#had a bad art day so take this low effort scribble

[belovedbow]

[verysium]

how bllk boys would react when u draw them, could either be rlly good or rlly SHIT u choose idk (plz include barou and the itoshi bros) 😊😊😊 i love you and ur works, and the way u write the boys and ur content makes me laugh fr, one of my fave bllk authors mwjahaja 😓 have a great day, ily:3 and the icks post made me smile like all of ur posts do!

thank you so much anon ♡ this ask had me contemplating very seriously, so apologies if it's a bit late:

sae is definitely awestruck in some way, even if he doesn't immediately show it. i think i talked about this in a previous headcanon, but he has a deep-seated admiration for artists who can grasp abstract concepts because he himself cannot. he would be somewhat flattered if you drew him since he's never considered his own appearance to be particularly inspiring. would be appalled if you considered him your muse. like....why? to him, his looks aren't anything of importance (clearly he is blind.) would probably say your drawing was inaccurate but then hang it up by his nightstand so he can look at it every night before he goes to sleep. if you're a full-time artist, he probably keeps a little stash of your gifts in a small box beneath his bed. sometimes if he's having a bad day or he lost a game, he goes back and flips through them just to make himself feel better. secretly loves the way you draw his bangs and the little swoop you do in your signature.

kaiser corrects every single detail in your drawing. stands behind you and gives you little pointers here and there. he should have an 8-pack, not a 6-pack. his jawline isn't sharp enough in your initial sketch. poses shirtless in front of you so that way you can encapsulate the full extent of his sexiness. shows off your drawing to every living creature in existence. "isn't he handsome?" like...🙄 yeah, michael we know. he's probably the hardest to draw because of his tattoo, so i think he genuinely appreciates it when you put in the effort to capture his intricacies. will never admit this but he's low-key proud of you and your talent (mostly just your ability to make him look good.)

rin is one of those people who doesn't understand hyperrealism. like why does he need a highly detailed sketch of his face when he can just take a photo and print it out? i don't think he understands art in general. probably despises modern art too. he'd take one look at a rothko painting and be like....i could draw this too...in my sleep. similar to sae, i feel like he's just numb to the sentimentality of gift-giving. doesn't understand why you would waste your time drawing a little picture of him, but it does make his heart feel strangely fuzzier, so maybe he'll keep it this one time. lo and behold, months later he now has a collection of your drawings he doesn't have the heart to throw away. refuses to let isagi or anyone see them because they're meant for his eyes only.

yukimiya has impeccable taste. in fact, he's probably an artist himself. i think it'd be cute if you both drew little sketches of each other throughout the course of your relationship. but neither of you ever knew until you gifted him your sketchbook for christmas, and he was like....guess what...i drew you too. thinks you're pretty even when you don't think so. sometimes when you're having a coffee shop date, he scribbles a portrait of you on his napkin because the sunlight hit your cheek just right in that moment, and the birds were chirping, and he fell in love all over again. i think it's also tragic that he's slowly losing his eyesight, so he won't be able to enjoy your drawings and the vibrant colors you infuse into them. that's why he treasures them even more. probably thumbs over the pages from time to time. memorizes every stroke and line.

isagi likes the way you always draw that little tuft of hair that sticks up on the top of his head. it looks like a cute little bean sprout. he pins your drawings up above his bed next to a polaroid of you two in germany. buys you a professional art set for your birthday. if you're a digital artist, he buys you a new tablet and stylus.

bachira adds his own doodles next to yours except he makes a chibi version of everything. always pesters you to include his little fangs. uses the boldest combination of colors. he would definitely be a messy artist. paint everywhere. fingernails perpetually stained a different color. you both draw during class, so when you two trade notebooks to actually study......there aren't any actual notes.

barou acts like he doesn't know what to do with your drawing of him but then the next day you visit his house, and he's already put your artwork in a fancy picture frame. refuses to let anyone else even stand within a ten meter radius next to it because he doesn't want their "nasty fingerprints" all over your beautiful masterpiece.

[soysaucecas]

i’ll lend you this, i’ll lend you that (ao3)

1k, t4t samjess’s first meeting at stanford the rhonda bit is inspired veryyy heavily by this fanart by @skepticalfrog written for @spnprideweek day 1: coming out

cw for some unintentional misgendering

-

Sam brings a journal to Stanford to record the names and faces of everyone she meets. This is going to be her home for the next four years—no packing bags in the middle of the night or saying hasty goodbyes to half-baked friendships she’ll never find again. The people she meets are here to stay. She’s here to stay.

California’s hot in August (though not as hot as some of the places Sam’s been), so Sam ties their hair up. They’re not sure how out they plan to be here yet; honestly, they’ve been going back and forth about it every night for weeks, but some guys have ponytails, so it shouldn’t be too risky. Sam takes another quick look at the students in their first day orientation group. Some of the students look super preppy, but there’s plenty in extremely casual wear, plus some scene kids. She sees a few people with outrageously-dyed hair, and one guy who seems to be wearing lipstick. No one is bothering him, nor is anyone shooting her looks yet, and it’s still hot even with their hair up. Can she…?

With a slight rush of adrenaline, Sam takes the bottom of their shirt and ties it off at their waist. Rhonda Hurley had shown them how to make any shirt into a makeshift crop top years ago, and Sam’s muscle memory follows her simple instructions well, even if their hands are shaking a little. It’d been one of the many bits of wisdom Rhonda had imparted on Sam during the one year she was in Sam and Dean’s lives, bits of wisdom she’d always dropped with a small smile that seemed to say, “just for us girls, huh?” Sam doesn’t feel entirely like a girl most of the time, but the word always felt right coming from Rhonda, who was always okay with Sam crashing her and Dean’s dates and regularly called Sam her trans sister-in-arms.

Alyssa, the orientation leader and tour guide, lets them take a ten-minute break for water, bathrooms, and socializing. Sam gets the names, faces, and cell numbers of Sarayu and Brady, though her sketches end up being far less detailed than she’d like. Looking down at her first filled page, she finds that it reminds her a little of John’s hunting journal. The thought makes them shudder. No more hunting, no more monsters. Sam’s not going to kill anyone in this book. As soon as they can borrow someone’s stationery, they’re going to draw colorful borders around each entry, borders so floral they’d make the old man gag.

“Five minutes left!” Alyssa says cheerily. “Just to give you a little taste of what’s to come, we’ll be going to Meyer after this.” She delivers the next line like a joke, but no one really laughs—“Don’t tell anyone this, but it’s actually my least favorite library.”

“She’s perky, isn’t she?” someone next to Sam whispers. Sam turns, confused, and their neighbor inclines a head towards Alyssa. Sam stifles a startled giggle. The speaker appears to be a blonde girl, pretty, and wearing a clearly well-loved friendship bracelet. She gestures at Sam’s notebook, which is still open. “Art major?”

Sam, flattered, shakes their head. “No, pre-law. This is just sort of… a phonebook. I have people’s names and numbers and what they look like in case I forget who they are.”

“Hm. Very cool,” Pretty Girl says. “Can I be next?”

“Sure,” Sam says. “What’s your name?” She tells her, and Sam asks, “Is that with an I-E at the end or just a Y?”

Jessie or Jessy chews on her lip, as if considering something. Her gaze returns to Sam’s midriff (Sam resists the urge to cover up), and seems to come to a decision. “Just… just with an E. J-E-S-S-E. Jess for short.”

Sam tries not to react, but they clearly do a bad job of it, because Jesse steps back a little. “Is that a problem?” he(?) asks.

Sam shakes her head rapidly and starts scribbling the name down like her speed might indicate her acceptance. “No, no, definitely not. I think… I think that’s really cool, actually. Did you”—there are definitely better ways to ask this, but oh well—“did you pick it yourself?”

Jesse relaxes immediately. “It was a collaborative effort.”

“Got it. Phone number?”

Jesse rattles off a cell, then asks, “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Sam.”

“Short for Samuel?”

Sam considers agreeing; after all, that is what it says on their birth certificate, but they stop at the last moment. “Short for—short for Samantha, actually.” The flash of recognition in Jesse’s eyes is both thrilling and terrifying. Sam quickly adds, “But maybe don’t go spreading that around.”

Jesse makes a lips-sealed gesture, eyes dead serious. Sam laughs gratefully.

“So,” Sam says, as quietly as she can, “do you—do you go by ‘he,’ or by ‘she,’ or—”

Jesse unzips his(?) mouth before replying, “Any of the above? Though… kind of like you said, you should probably stick to ‘she’ when there’s unfamiliar people around.”

“Deal.” Sam sticks out her hand, and the two of them shake on it. Jesse holds on a little longer than necessary, a small smile playing at his lips.

“It’s good to meet you, Sam. Really, what are the chances?”

Sam considers the question. “Pretty low. I didn’t know if I would find any tr—well, any people like me at Stanford.”

Jess nods. “I wasn’t that hopeless, but I definitely didn’t think it would happen day one. It is college, though. And California.”

Sam’s not certain what the significance of either of those things are, but before she can ask, Alyssa is calling the group back together. The rest of the students get back in formation behind her. Sam looks down at the second page of her notebook, which just has “Jesse” and a phone number written on it—no portrait yet. Damn. Though, Sam thinks, looking up at Jess walking ahead of them, maybe that’s a face she won’t need help remembering.

[soldrawss]

Ok, this morning I opened Tumblr, found your blog, started checking all your rottmnt tagged posts, found your big brother Mikey AU, CRIED FOR ALMOST AN HOUR as I red every post about it, drooled all over your gorgeous art, smiled like a crazy person reading all your Human AU posts, got up with the sun in my chest and more energy than I know what to do with and have been productive since then. I don’t know what to ask (or if you take asks) but I crave more infos about your big brother Mikey AU❤️

WOAH OK this was such an incredibly sweet ask and I’m SO HAPPY that my BBM au could bring you so much joy and ahhhh!!! Just thank you so much, this ask made my night <3 Here’s one of the many little stories I’ve written for the AU that I’ve sent to my friend @zacharandom (thanks for always reading my little emotional blurbs about these kiddos Zach~) Enjoy!

(I haven’t gotten into it yet (I will, it’s a separate ask I’m working on) But Leatherhead is a BIG part of the BBM au. Zach had asked if any of the kiddos had ever been to LH’s place, since LH always stays over at the Hamato’s, and I said yes, but only Donnie, and then this mini fic was born.)    Donnie and Mikey get into a 'fight'. And I say 'fight' because Donnie doesn't really know what else to call it. Because he doesn't pick fights, not really, not with Mikey. He doesn't go looking for them with Mikey like he does with Leo. Leo, who can take the worst of Donnie’s shitty teenage attitude and come out of it alright, wearing the worst of Donnie’s temper and anger like a bulletproof vest. Donnie can afford to hurt Leo cause Leo won't break because of it. He's safe to hurt. But it's different with Mikey. Mikey, who's so tired he can barely stand straight most days. Who has bags under his eyes like dark stickers, that not even doe-eyed and ever adoring Raph can peel away. And Donnie KNOWS better than to pick a fight with Mikey about it, it was mostly why he was trying to avoid the conversation altogether. Why he had hidden all the school letters and hacked into Mikey's phone to block all the emails and texts and phone calls from the school about it. He didn't expect Mikey to run into one of his teachers after work and basically blow everything Donnies worked so hard to avoid. He didn't want to skip a few grades. He didn't care what his teachers or his GPA said. He didn't CARE if they thought he was ‘wasting his potential’. He wasn't, and they had no right to complain about it to his big brother like they did. Donnie had TOLD Mikey that he didn't want to. Had gone all the extra lengths to take as many of the AP classes the adjacent high school offered, bargained and pleaded and BEGGED them. He’d do whatever it took, but he didn't want to move grades. He didn't want to quit the robotics club. He didn't want to go to school with a bunch of kids older than him and be the butt end of every baby freshmen joke in the book. He didn't want to be separated from Leo. He really, really, really didn't. And he had explained this all to Mikey. And he knew that Mikey KNEW this. But the teachers wouldn't stop hounding him, and Mikey was already so tired anyway, the weight of the world always seemed to be a weighted pressure on his shoulders that looked physical, with the way Mikey’s whole body sagged. Like every move he made was a conscious effort and pain. Donnie knew this, and he still yelled at Mikey about it anyway. And Mikey didn't yell back, cause Mikey never yelled back at them, but his voice was stern and tired and it just begged Donnie to at least consider talking about it. But Donnie’s 13, and the biggest jerk in the world because he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. And Mikey didn't deserve the one sided shouting match that was all Donnie, he didn't deserve the pointed "I can't believe you would take THEIR side, you NEVER listen to me!" And Mikey DEFINITELY didn't deserve the front door slamming in his face, the last words Donnie said hanging in the air behind him. "I HATE IT HERE!" It wasn't raining, but there was a misty cold hanging in the November air as Donnie sat at an empty park bench, somewhere in Flushing, feeling like the biggest loser in the world the second he ran away and oh,,, oh God. He ran AWAY. How could he run away? He didn't want to run away! He didn't want to run away from anything, especially if it was away from Mikey. Mikey, who deserved more than Donnie’s��cold shoulder and heated words, but took it anyway, and he didn't even flinch as Donnie practically screamed at him. He just looked tired. More tired than ever. And accepted Donnie’s temper tantrum like he accepted every other bad thing that has ever happened to him. Like he thought he deserved it. And he was sad. Sad in a way that made Donnie want to throw up. Because he was one of the people who were NEVER supposed to hurt Mikey like that. But he did. He did and he ran away like a little kid and he felt so STUPID about it, jumping on the first bus he could and taking it to God knows what neighborhood and now he was sitting alone on some random park bench, the November cold sinking into his skin and thin shirt cause he didn't have the mind to grab a jacket on his way out and GOD what was he doing? He was cold and alone and probably lost and Mikey probably hated him and now- "Donatello?" Came a voice from behind Donnie, and Donnie whirled around on the park bench because he'd recognize that low and gentle voice anywhere and... Yup. There he was. Lieven Heather, or Leatherhead as Mikey always affectionately called him, standing tall and curious like. His long black hair pulled into a low bun, his green eyes leaf-like and bright, piercing through the dark park like fireflies, looking at Donnie like he was searching for an answer before he got the chance to ask the question and WOAH was Donnie not the emotional type, but he could have cried when he saw the familiar face.

Actually, he was already crying before, but crying because you’re happy to see someone and crying because you’re a jerk to your big brother are two completely different types of emotions, and Donnie tried to hide it either way by rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist. LH’s namesake leather jacket is HUGE on Donnie, but the 12 year old takes it without a fight because LH does NOT look like he's willing to negotiate, as he holds a bag of groceries in one hand and holds an umbrella over the both of them in the other, saying that his apartment is just a few blocks away, and it'd be best to get out of the cold. The tall man doesn't press Donnie for details, doesn't ask why his friend's kid brother is out at 8pm on a school night, all the way on the other side of the city, eyes red with something between tempered anger and grief and skin pale with November cold. Donnie is thankful for it. He doesn't feel like explaining himself quite yet. The second hand hurt from before is still raw in his chest, and even though he knows he's the one at fault, he can't really shake off the sinking black hole feeling in his chest. So the 10-minute walk is mostly silent. LH lives in a grey bricked building, on the third floor, and his apartment is exactly what Donnie would expect if he really thought hard about it. It was a simple studio, minimalist and uncluttered, but that seemed more because the place felt untouched rather than because LH was a particularly clean guy. All the electronics on in the kitchen where stainless steel and spotless, Donnie half suspected they were untouched because of the garbage can filled with dollar store Ramen noodle cups and forks in the sink. His grey walls were bare, and he didn't have a TV,  but there was a large bookshelf that covered the expanse of one wall, filled to the brim with thick books that looked like they belonged in the reference section of a library. There was a little queen-sized bed shoved in the corner, neatly made, and looked rarely slept in. The only sign of life in the little apartment that felt much too small for the nearly 7-foot man was the little desk that sat beside the bed, which was covered in astrophysics textbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes and a few orange study note cards that had Donnie's older brother written (metaphorically) all over them. Lh motioned to the chair at the desk with a nodded, "you can sit there if you want. I'll make some Valerian tea." "Valerian tea?" "Helps with stress." "I'm not stressed." "Right, of course not. Still tastes good." And Donnie doesn't really like tea, he'd much prefer coffee, or one of the energy drinks Leo sneaks him during school lunches because Mikey doesn’t buy them, but he knows better than to ask for that. He knew about LH’s anxiety disorder and underlying PTSD, from a past that Donnie didn't know any details about except from snippets he'd overhear here and there from the hushed late-night conversations LH and Mikey would have when they thought that Leo and Donnie and Raph were asleep, and he knew that caffeine wasn't something LH indulged in often because of it. The tea tastes fine though. It's hot, and burns his throat a little, but Donnie doesn't care enough to wait for it to cool down to enjoy it. Because it hurts, and Donnie figures he kinda deserves the pain. It's after a few quiet minutes, Donnie sitting at LH’s desk while LH leans against his kitchen counter, that Donnie reaches for a courage he doesn't usually possess and tells LH everything.

About the extra AP classes, and the nosey teachers, and the way it feels a bit too suffocating trying to be everything everyone wants him to be.

And how it all feels too lonely. He barely remembers his mom. He’s starting to forget dad. Mikey works all the time and Raph goes to a completely different school. If he moves up a few grades, then he loses Leo too. And he just can’t deal with that. He can’t deal with everyone, some way or another, leaving him. And how in some, backward, twisted way, it sometimes feels like people are trying to get rid of him. And he just can’t take it anymore. Donnie likes LH. He's smart and collective and cool and he's super nice to Mikey and he’s pretty much everything that Donnie wants to be when he grows up. And he's friends with LH. LH gives him pointers on his science projects and he teaches Leo how to punch a bully like its nothing and he's patient and understanding and helpful with Raph's temper and he's a godsend of a friend the Hamato clan didn't know they could afford after April had came into their lives and Donnie LIKES Lh. But he didn't think they were good enough friends for Donnie to deserve THIS. LH listened to him patiently and quietly. Nodding at the appropriate moments in Donnie’s tearful and half-hysterical rambling about his school and his GPA and how he didn't mean to take it out on Mikey and he didn't mean to run away but GOD he was so sick of everyone looking down on him like a little kid and like HE didn't know what was best for him and didn't have a choice in deciding HIS future. And he expects LH to get mad at him too, cause he was Mikey’s friend first before Donnie’s, and Donnie YELLED at Mikey, and Donnie WASNT going to sob like a child about it, but his head lowers and there's a stupid stinging in his eyes and he sniffs once or twice anyway when he mutters "God, I'm so stupid. Mikey probably hates me right now and is so mad at me." And he can hear LH sigh, and put his own cup of tea down, before walking over to where Donnie sat and crouching before his chair. "That's funny you think that, because when I texted him earlier, he sounded nothing short of scared out of his mind and relieved." "You texted him???" "Well yeah, of course. He called me shortly after you ran out, singing the same tune you are about how you're so mad at him and he didn’t mean to fight with you and that you probably hate him. That’s probably the only reason I even saw you, I wouldn't have known to look out for you if he hadn't told me to keep a lookout for you." And that, woah, Donnie felt a million times worse now because of COURSE, he didn't hate Mikey! Donnie wasn't even MAD at him. He was just being a stupid stubborn teen who took out all his frustrations and insecurities on the last person in the world who deserved it and boy oh boy, this whole thing was so stupid anyway.

“How about he finish our tea, wait for you to get a little bit warmed up first, and then get you back home so that you can tell everything you just told me to your brother. Because I think we both know how much he’d want to hear how you truly felt about this situation.”

And that... that sounded good. Because after his entire mini-rant, it felt like a shadow had been cleared from over Donnie’s heart, and now he wanted nothing more than to go home and hug his big brother for all his worth and apologize about a million and half times. Maybe more. Donnie hadn’t decided yet.

After they had finished their cup of tea, and LH had given Donnie one of his warmer college sweaters to wear before they took the subway back to the Hamato residence, where Mikey stood in front of the building, red-cheeked and shivering from the cold in a giant puff jacket and pajama bottoms, waiting for them.

Donnie didn't even wait, he ran the second he saw the familiar orange jacket that belonged to one of his favorite people on the planet and broke into a breakneck sprint, colliding into his older brother’s chest and waiting arms, and breaking into a choked cough when Mikey’s arms instantly wrapped around him like he always belonged there.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to run away!" Donnie rushed to say because he didn't want a second to go by without Mikey knowing that, but Mikey was already running a gentle hand through his hair and hushing into the crown of his head.

"Shhhh, shhhh it's ok, buddy. I know. I'm just glad you're home." And Mikey still had bags like bruises under his eyes, and looked on the point of breaking if Donnie hugged him too tightly, but he still smiled at Donnie with all the affection and warmth of the world when they pulled away, and Donnie couldn't fight the urge to spit out, "I don't hate it here! And I don't hate you. Ever! I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry Mikey." And Mikey replied with a soft smile and an "I know, kiddo. It’s ok." But there was relief like a balloon losing helium in his eyes and shoulders, like he would have believed differently if Donnie hadn't said anything, and Donnie made the promise there and then that he’d do everything in his power to make sure Mikey never thought that way, even for a second, again. LH hadn't stayed over for the pizza movie night that Mikey offered as a silent ‘thanks for bringing my kid home’, so Mikey and Donnie saw him off at the subway station, and made the few blocks back to their waiting apartment and waiting little brothers with their arms around each other in a side hug. Neither one of them wanting to let each other out of their grasps. And there had been a promise to talk about it later, because Donnie was feeling a little more up for negotiation even though Mikey swore up and down that he’d back whatever Donnie decided to do 110%, but it could wait till another day, when both of their nerves and hearts weren't so tender and raw with emotion. Tonight, they would just sink into the weathered old couch that was softened by a million quilts, and out on a Mothra vs Godzilla movie, and squeeze themselves between an over-excited Raph, who couldn't stay still and just HAD to act out all the Godzilla fight scenes, and a relaxed Leo, who sprawled his legs over Donnie's lap despite Donnie complaining about it, but Donnie didn't make any effort to push him away because Leo kept keeping a wary and watchful eye on his two older brothers, probably knowing more about both sides than either one of them, and keeping his legs over Donnie was half for familiarity and half to keep him from jumping up and running out again and huh, maybe he wasn’t so relaxed after all. Guess Donnie had more than a million and a half apologies to make. Better round it off to a good 2 million, just to be safe. Because Donnie couldn't rightly blame him for keeping a careful eye out, but Donnie had learned his lesson. He wasn't running away again. He wasn't running anywhere if it was away from his brothers. Away from the only family he’s ever had. Because donnie was stubborn and stuck in his ways. And he wasn't going to quit the robotics club, and he wasn't going to skip grades and he wasn't going to leave Leo behind and he wasn't going to be left behind. Donnie wasn’t going to run away. Because Donnie wasnt going anywhere.

