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ninjaslegos · 3 years

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Tumblr is glitching on me so idk if my morro x gender neutral reader who's a necromancer fluff went throught. So pls ignore this if this is a duplicate! (the one where people are intimidated by the reader but they are actually a shy and quiet sweetheart). Thank u and sorry again ksjkjd

You would be correct; Tumblr did not give me your request! I hope this really sweet oneshot makes up for the wait! In general to anyone else wondering if their requests got to me as well, here are two tips. 1. check the que! if the number changes then it's likely I got it (I try to update it twice a day) 2. if I haven't answered it in at least a week, try again! I'll let you know if I got it.

Undead Zombie, Rotten Hobby, Love Probably

Where true friends are the ones you make yourself.

You sniffled as you washed your cloak of tomato juice and alcohol. The villagers were mean to you again, but you never fought back. It would only make things worse. Your groceries were ruined, and you would have to go hungry tonight. You just hoped tomorrow would be better.

"Say out of the village, freak!" "We don't want your kind around here!" "Evil people like you should be locked away for the rest of your life!" "The Necromancer is coming! Hide your children before they curse them!"

The shouts of angry people still haunted your mind, as you lay tossing and turning in bed. People were either scared to death of you, or hated you to the point of throwing things at you in hopes of causing distress or injury.

But what you were didn't justify what they did to you. You pursued necromancy under your master, who taught you how to communicate with, borrow powers of, and raise the dead. You wanted to use this ability to reunite people with their lost family members, but no one appreciated it. Instead they looked at your dark, ominous clothing and called you a monster and a creep.

You happened to like your clothing; long sleeved shirts, pants, boots, a mask, and a cloak, all in dark colors and adorned in holes for cosmetic purposes. You thought it looked cool, but no one else seemed to.

The door to your room opened, and your master, Gardi, stood there with a saddened face. "I'm sorry for what happened today." In his hands was a plate of honey and bread, and a glass of apple juice. "I know this will help." He smiles as he places it on your bedside table. After living with him for a solid 11 years of your life, the elderly man knew you like you were his own child. It's funny how when he first met you, he refused to take you in, but after you showed signs of illness, he let you in his house and nursed you back to health. Now he was teaching you high level spells and cheered you up when you were feeling down.

You sit up and take a bite of honeyed bread. "Thank you," you nod, then sigh, "but all the groceries are ruined. I failed."

"Well," he rummages through the pails you brought. "The milk is definitely soiled," he looks at the milk pail and frowns, "I'll have to go out tomorrow if we want any cheese, but a few eggs and the wheat and berries survived. We can make some jam with the fruit and use the wheat to make bread." He smiles at you. "You did better than last time."

You rub your eyes as tears start to flow from them, "but I have to do better than this, or else we'll starve! Everyone thinks I'm evil, and they hate me!" You wail, and Gardi opens his arms to hug you.

Feeling warm in the elder's arms, he comforts you. "Who cares what they think? What's more important to you, your work and your willingness to reunite lost families, or those cranky bastards in the village?"

You giggle, "you said a swear word."

He sighs, but chuckles with you, "I don't think bastard is a swear word, but today it counts, okay?"

You nod, and he smooths down your hair. He looked to you as his own child, despite declaring years ago that he did not want to get married nor have kids. You were perfect, though. You were sweet, kind, and polite; you never rose your voice against him, you always tried to help him when you could, you cleaned every weekend and worked in the garden every Monday and Tuesday, and you never disturbed him while he was busy.

"Get some sleep," he kisses your forehead and tucks you in, "tomorrow you can stay inside and work on your basic spells again; I can't have you getting rusty on me, now! Even I practice them every once in a while to make sure I don't forget."

"I will, Gardi. Thank you." Snack eaten, and stomach full, you're ready for some sweet dreaming. However, after trying to fall asleep for at least an hour or two, you still can't manage to sit still, or even keep your eyes closed for too long. You toss and turn in bed, thinking about what happened today, and how badly you did at your task, and letting the worry keep you awake. Finally, it's too much to handle, and you get out of bed, leaving your shoes behind and throwing your cape around your shoulders.

The air outside is fresh and cold, and you were especially careful not to wake up Gardi as you exit the hut. You left your shoes there in case he did wake up, so he would know you were coming back. There's nowhere really to go, as it's all wetlands and swamp where you live. There's a narrow path leading from home to the village, but you don't want to go there. Instead, you walk barefoot in the grass, heading for the main river. It was a dry season, so not only was that the only thing left, you wouldn't get your feet too wet and muddy.

The moon was high in the sky, coating you in silver glow, as you ran through the trees towards the river. You just had to get away from everything. The village, the dead people who wandered aimlessly; you were told to ignore them, and even Gardi. Of course you were strong in your power, but you felt like he wouldn't want you anymore if he couldn't even depend on you to bring in groceries.

You just needed time to yourself. You could see your breath in the chilly, autumn night weather, but you didn't pay much attention to that, instead just coming to a stop at the riverbank and sitting down, dipping your toes into the freezing water. It only served to keep you awake longer. Finally alone, truly alone, with nothing alive nor dead around you to listen and watch, you sobbed. For the loss of your parents, for all the times Gardi was strict in your early teaching, and for every time you were called a witch, a nuisance, a monster, unlovable, evil, freak, and a threat of every type of death under the sun; you sobbed and cried and screamed and wailed.

You could finally let go and be loud, and not care about yourself or others around you right now.

"Why are you so damn loud?! Do you want me to hurt you?!"

The voice makes you hiccup to a complete stop, as you hold your breath to keep from making more noise and turn around to face the stranger. He's not alive; you can tell by his green body and dark eyes. He hasn't been dead long, as he is still walking while most ghosts fly, and he can still feel hints of pain. "I'm-I'm sorry," you hiccup, "I thought I was alone."

"Yeah, I did too." He growls, kicking at the ground. "Why are you even here? There aren't any houses in these woods."

So he's freshly dead. "These aren't woods, they're wetlands. It's just the dry season." You stand up and brush grass and sand off your butt, "and I do live here, with my master. We live that way, and we're necromancers. Well, I'm still training." It's not like he can even enter the house; it's under a spell and even the items inside are coated in a special serum that prevents ghosts from interacting with them. In fact, your clothes are even washed in it. It prevents possession.

"Huh," he rubs his chin, "so that's why you're the only one who can see me so far." He raises his hand momentarily, then drops it. He looks like he's fighting an inner turmoil, before he finally speaks again. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I-I just...life's not very good right now." You drag your sleeve across your face to get rid of as many tears as possible. You didn't want to dump all your problems on him, but by that aloof look on his face, something told you that he didn't quite care. "I came here to get some time to myself. No one likes me except for my master, but I fear that I'm failing him."

He scoffs, "as far as I can tell, you're doing necromancy stuff right now, talking to the dead. You're fine."

"That's not what I mean," you turn to glance into his eyes briefly, but look back away when you just see annoyance, "I'm powerful, sure, but I can't go into the village without getting harassed. I bring back ruined items, and I need a bath every time I go, even if I bathed before."

Rolling his eyes, he tries to offer advice. "If you're so powerful, just raise the dead on them, and teach them not to mess with you."

He sounds sympathetic. "I can't do that!" You protest, "it'll just prove them right! They call me evil already, and threaten to kill me if I turn on them, so I'll only make it worse."

He scratches his cheek, looking away, before he speaks up, "just...why don't you..." he doesn't have any other ideas for you, and just trails off, staring at the ground. He seems to get frustrated, you couldn't tell if it was at himself or you, and kicks at the grass, "ugh, why am I even wasting my time here? You're supposed to be some smart wizard necromancer person, you figure it out!"

His yelling makes you start to cry again, and you slump to the ground.

"Don't be such a cry baby." He scoffs, but you can feel a faint hand on your shoulder. "Why don't you ask your master for help?"

You shake your head, "I can't bother him with something like that. I'm his student, not some kid he has to watch over." You rub your face again, "if I wasn't sick, he wouldn't have taken me in at all. I was an orphan, so he was really my last chance at life."

This seems to poke at a soft spot of his, as when you glance at him, his posture is more relaxed, and his face isn't so angry and stoic anymore; it's sympathetic and regretful. "You know, I was an orphan once, too. I would've starved to death if my master didn't take me in. His name was Wu, and he taught me how to use my wind element." You can tell there's more to the story, as this man died young, but he doesn't seem to want to talk about it. "He was my last chance at life."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that." You change the subject. "You have...wind powers? Can I try them?"

He grunts with skepticism, "you're a necromancer, only people who are born with an element can use it."

You giggle, feeling a little cheered up. "I can borrow power. Of course, I won't be good at it, the person I'm borrowing from has to be dead, and I can only use it if the master is nearby, but I can still use the power." To show him what you mean, you outstretch your arms towards him, palms up. Tentatively, he puts his hands in yours, and the moment he makes contact, a rush of wind blows from his side to yours. "Ta da!" You smile and start to move your arms, practicing your wind manipulation, and using it to blow the grass around you, and create small waves in the river.

"You...you don't need to be all extravagant, just point." He sighs, watching you move your arms and body, almost like you were dancing with the wind.

"But this is the strongest way to manipulate this type of element. There are three types of elements; elegance, strength, and will. Elements like wind, water, and fire are elegance-based, and work best through fluid movements and follow-through. Earth, ice, and metal elements are strength-based, and work through rigidity, and the ability to keep yourself sharp in movement. Sound, mind, and speed are will-based, meaning if you believe you can manipulate this power effectively, then you can." You explain to him. "Pointing the wind won't get you very far. When I spin my body like this, it generates speed and strength, and letting go of it allows me to throw it at an enemy with destructive force." You slow down, and drop it instead of tossing the air, "but I don't want to destroy anything."

He's quiet for a bit, processing the information you offered him. "Maybe that was why I wasn't strong enough to become the Green Ninja."

"You're a ninja?" You ask, tilting your head.

"No, well, kind of." He scowls. "The Green Ninja is supposed to be a legendary ninja, capable of defeating evil permanently, I think."

You deadpan at him. "Well, that's stupid. There's no such thing as eliminating evil, just as there's no such thing as eliminating good."

"Yes, but without evil, then no one in the village would bully you anymore." He argues. "I died trying to become the Green Ninja, because I wanted to be the strongest being there ever was."

You frown. "I...it's true that I don't want the villagers to be mean to me anymore, but without conflict, life becomes boring. Obviously there are bad and unwanted types, like total evil, but eliminating everything bad in the world means that only good things would happen ever. No one would cry, no one would feel anger, no one would try to be good at something they love, because there would be no reason to. There wouldn't be sports or competition, and no one would learn anything because they wouldn't want to disprove old science. Everything we know would change." You look at him with compassion in your eyes, "if you became the Green Ninja, and eliminated all evil and bad in the world, you wouldn't be the Green Ninja anymore. No one would be special."

He takes your words to heart, and thinks it over. "I didn't...think of it like that." He scratches the back of his neck. "Ugh, you make me feel weird!" You didn't think it was possible for ghosts to blush, as they don't have blood anymore, but his cheeks turn deeper in green. "Don't you have to sleep, or something? Go home! Go to bed!"

You flinch at the harshness of his voice, and duck around him to flee to Gardi's hut. You don't stop running until you get there, but when you do, you toss your cloak to the floor and flop down in bed. Finally, you can fall asleep.

"(Y/N), were you outside last night?" A voice wakes you up the next morning.

It's Gardi. "Yeah," you nod tiredly, rubbing sleep from your eyes, "there was a ghost outside nearby, and I went to check it out."

He sighs with relief, "did they say anything?"

"Well, he's barely dead, he still can't float." You shrug, "so he didn't have much to say."

"Is he, perhaps, that young man outside your window?" He chuckles.

"Huh?" You scramble out of bed, making sure to only peek outside from the corner of your window so if he did happen to look your direction, he wouldn't see you. "Oh." You didn't even get his name last night. Why was he here, anyway? To beat you up? He sounded angry when you left, so you figured you wouldn't see him again.

Gardi rubs his chin, "he seems to like you; as ghosts only follow those they want to keep safe."

His statement makes you feel warm, but you don't believe him. Maybe this ghost boy is just trying to get something from you. "I'll...go see what he wants." This time you slip on your boots and leave your cloak behind, as you planned on going back inside when you were done. "Hi." You sheepishly wave.

"Your master told me to introduce myself to you. I'm Morro." He holds his hand out awkwardly for a handshake.

"Oh, uhm, (Y/N). I'm sorry for disturbing you last night, you can go back to what you wanted to do." You shake his hand quickly, then bite your lip anxiously.

"That's the thing; I'm dead now, I have no plans. Well, maybe to become alive again somehow, but other than that I got nothing. So...I figured I'd follow you around and see what your life is like." He then blushes again, like last night, "just because I'm bored and don't know what to do; nothing else."

You smile, "sure, just...you can't come in the house. It's protected."

"Right..." He groans.

"I'll be right back, I just need to take a bath and get dressed." True to your word, half an hour later, you're outside in fresh clothing.

He snorts at you, "oh, gee, I wonder why people think you're evil when you're dressed like that. You look like an assassin." You wince and rub your arm, avoiding looking at him. He knows he said something wrong, and tries to backpedal. "It, uh, it looks good on you, though." You don't respond, and just head for the garden. "I'm sorry for what I said, okay?"

"No, it's fine," you insist with a fake smile, trying to make him feel at ease, "you don't know me that well, so you don't know what bothers me or not."

He sighs, but follows you close behind. "So...what should we do?"

"I'm gonna work in the garden, pull a few weeds, before going back inside and practicing my basic spells." You shrug, grabbing the weeding basket and getting to work, yanking the stubborn plants from the ground and dumping them in the basket, where you'd feed them to the bugs later.

Morro gets down on his knees to help you, but his hands go through them a few times. You can see the frustration in his eyes, but he tries to hide it from you. "Why do you need to practice spells you already know?"

"Think of it like doing back flips. First, you have to learn how to balance your body before you can do regular flips, then after perfecting front flips, you can do back flips. But if you don't keep practicing balance, then every back flip you do will fail. Necromancy spells are just like that; advanced spells are built upon basic spells." You explain it to him.

He nods in understanding. "Can I watch?"

You chuckle, "from the window, sure. You're not allowed in, remember?"

He laughs at your statement. It's short, but it's a sweet one that you're sure to remember. "Why do you even do necromancy?"

"Well, at first I did it for myself. I wanted to see my parents again, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find them. Instead of giving up, I decided I would use my power for good. Even if I can't reunite with my family, I'm going to try my best to reunite other people with theirs. Or, at least I wanted to. No one seems to appreciate it." You stare at the ground and bite your cheek as you finish up on your weeding.

You can see him shuffle around from your peripheral vision, but he doesn't touch you, and he doesn't speak. He picks up the basket and disposes the weeds inside for you. "I'm...sorry that your parents...that you couldn't get in touch with them."

"Don't be," you forcibly smile at him, "it wasn't your fault or anything so you don't have to apologize."

You head inside and take the stairs to the potion room. Not only does it store all the ingredients for necromancer potions, it also has all the magic books and was also used as the kitchen, since it was the only place in the house with a stove. It was your room temporarily, but you had your own room made and added to the back a year after living with Gardi. "Where is your friend?" Said old man smiles at you.

"He's outside." You respond quickly, rummaging through the book cupboard. "He's gonna watch me practice magic."

Gardi sighs, "you know, you don't have to do that so soon. Go outside and to the village, my back is killing me today, and I know I promised you I'd go out today, but I can't."

Disappointed, you try not to show it and instead you nod, "okay. I'll see if the apothecary has anything to help you out." You leave your book on the table in the main room before heading outside.

Morro is quick to greet you, as you catch him staring through the window to your bedroom. "Oh, you're out early. I didn't even get to see anything." He almost sounds like he's pouting.

"I was sent to the village." You reply sadly. You didn't want to go, but you didn't quite have a choice. "But, you're here. Maybe you'll give me confidence."

He scoffs, "you don't need confidence, I'll just do ghostly stuff, haunt people. That should get them off your back."

"No!" You protest. "I already told you, I can't do anything like that, or I'll just get them even more mad at me." You grab his hands in yours, staring into his eyes. "Promise me, you won't do anything to provoke the villagers."

He glances away briefly before looking back into your eyes. "I promise, but I won't be happy about it."

You sigh in relief. "Thank you, Morro. It means a lot to me."

He's blushing again, and pulls his hands from yours. "Yeah, of course."

