm picking up on the side effects of Ian's neurodivergence, and it pairs with a comment remarking on how people are supportive of mental health disorders until their effects affect them, then suddenly everything is unacceptable. Again, some of Ian's actions are not justified - I'm once again referring to him baiting Mickey into a physical fight by calling him slurs - but he himself explains why he did it. Mickey looked past it, and I do wonder if he's realising that yeah ... Ian, the man HE knew and who was proudly gay with very little tolerance for homophobia, suddenly turning around and calling him slurs was incredibly out of character and likely another moment of Ian's brain lashing out.

Ian did negative things to Mickey, and he should apologise. Just as Mickey has done things to Ian and should apologise. One is not better than the other. Mickey's reasons for doing things can lie with his upbringing, PTSD and circumstances, Ian's reasons can lie with bipolar disorder, his upbringing and circumstances. But they are still well-intentioned for each other, and I think they do help bring out the best in each other.

#Gallavich #Gallavich musings #Shameless #Ian x Mickey #Ian Gallagher #Mickey Milkovich

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nikkeora · 7 months

Text

The Same Boat

ask; hi sorry if this is too much detail but a request for reader the same age as Luke and joins the camp at around 16-17 but they had a really nice life before joining camp half blood and really hates the camp because she deeply misses her friends and boyfriends and girlfriends, and it takes place when she’s first joining and she points out to Luke how terrible the system is and they bond over being really angry about the gods. thank u!!!

pairing(s); luke castellan x gn!reader (romantic or platonic, not exactly specified but leaning more towards platonic)

warning(s); daddy issues ig

a/n; i changed the story a lil bit so that the reader didn’t just get to camp, but got there a little bit ago and was given a quest which ended a lil bit before the fic starts, hope u don’t mind. pre-lightning thief. i had ares in mind as reader’s gp but it’s not specified, i did refer to them as a dad and their mortal parent as a mom though

it’s been a while since i’ve read the books and i personally never got the luke hype so sorry if it’s a little ooc, also a bit short. had book luke in mind while writing but could be read for book or series luke ig if you ignore minor physical descriptions

art credits(left to right); velinxi, velinxi, frostbite studios

You had never known who your godly parent was.

You’d always assumed it was one of the minor gods, since the satyr assigned to your school hadn’t sought you out until you were old enough to drive. Either that or you just weren’t ‘gifted’ enough to garner much attention. You didn't know which you preferred.

In a way, it didn’t really matter. No one claimed you anyway, so you spent the first couple weeks of your stay at Camp Half-Blood — a very inconspicuous name, by the way — in cabin eleven, the Hermes Cabin.

It was a rough adjustment. You were resentful of this new world; a world of gods and monsters and magic and so many weird stories that made it hard to keep track of every twist and turn and easy to offend whichever god whose myths or name you got confused. You felt like someone was watching you at all times. Or would it be the opposite, since your godly parent clearly didn’t care enough to claim you as their own?

It didn’t help much when you were assigned a quest, either. Or rather, one of your friends were.

Austin Lake, a child of Apollo, was tasked to retrieve his father’s lyre from a forest — not just any forest, no, the Grove of Demeter. Or at least, a recreation of it, anyway. According to Austin, Demeter had banned his father from ever entering the Grove again when he’d had a little too much ‘fun’ with one of the wood nymphs there, so he needed his son to go fetch his lost toy.

Bit derogatory, you thought. We’ve been reduced to well-trained dogs.

Still, you tagged along.

There were a couple hiccups along the way, which you were told were par for the course by Chiron, who welcomed you back rather dismissively once you returned. Normally, you would’ve been offended. I mean, you get back from a not-so-semi life threatening outing, and all you get is a halfhearted pat on the back? Honestly.

But you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care. Not today.

You sat on the hillside as you watched the sunset. Wind carried the sweet scent of ripe strawberries from the fields along with the smell of dirt and other greenery as the grass beneath you swayed in the breeze. The blades tickled your skin as you basked in the calm silence of everything — something fairly unusual for this place, as far as you could tell from your stay so far.

You, however, did not feel calm. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your feelings toward the world of Greek mythology hadn’t been good in the first place, to say the least; you’d had to practically abandon any and all traces of your life back home in order to get here since you’d been discovered so late. You missed your friends (whom you assumed would be worried sick by now, since cell service was pretty much nonexistent here and you’d only been able to contact a few of them via post), and you missed the taste of actual junk food that came from cans and bags. You even missed school, as boring and hellish as it was. At least it offered a sense of normalcy that you so desperately needed right about now.

“Room for one more?” A voice asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Luke standing beside the pine on top of the hill, a Coca Cola in either hand. There was a small smile on his lips as he said, “I brought drinks.”

You smiled back at him, mostly out of courtesy but also at his offer. It was as if he'd read your mind. “Sure, if you want.”

Luke strolled down to sit beside you, handing you one of the fizzy drinks and popping his own. The can was pleasantly cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the harsh sunlight hitting your skin. “Thanks.” You muttered, taking the soda with a grateful look.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “We keep a secret stash of six-packs in the kitchen for special occasions. The harpies are pretty easy to bribe.”

Silence settled between the two of you as you sipped on your drinks. You stared straight ahead as you did before, but now you caught glimpses of Luke’s sandy blond hair out of the corner of your eye.

It was… awkward.

Luke had always been a bit of a mystery for you. Sure, you saw him as a friendly guy, and he had been nice to you ever since your first day here, but you noticed little details the younger or happier campers didn’t.

He never really liked talking about his father, Hermes, despite having been claimed almost as soon as he got to Camp. Okay, maybe that was fair, since he had to deal with loads of hopeful, undetermined campers asking him when they would be claimed, too.

‘Oh, I was claimed the minute I got here. But since your godly parent didn’t claim you yet, I guess they just don’t care about you.’

Yeah, not a great thing to tell a twelve-year-old.

Luke was also pretty closed off in general. He was an easy guy to make friends with, sure. But other than surface-level stuff like what color he likes or which Camp activities were his favorite, only one or two people knew much of anything about his personal life. Which was to say, his life before coming here, since it’d be pretty hard to have a ‘personal life’ when you lived in cabin eleven year-round.

You remembered the night before you took off for the quest. Luke’s face illuminated by flames as he burnt his nightly offerings with the rest of the camp, his expression one you could still clearly picture. A mellow bitterness — something kept suppressed for years, stacking and stacking and never getting cleaned out, building like dust and cobwebs on top of an old dresser. It was a face you assumed you'd wear eventually, too.

And that wasn’t even mentioning all the time he spent in the arena. His swordsmanship was the definition of textbook when he was training other campers, but it was a whole different story if you happened to stumble across him practicing on dummies in his spare time. His swings were quick and precise, as usual. However, there was an almost brutal quality to him as he maimed the dummy, slashing it as if it'd slaughtered his entire family.

Not that it would be that weird if the dummy had actually murdered them, Greek mythology and all.

Anyway.

“So...” Luke started. Then he must've realized he didn't really know what to say. He stared straight ahead and tapped his finger on his knee.

“So...” You repeated. You could tell he had something to say to you, he just didn't know the best way to go about it. After all, who would waste contraband on someone they didn't really know if it wasn't to sweeten them up before asking a favor? “..Did you need something?”

Luke opened his mouth, but hesitated before saying anything. “Actually.. yeah.”

See? No one's that nice.

“I kinda heard what happened,” He continued. You picked at the tab of your can, avoiding eye contact. Of course he knew. Something like that can't exactly stay a secret for long in a place like this. “I overheard Austin talking to Chiron about it?”

Well, fuck him then.

“He mentioned you wanna keep it on the down-low, so, your secret's safe with me.” He quickly added, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Oh, um...” You didn't really know what to say to that. It was bound to get out eventually, so it was the sentiment that mattered, you guessed. “Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” He nodded. “It was supposed to be a secret anyway, right?”

“I guess.”

“...It's bound to get out eventually though.”

You sighed. There was no actual hope with keeping this a secret, after all. The best you could do was a 'everyone knows about it but we don't talk about it' secret.

“I know, don't remind me.” You muttered. “I mean, it'd be hard to hide moving to a different cabin, wouldn't it?”

Luke chuckled. “I can't speak from personal experience, but yeah, probably.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You felt like pulling your hair out. “How much do you know?”

“Not that much,” he shrugged. You didn't need to look at him to know he was lying, you had a pretty good track record of telling when someone was. “Just that you got claimed, and you're not happy about it.”

“How could I be happy about it?” You burst out, straightening your back as you whipped your head up. Your hands spread out in front of you and your heels dug into the ground beneath them. “I never wanted this life! What, I’m supposed to be grateful that my deadbeat dad finally showed up? That he finally ‘claimed’ me? What is there to be grateful for? That isn’t even the bare fucking minimum of being a parent!”

Luke tensed. You didn’t blame him. The gods were always listening, somehow omnipresent but not enough to be there for their own kids. Fucking ridiculous.

Against your better judgement, your rant continued, spilling out of your mouth like word vomit.

“It's not like I expect him to be there for every step of my life, but would it have killed him to show his face, willingly, just once? My mom works three jobs just to keep a place for the two of us to stay! What, he couldn't send child support every now and then? He's a fucking god! What good is being a god if you aren't there for the people you're supposed to be taking responsibility for?”

“Yeah, I hear that.”

You scoffed. “Sure you do.”

“I'm serious.” Luke defended, putting his can down on the ground. “I've only met my dad once, and even for a god he was kinda shitty.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine. He was completely shitty.” Luke admitted. With a bit of hesitation, he elaborated further, fidgeting with a blade of grass.

“Before I came to Camp, I was on the run.” He said, a faraway look in his eyes, almost as if he were talking about a different lifetime. “It was me, Annabeth and Thalia.”

“Thalia as in..?”

“Yeah,” he said, a bitter smile on his lips as he glanced back at the tall pine tree that stood at the top of the hill. “That's her.”

You bit your lip as you stared at the pine. Now that you knew there was a story behind it, your mind played tricks on you. The branches were suddenly outstretched arms, the leaves spiky hair and you could have sworn you could make out the shape of a face in the pattern of the bark.

“This one time, Thalia was hurt, and we needed a place to stay for a bit. Since we were desperate and not really thinking straight, we went to my mom's place.” He sighed. “When we got there... I met him.”

Luke took a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowing as if just thinking about that moment physically hurt. “I'd known what I was for a while. Prayed to my dad a couple times, too, but he never got back to me. When I met him at that house, I asked him for help. I knew we wouldn't be safe at mom's. I asked him for guidance... and he said no.”

You nodded along with his words. The sun was beginning to set now, a light chill in the air. The sky was a golden orange, which bathed everything out of the shadows in a yellow light. Luke's eyes looked almost the same color as the light reflected off of them.

“If he'd just told us where to go then and there, if he told us about this place...” He trailed off. He clenched his jaw before drinking the last of his coke and flattening the can. “Thalia would still be alive. Living. She wouldn't be...”

Silence settled between the two of you again. Luke didn't want to talk about it any longer, and, as curious as you were, you didn't want to pry. But it was less awkward this time around, a mutual understanding connecting you both.

“Kind of a dick move.” You remarked quietly. To your surprise, Luke laughed.

“Kind of?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, total dick move.” You corrected yourself. You gave him a small smile. “Both our dads are jerks. Guess it runs in the family.”

“That's one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s the other?”

Luke shook his head, the corner of his lip tilting up into a half smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lame.”

The sky was turning purple now, a vibrant shade that leaned mire towards red than blue. Though soon it would be the other way around, and the harpies would come out to scare any campers who were out past curfew. You’d heard rumors that Mr.D allowed them to eat the strays sometimes, but you doubted they were true. Travis and Connor were still alive, after all. Though maybe they’d just never been caught.

Your run in with your father played on repeat in your head, each loop accentuating one horrible thing about it or the other. You fidgeted with the grass, ripping a few blades out of the ground. You bit your lip. Should you tell him about it? It would probably be good to get it off your chest. Plus, Luke actually understood how much this shit sucked.

“…You know what he said to me? When he saw me?” You finally muttered, deciding to trust him, just a bit. “He didn’t even recognize me, but I knew. The second I saw him, it was like something clicked. It took him a while, but when he made the same connection… He said, ‘shoot.’”

You laughed humorlessly. “‘Shoot.’ Like I was some piece of homework he forgot to do, and not his kid he abandoned before I was even born. I wanted to strangle him, I swear, but…”

You trailed off. You didn’t want to admit it, but your father was terrifying.