(one of the doodles I did for this particular story)

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 6 OF 22

Take hands. There is no love now. But there are hands.

- Laura Riding Jackson, "Take Hands".

--

When she first started hanging out with Theo and Arthur, Theo had left with her one piece of advice—one very, very important piece of advice: “If you’ll only ever listen to one thing I say, let it be this one: do not owe Arthur a favor, ever.”

Of course, in the usual Theo fashion, he did not give her any sort of context about it, no explanation as to how he had come to that very grave conclusion. Except that he knew he was right. And she was going to ask, but after hearing Arthur’s triumphant laughter at having overheard that—well, maybe the mystery was a little more than worth it.

And just like that, she had tucked that advice off at the back of her mind.

So now, she’s in the bookshop again, 2:00 pm on a Sunday, holding Arthur by the hand asking him a favor.

“Please, please, please, pretty please Arthur?” she begs, shaking his hand side to side as she goes. It is the midterm season now, and leaving your fellow students on their own isn’t really a thing in this university. Where possible, everyone is gathering to have group studies and teaching sessions. She figures Arthur could afford her one. Or seven. “You’ve taken his class, haven’t you? The infamous worst professor of the College of Arts.”

Of course, Arthur has. If he’s going to kind-of-not-really minor in Literature, the way he’ll do it is the way he loves the best: the hardest, most challenging way. Of course, that means he got the toughest classes out of the way first.

“Hardly the worst, love,” he says, with a mock-flip of non-existent long hair. “I’d say that fancy fake British accent woman teaching poetry is much worse than that bloke, but that could only be because I couldn’t stand what she was doing to the syllables.”

“Yeah, sure but—that’s not the point,” she says. “Look, I need a recommendation letter from this grumpy, wrinkled banana of a professor, and I’m not getting it unless I pass his exam. But you know how his exams are, he teaches you the English alphabet and then quizzes you in Spanish kind of exams, I just need to prepare properly and—well,” Dazai’s face flashes before her eyes, “you’re the most reliable one I could ask for? Please?”

Arthur lets out a small overdramatic sigh that’s really entirely theatrics. She knows better. “Here’s to me rescuing your sorry little ass, little miss. I’ll help you, but I have two conditions.”

“Yay!” she claps her hands excitedly and grins. “Yes, any! Give me!”

“First, you’ll owe me one favor.”

“Yes, sure, got you,” she nods.

(From the counter, she hears Theo murmur: “You have made the worst mistake of your entire life,” but she ignores it.)

“And—you’ll bring my old chap Theo.”

“What?”

She and Theo both look up at the same time.

And answer at the same time.

“What?” “Wait, wait, why is he coming?”

Arthur laughs. “Are you both so against it?”

“No, I’m just—curious?” she hesitates. “Does he even want to go?”

Theo and Arthur take a moment to glare at each other, which at this point you already know is the equivalent of them doing a high five or a handshake—it’s pretty much harmless.

Arthur’s flat smile turns into a big grin. He sing-songs: “Theo~”

“I can’t owe you a favor for asking you to shut up,” Theo says.

But Arthur is brimming with confidence when he says, “Well, no, it was a favor to me, so you’ll need to respect it.”

And Theo knows that resisting Arthur just spells trouble, so he settles for glaring  even sharper, larger daggers into Arthur’s face, but does not argue: “Klootzak.”

And the Brit grins. “That’s why you shouldn’t try and owe me anything, old chap.”

She blinks and wonders what is going on.

--

Of course, work in the bookshop doesn’t end, and there are more and more customers looking for supplementary readings (or even distractions) so Theo and Arthur only get to join her after the shop closes at 5:00 pm. She’s announced that she’ll be studying every day at the Little Owl, the café Vincent works in, and Arthur had gleefully agreed to follow instead of having her move places. Besides, Arthur insists he cannot work without the taste of the coffee the cute barista (“not Vincent,” Arthur promises Theo) makes for him. Theo sighs, longing for the quiet and Arthur-lessness of the College of Business’ library, but decides to follow through with his promise.

Theo was alone at the bookshop today—Monday, Arthur’s day off—and so only follows suit to her and Arthur at the café once his shift ends. Vincent’s shift at the café ends an hour earlier than Theo’s at the bookstore, so the two brothers just miss narrowly miss each other. Which is a good thing, because even if Vincent already knows, he would be a little bit horrified if Vincent saw him headed to the two rascals already there. Is this who his brother thinks he hangs out with? No, Vincent, they are the exception, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to argue with his brother during work.

“Why hello there, dear slave of capitalism,” Arthur greets happily. He’s wearing the glasses he wears when “he’s taking the world seriously,” the one Theo asked him to wear more often, for god’s sake.

Theo shakes his head. “We are slaves to the same bookshop, Arthur.”

“A really good bookshop!” she pipes up, looking up from her little studying set-up just as she finishes writing something down. In front of her, she has an old book borrowed from the library laid out on a book stand, a standing pencil case with all sorts of markers and pens, a notebook, and a little notepad to scribble on. Then, she points at Arthur with her pen. “I know you said don’t owe Arthur favors, but this doesn’t seem to be that bad an idea.”

“It will eventually be,” he says nonchalantly. “Well, don’t let me interrupt in your studying?”

“He’s actually done tutoring me for today,” she says, “so we can actually study on our own now.”

“But together,” Arthur insists. “That was my condition. Also, are you not forgetting something, little bird?”

Theo blinks. She pauses and then gasps. “Oh right! Right!”

She pulls out a lunchbox.

This isn’t entirely surprising on its own, because the two of them had decided to work for a good amount of time, and it might be cheaper to bring your own food than buy over and over again at the counter, even if it’s just a cookie or two. It’s midterms season so the café allows outside food, if for the sanity of its usual customers.

Except.

“I brought these for you, Theo.”

For Theo? But it’s nearly dinnertime, and he won’t be here for long…

Theo cautiously takes the lunchbox but doesn’t open it.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” he asks—jokingly.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh, if I wanted to off you, Theo, there are better ways. Open it up, won’t you?”

And Theo does; pops open the little container to peer at what’s inside, and—

The lunchbox has pancakes inside.

Not full-sized pancakes, but small ones the size of poached eggs, fluffy and golden. Theo flushes.

“A little angel told me you liked them,” she says, grinning at his expression.

Theo realizes how transparent he has been about it and glares at Arthur in response. Arthur looks as remorseless as ever to his misery, but—does not claim the act with a smirk or a holler.

But the surprise isn’t over yet, because then she takes out of her bag the smallest commercially-available bottle of his favorite brand of syrup, giving it to Theo. And with a smirk in her voice, she says, “Can’t have pancakes without this, no?”

Theo’s ears are aflame , a deep red. Of course his own brother would betray him. Always looking out for him in the best of ways and then betraying him in the most expected of ones.

Theo takes the pancakes with a gruff Thank you that seems to be enough for her, and then the three of them return to their studying. Not that he does it entirely well that day, because has trouble focusing on his studies at all thinking of how delicious the pancakes she’s brought him actually are.

--

They study together the rest of the week.

It rains on Tuesday, and the café is more crowded than usual. For the first of three hours they spend there, it is only her and Theo, heads turned low into their thick books. Arthur arrives late because he said he had to take a detour for a “sweet skirt” from the medical department. Theo asks if it’s one of his professors he’s trying to talk into giving him a passing grade for his piss-poor efforts. Arthur does not deny. They pick up dinner at a local convenience store before heading their separate ways home on their respective bikes.

It is still raining on the evening of Wednesday, and Arthur and Theo have to run (without umbrellas, because—well, because they’re idiots) the distance from the bookshop to the café where she is waiting, jumping in between eaves and doing their best not to end up too drenched. Not that it works out that well, because she still looks at them pitifully before ordering the both of them coffee for their little misery. They dry off pretty well though, but they don’t get to stay too long because she insists they go home and actually dry off properly before they get sick.

Arthur finally takes their little study session a little seriously for himself on Thursday. Their usual spot—her favorite spot, mind you—is occupied when they arrive, so they’re camped out at a long table, she and Arthur sitting side by side and Theo across the both of them. Theo’s brought bound books for the past few days, but today he has sheaves of papers (readings, perhaps) and a leather-bound notebook (“That’s when you know he’s down for srs bsns,” Arthur says, and she asks how the hell he was able to say it like it was type-speak in real life). Arthur’s no different, with his thoroughly annotated medical anatomy books sitting in front of him, glasses on his nose.

But Theo… Theo is so distracting.

When they decide to study separately—that is, when Arthur isn’t clarifying a particularly complicated concept or Theo isn’t helping her out by quizzing her—the three of them work side by side in comfortable silence, all working with an earpiece or two on to at least dull the sound of the rest of the café working in their own little worlds. So this isn’t exactly odd; they’ve been doing this since Monday, after all, and if she were to be honest, she’d enjoy it if they did this a little more often in the future, if possible.

So then why… is she so distracted?

Why does she keep looking up from the poem she’s turning upside down with annotations and notes and markings to see if she can sneak a discreet glance at Theo, his eyes trained on the things he is studying? Why does she keep looking hoping she can stare at least a few more seconds at the unusual side of him, none of the crease marks on his forehead when he’s being rude or sarcastic, just concentration, deep blue eyes not straying from the pages through the rim of his glasses. And oh—Theo with glasses is such a sight! She’s not interested in him in that way—no—but by god, does he look different with glasses. Maybe she’s just gotten so used to Arthur with glasses that it doesn’t strike much in her, but Theo—

“Stop staring at me,” Theo huffs, looking up at her and meeting her gaze. His bangs are pulled to the side where he’d brushed them off, the back end of his hair standing a little cutely upwards because he was fiddling with the nape of his neck earlier with his pen, and—well.

It’s hard to not be blown away when he looks like that.

“Oh shit, sorry,” she says, snapping out of it with a shake of her head. Getting caught is such a rookie mistake! “I was zoning out.”

Arthur chuckles next to her. She and Theo pretend not to have heard him.

On Friday, she and Arthur decide to go have a little quizzing session to prepare her for the oral part of her exams. (“Hehe, oral.” “Shut the fuck up won’t you, Arthur?”) They get Theo to work with them as the scorekeeper. She gets a good percentage of the questions right (80%) but she still does not feel confident enough about it. She turns back to work on her laptop with Theo sipping coffee by her side as Arthur leaves to go on a dinner date with said sweet skirt from Monday. Theo repeats the joke, and this time Arthur says, “And what if it is?” They do not know if he is joking, at this point.

When their usual time to go has struck, Theo closes the book in front of him and stretches a little, bending his neck side to side. She turns to him and frowns.

“Look, I know I asked you yesterday we could do the book club today but… can we just skip it to next week instead? I’m really fried after today.”

“That’s fine,” he says, but then pauses. “You work too hard. I didn’t really expect to do it today.” He sips from his already-cold mug of coffee.

“Hey, I actually wanted to do it, alright? I just—I’m writing a short paper on 19th century literature right now” she answers. “For my portfolio. I’m submitting it as an extra right after the exam, and I want it done so I can focus on studying for the exam afterward.”

So that’s why she’s been typing away on her laptop with not much pause after Arthur left. “Portfolio?” he narrows his eyes. “Applying for something?”

“Yeah, the OSR’s scholarship.”

“The international one.”

“Yeah, that one,” she confirms. “I’ve been waiting for a bit for them to reveal the requirements and… I don’t know, it feels like it gets longer and more strict every year. I’m trying to up my chances by having a strong portfolio.”

“I see.” Theo pauses, takes in the disappointment still apparent on her face, and sighs. “Look, if you still want to do the book club—we can do it while we walk home.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he nods. “So if you’re tired, then pack up and let’s go. Schiet op.”

“Geez, just give me a sec!”

--

By the time she and Theo make their way out of the café, the sun is long out of the sky, the street lit in a beautiful shade of warm yellow from the streetlamps. The both of them live roughly in the same area of town—at the southeast residential side, but pretty close to the center, where the café is—but their houses are still around 20 minutes apart by foot. There is, however, the main boulevard that connects their ways home up until a certain point, so they decide to make the most of it by walking the 30 minutes up to that fork in the road even if she did technically have her bike with her.

“Okay, so, book talk, huh?” she says, digging into her bag to find the Kerouac he’d lent her. His copy of On the Road had weathered down rather beautifully over the years; the paper a shade of yellow just right for the eyes, no mottling of the pages, and despite the red matter cover being dog-eared and slightly faded, it’s the kind that’s endearing—the kind a book gets after being held well while being read, and then being kept away so lovingly. With the book in her hands now, she looks near hesitant to even part with the book at all. “Kerouac… was one hell of a read.”

He takes the book she hands back and thumbs it carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I actually don’t know where to begin,” she says, staring off at the road beyond them. “The contrast of them going to these vast empty places to fill something deep in them...” She sighs, a happy sigh coming out of her. By this point, Theo already knows the kind of face she makes when she’s remembering the hours she spent reading the book—the expression she has right now betrayed that.  “And then they were always—well, as with the title I guess—I felt like they were always on the road, even if not literally, then within them?”

Theo nods. “Always going somewhere unknown.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s not like they were not established right, just that… there were so many possibilities you know? They were talking about crossing America and going from here to there and they seemed to… change with every landscape they went in. And it was exactly all those possibilities that were so fun. You definitely hit that request of mine, because I’m 100% sure all that going away made me want to go away again.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s kinda sad though, that things won’t be as mysterious as back then.” She waves her hand. “What with social media and all.”

“The insight that comes with travel is different now that the world is more connected to one another.”

“And the connection is so accessible!” she notes “Like, one of us can go away but it’s not the end of the world? We can still talk if we wanted to, there are so many ways to do it. And that’s great, but now… now when you go away it doesn’t feel as spiritual an experience? I mean, you can easily Google what a place looks like and…”

Theo turns to her after she abruptly stops. “And what?”

A beat. Two. She hasn’t stopped walking, with her eyes facing in front of her, but her eyebrows are narrowed like she’s carefully choosing how to put what she’s thinking into words. Theo patiently waits throughout the full minute it takes her to speak. “…Do you ever feel like you’re only a visitor in a certain place? Or maybe even anywhere. Like you’re only meant to be there for a few days, a month, maybe a year, but—never in the long term, never for the rest of your life.”

That… isn’t what he was expecting.

But then again, he doesn’t really know what to expect with her around, at this point.

Things are always more than with her.

For a moment, Theo ponders. Sure, he’s had instances feeling uncomfortable in the places he’s in, or maybe acknowledging that there are better places to be—such as when he left their hometown to go here, to follow his brother—but he hasn’t really thought about the rest of it. He’s always imagined the tides would just bring him to places, and he wouldn’t have to work hard to be brought elsewhere; to just let himself be washed ashore to new islands.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thumbing the side of On the Road once more. He wonders what it was like during Kerouac’s generation—dreaming of a spiritual journey, going out there and exploring the unknown, how so much was left to be learned. How will his generation be remembered? What difference will they make, will they go down in history?

She nods simply. “It’s okay, I’m just the kind of person who likes to think about all this. Sal’s changing views on Dean was… I don’t know how to put it, it’s just like being in a different place, having a different experience with people changes the way you see about them, even if that place is… geographically, and not like a situation. Does that make sense?”

“You have to admit, most of the book doesn’t make sense,” Theo notes.

“…I did hear Kerouac wrote a good portion of it pretty high.”

“Maybe it’ll make sense when you read it high, too.”

They grin at each other, and Theo turns to get the Neruda book out from his bag.

“I’m so close to memorizing the content of this book, with how many times I read it,” he admits, passing the volume over to her. They touch fingers for only the briefest of moments. “Neruda has an interesting way with words.”

She nods. “I still feel bad that I don’t get to read him in his original Spanish because I feel like that makes a difference. The translations are still pretty good though. Any poem you liked particularly?”

“Maybe I Remember You as You Were.”

“Oooh, that’s very romantic,” she says, flipping right to the page he was talking about. “Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.”

“Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul,” he continues. “The passion in some of his love poems get overwhelming sometimes. I remember You is just the right touch of romance and longing I like in a Neruda.”

“Hmm?” She turns to him curiously. “Mayhaps you’ve already been a Neruda fan from the start?”

“I’ve read him in the past, yes.”

That’s not that surprising, really, considering how much of a household name Pablo Neruda is to literary enthusiasts at this point. One of the more “modern” classics of poetry, arguably. She’s not satisfied with his answer, of course. “Which, pray tell, is your favorite?”

It takes him a moment, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. After a beat, he answers, “Don’t Go Far Off.”

“And you say you’re not a romantic,” she says while shaking her head.

“I am not a romantic.”

“Theo, I know the poem by heart. You can’t tell me that shit isn’t romantic.”

Every minute he spends with her, the more drops of confusion fall onto his mind about himself. And not the bad kind; simply, why is it that she can see him so differently compared to others? What is it about her that she catches what sneaks past others?

He wouldn’t call the poem romantic, but maybe if she says it…

No. Instead, he looks at her. Challenges her. “Prove it.”

“Okay, you start.”

He takes a deep breath before beginning. “Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because—”

“Because—I don’t know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you.” She doesn’t miss a beat when she answers.

He continues. “As in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

The way she traces the sounds of the syllables so delicately, like it would shatter if she wasn’t careful with their sound, isn’t missed by him. Does she read all poetry, all literature with this much adoration? “Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together.”

At this point, Theo is already nodding, very much impressed. “The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift—"

(And together, they say) “Into me, choking my lost heart.”

The two of them look at each other quietly, the poem’s imagery settling in the spaces between them.

In a way that makes them feel content.

He continues. “Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.”

“Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest.”

“Because in that moment you'll have gone so far.”

“I'll wander mazily,” she breathes, “over all the earth, asking—”

Theo sighs. “Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?”

With that, the two of them relish in the silence at the end of the poem, letting it all dissolve into the air like the puffs of smoke from their breath.

“Nice of you to know that start to finish,” Theo says, by way of compliment.

She makes a little mock-bow with her skirt. “Thank you. I also really like that poem as well, actually.”

For some minutes, the two of them share a companionable silence, the moon shining over them, casting a silver glow. It is only when the itch to ask the question becomes too much that Theo finally opens his mouth.

“Why are you so fixated on going away?” he asks.

She stares at him. “What?”

“You’re always talking about the out there and the going away. And now you’re planning to leave for a scholarship—when you get in,” he says. “Have a boner for it?”

She makes a face. “No, what the hell,” she says. “Is it so bad to want a little adventure when you live in such a small town like this?”

“Not really,” he hums. “You strike me as the kind of person who disappears from everyone because you’re chasing something far off into the unknown,” he says.

She opens her mouth, about to say something, before she takes a deep breath to hold it back in. Theo feels like he’s overstepped a boundary he shouldn’t have. But instead of talking back at him or refuting, she says, “That would be a great story for a small Literature major like me, huh?”

It’s a non-answer.

The one Theo knows means there’s a more complex answer—that she’s not just ready to tell him yet.

It’s alright.

He can wait.

A few more minutes pass, this time in comfortable silence. Theo considers small talk, about the bookstore, or Vincent and Arthur, but she looks so deep in thought he decides not too. Sooner than he would have liked, they reach the fork in the road. He stops and turns to her fully.

“Books?”

She blinks as if torn away from a daydream. “Oh right, books. Nearly forgot.”

The two of them pull out the books to exchange from their respective bags; she catches the title The Night Circus in the one he hands her, another dog-eared, well-loved, black book; and she also catches the twitch of his eyebrow in interest when she hands him Atwood’s Dearly.

They keep their books away and fall back into their usual quiet.

“You sure I don’t need to walk you home?”

“It’s a well-lit road. I’ll be fine,” she insists. “I can bike from here to there, it’ll take me three minutes tops.”

He nods, the smallest of smiles on his face. “I’ll see you around, then. I hope you enjoy the book."

--

This isn’t the first time Theo has lent her a book. And this isn’t the last time Theo will lend her a book, either—if there’s anything about their kind-of friendship she knows for sure, it’s that he’ll need to try harder to get rid of her if he doesn’t like the company.

But somehow, the arrival of the new book in her small, rented dorm room leaves her unbalanced. She knows she has better things to do like her essay for the portfolio and studying for the exam—80% correct for the oral test is pretty good, but not good enough—but she lets the book taunt her anyway.

It is Saturday now, and she places it on her desk with the cover facing up, black and red and white with an intricate illustration of figures. Is it because of the conversation they had last night? It wasn’t odd for their little book discussions to wander into personal territory, because it is true that the way we read books is very much influenced by the things we have experienced in real life, but that one… that felt different. Somehow, it’s as if the both of them had opened up a pandora’s box of—well, something, and all of that is nestled in between the pages of the lent book.

It wasn’t like her wanting to go away was a secret in any way, shape, or form. Friendship with Theo or not, she was meant to leave this place. Or at least, that what she likes to believe. She’s pretty sure she’s mentioned even in the past that this town is too small for her; too little; there is a wider world out there to discover. And it wasn’t like Theo being some sort of hidden romantic was a surprise either—she’s known from the moment he didn’t stop asking her for poetry books. Nothing new was really uncovered last night, but then…

Why can’t she seem to let it go?

Her eyes rest back to the book on her desk. She said she wouldn’t read it until after the oral exam on Tuesday at the very least, but—she has peered into it the night before as she was going to bed, and yet once more this morning.