On the walk there, he keeps asking you about necromancy, and your past, and what your life is like. It flusters you, as no one has ever been this interested about you, and asked you so many questions about your life. Even Gardi, who never really asked you anything except for where you came from. You knew it was because he didn't want to come off as nosy, but you wished he did sometimes, because to you it was a sign that he cared about you. After being abandoned by your family, and torn apart by angry or scared people, you found it hard to trust people. So why did Morro make you feel different? Was it because he was dead and couldn't hurt you? Was it because Gardi called him your guardian? Well, not exactly. He just said that any ghost who follows you wants to keep you safe. You knew of those types of ghosts, but they don't typically stick around long; just until they find a loved one.

"Do you get any perks from necromancy?" Morro asks, practicing a little floating as he keeps a hand on your shoulder to hold himself steady.

You think about it for a bit. "Well, yeah, I can communicate with dead people, and supposedly my loved ones, but you saw how that turned out." You huff. "Gardi also once mentioned that when you become a True Necromancer, you become essentially immortal. I don't know how to become one yet, or what he means by 'essentially', but I do know that he's, like, 200 years old."

Morro snorts, "that's nothing. Sensei Wu was at least 800 years old, maybe even a whole century."

"Uh, a century is 100 years. Did you go to school? Wait, of course you didn't; uh, did Wu teach you anything?"

"Actually," he thinks on it, "mostly just fighting, cleaning, and a bit of cooking. I guess it's the essential stuff."

"True." You shrug. "I had to learn a lot of basic things, like reading and writing before I could learn any type of necromancy. It involves a lot of memorization and writing to become a True Necromancer. I still don't know how to write some of the longer words."

"You know, you could just become a scholar. People wouldn't mock you or belittle or harass you for that."

"I do know." You frown with a sad sigh. "It's just that this is so much more interesting. Would we have ever met if I wasn't a necromancer?"

He rubs the back of his head shyly. "I...guess not. It's better you than anyone else, I guess."

You continue talking together; about favorite colors, foods, and your cultures and dreams for the future, before you arrive at the village. Morro, who was smiling earlier, now steeled his gaze and kept a look out for any threats. He floated around you like some sort of guard dog, which was both endearing and strange for you. "Just, act natural, or something."

"You act natural, these idiots can see you, not me." He crosses his arms and glares at everyone. His protectiveness over you made you suddenly feel warm and fluttery; a hard to describe feeling that wasn't quite love, but it was almost more than friendship.

"Sorry."

He knew you were trying to hide it from him, but it was obvious that you were feeling skittish, and ready to run. He comes close to you and drapes his arms over your shoulders, loosely hanging off you so you could tug him along, but mostly as a way to provide comfort. He didn't like how close he got to you so quickly, but it was just so easy to do so when you were so kind to him, and listened to him. Not only that; you were someone he could relate to. If he was still alive, he probably would've fallen in love and married you. Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but he'd never made a friend before, and as far as he knew, all friends fell in love. Right?

The first villager you saw passed by with a scowl, and although your hands were full, you laid your head against Morro's arm, trying to get any type of reassurance from him. On the outside, it probably looked like you were flinching away from the stranger's gaze. Morro glared at the man, but put his hand on your cheek and whispered to you to keep going. "Ignore this idiot, just go get the milk and meat."

You nodded slowly, and kept walking, head low. Your ghostly guardian steered you around so you wouldn't bump into anyone by accident as you stared at the ground. You were doing much better than yesterday.

Unfortunately, your luck didn't last. The woman who gave you milk knew you were Gardi's student, and gave you what you needed, but she didn't talk to you, and she wanted you to be as fast as possible when fetching it because she didn't want anyone to think you were friends. It would lower her reputation. You paid her and headed outside.

"(Y/N)!" No one could hear him but you, as Morro yanked you out of someone's way just in time. However, you just so happened to lose your balance, tripping over a loose stone in the pathway and spilling your bucket of milk all over some tall, buff looking man.

Everything around you stopped at once. Your jaw ached as you landed on it harshly, and your chin was split and bleeding. Your forearms were scraped up as well, and you would definitely need some healing after this.

Whispers erupted from the crowd, all critical of you and your actions, while the man in front of you clenched his fists and stared down at you in pure rage. "Get up." He demands. You sniffle and struggle to get back on your feet, much less your knees. Kicking your arms out from under you, he yells at you again, "get up!"

Despite the pain, you stand up as quick as you can, feeling woozy from getting up too fast. He grabs you by your collar. "Do you know how much these pants and shoes cost me? Do you?!" He roars, shaking you around.

You shake your head, trembling. Morro is nowhere to be seen. You really did believe in him, but you supposed since his only reaction to violence was more violence, he would just have to sit this one out. "I-I don't kn - I didn't mean to, I'm - I'm sorry-"

He throws you to the ground. "'Sorry' won't fix this! 'I didn't mean to' won't clean the milk from my clothes! By the looks of it, my shoes cost more than you'll ever see in your entire life, you miserable little shit!" He picks you up again, but this time by the back of your cloak. "Let's see what you're hiding, huh?" He nearly rips it off your body, trying to pull the hood off. He scowls in disgust, and smacks you hard across the face with the back of his hand. "You're that zombie freak! Figures someone as pathetic as you would do something like this."

You land hard on your side, dislocating your shoulder and giving yourself a nose bleed. You can't even speak nor cry; you're so horrified, and you worry for your life, so you keep quiet and accept the punishment.

"What; are you crying?!" He laughs, "don't tell me monsters like you have feelings?" He kicks you hard. He turns to the villagers who gathered in the area. Obviously a crowd-pleaser, he addresses them, "this is the witch-thing we're so scared of? Look at it!" He shows you off like you're some sort of wild animal he caged. "This pathetic nuisance we call evil and believe put curses on us is nothing more than a scared little brat with no friends and no reason to live! It doesn't belong in our village!"

You're okay with this, it's fine. It's fine, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay. It suddenly becomes very not okay when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sharp knife. "I think we've all been waiting for a day like this, huh folks! We've been letting it torment us for too long! Today, we turn the tables on them!"

"No, no!" You plead, scrambling backwards on your hands and knees. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean anything," you begin to sob, "honest, I've never hurt anything in my life!"

"Look at you, dirty swine, begging like the scum you are!" He raises his knife, ready to stick it into some part of you. You didn't really want to know where, so you close your eyes and brace for impact.

It doesn't come, as there's a strong gust of wind, and a grunt from above you. "Now, is that any way to treat someone?" In front of you stands your savior, a tall, thin man dressed in green with pure black hair. He looks back to you, and you'd recognize those green eyes anywhere. "Are you alright?"

"What the...what are you?" The guy who was literally about to murder you is suddenly frightened by Morro's appearance.

"Haven't you heard of the elemental masters? I am the master of the wind." He explains. "Morro, is my name."

"Morro...you're that strong student that Wu trained!" The guy falls to his knees, "what is it that you need?"

You and he both know it's wrong to use his elemental mastership in such a way that other people meet your every demand, but in a case like this where you refused to choose violence, there truly was no other choice. He holds his hand out to you and you take it gently, letting him help you stand. "I happened to pass into town and went to see what the commotion is, when I see a big, strong man like you harassing a - say, how old are you?"

"17, almost 18." You timidly mention, still not letting go of his hand. He doesn't seem to either notice or care, and you can't tell which one it is.

" - a child?" He tsks at him, "Harassing a child. And for what? Your own sick amusement?" The person Morro is puppeting looks hardly like him, but more like someone who holds strong intellectual power and even wealth. Someone a lot of people know not to mess with.

"I, no, Master of Wind." He is practically begging on his knees. "This person is a necromancer, able to bring back the dead at their very whim and put them all under their command, as well as curse the living. If we make them feel powerless, they won't feel strong enough to overpower us and hurt us."

"So, your logic is to hurt them, so they don't hurt you? How do you know they even wanted to hurt you in the first place?" Morro then addresses the shameful crowd, "to hurt any of you?!" The silence is deafening and the air is dense with guilt. "And they are not even an adult." He emphasizes, just to make everything the villagers had done to you truly sink in.

He turns to you. "Why did you become a necromancer?"

The question is simple, but you can't find the answer. Everyone is staring at you, and you're too used to their gazes being scrutinizing to be brave right now. "I...I w-wanted..."

"This is your chance, (Y/N). Tell them about your mission." Morro whispers to you.

You take a deep breath. "Being a necromancer is...it's more than raising the dead. It's about understanding the living. It's knowing that even the smallest insect can feel, and that even the plants have souls. My first reason for being a necromancer was selfish, I wanted to see my dead parents. I was unable to find them, but I realized that I didn't have to learn it for myself, I could use my power for good, and reunite other people with their loved ones; even just for a brief amount of time to say a goodbye, or to relieve a guilt or burden."

Everyone is whispering, but no one is scared, and no one is mad. The atmosphere is full of sorrow and remorse.

You continue. "I only come here when I need to get food, or medicine for my master, but every day it gets harder and harder to leave my home, because I'm scared to come here. I...I almost lost my life today because everyone is scared of me, and angry at me, for something I never wanted to do."

Morro listened to your speech, proud of you. Things would be awkward for at least a week, but you weren't going to die by angry mobs any time soon, and you were certainly going to be able to bring groceries back in one piece. You were right, violence wasn't the answer all the time. Both of you just needed a little push.

Once you were done, you left the crowd to their thoughts, and headed back to get more milk. Morro followed you around the rest of the day, and even carried everything for you. "You're hurt."

You sigh. "I know. And I'm tired already. All we have left is the apothecary, then we can go home." You order a little bit of pain medicine for yourself, and your guardian brings it home for you. "Where did you even find a body like that?"

"Well, I remembered what you taught me, about wind being that flowy element, or whatever. So I used strong gusts of wind to help me run faster from a more prestigious part of the village. I figured a wealthy-looking guy would have more influence over the commoners than like some other person." He catches you frowning. "What? I'm going to put his body back! It's uncomfortable to wear, anyway. I'm not this tall and it's stretching my body out."

It's quiet for a bit between you, and the more you think about what he did for you, the warmer you feel. "Thank...thank you for helping me out there. I don't know what I would've done without you." You glance into his eyes, shiny and green as ever. "Is there...anything I can do for you in return? You're a new ghost, so that means I can revive you and you can continue living, if you want."

"I..." he thinks it over, his eyes wet like he was going to cry. "It's a really nice offer, and part of me wants to take it, but if I do then that means I can't be your guardian anymore. When I died, it was because I was trying so stupidly to become the Green Ninja. But you helped me, and opened my eyes. I'm afraid that if I go back, I'll forget everything; forget you."

You sigh sadly. "Yeah, you would forget. Your soul is a different thing than your body, so everything that happened would be like those faint memories you just can't reach anymore. You might remember my face, but you won't remember my name; or you'll remember hearing me cry, but you won't remember where."

He sniffs and puts the pails down so he can wipe his eyes. Or at least his possessed body's eyes. "I don't want to forget you. I...I'm giving up my life to remain your guardian. You're my best friend."

You smile and kiss his cheek, "thank you, Morro. You're my best friend, too."

#idk if witch is *truly* a neutral term for magic user; but that's how I use it #also I picked Gardi as a name for a special reason #ALSO also; I KNOW this isn't an 'x morro' but like...it's implied later in life they discover they're crushing on each other #I'm NOT proof reading this; it's way too long for me to go through and I want people to see this now!!!#ninjago #ninjago morro #morro and reader #morro x reader #blood #injury #death mention #does this count???#swearing #oneshot

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jammydodger666 · 3 years

Text

Community but my partner guesses

Jeff- tsiad (pronounced Chad): he is creep and wanted to see more hot girl's. he works in the basement of local library and never leaves, he stamps books so people can take them out

Britta- Alice (but will sometimes insist on being called Alecia Fitzgerald): manic depressive and alcoholic. The apitlme of a dark academia teenager. Tried to recreate this painting in a bath and she had a glass of red wine and bath flowers:

Came to study classic literature but got depressed because of all the misogyny in the books she reads for her course

Abed- Jarvis: he spent 4 hours on that haircut and is very sporty, and is training to become a professional tennis player but also does running. He is good at showing emotions but is bad at sarcasm and jokes. will turn up in a dark jacket to frat party a and say, and I quote "is this man bothering you queen". everyone knows him because he is the 'hip cool tennis player' and is very nice

Troy- caraad: his parents thought they were having a girl and his birth took over 2 days. His twin tried to stop him coming out of the wom. He is the gay best friend to Alice. they (his parents) were supportive when he came out as gay. He takes music and phycology but takes alot of online courses that he dosen't get a qualification for like origami and serial art. He is mum friend and has everything in this bag.

Piece- professor latex: he teaches caraads phycology class. He is married but his wife is gold digger and she is a better teacher than him even though she isnt a teacher and everyone loves her and she is secretly sabatauging him and he never finds out. He has terrible fashion sense.

Shirley- Maria: she is professor latex's wife. Her second name, which she kept is a spoiler for the last episode. She is very religious, is a Christian and is always saying 'god loves you'. She and Jarvis (who is Jewish) are good friends and she is like a mother to him. She is also pansexual. She has a kid who is non binary but they are not out to their dad. She is great and loves romcoms and wears LOADS of rings.

Annie- Riley: cottagecore lesbian. she has an asthetic Tumblr blog that the others don't know about but somebody tried to blackmail her about but she didn't care so now some people follow it. She is single but is eyeing a cute girl at a coffee shop. She bakes. She is not very well informed and grew up in a trump supporting household but she is learning. She wears that necklace alot because she thinks it's cool to have a piece of jewelry she never takes off. Her favourite piece of music is the four seasons.

Chang- Jebodiah: he has a bunch (365) of he same shirt but each is a shade darker going through the whole rainbow. He once tried to get the main two people in Buffy the vampire slayer to find his absence of a peck to which he failed because he broke in backstage. He has got a fadora in his hand and always wears it. His best friend teases him about said fadora but will throw hands at anyone else who does. He has a deep seated primal fear of ants.

Craig (the Dean)- Micheal: Micheal from v-sauce is his twin brother, yes both of their names are Micheal. He once got an incredibly realistic silicone mould of Voldemort attached to the back of his head and it was unnervingly realistic (it's gone now). Those glasses aren't his glasses, he found them, asked if anyone owned them, waited 6 days, removed the glass because his husband is a professional glass worker and now he wears them all the time. He teaches maths but has no motivation or interest in the subject and wants to do biology.

Some of this was right, some of this was horribly wrong (I'm looking at you abed) but it was funny @gayshipsandtea

#community #jeff winger #britta perry #abed nadir #troy barnes #pierce hawthorne #shirley bennett #annie edison #dean pelton

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meruz · 3 years

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Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for?

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha.

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at [email protected].

<33333333333333333333333333

#ask #anonymous

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fandom-sheep · 3 years

Text

MCC 18 SEP 21

Yellow Yacks and Cyan Coyotes with a little Aqua Axolotls. Part 1/1

The only reason I didn’t forget MCC was because I got the notification for Eret.

I have Wilbur on my TV. I’m going to watch Eret on my phone. And I’ll have Tommy on my iPad probably.

Wilbur throwing a tantrum and saying he won’t play.

I feel like a true Gen Z member with my multiple screens of minecraft.

I’m only just getting the Wilbur notification.

I love watching everyone run around before MCC and scale things.

Griefing the thumbnail. 😂

Wilbur just causes problems on purpose when it comes to group photos doesn’t he.

He just loves finding ways to cause problems.

Wilbur got a coconut!?!

I didn’t mean to type the question mark originally. But I am a bit confused.

Wilbur just stocking up on coconuts

True friendship is a quote book. I have several.

Baby banana boo.

Wait. I heard the word tumblr

Scott what did you do with tumblr?

I’m scared. Only Eret permitted on tumblr.

I remember watching hole in the wall as a tv show as a kid.

Wilbur’s glasses that don’t do anything.

There are September discounts for subbing?

Neato.

The conversations in my work discord are something else.

Not surprised that Wilbur is going for top swearer of MCC

But my residents are going to walk by my door and judge me.

Alright I apparently wasn’t signed in to twitch on my iPad and it took me entirely too long to learn to remember it.

Tommy looks like he’s really concentrating. Oh wait never mind.

Wow the yaks are in first currently. I might be cheering for a winning team for once.

Alright I have my iPad split screen between Tommy and the MCC website.

Everyone break the elevator!

In the game, not in the building I work. I don’t want that paperwork.

Stick together and place many block.