‘Watch the attitude.’ He had said, his hulking form growing until he was almost level with the trees surrounding him. ‘I don’t take disrespect, especially not from my own kids.’

I’m not your kid, you now thought, biting the inside of your cheek. He had never been a dad to you. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t have a father.

“I wished he were gone.”

…

You felt Luke’s gaze on the side of your head, practically boring holes into your skull. You glanced at him. Maybe you shouldn’t have told—

“You didn’t deserve that.” Luke suddenly said, a fire behind his words you’d never heard before. “None of us do.”

He stopped for a moment, his jaw clenched. Taking a deep breath, he turns his body towards you, facing you completely. There was no mistaking it now; there was gold swirling behind his blue irises.

“I have a proposition you might wanna hear.”

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #pjo imagine #percy jackson imagine #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #pjo x reader #pjo #pjoverse #percy jackon and the olympians

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thelov3lybookworm · 7 months

Text

Little Fawn

Summary: Y/n faces the consequences of ignoring her grangran's advice.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: here's something short for all my lulu girlies ❣️

(also thank you @clairebear08 and @berryzxx for helping with lulu's perfume eheheh 🤭)

Anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Do not leave the home at night or walk the streets alone at night. Especially in the middle of the night.

That's what everyone said, including Y/n's own grandmother, who had taken her in after her parents death when she was only a child.

They had been killed by the very being Y/n had always been warned against.

Vampires.

Even thinking about them sent a chill down Y/n's body.

She hurried her pace, pulling her coat tighter around herself, keeping her eyes downwards, glaring at the worn and chipped cobblestones under her feet as if they had caused her a personal offence.

She was already in a bad mood because of her friend, who had forced her to stay long after she was supposed o have returned.

Y/n worked in a local restaurant as a chef. Creating intricate art in food from raw materials brought her immense joy.

That was one of the things Y/n had inherited from her mother. Both of them had loved cooking, and always gave their best into whatever they created.

Y/n paused at the mouth of an alleyway, considering her options. She could either take the long but used route, where she could see that people were mingling on, or take the shortcut, which right now, looked abandoned.

Y/n knew her grandmother always yelled at her to not come home late at nights, and if she had to, to not take the road where not many treading.

But...

Who was going to tell Y/n grandmother?

Y/n turned on her heel, speeding her pace as she started up the lightly inclined alley.

Completely missing the sign that said read-

Body found. Do not tread. Supernatural presence suspected.

•○🌑○•

The alleyway was usually was filled with people and bustling crowd, eager to get wherever they were going to. At the very least, it would still be filled with the chatter from the nearby homes and restaurants.

But tonight, it felt eerily... quiet.

It was so silent Y/n could practically hear the breathing of the earthworm six feet underground.

I need to stop exaggerating so much. Y/n thought to herself as she walked briskly down the street. She had already covered half the distance now, just half more and then she would be home, safe and sound.

Y/n started to think about the book that she had been reading about food and wondering about how she could help her restaurant grow when the sound of a metal scraping against the ground came from behind her, making her stop in her tracks, every part of her body freezing.

Silence, thicker than her brother's thick skull descended over the area, and a shiver wound its way up Y/n's spine. She willed her legs to move, to take her back home, but it seemed like they had developed a mind of their own. They did not move, even as every pore and cell in Y/n's body screamed at her to run.

It was either that, or there was an abomination staring at her.

Y/n knew it could be the other option, but she always liked to think of herself as an optimist, and so, she just hoped that her brain was toying with her.

Even as all the signs pointed to it being otherwise.

The scuff of a boot sounded behind Y/n, letting her know that she was not alone. The scent of a sweet musk mixed with undertones that reminded her of fall surrounded Y/n until she was drowning in it.

Good thing, right?

No.

She felt their presence just as the person was right behind her, their breath fanning over Y/n's neck. Y/n suppressed a shiver, trying to lean away.

No matter how positive a person, right now, all positiveness in Y/n went right out her ass.

A vampire was breathing down her neck. And Y/n did not know what to do.

She also did not have the small device that her grandmother had brought her on her, having considered it an unnecessary weight.

Oh how she condemned herself right now.

Y/n tried to lift her hand, finding it very easy to do so. Experimentally, she lifted her leg, and she could... move.

But now she did not want to, knowing it would do her no help but get her killed faster.

I should have told grangran that I love her.

That was all Y/n could think of as she turned, slowly.

Her eyes met gold and russet, the brutal and cruel scar drawing her gaze. The high cheekbones, the ethereal beauty did not really register, because Y/n was too busy wondering how those fiery strands of hair would feel between her fingers.

"Hello fawn." The deep voice of the man- vampire- shot right to Y/n's heart and flowed though her bloodstream.

Y/n began to look towards his eyes, then stopped herself as her grandmother's sayings swirled around her mind.

Whatever you do, never meet eyes with a vampire. It's like giving them invitation to bite.

So Y/n focused on the red locket that hung from his neck, staring at the thing intensely as she finally faced him fully.

She felt him smile. "Hmm. Interesting. You know not to make eye contact." He laughed a little. "I wonder who taught you that. Knowing how secretive the information is, you should not have known it."

Y/n's blood turned to ice.

What is he talking about?

He chuckled again when Y/n ignored him. "Oh fawn, you are so adorable." She glanced up at that, even as she tried not to. It was like someone was forcing and controlling her.

She still did not look into his eyes, so she was proud of herself for that.

She watched his lips curve into a sadistic smirk, and light glinted off of something sharp as he ran his tongue over it.

His canines.

Y/n sucked in a sharp breath, hey eyes flying to his.

She realised her mistake then, her eyes going wide.

"No..." She whispered, unable to look away from his eyes as she took a step back. Those beautiful fucking eyes.

His smile grew wider, delight rolling off of him.

"Oh my fawn. Don't be scared." His smile said something completely different, something akin to run.

Y/n watched him advance, continuing to retreat. The cruelty on his face made her blood chill but boil at the same time.

She jolted when she realised she... liked that look. Like he was going to rip her apart but at the same time let her light up the world in flames as he stood by, cleaning his nails.

She liked that knowing that, and it was so utterly wrong.

And, oddly enough, Y/n wasn't complaining.

He stepped closer, his eyes shining.

"I will take good care of you my fawn."

One second, he was standing a little distance away, the next, he was standing toe to toe with her.

And the next, his teeth sunk into flesh like hot knife on butter.

•○🌑○•

General Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe

Lucien Taglist: @mirandasidefics @fell-in-luvs

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violettduchess · 2 years

Note

hi there talented writer. I would love to request headcanons (3 or 4?) for the princes and them doing something with a small child (their son or daughter)

I'd love for it to be Leon, Luke, Gilbert, Silvio or Chevalier but I will leave the choices up to you!

Thank you!!!

A/N: Alright anon....here you go!! Sorry this took so long! I did them all 😉

Word Count: 1878

Leon

She has his hair. Wild locks the color of dark walnut that spill down her small back in a wavy cascade. You braid it every morning but by the end of the day, it has escaped its braided prison and curls with abandon. And so it is up to you or Leon to tame the wild beast with the best weaponry you have: a silver hairbrush and a dollop of oil.

It's his turn tonight. You walk into your bedroom, the night's book selection in hand, to find them on the bed. She sits cross-legged in front of him, telling a very detailed story about an adventurous ladybug she found crawling on the window of her room. Leon is carefully brushing her hair, fingers gentle as he works the brush through her dark tresses.

You pause, watching them. Her small hands gesture to punctuate her story, a perfect imitation of her father. He listens, nodding intently even though she can't see him. Her story is taken seriously and you love him so much for it.

He sets down the hair brush, running his hand over the soft fall of her hair. Knowing they are done, she spins around with the type of energy only young children can have, throwing her short arms around his neck. He embraces her, hugging her tightly before pressing a kiss on her dimpled cheek. She giggles and so he does it again, growling like a lion.

Her laughter fills the bedroom, bright and clear as wind chimes. "Papa!" Her voice is bubbly with glee. He kisses her and tickles her and she howls with joy. He tosses her onto the bed, still growling playfully, continuing his loving onslaught.

As she wiggles and giggles at her lion Papa, you sigh through your smile. Her hair is getting tangled and he'll have to brush it again.

Somehow you know neither of them will mind.

Luke

Your son, with his shock of bright red hair and wide green eyes, is the spitting image of his father. He has inherited Luke’s gentle nature, his easy-going smile and not surprisingly, his love for honey. You set the freshly baked bread down onto the kitchen table, watching the way two sets of moss green eyes light up with anticipation.

Setting a generous slice of thick, dark bread down on his plate, you push the honey jar toward your little guy. Enthusiasm fills him as he reaches for the prized jar and the little metal spoon nestled in it, when Luke’s large hand covers his gently.

“Let’s do this together, ok? Just like last time.” His son nods and with Luke’s help, carefully scoops out a spoonful of honey and then plops it onto his bread. His gaze darts to you and you nod approvingly, rewarded with a cherubic smile. Luke hands him the smaller, child-sized butter knife. “Like we practiced," he reminds his son gently.

The little boy nods, taking the knife and then very, very carefully begins spreading the honey across his bread. Luke watches, reaching out to help him with the rounded corners, words of encouragement and praise murmured whenever he lets go. The knife at times digs into the bread. Sometimes the honey is spread right off of it. But the bright light of pride shines in your son's eyes as he looks up, challenge conquered. “I did it!”

Luke smiles, pride mirrored in his expression as he nods, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s head with a large hand. “You certainly did. Now let’s eat!”

Gilbert

“Papa! Ich brauche Hilfe!” (Papa, I need help!) She races across the thick carpeting of your bedroom, dark hair flying behind her like a wayward banner. Gilbert has just finished pulling on his black leather boots, readying himself for a family excursion while you rifle through your drawers looking for a scarf.

“Slow down, Mäuschen,” he says gently, an undercurrent of laughter discernible to you in his words. He kneels with a grin as she skids to a stop in front of him, catching her breath long enough to point at her coat. It’s made of rich black wool with large, round, gold buttons, a perfect size for her little hands. “I need help. It’s not working!” She is a perfect, flustered combination of eager to get outside and frustrated that she needs to ask him for help.

“First of all,” he says, reaching for her hands. “It’s much easier to close the buttons if you are not wearing these.” He carefully pulls on the tips of her small black leather gloves, removing them from both hands and laying them on the edge of the bed. “Now, try again.” At first she looks at the gloves in dismay and you know from experience how proud she is of them and how long it probably took her to get them on. But she blinks her bright ruby-colored eyes and turns her attention back to the coat. Reaching up, she takes hold of one shiny button and holds the flap of the coat with the other hand. Several attempts later, the button isn’t through and she looks up, brow furrowed in annoyance. “It’s still not working.”

Gilbert reaches out, straightening her coat. “Try again. I’ll hold it still for you.” He keeps hold of the bottom of her coat, pulling so the material is now stiffer, less bendable. Again she takes the button between her small fingers….and this time slides it right through the buttonhole. She doesn’t celebrate yet. The job isn’t done. Determination shadows her young face as she does the same for the entire row of gold buttons. It’s only when the last one slides into place that she looks up with a smile ablaze with pride. “Geschafft!” (Done!)

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the cool skin of her round cheek. “Toll gemacht, Mäuschen.” (Well done, little mouse) He stands, a loving hand lingering on her shoulder as she happily grabs her gloves and begins the process of pulling them on. His gaze finds yours, his smile warm with happiness. This could take a while.

Silvio

Your son is sitting outside on the terrace, the cobalt blue-tiled floor warm from the sun's rays. In front of him are several pots of paint which he is enthusiastically dipping his chubby fingers into before smearing them across the pages of white paper. You're sitting on the wicker chair nearby, one eye on him and one on the book you are reading.

This is the peaceful scene Silvio comes upon after returning from a meeting in the city. The familiar jangling noise of his clothing and jewelry alerts you both to his presence. Your son leaps up in a hurry, excitement thrumming through his body.

"Papa!" Silvio catches his colorful little hands by the wrists, a wry smile on his face. “Ah topolino, what happened to these?” He makes the little boy's hands wiggle back and forth to an eruption of giggles. “I’m painting, Papa. Come, paint with me!” Silvio releases his son who scurries back to his art. The child glances over his shoulder, eyes as bright as the sea in summer. “Papa?”