She’s not sure what it is about yet, but it seems that he’s lent her some sort of fantasy-romance, because she had asked for a book with a magic system in it. (Thinking about the wonders of magic is a great stress-reliever in the midst of exams.) She had expected Theo to be a good level of well-read because he worked at the Hoard—but somehow, he was always blowing away her expectations. Theo is always saying about how weird she is for pursuing him, but isn’t he the weirder one? At least she shows no pretense of being any sort of normal. He does his best to look put together.

Did that big looming man look like the kind of person who would read a novel title The Night Circus?

Not really, not to her. But it’s because he is that kind of person that keeps her so hooked, so interesting. She doesn’t quite know what has happened yet, but—whatever it was that unlocked between the both of them last night, it can’t be that bad. So by 3:00pm, when she said she would be running through drills for her exam, she closes her laptop shut, makes herself some tea, and curls up into her armchair to read.

--

Just because they get along with each other doesn’t mean they agree with everything.

For example, she’s explained that she’s the kind of person who marathon-reads whatever she can get her hands on, if she finds it interesting enough. It’s not that she doesn’t have patience for reading; she does, and she thoroughly enjoys being lost in a good book. It’s just that she can’t do what the others do when they like a book—read it leisurely, enjoy it from page to page, taste every word like it’s sweet. She’s more of the kind who sits down at eight in the morning with a interesting book and being unable to stand until it’s done in the afternoon. There is no waiting in her vocabulary, only the going.

Oppositely, Theo likes to take his time with his books, the same way one would do a walk. Take the scenic route; enjoy the scenery, take in all the details with your sense. To Theo, reading a book is going into it, getting lost in between the world that is hiding in its pages, and there is no need to rush that. The book is not going anywhere, and he can always open it up and return to where he’d stopped. Theo rarely reads books in one go unless he’s in a rush to do it, like say in a required reading for a class.

So when he sends her a message on Sunday, saying,

[ 9:44 | Theo ] Good book choice this week. Had fun with it

less than 48 hours from the moment she had given him the book…

She yells.

Really loudly. Her next door neighbor pounds on the wall between them, and she shouts out a “sorry!” as she begins typing on her phone.

[ 9:43 ] You finished it already?

[ 9:44 | Theo ] Is that so surprising?

[ 9:44 ] 😊 You don’t understand how happy I am rn

[ 9:45 | Theo ] It’s just a book, relax.

[ 9:45 ] Yea sure but don’t you read slowly on purpose? Kinda thrilled you liked it enough to polish it in one go.

She pauses, hand hovering over her phone, before she writes out another message.

[ 9:46 ] Thanks for telling me. This has def made my day.

And it takes a minute for him to reply, but then he returns:

[ 9:47 | Theo ] Isn’t this what friends do?

Well, let’s say that something in her belly does a flip, and—

It makes her feel weightless.

[lucifer-lacroix]

Interview with a Witcher

Geraskier Fanfic  - Geralt X Jaskier - Drama - Romance - based of games and tv series - Future plot - When a Vampire shows up in Novigrad, things at the theatre get more dramatic as Geralt and Jaskier explore their feelings for each other.

The wild plains of Redania were filled with monsters, and corpse eaters as Geralt of Rivia travelled to the city. Jaskier, his long-time friend and ally had opened a cabaret in the city. A tavern once called the Rosemary and Thyme had transformed into the lavish theatre known as the Chameleon. It has been one year since the theatre opened and Geralt headed to the anniversary show — a grand performance to make up for the cancellation of the opening night. Priscilla, Jaskier long-time girlfriend and the fellow bard had recovered from her injuries and even though the assailant who attacked her was never found she was ready to perform. Geralt had hoped Ciri would make it in time for the show at weeks end, but since she became a full-fledged witcher herself, she would frequently run off on her own. Geralt was starting to worry since she should have arrived by now, the Wild Hunt was gone, but powerful monsters remained, and the political order was getting heated again. Geralt constantly reminded of the dangers on the road after fighting off an ancient forest spirit whose head was currently strapped to his saddle. The bloody antlers were catching the attention of the guards while he crosses the gate into the main strip. Roach trudged up to a three-story theatre house draped in red. A group of performers out front were singing and dancing to greet them. "Toss a coin to your witcher." They started singing, and Geralt let out a long exasperated sigh as he manoeuvred Roach up to the watering trove. Once he dismounted Geralt felt the strain of his injuries which cause a limp in his gait as he walked up to the doors tired from little sleep. The joyous tune of his song making him smile despite his best efforts to conceal it.

"Welcome back, Geralt!" "Nice to see you, a witcher." "Have you come to the show!?" Their voices called for his attention.

Inside the theatre, on the second floor, Jaskier glanced out the window hearing the commotion outside and spotted his comrade. "Geralt's here!" he cheered, "The letter said he would be here two days ago." Jaskier excitedly rushed down the stairs and out the door his arms open in welcome. "Geralt, you made it!" he exclaimed, "Good to see you, Jaskier." Geralt replied as he came in for a hug. "Part of me was expecting you not to show up, but the rest of me knew you would not be able to resist… oh my lord, what is that smell?" Jaskier attempted to pull Geralt into a hug but stopped just short as he noticed not only the foul stench but also his tired eyes. Geralt's arm flinched when Jaskier touched him, fresh injuries which stained his armour red. "I'm fine." Geralt said to quell Jaskier worried expression. "Come follow me, let us find you a place to sit and relax. You must be hungry, and I have plenty of delights to fill the empty belly of a hero who has come home." Jaskier excitedly lead Geralt into the Chameleon, "Tell me where you have been what have you seen where did you go? I want to know all!"

"Well, recently I travelled to Skellig. Took up a few monster contracts including a Leshen that had made its territory near a small village, the elders believed it to be a god protecting them, but it would hunt and kill those who tried scavenging in the forest. One of the elders wanted me to perform a ritual to please it, but the rest of the townsfolk paid me to kill it." Geralt started his story as they walked into the theatre decorated with tasteful paintings and elegant art. Jaskier was dodging around tables even though his nose was down in a book. Pictures of the mummers, lord and ladies of note and show posters lining the walls along with a few coats of arms. A banquet of food set out as the many patrons picked from the buffet as they drank merrily together. "This place is amazing." Geralt motioned impressed with what a high-class establishment Jaskier owned. Jaskier however, was distracted by Geralt story while scribbling down notes before being snapped out of it.

"Isn't it?" Jaskier beamed with a flourish of his pillowed sleeve proudly."  I'm excited about the show I have been working on it for months!" Jaskier exclaimed and showed Geralt his notes as he fixed a tilted frame on the wall. "It has been a while since I heard one of your… stories." Geralt said in his monotone voice looking at the inventory list in Jaskier's book along with story ideas in the bottom corner. They went to the back and sat at a private table. "Alas, not everyone thinks my stories are so great." Jaskier sighed and offered Geralt a seat sitting directly across from him with interlaced fingers, pensively looking at his notebook. "What works better? If a frog is a prince, would he be wearing a crown or wearing a cape?" Jaskier asked while a barmaid served them a round of ales. Geralt quickly picked his up and chugged it in one long swig. "Why do you ask?" Geralt suspiciously asked with a belch as the bard pondered.

"Just curious, minor play details listen, I know you're tired, but I have one, teensy, tiny, little favour to ask. It's to help the show," Jaskier pleaded. "I just sat down." Geralt said as he thumped the glass onto the table. His face twisted with annoyance but Jaskier innocently eyed Geralt. The Witcher bites his cheek, "ugh, What is it?," he sighed in defeat and crossed his arms on the table.

"Don't tell me you're in trouble again? Is this another bandit heist to swindle another rich lady?" Geralt asked a little sarcastically as he took Jaskier's ale this time and sipped it. He was getting the hiccups from drinking too quickly each jolt, making him wince in pain. "Much worse," Jaskier exclaimed. He leaned forward getting closer to Geralt. "A new King came to town and then completed slaughtered my dream with a bad review! I wasn't paying him much mind when he arrived six months ago, but his opinions seem to be detracting patrons from the district entirely. Madam Irina is struggling to fill the seats because of his crass, thuggish, bullying antics."

Jaskier's voice was a low whispered hiss as he spoke. "I feel if you were to have a word with him, he might change his tune. If the great Geralt of Rivia could maybe 'persuade' him into giving me another chance?" Jaskier said full of bravado. "That's it?" Geralt asked, curious when the twist was going to come. "You just want me to talk to some snub nose King who insulted you?" Geralt tried to hold his breath now since the hiccups were getting worse and he didn't want to look like a pansy who couldn't handle his drink because of a broken rib. "He said my work was boring and derivative. It's affecting my business and my sanity! W-wait wait Geralt are you alright?" A concerned look crossed Jaskier's face as he noticed Geralt holding his breath. He flagged down the barmaid. "Can you get him some water please?" Jaskier called out as Geralt held his clenched fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed that Jaskier noticed. "Thanks, it's nothing just a couple new scars," he said with his eyes cast down and sipped the water that the barmaid quickly brought over. "Have you tried writing something the King would like?" Geralt asked but stared at Jaskier's over-expressive face now stunned with horror. "I—- I— hmph!" he fumed, a slight blush crossing his checks "How dare you to assume I have not tried. The man is an unreasonable Buffon." Jaskier glared. "Please Geralt, I need your help, he's a complete monster." Jaskier ranted as Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not joking, he is!" Jaskier said rather loudly before looking around at the witcher hunters who were currently chatting with Zoltan. "I think he is a vampire," Jaskier stated in a whisper.

"Don't be unreasonable! Less you see how gossip is the poison that spews from your mouth. You can't just go around accusing people of vampirism in the middle of the city of Novigrad. Do you know how many witch hunters are out there looking for a reason to kill someone?" Geralt got rather mean, as much as Jaskier's antics could get out of hand. Vampirism was a serious matter, but there was a look in Jaskier eye that Geralt could read to be true. The brunette's pleading eyes were wide like a dog begging for attention. Geralt huffed and covered his face by combing his fingers through his hair. A small blush of his own, he willed away before his pale skin betrayed him to show emotion. "What do you want me to do?" Geralt asked, knowing there was no sense of debating the matter. "I assume you have a plan? Does this King Lucifer seem like a man who has found a seat of authority over you? What's his deal? You know I have grown wiser to the antics of politics. I have been introduced to him the more powerful faces in town, including the big four." Geralt said, rather proudly. Jaskier furrowed his brow, "Ever since Whoreson Junior went missing the criminal empire had been all a buzz when the Great La'Croix family moved to town. They say he is King of a faraway land escaping monsters that ravaged their home. Lucifer is rich, and I want to invite him to the show. The big four are no more since Lucifer has been winning hearts everywhere he goes. All I need is one more chance to impress him, to be on his good side as I sing his praises while Redania takes Nilfgaard. I can't go alone either… as I said, the man is a monster. It wouldn't be safe! The wolves and bats are enough to hint it's a dangerous place and you taught me to steer clear of that shit." Jaskier stopped the mid-story to see the grim expression on Geralt's face." Truth be told I did tried to go through inviting Lucifer on my own but could never bring myself to reach the estate out of the sheer fear he was going to eat me or worse dismiss my talents to my face this time, but if you are with me. I know he won't refuse."

"So send him a paper invite? Why do we have to go to him in person if he is this dangerous?" Geralt asked, if Lucifer was a vampire, Geralt needed to investigate. "I've tried, I think he has some sort of alliance with King Radovid in the efforts against Emperor Emhyr. He's proud, secluded and off the grid with a fleet of his own. Such a common invitation would insult him further, He needs to know I care about his opinion and respect. Lucifer is still a King even though he isn't at home." Jaskier sighed, feeling a little defeated. "If what you say is fact and not some overblown fiction, you shouldn't even go over there. Give me an invitation, and I'll go alone. Where is the estate?" Geralt asked and pulled out his map and spread it out on the table so Jaskier could point it out. Geralt loudly yawning as Jaskier circled a mountain on the coast with a pencil. The booze made Geralt tired, and the fresh wounds from his last fight had barely healed, and he reeked of seaweed and rotten fish. "Don't be silly, I'm coming, and that's final plus this should be a trip for the morning. You need a bath first," Jaskier stated and took a few strands of Geralt's dirty, white hair between his fingers and made a face. "Thanks, I hadn't noticed." Geralt said with a comedic sneer. "Maybe a nap too," Jaskier added when Geralt glared back at his cheeky smile. "You will be rested, fed and presentable to deliver the invitation as well as a sample what fortune's favour has granted me." Jaskier popped a few grapes in his mouth as he winked. "I don't need a nap!" Geralt said but was betrayed when another yawn hit him, so he punched the table knocking the candelabra over. Geralt quickly snapping his fingers making all the flames extinguish as the candles broke and scattered about on the floor. "Dammit fine! Where's the bath!?" he asked, causing a bit of scene. It was out of character, but it had been a long time since they were together. For some reason, the conversation was revolving around diplomacy and bureaucracy when usually Jaskier wanted to know more about Geralt's adventures. Geralt waited for Jaskier to stand and lead the way to the upper floors but they sat there for a quiet moment as Jaskier studied him. "You're a bit more boorish than normal, are you sure everything is okay or am I not allowed to ask?" Jaskier crossed his arms waiting for an apology. "It's nothing. I'm just sore." Geralt finished his ale with a chug and fell back into his chair like a grumpy bear. "Nothing? Knocking a flower pot over is nothing. It seems like you uprooted an entire tree." Jaskier commented making the same face as the life-size portrait behind him. Geralt finally noticing the audacious mural of Jaskier wearing pumpkin pants while slaying a dragon. He then stood up abruptly making the glasses on the table shudder before he peeled open a gash in his armour. There was more than one wound Jaskier was made aware of as Geralt's armour had been sundered. "Ooof, and you won this fight, right?" Jaskier shuddered at the sight. "Against the Leshen, yes." Geralt said and exited the table and headed upstairs not waiting anymore.

Up the stairs, Geralt entered a beautiful hallway decorated with masks and drapery which lead to a spacious suite with couches and a hookah. The inn rooms transformed into cabaret stage where musicians sat around playing songs rehearsing and reciting poetry. It was a marvel to behold at how much had changed in a year. "Hi, Geralt!" "Hey, baby!" "When am I going to get my solo?" A group of dancers waved and shouted to get their attention. Geralt recognized some of them and motioned back sheepishly. Jaskier was stumbling over a couch out of place. "Oi! Get this place cleaned up my Guests are arriving and this place looks like a nekkers nest. Maybe when you can prove you are more than children, you will get a chance at a solo." Jaskier let out an exasperated sigh.

Once at the top level, Geralt spotted Pricilla sitting in the bedroom with the door open. Her beautiful voice was humming songs while her back to them. Jaskier picked up his pace and brought Geralt to their bathroom, a spacious place with stone and tiled floors with a rather elaborate tub sitting under a draped window. The same red and brown colour scheme in the towels and a gold candelabra which Geralt lite with his magic. "Oh, thank you!" Jaskier exclaimed. "Not going to lie, this is such a nice house." Geralt crossed his arms and looked around the room. "Do you like it?" Jaskier asked with a proud smirk before busied himself to get the water prepared. Geralt took his time to investigate the stonework and tapestries in the room. Jaskier hummed a tune and shoved some fragrant soaps into the Witcher's hands. "Now get undressed and wash, you smell like you've spent the night in a bucket of fish heads!" Jaskier tuts wagging his finger as he prepares a towel.Geralt fumbled with all the loose knick-knacks Jaskier handed him and set them down, one of the delicate vials of lavender oil falling off the chair which Geralt caught it mid-air. "Okay, okay!" Geralt said as he removed his elegant swords from his back. Once free of the restrictive leather armour Geralt stretched out before peeling off his black cotton tunic. The wounds had closed, but the raw skin still healing and tender. Jaskier darted around the room in distraction, so Geralt snuck upon him. Now able to silently creep in his bare feet until he was right behind Jaskier, who didn't notice him peeking over his shoulder into the drawer. "Do you have enough towels?" Geralt asked his lips right next to Jaskier's ear. "Ge—Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked, jumping a little. The bard startled, as he spun around with towels in hand to face with Geralt and his lack of clothing. Jaskier should have expected this, but he was still surprised by it as he scanned the hunky man in front of him. Geralt's broad, muscular chest scruffy with hair and scarred with residual dried blood. He was getting an up-close and personal look at some nasty looking wounds that were still trying to heal. Jaskier tried not to stare at Geralt even though he had seen him naked before. This time, his body was riddled with scars so many he could not count. The fresh scabs on his chest looked like something had crawled into Geralt's skin and back out again near his ribcage and neck. Geralt followed Jaskier gaze to the wound and he covered it with his arm. "You know I've missed you, right?"

Geralt asked before briskly walking away to the tub to start unbuckling his dagger belt. Geralt looking over his shoulder as he put his dagger down and caught Jaskier's eye while he was removing his pants. Jaskier could feel the heat in his cheeks as he met Geralt's gaze, but he could not look away. "I missed you, too. Things have not been nearly as interesting without you around," he said, trying to sound calm but ultimately failing. Jaskier was drifting his gaze away and fixating on Geralt's back muscles as he climbed into the tub completely naked. The entire time Geralt had not looked away from Jaskier and sunk into the cloudy water to hide. "Mandarine and Rose petals? You're spoiling me." Geralt said. "You must want to impress this, Vampire?" Geralt question as Jaskier started to get flustered. "I want his approval. Lucifer has too much influence." He huffed, "I'm also the one that has to smell you this week so of course, I would rather you smell of roses than monster guts." "Why do you care so much about how I smell?" Geralt said as he held his breath and ducked under the water entirely. He was scrubbing his face and hair while aggressively splashing about in the tub, making a mess. Jaskier watched on in horror. "No! Just no!" He grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the side of the tub and poured some into his hand. "Stop, stop," he commanded and stood behind Geralt and took ahold of his hair, "You're hurt. Let me help." Jaskier sighed and started lathering up Geralt's hair. "Hey!" Before he could fight, Jaskier's fingers were already entangled in his ashen locks massaging his scalp. "You don't have to do that." Geralt said and leaned into his hands. The soft sigh from his chest one of pleasure as Jaskier's nimble fingers relaxed him almost immediately. The content smile on his face, Jaskier noticed while washing his hair lovingly. An awkward silence between them for a beat.

"Can I ask you something?" Geralt blurted out to break the silence. "How are things with you and Pricilla? Everything you had hoped from a settled-down life?" Geralt asked, getting rather personal. Jaskier thought for a moment about Geralt's question. "We've been alright… Having Priscilla back from the hospital has been a joy, but her range has changed, she's more of an alto now. I've had to rewrite a few songs for her," Jaskier said as he started rinsing the stubborn blood and dirt away to reveal the pure ashy white colour of Geralt's hair. "Yennefer and I… well… I broke things off. For good this time. Other than that Ciri's doing great as a Witcher, A born naturally, I can barely keep up with her. She took down a gryphon on her own." Geralt sounded glad, but it was always hard to gleam his mood. Especially with how quickly he changed topic away from Yennefer. The revelation of Geralt relationship with Yennefer and how it was all over quickly skipped before Jaskier could respond. His fingers had stopped moving as he lost himself, but almost as soon as he finished, Jaskier started again. The silence of the moment beginning to get awkward. "Ciri is a good kid. I miss her every day… I am sorry to hear about you and Yennefer," he commented. The way Geralt slumped his shoulders and fiddled with the rose petals in the water, crushing them in his fingers one by one. It was clear Geralt wanted to talk more, he usually likes the silence, but the awkward pause was excruciating. Geralt pulled his head away from Jaskier. "It's fine, you know I think I can handle the rest of this myself," he said, realizing the tension in the air. "You must have some sort of business to handle downstairs." Geralt said trying not to look at his friend. "Things downstairs can wait a moment. You aren't telling me something. I thought you were in love with Yennefer." Jaskier pressed.

"I'm sorry I told you it would be a blessing to have you taken off my hands." Geralt blurted out rather loudly as if he was arguing. Jaskier's face fell as he rinsed his hands. That memory has been pushed away for many years, but the pain of heartbreak was still fresh. He would be more upset if Geralt weren't bringing it up to apologize, but it didn't make the conversation hurt any less. "I guess that's as close to an apology I'd ever get from you…" Jaskier's voice was quiet. Geralt went redder than a burnt pig in the sun, and he spun around in the tub to face Jaskier. "I am so sorry! That's not how I wanted to say that!" He panicked and stood up to meet him. Then immediately sat back down, forgetting he was naked. "No! Fuck! Shit!" He cursed and slapped the water with a fist splashing recklessly. "I appreciate healthy conversation between friends, but I am going to need a moment," Jaskier said with a blank expression since he couldn't face Geralt. The nudity had nothing to do with it. "Finish cleaning up. I'll be down the hall," Jaskier left the room, leaving Geralt alone in the tub.

Geralt submerged himself in the water, hoping a drowner would come and finish him off finally in this moment of dread. He screamed under the surface and came back up out of breath. Clean enough he jumped out of the tub, leaving the fish stank behind. He approached the clothes Jaskier brought out for him, then looked back to his beaten but still high-quality armour and stared for a moment. Geralt picked up his swords, donned his helmet and went out the door. "A vampire's castle is no place for you." Geralt whispered to himself before taking off down the stairs and left the Chameleon. Before Geralt could reach the stable, Zoltan stopped him at the door. "Geralt old pal! It's so good to see you it's been nearly a year hasn't it?" Zoltan asked, going in for a pat on the back, before Geralt could reach Roach. Another figure appeared in the doorway, Priscilla who donned sour look on her face. "Geralt of Rivia, you would leave as quickly as you arrive and not even say hello to me?" She asked. The sour look on her face dropped to reveal a smile. Geralt looked between the two of them in panic, the immediate entourage of people trying to get his attention right when he wanted to disappear. 