I’ve been in Wilburs position. “I’ll be captain” “yeah let’s let Wilbur be captain”

Not a single POV I have up is synced. But that’s life.

Oh not starting out strong.

Just keep going. Ignore the falling people just like ranboo last time.

We are at the absolute bottom for this game.

Where’s a bag of popcorn or something?

“Stay down there. That’s how I won that one time” -Ranboo

Down they go.

They didn’t have anywhere to run.

Second round!

Oh that wasn’t their best idea. It was fun seeing Erets POV of that.

Go Teams.

Turning down the volume on yellow yacks to listen to aqua axolotls.

Aqua please. You have so much potential.

Nope.

Switching audio again.

Yellow back at the bottom.

Ranboo ranboo ranboo ranboo

Down he goes. 😂 the timing of that was funny.

Please. Don’t die

Wilbur. Scott. Please.

Scott uncovering the creeper.

Their plan is literally just sit and be.

To be fair that’s my plan for everything I do.

Oh cobwebs are smart.

I’m eating very salty Chick-fil-A chips and need water.

We are still doing ok. Wow.

Cobwebs man. The real MVP.

They are still in 10th

COBWEBS!!! And Wilbur standing on the edge of a block.

THEY WON THAT?!?!!!!

It moved them from last to eight. But still. Wow.

Holy cow. How did that happen.

I always forget what the acronym game is.

Oh yeah. Wilbur snuck and found this. I remember.

Go team!

Oh the website updates faster than the game. But we’re starting off decent.

I’m going to have to take back that statement aren’t I?

Go go go go

Fly fly fly fly

Build build build build

Go Wilbur!

Rafter strat.

Wilbur found the rafters and everyone else loved it.

Blocking his own jump. 😂

I really should do the inside joke chair emoji thing for laughing. But I don’t care.

Tiktok is nice. Depends on the side you are on, but it’s nice.

We are doing halfway decent. I’m proud of us.

Wilbur is struggling and I think he might cry.

Not bad. I don’t think.

Power sweater.

This game in MCC has rainbow road vibes

I’ll have to make that it’s own post since I feel that’ll be popular ish.

Holy cow we hit first on the website!! How?

Ranboo sweet one.

They said no peaking to Wilbur.

Wilbur making them block stuff off and the like is so funny.

Run yaks run!

I missed the moment Wilbur just mentioned. Oh well I’m sure I’ll see the clip.

First last first.

Hey 4th overall. Look at em.

Wilbur switching to full screen to show us his M&Ms.

Let me balance my water bottle on the bedpost above my head. No way this could possibly go wrong in multiple ways.

Double coins. Gorgeous.

Chickens are being sniped.

What’s going to work? TEAM WORK!

I don’t think I have ever watched a game of grid runners in my life?

Alright game should start any second because it started on the website.

Alright stream is delayed about 13 seconds.

Go teams go!

Wilbur just sniping targets.

We’re doing ok.

All this dirt.

Go go go

We’re completing things first.

Cake!

Wilbur got in!

Now they eat

Oh but they are falling.

Oh wow the painting is complicated. My friends and I would fail to communicate so fast.

Is this lever thing just find the button but complicated?

Go you got the levers!

Items grab!

My friends and I would seriously struggle unless I was allowed the lead. But I would lead us off a cliff.

Everyone get ready to go in as soon as the cake is done.

Exit! You guys are so close! Please!

Woohoo!

Go Ranboo! Go Scott!

Come on guys. Come on. Good communication.

I think I like watching Wilbur with MCC because he had a similar strategy to what I would do.

Wilbur why did you try to act cool!!!

They keep saying they are miles ahead but not according to that scoreboard.

You placed 3rd. Good job y’all.

I’m excited for bonuses.

They have another minute until the others run out of time.

Good soup.

Oh wow. Ranboo and Wilbur really are always totgehe.

We are doing well. I see the board changing on the website so much.

Where will they land.

Looks like 2nd or 3rd

Fourth overall. Not bad.

Lap time is logical.

Audience vote?

Look at me redownloading twitter.

Can you not see how others have voted on twitter?

Oh there it is. It only showed mine for a sec there.

Battle box looks close. I voted ace race.

Oh it all looks close right now.

Long break my beloved.

I don’t have time to start my laundry but still. My beloved.

Game 5/8 so MCC won’t be too much longer.

I look up and Wilbur is shaking his ass at George. I’m not surprised.

Phil and Sneeg judging Wilbur.

Wilbur twerking on Phil and Sneeg joining.

Poor Phil.

Wilbur just having visited so many random places with so many random words just gathered.

Oh wow parkour tag is low. But so is sands.

Oh wow it was a tie. Between Sands and Parkour

“Wilbur is Sand Daddy” -Scott and then all the agreement noises.

Sands of Time is my favorite practical game

Maybe because Wilbur is really good at it. And Ranboo had been trained by him.

This is just good.

I swear Sand daddy is going to kill me during this.

I am just going to pass away.

My stream delay though.

Wilbur who says he stays very quiet as he makes circus music noises.

Minecraft Rhinos. Because I can’t spell their real name.

I don’t quite understand sand of time. But I like watching. It’s like college football.

I am missing the only college football game I care about for MCC.

Go Team.

No blue yet.

All the mobs.

“You better not die” sung to the tune of Santa clause is coming yo town. -Wilbur

Keep it up guys.

Oh no. They lost the key.

Oh good they found the key.

You can tell Wilbur had a musicians brain. He just hears something vaguely lyrical and starts singing a song.

Gotta promote your band whenever you can I guess.

I listened to the last Ep for like an hour and a half yesterday while I went about my day.

I wonder how we’re doing?

Only a few seconds.

I could warm a heating pad in the amount fo time they have left.

Ranboo doing these puzzles so amazingly.

Quit caring about what others think. Just do your thing.

I swear the sand daddy thing.

I love the cage of shame for not tracking your sand.

I zoned out. Red cyan orange?

We’re almost 15 minutes into sands.

I want to play Minecraft on my iPad right now.

Wait the website updated. We were 6th?

Yikes. I thought they did better.

3rd overall though!

Wait what was that about most influential improv thingy? Good for them.

Build mart!

Oh Ace Race. Wilbur calling Ace Race his girlfriend now.

I want to see the enemies to lovers fan fictions of Ace race and Wilbur.

Oh wait I can do that. I can verbally tell one like I have others in the past.

I’m excited to watch this.

Wilbur flirt with the race.

I’m not mentally prepared for this.

Everyone just joined because they don’t want to miss Wilbur x Ace Race.

Oh no. He’s not doing so well.

Oh Wilbur is giving us more.

Complicated history…

Whispering to Ace Race and Solidarity.

You’ve got it Wilbur.

Keep on talking. Keep your brain busy while you play.

Mommmm Wilbur is flirting with Ace Race again!

He’s whispering though so I can’t quite hear it and will have to find a clip channel that added subtitles.

Oh teams are changing on the website.

“What are you doing in my women Philza?” -Wilbur

“I will end your bloodline which is canonically also me.” -Wilbur

I can not track all the quotes from this. That’s beyond my abilities.

Wilbur did halfway decent, but it still uncomfortable.

Ace Race is a person now. Also the fact that Wilbur compliments Ace Race so much.

Sally v. Ace Race.

I want to find that fanart now.

Scott honey. Confirmed cannon is everyone fancies the fish.

4th. Not bad.

We’re still talking Ace Race x Wilbur

Build mart! My dearest buildmart!

I miss them sliding around in the sleds.

Grab da flowers!

We’re in 1st at the minute.

Come on yaks!

No coyotes!

Hurry hurry hurry.

Work discord going it’s thing again.

Oh we’re dropping fast.

Move the redstone! Thank you

Alright back on top. Keep it up.

Nevermind.

I love the way the build spaces for the different teams work.

Who is the person on the build?

Oh first again? Nevermind.

Oh we popped up to second. We’re so behind. Come on.

Duck!

Good soup energy. Now all I can think is the bi wide energy song.

Time is running out.

Yeah we aren’t catching up to first. Just hold second.

Where is granite?

Game over.

Third overall now. Not bad. Last game time they can possibly pull it into dodge bolt.

I need to go get a picture with the President of the university for a game with my work.

Good Soup.

I’m sitting here making popcat noises while waiting.

Game time! Go team! Survive!

Wait where did the steamer go? I wasn’t paying attention.

He’s back.

He’s swearing for his points on the swearing list.

Is pee a soup? No. I don’t think it’s think enough under normal circumstances.

Karl is apparently swearing according to Twitter. Good for him. He deserves to swear some as a treat.

Everyone running and leaving shubble.

Oh good they are all together.

Just keep running.

4th so far.

Cars. Beep beep.

Ranboo breath child.

Calling Wilbur like some kind of golden retriever.

Bow boy

Scott is leader now. Because otherwise they are arguing.

We are playing the don’t die strategy.

Come on team.

Did I put my cut in this post? I did.

Ranboo having stolen the airdrop. And he has a thing!

Oh the boarder is right behind them.

They are fighting Dream?

Nice Will.

We’re in fourth.

Boarder is right there.

Sapnap? Nope.

Pink attack and they book it.

Oh no. There goes Wilbur.

Is it just Scott?

Scott vs the world.

Just Organe and pink. They came third.

GO ORANGE!

Please. Please let us do it.

Overall third. Pink overtook yellow.

Sadness.

Ranboo has achieved: Found Hated Game

Ranboo has been hit by Survival games so many times now.

If they had just lasted a tiny bit longer they would have come second.

Cheering Orange I suppose.

I have no skill at picking winner POVs.

I have 3 teams I was at least kinda watching. And none of them are in dodgebolt.

Gosh can hear Ranboo tweaking.

Wow. Yellow yaks just as a team twerking.

What is Wilbur chewing on? Wilbur don’t chew on things that probably aren’t meant to be chewed on.

I can hear the band outside of my window. I think my campuses football game is starting.

The drum line practiced outside my window all the beginning of the semester so it’s fun seeing them march to the stadium.

Oh and there are the cheerleaders.

Oh right I was watching MCC! Who’s winning?

Come on Orange. So close.

Wait I looked out my window. Why is the band walking back to where they were?

Along the sidewalk?

I thought it was game time for a minute.

Oh dodgebolt could go either way.

Distracted by Jesus.

Grian! You got this!

Nice Grian.

Oh Grian has a chance!

Oh!

It’s so close!

Ooo ooo!

I’m so invested.

I SEE THE CONFETTI IN THE SITE! But I don’t want to miss the shot.

Come on Grian.

I know you do it. But you’ve got this

YESSSSS

Woo hoo!!

That was a good MCC. Now to do the chores and homework I originally planned to do today.

That was a nice stream.

Scott is separating Ranboo and Wilbur?

Please. Scott.

Don’t separate the beings.

You know. Twitter needs to politely bully Scott into keeping Ranboo and Will together.

Oop and that’s Wilbur done. That was fun.

See y’all next time!

#mcc #wilbur soot #ranboo #Scott #dangthatsalongname #shubble #yellow yaks #delayed liveblogging

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 15)

A/N: this went up at 11:45 and tumblr just deleted all the content soo sorry it’s a lil late! Final part will be up friday <3

wc: 5.0k

tw: cursing, vomiting, pregnancy, miscarriage all around angsty vibes

masterlist

series masterlist

Streets look strange at night, especially in the winter months. The air is eerily quiet, the roads are empty, and the ground beneath your feet is icy and cold. Streetlights are the only thing providing light, their bulbs old and flickering.

That flickering light was Spencer’s only company as he waited for a taxi cab, rocking back and forth on his heels in a desperate attempt to release the nervous energy in his body. His hands were holding onto your box for dear life. The cold air bit at his fingers, but he didn’t mind. Letter fifteen stared up at him as he waited for the car to arrive.

“Where are you off too?” The older man had said when Spencer got in, choosing to ignore the germs that were most definitely in the back seat. He was too distracted to think of the twenty other passengers who sat exactly where he sat earlier today.

“Dulles international, please.”

“Where’re you flying to at this hour?”

Spencer cleared his throat, settling the box onto his lap, “Seattle.”

“Seattle?” the man said, voice gruff and strained as if he smoked a pack a day, “That’s a flight.”

“Five hours,” He said, “two thousand, seven hundred, eighty nine point one miles.”

“Like I said, a flight. What’s waiting for you in Seattle?”

Spencer half smiled, looking up at the driver in the rearview mirror, “A girl.”

He smiled back, “It’s always a girl”

Spencer nodded, “Actually, it’s the girl.”

“The one that got away?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well good luck,” the driver said before the car went silent and Spencer’s thoughts were allowed to fill his head.

The mixture of emotions in his gut were varied: excitement, anticipation, anxiety, stress, hope, fear. It all swirled around in him, leaving him nauseas. Somewhere during the night, the snow turned into rain, drops chasing each other down the window. Spencer stared at them, his forehead against the cool glass, city lights gleaming through streaks of rain that looked an awful lot like tears.

He got out of the taxi, handing the driver a wad of cash, and made his way into the airport. He stared at the flight logs, seeing that his flight was already boarding. He cursed himself for not leaving more time. That seemed to be the general theme of his life; he always needs more time.

He practically ran to security, contents of the box jangling and nearly spilling out. When he got there, he didn’t even want to hand it to the TSA agent. That box was yours. It was you, and him, and no one else deserved to know the contents.

Except, apparently, this TSA agent, who only looked at him kind of funny when they scanned the contents and saw a stuffed animal.

He shoved his shoes back on, jogging to the gate now. It was 11:34 and they’d stop boarding at 11:45. He couldn’t miss this. This was the one flight he couldn’t miss. After everything, he couldn’t mess this up too. He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked with his lanky arms and legs running through an airport at 11:34 at night. The only thing he cared about was the fact that if he missed that flight, he’d be missing you. This was it. The moment in every rom-com. The moment people write stories about. The moment people live their lives dreaming of having.

This was his moment.

He arrived at the gate at 11:43. Sweaty and out of breath, he shoved the boarding pass in the stewardess’s hands, impatiently tapping his foot as she scanned it. It was like she was doing it at an agonizingly slow pace just to torture him.

“Enjoy your fli–“

He walked away before she could finish, finding his seat next to the window and flopping into it. The plane was quiet, the seat next to him vacant. But the box remained on his lap. He wasn’t going to put it down. He had to keep it, and you, close.

The last time he was on a plane like this, a commercial flight, not the jet, he was running away from you. But now he was running towards you. The thought immediately made him begin to relax. He smiled, knowing that in five hours he would no longer be 2,789.1 miles away from you, he would be mere feet away from you. The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

As the wheels left the ground, he suddenly realized that he had no plan. All he had was a box of memories, a rushed, confusing note, and an engagement ring he wasn’t even sure if he should use.

What would he even say? What would he even do? He didn’t know where you lived, only where you worked. But would you even be working yet? You’d only just moved. And if you were working, was showing up at your job on your first day a good plan?

No. It was an awful plan, but it was the only one he had. He’d get there at eight. He’d wait in the lobby, not at your desk. He’d intercept you, beg you for five minutes of your time, and try to get it all across at once.

It wouldn’t work. He just knew it wouldn’t. Maybe the elevator doors would open, you’d meet eyes, and then press the ‘close door’ button. Or maybe you’d grab him by the arm and yell at him, tell him he’s an idiot, have security escort him out. Or maybe he’d completely choke under the pressure of it all, and when he opened his mouth to speak no words would come out. He imagined every possible scenario, and it seemed that in almost none of them he’d ever get what he wanted.

Except one.

In one possibility, the elevator doors open, your eyes meet his and you both well up with tears. He holds his arms out, and you run into them and he holds you. He whispers ‘I love you’ into your ear, and you return the sentiment. You come home. Not to Virginia, but to the only home that you could ever know: him.

He stared out the window, city lights disappearing as they climbed. His hands fidgeted with letter fifteen, but he knew he couldn’t do it here. He couldn’t do it at midnight, seven miles in the air, in a place full of people who didn’t know him and wouldn’t understand.

The letter stayed closed as the stewardess lowered the lights in the cabin, Spencer’s eyelids following suit.

For the first time in months he slept soundly, knowing that the next time he opened his eyes, it would be to see you.

———

The air in Seattle is different. It’s cleaner, fresher, more temperate, but as Spencer left the plane he found it almost impossible to breathe.

He was here, in this place, in your place, even after you hold him not to. That dreadful feeling of

regret formed in his stomach quickly, but he shook it away.

He wasn’t going to regret this. He couldn’t regret this. He’d only regret not trying.