Silvio slides off the light, white coat he is wearing and then comes to where you are reading. He pretends to seriously inspect his son’s paintings as he slowly removes the golden rings from his fingers, one by one. You reach up, taking them from him and he flashes you a grin. “Keep a good eye on my treasure, tesoro.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the bad word play but you cannot resist the smile that curves your lips as Silvio lowers his long body onto the tiles, leaning close to the boy with hair pale as dolomite and eyes blue as summer skies. “Now maestro, tell me, where do we need to paint?”

Chevalier

Together they stand in front of the white bookshelf in her room, the one with pink painted roses climbing up the sides. He holds her small hand in his as they consider the many, many books she has managed to collect thus far in her rather short lifetime. His pale head nods towards a dark blue book with gold lettering. “We’ve only read this particular story twice.” She turns, her long pale braids swinging as she shakes her head. Her small fingers wiggle, adjusting her grip on him. “That story is about pirates and we read the story about mermaids yesterday. I would rather not have another nautical adventure.”

His inflection is echoed in her young voice, his influence in her vocabulary. He nods, eyes scanning the shelves for another, more suitable choice. “Perhaps the desert instead of the sea.” He taps a finger against a beige book with the title in darkest brown along the spine. Her head tilts to one side, brow furrowed in consideration. “Whenever we read this story and it talks about how hot the desert is, it makes me thirsty and I’ve already had-” She glances over her shoulder at where you are laying out her clothes for the next day. “How many glasses of water did I have at dinner, Mama?”

“Three,” you answer as you lay a pale blue sweater over the sunflower yellow dress you’ve chosen. She turns back to her father. “I’ve already had three.” He tears his gaze away from the bookshelf, regarding her with a shadow of a smile on his lips. “That is very pragmatic of you.” She nods solemnly, squeezing his hand before examining her books once again. Her eyes light upon a book bound in deep green leather, embossed with a tall tower made of gold. “This one!” She slips her hand from him to take the book off the shelf. Though excited, she is careful. Books are treasures and her collection is more pristine than some libraries. Chevalier looks down at her choice and you see how his expression softens. “You’ve made this selection twelve times in three weeks.”

“I like how you say all the new words!” The book is a story of a princess who travels the world and learns how to say hello in a multitude of languages, all of which Chevalier can speak. She takes his hand in hers again, the book cradled against her chest as she leads him to the large, velvet armchair, the one whose pink perfectly matches the dusty roses adorning her bookshelf. He settles into the chair and she climbs onto his lap, scooting back until she is comfortable. Reaching around her, his arms encircling her, he holds the book upright. “Shall we begin?” She nestles against his chest, azure eyes already eagerly on the book. “Yes, Papa!”

A split second is all it is. Just a breath of time before he opens the book, but in that space the length of a heartbeat, you see how Chevalier allows the moment in: his daughter curled up on his lap, safe in the soft, warm light of her room, eyes bright with excitement as she waits for the magic of a book to begin, for her father to create that magic for her. His expression is the tenderness the dawn has for the sky, love painted in soft hues across his noble features. And then he clears his throat, opening the book to her delighted, already sleepy smile, and begins.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #ikepri luke #luke randolph #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #ikemen headcanons #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #otome games #violettwrites

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suuuupernovaaa · 1 year

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kxuke - part 2

kxuke [ˈk’u.kɛ] adj. safe

Request from @myrealmstuff: Part 2 for Kxuke please, it's so beautiful.

Request from @hyunjinoak: Can I request Neteyam x reader story where the reader is pregnant and going through a really tough pregnancy complications and Neteyam is helping it? Nnd when the reader has difficult delivery (heavy bleeding / too long contraction or something like that) Neteyam helps reader and in the end have a healthy baby?

Part 1 [Summary: A Marine avatar, part of Quartich's team, is held captive by the Sullys. She is tough but damaged from an abusive upbringing on earth. Slowly, she and Neteyam fall for each other, and she is granted new life in her avatar body by Eywa. Neteyam's family is not pleased, but Neteyam asks her to be his mate. You should probably read Part 1 before reading Part 2.]

TW: blood, pregnancy

Watching the last remaining ship leave is surreal for me. Everyone I knew in my previous life now gone, suspended in sleep for six years, back to the planet I once called home.

It doesn't feel like home now, when I think it about it. It sort of feels like a nightmare; the abuse I suffered at the hands of my parents, multiple partners; the relief I felt when joining the marines, only to realize I had become the oppressor and abuser.

Never once have I regretted my decision to turn my back on my people. Maybe I should... but they never did a damn thing for me but use and abuse me, my entire life.

Though my new family was hard-won, they have never hurt me, or yelled at me, or made me feel little and stupid.

Tuk and Kiri were the quickest to accept me, with Lo'ak soon after. Then came Jake, because as it turned out, we had quite a lot in common. Rough upbringing. Marine background. Abandoning our race for a new one. You don't often meet other people in that situation. Our mutual understanding turned to friendship, and then a familial like relationship.

Neytiri was the hardest, but it was her mother's heart that got her in the end. It just came out, on a hunt, a story about my own mother, and something she'd done to me when I was barely out of diapers.

Something in Neytiri changed towards me in that moment, and she held me in her arms as I cried, and told me she would try to be a better mother to me.

Now I stand with my family, my mate Neteyam, and I place my hand over my swollen stomach as the cheering erupts around me at the joy and relief everyone feels. The baby is kicking again; he must be able to feel my happiness.

We are finally free.

The pregnancy has not been easy on me. I try every day to feel joyful about the new life I'm bringing into the world, and grateful to be staring my own family with Neteyam, but I am so tired, all of the time.

The simplest tasks have become exhausting, especially as the pregnancy has gotten to its final stages. Tsahik tells me I need to rest, and that she thinks the birth will be difficult... so that's something to look forward to.

Neteyam practically carries me in his arms everywhere we go, and dotes on me so aggressively that it sends me to tears at least three times a day.

Everything makes me cry. Neytiri tells me it's normal, but it feels embarrassing nonetheless. I burst into tears when Tuk squeezes my hand as we walk, or when I see another mother with a small child, and nearly every time Neteyam does anything nice for me.

Which is almost constantly. Neteyam is thoughtful, caring, and constantly going the extra mile to make me comfortable. I thought I loved him before, but I know now that every day, I will love him a little bit more - even when it feels like I couldn't possibly love him more, he does something so small but so meaningful, like bringing me home a flower for my hair, and my love for him explodes.

Just a few short weeks after the humans have returned to earth, I wake up in a searing hot pain, all around my abdomen, and shooting through my lower back.

"Oh my god!" I scream in English. "Neteyam! Something's wrong! Or, it's happening, maybe!"

Neteyam leaps up next to me, squatting beside me, grabbing my arm to support me.

"Happening?" he asks, also in English. It's so hard to speak in a second language when I'm in so much pain, even if I would consider myself fluent.

"Get Tsahik. And your mom!" I holler, but there are already footsteps approaching.

"I am here!" Neytiri says, running through the door. I guess that's a benefit to having your in-laws just steps away. "Jake is bringing Ronal. What do you feel?"

"Pain," I reply, switching back to Na'vi. "Here, and here," I gesture all around my waist, and my back.

Neytiri tsks. "Bah, back labor. It will be painful. Ronal will bring medicine to help."

I lean onto Neteyam, wondering what the Na'vi equivalent of an epidural is.

It is not until two days later that I hold my son in my arms. Looking into his eyes here, the pain of the past hours is already fading away in my mind.

The screaming, the blood, the pushing and tearing; the throbbing pain I feel even now... it doesn't matter.

He is beautiful. Four fingers like Neteyam, eyebrows like me, and his hair seems to almost have a reddish shine to it, but it could just be the sunrise. His cheeks are round and when he opens his eyes, they're a beautiful amber color. He has been attached to my breast since the moment he came into the world, but now, he is sleeping peacefully. Ronal has sewn me up and left medicine behind for me to take, and Neteyam's family waits outside until they're given the go-ahead to come in. Only Neytiri has met her grandson; I demanded she be there for the entire birth, and she did not leave my side.

It was the first time in my life that I truly felt a mother's love.

"Take him, Neteyam," I say. "Hold your son."

There are tears in his eyes as he reaches out and takes the swaddled baby.

"Remove his blanket, put him right on your chest. It's good for them, to be skin to skin." I don't know how much of my limited earth knowledge of babies will apply here, but surely that's correct.

"He's so beautiful, and warm," Neteyam says, holding his naked son to his chest. I lay the blanket over him, and Neteyam strokes his tiny back. "I love him so much. I love you so much." He looks at me, the tears falling freely now for both of us.

"You saved my life, Neteyam. I never imagined I would have any of this. I am so grateful to you."

Neteyam leans over gently, and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "Thank you for this gift, Y/N. You are my treasure."

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar 2 #avatar twow #daddy neteyam

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yanyanobsessed · 4 months

Text

continuing on my yandere vampire fics from a while ago.. I figured the best way to expand on it would be to go back to the beginning.

Note: Theres a lot of worldbuilding here lol, Probably my heaviest work yet, contentwise (not in a dark sense, this post is just hefty when it comes to her word count)

Grace Addams (she/her)

Yandere type: Worshipper, obsessive

Grace was adopted quite young, raised by a wealthy couple with her every need met and accounted for by leaps and bounds. Anything she wanted, her dads did their best to accommodate- which thankfully was relatively easy for them, given that they were in no short supply of funds.

As a child, Grace was very quiet for the most part- almost too quiet, save for the occasions where she was left hungry or with a stomach ache, in the time prior to her vampiric nature coming to light. Her parents discovered quite early on that she was not exactly human, delightfully greeted by quite a number of little fang-marks when she went through teething as a toddler.

Vampires weren't unheard of by any means, but the couple lived in a rather wealthy rural area, and they had never in their lives encountered one in the flesh. However, having discovered the nature in their precious daughter, they felt it would be most appropriate to reach out online, finding comfort in the form of a number of forums and online communities centered on vampiric parenting and resources. They adapted their routines for her, swapping the baby food and solids that had caused her many a stomach ache with meats and iron-enriched tomato juice, which they had read online served as a temporary substitute for blood in the time it would take them to get in contact with a vampiric supply center for her. They abandoned the practice of using garlic in their cooking, so on and so forth, and with time Grace became a much quieter child, content and enriched.

As Grace grew, she remained very silent in her movements- thanks to her supernatural nature, she was able to move much faster than the average child, soundlessly darting around the manor she was raised in. Well, soundless aside from the occasional giggle when she was particularly giddy, or the wailing cries that followed her bumping into something in her fun. Despite her stealth and speed, she proved to be quite clutsy at times, running into things quite frequently even when she was moving at a normal speed.

When it came time for Grace to enter schooling, her parents debated quite a bit, before resolving that it would be good to enroll her at a school in the city, as opposed to one in the rural area they inhabited. They remained in their manor, but began arranging to take Grace to and from school each day, making the hour drive each direction in order to allow her the chance to meet other kids who might not judge her as harshly as those in the rural lands were almost guaranteed to.

This went on for years, with Grace attending class with other kids, packing her little blood pack and tupperware of meat each day to class, shifting to just a thermostat full of blood as she got older. By 7th grade, she had grown accustomed to this routine quite perfectly- She now was brought to school and back home by a private driver her parents hired, but that change aside, things remained relatively unchanged. Grace was silent in her classes, hardly ever talking with her classmates unless it was required, preferring to spend her time studying or reading. It was in one of these such moments, where she had her nose in her latest reading, on the day when everything changed.

Mrs. Lorella called everyone's attention to the front of the room, interrupting the chatters of first period with an introduction. A new student would be joining them. Grace looked you over without much intrigue, simply wishing to acquaint herself visually with you so that she would know your name if it came necessary- and yet, she was surprised when you met her eyes perfectly, honed in on her out of all the students present.

After introducing yourself, as soon as Mrs. Lorella let you go, you made your way straight to Grace's desk, smiling at her. "Is this seat taken?" Grace shyly shook her head, and you eagerly plopped your things down, scooting in right next to her with a smile that rivaled the sun in brightness.

It was that way for the rest of your classes- There was only one period in which the seat next to Grace was not available, and in every other opportunity you didn't hesitate to take the one which was, even looking a little saddened when you saw that one taken seat. Grace was slightly put off by you at first- She didn't dislike you by any means, but you were strange to her. She had always been naturally avoided or picked on by other kids, and although she shut that down quite quick to the best of her ability, that didn't mean she searched for companionship in her classmates. She thought she had more than enough of the stuff with her fathers, whom she was incredibly fond of. And yet, as time went on, and you continued to insert yourself into her life, she found it hard to deny that she enjoyed your company.