"Somethings come up I need to leave," he quickly said as he broke away from Zoltan. "But ye just got here." Zoltan looked to Pricilla with a curious look. "What happened?" he asked. "Jaskier found me a contract; it's urgent." Geralt blurted out aggressively, hoping they would take the hint and go away. Pricilla looked confused about what had happened and hurried back inside to find Jaskier upstairs alone in his room — sitting slumped over in his music chair with his lute propped against the wall out of reach. "What's going on? Geralt just left in a hurry without even saying hello. Said you gave him some sort of contract? Can't he just come here to relax once in a while?" Pricilla questioned Jaskier, who seemed unresponsive as he stared at his boots. "Jaskier? Did something happen?" She asked, putting her arm around his shoulder. Jaskier looked up at Pricilla. "He ran off without me?" Jaskier sighed and stood up, "That idiot. I'll be back shortly." Jaskier said, giving Pricilla a gentle kiss on the forehead and without grabbing his lute headed out. He wasn't going to let the Witcher face the vampire on his own, especially after that conversation. End For Now Chapter 2 (here) For more fanfics go here

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

All aboard the Midnight Train

One of the hardest parts of embarking on a big journey is taking the first step. I can say for certain that you will definitely stumble and fall - believe me, I’ve fallen further than I’ve moved forward - but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

That’s not to say you don’t have every right to be ticked off when things go wrong. I mean mishaps can be a good learning experience, but it’s okay to get frustrated when you lose your way. 

Hell, it’s absolutely okay to bail out and throw in the towel when you’re just not feeling it. Perseverance is good, but sometimes it’s okay to say “fuck this shit, I’m out” - not to mention freeing if it’s about something that’s really dragging you down.

Sometimes life doesn’t work out. It fucking sucks but in most cases there’s nothing you can really do other than carry on. As my mom says, what’s done is done. Stop trying to build a house if it brings you more frustration than joy - tear the whole damn thing down and burn the remains if you have to.

Funny how far your mind can wander when you’re on a train. With nothing but trees, beautiful landscapes, and the starry night skies, deep thoughts are bound to run free. Especially when it’s about something that’s been on your mind for a while.

At the start of the new year, Daisy Jane decided to leave Rosevine. Like many other old friends - and myself - as much as we love our charming little town, we were starting to outgrow it. After spending almost two years at home stuck in a limbo, Daisy Jane had enough and packed her bags. Her mom wasn't too on board with the idea as she doesn’t really have the means to support herself but nevertheless she gave her daughter her blessing to go out in the world.

Daisy Jane’s one of those people who deserve so much more and yet usually ends up with the short end of the stick. She’s one of the most creative people I know and could easily make it as an artist if she had the support. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not nagging on her family, but at times they don’t respect her enough - especially her sister. 

What I’m saying is that Daisy Jane could've become an artist if she wanted to, but disapproval from family is a hefty roadblock. They say doubt kills more dreams than failure but what about strict family expectations? Asian parents, amirite?

Tired of sitting around at home, getting repeatedly rejected in a career involving a degree she worked her ass off for, and being put down for not being as successful as everyone else, Daisy Jane needed to get out. So she did, taking a leap of faith and jumping straight into the unknown. She didn’t have a plan in mind, but sometimes you just gotta cut and run before you lose your nerve.

Months of traveling led her to the small village of Neptunia as she was running low on funds. What seemed like a promising new start quickly fell apart as soon as she stepped into her new house. That’s because it’s not actually her house - it belongs to someone else. Because Neptunia is so small and resources are limited, Daisy Jane is stuck rooming with a stranger. And both have to pay off the remaining mortgage, adding to the annoyance of both since the main resident already paid off a huge part of it herself.

Because of the living situation, Daisy Jane’s not too keen about living in Neptunia now. Her housemate’s nice and all but neither one were prepared for the roommate situation. Had she known about that, Daisy Jane wouldn’t have gone through with the move. But knowing how bad Tom Nook felt about the miscommunication regarding housing (you just can’t stay mad at him for too long - and in his defense, Neptunia’s kinda on the bottom of his list of villages he’s overseeing so it’s easy to forget things) Daisy Jane decided to stick around and see how things work out.

Six months in and things have been pretty meh for Daisy Jane. She didn’t want to dwell on the negatives too much but I suspected that she wasn’t entirely truthful. Always eager to please and willing to silently suffer, that Daisy Jane. Instead of creating art like she wants to, Daisy Jane’s been selling pears and shells, randomly planting stuff around the village, and running errands for everyone. She doesn’t mind doing all that (well, except maybe the garden, which she admits isn’t something she’s too excited about) but it all seems kinda anticlimactic. It also doesn’t help that Neptunia’s kinda isolated so there’s rarely any visitors, so things are pretty monotonous.

And to top it all off, Daisy Jane’s experiencing the absolute worst art block ever. By spending all her waking hours trying to pay off a mortgage, saving up for a rainy day, and catering to everyone else’s needs, she rarely has time for herself - or her creativity. 

I really miss seeing her art online. It’s been months since she last posted something she made and it’s sad. You never know how much you miss something until it’s gone. The same can be said about creativity.

I’ve had my moments where my creativity and motivation for art burns out and it’s not a good feeling. Being someone who is driven by creating art, losing that spark is one of my biggest fears because without it, I’d be nothing. Art is one of those things that keep me going so to lose that means I’ve lost my purpose. I’d hate to think about what happens if my creativity is gone for good.

And what’s even worse is that I’m afraid Daisy Jane’s headed for that direction if she doesn’t take action soon. I suspected something from our texts and her posts, but seeing her in person really puts things into perspective. 

She’s not one for selfies, her last one being taken over a year ago, so seeing her face for the first time in forever, I almost didn’t recognize her. From her hair being tied into three messy pigtails instead of adorned with pretty clips to the concealer hiding away the bags under her eyes and the slightly too dark blush on her face (what happened to her naturally rosy cheeks?) as well as the slightly ragged Nook shirt a couple sizes too large, I could’ve sworn that she was someone else.

Visiting Neptunia wasn’t too bad, but it’s no Wizpire. Things are just a tad bit too slow for my liking - and a bit outdated as well, then again what do you expect in these parts? Honestly I’m surprised that Tom Nook still keeps tabs on this village, especially since he’s busy with islands and such. Then again, he does feel bad about Daisy Jane’s housing mishap so he’s been dropping by quite a bit to check in on her.

To say that Daisy Jane’s been frustrated is an understatement. She describes it as escaping from one prison only to get stuck in a trap. Except staying in the trap is more practical than going back out on the road where it’s unpredictable. So she’s in a position where she feels like she can’t really complain because it’s not like she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere. It’s not an ideal situation but sometimes you need to pick and choose your battles.

I can’t tell Daisy Jane what to do since it’s not up to me, nor should I try to influence her in any way, but I can take her away for a bit. An outsider’s perspective can be super helpful, especially if you’ve been looking way too closely and missing out on the big picture. I know I’ve fallen into that trap too many times, wasting too much time and energy on one small piece without considering the overall grand scheme of things.

So we took out the train amenity to go on a late night ride. We’ve been meaning to bring back the train and this was the perfect opportunity for it. A scenic route’s the perfect way to escape from monotony and let your mind wander without putting too much effort into it. 

Also, Daisy Jane enjoys long train rides as she’s the kind of artist who breaks out a sketchbook to capture the view outside her window. It’s amazing what she can do with a pen (yes, she uses a ballpoint pen and does so with full confidence) and paper. It would be a shame to see her talent and passion go to waste.

The train ride was super relaxing and beautiful to look at. Of course, it didn’t solve Daisy Jane’s problems, but it was a good retreat. I can tell by how much her eyes lit up that she’s feeling a lot better than she had in a long time. I had suggested that she bring her sketchbook along as well as a pen (no pencil, because that’s now how Daisy Jane works!) and that did wonders for her. 

I never thought that the sight of Daisy Jane scribbling in her sketchbook with ink stained hands would bring me as much joy as it did tonight. I’m pretty sure she filled about half the book in the span of a couple hours.

Creativity can be fickle. Sometimes it flows in a steady stream, sometimes it comes and goes, and other times it goes into a drought before flooding back like a storm. The latter is what describes Daisy Jane. Hopefully the storm will lead to a steady flow of inspiration. After all, you can’t keep the tide from coming in, even after a long dry spell.

The night’s still young and there’s still so much to see. It’s just me and Daisy Jane in the train but it feels like we’re in different worlds. There she is, scribbling away, capturing the views outside her window. Jagged shapes for mountains, curving lines for rivers, scattered stars bringing a night sky to life - even in rough sketches, you can tell it’s unmistakably Daisy Jane.

A train ride won’t solve all of Daisy Jane’s problems, but it’s a start. 

[galoots]

Team Uncle Week 2019 - Day Two: Teasing Donald and his classmate, Daisy, are working on a school project at the McDuck Manor. And these two obviously have it bad for one another. Politely, Scrooge waits until after Daisy leaves to mercilessly clown on his beloved nephew.

Scrooge carefully picked his way through an obstacle course of scattered sheets, uncapped markers, open textbooks, glue sticks, and vials of glitter that littered the floor. His previously pristine living room now resembled the desolate battlefield of some craft-related war. Not that he particularly minded a little mess as long as Donald and his little study partner were getting their project done. Duckworth, however, would surely have a fit if he laid eyes upon this catastrophic mess.

           He reached the couch just as the kids re-entered the living room. Both Donald and Daisy were carrying armfuls of fresh school supplies, backup munitions to bolster their existing armaments. Donald’s greeting was cut short when a stray marker underfoot caused him to lose his footing, sending him crashing to the ground. With an elegant sidestep, Daisy avoided the trajectory of Donald’s fall and watched his supplies spill everywhere.

           “Hello Mr. McDuck.” She greeted him politely while using her sneaker-clad foot to jostle Donald’s prone body, making sure he was still alive.

           His uncle fought back a sigh. Ever since that boy had hit his growth spurt, he’d become an accident waiting to happen. He’d been clumsy before, but puberty compounded his bungling into something extraordinary. A regular bull in a china shop.

           Scrooge suppressed the urge to rush to his nephew’s side to check on him like he would whenever he took a spill as a tot. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Donald in front of his new objet d’affection. Still, he couldn’t conceal a sympathetic wince when Donald’s chin collided with the hardwood floor.

           He cleared his throat loudly to distract Daisy from the spectacle of a flustered Donald scrambling to collect himself. “So how goes the project, kiddos?”

           “G-good!” Donald was crouched now, trying to play off his fall as if it hadn’t happened and gathering up the items he’d spilled. “We, uh, we’ve been working hard. A+ material for sure!”

           Daisy made a smug little noise at that remark. “I’ve been working hard he means. Donald here—” she flipped his bangs teasingly with her hand, “—keeps zoning out and staring off into space.”

           “Not true!” He stopped cleaning up in order to playfully yank her tied shoelaces undone. “I wrote the whole section about the socio-political fallout that lead to the dawn of WWII!”

           “Hey!” Daisy cried with mock offense at his retribution and bumped him with her hip in response. “Only ‘cause I had to nag you last night to work on it instead of bombarding me with IM’s.”

           A small knowing smile crept on to Scrooge’s face while he watched their cute repartee over the folded edge of his newspaper. They’d only befriended each other recently but almost immediately established a familiar coquettish rapport with one another. Scrooge wasn’t the most perceptive duck in the flock, but even he knew puppy love when it was staring him in the face. He watched their spectacle with subtle attention while the two of them—absorbed in laughter and chatter, shy accidental brushes of the hand, exchanges of coy smiles and glances—forgot entirely about his presence in the room.

           He let their steady banter coupled with the soft scratch of pencil lead on paper serve fade to the background of his focus as he turned back to his reading. The two of them were well-suited for each other it seemed, since they were able to make steady progress on their project despite their flirting.

           Time passed pleasantly as the hour grew later, marked by the steady fading of the light outside. Having noticed the change, Daisy checked her wristwatch and began to pack up her things. “I gotta get home.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she did so.

           “Already?” Donald complaint was tinged with disappointment. No doubt their time together seemed excruciatingly short from his point of view.

           Daisy nudged him with her shoulder. “It’s late! If I stay any later my mom will flip. She’ll think I skipped town with some hunky guy or something.”

           Donald opened his beak to ready a response, but Scrooge intervened, asking Daisy if she needed a ride home before his nephew could utter a word. He knew his nephew well enough to know when he was about to insert his foot into his mouth. It was for his own good anyway—he doubted Donald’s remark about the identity of that hunky guy being a certain teen-aged duck would have been successful.

           Scrooge threw his newspaper onto the couch as he hastily moved to prevent disaster. “So, need a ride home, Daisy?”

           “No thanks, Mr. McDuck. I rode my bike here.”

           “Alright,” Scrooge yielded, “Just see to it you get home safely, alright? I don’t want to read about a reckless driver’s collision with cyclist because of low visibility in tomorrow’s paper.”

           “I’ll be fine, Mr. McDuck. I got those reflective stickers on my bike.” She smiled at him, pleased that he cared enough to worry about her.

           Like the courteous gentleman Scrooge raised Donald to be, he walked their guest to the door to see her out. Scrooge trailed behind, letting Donald hold the door open for her while they exchanged pleasantries. As Daisy took off down their driveway, she waved to them both before finally pedaling out of sight.

Donald waved dreamily at her retreating figure and said, in a voice too quiet for her to hear, “Bye, Daisy.”

           Scrooge smirked at his love-sick nephew. Turning to head back inside, Donald caught his uncle’s smug little grin.

“What?” Donald shut the door behind him, noticing Scrooge’s impish grin.

He didn’t want to tease his nephew about his crush when she was present, but now that she was gone? It was a no-holds barred moosewood stadium freestyle goofing sesh, and Scrooge was ready to bring the heat.

           “Oh, nothing…” He swung his cane nonchalantly in the air on his way back to the living room, eager for Donald to take the bait.

           Donald jogged after him, a perturbed, suspicious look fixed on his face. “What are you smiling about?”

           Scrooge sat gingerly back down on the couch. Hook, line, and sinker. Time for the games to begin. “Can’t a man smile in his own home?”

           Donald eyed him with apprehension, let out a hmph, and bent down to start tidying the mess he’d left on the living room floor.

           Crossing his ankle over his knee, Scrooge tittered to himself. “That Daisy of yours is quite the nice young gal, isn’t she?”

           Right on cue, Donald blushed and stammered nervously. “She’s fine! I guess. Whatever, its not like I like her or anything. I mean, I like her but not like, like-like her. She’s just a girl! Who happens to be a friend!”

           Scrooge hummed, sounding unconvinced. His nephew ducked his head bashfully, focusing his attention on his cleaning efforts.

           He tapped a finger against his chin, peering down at Donald. “You know, Tennyson said Spring was the time a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love. I think he may be mistaken; the season’s clearly fall.”

           Dropping his armful of stationery, Donald squawked. “I don’t love her!”

           Chuckling, Scrooge swatted Donald’s head lightly with his rolled-up newspaper. “I was discussing poetry, nephew. You should be the expert. You are the designated poet in this family, after all.”

           Grumbling loudly, Donald started to pack up the arts and crafts supplies even faster.

           “Speaking of, you haven’t given me one of your poems to read in a while. Yet, I always see you scribbling away in that notebook of yours…”

           Donald abruptly stood, eyes wide, and brow furrowed,  briskly walking out the room. Following in quick pursuit, Scrooge wheeled around the corner into the parlor. Donald was already making his way up the stairs, beating a hasty retreat to his room.

           He called after him good-naturely, enjoying the sport. “What’s the matter, nephew? No blason? No sonnets?” Scrooge puffed out his chest, thudding a fist against it, recited pompously, “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun…”

           “Shut it!” Donald leaned over the banister, waist against the railing, to shout angrily at his uncle. “That’s not even what that sonnet’s about! It’s a satirical send-up of the poetic conventions of courtly love! God!”

           Scrooge’s laughter echoed up the staircase and down the hall Donald was trying to cross as fast as he could. Motivated, Scrooge ignored the pain in his hip to catch up with his nephew. He swung an arm over the boy’s shoulder, pulling him so close their cheeks were smushed together. “Ah young love! You never forget your first love. It’s special you know.”

           With a violent shrug, Donald escaped from his uncle’s hold and stomped off towards his bedroom, quickly flinging the door closed. He hadn’t escaped the onslaught however, because Scrooge had wedged his cane between the door and its frame before it could close. Donald leaned his weight on the door, trying to keep Scrooge out, but his uncle still outclassed him when it came to strength, and he slid forward as Scrooge pushed the door open. He strolled in like he owned the place, continuing on like he hadn’t just strong-armed his way past Donald’s defenses.“Although I suppose Mickey was your first love. Oh my, he isn’t upset about this, is he?”

           “I’ve told you a million times, Uncle Scrooge! We were friends! We were never together! I don’t even like boys!” Donald squeaked out through the thick of his embarrassment.

           “Ah, is that why I found you two locked in a passionate kiss that one time?”

           Donald covered his bright-red face with his hands and, with a phrase now commonplace in their household, whined, “It wasn’t what it looked like!” He whipped around shoving fruitlessly at his uncle’s back. “Get out of my room! Go away!”

           “Oh no,” Scrooge melodramatically exclaimed, throwing a hand to his forehead in an imitation of a faint. “I feel weak, Donald!” He leaned his weight against Donald’s hands.

           “No, you’re not! Leave me alone!”

           “Donald, m’boy, my body’s growing heavy. I can’t seem to move at all! How curious!” Donald was supporting his uncle’s weight now as Scrooge went limp. His arms shook with strain as he protested.

           “If you don’t love me, Donnie, I do believe I’ll expire right here on the spot!”

           “No, you won’t! Cut it out!”

           “I’m dying…” Scrooge slumped completely against Donald. “I’m dead…” They flopped onto the bedspread as Donald’s arms gave out, and Scrooge sat on top of his nephew, pinning him to the bedspread with his weight.

           “Get offa me!” Donald struggled, kicking his legs and waggling his arms, but couldn’t break free. Frustrated, he buried his head in his duvet, grumbling furious remarks into the fabric.

           Well that wouldn’t do, Scrooge thought. He wanted a happy Donald, not a grumpy one. Fortunately, he knew the perfect solution. Scrooge grabbed the boy’s ankle, confining his leg between his arm and his side, and started tickling the underside of Donald’s foot. Immediately, Donald burst into hysterical laughter, his body shaking with his guffaws while he squirmed to try and get away.

           It didn’t take long for Donald to yield, crying, “Uncle! Uncle!”

           Unfortunately for him, Scrooge loved a good pun. “Yes, I am your uncle. What of it?” Scrooge grinned with devilish glee at his own joke.

           “I mean I give! Lemme go!”

           Finally, Scrooge ceased his efforts, watching Donald’s slight frame shake with residual laughter. He freed him from his hold, moving his weight off the boy and onto the mattress so the lad could catch his breath. When his breathing had evened out, Scrooge looped an arm around Donald’s neck, pulling him into a loose headlock so he could noogie him. By then, Donald had given up trying to escape his uncle’s little wrestling match. He was too tired to fight back anymore and chose to lay limply in his uncle’s grasp like a dead fish.

           “You’re so mean, Uncle Scrooge.” Donald’s complaint had no bite behind it just the fond exasperation of a child dealing with a parent.

           “Oh, come now, I only tease because I love you, dear.” He planted a gentle kiss on top of Donald’s captive head.

           “Yeah, whatever.” Donald apathetically replied, before adding, in a quiet, rushed voice, “It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything but, um, Iloveyoutoo.”

Scrooge said nothing, smiling down happily at his nephew, who returned his loving gaze with a small shy smile of his own. It was a perfect moment—the kind you’d like to freeze in its tracks so you could tack up the memory in your mind like a snapshot. But time flowed on, and the peaceful little bubble was popped by a warbling cry of despair of a posh British voice that rang from downstairs. What happened to my living room?!”

           “Uh oh. Puppa sounds mad,” Donald mumbled, realizing with a gasp why. “We forgot about the mess!”

           “Woops.” Scrooge replied with dry dismay.

           They exchanged a look, communicating wordlessly with one another. We’re really in for it now.

[alkhale]

Locked Here for Forever (1/6) Dark!Sabo/Oc/Dark!Ace

(quick note before y’all come at me with torches)

This was a side project I’ve been playing around with while working on updates (THE UPDATES ARE COMING I SWEAR, I SWEAR) I was kinda... possessed? to write this and when it kept coming back to me, I realized I needed to get it out of my system. Doing that made me realize how big it was going to end up being so it’s divided up into parts. 

I’ve been wanting to explore a different variety of things. We can say “darker” themes, but I really just wanted to try my hand at playing with characters with honestly manipulative and sociopathic behavior. I’m not going on a limb to say yandere because that term is loose and often made to be thought of with stabby-stabby, stalky-stalky--but I think it can encompass a lot more? Possessive behavior, controlling, but I wanted to really go into manipulative behavior. Sociopathic because it’s not psychotic, it’s functioning and cold and hmm.

(Btw, to each their own, fantasies, kinks, we don’t shame here. But if anyone is ever putting you through what Hoku is going to be put through here and manipulating you into basically mind controlling you and this and that, it is not a healthy relationship and they are scum and you deserve better, drop their ass like a hot fucking potato.)

I decided to use Hoku because this idea originally came from another AU for Memos. (I’m sorry Hoku) Loosely based on the premise from the BL comic, “Points of Three”

It’s here on AO3, if you just want to read there too.

Rating: NSFW

Pairing: Sabo/Oc/Ace (Past! Kid/Oc), Dark!Ace/Oc/Dark!Sabo

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Manipulation (Psychological and Emotional), Past Assault, Past Trauma, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Use of Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Controlling Behavior, Stalking

Chapter One: Points of Three

“From three points, it can’t ever end. They’ll always pull at one. One is always pulled between them. One point is always trapped between the other two.”   

Hoku shoved a pancake into her mouth.

“That’s the idea at least.”

The twenty-four hour breakfast diner was only half busy. A dingy place with wallpaper peeling in places but always clean and friendly. Cozy. The booths had tears at the seams, patched together by other patches. Establishments like this weren’t too popular all throughout their town, but the diner’s all-you-can-eat pancake and breakfast option did the job for their group’s ridiculous appetites.

Crumpled papers were splayed out on their table. Luffy had spilled a bit of syrup onto one of his math packets and it was in the middle of being patted down with water and dried to be somewhat presentable.