If he thought the streets were quiet at midnight, they were even quieter at two thirty in the morning. Spencer hadn’t counted in the time change when he scheduled his flight; he just knew he needed to be there as fast as possible. And now here he was, five hours closer to you and somehow still three hours away.

It was a blessing in disguise. Instead of having three hours before seeing you in the lobby at eight am, he’d now have six and half. Six and a half hours to plan, to think, to find all the words he needs to say and remember them.

But the minute his eyes saw the California king bed, he succumbed to the exhaustion that no amount of sleep could ever shake.

He stripped his clothes off and crawled into the bed, passing out cold before he could even begin to think.

————

The sound of his alarm woke him up too early, around five am. He groaned, making his way into the shower to stand under the scalding water. He stayed there for a while, begging his brain to make coherent sentences that used all the right words. He didn’t find them. He knew every word in the english lexicon, and no combination of them could ever express to you how sorry he really was. “I’m sorry” wouldn’t be enough. “I miss you” wouldn’t be enough. “I love you” wouldn’t be enough. No words, no actions, nothing could ever be enough to erase the past.

He stayed there until his skin was shriveled and bright pink, sore and burnt. The feeling was welcome; it matched the soreness in his chest.

He got out, and he checked his phone, which was at a higher than usual 50%. He saw seven messages from JJ and two from Hotch.

There was a case.

He groaned, “Not today.”

He didn’t come this far only to run back to the safety of his job. He didn’t come this far to prioritize his career over you; not again.

He debated who to call for a moment. Hotch was who he was supposed to call to ask for days off, but he wouldn’t understand why he was in Seattle. JJ would be the voice of reason and tell him he was being a fool, tell him to come home; that it wasn’t worth it. The only person who really knew why he was doing what he was doing was Derek.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me at eight on a Sunday, Reid,” Morgan spoke, voice hoarse and sleepy. Spencer had woken him up.

“You should be up anyway. There’s a case.”

Morgan groaned, “Really?”

“Yeah, really, and I need you to tell Hotch that I won’t be in for a few days.”

“Won’t be in? Why?”

Spencer paused for a moment, opening up the curtains and looking out at the city skyline in front of him, “Because I’m in Seattle.”

He heard Derek shift, and his voice go high in confusion, “Seattle? Reid, what’re you? Crazy?”

Spencer shrugged, “I think I might be.”

He wasn’t lying.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna go, that she told you not to,” Derek’s voice showed the concern he had for both of his friends right now. His concern for Spencer’s well-being and his concern for your sanity. He knew you were both being reckless, and it was going to get dangerous. People were going to keep getting hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and he’d have to keep picking up the pieces.

“I don’t know how she’s gonna react to this kid.”

“You don’t think she’ll be happy?” Spencer knew this was a shot in the dark, the probability of a happy ending already so low. But if Derek confirmed his fears, the probability would be nearly zero.

“I talked to her yesterday, Reid.”

“You did? When?”

Derek sighed, “After I left you.”

“What’d she say?” His voice was high and scared.

“She said to make sure that you were okay. And to make sure that you didn’t get on a plane to Seattle. And what did you do? You got on a damn plane to Seattle.”

Spencer sighed, “I have to at least try, Morgan. Can you blame me for that? I have things I need to say to her.”

“And if she doesn’t reciprocate?”

Spencer gnawed on his lip, “Then I’ll fly back and leave her alone.”

“Good, you cannot keep torturing yourself like this, Reid. You can’t keep torturing her like this.”

“I know, I know. Just, tell Hotch I’m gone. Don’t tell him where or why, I don’t need anyone else to get wrapped up in this.”

Derek sighed, “Okay, but be careful Reid.”

“I’ll be fine,” He lied, and hung up the phone before Derek had a chance to respond.

He stared at the city as the sun rose. His mind was stuck six months in the past, remembering what you felt like under his hands as you slowly danced in the morning light. For the first time in a long time, it was sunny. He opened the blue, velvet box and allowed the light to refract through the diamond, painting the walls in colors he hadn’t seen in far too long. The brightness of it all washed over him and he closed his eyes. He felt warm.

The hours ticked by at an agonizingly slow rate, the words he desperately needed still escaping him. Once the sun shifted and stopped beating onto his face, he checked his watch and saw that it was finally time to go to you.

In addition to the time, the leather watch from letter three displayed the date.

February seventeenth.

Your due date.

The jitters in his hands and eagerness in his chest melted away into a deep misery.

He tried to see it as a sign, even though he doesn’t quite believe in it. The universe picked this specific day for a reason. It was the day your lives were supposed to change dramatically, and he was going to make sure of that. One way or another.

He walked with the box in hand to the field office. He didn’t know why he brought it, just that he felt like he needed it. If for no other reason than that it was comforting to hold. It felt heavy in his hands, as if it was the only thing keeping his feet on the ground.

He found the building easily and walked in. His eyes scanned the main lobby in search of you, but no one in the sea of faces was you. He made his way to the elevator, took a deep breath in, and pressed ‘up.’

For some reason he wasn’t nervous anymore. It was more like an adrenaline rush, his heart pounding out of excitement rather than fear.

The elevator doors opened, reminiscent of the last time he was in an elevator like this one, and he let the doors close. This time, they opened and he was met with a bullpen that looked oddly familiar, but somehow still completely new. He’d been there before. He knew what the offices looked like, but now he was looking for more than where the coffee was or where the conference room was. He was looking for exactly where you’d fit into this place. Where was the missing puzzle piece that you’d perfectly fit into?

The only place he could think of was in him. You’d fit perfectly in the you-shaped hole in his heart.

The doors started to close, and he stuck his arm out to stop them. He held the box firmly under his arm as he made his way out of the elevator. He looked up to where he knew your office would be.

He just stood there, in front of the elevator doors, watching strangers who would become your friends mill around.

It felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. It felt wrong. So, so wrong.

“Dr. Reid?” He heard from behind him, and the shock of his name made him turn around.

“Hi!” The man said to him, “I wasn’t aware the BAU was coming today. What case are you working on?”

“Uh, no,” He said, turning back around and looking for you, “No, no case.”

“Well, then can I ask why you’re here?”

“Y/N,” He whispered, and your name felt funny on his tongue, “I-I’m here for Y/N.”

He turned back to the man, “Y/L/N?”

Spencer nodded.

The man checked his watch, “She’ll be here any minute. I can show you to her office if you’d like.”

The plan was already going awry. He didn’t want to sit at your desk, your coworkers’ prying eyes watching him, but it seemed he had no other choice. Silently, Spencer followed him, the anticipation in his body bubbling up. His heart was pounding as he got closer and closer to the moment. His moment.

“You worked with her, right?”

Spencer nodded, “Yeah, for about five years.”

He wanted to say he did more than just work with you. He wanted to say that he didn’t just know you, he loved you. Loves you.

Spencer sat in the seat facing your desk, the man behind him saying something, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned him out. The door clicked shut behind him, and he looked at the empty space. He stared at the desk. It was empty, spare a few files that had already been placed there, awaiting your attention. How would this be your desk now? Your desk was adjacent from his. Your desk was covered in post-it notes and reminders and picture frames and trinkets. Your desk was the exact right place for him to stare at you, and it not be weird. Your desk was where he’d hand you coffee. Your desk was where he fell in love.

Your desk was at Quantico.

Not here.

He shifted the box on his lap, hearing the contents jangle around. That jangle had become his favorite song. He reached in and grabbed your name plate, from your desk two thousand miles away, and placed it on your desk right in front of him.

The titles weren’t right, but the feeling was. If that desk was to be yours; it should look like it.

He straightened it out, restraightened it, then straightened it again. The adrenaline had died down and his nerves were getting the better of him, his hands shaky and clammy. He felt like he might throw up.

He had a plan that was viciously underdeveloped, and feelings that were too complicated to articulate. What was he even going to say? Hand you the letter? Why did he bring the ring? Why did he bring the box? How did he let himself end up here?

He started to spiral, his brain making its way down a twisty, dark, rabbit hole.

He found his hands the only place that seemed to center him lately, on a letter.

The last letter. The final letter. The letter with “15” written across it. The letter he never wanted to open, because then that would really mean it was the end.

It taunted him. He played with the seal, debating whether or not it should just wait; you’d be in front of him in fifteen minutes.

But what if there were things in there he needed to know? What if there was some secret, hidden in the words that he’d need for this moment?

He tore the seal open and slipped out the final, tear stained letter.

“Welcome to your fifteenth and final letter, Spencer Reid. So far you have read how we fell in love, and how we fell apart. I hope you enjoyed the roller coaster of emotions. I hope you enjoyed reliving the last three years of your life: the good, the bad, the heartbreaking. I know I enjoyed looking back at all the items. I enjoyed looking back at us, remembering why I fell for you in the first place, but also remembering why we fell out.

But that’s just it; we’re in the past. And that’s okay. I want you to know that that’s okay. I’m okay with it, I am. But just because I’m okay with it doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. God, I miss you. I think I’ve missed you from the day that we first met. I think some part of me has always missed you, even before I ever set my eyes on you. And I think I’ll miss you forever, a piece of my soul and being belongs to one Spencer Reid. Take care of that piece, will you?

There isn’t much to say in this letter. There’s no exact memory or point I’m trying to get across. There’s nothing left to say. I think I’ve said it all; I think I’ve said enough.

Except one thing.

The last thing I have to share with you, are the last two items in this (hopefully) now empty box. I’m sure you’re confused about them, so let me explain.

I had them made for when she’d be born. In September I sent two spoons that we always ate our ice cream with to a blacksmith, and he melted them down and forged two rings.”

Spencer dug through the contents until he found the two rings. He delicately held the two matching silver bands between his fingers, one much bigger than the other. They were thin, a pewter gray color, and the inside of each one simply said, “home.”

He started to choke up, right then and there in your office. The one clearly meant for him slid down his ring finger easily, the one made for you stayed in his palm. It felt right, like the only reason he had hands was to wear that ring.

“One for me, and one for you. I had them engraved with ‘home’, because you were my home, and I was yours.

They were supposed to be symbols of our “union,” I guess. I’m not really sure what my intention was, I just knew that if we were parents, I wanted us to be bound together. Of course we’d be bound by our daughter, but I wanted something more. What I really wanted was to marry you. But these weren’t supposed to be wedding rings, but they also weren’t supposed to be nothing. I guess kind of like promise rings? I don’t know. Looking back on it, it was stupid.

I forgot about them until they showed up in the mail a week ago. I took them out, put mine on, and it felt weird. It felt right, like it was meant to go on my right ring finger. But it also felt wrong because there was no birth to give them to you after, there was no special day to commemorate anymore. It felt wrong because you didn’t have the matching one on yours. It felt wrong because ‘home’ wasn’t you anymore.

It was just, so, so wrong.

I don’t know what you want to do with these, but you deserve to know that they exist. You deserve to know that I wanted to spend every day of my life with you. You deserve the world, Spence, you deserve more than this life has given you. You deserve more than I could’ve ever given you. You deserve the kind of happiness that makes your face hurt because you can’t stop smiling. You deserve the kind of love that makes your heart burst every time you see your person, the kind that spreads through your whole body and you literally cannot contain it.

I had that. My love for you is the kind people write stories about, the kind that no love song can ever hold a candle to. The kind that’s all consuming.

All-consuming. That’s you, to me, in two words. I lost myself somewhere in between the beginning and the end of us. You became part of me. And for a while, that was okay. I didn’t mind that half of my soul lived in your body, because when we were together, I was whole.

But now parts of my soul still live in you, and I’m afraid I’ll never get them back. A piece of me will always feel like it’s missing, a piece that you and our baby took with you when you left. A piece that I will never get back, and I like to believe it’s a piece you’ll always be missing too.

I guess that same missing piece is what makes us forever cosmically connected.

And you know what? I think I’m okay with that. I hope you are too.”

‘No,’ he thought, ‘No, I’m not okay with that. I need to be connected to you in reality. I need to be connected to you here. I need you.’

“And I know it may seem like since I told you I still love you, and that I always will, that I want you to come back.

I don’t.”

He was sure his heart stopped momentarily, panic immediately setting in.

“I mean it Spence, I mean it. Don’t come. Don’t play the hero. Don’t be stupid. Don’t act out a scene from a romance movie. Don’t buy a plane ticket and come and try to get me back, because I’m too far gone. We’re too far gone. Just please, if you do one last thing for me in this life, don’t come.

Please, I know you’ll want to. You don’t know how bad I want you to, but you just can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see your face. I don’t know if I could bear it. I think I may completely fall apart.

That, or I’ll see you I’ll fall right back in love, like nothing ever happened. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for anything. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.

And I know we’ll meet again someday, but that day isn’t today. That day isn’t tomorrow. That day isn’t next week. That day is far in the future, when the nature of our jobs unwillingly forces us together. I find comfort in the fact that I will learn to exist without you before that day. I need to learn to exist without you. I need to learn to exist without her. I need to learn who I am.

Before I finish this last, short, tear stained letter I just want you to leave you with this:

You are a good man, the best man, and the world is a better place with you in it. Never stop being you. You are the most infuriating, headstrong, intelligent, determined, and spectacular person I’ve ever met. I was lucky that I got to spend a portion of my time on earth with you. It was an honor to love you, it IS an honor to love you, and it was an honor to be loved by you.

These two rings represent the future we never got to have. A life that the parallel universe versions of us are enjoying. A life that I want, so bad, but will never have.

I’m sorry, I love you, and I mean it.

Xo.

Y/N”

He stared at the paper, his tears smudging the ink beyond recognition.

“If you do one last thing for me in this life, don’t come.”

He cursed himself for waiting to read it. He should’ve read it before he got on the plane. He should’ve read it before he impulsively bought plane tickets.

He shouldn’t have come. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted it, because you didn’t, and you’d always come before him. He dropped your ring back in the box, his still on his hand as he wiped away hot tears. He swiped the name plate off the desk, leaving it as bare and empty as when he got there.

He stood and walked towards the door, before feeling the letter rustle in his pocket. He paused, grabbed it out, and hurriedly dropped it on the desk.

He needed you to know that he came, but he also knew you couldn't see him. He needed you to know that he tried. He needed you to know how he feels. He needed you to know that you both had the same idea; you both wanted to spend every day of your lives together. He needed you to know that, even though you told him not to, he’d always be waiting for you. He’d respect your wishes of not seeing him, because he knew you were right. Both of you would just fall apart at the sight of the other. You were right the whole time. This isn’t healthy. This isn’t normal. Sane people don’t buy one way tickets. Sane people don’t drop everything to move across the country.

Both of you were completely insane to think that in any universe, parallel or not, this would ever work.

He stumbled out of the room, brushing past the inquiring faces and finding his way to the elevator. He couldn’t help but see the painful irony in him getting in another one to run away from you, but his finger wouldn’t stop pressing the down button.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he whispered while simultaneously praying to whatever Gods exist that when those doors opened it wouldn’t be you. It was taking too long. He needed to be out of that suffocating place. He ran to the stairwell, practically fumbling down every step until he was out an exit door.

He didn’t remember when it started to pour rain, but it made sense. This wasn’t day wasn’t meant to be sunny, it was meant to be dark gray with rolling thunder and lightning strikes.

When he passed the threshold, ice cold rain immediately hit his entire body, soaking the letters and contents of your box. Soaking him to the bone. Soaking whatever was left of your lives.

He pulled at his tie, desperately needing to breathe. The regret was suffocating him, and he couldn’t identify it’s source. Was it regret for coming? Or regret for walking out, again?

He stared up at the sky and he yelled. He screamed, all the pent up energy, all the despair and anger he had been holding his body leaving all at once through one horrific scream.

“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”

He half expected the sky to answer him, tell him to go back in there or tell him to go to hell.

But it didn’t.

What he got back instead was much more valuable, instantly calming him down.

It’d only been two days, and he missed the sound so much that hearing it brought tears to his eyes.

“Spencer?”

It was you.

-------

taglist :)

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21 @goldentournesol @rainsong01 @thelifeofadumbbitch @swimmingtrashwobblersludge @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @eldahae @baby-i-am-fireproof @fear-less-write-more @caitgubler @haylaansmi

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #reid #dr spencer reid

137 notes · View notes

suspiciouslybluemilktea · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Unknown (Saeran Choi) X Female Reader CRACK FIC

Description: You are a humble teenage bookworm, obsessed with the performer Lady Gaga and her catchy music. Or perhaps, it’s not her you’re obsessed with, but her back up dancer, Saeran. When your bestie Sasha offers you the chance to watch a performance front row, a chance encounter happens. Can you successfully woo this ̶s̶e̶x̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ handsome dancer? Or will your attempt to dress up lead to nothing at all.