Within the next few weeks, her walls had begun to come down, and she found herself increasingly giddy when she was around you. One day at lunch hour, without even consciously realizing it, she offered for you to come over to her house after school. It was an offhand remark, in reply to you asking her about her driver, and yet the way your face lit up in response made her heart flutter in a way that was completely alien to her. You eagerly agreed, happy to spend time with her as she found herself smiling in response.

Thus began a routine of sorts- Most days after classes, you would go to Grace's house, as your parents were busy with work and made no complaint to the extra hours afforded by not having to drive you home, and you and Grace would spend the afternoon together. By the time you had to go home, Grace would accompany you, and listen to your ramblings the entire car ride to your home, spending the drive back in silence, dreamily looking out the window.

Grace's parents were quick to catch on to her fondness for you, welcoming you as one of their own in a way.

Over the years, you and Grace became attached at the hip - anywhere you went, Grace followed, and vice versa. Any time you had to spend apart, Grace found herself lamenting the distance, eagerly texting you in efforts to close the gap electronically, which proved comforting to her worries. However, it was noticable that any time you were apart from her, she became visibly antsy. She would tap her foot, fidget with her family rings, look around as if she could spot you nearby- and don't forget checking her phone often, debating whether to call you or not. As the attachment between you grew, so did her protectiveness, to a very obvious degree.

Now, on the nature of Grace's vampirism- While the school she went to wasn't necessarily hostile to her kind, her parents were instructed when she was first enrolled to teach her to keep it under wraps. While being a vampire wouldn't get you hunted openly like in the olden days, government intervention didn't prevent the prejudice that still ran deep in some people, and they found that it would be safer for their little girl if she didn't rampantly go around showing off her vampirism.

Grace had been very good about this rule of her parents' for her entire schooling- and yet, like most of her outward shell, it unraveled quite easily when it came to you.

One day, when you were at her house, you questioned her about her fidgeting. She bit her lip, continuing to twist her rings as her eyes flitted around the empty library you two presently occupied your time in.

"..Can I tell you a secret, Y/N?"

"Of course! You can tell me anything- I'm very good at keeping secrets, my mom says."

Grace took a deep breath.

"..I'm a vampire." She blurted out, cheeks rosy as she watched your reaction with fearful eyes.

A moment passed, and she just about felt her stomach drop, when you suddenly smiled, your entire body language brightening with intrigue.

You eagerly questioned her about it, taking the news in stride as you rattled off all your curiosities, holding both of her hands in yours as you did so, a habit of yours that Grace found herself quite fond of.

From that day onward, Grace found her attachment to you growing- She had never before even considered draining someone, and yet these days she found her eyes drifting to your neck dangerously often. She always managed to catch herself, although it was in the private moments that the urge came strongest. She always reeled herself in however, and was able to restrain herself.

That was, until sometime in the summer after your highschool years had finished, when a blood shortage had been wearing her thin, and you had been teasing her privately at every turn regarding her fangs, and how you would let her bite you if she wanted (which never failed to fluster her immensely, might I add.)

(Stopping here for now, lemme know what y'all think and any ideas you might have regarding Grace!)

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere vampire #grace my oc #oc intro

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its-a-ittle-bit-cold · 1 year

Text

I traveled fifteen hundred miles to meet you

Maverick x daughter!reader

series masterlist

my masterlist

summary: you begin training and quickly make a name for yourself

a/n: soooo I decided to get rid of the hangman romance that I was gonna put in, and kind of wrote over the scenes as hangman x phoenix (sorry) I didn’t wanna get rid of a whole section ..

ps : sorry for the wait :’( i’ve been swamped with life stuff

warnings: PTSD, child abuse (mother- daughter), feeling unwanted, violence ? canon typical mostly, death, loss of a loved friend

The drill is simple in theory.

Shoot down Maverick, you win.

But, like your unfortunate lack of skill playing eight ball, the execution is getting there. The first team to go in is too cocky.

He gets them, easy.

Hangman and Phoenix give him a run for his money, but not by much. You’re up next, with Hangman as your wing man.

Strapping into your jet feels almost surreal. It’s an awesome feeling to be back.

It’s not until you’re in the air that the flashbacks start.

You and Hangman take off, having decided pre-exercise that you were going to try to divide and conquer: one of you as bait, the other lying in wait for Maverick to take it. You, as the pilot with the best evasive skills and maneuvers, drew the short stick as the bait in the experiment.

you know that Hangman is notorious for leaving his wingmen behind, so you’re going to be looking for chances to give him a little of his own medicine.

“Ready, team?”

You’ve become more comfortable with the notion that Maverick is your dad.

It hit you, while you were lying awake last night, that maybe you should be mad that he left. Your mom always had been angry at him, but could you really blame him for leaving the crazy woman who gave birth to you?

the answer is no, because you did the same.

“Ready when you are cap’n.” You flick on the proper controls and Hangman gives you a Shaka sign, signaling his okay.

And then you’re off.

The rush is exhilarating. It’s not until you can hear Maverick behind you and Hangman warning you that he’s on your tail and you need to shake him that the flashbacks start.

You grunt, forcing your jet up and over in a backwards barrel roll to escape Maverick’s targeting system. You begin a classic evasive maneuver, the realize he’s not even on your tail anymore.

“Majesty! he’s on me!”

“Shake him, then!”

But you follow your radar to where Hangman’s getting chased in a high speed game of tag, and readying your targeting system.

“Majesty, where are you?” Hangman shouts into the comm. You hear the familiar beeping.

He’s done.

You’re on your own.

Majesty! Keep moving! there’s still a mission to complete!

the rough voice of your former commander rings in your ears as you pull up in a steep climb, about to try a new maneuver.

(Y/n). I’m sorry. Duchess’s vitals aren’t looking good.

You metaphorically slam the breaks in your plane (which you can’t do because there are none) and let yourself free fall. It’s a special trick that you and Tae always practiced.

“What the fuck kind of maneuver was that?”

Maverick’s rough voice breaks the comms. You click your targeting system on and hit him. The beep over the comm would be music in your ears if you weren’t stuck in the past.

“Wake up! Y/n, we need to go fly before training starts!” Tae, your best friend and wingman (wingwoman?) has always been an early morning productivity person. You always joke about her absolute inability to sleep in, even when you’ve stayed up till three the night before engineering new tricks and stunts to try the next morning. “I have an idea!”

“Uh oh,” you say through a yawn, already tossing on your uniform and tying your hair back. Tae rolls her eyes, then practically sprints out of your dorm room, you got on her heels.

she collected me, up off the ground where you abandoned things

“That was some damn good flying out there,” Hangman tells you. He’s bought you your first mocktail of the night - a fancy-looking ombré concoction that Penny’s cooked up for you. “If only I’d been alive to see it.”

“Don’t you worry,” Phoenix butts in. “We all saw it, and we also all saw her hang you out to dry!” her tone is just a little too gleeful. “Now that’s something to toast to!”

“You wound me, Trace.”

You toast with Phoenix, then excuse yourself from the pilot’s table, seeking some fresh air. You’d snapped out of your flashback, but Tae’s laugh still rings in your ears. You make your way out to the deck and lean on the railing overlooking the beach and the ocean.

“You’re one helluva pilot.”

You rub your nose with your forearm.

“That’s what I keep hearing.” You close your eyes, wondering if you should confide in him or not. Probably not. He’s your instructor, not your dad.

I mean, he’s also your dad.

“whatcha drinking?” You steal a glance at your drink, which has faded to a dull pinkish orange. Maverick’s holding a bottle.

“Some kind of mocktail Penny came up with.” you take a sip of it. “I don’t drink,” you add after a moment.

“Well, you’re better than all of us, then.”

You grin and shake your head. Looking out over the water, it’s easy to forget why you’re here and be transported back to the past.

“Now that,” Tae begins, setting down her gin and tonic on the table and admiring the multicolored mocktail Penny concocted. “That is what I call a mocktail.”

You take a swig.

“See, Duchess, Apollo was wrong. Mocktails can be fun!”

“I never said they weren’t!”

This is the last night you have at top gun, and, appropriately, you’re a spending it at the Hard Deck, which is a newer bar that just opened. You’ve made fast friends with the owner and her daughter - Amelia.

You glance outside and gasp, standing up.

“Come on! look at the sunset!”

You rush out to the front deck, wide eyed and giddy at the pure beauty of the sunset. Tae trails behind, watching you watch the colors paint the evening sky.

“Can you believe it’s over?” You ask her. “No more coming to the Hard Deck, no more Apollo or Clipper, and pretty soon we’ll be deployed on the other side of the world.”

Tae sighs.

“You know what I think? I think this experience will stay with us forever. I’ll always remember the pranks we pulled on the guys and the late night beach walks. It’s like graduating high school. or the academy. This chapter of life is over, and we need to move on.”

You give her a wry smile.

“You know, you may be a dumbass ninety five percent of the time, but you do give some damn good advice.”

“Want another?”

you nod.

“You’re a damn good pilot. You’re top of the class for a reason. Don’t you ever forget that.”

you meet her eyes.

“Duchess-“

“Hey. You with me?”

Maverick snaps his fingers in your face, trying to snap you out of your daze. you shake out your neck.

“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you I’ve never seen a plunge like that executed correctly, and then you zoned out on me.”

You focus your gaze on a spot on the horizon.

“Yeah, uh, I was just remembering.. something.”

He looks at you, doing a once-over, face skeptical. He almost looks.. concerned? Again, you wonder, if you were in another life, would he be worried for you, his daughter, instead of you, his pilot.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Yes. You’ll understand. You’re probably the only one here who would.

You smile sadly.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old

The next morning, Maverick sends you all an email to wear “beach clothes you can run around in”, so you, Phoenix and Halo all put on your shorts and sports bras, and Halo puts on a t-shirt. The email also ordered you to meet in front of the Hard Deck, so that’s what you do.

You leave significantly earlier than the rest of the group specifically to see Amelia, who you still haven’t seen since coming back to the base. You tap your knuckles on the doorframe, drawing her attention. She looks at you, looks again, gasps and sprints towards you in some kind of flying tackle- hug.

“Hey!” You exclaim, squeezing her tight and spinning her around in a circle. “You got big!”

Amelia giggles into you.

“Mom told me you were back. I almost didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I couldn’t just never see my favorite tea party partner again, now could I?”

Amelia pulls away, observing you. Her eyes brighten as she remembers your tea parties from when you were in Top Gun.

“I’d forgotten about those! And Tae would bring those little cucumber sandwiches!”

Her face falls in a frown.

It’s like a sneak attack, having someone mention her in passing. You’d been up almost the whole night before trying to calm the memories that have been resurfacing since your return to Miramar.

“I miss her.”

Sometimes you forget that Tae was almost as close to Penny and Amelia as you were. She would always come with you to watch Amelia and hang with Amelia and Penny on the slow nights.

“Me, too.”

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Penny comes over to you from the storeroom and hugs you. She then holds you at arms’ length and looks you up and down. “Now, I know you’re busy, but tomorrow isSaturday, and I’d love for you to come for dinner like we used to.”

The unspoken with Tae beats down on you. You glance out of the window to see the rest of the squad gathered there in varying forms of swimwear. Most of the guys are wearing obnoxiously printed swim shorts, obviously wearing no shirts.

“That sounds… great. I’ll be by. Text me, okay? I have to go.” You give Amelia another squeeze and beeline out of the bar, joining the group of your fellow pilots.

Maverick’s the last to get here, wearing a white shirt and a pair of jeans, holding two footballs.

He introduces the game: dogfight football, offense and defense at the same time. It doesn’t really sound like there are very many rules in the game, only that you get touchdowns occasionally.

He also divides the teams. You and Phoenix are together, Bradley too.

And then you’re starting and you have actually no idea what you’re supposed to be doing; you never were adept at playing football.

You’ve been paired up with Hangman, who must be going easy on you, because you get past him every time, even scoring a touchdown once. About half and hour in, he strikes a deal with Phoenix.

“Okay, Trace. Here’s the deal,” he says between plays. “The next touchdown, if it’s your team, I’ll buy a round for everyone the next time we all go out.”