Her best friend’s face was currently in the middle of short-circuiting. His attention was waning thin. Luffy’s lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed as he hunched over the papers in front of him, one fork in his hand with syrup dripping from a soggy slice of pancake.

Hoku continued to chew, sick of these studies herself.

“So the answer,” Luffy said slowly. He rubbed the scar beneath his eye. A dumb thing he’d gotten trying to impress a man beyond both their leagues. “Is nothing.”

Hoku snorted. “It’s infinity, dumbass. It never ends.”

“Are you sure?” Luffy said, squinting. “You’re pretty dumb too. I think there’s just no answer. Hey, hey, let’s just leave it blank and then—”

“If you don’t do your half of the group project, Nami’s gonna kick your ass and then she’s going to come after mine,” Hoku said, looking a bit pale at the idea as she slumped forward onto the messy table as well, using her mouth to grab the edge of a pancake off her plate and slowly chew through it. “Dun cwah meh duhm, duhmash.”

“Shishishi, but you are!” Luffy snickered, kicking his feet out and mimicking her position. “We’ll just pay Nami money not to kick our ass and we win!”

Hoku groaned around a pancake at the dangerous word. She made sure strands of her white hair weren’t getting caught in stray puddles of syrup, lazily tugging it back up into a bun. “We’re broke, dumbass. She might be willing to take an IOU, but she’ll collect someday and…”

Hoku whimpered, wishing she could shove her face into the stack of pancakes beside her. “I need a jooooooooob.”

Luffy chewed in front of her, shoveling more pancakes into his mouth. Unbothered. He usually got off on the occasional odd job and Luffy always just had this… way of making things work out when they shouldn’t.

The diner was cheap. So it’d been her source of nutrition the past couple of weeks—aside from Sanji’s loving meal preps and Nami’s fruits constantly being brought back to her dingy apartment. The horrible, cold truth was that her funds were low. Financial aid covered for her classes and materials fine, but existing outside of school came off her savings and odd jobs or freelance work she picked up here and there.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken two years off,” Hoku said, squinting at her stack of pancakes as Luffy reached over and started eating them. “Might’ve landed me a better job…”

“Nah, you needed it,” Luffy said simply. “‘Sides, you had tons of fun. You don’t regret it at all.”

Hoku whimpered once more. “Ugh, you’re right.”

Hoku only stood at twenty-one, two years older than Luffy—but after her third year of high school, she’d chosen to leave Japan after her graduation ceremony and head back to her hometown, a small place in Hawaii. She’d decided on a two-year gap, getting in touch with old family friends of her late parents who were essentially relatives and just taking some time to herself after everything and doing a little self-searching but…

Hoku had come back and managed to enter back into college without much of a hitch. She and Luffy were now on the same pace to graduating with Nami and Usopp—if he or she didn’t fail in the meantime—Zoro was going to school part-time for police academy training, Sanji doing the same for his culinary school and full-time position at his father’s restaurant and at least all her buddies were still in school aside from Robin and Franky and Brook.

To be honest, her life was going pretty well so far, aside from finances. It’d been almost a year now since her break-up and the two of them were still on amicable terms and checked in with each other regularly, her friends were healthy and in her life, Shanks and his team were out exploring some new island and there’d be an interview on it soon they could tune into…

Hoku was happy.

But school aside—she was still unemployed and poor. No new jobs had been coming her way as of late and even Law helping her land that job with designing that new program promotion his residency had needed was gone to her rent in a blink.

“Why don’t you ask Torao to help you get a job at his hospital?” Luffy said loudly. “You can be a nurse or something.”

“I’m too dumb to save people’s lives,” Hoku said flatly. “And I’m an art major. That’s like… Telling a cat to go fly.”

Luffy opened his mouth.

“Never mind, stop there,” Hoku shoved her face into the sleek table, smelling the old wood. “You also need credentials to work in a hospital, Lu. Should I find a campus job? There’s gotta be an opening somewhere… Maybe I can see if the amusement park needs caricature artists or something--”

“But you hate that kinda stuff,” Luffy complained. “It’s boring. You’re never supposed to do the boring stuff ya hate.”

“But I’m broke,” Hoku said pitifully. “Maybe my pride can suck up being poor…”

Hoku turned so her chin was flat against the table, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I can gamble my way to being rich…”

Luffy chewed with a little more thought, making a constipated expression—he was really thinking about something.

Her phone vibrated with a little jingle on the other side of the booth. Hoku turned it over, making a little happy noise. They could worry about money later. She hated thinking about this kind of stuff. “Zoro’s out of class. Let’s meet up with him and Usopp for that movie.”

“I feel like I’m forgetting somethin’,” Luffy said, making a face. “Oh, man… what was it…”

“Answer your damn homework and let’s go,” Hoku said, stuffing her leftover pancakes into her mouth and waving her hand to the owner for a check. “Cuh mown.”

“Nothing, right?” Luffy said, about to press his pen in.

“Infinity,” Hoku said flatly, grabbing his pen and scribbling the horizontal 8 in for him. “Never ends. That point is always stuck. Kinda like insanity.”

“Like how you’re crazy.”

“You’re crazy, crazy, now c’mon. Let’s beat Usopp and make him pay for snacks.”

Luffy stuffed all the pancakes into his mouth, rushing out the door with his cheeks full. Hoku slapped their money onto the table and ran out after him, shoving extra napkins into her backpack.

. 

.

.

Hoku stared at the last page of her canvas sketchbook with a reluctant frown, a small sigh slipping past her lips.

She’d tried to be as conservative as possible with all the negative space—but this was it. She went through sketchbooks faster than her small funds could afford, but she couldn’t help but always put aside a bit for her work—it’s what you love.

The rest of her art classmates were packing up their things for the day. Stools squeaked across the smooth floors. Easels or clipboards sliding back into place. The model at the center stood up, stretching her arms over her head as their professor instructed them on what to work on this weekend and to finish last assignments up. They’d just finished another open studio and there’d be a big project coming up soon enough… She was going to need to buy the new canvases and oil paints for that… Shit.

Her fingers twitched. Hoku couldn’t help but smile.

She loved what she did.

Even if you’re bad for my wallet.

“Looks like you finally need a new book,” Hoku’s smile dropped, fingers stopping at the edge of her book. The girl beside her leaned over, smiling, “You’ve been needing a new one, haven’t you?”

I don’t even remember your name. Hoku hadn’t bothered. She made a fair enough effort with remembering the names of her classmates, but this one in particular had made it clear where she stood. Wanted to be some high end artist—was on her way, probably, since she’d been showcased in several galas but—

The hidden hint behind her words was clear every time she spoke to Hoku. Blatant. A teasing curl of her lips.

“Don’t you think that’s sad?”

“You’re always using the front and back of each page,” she laughed. “I mean, the drawings are great, but you can afford a new one or two, right? I’ll donate one if you’re that prudent.”

A few eyes glanced over at the easy confrontation. Hoku kept her face even. After this semester, you won’t even matter.

“You can afford the tattoos right,” she continued with a light laugh, tapping the corner of her left eye where Hoku’s heart shaped tattoo was inked in around her eye, smeared at the end. “Just save a bit for a new sketchbook and some supplies while you’re at it. Got to keep up with your studies, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Hoku said, it was actually starting to bother her now. “What’s your name again?”

Someone’s pencil dropped behind them. He stooped down to pick it up, hiding his face.

Her classmate’s face flushed red. Her eyes flickered, back and forth, assessing the reaction of the people around them. Barely anyone was watching—who cared? They were all here to learn and to hone their skills. No one needed more drama.

Hoku’s lips pulled into a polite smile, revealing baby canines.

“Come on,” she said, laughing with a titter, “It’s been half a semester. It’s—”

“HOOOOOKKKKUUUUUU—” Thin but muscular arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. Hoku floundered for a second, almost tumbling back over her chair at the added weight. The smell of the sun washed around her and Luffy’s hair tickled her cheek, pressing in close as he jumped around, almost ripping her from her seat.

Warmth pressed into her back. Hoku’s shoulders relaxed, everything cleared. Her lips turned upwards into a wide grin.

Luffy was a destructive, bumbling dumbass most of the time—but he could always turn a mood into a better one.

Shanks rubs off on you too much. She thought fondly, a bit of stupid smile curling over her lips. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Hoku! Hoku! You won’t believe this—come on! Let’s get lunch, I’m hungry. I’ve got awesome news! It’s gonna blow your mind and—”

“Calm down, dumbass!” Hoku snapped. A few of her classmates looked on in amusement. The girl from earlier had already retreated, saving face. Wiser ones started to move their things out of the way. “You’re going to break something again!”

Her professor didn’t mind friends coming in and visiting or sitting in on lectures. But Luffy’s regular presence barreling through the art department was considered a public menace and had to be dealt with accordingly. “I’ve never seen anyone launch themselves off the second floor and bounce around the way he does, so for the love of god please keep him away from the ceramics class—”

“Did you just finish class?” Hoku said, adjusting herself to account for Luffy’s added weight. She walked with a backwards slump, leaning as Luffy dragged along the floor hanging off her while she gathered her supplies.

“Yup! Nami went to go get a table!” Luffy said happily. “Come on, come on, let’s go eat! I’m starving!”

Her stomach rumbled in agreement. Hoku pressed a warning hand to her stomach, using the other to shove her backpack over her shoulder and purposefully shove into Luffy’s cheek. “I’m hurrying, but what were you saying earlier?”

She shoved her stuff into her bag as quickly as she could, flipping her sketchbook closed and turning toward the door. Luffy was starting to clamber up her back and she wasn’t sure she could support him if he decided to test if she could give him a piggyback ride.

“Oh, yeah!” Luffy said, cheek squished against her knuckles. “I think I found a job for ya! And it pays!”

“You found me a job—”

Hoku’s foot tripped over the other, sending them both toppling to the floor in a massive heap of one screech and Luffy’s monkey-like laughter. A student quickly grabbed his easel, jerking it out of the way as they smashed into the ground.

“Shishishi, you’re such a klutz.”

.

.

.

“If it’s Luffy, it’s probably some weird job throwing yourself off a cliff for fun,” Nami said warningly, neatly filed nails digging into the tangerine in her palm as she peeled it. “You guys are always talking about that explorer—what if it’s doing something illegal or—”

“Throwing yourself off a cliff and getting paid is fine,” Zoro said. He ran a hand through his spearmint colored hair, light catching off his golden earrings. “Just make sure you’re not secretly being employed for some kind of drug smuggling. You’re both idiots, so it’d happen.”

Luffy didn’t even look the slightest bit bothered, simply grinning stupidly to himself as he shoveled food into his mouth. Hoku—a little calmer and more sensible after stuffing her face with the cafeteria’s economically wonderful meal sets—gaped at the two of them in disbelief, blatantly offended.

The four of them were gathered in one of Grand College’s many cafeterias. Usopp was cramming last minute for another exam and should be running over any second. Hoku crossed her arms over her chest, shoving another forkful of pasta into her mouth. Nami leaned forward, setting a peeled tangerine down and smacking Luffy’s grabbing hands away as she set to work on another.

“I would not get involved in something like that without knowing,” Hoku grunted. Turning to Luffy she added, “If it’s drugs, I need to know how much it’s going to pay first.”

Zoro put her in a headlock, pointedly shoving her face into his chest where his nametag from his police training could smash into her cheek. Hoku’s arms flailed around, smacking into his cheek.

“Nah, it’s way better than any of that!” Luffy said, throwing his arms out in excitement. He stopped for a second. “Hey, wait, that sounds kinda fun—”

“Get on with it,” Nami and Zoro chorused.

Luffy grinned, turning to Hoku—who popped her head out over the top of Zoro’s tightened arm—with shining eyes. “Ace and Sabo are looking for someone to help them with this project!”

“Ace and Sabo?” Hoku’s eyes went round. A little box of memories peeled itself open, idle moments, pleasant laughter, warm memories wrapped around little flashes of awkward teenage encounters.

Hoku had known Luffy since she was a kid when his grandfather, a marine, had been stationed over in Hawaii at the time. Hoku’s parents had passed away a few years before that and after moving around, she’d spent some time with Mihawk until Garp swindled her into being looked after with Luffy…

She’d met Ace and Sabo young. When she was nine and they were ten--she remembered fighting all the time with Ace and Sabo being the genial, grinning mediator and those summers and years had been a great time and then she’d left to go live with Mihawk and eventually set up her own place. Their meetings were scattered in between coming to Luffy’s house with the three of them there after school—she and Luffy had gone to the same school for as long as she could remember—it’d gone on until high school, where meetings between them happened on occasion and then Hoku had left.

The two older brothers were great people—amazing even. Funny, easy to be around, always looking after Luffy first and foremost. She and Ace still butted heads and he could flip from a dotting older brother to an absolute menace but it’d been almost three years now since she’d last seen them.

Bright, golden blonde hair. Soot black waves. Hoku huffed over Zoro’s arm, resting her chin comfortably in the crook of his elbow. I wonder if they look any different… I think Luffy posted a picture not too long ago and they seemed well… She’d just never ended up getting in touch with them with everything she’d had going on.

It might be nice to see them again.

“I haven’t seen them in ages,” Hoku said thoughtfully. Luffy nodded his head so hard it almost snapped off. “How’re they doing?”

“They’re great!” Luffy said excitedly. “Never been better, and when they heard you came back into town forever ago, they’ve been saying they wanted to get in touch or somethin’ but they’ve been busy!”

“Your brothers?” Nami said, looking curious. “Isn’t Sabo working for that big designing company right now? The one that works with revolutionary protests through some of their lines?”

“Something like that,” Luffy said. “I never remember the name.”

“You never remember anything,” Zoro corrected. “I thought Ace was working part time as a firefighter. What kind of project would those two need help with? A fire proof line of clothes?”

Hoku looked interested. “That sounds kinda cool.”

Luffy nodded. Nami smacked the back of his head, urging him to continue. “Well, Ace does all kinds of stuff, but he models for Sabo’s work sometimes too. They’ve been doing a specific kinda work for some people.”

Luffy tipped his head to the side. His brows furrowed, crossing his arms over his chest in thought, “I think Sabo said something about… se… celery taste from one of their clients!”

“Selective,” Nami provided.

“Yeah, that! Anyway, one of ‘em wants something special done and Sabo remembered how good Hoku is with drawing and art and stuff!” Luffy said brightly. “I said you’re poor and you need a job—”

“Why’d you gotta say it like that, Lu?”

“And they were super excited and hoping you could help them out!” Luffy said. “See? It’s easy!”

“I’m not going to make your brothers pay me for something like that,” Hoku said, shaking her head in between Zoro’s arm. “They’ve done a lot for me before—they treated me like family when I was always bumming around at your place… I’ll just do it for free, what do they need? An ad? A—”

“Nono, dummy, they said they wanna pay ya because it’s a big job!” Luffy said. “It’ll take a lot of work or something and—ah! I almost forgot!”

Luffy grinned, shuffling around his pants’ pocket before he pulled out a crumpled, balled up paper. He handed it to Hoku, who reached around Zoro’s still loose and comfortable grip to fold it. “Sabo and Ace gave me this last week! It’s their numbers. Said to give them a call or text them if you were down to do it!”

“A week ago,” Zoro snorted. “Nice.”

“But I said we should all get together cause it’s been so long!” Luffy said cheerfully. He grinned, swinging his legs back and forth over the bench. “We can throw a party! Oh, man, we can make it huge and—”

“No parties until after midterms,” Nami said dangerously. “And whatever you decide, don’t forget we’ve got a girls day with Robin next week, Hoku!”

“Right, right,” Hoku said absently, staring at the two differently scrawled numbers—one in neat, even print and a more slurred, harder to read script. Ace and Sabo. “Well, I’ll text them and let them know I don’t mind helping out however. It’s the least I can do since it’s been so long.”

Hoku slumped, throwing herself half over Zoro’s lap. He shot her an unimpressed look and Hoku mimicked a limp fish.

“Maybe I’ll just work in the cafeteria,” Hoku said thoughtfully. “I can sneak meals and they’ll probably feed me too.”

“Sure,” Zoro said. “Like they’d let a klutz like you become a lunch lady. It’s bad enough that eyebrow freak cooks for anyone.”

Hoku made strangling motions at his neck. Zoro just shoved her face back into his lap, folding his arms on top of her head and yawning as she let out muffled screeches.

Luffy snickered. Nami finally relented and offered him a peeled tangerine. He popped it into his mouth and grinned, teeth shining and excitement bleeding into all of them.

“Oh, man, it’s been so long—this is gonna be great!”

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“Contributing to society yet, you unemployed bum?”

Hoku’s face shot up from the second helping of curry she’d been about to shove into her mouth without further consideration. Her face twisted, grumpy and angry—but only in the kind of way that came off as entirely defensive because the words thrown at her were blatantly true and painful, damn it.

“Hey, you jerk,” Hoku snapped, waving her spoon at the asshole in front of her. “When I start making it big, you’re going to eat those words.”

The currently sitting definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Changed out of his hospital gear and classical surgeon attire—because being a heart surgeon with an emphasis in being able to do surgery on just about anything else because he was a genius called for a lot of hours—and dressed in easy jeans and a black turtleneck. The fluorescent lighting of the homey curry restaurant caught off his slender piercing. His dark tattoos peeked out from the rolled up sleeves of his cuffs, the neatly printed letters staring back at Hoku as he held his too large cup of coffee—black as sin because he still had a shift tonight.

Hoku always had to wonder what his patients thought every time they saw DEATH staring back at them on the hands of their doctor before going under on the table. She got away with the snow white hair and tattoos because she was an “artist” so no one bothered her much.

Probably shit their pants. Or just cry.

Doctor Trafalgar D. Water Law did not look impressed.

“Maybe,” he said dryly, “if you don’t eat everything else first.”

Hoku flinched back as though she’d been struck. She shoveled more curry into her mouth, glaring hard at him from across the table.

“I keep asking myself why I hang out with you,” Hoku said. “You’re always taking your time and then when I think we’re going to have a nice time, you find some way to cut me open again.”

Law took a sip of his coffee, “You do it to yourself. And I hang out with you. Not the other way around.”

“That’s bullshit,” Hoku said around her spoon. “And ya know it, Torao.”

The two were about as far from each other on the spectrum as possible when it came to a small world. As a doctor and about three years older than herself—there could’ve never been an excuse for their paths to cross. It just happened one day that her art club had been assigned to help remodel and work with the children of their local hospital and overseeing the entire thing had been Hoku the klutz from her art club and Doctor Law, resident bachelor heart surgeon.

“You can’t paint monsters in the child ward, it’ll literally scare them to death.”

“Are you even listening to the kids? They want a wall of creepy and fun stuff so they can tell stories to each other.”

“You’ll give them all nightmares and it will reflect poorly on their health.”

“I’ll give them all a reason to run and they’re going to be dancing out of this hospital from how fit they are.”

And then there’d been a celebration party for finishing the joint project and Hoku drank a little too much—or maybe she’d just eaten something bad—and then she was throwing up on Law’s shoes.

Hoku had also been the reason why one of his buddies, Penguin, had managed to graduate in their shared anatomy class. Law was also fairly good friends with Kid—fairly because they always talked shit about each other but still hung out—and there’d never been a reason not to know each other anymore.

Besides, even if she told Law he was a bastard and this and that, she genuinely enjoyed his company. He was looking out for her here and there in his twisted, clinical, at times cold-hearted way.

“But no,” Hoku admitted bitterly, slumping back into her chair. Law leaned back in his own, satisfied as he threw one arm behind the chair next to him and watched her in silence. “It’s been months now and I’m just barely getting by on any project I can… Did you know I was thinking about working at the amusement park? Or the pier? I hate water. Why would I even want to spend more time there—”

“You’re afraid of water, you don’t hate it,” Law corrected. “It’s called aquaphobia.”

Hoku mimicked him.

Law kicked her knee under the table. She jerked it back in, nearly jostling their small little booth. Hoku and Law both grabbed their drinks to steady them.

“I mean, I’m not that bad,” Hoku rubbed her chin, shaking her head. “I think I’m one hell of an artist actually… I can go back into mechanics and pick up a job engineering for a while but…”

Hoku let out a small sigh. “No, that won’t work. It’s gotta be drawing after all.”

“Eustass-ya is coming back into town,” Law said, knowing what—who—mechanics made them think of.

Hoku looked up. Her face was neutral, amiable. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mentioned it,” he said. “Don’t know when.”

Hoku hummed. She played with a carrot on her plate and shoved it to the side. Law scowled. She grudgingly scooped it back up. “I’ll give him a call when he arrives. Maybe we can grab lunch or something.”

Law watched her over the rim of his cup. Hoku waved a hand at him. “We still check up here and there. I mean, when it’s not angry texting—but that’s all in good fun.”

Law’s brows creased in a suit-yourself sort of way.

“You can shift gears a bit,” Law said. “Get a teaching degree and why don’t you apply as an art teacher? You’d still get to do what you loved while working on individual projects. Quit when you’re ready.”

Hoku lowered her arms onto the table, her face a little more sober. “That’s… That’s probably the best idea, isn’t it? But I dunno… me? Teaching?”

Hoku laughed. She rubbed the back of her neck, dragging her fingers down the side and staring hard at her warped reflection on the metal table.

“I don’t think…” she said and stopped. Hoku shook her head, “I don’t think any parent would want someone like me teaching their kids.”

Law’s eyes flickered. His expression loosened, brows a little less furrowed, face a little easier to approach.

“Hoku-ya—”

“But you know what,” Hoku started up again brightly, eyes flashing in determination as she grinned, “there was this girl in my class today—making digs about this and that and just wait. I’m going to pick up an awesome job and come in with my regular gear because I’m not an idiot who blows her cash on fancy materials!”

Hoku’s chest puffed out in pride. She grinned, proud as a peacock and tipped her chin high in the air. “Long live homemade art materials!”

“You’re the only one who can get away with that,” Law said. “Barely.”

“I’m so confident I’m going to get a job,” Hoku said. “That I’m paying for dinner tonight.”

Law looked vaguely amused. He let his chin rest on his palm, watching her.