This is in NO way shape or form to be taken seriously. It is supposed to be a funny parody of many Wattpad stories we may have read way back when. It is not targeting any one author and is entirely based on stereotypes and jokes made about old experiences.

Little warning: Some of the jokes made could be said to be 18+, but nothing is too over the top. The reader is described to be blond with blue eyes, etc., just following Wattpad stereotypes. All descriptions of the reader are for comedic purposes as well as the “authors notes”. The elixir is brought up at the end.

This fic contains and is based on a sketch done by my friend 🤎Melkinpump🤎, who you can find on tumblr here: https://melkinpump.tumblr.com/

——————————————————————

https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ song from chapter 2!!!

CHAPTER ONE-

I woke up to see my beautiful turquoise bedroom shining in the sun. It was finally time, today I was going to a Lady Gaga concert. My gaze drifted to the Lady Gaga poster on my wall. But here’s the plot twist. I wasn’t in love with her, but him. The man in the back of the poster, Saeran, one of her favorite back up dancers. He was in all of her shows, and today I just had to seduce him best I could, which would be hard because I was such a nerd. I stared lovingly at his face behind hers, tongue sticking out with a blue color to it from the koolaid he had in his hand. It was pretty rock and roll epic. I sighed. Time to get dressed.

I followed the advice of my friend Sasha, and wore one of her tight black leather dresses. I’m not used to tight clothes, but she’s a seduction master with 10 boyfriends right now, so I’m listening. It hugged my 1 inch waist so tight I couldn’t breathe, and the cleavage showed almost my whole natural DD rack, but I guess it looks hot. This felt weird, so not like me who usually wears big sweaters and big jeans. Of course, I still need to wear my glasses or I can’t see shit. I took down my long, straight platinum blond hair out of my pony tail and brushed it. Lastly, I brushed my teeth incase we do make out.

Sasha arrived in her Jaguar car. She’s super rich unlike me. She yelled at me,

“Why aren’t you wearing makeup? Come here let’s fix you up!”

She put on a lot of my makeup for me, thick black eyeliner and bright red lipstick. I put back on my glasses when she was finished, and she smacked my hand.

“No! Guys don’t like girls who wear glasses, show off those pretty blue eyes!”

I sighed as now I’d be blind for the concert. But it’s ok, it’s all to win his heart. The devil with the white hair and man whore outfit he always wore. It was Lady Gaga’s thing to make him dress like that, I didn’t mind because he’s incredibly sexy in it.

I tried not to let my mind wander too much as Sasha drove us to the concert. I could not be nervous, and I definitely couldn’t allow him to see that I was actually just a little nerd girl. Tonight, I’m a sex kitten just for him. Sasha made sure of that.

END CHAPTER 1

HEY guys I hope you enjoyed chapter one :) chapter two is just down below and maybe you’ll finally get to kiss Saeran idk it’s not like I’m the author ;))

CHAPTER 2-

The concert began. And there he was, dancing so close to me as we had front row seats which Sasha’s rich dad paid for. I’m so lucky to have a rich bestie.

He rocked his hips to the beat, that pink leotard type outfit barely covering much. I could see his beautiful pecs through the heart in the center, shiny from his glistening sweat. Unless Lady Gaga told him to shine up with something, I wouldn’t put it past her.

@melkinpump

After a few minutes, my heart stopped beating. He noticed me! His aqua orbs met mine in the crowd, gazing into my soul with such a fiery passion as he danced, white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. My friend nudged me, smiling. I couldn’t believe it. I smiled at him, and started singing the words to the song playing to pretend I was unphased.

And then, it happened. He kneeled down next to me, chains from his outfit clinking a little, leaning in with his hand cupping his ear to hear my voice. He then spoke, the tone surprising me as his voice was rather airy.

“I can’t hear you!”

I sang louder.

“You can be louder than that!”

He smirked at me teasingly. My heart was leaping sky high as I got even louder for him. I’d do anything for him.

Just then, he passed me his hand, offering to take me up on stage with him. I hesitantly took it, feeling its heat in mine as he pulled me up on stage next to him. It felt unreal!

“YOU GO GIRL WOOOOH!”, Sasha screamed.

Lady Gaga stopped then cued the next song as Saeran passed me a mic. The music started playing and I could feel my heart in my throat. I couldn’t let him know this confidence was all a fake to win him as I’m usually just a bookworm. I sang best I could, the song was a classic, “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga (link at the top). To my surprise, Saeran also took a mic. It was just the two of us singing, and the audience was in awe because it sounded so good. I didn’t even know I could sing because I never have before, but now I understand I have a hidden talent, and I feel more confident.

As the song wrapped up, he smiled at me and handed me a VIP backstage pass! I thanked him profusely as I got down from the stage, eliciting a wink. I can’t believe I’m going to get to see him backstage!

CHAPTER 3-

Hey guys :/ adult content warning !

Skip ahead to the end of the awesome concert and me and Sasha were heading backstage with my shiny, black VIP pass. It had a mint eye symbol on it which looked bitchin. The guard stopped Sasha from entering,

“Sorry, only that one is allowed by Mr. Saeran.”

Mr. Saeran? Now that’s hot. But I’m also sad because I want to take Sasha too because without her, I wouldn’t even be at this concert! Sasha winked at me,

“It’s ok girl, go live your dream. My dad’s rich so one of my boyfriends is Justin Beiber so I don’t need this anyways.”

“Thanks bestie.” I smiled at her, preparing myself to go meet Saeran and Lady Gaga alone.

I took in a deep breath, my exposed chest nice and puffed out to attract his attention because I know guys like boobs. Sasha told me that, I don’t know much about guys because I’m a nerd. But hopefully now I’d be his nerd.

The security guard led me to the back of the hall, opening the big door, revealing Saeran and Lady Gaga, standing and talking. I was in shock! They were both so hot in person! I am so lucky!

Their heads turned in my direction, Saeran hungrily licking his lips upon seeing me. I couldn’t get any redder!

Just then, Lady Gaga handed me some blue koolaid and told me to take a seat with a sweet smile. I smiled back and sat like she said. Lady Gaga spoke,

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you! You really grabbed my dancer’s attention here as well as mine and the crowds, and I instructed him to pick one lucky girl to meet with today. And here you are! With a singing voice like that, I want to know if you want to join us on tour!”

With that, I’m certain I stopped breathing. To work alongside Saeran AND Lady Gaga?! Incredible! I didn’t mind leaving my old life behind to be sexy and cool always like I was tonight, because at home I was nothing but a 16 year old boring book worm. I’d be happy to never see high school again, but I’d miss Sasha.

“Yes!” I squeaked happily.

“Good girl~” Saeran cooed. I wasn’t expecting him to call me that, and I blushed red to my ears.

“First, let’s finish that drink with a toast to you joining us!” Lady Gaga cheered.

“Ok! Cheers to our new pet here!”, Saeran said raising a glass too.

It’s weird that he called me pet, personally I think a little ominous. But it’s ok, he can call me as he likes.

As I tasted the koolaid, it was super bitter and burned my throat. Saeran and Lady Gaga smiled at me, and I smiled back, forcing myself to chug it as they watched eagerly. I then felt super dizzy and sick…what was this koolaid? As the room started spinning, I reached a hand to my head and winced. Saeran sat next to me and guided me to lean on him. Even though I felt odd, leaning on him still made my heart race.

He stroked my hair, whispering “good girl” once more. This was getting freaky. Did they drug me?

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Lady Gaga took off her crazy wig. I saw long blond curls fall down as she removed her wig cap. Within another second, she popped out colored contacts, revealing orbs as green as emeralds. That wasn’t Lady Gaga at all! It was a fraud! I gasped, but Saeran held me closer, telling me to remain quiet.

“Just as you’re thinking child, this isn’t a Lady Gaga concert at all, but a recruitment for our cult! I killed Lady Gaga long ago, and took her place. Saeran here is in charge of choosing one lucky person each show to join us, and with your voice you’ll make a great performer alongside us here at the Mint Eye!”

I was so angry and confused. What did she mean she killed Lady Gaga? And a cult? No way…

Saeran spoke to me again, “don’t worry little blondy, I chose you because you’ll be a great assistant for me with that voice. We have a lot of work to do, and lucky for you, since I can tell you like me, you get to work alongside me~”. He cackled and then crushed my phone with his bare hands.

I was horrified. I spoke softly, still feeling weird.

“Saeran…I thought you were a good person…I know you are…I love you…”

He seemed moved in those minty eyes, but wouldn’t tell it. His eyes were a tad watery as he scooped me up into his arms and cradled me close to his chest. My head rested on the open heart in his costume.

“I know, and that’s exactly why I chose you. I’ve been watching you for a long time, y/n. You look different without your glasses. But don’t worry, we have contacts for on stage.”

And with that he carried me to his room, and I prepared for my new life as a cultist.

END!!!!

A/N: Hey everyone thanks for reading <3 I wonder what Saeran and y/n are going to do in his room next 😳😜😎🍋!!?!! If I get 3 comments, I’ll write the next part :3 which will be rated 18+ though!!! I think you know why ;)))) !!! Pray for me 🙏 because I just broke my pelvis and I’m so sorry that 18+ part will be a little late because of it but I’ll write it in the hospital! Safe wishes 💋! Thanks for all the support!!!!

Fin! *takes a bow*

#saeran choi #unknown saeran #ray mystic messenger #saeran x mc #saeran x reader #unknown mystic messenger

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factual-fantasy · 3 years

Text

21 asks, some old some new, all basically just heart warming compliments. ♡ඩᴗඩ♡

You’re welcome!! And thank you so much!! Something I always love to do with characters like this is give them some crazy depth. Give answers for things that the media they’re from never answers. I always work really hard to make it all fit together and really feel natural and I’m so happy you noticed! (இ﹏இ`｡)

I’ll be sure to. I’m still feeling really crummy mentally, but taking a break from my lovely community of fans certainly didn’t make me feel any better. XD

Pfff Kitty cat Pirate man XD

Well you’re sort of right. Captain Barnacles is my favorite character 100%, but the reason why I draw those two together so often is because the show has established that they are really good friends.

Where ever the Captain is, Kwazii is usually nearby. Kwazii was the only one that knew about the Captains fear, Kwazii is the Octonauts lieutenant, which probably means that they spend a lot time around each other. They share a bed pod, they have had these little interactions that don’t happen with anyone else. Like fist bumps, shoulder pats etc.

They’re even used as an example of symbiosis in the crab and urchin episode! Now, you can interpret that how you’d like, but I believe the show is somewhat subtly trying to push the point that these two are best friends, like family even.

So when ever I draw Captain Barnacles, I always have an incentive to draw Kwazii with him. :}

Honestly by my headcannons, I feel like Kwazii would need it more than anyone else really. But yeah, the Captain could really use me a pick me up. XD

Dawww you’re welcome, I’m just glad everyone likes my art so much. ♡●ᴗ●♡

Th-Thank you!! That’s so sweet!! I’ll Be sure to keep making them!- Be sure to drop in some suggestions you guys so I know what ya’ll want to see!! :}

COMMERE YOU

(before I left for a break)

Well I may have needed more time to “relax”, but I just missed you guys too much lol.

Wow! That’s a lot of shows! I don’t recall really watching.. any of them.. any way uh- that aside, there are several shows I used to watch as a kid. Some weren’t meant for kids but were still funny to me.

For one, like I’m sure a lot of people did, I watched SpongeBob.

I also used to watch, of course, Octonauts. Although that was when I was a wee bit older.

I also used to watch The Three Stooges.. this one was for adults I think but it was still hilarious.

I also used to watch Beetle Baily, although this one was kind of like a once a year tradition type thing we did.

There may be one or two more but I don’t recall.. I mean, we did have one episode of speed racer that I watched over and over and over again. Or.. was it a movie? Heh, I uh, cant really recall..

(after my break announcement)

Thank you, turns out taking a break from Tumblr kind’a just made me miss the community. I felt really awful while I was gone but feel a little better after returning sooo.... guess I’m hangin around for a little while longer! :}

No I don’t ship anyone personally, although I can see how some of their dynamics could be seen like that.

Oh! No worries, that’s alright, and that thing is in the description as a heads up kind’a. If I tag my own art as ship or explicitly say it is okay to do so, then go for it. I just don't usually ship characters and don't want my art to be perceived incorrectly..

I have watched both Octonauts movies and season 1-3 on Netflix. When it comes to season 4, so far I haven't had much trouble just finding it on YouTube.

When it comes to watching season 4 in order, just go to the episode wiki, find the names in order and keep searching on YouTube until you’re sure you’re on the right episode. Pretty sure you can find basically all the Octonauts episode this way, go ahead and give it a shot! Hope it works!

To keep the fourth wall breaking to a minimum, what would my Transformer OCs think of Octonauts?

Suburban, A.T.Dragster, Green Truck, Escort, Vega, Red Van, Brown Suburban, Miata, AND Honda, most likely wouldn't really be interested and wouldn’t really have an opinion on the show, but they don't make fun of anyone who does watch it. No matter how old. Volvo specifically would respect the educational aspect of the show and most likely wouldn’t pick on anyone for watching it either.

U.M.Dragster would kind’a poke fun at the show and its imperfections. But low key is peeking around the corner wanting to know what the characters do next.

White Truck thinks it pretty cool and kind’a likes to watch it with others, but wont really go out of his way to watch it on his own.

Beluga would probably think its really cute, bet 10 bucks her favorite character is Kwazii.

Ranger would be hooked. She loves everything about Earths water and want’s to learn everything about it. Including the creatures that live in it. She would appreciate the show “dumbing everything down” for her, because she doesn’t know these basic things that kids know. Having everything “dumbed down” makes it easier for her to understand everything.

Jeepy’s driver used to make fun of me for watching it, but now he thinks it neat. So maybe he’d think its silly but eventually come around?

Bash Buggy cant see the screen-

But really Its cool though, he wouldn’t be all that interested in it even if he could watch it anyway.

Daww thank you! ♡●ᴗ●♡

Oh how cool! I never thought so many people grew up watching this too, I thought this show was really obscure! Glad I can share the nostalgia and joy with ya’ll through my art! :}

You mean the Vegimals? These little dudes?

I just haven’t had a good opportunity to draw them yet is all.

Hmmmm.... let me think.. I feel like my Transformer OCs would mostly like certain aspects of seasonal things, not one season and all of its aesthetics as a whole.

Suburban, Red Van, Escort, Brown Suburban and Green Truck love the bonfire part of colder weather. The warm, bright and surrounded by loved ones aspect of it is what they enjoy. Especially Brown Suburban. He loves bonfires man. The more light and heat the better, that poor mech is freezing his aft off out there in that old manky dark shed all by himself. He just wants to be around his loved ones where its warm and bright.

Miata would probably like pumpkin spice lattes, and just that aspect of fall. Beluga and Honda however would be all over fall and all its traditions. They’d be all over every season really, always up to date with trends and having fun.

The Dragsters are all about summer and its aesthetics. Summer is the prime time for dragstrips and the weather they function most efficiently in so they’re all for it.

Vega is more about fall. Sure its not really racing weather, but he does like all the pretty colors and the temperature is just right for him.

White Truck would like summer the most. He’d like the attire, the swimming, the warmth, all of it. He’d function a little on the edge I’d think though, he does have a bit of an overheating issue.. but still, I think summers for the win.

Ranger would like summer. Summer = more fish in the water. She loves to look at fish and be out in the water and just explore everything. Summer is when most of the fish are around so she’d really enjoy that. When it comes to seasonal outfits and food? Meh, waters cooler.

Volvo doesn't care for any weather or aesthetics honestly. But would prefer fall for its cooler temperatures. Having so many layers of armor is bound to make you overheat eventually.

Jeepy would like the fall and winter most of all, because of MUD. Going slipin, driftin and slidin with Bash is a real hoot, so he’d really like those seasons. He’s just built for them you know? Plus he’d kill a man for a glass of eggnog so he likes that aspect of cooler seasons too. :}

Bash Buggy likes summer and spring for the temperatures mostly. He also likes winter and fall, but because of the mud, he doesn’t like them for any other reason. Just the mud and goofing around with Jeepy. Everything else about those cold seasons are terrible, and he cant even see all the pretty colors and aesthetics so what does it matter? His body has no insulation anymore so the cold just eats him up, and he cant go outside in the snow because of his blindness and the cold. So he’s stuck shivering indoors while his friends go goof around in the snow without him. Colder seasons suck besides mud, the warmer ones are a win.