“okay,” Phoenix glance at your team. You’re all looking pretty skeptical, as you should. “What’s the catch?”

“I my team gets the next touchdown…” he drags out. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her face breaks into a cautious smile.

“Deal, Bagman, but I’m just warning you, that’s an awful deal on your part.”

He shrugs, flashing you a perfect smile.

The next touchdown goes to Halo, who’s on Hangman’s team, and everyone turns expectantly to him, wondering what the bet was. He walks up to Phoenix, dips her and presses his lips to hers.

You let out a wolf whistle. She breaks the kiss and flips you off before pulling Hangman in for another one.

Coyote’s making a point of covering Bob’s eyes. Rooster has a hand over his mouth, pretending to retch and you jog over to him, patting him on the back, face splitting in a smile.

Penny shares a look with Maverick as they watch the two young people kiss. She’s smiling, and that makes him smile.

“What do you think of her, now that you’ve flown with her?”

She nods at the pilot in question.

There’s so much he can say about her: smart, confident, thoughtful. Reckless and sassy and a little bit too stubborn. She’s talented, anyone can see that, maybe even the best on the squad, but she’s holding back.

She’s hesitant to fly with anyone but herself, even leaving her comrades out in the open in favor of shooting down the enemy, which is surprising, considering her most recent deployment.

Her deployment. He finally got around to looking into that, the incident that sent her into leave for more than half of the last year.

The report had been brief: routine patrol, they had gone to investigate a distress signal, not enough ammo or fuel. Someone detonated a missile too close. Duchess went down. Majesty took down three bandits in the span of five minutes before her aircraft was too damaged to continue flying.

There had been no saving duchess. she was waterlogged and impaled with a scrap of metal before Majesty was even there to save her.

Very, very traumatic.

It reminds him of Goose.

he’s surprised she’s even willing to fly at all after that.

“In all seriousness?” Maverick looks out over the game. She’s awful at football. Can’t throw a spiral. “She’s a good kid. Even better pilot. She’s been the closest to finishing the course out of all of them.”

She glances over at the two of them, waving to penny before jumping for the ball.

“She reminds me of you,” Penny tells him. “You’re more similar than either of you know.”

Admiral Kazansky, AKA Iceman has been a mentor to you since the beginning. He’d taken a liking to you and your reckless flying when you’d first joined the Naval academy. Said you reminded him of a friend of his. You’d always thought he meant his wingman, and he had, but more recently, you’d realized that his wingman was the one and only Maverick, AKA Pete Mitchell, AKA your dad.

You knock on the door and his wife lets you in. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Sarah…” you say, hugging her. “It’s back?”

she shakes her head.

“we don’t know. he can’t even talk without the pain coming back.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Maybe I shouldn’t-“

“He’s in his office,” she tells you gently. “You know he always wants to see you.”

You purse your lips, smiling tightly.

“Thanks, Sarah.”

You ease the door to Ice’s office open, He turns to face you. He’s paler, gaunter, and wearing an overcoat and a scarf. you know enough to know he’s not doing well.

“Hey, Ice.”

He points at the seat across from him.

Right. He can’t talk.

“I had to see you.” You sit down and reach into your purse. “Kevin sent me this.”

You pull out the wrinkled, folded photograph and hold it out to him. His shaky hands pull it taut as he squints at it. You hold your breath, waiting for some kind of surprise to show on his face. Something, anything.

“Did you know? Is that why you kept me around?”

Your voice shakes uncontrollably. Like most things recently, you want to be angry, but you just don’t have the strength or conviction anymore. You just want to know.

Ice hands you the photo back and types on the computer.

Yes.

No.

your breath catches.

“How long?”

Since we met.

You sigh shakily.

“Why? why didn’t you tell me?”

Ice stares at you.

You stare back.

“How long did the doctor say you have?”

Weeks.

You gnaw at your lip.

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You’re not going to.

You shake your head, wiping under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Losing Ice hurts. He’d always been there for you when you needed to talk. Even now, when he can’t use his voice.

He clears his throat.

“Tell… him.” His voice is raspy and wet. It grates on your ears like it must on his throat.

you nod vigorously.

“I will. I just… I want him to like me, you know? before he feels obligated to, I mean.” you stare at the picture of the two of them on Ice’s desk. “I don’t even know if he’d be happy to know.”

He will.

there’s a soft knock on the doorframe. It’s Maverick. Of course it is.

You grip Ice’s hand.

“Looks like your next appointment is here.” Your laugh is wet. “Bye, Ice.”

You nod to your father as you leave. his brow is furrowed in confusion, but he nods back.

Penny and Amelia’s house is one thing in North Island that’s always stayed the same. the smell of candles burning constantly, amelia’s artwork hanging on the walls, (which, admittedly, has gotten a lot better over the last few years) and the little bits of clutter scattered around the house.

You’ve dressed up a bit, put on some makeup and washed all the gel out of your hair for the occasion. when you get there, Amelia drags you to her room almost before you can say hello to penny.

“Okay. Where’s the fire?” You tease, once the door is shut and you’re sitting on Amelia’s bed. She’s giddy in anticipation to tell you her news.

“I have tea,” she whispers conspiratorially. You lean in.

“Lay it all out for me.”

“Mom had Mav over last night.” her tone is smug. She’s obviously very happy to be able to tell you this news. “He tried to sneak out but I caught him. And,” she looks around and lovers her voice even more. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight!”

“No!”

“yes!”

“That’s crazy.”

It’s crazy that you literally keep running into him. It’s not like you’re avoiding Maverick, per se, but you still don’t know how to break the news to him.

Hey man, great lesson today. Oh, by the way, I’m the daughter you didn’t even know you had because my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. Yeah, I know it’s fucked up. If I was on good terms with her I would ask why, but she only calls me when she’s drunk.

That’d go over well.

Amelia crosses her arms.

“That’s my tea. Now, tell me yours. Tell me about Top Gun.”

You look around her room. She repainted the walls a shade of yellow that you love. There are pictures hanging on the walls. One, a big one over her desk, is your favorite picture: a selfie you took of you, Amelia and Tae when you took her to Malibu to learn to surf.

“I love that picture,” you admit. Amelia nods, getting up to remove it from the wall. “Top Gun’s… not the same without her. Nothing is.”

Amelia’s always been wise for her age.

“I see her everywhere. I mean, I know I don’t, but I do.”

You smile tightly.

Grief sure is strange. Even Amelia feels the loss of Tae heavily.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Girls! dinner!”

“What were you two talking about in there that was so important I couldn’t be part of the conversation?” Penny asks over the steak she’s prepared.

“Oh… nothing…” you take a sip of water.

“Just how Y/n’s in looooooooove,” Amelia singsongs.

You shoot Amelia a dirty look.

“We were actually talking about how the two of you have been canoodling.”

Maverick stops, his fork hanging in midair. Penny’s expression is priceless.

“Yeah, I mean why else would Mav be invited to Saturday dinner?” Amelia asks. You nod along with her sagely.

“This used to be a girls night,” you explain to him. “When Duchess and I were in Top Gun.”

“ah,” is all he says.

You pat your pocket, remembering the gift you had brought for Amelia and Penny.

“Actually, we were just talking about how Tae and I would take Amelia out on the weekends,” you tell Penny. “And I just remembered I brought this for you guys.”

You take the strip of photos from your pocket. It’s a photo booth strip from a long weekend taken to Disney. All four of you are smushed into the booth, wearing matching Minnie ears, leaning into each other and grinning.

“I have a copy, so you keep that.”

Penny admires it, sad smile forming on her lips. Amelia peeks over her shoulder, grinning. You avoid Tae’s eyes. They used to pierce you. The still do.

“I’d like to toast.” Penny raises her glass, setting the strip down. “To new beginnings.”

“to new beginnings,” you agree.

You don’t get very far into dinner before your phone rings. You decline the call. five seconds later, it’s ringing again.

Decline.

“Do you need to take that?” Mav asks (he’s gotten you to stop calling him sir, finally.) and you shake your head.

“It’s my mom. Hang on.”

Penny and you share a look. She raises an eyebrow. you shake your head.

Nothing to worry about.

You’re suddenly very hot as you excuse yourself from the table. you’re not quite out of the kitchen when you pick it up.

“Mom?”

“Y/n? Is this my disappointment of a daughter?”

you sigh into the phone, staying silent. Her jab sends tears welling up in your throat. Spending time with Amelia and Penny has always reminded you of the mother you could’ve had.

“Where’s your deposit? Where’s the money you owe me for giving you life and a roof over your head?”

You hurry to ease the door shut. The deposit. Goddamn. She’s sober enough to remember it. Ever since you moved out, you’ve been wiring her deposits every month to make sure she keeps living. You’d hoped it was enough to send her to rehab, but she refused to go.

“The deposit?” you say faintly, heart dropping.

Her voice gets thin and screechy over the line. You can’t bring yourself to pull the phone away from your ear as she spits barbs at you. You cover your mouth to muffle the wet sobs escaping your throat.

“You never wanted what’s best for your family! You left me for the Navy. You’ve never done anything right and that girl - Tae - died because of it.”

She’s never gone there before.

And you’ve never had anyone lay it out for you.

“Mom. mom. mom, stop!” You gasp out. “Everything I’ve done if for you! The money, the house, I stayed. For you!”

You don’t hear the porch door swing open.

“I didn’t owe you anything! I never did! I didn’t ask for you to have me!”

Your mother begins to argue with that, that you forced her to have you. You cut her off with a gut wrenching cry.

“I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME!”

You tear the phone from your ear and slam your thumb on the red button.

“Y/n.”

Penny.

You drop your phone, defeated. Penny reaches out hesitantly and uses her fingers to wipe your cheeks.

She’s hugging you and you’re crying before you can even know what’s happening.

To new beginnings.

begged you to want me, but you didn’t want to.

“Rooster.”

he’s pissed, drinking his second bottle.

“Rooster.”

You sit down next to him.

“What do you want?” he snarls. You gingerly put your hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He leans into your hand. You sigh.

“Phoenix and Bob are gonna be okay. I went to see them before I came here. They’re not injured. Just shaken up.”

He slams his bottle on the table. You finch away.

“Did Maverick send you?”

“what? No.”

Surprisingly, it had been Hangman who told you that Rooster was sulking in the Hard Deck. He’d seemed worried about him, so you went to check up on him.

“He likes you, you know. Thinks you’re a good pilot.”

“I am a good pilot.” You nudge his shoulder. “But so are you. So are Phoenix and Payback and Coyote.”

“He pulled my papers, you know. So he must not think I’m that good.”

You hesitate. this has always been a sore subject for Rooster. Saying the wrong thing could result in making it worse- not better.

“He flew with your dad, right?”

Rooster rubs his face and takes another swig from his bottle.

“Yeah. But I’m not my dad. He thought I’d-“

“Maybe he was just scared, you know? Maybe he cared so much for you that he didn’t want to lose you.”

If he had known that you were his daughter, would he have pulled your papers, too? Or would he have wanted you to be like him, be a pilot in the Navy?

“whose side are you on?” Rooster snaps. “You’re saying the same things I’ve heard my whole career. No one thinks the great Maverick could make a mistake, I guess.”

“that’s not what i’m saying, Bradley!” you take a deep breath. “Like it or not, he cares about you. You’re the closest thing to a -“

You cut yourself off, because, strictly, Rooster isn’t the closest thing he has to a child that he has. You gulp back the words.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Can I… tell you something? But you have to swear not to tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Rooster promises. You hold out your pinky, and he stares at it. You raise your eyebrows at him. he looks around, no doubt making sure there’s no one who would make fun of him for pinky swearing, and interlocks his pinky with yours.

You reach into your pocket, retrieving the wrinkled, folded picture and hand it to him.

“That’s my mom,” you say, pointing to the woman. “and that…”

“That’s Maverick!” Rooster looks triumphant in his revelation. “So, what, Mav dated your mom?”

“No! Well, yeah, but that’s not what i was trying to tell you. Look at the date on the picture.”

Rooster squints and brings the paper closer to his eye.

“Wait. That’s..”

“twenty six years ago, and ten months after that was taken, I was born.”

Rooster drops the picture, mouth falling open. He’s staring at your face, no doubt picking out features reminiscent of Mav’s. You shift uncomfortably.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I know!”

“Does he know?”

You hesitate. He might. There’s been a lot on his plate, though, and your last name could be forgettable if they only dated a couple of months twenty some years ago.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Roosters eyes widen.