“So if I went ahead and ordered the deluxe beef curry set—”

“I,” Hoku said, using her best bluffing face, “wouldn’t even blink.”

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Law ended up ordering the set to-go. And paying for the meal—he simply stepped over Hoku’s embarrassingly fallen form when she tripped on her way to the cashier—and handed the food to her after dropping her off in front of her apartment before he took off for his night shift.

“Eat,” Law had threatened, rolling up his window and ignoring her cursing and ranting like she were no more than a fly at his car. “Skip meals and I’ll check you into the hospital myself.”

Hoku threw up both her middle fingers, stomping all the way to her apartment door for emphasis. Law’s sleek car waited in the parking lot until her door opened pointedly wide and closed before pulling off.

“I never skip meals,” Hoku muttered, shrugging her shoes off and hobbling into the living room after setting the food down on the counter. “I love eating.”

Her apartment wasn’t a grand thing, but it was a little more spacious for the great price she was paying. Banged up. Creaky pipes and floorboards—but it held, sturdy and true.

The two bedroom apartment had been shifted so one was her actual bedroom while the other was her studio and guest room—she usually ended up sleeping there when she was working late into the night anyway. Photos were thrown up left and right. Stacks of papers and sketchbooks were scattered all over the apartment. A massive poster hung over her bed of a certain red-haired explorer’s greatest and her favorite excursion.

A small television set and coffee table. A sectioned off kitchen with an island countertop. Her sleek, comfy leather black couch which was a gift from Mihawk—

Hoku flopped down onto the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. She let out one long, low groan.

I’m such a loser. Hoku pressed herself as deep into the couch as she could, willing it to swallow her whole and never let her see the light of day again. You were supposed to come back from those two years and be different. You haven’t done anything.

Her phone vibrated against her ass and Hoku lazily tugged it out of her pocket, half-throwing it toward her face.

“LETS TRY THIS PLACE IT LOOKS GOOD!!!!!” Hoku snorted at Luffy’s text, a smiling touching her lips and scrolling down. Usopp sent a photo of Zoro asleep on their couch. Training must be rough. Nami texted her a reminder to make a reminder in her phone for her date with Robin and the three of them. A notice from her professor about the material list for class next week.

“Heard things are turning up for you. Keep me posted.” Robin.

Hoku’s hand shuffled through her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around the crumpled piece of paper and she carefully smoothed it back out, staring at the two numbers.

Honestly… she only really had good memories of Sabo and Ace. Well, when she and Ace weren’t butting heads or strangling each other about something. Luffy loved them as much as he could love anyone, so they’d always been important people to her too.

Grade school, middle school, high school… Hoku rifled through the mess of memories. Coming over to their house. Running from their grandfather. Crowding by a television. After school runs to the best food stalls… all just classic, simple memories.

Hoku pulled up an empty message, typing in both numbers into a new group chat. Her fingers hovered over the letters, contemplating the kind of greeting that should’ve fit a gap this long… They couldn’t have changed too much, right?

Hoku typed, deleted, re-typed for several minutes before finally hitting send and dropping her phone onto the rug, rolling over and burying her face between the couch cushions. A minute, two, her shoulders went slack and she finally fell asleep.

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Another minute. A beat.

Her screen flickered to life with a response. A calm ten minutes later.

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Hey, Ace, Sabo!

It’s Hoku—haha, it’s been awhile, huh? Sorry for being so shitty at staying in touch. Hope you guys are doing well! Are you still holding the three of you guys together? Ace haven’t lost his head yet dropping dead somewhere? Lu says you guys have been busy.

He finally gave me your numbers and mentioned you had a project you needed help with. Don’t worry about paying or anything, I’d be happy to help out! You guys are like family, y’know? I don’t know how much I can do, but let me know. Let’s catch up. :)

Changed at all?

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Hoku,

It’s so nice to say your name again after so long! Took Luffy long enough. It’s been ages, hasn’t it? Ace and I are better than ever, well, trying at least. I’m so glad to finally speak with you again after all this time. I hope your trip was everything you needed and now you can enjoy a long stay back home. I could go on forever, but let’s save the rest for in person, shall we?

Yes! I’m not sure how much Luffy told you about it, but we’d love to discuss with you further. Face to face. When is the soonest you can meet? Ace is asleep right now, but I’ll let him know as soon as he wakes up. The lug.

Hope to be in contact with you soon,

Sabo.

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Two minutes passed and a second message was sent, accompanied by a warm, smiling face.

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Haven’t changed a bit. Missed you, Hoku.

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Shit. Hoku exhaled, adjusting her tote bag over her shoulder—Luffy had bought it for her on a random splurge, dotted with stars. Her head tipped to the side, as though looking at the beautiful building would change what she was seeing.

A few people walked past her, offering strange looks.

The dessert restaurant was famous. Newly opened, lovely. Two floors with nothing but booths overlooking the city and cozy cafes where people could gather to enjoy all kinds of sweets—for those not as inclined to sugar, they had an array of sandwiches and anything to all varying tastes.

Hoku had been eyeing this place for months now, enviously searching through images online or drooling into her pillow as she scrolled through food bloggers. She and Nami and Robin were supposed to finally try it next weekend when Robin came back from her latest trip…

Lucky me. Hoku whistled, shaking her head as she stepped up to the patisserie and opened the door with a gentle jingle of the golden bell on top. Now I get to go twice.

She’d woken up, creases in her face from where she’d shoved herself between the couch cushions, to several new messages. The only one that’d stood out, neatly typed in a way most people would never text like a letter, and addressed with his name since she didn’t have his number already saved—

Sabo.

Hoku had stared at the message with wide eyes, not quite believing what she was seeing, drool dried to her chin. Hoku’s eyes had brightened and she’d quickly responded, getting even a little excited because—it was Ace and Sabo—they were good friends. I missed them.

It was supposed to be nice--reconnecting with people you hadn’t seen for a long time.

Hoku’s eyes searched the crowds of people gathered together, focusing on the host stand. A host stand for a bakery, damn. Hoku seemed to be on the lesser scale of dress—high waisted shorts with her halter top tucked in—but I’ll be alright. The entire first floor could be seen from the second story where people could make reservations for secluded booths to enjoy their sweets and tea. We should be on the first floor...

Hoku stopped short. She stood there in the middle of the bakery, face calm.

I mean they… Hoku’s eyes slowly scanned over the crowd one more time, doing a thorough comb over. They can’t be… that different right? Am I crazy?

She stopped at every blonde and black haired male, craning her head, shuffling around the bakery and trying to peek around to get a look at different faces. Trying and failing to be as discreet as possible. No freckles. No scar on the left side of his face. Nothing.

Hoku shuffled through her bag, fishing out her phone.

Right time. Hoku checked the message thoroughly. Right place. Meet here… there aren’t any other instructions. Am I just first?

If she remembered right, Sabo was always so punctual… Hoku made a face, turning around on her heel. Should I just go get a table? I’ll just go get a table—

“Excuse me miss, are you looking for your party?”

Hoku’s phone slipped like butter through her fingers. Her foot shot out, trying to catch it and she almost toppled over completely, grabbing the nearest chair and steadying herself.

The host who’d approached her looked horrified, as though he’d almost witness an apocalypse occur right before his eyes.

“Hi,” Hoku said. A few people were looking. She bent down to grab her phone, shoving it into her bag. “I—what?”

“Your party,” the host repeated kindly. “With a Mr. Sabo, correct?”

Hoku stared at the host with round eyes.

He smiled, “He told us to look out for you. He’s already waiting at the table if you’d like to follow me, miss.”

“Oh,” Hoku said dumbly. She straightened out, staring at the host like an idiot. “I… I didn’t see him. Where is he?”

“This way, miss,” the host gathered up a menu and began his ascent toward the steps.

Hoku stared at the stairs. Stairs led to a second floor. The second floor was a fancy floor.

Hoku pressed her hand into her mouth, staring.

Maybe it’s the wrong Sabo?

“Would you prefer the elevator, miss?” the host said, looking worried. “Forgive me—”

“No, no, no, stairs are fine!” Hoku quickly scampered after him. The host smiled, leading the way up the winding staircase the short distance to the second floor. “I just—I thought he was on the first floor. Sorry. Thank you for your time.” Stop talking, you dumbass.

The host continued to smile, leading them past a narrow walkway of several private rooms and booths. You can see everything from here. Hoku eyed the bottom floor, wondering if anyone had watched her flailing around like a mouse. Or a fish. Or just an idiot in general.

They walked a short distance, coming close to where part of the second floor was sectioned off against the railing of the top floor. The other half of the floor opened up with wide glass windows, showing the entire city and the bay across the distance.

This is so nice. Hoku glanced around in disbelief. I can’t imagine the price tags up here, gotta tell Nami and Robin.

A single booth sat at the end of the walkway, pushed to the back. A perfect vantage point of the entire first floor and the breathtaking view on the side—

Golden blonde hair fell a little longer now. It still had its wavy sort of curve, kissing the sculpted, angular line of his jaw. His eyes still had that soft little light to them, curious as he surveyed the menu in front of him. His skin was fair, a burn scar over the left side of his face, around his eye. There was a larger one hidden beneath the neat, cream dress shirt he wore inside a dark, navy blue sweater.

He looked older—more mature, a redefined version of himself, as though someone had simply adjusted the resolution of a good photo, complimenting what already was. Dapper and gentle and charming all at once—

But still, maybe, the same after all.

“Sabo!” Hoku’s eyes went wide, an easy grin touched her lips and she strode forward. Hesitancy lined the back of her steps, careful. Even if we got along fine and were pretty close, it’s still been awhile and—how do you do stuff like this again?

His eyes flickered upwards immediately, finding her with perfect ease. They went a little round, brightening in an instant. His lips turned upwards into one bright, warm smile.

Some small part of Hoku quieted. His eyes were warm, almost hot. He was looking at her like finally, finally, something had fallen into place and it was all right—

Hoku balked for a second, uncertain. Her heart warmed at the sight, a flood of pleasant memories and—

And what?

“Hoku!” that’s really his voice. It’s been so long. Sabo stood from his seat, stepping around the table into the walkway. The host behind them set the menu down, backing off so they could be alone. Hoku almost reached out to grab his arm and ask him to stay, just to have another person here because—why would you do something like that, you’re so weird, it’s just a reunion with someone you haven’t seen in awhile—

Sabo’s shiny loafers stopped a few feet from her. His arms had been raised for a second, but his face quickly shifted with obvious hesitation, waiting uncertainty. His lips pursed, waiting in that dorky expression of his. Brows a little furrowed. Hoku stood there like an idiot, telling her mind to shut up and—

Hoku let all other thoughts melt away. It was Sabo. She knew Sabo. She knew him when he was missing a tooth. This is Luffy’s brother. He’s practically family. She gathered her footing beneath her, steadying.

Hoku stepped into his embrace, meeting him the rest of the way. Sabo’s entire face lit up, eyes warming.

It was a ridiculously...nice feeling, to be looked at like that.

Her arms came around his middle and Sabo’s arms instantly wrapped tight around her in a bear hug, wrapping around her shoulders and holding her snug. He almost lifted her off her feet. Hoku laughed, patting his back as Sabo held her tight for a moment, the smell of his cologne washing over her, smelling like something expensive and roguish. He laughed back into the crown of her hair, air ghosting past her ears as he moved his head to the side then, right by her ear.

“Hoku!” Sabo said. “It’s been so long! It’s so good to finally see you-—look at you! You got taller!”

“Says you,” Hoku snorted, pulling back a bit so she could crane her head up to his face. Her ear twitched. Sabo laughed, loosening his grip around her so she could shift more comfortably in his arms. “Look at ya—who said you could grow this tall, you jerk?”

“You look absolutely wonderful,” Sabo said graciously. Hoku stiffened in surprise. She shuffled a bit backwards and Sabo quickly released his hold on her, letting her back out of the hug. “You do! You let your hair grow out—it looks beautiful.”

“No, I just,” Hoku stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth in surprise. “I forgot how you were. You’re always saying stuff like that—caught me off guard, ya bastard.”

“With a compliment?” Sabo laughed, a warm, breezy kind of sound. Hoku’s lips pulled up at the corners. “You deserve dozens more with how long it’s been.”

“You look great!” Hoku punched his chest lightly with a fist. Sabo grinned boyishly, beaming down at her. “All dressed up too—couldn’t beat that royal look out of you, could you?”

“Decided to embrace a different kind of style,” Sabo chuckled. “I’m not missing any teeth this time, right?”

The image of a beaming, grinning blonde boy with scuffed up shorts, a creased hat and a gap where his tooth was missing—Hoku’s smile widened. Yeah, that’s right. This is Sabo.

Sabo took a moment to look at her, as though he were seeing her again for the very first time. Hoku’s nerves rattled for a second, a chill racing down her spine. You’re just nervous. Calm down, you dumbass. His face visibly softened. The chill disappeared. Eyes warm, he clasped his hands together in front of him.  

“I’m glad you’ve been well,” Sabo said softly, smiling. “It really is nice to see you again, Hoku.”

“I’m sorry I was so bad at staying in touch,” Hoku said, brows furrowing. “I should’ve called once or twice to check up on you guys… Luffy told stories every now and then and I guess that always seemed enough.”

“No, we should’ve made more of an effort on our part,” Sabo said. He guided her to the table and Hoku slipped into the seat in front of him. His fingers gently glided over her arm, over her skin, smoothly taking her bag and hooking it over the back of the chair. Hoku blinked, realizing she hadn’t even known that he’d been getting her bag—

For a brief moment, Hoku stilled. A force of habit. It only lasted a second, anyway.

Sabo’s frame towered over her. One hand resting on the edge of the chair where he was releasing the bag, the other steadying himself on the table but—

You’re boxed in.

And then Sabo was gone and she was free and Hoku relaxed even though she never should’ve been tense in the first place.

“I’m sorry Ace couldn’t come, he wanted to see you too,” Sabo said, pulling away with a frown. “He had an important shift today so he couldn’t get off.”

“We can definitely meet up again,” Hoku said surely. “With Lu next time too, catch up like old times. I want to see more of you guys for sure.”

Sabo smiled at her—it almost made her feel as though she were being praised for something. She’d said the right answer.

“Things just got so busy with work and you were in your third year,” Sabo said. He took a seat beside her, brows creased apologetically. “You were seeing someone at that time too, weren’t you? Relationships, school, it all gets so hectic.”

“That’s… yeah, that’s right,” Hoku blinked in realization. Sabo folded his hands together on top of the table, expression soft. Understanding. Kid and I were together and I was focused on spending time with everyone before I left and then….

Had she just forgotten about Ace and Sabo? Enough to not even give her best friend’s brothers a proper goodbye—

“That’s no excuse though,” Hoku said, brows furrowing. Had that really been what happened? Holy shit, Hoku. They’re like family—how could you do something like that? Kid had taken up a lot of her time sure, but she’d wanted to spend that time with everyone because she was going to be gone for so long. “Shit, I’m sorry Sabo—”

“Don’t even think about apologizing,” Sabo said, shaking his head sternly. Hoku’s lips pursed. “We could’ve called you just as easily as you could’ve called us. It’s a two way street. No one needs to apologize here.”

Even if you say that, I’m still going to make it up to you guys. Hoku huffed, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest in thought. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck.”

“Maybe,” Sabo said, a light chuckle. He looked so happy. It was hard not to keep staring at him, to feel happy herself. Infectious. A waiter came and swiftly left behind two steaming mugs and Hoku looked up in surprise. “Sorry! I took a guess at the menu—I’ve never been here before and I got what they recommended and looked the best…”

“No—you’re fine!” Hoku pulled the mug closer to her, eyes growing wide. She instantly grabbed for some sugar cubes and Sabo looked amused. “This is their apple tea, right? Ah, I’ve been wanting to try this, nice call.”

“Thank goodness,” Sabo seemed to deflate in absolute relief, melting down into his seat. Hoku snorted, staring at him in disbelief. “Sorry, I got worried for a second I ordered something awful--still like apples, huh?”

“Enough,” Hoku said. “My favorite is still—”

“Longan,” Sabo said.

Hoku blinked in surprise, looking up from the steaming cup in her hands.

Sabo smiled. He pulled his cup—coffee or an espresso by the smell of it—closer toward him. Sabo reached for the sugar jar. “I always think about you when I see them in stores—it’s such a weird fruit to choose to eat on your own, so I remember the time you had us all try it and—”

“Lu choked on the seeds,” Hoku’s lips curved fast into a grin, “I know what you mean. I always remember random things because of people too. You start to link people up with the stuff and places in your life.”

“Exactly,” Sabo said with a warm smile. He dropped a cube in, picking up the small spoon and starting to stir, slow and easy. “Come on, tell me all about it—how was everything? Luffy said it was something like a… soul searching experience?”

“Sort of,” Hoku laughed, pushing her hair back over her head and holding it there for a second. The apple tea smelled amazing. “I wanted to get in touch with some old family friends, help fix up the town I was born in… just spend some time there. It’s home, you know?”

Sabo looked openly curious, taking a sip of his coffee. “Are you thinking of settling there?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Hoku shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “Settling is a tentative word anyway. I love it here to much and all my friends are here, you know? I like my apartment and what I’ve got going fine.” Just minus a steady income.

“That’s true,” Sabo said, looking thoughtful. “There’s just so much here… It’d make more sense.”

“Mhm,” Hoku said. “But it was nice. I needed it. It helped me with a lot of sorting out and growing, I think.”

“The growing I can agree on,” Sabo said warmly. Hoku made a face. “You’re lovely, Hoku. You’ve always been.”

“Stop,” Hoku laughed, wrapping her hands around the cup. It warmed her palms. “I mean, I can talk about my trip and stuff, but what’s been going—”

“Wait,” Sabo said, looking surprised. “You said apartment—are you living off campus?”

“Yeah, like Lu,” Hoku said. “They’re apartment was too crowded, even though they offered a room, so I found my own place.”

“Ah,” Sabo said. He dropped another sugar cube into his coffee. “With your boyfriend?”

Hoku smiled softly. Her eyes dropped down to her tea, staring at the murky red color. Nowhere near the bright, flaming red— “Your hair’s like hot cheetos.” “Keep talking and I’m going to shove you out of my car.”—“Ah, no, nothing like that. Just me. We actually broke up about… a year ago now?”

Sabo’s face shifted instantly. His brows creased, spoon pausing in the air. Apologies flooded his eyes, mouth opening in quick understanding that he’d just asked something like that—but Hoku waved him off, shaking her head and hand in turn. “No, no, don’t even start. We parted on good terms. I was supposed to only be gone a year, but I decided to stay longer and we had a bit of a falling out and yada yada.”

Hoku smiled, earnest, “But we’re still good friends. No drama or anything.”

“Still,” Sabo said, brows creased, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry for asking so insensitively like that. You don’t just go barreling through past relationships—sorry, Hoku. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories—”

“There aren’t any,” Hoku said.

Sabo dropped his spoon into his coffee, starting to stir again, slow, “That’s good. It seems like you both handled it well, then.”

There really weren’t. Even with all their fighting and butting heads, they always sobered up and acted out of each other’s best interests when it came down to it. He’d wanted her to come back—come with him—and she hadn’t known what she was looking for—

Don’t think about that now. Hoku shook her head. This is a different occasion.

Hoku’s mouth opened, eager to shift gears—

“Why’d you decide to stay the extra year?” Sabo questioned, stirring absently. Hoku looked up. Her tea was starting to cool enough now so that it wouldn’t burn her tongue.

“I just realized a year wasn’t enough to find what I was looking for,” Hoku said. “It got hard, making the decision cause I missed everyone so much, but it was a good one. I think it helped.”

Her gut twisted. Had it? She might’ve had a great time—gotten to see Shanks with his surprise stay, Mihawk came and they explored the island her mother had loved, her friends visited—but had it? Here she was now, still moving through life, still going about things but had it—

Changed anything?

Hoku thought about the lack of jobs. Thought about Law’s suggestion to switch gears. Am I even doing things right? Kid slipped into the back of her mind. Yeah, they hadn’t ended on bad terms, but had her decision even been a right one? Had there ever been a reason for them to—

Quiet black gloves, a soft underside of leather, touched her hand. Hoku jumped, eyes dropping down and realizing she hadn’t even noticed Sabo’d been wearing gloves. That’s new. Her eyes flickered back up and she realized his face was creased in worry, eyes watching her openly. “Hoku?”

Shit. “I’m sorry,” Hoku said, pulling her hands back. Sabo’s hand dropped onto the table and he glanced to it for a moment before looking back to her. Hoku used one hand to grab her cup, the other pushing her hair back out of her face from habit. “Got lost in thought—what’d you say?”

“I’m just glad you’re back,” Sabo said. He pulled his hand back, letting it rest in his lap as he brought his cup back to his lips. “Hopefully to stay. Have you had a chance to do everything you’ve missed since coming home?”

“Oh, plenty,” Hoku said, slumping in relief at the change in topic. Think happy. Think Sabo. Don’t worry about the other stuff. He doesn’t need that. Or deserve it. “The lot of losers has been making sure I do.”

“I can imagine with them,” Sabo said, looking amused. He let his cheek rest onto one hand, using the other to twirl his cup. “Luffy always talks about you guys when we meet up. Took him long enough to finally get us in touch again.”

“That’s right!” Hoku clapped her hands together. Sabo blinked. Smiling like a lost puppy. “The whole reason for this—Lu said you guys needed help with a project right? What is it? I don’t know how much I can do but I’ll try my best—”

“So you only came today because of that?” Sabo mused, tipping his head to the side, resting on his hand. Strands of wavy blonde fell a bit onto the side of his face. “I thought we were catching up.”

Hoku paled, her jaw went slack. “No—oh my god—no. You guys don’t have to pay me—I won’t let you pay me. I just wanted to help—”

Sabo’s laugh broke through. Breezy, curling past her ears. Hoku stumbled over her words, stopping as his gloved fingers hid only parts of his bright smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just teasing. You’re still so easy to tease.”

Hoku’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. She settled back into her seat, rubbing the top of her head. “Ah, jeez. You’re awful, Sabs.”