I don’t know, it just kind’a makes me uncomfortable. Not all artists are the same, not all artists like that.

It kind of feels like stealing to me in a way, I just don’t like it..

I want to, but I am completely halted by the knowledge that these comics don’t get much traction. They only get a handful of notes when I post them, which just makes them feel like a waste of time.

I’m weird about time. I don't like talking about my interests with others because I know I’m wasting their time and they don’t care anyway.

I am heavily discouraged to draw things online, not just because people steal, but because only a handful of people truly care and get excited about them.

And I mean, a handful of lovely followers, is a handful lovely followers. But you can see how a people pleaser like me would drift towards what people want me to draw instead of what I want to draw.

And when it comes to what people want me to draw? Besides those lovely few, people don’t want to see my comics.

#my response #octonauts #transformer ocs #about me

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teamsarawatshusband · 3 years

Text

Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 7

Here's my name overview, in case you're new to this: Zhou Zi Shu = Baby Zi Shu/ Zhou Xu lord guy/alcoholic tanned tragic hero lord guy; Wen Ke Xing = Smirky Xing/Smirky fan guy/Kissy Xing Gu Xiang = Purple Girl/my Purple Love/my Purple Queen Smirklord is my personal ship name for Zhou Zi Shu and Wen Ke Xing.

Also, here are the previous episodes.

Before we get started, just FYI, I went back to have a look at the red masked ghost guys gang scene with nuts guy in episode 1, and it’s finally confirmed that it's 100% Kissy Xing, because, now that i've been hearing his laughter for some eps, I can't not recognize it. Actually, he’s not just part of the ghost gang, he’s their boss. :O

Okay, so that is settled.

Let’s move on to episode 7:

Luo Mansion. What is that? Where is that? Who are these people? There's one with a joker grin, and several with weirdly upturned eyebrows and darkened lips. Are they from the ghost gang?

And why is everything red, is this a wedding?

There's a white haired woman with long golden fingernails and she's referred to as tragicomic ghost.

Oh it IS a wedding. Something tells me this might not be a voluntary one... Maybe it's the amount of gagged people in cages who don't look joyful.

Is the gagged guy who's gonna get married unconscious magenta leader guy from when that other ghost lady dropped her face?

He's getting married to a memorial tablet? What?

Ah, back to more familiar people in familiar circumstances. Baby Zi Shu is drinking alcohol. Now this I recognize.

But he can't get more because somebody bought all the remaining bottles. Should I say that this has Kissy Xing written all over it?

Ooooh, the kid is there!!! With a-hole-uncle Shen and uncle Zhao. And the kid notices Baby Zi Shu right away, and thinks it's his master. He's better at recognizing people than I am, but he's mislead by Baby Zi Shu's lack of tan and scar. That's a shame. But he clearly misses his daaaaads! Awwwww.

Side note: I cannot stress enough how much I need to focus on not misspelling Baby Zi Shu’s name. I’ve typed Zi Shi, Zu Shi, Zu Shu, Zhu Si, Zhi Shu already... and now I almost typed “Baby Sushi”, because my brain is WEIRD. In case it happens in the future and I miss it, you have been warned. Maybe I should just go with Baby Sushi, because that one would be easiest to remember. I should also change my tumblr handle to “face-blind-and-name-stupid”.

Meh, back to the ghost gang wedding ceremony.

Whoever speaks dies. That would have been a good rule to know in advance, I guess.

So what's this list of the unfaithful? Is it like Santa's naughty and nice list?

Everybody who is unfaithful gets killed by white haired gold finger girl. Got it. Everybody who speaks gets killed too. This seems like such a shady set of rules, I bet more people get killed just for fun.

Ooooh, it's celebrity death match. But with friends of the groom.

I feel like this guy who says that the ghost folks never break a promise, while being a jerk, might be telling the truth.

:O WTH? Did a-hole-uncle Shen just seriously call our kid useless??? He just assumes that our kid is a liar??? The audacity!!! I feel so outraged on the entire fandom’s behalf.

Huh, the kid is eavesdropping on all of it. I feel so bad for him to having to hear this, but at the same time, I feel so proud of his spying nature. He's already picked up some of his adopted dads' talents.

Back to the wedding deathmatch. A red wedding indeed. Everybody's dead.

Two guys talking at Youyang sect, alright, whoever that is, I forgot. But, they have nice dragon decor. Ah the younger guy is the leader of Window of Heaven while the older guy with the mustache is the 5 lakes final boss. Top boss, I mean. I might be playing too many computer games, sorry. Anyway, so Youyang is 5 lakes, also confirmed by the pleated skirt soldiers around. K, k.

So, pretty heaven's window leader guy wants to get the scoop on the glazed armor situation.

Whoa, did mustache final boss guy just really say glazed armor is just a rumor? Does he think people are stupid? Even I know that it's not. Tsk. He makes Window of Heaven sound like a super power spy agency.

Everybody is after our poor kid. Ooooooooh, Baby Sushi is following the uncles plus kid through the bamboo woods. Nice. He won't let the kid get harmed, I'm sure.

There's a girl kid who looks kind of like TopTap (if you're familiar with Thai TV shows).

She seems nice, but... looks like they're just trying to get our kid out of the way to discuss stuff. Pfff, they always complain about him not knowing stuff, but how is he supposed to when he's constantly left out?

"The martial arts world won't be peaceful anymore" LOL, whut? It hasn't been peaceful from the start of the series. What is 5 lakes final boss guy even trying to say?

:O what? Baby Sushi wants to genuinely leave the kid there and thinks he's safe there?

Oh, he's onto the spy situation and Window of Heaven being involved. Cool, cool.

Aaaaand spontaneously kills a spy guy, k.

Wheeeeeeee Kissy Xing is back. Has also been following around. Nice nice.

Ah, the dead guy was from the scorpion gang. And both Baby Sushi and Kissy Xing know. Oh, so Window of Heaven is an assassin organization. Alright, the more you know. Okay!

He's so daring, talking about how everybody is after the glazed armor while wearing a piece of it openly over his clothes. And he keeps hinting at how much he knows about Baby Sushi but never outright says it.

It's always the same with those two. Kissy Xing points out how good a person he is and then flirts with Baby Sushi who then gives him the cold shoulder.

LOL, I love how the subtitles really translate EVERYTHING. A random note of Tofu Pudding, not plot relevant at all, but BAM in your FACE!

(joking aside: I am so grateful for all the subs and translations. Whoever is doing this stuff, you guys will always be my heroes. <3 )

Oh, somebody looked at them, and Baby Sushi recognized him? And Kissy Xing is like a marching band, stomping onto the scene, parading around with banners that say "Look at this glazed armor!" lol.

Ooooooh, Kissy Xing is in cahoots with the merchant lady. He's planned something. This is exciting. Seems like he's trying to set all parties up against each other: 5 lakes, scorpions, window of heaven and whoever else wants to participate.

Okay, so he let that spy guy steal his piece of glass on purpose, right? And it must be one of the fakes, I assume.

Oh, the heroes conference... I remember the name, but what was that again? Was it a 5 lakes thing? Anyway, Baby Sushi and Kissy Xing are gonna be there on uncle Zhao's invitation, alright.

See, when Kissy Xing calls the kid dumb, it kinda doesn't feel offensive to me. I don't know. It just doesn't. It's like somebody affectionately calling their pet dumb or something.

Waaah, there's another beautiful tree. Please don't burn it down this time.

There's some morse code thing going on with lots of people that I don't know. Everybody's drumming on stuff and passing along messages.

:O my Purple Queen. The love of my life. There she is. ahhhhhhhh. <3

She's also drumming on stuff, but I'm not sure it's code with her, might also just be frustration, lol.

There's a bunch of drunk guys and they're requesting the traditional DJ guy to put on some song that probably has explicit content or something, because he doesn't wanna play it.

:O they snatched his daughter from DJ guy! Right under the eyes of my Purple Queen. Ooooh, she's gonna clean up that place, lol.

Yup.

Yeah you show them! Heh.

Oh, she's got herself a fanboy. Who is he?

She still keeps drumming away on the dishes with her chopsticks. Hmm, maybe it is a code after all.

LOL, they're having this awkward conversation about double standards for guys and girls, and my Purple Queen is not having it. She is the best.

Not gonna lie, every time the series cuts back to smirklord, I get all excited.

Ok, Baby Sushi places some... nut or whatever on his chopsticks obviously some code, Kissy Xing watches and looks confused. Oh, and he almost gave away that he doesn't understand the code.

LOL, what is happening? Kissy Xing looks so pissed at my Purple Queen making friends with her fanboy.

Seriously, does he have some sort of beef with fanboy guy? LOL, won't even let the poor guy finish his meal. A+ in cockblocking.

Awwwww, and my Queen still gets it. Pinpointing smirklord in one sentence. Baby Sushi brings out Kissy Xing's humanity. And now he looks sad. It must be true.

Ahaha, "I will pay. A Xu, where is your wallet?" Comedic genius.

Oh, what a clever way to bring the subject to the "thief" guy. Man, Kissy Xing is GOOOOOOD at this. And Baby Sushi is so amused that he admits to knowing thief guy too.

My queen doesn't recognize Baby Sushi. Whaaaaat? I would have expected her to feel the sparks. Oh, wait, no, she does get it. Hehe. And Kissy Xing instantly has to praise his crush's appearance and beauty. Everything's alright again in the world.

LOL, the way she goes right in to touch him. No inhibition. No etiquette. And Baby Sushi is so surprised that he lets her, lol.

Ahaha, Kissy Xing has to stop her from touching his baby. Awww

XD, I can't deal with this. He even flat out asks why he's not allowed to touch.

And Baby Sushi replies with a compliment to my Queen and a rebuff for Kissy Xing. It's funny, but I do feel a little bad for Kissy Xing. He did not deserve that.

LOL, waiter guy wins quote of the day, "Can you all pay first? Then you can touch whomever you want, however you want." This episode is gold, man. Also, I'm all for the touching. Yes, touch each other. Go go.

Heh, nice. Baby Sushi threatens that the money is a loan and he'll expect interest. And Kissy Xing does not seem sad about owing him at all but goes and buys even more food. After all, owing Baby Sushi gives him reason to stay in touch, doesn't it?

Aww, why do they always end on smirklord scenes? I want more. :(

Okay, this was a really nice episode. I can't wait to continue.

What I learned: The ghost gang enjoys torturing people. Kissy Xing is definitely nuts guy (well not learned from this episode, but I still learned it). I need the kid to return to his dads because I miss their interaction, as does he. There's a famous thief wandering around and he stole Kissy Xing's fake Glazed Armor. The Heroes Conference is coming up.

Goals for future epsidoes: still to figure out how Kissy Xing and Baby Sushi know each other, understand the purpose and connections of the ghost gang and why Kissy Xing is part of them. Also, just generally, get to watch more smirklord interactions. ;)

#word of honor #1st watch insta thoughts #word of honor ep 07 #smirklord

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jingabitch · 4 years

Text

Fucked Up

Summary: They're fucked up, but it's okay. So are you.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago and posted it to ao3. Reposting on Tumblr because I want to start being more active on this platform as well.

Word count: 5.5k-ish

You can’t remember when it really started. You slowly became aware of his presence, following you home, watching you sometimes when you were in your room. It never felt malicious, so you left it alone, allowing him to keep a safe distance between the two of you.

You would have been fine leaving it like that indefinitely, you think, if not for that night. You’d gotten all dressed up, spending hours on your hair and makeup because after months of everyone being too busy, your friends were finally going to spend the night together out on the town.

Ten minutes before you were supposed to leave, though, a flurry of texts lit up your phone, your friends one by one making excuses for why they couldn’t make it, and how sorry they were, sweetie, but this was so urgent, they just had business to take care of, you understood, didn’t you…

Standing in front of your mirror, still holding your powder brush in one hand and your phone in the other, you can’t stop the sobs from wracking your frame, making your shoulders shake. Is it too much to, just once, feel like you’re the priority, the important one in someone else’s life?

It’s the first night that you actually make contact with him.

Tiptoeing over to the window, you sniffle as you open it, feeling the cold air rush in. “Hey…” you say, feeling a little foolish.

“I know you’re out there,” you call softly. “Will you… come keep me company tonight? I just don’t want to feel so, so alone,” your voice breaks as the last words fall out of your mouth.

When there’s no movement outside, you’re sure that there’s nobody there and make to close the window, feeling oddly abandoned.

Just before you pull the window shut, however, a pale hand snakes out, catching the edge of the window, and your breath catches. He says nothing, just keeps his hand on the metal windowsill, and you run your fingertips along the backs of his fingers.

That night, neither of you say anything as you hold hands, him sitting outside the window just out of sight. At some point you leave to get some tea for the both of you, and you sip it in silence, just enjoying having someone there with you.

You fall asleep like that, fingers intertwined with his, and in the morning you find yourself in bed, out of your uncomfortable clothes and face cleansed of makeup, his empty teacup sitting next to yours on your desk.

Slowly, you start spending more time with him. When you notice him following you home, you slow down your steps or even stop so that he can catch up to you, walking barely a meter behind you. When he’s not there, it makes you feel vulnerable and alone.

As summer turns to fall, it becomes too cold for him to sit outside your room all night, so you invite him in, throwing open the window and letting him climb in of his own accord when it gets too chilly outside at night.

He doesn’t talk much, but you do, sitting next to him on the ground, leaning against the wall under your window, telling him about your day, your thoughts on current affairs, opinions on what someone said in class, anything that comes into your mind, really.

You don’t even know his name or what he looks like, because he always wears a cap, hoodie, and mask. But it doesn’t stop you from cuddling up to him, so starved for companionship and affection. Is it messed up that your stalker is the one constant in your life, the one person you can be sure will put you first?

Probably, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Still, one night, during one of the periods of easy, intimate silence, you ask, “So what’s your name?”

No response, and you wonder if he’s going to leave now that you’ve gone and made things uncomfortable.

Then you see his head turn slightly to face you, and his catlike eyes gleam in the night as he whispers to you, “Sugar.”

You’re sure that’s not his real name, but whatever. If he wants to be called Sugar, you’ll call him that.

It’s another few months before you work up the nerve to ask him to show you his face. By that point, you’ve rationalised it to yourself in your mind hundreds, no, thousands of times.

It’s winter now, so cold you can’t leave the window open for him to come in of his own accord. Instead, you stuck a note to the inside of the window pane, telling him to knock when he wanted to come in and you would let him in.

It’s one of the coldest nights of the year when you do it. He knocks hastily and you run to open the window, shutting it against the ferocious winds outside the moment he’s in your bedroom. You’ve pressed yourself up against him, trying to warm him up by rubbing your hands up and down his arms, although it doesn’t really help since you’re just brushing the thick material of his coat.

He removes your hands from him, and even though you can only see his eyes, you’re sure he’s smiling indulgently at you as he shucks his coat, tossing it onto your desk carelessly so that he’s left in that omnipresent hoodie.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching for his mask, and he reaches up in a panic, grabbing them hard. You whimper in pain as it feels like he’s about to break the delicate bones in his grasp and he lets you go as if you’ve scalded him, horrified that he’s hurt you accidentally. He picks up your hands again more carefully, turning them over in his grasp to inspect them for damage.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, pulling your hands back and pulling the too-long sleeves of your sweatshirt over them protectively. “It’s just… you know so much about me now, shouldn’t I be allowed to at least see your face?”

Silence. Just like the time you’d asked his name. “Sugar, please,” you wheedle, and you can hear him sigh before he unhooks the mask from behind his ears and lets his hands drop, the mask still stretched out between them.

And… oh. Suga, not Sugar. His reluctance to speak, to show you his face, it makes sense now. The man standing before you now is a member of the famous boy band. You know who he is, although their music isn’t really your style.

That makes no sense, though. Your brow crinkles in confusion. “But you… why…?”

He shrugs. “Your soul… it sings to mine.”

That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to you.

That night… it’s the first time you kiss him, slowly and hesitantly, stepping closer to him as your hands, still warmly bundled up in your sweatshirt sleeves, cradle his precious, beautiful face. His face is so cold from being outside, but it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips to his soft, pretty ones.

He’s still at first, not reacting in any way for fear that he might scare you off, but when you pull back, eyes searching his for some sort of affirmation, he gives you a small smile, and your heart melts.

After that night, when he comes to your room he takes off the mask, and now that you know who he is he starts to open up to you too, telling you more about his life, his friends, his family, his dog.