“Wait so I can’t tell anyone?”

he groans when you nod.

“Y/nnnn you can’t just dump this on me and tell me I can’t tell anyone! That’s too much pressure!”

You snap your fingers in his punting face.

“You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. If you tell a single person I will hunt you down and slice you into tiny pieces and then cook you and let Hangman feed you to his horses.”

You cackle at the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes. “That’s right. I remembered your deathly fear of horses, bitch!”

He’s pale, but his face breaks into a smile.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, Majesty. You had me scared there for a second.”

You know what he means. Since Tae died, for a while, you had no will to do anything or see anyone- in other words, you were super duper depressed. Lately, you’ve felt lighter, like you can laugh and smile again without feeling guilty.

Here’s to new beginnings.

disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about how planes work or flying or anything like that

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick hangman #maverick x reader #maverick x daughter!reader #tw: death #tw: abuse

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zombiecicada · 5 months

Note

Headcannons for yamikage?

Trigger warning for darker themes and child abuse/neglect

Such a complex basket case.

-Yamikage identifies as male and uses he/him pronouns. He will never let this fact about him see the light of day, but he did experiment with she/her pronouns at one point in his lifetime. This experiment did not last. Sexuality wise, he is demirose, requiring a deep bond and a lot of trust with someone to experience any kind of attraction with anyone.

-His full legal name is Yamikage Kubo. He never introduces himself by his full name (if he introduces himself at all, getting him to talk to most people and try to make unnecessary introductions makes pulling teeth seem easy) and hates his last name with a passion. He also does not like being called ‘Yami’ by anyone other than Gamma, and will instantly correct someone that his name is Yamikage if you try and call him that. Currently, he is equivalent to being forty seven years old.

-Yamikage is the youngest of three siblings, and has an older brother and an older sister. His father is a legendary ninja amongst the ninja circles and overall the clan Yamikage hails from is both extremely powerful, but also has a very high reputation. Yamikage’s father is a star warrior, having served the Ninja Task Force for many years, long before they ever joined forces with the GSA and started actively participating in the war. He was forced to temporarily take leave from the force after his wife, the leader of the village, passed away. He returned to assume all her duties and the care of his three children. Yamikage is not close with any of his family members. His siblings have a long history of mocking and picking on their little brother, pulling multiple pranks on him that ranged from leading him in the woods to show him ‘something cool’ only to abandon him so he’d get lost, to actively trying to scare him with things and scenarios that they knew he hated or feared, often ending with him actually getting hurt. His father always looked the other way after telling Yamikage once that if he didn’t like how he was being treated he would have to stand up for himself and fight back, fights he always lost as his siblings were both a good deal bigger, older and more experienced. Yamikage’s father had a very sour opinion on Yamikage, and has told Yamikage to his face that he wishes Yamikage had not been conceived, had he not been born his wife, Yamikage’s mother, would not have passed away due to the pregnancy complications. He tried his hardest to go low contact with his family prior to his betrayal. Relationship wise, Yamikage had a very on and off dating relationship with Gamma, who he had planned to ask to be his boyfriend. He also got engaged against his wishes to his now ex-fiancée.

-Being born a star warrior from a young age Yamikage was to join the Ninja Task Force and fight alongside the army. Yamikage, not wanting any attention, much less to be an officer, purposefully did just below average during basic training. Enough to pass, but not enough to be considered for any extra training, even if in truth he was an extraordinarily skilled strategist and had considerable combative abilities as well. Truth be told, he did not want to be here, he didn’t like any of these people. The one saving grace was this got him away from his father and siblings, and as long as he did his assigned work he was left alone. Well, almost. The thing about that kind of plan was that it only worked if he actually was left alone, and a certain red sefortian refused to let him just brood alone in some corner on his time off. If you were to ask him, he really was not sure why he ever decided to give Gamma any time of day, but soon their interactions became almost daily.

-Yamikage’s favourite things to do are practice his various ninja skills alone, play strategy games with Gamma, and his and Gamma’s ‘war’ where they will try and tap each other playfully. Gamma was never fast enough or sneaky enough to catch Yamikage off guard. He will deny it till the end of time, but he’s actually a pretty big fan of romantic comedy novels. His favourite being a popular series that is well known for being horrifically bad. He’s also a pretty big fan of calligraphy and even knows how to craft certain pieces of jewelry.

-Yamikage’s favourite snacks are dango, thought he will eat just about anything due to growing up on the tail end of a famine on his home world. A lot of Yamikage’s comrades were disturbed to find that he had no problems eating demonbeast meat during the war.

-Ability wise, like most of his kind he has control over the chakra produced by his body. Specifically his ninjutsu focuses on the control of wind and shadows. He’s much more skilled than he’ll let on. He also has a few other ninja abilities and skills, like short distance teleportation and scaling vertical walls. For weapons he has his katana, alongside several throwing weapons and various other ninja tools.

-It is as only after his steady descent into darkness that he started putting the work and effort into climbing the ranks. He became the Ninja Task Force’s star strategist, alongside one of its stronger warriors. He finally played the part of being the perfect child his father always wanted, and he despised every single second of it. But it eventually got him the rank of the task force’s second in command next to the Ninja Task Force’s leader Fiona. His father finally saying he was proud, even that he was sorry for his earlier treatment, came far, far too late. It was shortly after that Yamikage snapped entirely, executing the plan that had been festering in his mind for years. He targeted the GSA’s star strategist, and finally tried to kill Arthur, Meta, and Fiona in an ambush that ended with several hundred casualties, including the death of Arthur’s brother Bedivere who went in Arthur’s place and fell into the trap meant for him.

-Yamikage is smaller than the average member of his species, and was born premature. Besides that, his only other physical health trait is the scar on the left side of his face, which does not cause any impairment to his vision. Yamikage has always been socially withdrawn and quite severely depressed, but during the years after Gamma’s discharge from the army, he started to experience several symptoms of psychosis. He stared hallucinating moments of Gamma being back, overly intense bad ideas and voices in his head argued with him that punishing everyone around him would make him stop feeling this empty, and he started to sleepwalk a lot, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. Yamikage still experiences delusions daily, but rarely reaches point of truly being detached from reality and is vaguely aware in the back of his mind that what he is experiencing isn’t real.

-He is ambidextrous, but prefers the use of his right hand.

-After the events of his betrayal, the Ninja Task Force between Fiona’s severe wounds preventing her from properly leading, no second in command to take her place, and the absolutely tarnished reputation of the ninjas, was disbanded and the GSA lost the support of the ninjas. Alongside such, Meta Knight was also severely injured, Dragato was captured and Bedivere was killed. Not satisfied with the damage done, Yamikage continued for several years to further sabotage the GSA, playing his hand in the events that resulted in the recorded deaths of both Jecra and Garlude. He didn’t stop until the GSA was effectively wiped off the face of the universe in the Final Battle. Falspar has not seen or heard of him since that battle, but has a pretty strong suspicion that he is in fact alive. And he wants nothing more than to bring him to justice, or rather, albeit something he cannot admit out loud due to his image, let Nonsurat use him as a training dummy until there’s nothing left of him. Little does he know that Meta Knight and Wolfbell encountered him on Popstar.

-His theme song is Sleepwalk by Forrest Day.

#hoshi no kirby #kirby #kirby right back at ya #art #kirby art #kirby au #kirby of the stars #kirby wolfbell au #digital artist #yamikage #ninja #kirby characters #character asks #kirby gsa #character headcanons #I’m sorry this took so long I admittedly have never ironed out my hcs for this chronically emo man

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sergeantnarwhalwrites · 1 month

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Tharion Fucking With Arc

Arc actually trying to learn more about Tharion in the last one. Tharion bored and fucking with Arc this time. Yes more SDDF stuff wrote straight into tumblr.

Tag list: @outpost51 @nanashi23 @winterandwords @jezifster @kk7-rbs @aether-wasteland-s @dumbthunder @manathen @the-void-writes @livums @vacantgodling (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!)

"Aren't Cosma and Greeter companions?" Arc asked with crossed arms.

Tharion's eyes darted to Arc in one fluid motion. There was a lot of ambiguity in the word in their culture. Pretty vague until the people of interest went to describe it. And their tone gave no indication of their meaning. Which did speak towards the fighter a bit. But it was hard to tell when they didn't offer much beyond the usual in conversations about themself.

Tharion attempted to adjust to the random prompting by Arc. He'd pieced together by now that Arc was looking for amusement.

"They do love each other beyond just crew standards. I don't know if they know that though."

Arc giggled fiendish. Like a mischievous child and this time hadn't swung an arm back into Tharion. He reflexively put more distance between them. Considering Arc's arm had smacked the color from his vision last time.

"That's almost charming," Arc said between his fit of giggles.

Tharion agreed but hadn't been able to restrain the look on his face, not that Arc cared, "So you knew?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot just because I'm loveless? Cosma's motives are iffy to me but we signed up for this," Arc responded, placing a hand on his whip, "And I'm looking No Name in the eyes."

Tharion felt a smile crawl across his face, "I don't think many fighters would have the same thought."

Tharion watched them and waited. Tapping his claws on his thigh. He had interacted with many fighters. Both as a fighter and as a bridge. And Tharion had determined they all had their minor differences but it was too easy to pack most into their respective boxes. The common loyalty to their religion bonding them. And every being—even fighters—were weak to sex or attention. He briefly wondered if it was either or both for Arc.

Tharion personally figured prodding at them would be an amusing way to use his time while they waited for Cosma.

"Our god's got the largest following. Bound to happen right?" Arc responded easy.

Tharion hummed contemplative. Arc rolled their eyes as soon as they heard it. A couple smaller beasts Cosma had in containment filled the room with noise. Tharion let their loud chatter mingle with his thoughts.

"You disagree," The fighter said expectantly.

"No."

Arc stared at Tharion, their eyes widening briefly.

"Really?"

"I don't fully disagree."

Arc rolled their eyes again, gaze drifting towards the entrance and back to Tharion.

"I don't think Cosma's motives are iffy. Just her plan and how she's going about it." Tharion heard them sucking their teeth before they added, "Many of your fellow fighters fell in front of me for their religious fervor. You bowed in front of me too."

Arc's brows scrunched, "Devotion and loyalty doesn't have to tie with that."

"See and that's what makes you so interesting. You fight for a planet our god abandoned, you fight under a god that you can't love. I bet you even fuck under obligation."

Arc was fast to bite back, annoyed now to be caught under fire. They roughly ran their palms over their head, needing to busy their hands.

"And what would you have expected me to pay you with to get in touch with No Name?"

Tharion's finger followed along the shell of Arc's ear. He could practically spell out the insinuation in Arc's tone. Deciding not to point out how the fighter hadn't flinched away.

"And I thought you said you weren't an idiot," Tharion taunted, amused by the growl of frustration that flowed between the two, "Had you never spoke to a bridge before me?"

Tharion's claws dug into Arc's skin, knowing the fighter was tensing up in his grip. His claws sinking in further when Arc's hands moved to his chest.

Cosma's heavy footfalls caught both of their attentions. Arc pushing Tharion hard enough to make some space again. They cracked their neck and grumbled.

Tharion hummed just to piss Arc off, "Just like a fighter to try to treat a bridge poorly."

Cosma called out to them before Arc's foot could knock Tharion's feet out beneath him.

#writeblr #cw: suggestive #<- I guess #space don't dictate fate #no I don't pair them together I consider them friends at best #now I can't say they might not get into something later who fucking knows not me #no dating fuck that shit I will throw platonic on everything

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epicthemusical · 3 months

Text

Cracked Mask pt 1

WARNINGS:Very low self esteem, abandonment and neglectful/emotionally abusive mother read at your own risk!

Polites wakes up slowly, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. When that doesn't work he goes to rub at his eyes and his hands come back wet. He sighs, how he wishes that memory would leave him alone but no it continues to haunt him even in his sleep.

He remembers that day his mother had abandoned him. He remembers reaching out uselessly begging for her to stay that he could be better just please don't leave- he shakes his head to rid himself of the memory. Polites waits for the heavy feeling in his limbs and chest to go away but after a while gives up with a groan. It would be another one of those days then.

He forces himself to get out of bed and drags his feet over to the wash basin washing away any sign of his tears. He stares at his tired reflection in the water. He feels so very exhausted and all he wants is to climb back into bed and not move for the rest of the day. His mother's words force themselves to the front of his mind.

Don't be so lazy! You don't know how easy you have it so just deal with it.