Sabo’s smile widened behind his fingers. His eyes were impossibly warm and Hoku stopped, staring. “What? You keep looking at me with that dumb smile—”

“I was wondering if you’d call me that again,” Sabo admitted, eyes softer now, still so, so warm.

Hoku blinked. She laughed, “You could’ve just asked. I’m sure other people call you that too. You’re so weird.”

“Maybe,” Sabo agreed, looking amused by her choice of words. “Hoku, what have you been up to aside from—”

“No, wait,” Hoku waved her hands, halting him.

Her eyes were on the table. Sabo’s eyes flickered briefly. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, adjusting his comfortable position to sit back in his seat. Hoku glanced back up to him to see a patient smile. It’d felt like the poor guy had to direct this entire conversation, Hoku didn’t even realize how much he was guiding it.

“The project,” Hoku said. “That first. I keep getting all twisted up with you. There’s too much to talk about. Let’s do that first.”

“Alright then,” Sabo said, a little laugh to his words. “It’s… Well, it’s less of a project and more of a personal request from a client of ours for a… specific piece of artwork.”

“That seems simple enough,” Hoku said, her hands curling around her tea to finally take a sip. “But last I heard, you and Ace are doing different kinds of work—is there a reason why they went to you?”

“There is,” Sabo said with a nod. He reached a gloved hand out across the table. Hoku blinked, curious, but Sabo waited patiently.

Hoku pulled her hands away from her tea. She limply poked Sabo’s gloved hand. The blonde laughed, shoulders shaking with the motion. “No, see, I’m not sure if you’re familiar or if Luffy told you, but I’ve been working with a designer company for a long time now. A close coworker and friend of mine designed these.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Hoku said, feeling a little stupid. The brand was labeled neatly, tucked away to not be too flashy on the inner seam of the glove. “Liberator, right? So the client met you two from this?”

“Catching on quick,” Sabo praised. Hoku’s cheeks flushed a bit and she rubbed the back of her neck. Sabo smiled warmly, “Sure enough, both of us are nowhere near a more… artistic sense of experience. I’ve been working and Ace models from time to time, but our client approached us from that line of work. We’ve been helping them out with their requests and they had a more specific one this time. They wanted a portrait. Or a series of them, to keep.”

Sabo sighed, leaning back in his seat. He laced his fingers together over the table. “It had us both stumped for awhile, to be honest. It seemed doable, but we didn’t know who to go to for something of this nature—but then we remembered Luffy mentioning you were back and town and he said you’ve been running into awful luck with work—”

Hoku sank lower in her seat, “How much did he say about that?”

Sabo’s face didn’t hold a hint of judgement. There was a fond sort of pity and understanding, he winced on her behalf, “You seem to be struggling quite a bit financially is what we got from it.”

Hoku grumbled to herself. Damn it, Luffy and your dumbass, big mouth. “Listen, it really isn’t that bad—”

“Don’t worry,” Sabo said, “I won’t pry. I want to. But I won’t. It’s not fair to come barging into your life after all this time and tell you whatnot just because.”

“I know you guys wouldn’t mean it like that,” Hoku said, feeling horribly touched at his words. And… relieved. He’d said exactly what she’d been hoping to hear. “You just care. You guys have always been sweet on those you care about.”

Sabo rubbed the back of his neck this time, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing like that—”

“No, no, it is,” Hoku said. “But anyway, forget about money. Keep goin’.”

“Well, it still has to do with money, actually,” Sabo said. “We both wanted you instantly because we love the way you draw—you’ve always been amazing at it, no matter what it was.”

Hoku’s chest flooded with unrestrained pride. She sank lower into her seat, covering her forehead with one hand and biting her lower lip. “I—I still have a lot to work on—”

“Hoku, look at me.”

Hoku followed the instruction, startled.

Sabo’s face was stern. His eyes held her in place, brows creased in that little way to show how earnestly he meant what he was about to say. “Hoku, you’re an amazing artist.”

Hoku grabbed her tea cup. Sabo opened his mouth, eyes flickering quickly with something—but she already brought it roughly to her lips, a bit sloshing over as she took a long, hard sip—it was delicious—and swallowed.

A bit dripped down her chin. Hoku laughed, a little too loud, flustered and embarrassed and yeah, it’s nice to hear all that but it doesn’t make it any less—I dunno. She was always shit at stuff like this. “Okay, I get it, you like the drawings—what’s the job—”

Sabo’s expression looked lost for a moment. Hoku blinked, realizing he seemed entirely zoned out. His eyes were following something on the corner of her chin and Hoku stopped, quickly rubbing at the tea that’d spilled down her chin—

“I’m sorry,” Sabo said, blinking back into focus. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face for a moment and then smiling at her. “I didn’t catch that. I lost my train of thought this time.”

“No, you’re fine,” Hoku said. “We’re even now.”

Sabo stared at her for a second before he said, a bit soft, “You’re awful at listening to directions, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” Hoku said. Sabo’s fingers curled around his cup.  “Keep going about that client. Needed an artist. What’s next?”

“Ah, yes,” Sabo folded his hands back together onto the table. “Well, we figured we were killing two birds with one stone by asking you. Help you out with your situation, and secure the piece we needed for this request. We’ll need you twice a week for an entire month, starting as soon as you can. It’ll only be in the evening, and we can work around your school schedule, but when you come in, how long it runs for may vary each time. We can supply any materials you’ll need, canvases and all, and all you’ll have to do is just draw.”

“That sounds…” Hoku said, “Really well-thought out.”

Sabo smiled, “We tried to be thorough with our planning to make sure everything went smoothly.”

“I… I don’t see any reason why not,” Hoku said, blinking. “You just need me to draw specific pieces—what is your client looking for? It sounds like there’ll be a model or a specific scene in mind. And honestly, Sabs, don’t even worry about the payment—I’d just like to help you guys out.”

“I have to insist you take the pay,” Sabo said, shaking his head. “It isn’t coming from Ace or I, honest. It’s directly paid from the client. And I have to say, they do pay rather handsomely.”

“Then you guys should keep the money,” Hoku protested. “I really can’t—”

“You’re the one doing the work,” Sabo said. “I have to insist.”

“But if they’re a friend of yours, I don’t want to make them pay,” Hoku said. “It won’t be too much trouble. I might not even be up to their standards—”

“Our business is strictly professional,” Sabo reassured. Fingers folded neatly together, sitting on top of the table. “You can take the pay, it really isn’t—”

“I’m not going to do the job if you guys are gonna pay me.”

Sabo stopped. Hoku’s face was set, stern. Sabo stared at her for a long, long minute, hands still folded so neatly in front of him and eyes quiet—

Sabo smiled, his face was playful, “Still as stubborn as ever.”

“Enough about money,” Hoku said. I’m sick of thinking about it, honestly. “What are they looking to have drawn? It doesn’t sound like it’s something off the top of my head. What’d they have in mind?”

“Ah, well,” Sabo looked a little thoughtful this time, contemplative. He seemed to be working through his words before he faced her evenly, an air of professionalism coating his friendly demeanor. “I don’t doubt your skills in the slightest, Hoku. I remember you’ve always been fond of drawing people too…”

Hoku waited, holding her cup in her hands. I’ve been taking forever to drink this thing. I keep getting distracted.

“I have to ask though,” Sabo said, “are you well acquainted with drawing anatomy?”

“Sure,” Hoku said, the cup at her lips. She’d assistant taught an anatomy drawing class. “All ranges. You’re right, people are usually my go-to for focus.”

Sabo leaned forward onto his elbows. His hands were interwoven together, placed over the lower half of his face. His expression was neutral.

“Nude models as well?”

Hoku nodded, not missing a beat. She’d dealt with the initial embarrassment of drawing nude models years ago from earlier classes. At the end of the day, it bled into a kind of intrigue to figure out how well you could draw people, at their rawest, at their most bare—it was intimate, and you wanted to make it beautiful. They all had the same body parts at the heart of it—when it came to her pencil and paper, there was nothing else to think about except the drawing. No strings attached.

I mean, Hoku felt an inch of heat creep up the back of her neck. It colored the top of her ears. It’s not like I’ve never been naked with anyone before… either…

Sabo watched her over the top of his fingers.

“I won’t scream or run out of the room if I see boobs or someone’s junk,” Hoku said flatly. Sabo’s lips turned up at the corners, holding back a laugh. “I’ve done nude shoots plenty of times, so don’t worry about that.”

“That’s good,” Sabo said, “See, our client is looking for something of a more… intimate nature.”

When you’re undressed like that in front of anyone, it’s already something intimate. Hoku nodded, following along.

“It’ll be an entirely private affair,” Sabo said evenly.  “Closed quarters. Our clients are trusted people. Strictly business. You won’t have to worry about having your name attached to anything either, unless you’re particularly proud of a piece and want to use it for anything.”

His reflection in the dark cup of coffee couldn’t be seen, less than half full. Hoku’s reflection warbled back against her tea.

“You’ll only have to draw,” he said. “The time frames will range though, forgive me on that.”

Hoku shook her head, “You really have nothing to apologize for, honestly.”

Sabo smiled over the top of his hands. “There won’t be any given cues. They’re looking for something… natural. Whatever catches your eye in the moment it all happens, you choose what you’d like to draw. Whatever stands out to the artist should be worth something, after all.”

Free reign. Hoku nodded thoughtfully. She’d done some works like this before—almost like hiring a photographer, but looking for someone to draw it instead.

Sabo let out a loud sigh. Hoku looked up, curious. His shoulders had slumped, face visibly relaxed as he offered her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. Working this out with you has lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. You have no idea how much you’re helping us out with this. We… we really needed the help.”

I’ll do my best. These guys have always been nothing but kind to me. Hoku straightened.

“When do you think is the soonest you can start?” Sabo questioned.

“Whenever!” Hoku said eagerly. “I’m in school Monday through Thursday, but classes end way before the evening. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Today’s Wednesday,” Sabo pulled out his phone, opening up his calendar. “Will Friday be too soon? The timing is perfect since it’s the first of the month…”

“No, that’s totally fine,” Hoku said, nodding. “I can do Friday.”

“I’ll text you the time and address then and further information,” Sabo said cheerfully. He turned his phone over face down onto the table, focusing back on her. “You can send me a list of anything you might need and we’ll have it ready.”

“I have a lot of my own supplies,” Hoku said. “Maybe just let me know if there’s specific size or style your client is looking for. Charcoal, ink, graphite—”

“Classic pencil should do,” Sabo said easily. “They’re not too picky.”

“Will the client be the model?” Hoku said.

“Ace, the client, and myself,” Sabo answered cleanly. “Poses will range. The entire thing will be a bit like… a simulation, if you will. If there was a moment where something stood out and you couldn’t capture it, we have cameras recording in the room on all sides, so just let us know after it’s done and we can send you the tapes.”

Ace and Sabo… Hoku’s brows furrowed. Her gut shifted a little. That… That might get a little weird, won’t it? Drawing them naked is kind of weird.

“We really needed the help.”

“Will any of that be a problem?” Sabo asked gently, brows furrowed in worry.

Hoku’s stomach twisted a bit more.

You’ve drawn your friends in all kinds of ways before. Hoku reminded herself. You helped your classmates with their own projects—you’ve drawn people you know really well nude and different and all kinds of different things—it’s just that. No strings attached. It’s not really intimate at all.

“None at all,” Hoku said.

It was just another job. Pencil and paper. Nothing more.

“And Hoku?”

She looked up. Sabo’s face was earnest.

“If there’s ever a moment where it’s too much, you want to quit, or you just don’t feel comfortable,” Sabo said gently. “You can leave whenever you want. We understand. If you can’t handle it, don’t worry. It’s completely up to you.”

“Can’t handle it?”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Hoku said, ignoring the old, bitter memory. The tightness around her throat. The sound of water rushing all around her. “Don’t worry.”

Sabo smiled.

.

.

.

Hoku flopped down onto the train seat, knocking her head back on the reinforced glass. The business man beside her didn’t even look up, eyes falling heavy with sleep. Same, man, same.

She shouldn’t be tired. The rest of the meet-up went… amazingly. They stopped talking business and just caught up like old friends. Hoku laughed a lot, ate a lot, constantly being fed this and that as Sabo ordered with reckless abandon—“But it all looks so good!” and when she’d tried to run to the cashier to pay because that’d been her plan all along—she was left staring at the smiling host from earlier as he held up Sabo’s sleek black credit card.

To be honest, she’d felt completely and utterly spoiled. A feeling that always had her on edge and made her feel funny because—I don’t deserve shit like this. Sabo had kindly offered to drive her home, but she had to put her foot down there—and even then that’d been a fight until Hoku had just booked it to the station, waving over her shoulder at a laughing Sabo left behind.

“We’ll meet up before the session starts on Friday with Ace to finalize some things.” Hoku lazily tugged out her phone, scrolling through the new messages. “Give you guys plenty of time to catch up and then get right to work.”

One month. Hoku pulled up her calendar. Aside from school and the impulsive or random hang outs with everyone—ah, gotta drop off food for Law—she had nothing planned. Because you’re an unemployed loser.

She could do this. It seemed easy enough. The only thing that didn’t sit right with her was the nature of how Ace and Sabo would be, but it was possibly they wouldn’t even be nude. Maybe someone wanted a beautiful drawing with two handsome men—yeah, I can do something like that.

It gave her something to do. Keep herself busy. Even if she didn’t take the pay, at least she’d be working.

A notification popped up and Hoku paused for a second before sliding it open. The photo opened up from the art platform she used to post new works and keep herself posted with—

This month’s. Working on the next.

His work was edgy. As always. The sleek slabs of metal had been made to look a chrome silver—they caught off the light, reflecting back the opening jaws of a monster made of his own creation but—

It was awesome.

Hoku stared at the new project. The train rumbled beneath her feet, shifting occasionally.

“Stick to your cars.” Hoku typed out finally, posting the comment with a face. She looked forward, the train fairly busy with other people all heading home from long days and late shifts.

She needed to get moving too.

Her phone lit up in her hands. Hoku smiled, pulling up the message. Luffy’s eager voice through the texts bled through instantly.

“HOW DID IT GOOOOOOO????”

“GREAT.” Hoku typed back. “GONNA HELP THEM ON FRIIIIIIDAAAAAAAY.”

Incoherent, misspelled words came back. Hoku stared, waiting for something to understand until a video was sent. She glanced around, lowering her volume in case and opening up the video.

The camera was violently shaky. Luffy was obviously running—his feet the only thing in view. The phone lifted up to where Zoro and Usopp were lounging on the couch and it looked like Sanji was in the kitchen—

“GUYS!!!!” Luffy’s voice shouted. The man beside her jumped. Hoku winced. “HOKU’S GETTING A JOB! SHE’S NOT A LOSER ANYMORE!”

Hoku slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. Usopp fell off the couch, startled from his doze. Zoro tipped his head back. “Bust out the booze.”

Sanji popped out from the kitchen, looking hurt. “Hoku honey, I said you could work at our restaurant—”

The video cut out with Luffy shoving a thumb up into the camera.

Hoku smiled, staring at her screen for a long time, holding it in front of her.

She could do this.

She had to.

.

.

.

“We’ll meet an hour before the session starts.”

Hoku stepped into the sleek, polished elevator. The apartment complex was unnervingly nice. She remembered muddy hills. Dangerous forests. Creaky houses and three loud boys. This—one of the clearly nicer apartment buildings in their city—wasn’t what she was used to seeing. Ace and Sabo were clearly doing really well.

“We’ll be doing this at our apartment. This is the address and the code. We have a… studio of sorts for this type of work. Everything will be prepared beforehand so don’t worry about having to arrange anything.”

Hoku adjusted the collar of her blank white t-shirt, tucked into the waistband of her light washed jeans. She pulled her bomber jacket tighter over herself. Her bigger canvas bag was slung over her shoulder, all her supplies shoved in.

“Is there a certain way I should dress?”

“Perhaps nothing too… flashy? Just make sure you’re comfortable. No real dress code. You’ll be working for what might be several hours.”

Hoku’s fingers reached out, pausing at the button. Ninth floor.

Nine wasn’t a really lucky number by her books.

“Our client has already been informed, so don’t worry about anything. You’ll need to stay on the quieter side though, if that’s alright. Your station is positioned nicely in the room so you can move and get whatever angles you need.”

Hoku hit the button. The floor numbers lit up as the elevator lifted her to the apartment.

“We’ll start officially at nine.”

The wall gave way to glass. Hoku glanced to the city lights, flickering and shifting across the streets.

“You can have a moment to do anything you need before we begin. We won’t be able to stop once we start.”

The doors to the elevator slid open. Hoku stepped out, realizing with wide eyes that the entire floor was reserved for a single apartment. How big is this place?

Double doors waited at the end of the hallway.

Hoku shifted her bag and walked toward it, humming a bit to herself. Wonder if Ace is still annoying.

“We’ll walk you through anything else before we start. Answer any questions.”

Hoku stopped in front of the pearly white doors. She stared at it for a second, the tune dying on her lips. Something churned in her gut. A funny feeling.

It’s just another drawing session.

“Thank you again, Hoku. You don’t know what this means to us.”

Hoku knocked firmly against the door. She waited, shoving her hands into her pockets. This’ll be good for you. You need this change of pace. And besides, you get to do it with two good friends—

“You’ll be helping us, a lot.”

Hoku heard muffled footsteps on the other side of the door. A lock, two, slid out of place. The door opened inwards and Hoku looked up.

Eyes like charcoal. A little gray—almost silver in linings. A constellation of light freckles dusted over his cheeks. Sun-kissed skin. Soot black hair that framed the sharp line of his jaw and the familiar smell of something smoldering—like burning pine or with a little more bite to it—

Still a little roguish looking, wild. Still had that grumpy crease to his brows—

Portgas D. Ace.

Ace stared at her for a second and then promptly shut the door in her face.

Still a little piece of shit—

“What’s the password?” Ace said, muffled behind the door.

Hoku snorted. She kept her hands in her pockets.

“I guess I’m not wanted for the job,” Hoku answered. “Thanks for the interview anyway—”

The door swung open. Ace’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of her jacket just as she was turning. Hoku choked, arms flailing as she was roughly tugged back into the entrance of the apartment.

Ace’s bare foot shot out around her, kicking the door closed and twisting one of the locks between his toes—what the fuck you actual monkey—and then he was turning her around to face him.

Hoku spat her hair out of her mouth. Staring.

He had a shirt on for once. Tucked into a pair of black jeans.

That stupid, boyish grin split across his face, showing his always oddly sharp canines and making crinkles show up around his eyes. That dumb, happy, dorky grin—

Hoku’s heart did a funny thing, the kind of thing that reminded you just how much you missed someone and hurt you for not making an effort to see them sooner because—

“Hey, shooting star,” Ace said, voice deep and light all at once, clearly filled with mirth, “How’ve you been?”

“Hey, dumbass,” Hoku said, unable to stop the wide smile on her lips and not even trying to. “Been awhile, huh?”

Ace’s face soured at the name. He grabbed the back of her head, shoving it straight into his chest. Hoku let out a muffled squawk. Her hands shot out, smacking at his arms, but Ace promptly clamped them down firmly in a bear hug around her and lifted her off her feet. “I think you forgot who you’re talking too. Who said you could get that cheeky, huh?”

Hoku let out muffled curses against his shirt, getting a mouthful of cologne and cotton. Ace turned around, about to haul her out of the entryway until Sabo’s head peeked around the corner.

“At least let her take her shoes off,” Sabo said. Ace looked down to where Hoku was already struggling to shove her sneakers off with the other foot despite her constrained form. “You know how she is about that.”

“I have to make up for two years worth of contact,”Ace said simply, without any regret. “It starts now.”

“Make sure you let her breathe first,” Sabo said, amused. “Or you’ll lose her before that.”

Ace relinquished his hold. Hoku almost fell back, tripping over her shoes still half on her feet. Ace grinned, a deft finger sliding through one of her empty belt loops and stopping her from falling onto her ass. He tugged her back onto her feet and Hoku shot both hands out, steadying herself. Her eyes darted around, frazzled and flustered for a second before her face shifted into a deep scowl.

“I don’t miss any of that,” Hoku said darkly. “No wonder I never reached out to you.”

“No, you’re just awful,” Ace said. “Look at you. You look like you’re about to cry. Should’ve called if you were going to miss us that much, shooting star.”

“I look like this because I almost died from cotton suffocation,” Hoku snapped. Ace used one finger to dig something out of his ear, turning away from her. Nope. Didn’t miss him at all. Not one bit.

Hoku thought about tumbling down hills and climbing up trees and their stupid faces popping into classrooms and--

She sniffled. Nope. Not one bit.

“You’re still as grumpy as ever,” Ace said. He yawned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sabo said you got nicer, guess he was wrong.”

Hoku tossed her shoe at the back of his head. Ace yelped, turning around with wide eyes and grabbing the back of his head in pain. “You hit me!”

“I’m about to kick your ass too,” Hoku said, waving her other shoe.

Ace’s lips split into a wild grin. He turned, raising his hands to tackle her. Hoku readied her shoe, taking in the healthy, lively look in his eyes and the bright teeth and—

Her shoulders couldn’t help but slump a bit. Her brows softened. “You look good.” I’m glad.

She and Ace had always butted heads the most. Fought the most. Tousled with each other the most—but Ace had also been the one she couldn’t help worrying about from time to time because he’d been such an angry brat as a kid and—

Ace looked as though she’d slapped him silly. He stared at her, jaw stupidly slack and then his cheeks flushed a dark red. He slapped a hand over his mouth, stumbling back one step and fumbling for his words as he rubbed the back of his neck furiously.

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Ace said hotly, “Aw, jeez—you’re cheating—”

“You’re such an idiot,” Hoku laughed, dropping her shoe and stepping into their apartment.

See? Hoku let any lingering, stray doubts fade away. Easy and comfortable. You’re going to be fine.