All this time, you have no way to contact him, but it doesn’t really feel like a loss when most nights he comes to your home to spend time with you. That changes when he goes on tour again, and you realise that for three months, you won’t be able to see him, talk to him.

You spiral.

Not having him around… it reminds you of all the times your friends and family had made promises to you that they never kept. It drives you into a depressive state, sure that no one will ever care about you.

You become reclusive, staying in your room all day and night in the hopes that he will come, even though you know he’s not even in the country - you can read the news, after all, and their successful tours and interviews are all the entertainment pages talk about.

When he finally comes back - and you know because your social media feed is filled with pictures of the band walking through the airport in their cool outfits and masks - it’s spring, and as much as you want to leave the window open for him, you can’t. The pollen is driving you mad.

When he knocks on the window pane, though, you jump up, uncaring of the fact that you’re in your glasses and sweatpants and your nose is red from all the sniffling. He climbs into the room and you’re on him like a limpet, immediately nuzzling your face into his neck. “I missed you,” you whisper, and the words echo through the room.

His arms come up around you, and it’s the first time he initiates physical contact. It feels so good, warm and safe. “I’m sorry, I had to go,” he apologizes, stroking your hair, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

That night, he’s the one who makes the tea, bringing it to you with that shy gummy smile that makes your heart flutter, and you can’t help but press another sweet kiss to his lips when he holds the mug out to you.

The tea tastes a little funny, but you shrug it off, dismissing it as the leaves being a little stale after so long or Yoongi using some different herbs to try and spice up the tea. He watches you intently as you sip at it, catching the mug when it looks like you’re about to drop it. It’s a good thing he has fast reflexes, you think, because you’re so sleepy all of a sudden that it feels like your body is leaden as your head drops against his shoulder.

When you open your eyes, you’re in an unfamiliar room lying on an unfamiliar bed. You try to move, to sit up, but your hands are tied in front of you. Distressed, you try to turn your body around, to see where you are, but with your limbs tied, it’s difficult to maneuver.

When Yoongi moves into your field of vision, you settle down, sinking back into the soft mattress as tears leak from your eyes. “Yoongi-oppa,” you whisper at him, giving him pause - you’ve never called him anything other than Suga before, even though he knows that you’ve known who he is since the day he showed you his face.

He regains his wits, smiles down at you tenderly and brushes a lock of hair off your face where it had fallen while you were struggling. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he whispers to you. “I’m sorry about tying you up like this; I wasn’t sure if you would struggle.”

You twist so that you can look down at yourself, wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. “Where am I?” you ask, surprisingly calm. You know Yoongi would never hurt you. He loves you.

He kneels on the ground, resting his chin on the mattress so that his face is level with yours. “You’re in my room, sweetheart. I meant it when I said you would never miss me again.”

Relief floods your whole system when you hear that, and you can’t stop the tears leaking from your eyes.

“I love you,” you sob and his eyes widen. You tug on the restraints ineffectually. “Will you let me loose? I want to touch you.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and gets up, unwrapping the tape from your wrists and ankles. When he’s done, you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. “You didn’t need to do this, you know,” you murmur. “I would have come with you if you’d just asked.”

Looking around his bedroom, you note that it seems to be the same size as the entire studio apartment you have - had. This is your home now, you suppose. He snuggles up to you, distracting you as he pulls you into him, throwing a leg over yours. “I’m sorry, baby, I had to be sure,” he explains, nuzzling into your neck.

You would be content to stay there on the bed with him, but your stomach growls embarrassingly and you blush, remembering that you hadn’t had much of an appetite while he was gone and had only eaten half an apple yesterday.

He pulls back with a grin, getting up and tugging on your hand so you’ll follow him out the door. Charmed by this new side of him that you’ve never seen before, you trail behind him obediently as he leads you down the hallway to the living area of the most sumptuous apartment you’ve ever seen.

“Oh… hello,” you say to the men lounging on the sofa, awkward and shy as you peep at them from over Yoongi’s shoulder. Kim Namjoon, the leader of the group, and Kim Taehyung, your mind fills in.

They both turn to look at you. “Hello,” Taehyung responds, and Namjoon nods. “Is that her?” he asks Yoongi, and he hums in affirmation.

Namjoon looks at you appraisingly - or at least, what he can see of you, which is the top half of your head and your legs peeping through Yoongi’s as you clutch the back of his shirt shyly. You’re surprised that they seem to know of you - Jimin comes out of his room briefly to say hello, calling you by name, before disappearing back in - but maybe you shouldn’t be, given how close these men are.

“Y/n is hungry, is lunch ready yet?” Yoongi asks, and you balk. Lunch? You hazard a glance out the sliding glass doors and realize that the sun is high in the sky. How long had you been asleep? You dismiss the thought from your mind summarily. It hardly matters.

“Yah, so impatient! Show some respect to your hyung,” someone yells from the kitchen.

“The lady is hungry, hyung,” Yoongi yells back, his hand still holding onto yours as he drags you into the large kitchen. You marvel at the clean, well-stocked kitchen filled with expensive appliances and tools. The owner of the voice you heard earlier is standing in front of the stove facing away from you, but you can tell from the broad frame that it’s Jin.

“Oh, you should have said so, then!” Jin fusses with the stew he’s cooking, tasting for salt, before going over to the fridge. “I have some side dishes here, for the time being…” he pulls a bunch of multicoloured Tupperware containers out of the fridge, placing them on the island counter, before going back to the stove.

“Thank you,” you say in a meek voice, and Yoongi turns to kiss you before telling you where the utensils are and instructing you to set the table for eight as he opens the containers and starts plating the side dishes.

Biting your lip, you open the drawers he’d told you to and fish out chopsticks and spoons, counting out eight sets and bringing them out to the dining table. Jeongguk comes bounding out of his room and almost crashes into you, righting himself with his hands on your waist. “Oops,” he giggles. “Let me help you with that, noona,” he says, reaching around your body to grab at the utensils you’re holding in your hands.

Yoongi, coming out of the kitchen now with his hands full of the side dishes, clears his throat loudly and glares at the younger boy, who shrinks away guiltily.

“How dare you try and touch her, you punk?!” Yoongi snaps and Jeongguk whimpers, his head down.

Yoongi puts the side dishes down on the dining table and looks like he’s going to hit Jeongguk, so you quickly intervene, stepping in front of him and wrapping your arms around Yoongi’s waist. “Oppa, don’t,” you beg softly. “He’s young, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

You feel the tension leave his body slowly as he relaxes into your hold, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “You’re right,” he agrees tenderly. “I knew you would be just right for us, the perfect fit…” he cooes, nuzzling the side of your head.

You pull back slightly, although your arms remain looped loosely around his waist. “Us?” you question, slightly confused.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, love, we’ll explain it all to you soon…”

You wonder if you should be more concerned, but dismiss it - Yoongi has never done anything to harm you, and he’s always been so sweet and kind, he definitely just has your best interests at heart.

Accepting his answer, you turn back to the dining table to find that Jeongguk has set the cutlery already, and Jin is hurrying out with the pot of stew as Taehyung, Jimin and Hoseok follow behind him, carrying bowls of rice.

Soon enough, all of you are eating Jin’s delicious food, yourself sitting between Yoongi and Namjoon. All of them take turns trying to pile food onto your bowl of rice, and you accept gratefully, not wanting to deny their hospitality when they’ve already been so kind as to accept you in their midst.

“This is really good,” you praise Jin, taking a sip of the soup. He smiles at you like you’ve hung the stars, the ecstatic expression on his angelic face making your heart squeeze. Yoongi squeezes your thigh gently, and you’re not sure whether it was a warning or approval.

When lunch is over, you automatically get up to wash the dishes, years of living alone conditioning you to clean up after yourself. But Yoongi pulls you back down, taking the dishes from your hands gently and passing them along to Jeongguk, who’s already gathering up all the dishes to take them to the sink.

“No, I can help -” you begin to protest, but the boys are already shaking their heads.

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself, princess,” Namjoon explains.

“Let us take care of you, love,” Hoseok adds with a wink.

“Besides, the maknaes are quite happy doing the dishes,” Jin says, turning to look at the three of them clustered around the sink.

You feel like you should protest more - you’re the same age as Jimin and Taehyung, after all, and if they have to do the dishes, you should too - but Yoongi has taken your wrist and is pulling you towards the couch, where he sprawls out and tugs you down onto him.

With your head on his lap and his hand stroking your hair, getting his fingers tangled in the soft strands, you almost fall asleep by the time the three youngest boys return, and Yoongi urges you to sit up, pulling you flush to his side.

Jeongguk sits on the floor with his back resting against the sofa, his chin on your knee as he looks up at you, and your fingers itch to stroke his soft hair, but you don’t know how Yoongi will respond.

Jin sits on your other side, his broad shoulder bumping against yours, and the rest of the boys find their usual spots. Namjoon is sitting in a recliner, and when he starts talking all eyes go to him, yours included.

“How much has Yoongi told you?” he asks, and you shrug. Not much, your body language conveys.

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“Where to start…” he thinks out loud, looking at you intently the entire time, and you fidget and squirm from the weight of his gaze on you. He really is unfairly beautiful, you think as you watch him, they all are.

Taehyung, of course, gets impatient first, while Namjoon is still sorting out his thoughts, and blurts out, “You’re ours now!” excitedly.

You hesitate, and Yoongi reaches over to smack the younger boy on the back of his head. “Nice going,” he grumps, and his hand tightens on yours, as if he’s afraid you might try to make a break for it.

You won’t, and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’m yours?” you repeat, asking for clarification.

Namjoon’s lips press together tightly as he glares at Taehyung. “Not exactly the words that I would use, but… yes.”

“What does that mean?” you wonder.

Hoseok, perched on the armrest of the couch next to Yoongi, pipes up. “You’re our girlfriend, pet, property… whatever you want to call it is fine, really,” he says with that winning smile, and Jeongguk tightens his hold around your calf and smiles up at you.

“But… but I…” you don’t even know what you want to say, feeling a little faint. What are they saying?

Yoongi, the only person you’re familiar with, finally speaks, and your eyes fly to him, begging him to say something that makes sense. “You wanted someone to put you first, just once, remember?” he reminds you, and you nod, remembering that conversation.

“All of us are willing to, love, as long as you promise to put us first too,” he finishes.

You look around at the seven men, staring back at you so tenderly, and you feel a sob catch in your throat. He’s right - this is all you’ve ever wanted, to belong somewhere, to feel like you’re a priority in someone’s life, and now you have seven men willing to make you a priority in theirs. You can’t believe how lucky you are that Yoongi chose you.

“Okay,” you agree immediately, curling your fingers in Jeongguk’s hair the way you wanted to from the beginning and smiling back at him when he gives you that adorable wide-eyed grin. You snuggle deeper into Yoongi’s side, content.

After that, you become a fixture at the apartment they share, floating from room to room and spending time with them. They’re always so happy to talk to you or snuggle in bed or let you sit in their laps, and you soak up all the attention. It’s been so long since you received any male attention, longer still since you felt like the center of someone’s world like they so effortlessly make you feel.

There’s never a reason for you to leave the apartment; whatever you say you want or need, someone goes to get it for you, or they’ll have someone deliver it. They pamper and spoil you, and all they want in return is for you to show them that you love them too.

And you’re happy to, in whichever way they prefer. If Namjoon wants you to swallow his cock while he’s interacting with his fans on vlive, you do it. If Jimin and Taehyung want to tag-team you, you let them. When Jeongguk, your sweet baby, wants cuddles or kisses, you give them to him. If Jin wants to feed you food or cum, you open your mouth for him. When Hoseok comes back from dance practice sweaty and sticky and want you to lick him clean… well.

But Yoongi - he’s the most demanding. He always wants your attention, expects you to respond to his texts almost immediately unless you’re asleep, freaks out if you mention any man’s name that isn’t his or his bandmates’, watches you like a hawk whenever he’s in the apartment.

And you love it. Every moment of it. The way he gets so worked up at the thought of another man having your attention or demands that you open your eyes for him so you know exactly whose cock is being crammed down your throat - it sends shivers down your spine.

You get familiar with the insides of hotel rooms all over the world, the boys bringing you with them on tour even if they won’t allow you to explore without them, leaving you cooped up in the rooms when they’re out working.

You don’t really mind - you’ve always been a bit of a homebody, and they always allow you carte blanche with room service. Plus, netflix and tumblr.

When they come back at night, still made up with glitter stuck to their bodies, you just laugh at them as they crowd close to you with kisses and hugs, ignoring your protests that they’re getting you all dirty, hand feeding you bits of whatever local delicacy they’d picked up that day and telling you about what they’d done, how much they missed you.

You feel so loved, all the time. Their attention, to people who don’t understand your relationship, might border on obsessive, like the time you’d broached the idea of going to see some of your friends and Namjoon had calmly talked to you about that decision until you came to the same conclusion as he did, that your friends were only interested in you because all the real friends they cared about were busy that night. “Why do you think they asked you on such short notice, love? Do you really want to spend time with people who don’t care about you, when we’re here at home? We love you, sweetheart.”

Put like that, you couldn’t really argue with his logic, and you’d stayed in, getting pampered by them all night. It really was better than going out with your friends to some club, you thought.

You can’t even remember the last time you’d left the apartment without them - come to think of it, you’ve probably never done so. At least one of them always makes sure to accompany you, just to keep you safe and keep you company so you wouldn’t get lonely, they explained. There are so many creeps out there, you never know…

Do you?

No. You dismiss the thought as soon as it crops up, feeling the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest behind you as you play with Taehyung’s soft hair, his face pressed against your chest. Your boys had saved you. From the cruelty of the outside world, and from yourself. They love you more than you’d known it was possible to be loved.

Yoongi presses his hips closer to you, and you have to bite back the pained whimpers as he comes into contact with the reddened, inflamed skin from when Jin had whipped you with his belt earlier because you hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying, so lost in watching him cook while sitting on the island counter. It was for your own good, he’d told you so regretfully as he made you bend over and pull down your panties. He loved you so much, he wanted you to be a polite girl who paid attention to her boys when they spoke to her.

They love you so much, and you love them.

#fucked up #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #yoongi x reader #yandere bts #bts yandere #yoongi #bts yandere au #bts idol au #min yoongi #kim taehyung #jjk #namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin

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phykios · 3 years

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people on ao3 were thirsty for this fic so... here you go, tumblr ❤

put on the red light M, sex work au, modern royalty au, no powers au [read on ao3]

🌊🌊🌊

Sometimes, she really regrets being best friends with Piper.

Said best friend still gapes at her from across the table, jaw practically on the floor. “Never?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “Never.”

“Not even, like, at school?”

“When I would have had the time?” she asks. “I was attempting a five-year program in four years, and then… well, you know.” And she does know, all about the very exciting drama that went down in Annabeth’s senior year.

Piper is still flabbergasted. “Not even high school?”

Annabeth takes a sip of her drink. “I wasn’t exactly a hot commodity in high school.” She’d been passively pretty all her life, but she hadn’t exactly been what some might call Girlfriend material, capital G. She’d stuck to her fifteen year plan to the letter, eschewing most social contact, working herself into the ground to overcome ADHD by sheer force of will and get into Harvard, a plan which allowed approximately zero time for a boyfriend. Not that there were even boys that she had really liked at the time.

The only boy she had ever considered liking in that way, well. She had lost contact with him a while ago.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it or not, Ripley, it’s true. I’ve never had sex. You happy?”

“I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, are you ace?” Piper asks. “Because that’s totally cool, of course.”

She shakes her head. “Definitely not ace.” She has a minor collection of personal massagers and insertable devices should she ever need to take care of an urge, and plenty of fantasies she can call on whenever the need arises--a system which has worked just fine for years.

“I just…” Piper stares, unconvincingly. “How?”

Shrugging, she takes another sip of coffee. “Just never got around to it, I guess.”

It’s not something she’s proud of, but by the same token, it’s not something that brings her shame, either. It is what it is; Annabeth, a notable workaholic, has never had sex with another person in her life. In some ways, it sucks, sure, but in other ways, it’s been a blessing in disguise. After all, no previous partners means that there’s no one to spread any dirt on the newly minted Princess Anja Elisabet of Sweden.

But Piper isn’t having it.

“Do you… want to have sex?” she asks. “Like, ever?”