That's right he can't let himself become lazy and selfish. He will be fine he has to be or else he will burden the rest of the crew. He can't be a burden. Burdens are unloved, they are abandoned.Deep down he knows that Odysseus and Eurylochus wouldn't leave him-

You also thought that about your mother and see what happened with her.

He shakes away the whispers in his brain and changes into fresh clothes pausing at his door. He takes a deep breath as he slips on his mask of bright smiles and lively laughter that he has long since perfected. As he steps outside of his room prepared for another long day of pretending and ignoring the hollow ache in his chest he hears his mother's last words to him before she had left echo in his mind.

You are a burden and that's all you will ever be

—-----------------------------------------------------

Polites goes about his day greeting everyone with a bright smile and small talk like he doesn't feel the void inside trying to consume him. He has had plenty of practice pretending so everyone around him sees nothing off.

He keeps his well formed mask firmly in place because if he lets the cracks and tears show they will worry about him. He doesn't want to worry them unnecessarily. He is fine, he really is.

He notices an agitated crew member at the railing and something was obviously wrong. Polites debates what he should do. On one hand helping others has always helped lighten the darkness inside even if only a little but on the other hand he is still worked up from the dream so if anything goes wrong he can’t guarantee his mask will stay intact.

He sighs who is he kidding he has never been able to refuse people help. He heads over to the crew mate and greets them with a smile

“Hello my friend what's wrong?” They turn to face Polites with a scowl.

“What's it to you?” Polites feels a tiny crack in his mask at the obvious anger in their voice.

“I just wanted to see if you're okay” the crew mate snaps at Polites

“Well I'm busy, don't you have anything better to do? I don't need your help!”

Will you stop bothering me? I'm busy! I don't need a nuisance like you right now!

Polites does his best to suppress a flinch at the angry words so much like his mothers. He can feel the tiny crack start to widen and his smile starts to waver.

“Of course I'm sorry to bother you.” Polites walks away slowly at first before speeding up the pace a bit. He needs to go to his room and be alone. He needs some time to fix the mask he wears. More words fill his mind as the crack keeps growing. He doesn't notice the worried eyes following him.

I regret giving birth to a child like you!

Leave me alone already, I don't want to hear your voice!

He is almost to his room just a little longer-

Why are you always such a disappointment?!

Stop your crying, it's giving me a headache!

He feels tears forming in his eyes but he pushes them back just a bit more-

I could never love a burden like you!

You are a burden and that's all you will ever be.

He takes a deep breath and finally he has reached his room. He slips into his room, closing the door and sliding down onto the floor finally letting his mask shatter. His body heaves as he sobs. He wishes the words would stop but they keep taunting him. Why is he so weak? They had only snapped a bit he should be able to handle it. Besides, it's probably his own fault for being so nosy.

part 2 here

#epic the musical #polites #epic fic #odysseus #angst #odysseus epic the musical #polites epic the musical #polites needs a hug #heavy angst

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a-tale-of-legends · 26 days

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Baking is something Cyrus has never really considered for himself. Even now as he takes his recent attempt of poffins out on a tray. Danica was always better at the craft, and yet she still encouraged him to at least give it a try. Maybe for him to develop a non-tech based hobby now that he was able to live on his own. He can appreciate the effort,but he doubts it's -

"Heeeeeeeey Cyrus, how's it going!"

"Cynthia."

Cynthia stands near his main doorway, having slammed it open - he could have sworn he locked it- a grin on her face akin to a child causing problems on purpose. She never fully changed from her child self, he thinks.

Cynthia opens her mouth to say something, but her eyes quickly lay upon the tray of poffins that Cyrus has just baked. Fortunately, she near the door, so by the time she rushed over to grab one, Cyrus has pulled the tray up and held it slightly behind him. Now there's a kitchen island and himself in the way of her thieving endeavors. But knowing Cynthia, that will most likely not stop her.

" You understand it's rude to barge into others' homes uninvited," Cyrus says calmly, eyeing Cynthia's movements. Cynthia simply smiles, that smile that always knows something that he doesn't even though he knows she doesn't- Cyrus shakes his head before he can get annoyed.

" I was just checking in," Cynthia says cooly, " And be thankful , it was supposed to be Flint today,". That made Cyrus shutter a little, " Also can I have a poffin? Pretty please?"

Cyrus huffs, " So you do know manners,". If he was stubborn, he could deny her. A small act of revenge for ruining his peaceful tranquility. Though ...knowing how easy she can take things, it probably wouldn't bother her. She could leave here and yet whatever flavor of ice cream without a second thought. It wouldn't hurt to have a taste tester, either. Cyrus thinks. He sighs, putting his tray back on the kitchen island.

"Only one," he says sternly, just as Cynthia's hand hovers before a poffin. She rolls her eyes, only picking up one, and then flicking the pastry into her mouth. Cyrus can't help but tense up as she chews, caring for the results of his pastry.

" .....So?"

" Pretty bland," Cynthia says bluntly. Cyrus doesn't know whether to be annoyed or not, " But it's a good effort! If you keep practicing, I'm sure -"

" Please save your champion speeches, Cynthia," Cyrus sighs, taking a poffin for himself.

"Champion- I was being encouraging!"

"Mm-hm"

" You- whatever!" she grabs a handful of poffins for herself, and turns around in a huff. If the world knew that this was their beloved Cynthia, they would simply faint from the shock. Cyrus smirks at the thought.

" Please close the door on your way out," Cyrus dryly, " And I'm doing fine. You forgot to ask that,"

Ever since he got a place of his own after bunkering with the Yamamoto family, the league has decided to do monthly check one with Cyrus to ensure he isn't planning anything. He wasn't. He long since abandoned his plans after his time with the Yamamoto's. Though he understands the concern. Cynthia's visits, however, tend to check on his well being more than anything. How are you adjusting, has anyone talked to you, anything interesting has happened, etc etc. At first it was annoying. Very annoying. And confusing- though many acts of kindness confuse him, even now. He knows she's still wary. He knows their "friendship" of the past cannot be easily fixed. But he's trying to at least accept she cares, somewhat. Cares enough to barge into his home and eat his bland poffins, anyway.

"You're making poffins, Cyrus," She turns around with a small smile, " Just to get a new hobby. I don't think the old you would have done that. You're doing fine,I think".

Cyrus doesn't need validation.....and yet he smiles back.

" Thank you, Cynthia," as soon as the smile appears, it's gone again, " Please knock next time."

Cynthia just shrugs, waving a free hand before closing the door behind her. Cyrus looked at the poffin in his hand. He takes a bite......and frowns.

It's not that bland.

#r writes #legendverse #oc: danica yamamoto #only just a mention though #champion Cynthia #galactic boss cyrus #sorry if this is ooc!!!! it's very specific to my au!!!!

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lifetimeoftired · 1 year

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I really like the Vergil/Lady ship in dmc and here’s some thoughts I have about them in no particular order.

- Both Vergil and Lady are stubborn ‘my way or the highway’ kind of people, and they have good reason to be. But that stubbornness also breads violence, so when upset, they tend to lash out without knowing the full situation, though Lady is slightly better at admitting when she’s overreacted. Still, the violence in them would make for pretty interesting interactions. Especially considering Vergil can’t just stab her because she will shoot him back, and if she dies that’ll just start the feud all over again and he’s tired.

- Obviously they both hate Arkham, but what really interests me is that both love their mothers dearly, but Vergil has spent a long time convincing himself he resents her for ‘abandoning’ him. Lady’s relationship with her mother isn’t really talked about, but I’m sure she’s grown to both worship and resent her mother. On one hand, the worship comes from the fact that she’s a martyr, a victim to an evil man’s schemes. Stolen from her long before she should have lost her for now other reason than cruelty and selfishness. On the other hand, why did she choose Arkham in the first place? Why couldn’t her mother see the monster that he was? Those feelings she’d repress hardcore and lean further into loving her mother and seeing her as better than she was. Vergil does the exact same thing, but with his father. He does say he blames weakness no his humanity because Eva couldn’t protect them, but I think on some level he also resents that his father, what he considers to be a powerful being, also was not there to protect all of them. But he can’t hate his father, that would mean hating the reason he’s still alive. I think if they ever got to actually talk about, they’d bond over this ‘I can’t hate the parent I want to because that would mean I’d have to acknowledge the other parent’ feeling. Lady would notice it in Vergil first, being slightly more willing to be vulnerable, might say something in a backhanded way that only Vergil would be able to pick up on, cause backhanded is a second language to him by now.

- And of course Lady doesn’t put up with his shit. As much as it would annoy him that some mere human was calling him out, after seeing his own child and the humanity in Nero that saved him and Dante, he’d give her the time of day he would not many other people. After all, she is one of the few humans able to march into hell and still win- himself non withstanding because he’s that strong of course. But she did fight her way through Temen-ni-gru and he’d respect that. And when he gives just that little bit, she shows him empathy once she really understands why he’s done what he did.

- They also both care deeply for Dante, but due to trauma and pride have to act like they don’t. Once Vergil comes back and they both realize Dante is Not Okay(tm) when he can’t see Vergil, he makes a deal with Lady, Trish, and Nero to keep an eye on him when they can (not realizing Dante’s asked them to keep an eye on Vergil) and Lady’s the one who does it the most often since Nero has the kids and Trish is terrible with getting Dante back on his feet. Lady and Vergil work out a schedule and everything, bickering like an old married couple about Dante.

- Also Vergil and Lady arguing about guns vs devil arms would be extremely amusing. She insists there’s nothing wrong with guns, and Vergil is very much face demons man to man. This kind of spat often ends with them physically coming to blows, but Lady knows he’s not actually going to harm her by this point. He’s not going easy on her, he’d never disrespect her so, but the fights always end with her life and limbs intact. And that’s more than enough reason to keep fighting him. And they come to a grudging admiration of each other’s abilities since Vergil actually honed his skills through years of practice, just as she did, and they both are constantly coming up with new moves to show off and try to win these fights. They still don’t agree on guns versus devil arms, but if they give in, they have no reason to keep fighting.

- Also, after years of dealing with Dante, Lady would actually know when to back off when calling Vergil out. But unlike Dante, Vergil doesn’t joke circles around her, he gets Mean. And those are times they don’t fight with weapons, just words, but it hurts worse like that. But after they’ve both cooled off some, Vergil, older now, wiser than he used to be, does try to make an apology of sorts. He never admits to going overboard, but he brings her things he knows she likes, and she grits her teeth, breathes, and tries again.

- Lady's the one who teaches Vergil how to shoot properly. In dmc3 he was only able to because he was leaning on Dante, but he never bothered to learn how to do it properly. So, to her surprise, he accepts when she teasingly offers to teach him. He’s better than expected, but there’s plenty of room to improve. And he takes that as a challenge, one she’s happy to meet.

- I think about that scene in 3 a lot where she’s sitting there, all slumped over and falling apart after giving Dante Kalina Ann, and Vergil walks right past, and only then does she get up. I like to imagine in my wild shipping delusions that he tells her there she can give up if she wants, but Arkham is of no consequence to the twin’s and their battle and will not be standing in their way much longer. Even if he doesn’t bother her at all, in a way, Vergil’s actions here I think are one of respect. He respects that she wants Arkham dead, and is willing to kill her own father for what he did. But if she’s not going to commit to it, that he does not respect. So if he says something, it’s to motivate her to see if she’ll actually do it. If he doesn’t, it’s because he’s annoyed that she won’t. Years down the line, he’d bring this back up and they’d talk about it, and it’s one of the few times he admits to respecting her at all. Gives her a ton of complicated feelings about it.

- One interesting thing that would come up is when he’s talking to Arkham and mocks him for still having softer feelings towards his daughter. Because Vergil wanted his parents to love him, so he would hold so much disgust towards Arkham and be unable to acknowledge it’s because Arkham is a terrible father. He’d say this, after all these years and after she’s earned his trust, that Arkham should have done better by her.

- I like to think Vergil does actually think highly of her for killing her own bitch of a dad. Lady doesn’t. After all, you never really recover from killing your own parent even if it’s for the right reasons. She tells him that, and mentions that she said the same to Nero. And he thanks her for it. So many softer feelings because he can attribute, at least in part, that he’s alive thanks to her. And even though it’s still a mess in her head about killing Arkham, there’s something really touching about Vergil acknowledging her strength anyway. Of course, some things aren’t said aloud, they just say it in the way they stand a little closer.

#devil may cry #Vergil/Lady #headcanon #Vergil #Lady

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sama-not-sam · 5 months

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SAMA ALI ( AIYSHA HART ) is a THIRTY-TWO year-old UN POLITICAL AFFAIRS OFFICER in GENEVA, SWITZERLAND. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only THIRTEEN years old. They are known as THE AMBITIOUS because they are STRATEGIC but also COMPETITIVE. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Sama Ali Nickname(s): n/a, call her Sam at your own risk Date of Birth: born 1972, exact date of birth unknown; birthday celebrated October 30 Age: 32 Occupation: Political Affairs Officer for the United Nations Current Residence: Sama has a small apartment in Geneva. She’s traded space for convenience, opting for a 290 square foot flat within easy walking distance of work. Her job does require her to travel frequently and occasionally for extended periods of time, but Geneva is her home base.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black; worn straight and more or less shoulder length, depending on how long it’s been since she got it cut Eyes: dark brown Height: 5’9” Notable Features: high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, sharp jaw

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: strategic, assertive, determined, pragmatic, resilient Weaknesses: competitive, single-minded, reticent, show-off, insensitive (especially when it comes to other people’s feelings) Quirks: ⬧ Sama has a bad habit of checking her watch when she’s bored or frustrated, and she’s never without it, or her Blackberry. ⬧ She walks very quickly, for no reason other than to get to where she’s going that much faster. ⬧ She will also speak for others, especially people she knows well, if she feels like they’re not answering quickly enough, or if they pause and seem to be searching for words. ⬧ Her default stance when standing is her feet in third position and her hands resting on one hip, muscle memory left over from her years of ballet. ⬧ Sama hates going barefoot, and usually will wear a pair of ballet slippers instead of shoes when indoors. Vices: ⬧ Card games; not for gambling, she generally dislikes games of chance, but more for the thrill of winning. ⬧ Dance movies; they take her back, whether they feature ballet or not, and Dirty Dancing is actually the romantic ideal. ⬧ Suppressing emotions; Sama would probably cease to function if she was ever forced to actually look at all the feelings she ignores. ⬧ Whipped cream; not necessarily a vice, but it is Sama’s favorite treat.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Poetry, feminism, global politics, ballet, the wives of famous/powerful men(think Eleanor Roosevelt, Vera Nabokov, Catherine of Aragon), The West Wing (an American political drama that she still keeps up with). Hobbies: Sama doesn’t have much time for hobbies these days, she prefers to keep herself busy with work. One hobby, which is almost a habit, that she keeps up is journaling. As a child, she journaled religiously, making sure to keep a detailed account of her life so she could update her parents when they came back for her. While she’s long since let go of that childish dream, she still journals frequently. As a result, Sama is a pen snob. Special Skills/Talents: ⬧ Sama is a polyglot; fluent in English, Arabic, French, Persian, and (Swiss) German, as well as having some conversational Italian; she is also currently learning Mandarin. ⬧ She taught herself calligraphy in high school, one of many attempts to connect with her heritage, and still practices enough to keep her skills sharp. ⬧ She has an admirable talent for landing on her feet, for making the best of a bad situation or snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Some may call Sama lucky, but to do so would discount all the work she puts into getting what she wants.

BECOMING A WARD

Sama is one of Richard’s most famous ward, not that anyone outside of herself, Richard, and Mrs. Tristan ever knew that. In October of 1973, there was quite a stir over a baby found in Grand Central Station, initially assumed to be lost until it became clear she’d been abandoned on purpose. With no identifying information other than a name pinned to the back of her jacket, the authorities were unable to find her parents and Sama was ultimately shuffled into foster care. Think pieces and op eds will still occasionally surface about the Grand Central Girl, which Sama has a morbid fascination with. What is common knowledge in Woodrow House is this; in 1986, an essay about the foster system was submitted to Kingsbury College’s annual writing contest, and it caught Richard’s attention to the extent that he just had to meet its author. He loved telling the story of his shock and delight on discovering that the essay had been written by a 13 year old girl, despite the fact that Sama insisted she never forgave him for the discovery that disqualified her from the contest. Over the course of a summer the two kept in touch, and letters turned into phone calls and eventually became face to face meetings. It didn’t take long for Richard to decide to take Sama on as his ward, but convincing Sama to accept his offer was another matter. By the time she met Richard Woodrow, Sama had long since learned that things that seem too good to be true usually are. Like the foster mother who told Sama she was never going to adopt but that she’d keep her until she graduated from high school, only to adopt a different child 14 months later, dumping Sama in the process. The temptations of Woodrow House were almost too much for a girl to resist, Sama had never had her own room nor access to private tutors in whatever subject her heart desired, but this was exactly what made her skeptical. Ultimately she decided it was too great an opportunity to pass by and, with the condition of continued access to her social worker, Sama agreed.

LIFE AS A WARD

To say that Sama was prickly when she first arrived at Woodrow House would be an understatement. From the first day she was all sharp edges. She cursed too much, a habit that she eventually eliminated under Mrs. Tristan’s example, and she seemed to have a perpetual glare, an expression that only softened some rather than completely. It was her seventh foster home, so by the time she got there, she knew how to carve out a space for herself, and how to defend it. She decided at an early age that she was never going to be anyone’s whipping girl, and she came on a little strong initially. Even when she realized that Woodrow House was not a typical foster home, she was still assertive, and sometimes too assertive, about her right to be there and her authority over her own space. While she mellowed with time, she was never a warm and fuzzy person, and she never wanted to be a sister-figure. By the time Sama arrived at Woodrow House, she was already the ambitious one, already driven, already striving, already putting herself out there in order to prove… something. Even at thirteen she was the one with big, big plans to become a household name, although she never told anyone why. She was always busy, always doing something, never making time to really build meaningful relationships. Which is not to say she was anti-social, but she was selective. She would crash someone’s private tutoring, or try out another ward’s latest extra-curricular. She learned who had similar goals or preferences to her and who didn’t. She loved learning new things and honing her skills, and she appreciated people who could help her to those ends. The roles Sama played in Woodrow House were simple. She firmly established herself as one of the older wards, usually holding herself above the younger ones. She was a favorite, of both Richard and Mrs. Tristan. She wasn’t afraid to use that to get what she wanted when the occasion called for it, but she also maintained that the reason she was a favorite was because she never asked for too much. She remained generally a loner, seeming to occasionally grace certain wards with her presence more than seek out anyone’s company.

AESTHETIC

Sama’s style icon is CJ Cregg, from the American political drama The West Wing. She’s a big fan of power suits and loose blouses, and prioritizes high quality, classic styles over seasonal trends. She eschews many of the moment Y2K styles in favor of the designs from her twenties, maintaining a sleek and minimalist wardrobe. A businesswoman to her core, her version of dressing down is a sweater set and slacks. She favors neutrals and darker colors, and generally avoids prints. She likes headbands and still wears scrunchies when she’s having a rare casual moment. She has a modest collection of subtle stud earrings that she rotates in her single lobe piercings, and are the only jewelry she regularly wears.

EDUCATION

As soon as it was permitted, Sama chose to attend a prestigious, and private, all girls’ school that she knew about from having a former foster home nearby. It appealed to her because it was prestigious, because it was an all girls’ school—the pre-teen misandry stayed strong in her—and because none of the other wards already at Woodrow House attended it. Once there she made rather more enemies than friends, but at least she made them on her own and as herself, not part of a set. She was quickly identified as a teacher’s pet and know-it-all, because the purpose of school for Sama was to learn and climb to the top of her class. However, any classmates who tried to bully her quickly learned that she was more than capable of standing up for herself. When she graduated, her valedictorian speech brought many of the parents in the crowd to tears, but most of their daughters rolled their eyes. For college, Sama set her sights on Columbia University from a young age, and not even Richard’s fondness for his own alma mater could dissuade her. Just like high school, she wanted to attend college on her own terms, and not as one of Richard Woodrow’s charity cases. At Columbia, she double majored in Human Rights and Women’s Studies, ultimately graduating Summa Cum Laude and at the top of her class. More importantly, she learned how to network with her peers instead of alienating them, and still has connections, some might even say friends, from undergrad to this day. Sama welcomed Richard’s offer to pay for her undergraduate work, but when she was ready for grad school, she insisted on taking care of it herself, even though she didn’t have to. She covered her law school with a combination of grants, scholarships, some student loans, and the savings she built up with her allowance from Richard as a ward. Her last step in formal education was a degree in International and Comparative Law from Georgetown. She was accepted to other schools that were arguably more prestigious, like NYU and Yale, but decided that a school in the nation’s capital would align best with her long term goals.

EXTRACURRICULARS

Ballet, tennis, debate, school newspaper, volunteering. Sama dabbled in all sorts of extra-curriculars during her years at Woodrow House, but only a few were truly hers. Ballet was an interest that started before Richard came into Sama’s life, but her multiplicity of foster homes before Woodrow House made it difficult for her to truly commit to it, so Richard arranged for her to take private lessons in order to catch up with other dancers her age. The precision and structure of ballet appealed to Sama, as well as the fact that it was a challenge. Tennis was something she did because Alison did it, which is to say that she liked having an opponent who was as competitive as she was, and that she liked being around Alison. Debate and school newspaper were both things that looked good on her college resume, but she enjoyed them, as well, especially when she was made editor of the newspaper her senior year. Volunteering was something that Sama did ostensibly for the same reason she did debate and school newspaper, but the truth was she wanted to give back. She felt like she needed to use her privilege as a Woodrow ward not just to better herself, but others as well.

THEIR LIFE NOW

After graduating from Georgetown, Sama didn’t pursue a legal career; that had never been the goal. Instead, she got a job at the United Nations headquarters in New York City, where she began steadily working her way up through the ranks of the political affairs department. She quickly established a name for herself as a driven employee and a creative problem solver, but also someone who cared deeply about the work the organization was doing. She jumped at any chance to travel for work that was presented to her and never balked at the long hours her job required. Through it all, she never went back to Woodrow House, despite it being relatively close. There was always some sort of excuse, and it always boiled down to she was just too busy. She refused to admit that there could be anything else keeping her away. She didn’t go out of her way to keep in touch with her fellow wards, but if any of them were willing to put in most of the work, she wouldn’t ice them out, with one obvious exception. It was always uncomfortable for Sama to know that Alison was out there, in the same city as her, knowing that they might just run into each other one day, but she didn’t want to be run out of town, not again. Following 9/11, it became clear that her skin color would be a detriment to Sama’s plans, and in 2002, she transferred to Geneva, wanting some distance from the rising Islamophobia in the US. She likes to think she’s settled into Geneva admirably, even though it was a rough transition initially, and she prefers it to New York in some ways. She remains married to her work, pursuing her goals with the same single-minded fervor that prevented her from getting more attached to her fellow wards as a teenager. Work-life balance is not a concept that Sama has any interest in and, after one situationship with a coworker that ended very messily, the only thing Sama keeps separate from work is her romantic life. Not that there’s much romance in her life, Sama doesn’t really date so much as she has habitual hookups, always strictly feelings-free until someone, usually the other person, drops the ball. Whenever feelings start to get involved, Sama’s mandate is to leave before she gets left. You’d have to have her at gunpoint to get her to admit that she’s lonely, or that all of her achievements are starting to feel empty, but she’s been fighting for the approval of the parents who didn’t want her for so long, she doesn’t know how to do anything else.

TIMELINE

1972: Sama is born, probably sometime in the spring.

1973: Sama is found abandoned in Grand Central Station in New York City on October 30th. She is placed in her first foster home in early November.

1974: Sama is officially made a ward of the state when the case to find her parents is closed.

1986: Sama anonymously submits an essay about the foster system to the Kingsbury College writing contest, of which Richard is a faculty judge, in the spring. Sama and Richard meet and get to know each other over the summer. She moves into Woodrow House as Richard’s ward in late August.

1987: Sama begins her freshman year at a private girls’ school in the fall.

1991: Sama graduates from high school in the spring. She begins her first year at Columbia University in the fall, never returning to Woodrow House.

1995: Sama graduates from Columbia in the spring. She begins her first year at Georgetown Law in the fall.

1998: Sama graduates from Georgetown Law in the spring. She begins working at the UN headquarters in New York City over the summer.

2002: Sama takes a job at the Geneva branch of the UN.

2005: Sama receives the news of Richard’s passing and returns to Woodrow House.

#wrhq.intro #aboutsama

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