As the daughter of one of the biggest movie stars in the world, she knows that Piper has had her fair share of high profile relationships, something that earned her a little bit of a nasty (and, quite frankly, racist) reputation among the paparazzi, which is ridiculous, since Piper is one of the most effortlessly gracious and classy people Annabeth knows. Piper does not go slinging herself and her partners around in the media like some of her contemporaries; instead, she likes to keep her personal details a bit closer to the chest, sharing them only with trusted confidants, like Annabeth, who knows full well how much Piper enjoys the act of sex. Sex for Piper isn’t dirty or taboo, it’s fun and it’s being close with other people, it’s liberating and exciting and intimate, and she extols its virtues whenever asked to give her opinion.

She makes sex sound really good, but never in a way that makes Annabeth feel ashamed for never having done it. Until now, of course. “Well… yeah,” says Annabeth. “I’d like to. I mean, I think it’d be kind of nice, you know, to do it at least once.”

“But then you’d have to start dating,” Piper surmises.

“Yeah,” says Annabeth, glumly.

Dating is a notorious problem for people in her line of work. Royalty, not architects, that is. Dating for architects is easy; just find someone who doesn’t mind the type A personalities and the obsession with work. Dating for royals is… significantly harder, and not really something she wants to engage with right now. She’s only been a royal for a few years, after all—she still feels like it’s a big cosmic joke, that someone is going to unearth some old documents or reveal a couple of forgeries that will bring the whole thing crashing down, and she doesn’t want to bring an outsider into all that drama, let alone deal with it herself.

Piper takes a sip of her drink, thoughtful, then lays out her next question carefully. “Have you ever considered a one-night stand?”

Annabeth stares. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not! People do it.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “people. Not me.”

“It’s really not hard,” Piper says, “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“What, you want me to make a tinder?”

She laughs. “God, wouldn’t that be a riot. But no, I mean, there have to be other single royals or celebs around. Why not one of them?”

“Because they’re all insufferable social-climbing jackasses that make me want to rip my skull out of my face every time I’m forced to listen to them at a state dinner.”

“Okay, then.” Never one to be deterred, Piper pulls out her phone, then waits until Annabeth has taken a sip of her drink, presumably to keep her from immediately disagreeing, before dropping the bomb to end all bombs. “Let’s get you an escort.”

Annabeth snorts iced coffee directly out of her nose.

“Shit! Sorry!” Piper shoves a handful of napkins at her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need water?”

Wheezing, Annabeth shakes her head. “Give me a sec,” she coughs, fingers covering her mouth.

Thank God she’s got her trusty, anti-pap hat on. If anyone took a picture of her like this, her uncle would probably disown her.

“What the hell, Piper?” she rasps when she can finally breathe again.

“I’m so sorry, I should have timed that better.”

“No, I mean—” she coughs again. “The other thing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “The escort?”

“Keep your voice down!” On instinct, she glances around the London cafe, looking for any stray microphones. Satisfied that no one is listening for the moment, she turns back to her insane best friend. “Yes, the… that thing.”

“It’s not that crazy,” says Piper, turning back to her phone. “We’ll find you a really nice one, someone super high class and discreet, draw up an NDA, and then you can cross it off your bucket list. Man or woman?”

“Man, but—" she sputters. “I—I can’t see a prostitute! Can you imagine the scandal if it got out?”

Forget the iced coffee thing. The princess of Sweden, caught with a hooker… Annabeth is nauseous just thinking about the media circus.

“Not a prostitute,” Piper corrects. “An escort.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Same umbrella, but no.” She types away, faster than Annabeth can keep track of. “Pimping is illegal here, but escorts usually have managers.”

“Be that as it may,” because Piper seems to have forgotten the key part of this conversation, “I can’t have sex with an escort.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” The million and a half legitimate reasons not to go through with it all fly through her mind, getting lost somewhere on the way to her mouth. “Because!”

Piper just smiles at her. “I’ll get you a really nice one, promise. Think of it as a late birthday present.”

“It’s September.”

“Early Christmas, then.” And she grins, full of teeth. “Just trust me, okay? Let me take care of it.”

Famous last words, she thinks, popping a bit of scone in her mouth.

***

7PM, the Dorchester Hotel. Dinner first, then… whatever, later.

Annabeth can’t help but arrive early. She’d never been a punctual person before, but apparently now it’s been beaten into her with all the rest of her princess training.

Five-star hotels are still something of a novelty for her, even though she’s stayed in quite a few by now. Thankfully she’s never stayed here before; she’d be too worried someone on staff would recognize her.

She had thought that she’d show up early, psych herself up a little, get emotionally prepared, or at least have a little time to calm her racing heart before her… date… showed up.

Unfortunately, as punctual as she is, apparently, he’s beaten her to the punch.

He’s exactly where he said he’d be, wearing exactly what he said he’d be wearing; black suit, blue tie, gold watch. Her heart is beating so loudly, she’s sure he can hear it from across the room. “Um, excuse me,” she asks, a little more timid than she’d like, sidling up to the man. “Paris?”

At his name--well, she assumes it’s his name, but it’s probably a pseudonym now that she thinks about it--he lifts his head up, his lips already quirking up in a smile that she can only describe as troublemaking. “Bethany?”

Right. She used a pseudonym as well. A second pseudonym—one other than Anja. “Yeah,” she smiles in return, her shakiness easing.

“Hey!” He stands up from his seat in the lounge, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You too.” She realizes with a pang; he is so tall. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, startlingly green eyes and thick, curly black hair. And… “You’re American?”

“I am,” he says, unashamed. “The accent gave me away, huh? Hope you weren’t looking for something else.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she assures him. “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s fine!"

He grins, crookedly, and she feels her heart skip a beat. “I’ll take it. Shall we head to dinner, then?”

***

Dinner was amazing, of course. The food, the atmosphere, and the company, she fully admits—all exceptional. Paris is an amazing conversationalist, she discovers, smart and funny and attentive, even gently teasing her a little. “You’re American, too, you know,” he’d said, sipping on his glass of wine, “so you can’t give me any grief over my lack of an accent.”

“I don’t live here,” she’d retorted, pointing her fork at him, “unlike some people I could mention.”

“Where do you live?”

“Ah, well—” Covering up her hesitation by taking a bite of chicken, she’d thought quickly. “Grew up in the States, but recently I moved to, um, Sweden, to be closer to my family.”

He’d nodded. “Expat, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He’d listened to her, really listened, chimed in at appropriate moments, made surprisingly insightful comments about her job and her life, and, well, he’s kind of perfect. If he weren’t an escort, he’d make an amazing boyfriend. She tells him as much, in the elevator on the way up to his room.

“Aw, thank you!” He smiles at her, a single dimple popping out under his strong cheekbones. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Why do you do this, anyway?” she asks. “I mean,” oh God, that question is some kind of faux pas isn’t it, Christ what the hell happened to all her etiquette training, “you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s okay,” he says as the elevator door opens. They’re up on a high floor, where the higher high rollers like to stay, and she follows him as he walks confidently down the hallway. “It’s not an offensive question.”

Still, she feels pretty shitty for asking. “I’m sure you get asked that all the time.”

“Most clients honestly aren’t all that interested,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder. “They need something, I can provide it. It can be a little transactional at times, but I’ve met a lot of really cool people, so it all balances out in the end.” Arriving at their door, Paris swipes his keycard, holding it open for her like some kind of butler. “After you.”

The room is enormous, even for a five-star hotel. It is a full-on suite, with a seating area and separate bedroom, a large wooden desk off to one wall, a gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling window that looks onto Hyde Park, full of lights dotted about like mini constellations. “Wow,” she breathes, “look at that view.”

“I never get tired of it,” Paris says, coming up behind her. “No matter how many times I come here.”

“You come here a lot?” she asks. She almost follows it up with a question on how he can afford it, but she ruthlessly quashes that down.

“My clients like it,” is all he says.

“I’m not surprised, all that 1930s deco in the lobby. The façade is a little plain, though, in my opinion.”

“Oh yeah? How would you do it better, Miss Architect?” She gets the sense that he’s teasing her. It feels oddly intimate for the situation—he’s not a friend, or a boyfriend, or even a date. He’s an escort. Providing a service, as he put it. He shouldn’t be so friendly with her.

And yet. “Well, I love Neoclassical, but honestly, I’m not super into hotels.”

“What are you into, then?” Casually, he undoes his tie, sliding it off his neck. She swallows.

“Um.” Focus, girl. “Office buildings, monuments. I dunno. I just want to… I just want to build something good, you know? Something permanent. Proof that I was here, you know?”

“Something permanent, huh?” He speaks softly, a respectable distance away, but she’s drawn in anyway, by his open shirt collar and his easy demeanor and his stupid sea green eyes that remind her so much of— “That sounds really nice.”

Then he steps up to her. His hand, warm and big, draws up her arm, fingers tracing lightly over her skin, and she shivers. He cups her neck, fingering the hair at the base of her scalp, and leans in, his lips parted. He smells like salt, like the perfume of the wine they shared, like the sea on a sunny morning.

“Wait,” she murmurs against his lips.

Immediately, he pulls back. “Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just—” She swallows, her heart racing. “I just need a minute.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, and she has to stop herself from pulling him in further. “Do you need anything? Water, champagne? They always stock the minifridge.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve never… done this before.”

“What, hire an escort?” He grins, rakish. “I can tell.”

“Not that—I mean, yes, that too, but I mean—I’ve never—” She huffs, annoyed she has to have this conversation twice in one week. “I’ve never had sex before, okay?”

That shocks him a little. His eyes widen, taken aback. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Chuckling weakly, she rubs a hand on her arm, looking out the window. “So… yeah.”

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” says Paris, “but, there are easier ways to get laid than by using a professional. I mean, I’m grateful for the business and all, but, well, look at you.” He looks her up and down, somehow simultaneously respectful and entirely indecent. “I don’t think you’d have a problem getting a date.”

“It’s… complicated.” Understatement of the fucking millennium. “My friend thought this would be the easiest way to… go about it.”

Paris laughs. “You don’t agree.”

“I don’t… not agree,” she says. “I’m just. A little nervous.”

He nods. “I’d bet.” Chewing his lip, he looks towards the bedroom suite, and Annabeth tries not to think about how those teeth would feel on her mouth instead. “How about this; why don’t you take a shower? It might help calm you down a bit.”

“Won’t you be lonely?” she quips, a moment of reckless bravery.

“I have a few calls I can make,” says Paris, eyes dancing. “Go on. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

She has to hand it to the five-star hotels; the shower is always outstanding. Amazing pressure, amazing heat, it definitely rivals the plumbing in some of the castles she’s stayed at. And the robes, always so soft and warm, though a little on the small side. This one just barely covers her ass, which she figures isn’t a huge problem for tonight, but still.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she can hear Paris talking. “Uh huh,” he says. “Yeah. No, it’s going great. Professor Kleio said she’d write me a recommendation. She was really impressed with the last build. Yeah.” She runs her fingers through her wet hair, pushing it back from her face. “No, the conference is next month. Probably. Pretty sure I can get Tyson to help, but I don’t think it’ll get that far before the end of the week. Uh huh.”

Paris had taken off his suit jacket at some point; she can see it hung up in the closet on a hanger, perfectly pressed. He’s still in his shirt, but he’s unbuttoned it, the sleeves rolled up around his forearms. It is effortlessly attractive, even from the back. She coughs lightly, unwilling to startle him, and he turns, giving her another up-and-down, this one decidedly less respectful than the first.

“Hey, I gotta go, I’ll call you tomorrow. Say hi to Estelle for me. Love you.” And he hangs up.

“Your girlfriend?” she asks.

He smiles, all soft. “My mom.”

Something in her melts at his tone. “Aw,” she coos. “Is she back in America?”

“Yeah. I don’t get to see her all that often, so I try to call her every day.”

It is so unfathomably sweet, sweet and… humanizing, as weird as that sounds. He’s not just an unbelievably handsome man with a jaw cut like a diamond and a five-star rating, according to Piper, he’s a person with a whole other life that she knows nothing about. It’s liberating, in its own way. She can make mistakes with him, and he’ll understand. He won’t judge her, not against his other clients, or even his other partners.

Swallowing, she slides the robe off her shoulders, slowly, achingly. Maybe he turned the heat up while she wasn’t looking, because all of a sudden, she feels hot all over, from her cheeks to her chest and down, and down. Maybe it’s all coming from him, from the heat of his gaze on her, his pink tongue coming out to wet his lips. She wants it, wants them, wants him, on her and in her and all over her.

But he stays on his side of the room, waiting for her to take the plunge.

She steps up to him, close but not touching, breathing in the heady, strong scent of him, raking her eyes up his body for a change. Even through his shirt, she can tell he’s fit, the exposed skin of his arms tanned a deep brown, thick, coarse, dark hair running up to his wrists. On his right arm, there is a black trident long and straight, crossed by an old, white scar. “What happened here?” she asks, lifting her hand to trace it, leaving visible goosebumps in its wake.

“Sailing accident,” he whispers. “Long time ago.”

There’d been a kid at her summer camp for troubled teens who’d gotten thrown off his boat and hurt like that, once. She remembered so vividly, because she’d been on infirmary duty that day, and all she could think about while wrapping up his arm was how fucking stupid he'd been, how he could have gotten himself really hurt, how badly she’d wanted to kiss him.

She'd moved across the country before she'd gotten the chance, though, and no one else had ever made her feel like that since. Until now. “Got any other ink to show me?”

But instead of answering, he leans down, and he kisses her.

She’s been kissed before. She’s never had sex, but she’s done some kissing in her life. It’s usually pretty awkward, in her experience, too much of one thing and never enough of another.

Nope, not Paris. Of course, he’s also a phenomenal kisser. Why she expected anything else, she’s not sure.

His hands come up to circle her neck again, his thumbs running against her cheekbones. He kisses her, pouring passion and intent into her, his mouth soft and sweet against hers. And then he slips her some tongue, and it’s a whole different ballgame.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispers into his mouth.

He does, effortlessly, without detaching himself from her. It’s a smooth, easy motion, and she is delighted to discover that he is as firm as she suspected he was, the muscles jumping under her touch.

Almost without her realizing it, he backs her up towards the bed, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. He lays her out against the sheets, his bare chest hot against hers. “Before we go any further,” he says, and she can feel the vibrations of his voice all throughout her body, “tell me—have you ever made yourself come?”

She flushes at his words, the dirty talk which should sound stupid but instead comes out all sultry and sexy. “Yes,” she says, breath hitching as he nips at her neck. “Yes, I have.”

“Good.” He smiles into the skin of her collarbone, traveling down, and down, and down. “I want you to show me how.”

“Isn’t that,” she pants, “your job?”

“Hmm, you’re right.” He pushes her thighs apart with his shoulders, bright eyes staring up at her as he licks his lips. “Let me get to work, then.”

Breathing heavily, she curls her fingers into the ten thousand count sheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling pattern. She can’t look at the dark head between her legs, can only breathe in through her nose as he kisses up the skin of her thigh, higher and higher and higher until…

Jesus fucking lord almighty.

***

“I found the perfect guy for you.”

“Piper, come on.” Theses brunch dates of theirs were starting to get a little repetitive. “I let you set me up with a professional, but I draw the line at a blind date.”

“Have I steered you wrong yet, your highness?” Piper asks, knowing grin firmly on her face.

Annabeth blushes. So what if that night with Paris was the most incredible experience she’d ever had? Doesn’t mean she’s ready for a full-on relationship, yet. “No,” she says, rubbing her temples.

“Great!” Then she does something that Annabeth doesn’t expect—she starts packing up. “So he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, so bright it borders on painful, her nose scrunching up. “I invited him to brunch. But he’s really, really nice, I promise.”

“Does he know about—”

“No, he doesn’t, but if you wanted to spill, he’s a fantastic secret keeper.”

“How do you even know—”

Piper glances over Annabeth’s shoulder, eyes lighting up, waving a hand. “Friend of a friend of Jason, he’s a grad student at Cambridge, he’s doing his dissertation on naval history, so you know the king will love him.”

“Piper!” Annabeth half-calls, half-hisses at her friend as she stands up “Piper, you can’t just—”

“Hey,” says a voice behind her. A very familiar voice. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was joining us.” She turns around. Slowly. “Nice to meet you, I’m… Percy…” he trails off, sea green eyes widening behind a pair of thick, black glasses, beneath dark, curly hair. On his arm, a black trident stood out against his skin, straight and proud.

“Percy, meet Annabeth,” Piper says. “Annabeth, meet Percy. Okay, have fun you two!”

And she waltzes out of there, completely unaware of the absolute shitstorm she left in her wake.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #percy jackson #annabeth chase

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