Immediately the space opened up to a massive living room. A shining coffee table in the center, sleek and new. Windows opened up to a massive view, curtains currently pulled open to showcase the entire city. A long, comfortable looking couch and a separate recliner. A book shelf, neat and organized. Sabo. A shiny new television screen and set and the space opened up to a massive island that shifted toward a giant kitchen—

“How much are you guys making?” Hoku squawked. Sabo chuckled and Ace grinned, crossing his arms over his chest with a puff of pride. “What the hell happened to leaking ceilings and broken drywall—did you rob a bank while I was gone?”

“Being awesome pays,” Ace said with a cocky grin.

“Our work leaves us comfortable,” Sabo said. He appeared at her side, clad in a navy blue turtleneck and black pants. He set down a pair of house slippers for her and smiled up at her. “Seems like you two are already catching up like you’d never left, and I hate to interrupt…”

“Ah, shit, it’s already almost time,” Ace glanced to his watch and back to the door. “Good thing we got everything set already.”

Sabo nodded. Hoku stepped into the slippers. Nice fit. The blonde offered to take her bag, but she waved him off. He curled his fingers back to his chest, looking amused.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Sabo offered kindly. “Take a seat on the couch, we can go over last minute details before we start.”

“No, I’m fine,” Hoku said, swatting Ace’s hands away when he playfully tried to herd her toward the living room. Sabo’s eyes flickered above her head toward Ace and Hoku made her way gingerly toward their living room. “Thank you though.”

“Take your jacket off if you’d like,” Sabo said. “The room might get a bit warm.”

Her jacket was making her a bit more comfortable, if she had to be honest. Purposefully not doing it seemed a bit rude to a second kind request from Sabo though. Hoku dutifully started shrugging it off and she almost jumped when two hands came on either side of her arms, pulling her jacket away from her with a gust of warm skin and heat.

“Still as jumpy as ever,” Ace said above her, teasing.

“Think I can’t take off my own jacket?” Hoku said, pointedly shoving her arms the rest of the way past his fingers.

Ace snorted. “You trip over air.”

Hoku scowled, turning away as her fingers slipped from her jacket sleeves. Ace pulled it away, watching her back.

He handed it to Sabo, who took it with nimble fingers, folding it once and laying it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

The long, leather couch was tempting, but Hoku wisely opted for the love seat placed in front of the coffee table beside the gas powered fireplace. Ace took a seat on the couch, throwing one arm casually behind it and getting comfortable while Sabo walked over to the two of them, taking a seat beside his brother as he set two water bottles down.

“I brought my bigger sketchbook,” Hoku said. “Just in case. But Sabs said you guys had the drawing table set up so I’ll work directly onto the paper and just let me know if your client wants it finalized on a better sheet.”

Ace took one of the bottles, unscrewing the cap. His eyes turned sideways to Sabo, “You two already went over everything, right?”

Sabo nodded, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands together on top of his knee. “For the most part. You remember everything I told you, right Hoku?”

“Read it over a couple times just in case,” Hoku said. She ticked off her fingers. “Quiet as a mouse. I’m no more than just an observer after all, right? Pick a shot that stands out the most to me and draw that. There won’t be any guidance. Keep it all confidential for the client’s and your guys’ sake. Comfy clothes…”

She’d already silenced her phone. Pulled her hair back into a ponytail to maintain an air of professionalism for their client…

Sabo smiled, lids a little low, pleased. “Good job, Hoku.”

Hoku smiled idly at the praise. “Nothing to give me credit for—it’s a job. It’s the least I should do.”

Yeah. Hoku thought resolutely. You can do this. You’re helping a couple friends out.

Ace watched her over the top of his water bottle. His eyes traveled down the half-heart tattoo over her eyes, dipping to where her t-shirt showed a bit of her collarbone where a smattering of petals were tattooed over her shoulder.

“Any new tattoos?” Ace questioned curiously. Sabo glanced to him, pausing mid-way to grab his bottle.

Hoku didn’t look up from checking her materials in her bag, “Maybe one or two. You still got that gang of yours on your back—”

“Our client should be here in a few minutes,” Sabo turned to Ace. His brother’s expression shifted briefly before settling, head dipping a bit in a nod. “I know you’re a bit behind on catching up, but that is your fault for forgetting to call off.”

“It was last minute!” Ace complained.

Sabo glanced to the expensive looking watch on his wrist. He slipped a thin, flat looking box out of his pocket and casually pressed a button, watching it for a moment before he put it back into his pocket. Ace’s eyes flashed back to him briefly, but his attention swung back to Hoku, whose face had turned a bit constipated as she held up her phone.

“Sorry,” Hoku said, a bit sheepish. “Uh, blame Luffy?”

Ace grumbled without real menace, folding his arms across his chest. Sabo smiled well-naturedly, turning his focus back to Hoku.

“As I said, we already briefed our client on everything,” Sabo said. “So don’t worry. She won’t be surprised. You’ll be in your space and we’ll be in ours and you just have to do what you need to do. Don’t worry about anything that happens either—t’s all been discussed. Just focus on what you’re doing.”

Hoku felt the curiosity from earlier stir. She set her bag down on top of her lap. Ace tipped the bottle back, taking a long swig as his adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A bit of water dripped down his chin, past his throat.

“You said it was like a simulation,” Hoku said. Sabo waited, listening, “Is it… Is it going to be like acting something out? Like a play or a scene she’s looking for?”

“You want to see for yourself?” Ace questioned absently. Dark eyes watched her over the top of his bottle, clashing with his light voice—

Sabo shot Ace a chiding look, lined with a bit of bemusement. Ace shrugged.

Hoku’s eyes were on her memo book, scribbling a note to herself in. Look for a good moment. “Hired an artist, not a model.”

“Mmm,” Sabo rubbed his chin, curling his fingers beneath it as his eyes flickered in thought. “Acting something out… You could say it’s something like that. As I said before, it’ll be on a more intimate affair, so I hope you won’t be startled—”

“I won’t,” Hoku promised. She’d already braced herself by going over old sketches of different poses and angles in her nude studies and drawing sessions—she was expecting some of the ‘worst’ in a sense, and reminded herself that it was just—

Another drawing.

Even if you know these guys like brothers, she thought a little limply. Just wash it out of your brain later.

“Perfect,” Ace said simply. “Then there shouldn’t be anymore problems, right? Let’s get started.”

Sabo shot him an amused look. Ace clapped his hands together, locking them behind his head in an easy posture. Hoku nodded, gathering up her bag. “Lead the way—”

“Hoku?”

Hoku stopped. She looked back up at Sabo. “Yeah, Sabs?”

Sabo’s lip twitched. Something flickered through his eyes, concealed beneath gentle amusement and a hint of fondness. He leaned forward, making sure their gazes met.

“I just wanted to remind you again,” Sabo said, warmly, he seemed to wait a bit. Hoku turned fully to face him. He continued, “If any of this seems too much for you or gets too uncomfortable—we can stop. We don’t want to ruin anything or make things weird if this makes you uneasy—”

“I’ll be fine,” Hoku said, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry.”

“If it does get too much though,” Ace added. “Maybe hold off on saying anything till after. I dunno if Sabo told you yet, but it’s hard to stop once we get started—”

“Don’t worry,” Hoku repeated, shaking her head. “It won’t.”

“Then,” Sabo said smoothly. He stood up to his full height and Hoku adjusted her bag. Her eyes dropped to his hands, realizing he was wearing gloves indoors—for the drawing session? “Any other questions before we start?”

Hoku ran over all the instructions twice. This whole thing seemed a little more edgier than she was used to, intimately professional. But it was just another drawing session at the end of the day, right?

Sabo walked around the coffee table, even steps stopping beside her. He lowered a hand to her back, guiding her toward the hallway politely. Ace remained on the couch, watching them with half-lidded eyes as they turned toward the specific hallway—

Hoku snapped her fingers, looking up at Sabo. The brothers turned to her curiously.

“I know you said I had free reign,” Hoku said, eyes wide with realization. “But is there a specific… I dunno, look she might be going for? A moment in this whole thing I should pay attention too or keep an eye out for…”

Sabo tipped his head to the side, considering his answer. Ace tipped his head onto the back of the couch, fingers laced behind his head.

A slow, lazy smile curved over his lips. His canines peeked through. Ace’s expression was satisfied and amused all at once—as though he’d just told the greatest joke in the entire world.

“Probably,” Ace said, “the climax.”

.

.

.

The room—the studio—was massive.

The entire room fitted like a master bedroom. It seemed the entire apartment had several different rooms, using up the large amount of space granted by being the only room on the entire floor of the complex high rise.

Fitted with only two doors—the one they’d entered through and another door on the right that seemed to lead into a bathroom. The room itself was wide.The walls were wood and dark in color. Low, warm colored lights were fixed into the ceiling.  Sleek wooden floors fitted with a nice looking rug right in front of the main attraction.

A single bed.

A big bed. King sized. Plush, neatly folded duvets and silk sheets. It was a dark red in color, not too bold or flashy, prominent. It didn’t stand on a classic bed-frame, instead, raised up from the ground with a wooden step that went around it, making the bed seemed fixed into the floor. A dark, leather cushioned headboard sat behind it, tucked beneath heavy pillows.

There was a lounge chair in the opposite corner, a fancy looking recliner. Night stands were nestled on either side of the bed. One more beside the chair.

Paneled sliding doors to the left promised a closet. Hoku was still taking in the entire show of the room because—it was kind of daunting, really. She tried picking out with a more eager eye good angles, the colors contrasted darkly and richly, so she’d have fun with shading and contrasts but—

Intimate. Hoku thought about Sabo’s description. Definitely seems to be the right word.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the classic go-to for all their shoots. She kept calling it a room in her head because it’s what it looked like—but Sabo had said it was studio. It was possible they moved it around and changed it to whatever they needed to fit their client’s demands.

Her work station was nestled in the corner of the room. Almost it’s own little world. It was quite a good distance from the door. Sleek desks arranged for maximum workspace, though humbly recluse from everything else in the room. There were folded up light fixtures and equipment Hoku recognized for photoshoots propped up in case she wanted to change anything. Her work space was a very, very nice looking drawing table, fitted with a light and grooves for her materials, a slot for the paper and—

Hoku stood behind the desk, setting her things down. She played with the back of the chair—it was a roomy thing, arm rests. Wheels on the bottom so she could spin and move it around—

“Perfect view,” Hoku realized, staring at the bed from where she’d be sitting. Of everything.

She glanced up to the ceiling, noticing what looked like paneled boards. Light fixtures behind them? Hoku turned her head, noticing the reinforced hook fixed into the center of the bed’s ceiling. They must move things around after all for different shoots—

“Are you all set up?”

Hoku jumped, nearly knocking into the desk and falling over it. Her head snapped over her shoulder and Sabo blinked in surprise right behind her, pressing a few gloved fingers to his lips. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you just—” Hoku shook her head, laughing a bit as she tugged a quick hand through her hair. Sabo’s eyes followed the action briefly. “You’re like a ghost. I didn’t even hear you.”

“Ah,” Sabo’s lips turned upwards in amusement, lowering his hand beneath his chin. “I know what you mean. Ace and Luffy are always so loud, it makes you seem quieter than you are.”

“You look comfy,” Hoku said, eyeing the dark navy robe Sabo had changed into. Kept the gloves on though.

“I’m used to this,” Sabo said with an easy smile.

“Seems like it,” Hoku agreed, taking a seat in the chair. She adjusted it briefly, spinning it around once. Sabo’s brows quirked, looking as though he were trying to hold back a laugh. “Neat studio you guys have set up here. You’ve got a whole thing going, huh?”

Sabo hummed, playing with the back of her chair. “When it became apparent we’d be doing this fairly often, we figured it was wise to make the investment.”

“Private modeling sessions,” Hoku mused, leaning back in the chair. Sabo crossed his arms over the back of the rest, leaning his head onto them as he watched the top of her head. “You know, considering how good looking you guys are, I bet companies would be paying big bucks to have a couple sessions.”

“How much would you pay?” Sabo questioned behind her.

Hoku pursed her lips, pretending to think deeply on the subject. “I doubt I could even afford an hour.”

Hoku laughed, smoothing out her paper and leaning forward toward the desk. She tugged out her pencil case, flipping it open. “My art teacher would kill to have you sit in for a class—”

Her chair shifted. Sabo had pushed it forward a bit. The desk came close to her, not touching, but keeping her nestled tightly between the wood and the chair behind her. Hoku’s hands instantly shot for the edge of the desk, catching herself briefly—

“For however long you’d like, whatever you’d like, a session for you,” Sabo said, his voice was light, breezy. Easy. Not a hint of anything else. There would be no reason for there to be anything else.

“Would be free.”

Sabo’s shadow was light against her desk. Hoku stared at it for a moment, feeling strangely, quietly—was that feeling even really there? Did she really feel that for a second? No, no you didn’t. Why would you feel like that when—

It’s just them.

“So then,” Hoku said, turning her head over her shoulder with a grin. “I could have you two dressed up however and in whatever ridiculous pose I wanted—”

“I do look better in colors that compliment my hair,” Sabo said cheerfully. “And I like—”

“Navy blue,” Hoku jutted a pencil at his robe.

Sabo’s smile was so bright it almost hurt to look at. Something funny twisted in her gut. “Ace will be coming in with our guest in a second, remember everything I told you?”

“Mhm,” Hoku nodded. “You won’t hear a peep out of me. Won’t even be here.”

Sabo fondly ruffled the top of her head, “Good girl.”

Hoku scowled, swatting at his hand. Sabo chuckled, pulling away from her chair while giving it a bit of a spin as he walked from her station toward the bed. Hoku couldn’t help but hope he at least had something on under that robe because—

Luffy, this might be one of the weirdest things I’ve ever done but I swear to god I’m washing it out of my brain when this is all over. Hoku turned her eyes to the paper, already starting to sketch out the design of the room since she’d be aiming for something to take place on the bed. I’m going to do everything in my power not to have to draw your brothers’ dic—

No, don’t even worry about it. Hoku shook her head. No other thoughts. They’re just bodies. You just draw. There’s nothing else involved in it.

Easy.

The door clicked open.

Sabo turned slowly, standing directly before the bed.

Hoku looked up.

She was lovely.

Long, dark hair curled into waves against her back. Her nails were neatly done, manicured and colored like wine to match the tight, form fitting cocktail dress that showed off all her curves in all the right places. Her skin was a light, healthy tan. Her body was nice. Hoku could see what angles she should draw from immediately from how well her legs moved, long and lovely beneath her dress that barely hit her mid-thigh—

Her lashes were long and curled. Her lipstick matched the color of her dress. She looked older—probably somewhere around Law’s age. Ah, but his type is far away from women like this—

She stepped further into the room. Hoku realized she was still wearing her shoes—black heels, strapped up to her ankles. Her head held high. She walked with purpose. Hoku instantly felt a clear wall erected between them—Hoku was Hoku—this lady, this woman, was exactly what girls aspired to be. Beautiful, mature, seductive.

Sabo offered her a warm, polite smile. The woman’s eyes lowered, half-lidded and dark. Hoku watched her throat quiver with a swallow. Her pretty nails tugged at the hem of her dress briefly. Sabo hadn’t even moved.

The air in the studio shifted. It felt heavy.

Hoku held her pencil loose in her grip, uncertain for a moment, waiting.

“You’re late,” Sabo said, politely, “Hotaru-san.”

Hoku only froze for a brief second. That weird flinch you did sometimes when you thought someone was about to say your own name.

Hotaru’s lips pursed. Full. She bit her lower lip, eyelids fluttering and then her gaze turned quickly to Hoku.

Hoku flinched, gripping her pencil. Should she introduce herself? Thank her? Greet her? Her eyes darted to Sabo in a moment of panic, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Hotaru.

“You don’t have to speak to her. Or interact with the client. Just do what you need to do.”

Hotaru’s face shifted. Clearly unhappy. A pout followed on her lips and Sabo looked amused as she strode further into the room. Heels clicking against the wood. Hoku waited with her pencil ready, a little nervous until she spotted Ace stepping into the room right after her, still in his clothes from earlier.

The door closed behind him with an audible click. His fingers smoothly twisted a lock into place.

Hotaru shuddered at the sound, breathing a little heavier.

Hoku swallowed. She hovered over her paper. Ace’s dark eyes caught hers from her station and he offered her a small smile, throwing her a wink.

Her shoulders slumped in relief. Hoku forced herself to relax. That’s right. They said it was like acting—they’re just models. You’re just drawing. Don’t worry about anything else. It’s just a job.

What are you getting so nervous for?

“You didn’t say she was going to be a girl,” Hotaru said finally. Her voice was high, her lips pursed in annoyance. Hoku’s eyes went round in worry. Sabo tipped his head to the side and she strode forward toward him, hands on her hips. “I told you how I—”

“You didn’t even take your shoes off,” Sabo said. Hotaru stopped completely in her tracks. His voice was even. Calm.

It could be heard.

“She was that eager,” Ace said behind them, walking forward with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Hotaru’s face flushed dark in embarrassment, mouth opening and closing. “Came rushing right into the apartment.”

Ace stopped right behind her. He kept his hands to himself. “Why don’t you tell Sabo what you asked me to do when you came in, hmm? How I took off your jacket. Where you wanted to do it because you couldn’t wait.”

Sabo took a seat onto the edge of the bed. It’s risen level still left him lowered, but it didn’t feel that way at all—

A throne.

Hoku’s fingers twitched. This is a good shot—should I draw this? Her eyes flickered to her paper, ignoring the sweat that had gathered at the back of her neck. The nervousness that tugged at her fingers despite how steady she held her pencil.

It’s like acting. It’s a roleplay. They just need to get in character. The client must want something like this—

Hoku swallowed.

How… How far is this going to—

Sabo set his gloved hands on either side of him, leaning back onto his hands as he watched Hotaru in silence.

Hotaru bit her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed a dark, cherry red. She turned her head to Ace and then to Sabo and she quickly spat out, “Fine—Fine, I don’t care. I just—Sabo, please—”

“Take your shoes off.”

Hotaru flinched, looking desperate. Ace didn’t move an inch, face set into an easy, uninterested look. Sabo didn’t seem interested in repeating himself a second time. Hotaru floundered for words.

Sabo smoothly slid out a thin, rectangular shaped box from the pocket of his robe. Hotaru shuddered, eyes growing round and fixed entirely on that little box.

Sabo set it calmly at his side, moving his hand from it.

Hotaru bent down. Her fingers quickly worked at her heels, tugging desperately at the straps and chucking her heels into another direction of the room. Ace looked amused behind her and Hoku’s eyes followed the heels, sketching them into the corner of the image. Giving herself something to do.

“You just have to watch.” She paused at the memory of Sabo’s words. “Closely. Pick which scene you think will be the best.”

Hoku’s brows furrowed and she hesitantly looked back up.

“There,” Hotaru said. She took a few steps and then she hit the floor on her hands and knees. Hoku stared with wide eyes. The woman crawled forward, her tight dress hiking up higher on her thighs with each movement. “I did what you asked, Sabo.”

Sabo remained silent, perched on the bed in front of her. Hotaru crawled up onto her knees in front of him and Hoku darted back to the paper. This isn’t a bad shot. Shows power and an attempt to overthrow. But Ace isn’t doing much in it—

“Look at you,” Hoku looked up at Sabo’s clear, resounding voice. It was directive. Her eyes dropped to Hotaru who bit her lower lip, eyes needy as she gazed at Sabo.

He kept his hands at his sides. Those blonde locks fell a bit into his eyes, framing that sculpted angle of his jaw.

He looked completely and utterly—

In control.

Hoku held her pencil tight, chanting a mantra in her head.

No one is even naked yet. She reminded herself. You’ve drawn worse before. This is some… powerplay or something. It’s an act. Calm down. Why are you—

“All worked up?” Sabo questioned lowly.

Hoku flinched for a second before she relaxed. He’s not talking to me. I don’t exist right now.

He raised a hand. Hotaru’s eyes followed every movement eagerly. Gloved fingers curved beneath her chin, raising her head up to look at him. “You normally put up such a fight. I could touch you and you’ll just roll over, won’t you?”

Hotaru’s eyes flashed. Her cheeks flushed but her hands rushed forward and Sabo’s eyes darkened. She fumbled for the bind holding Sabo’s robe together, pushing forward on her knees toward him. Her breasts pushed up against his legs.

Sabo simply watched in silence, as though he were watching a child try something in vain. A hint of amusement in his gaze. It was—

Condescending.

“Aren’t you the same though?” Hotaru said hurriedly. She tugged Sabo’s rope free and she pushed aside the folds of his robe. “You’re acting all calm and collected—but, but you want it too, don’t you? Look at you!”

Sabo’s chest opened up. Taut muscles. A defined ridge. Hoku’s eyes couldn’t help but move to the inch of his side that was exposed. His scar peeked through. Her heart clenched for a second at the memory of how he got the horrible burn—

His muscled abdomen dipped. Hotaru was almost panting at this point, eyes desperate as she fumbled around, licking her lips and the folds of his robe moved apart and—

Hoku’s eyes dropped down and she balked.

She’d drawn people nude dozens of times now. She knew what belonged where. She wasn’t—she wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t bumbling and stuttering and a blushing idiot when she saw these things—usually when the pencil was in her hand and the paper beneath her—her mind even became almost clinical. It was another limb. Another part to draw—

Memories rushed forward. Her throat went dry. Hoku’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and her eyes instantly trained themselves hard on her paper, refusing to budge.

But this was—but he was—that—

Her gut twisted sharply, unsettled. Hoku’s throat went dry. She kept her eyes on the paper, on the paper—

“You won’t get freaked out or anything right?” Hoku flinched. But this is different. This feels—

Wrong. Weird. Private. Intimate. Imposing. Intruding.

She… She knew Ace and Sabo. She’d played with them as kids. Had funny, weird, awkward moments when they were teenagers—seen them with missing teeth and dumb grins—

But this is different.

“See?” Ace’s smooth voice, teasing, flooded the room. “She can’t even handle it.”

Hoku’s head snapped up instantly. Her cheeks hot but—No, no, that’s not it. I’m sorry, I’m not freaking out—

Hoku froze. Ace’s eyes were on Hotaru, a smirk on his lips. Sabo looked vaguely amused, leaning back on his hands as Hotaru panted on her knees in front of him, hands on his thighs and—

It’s just a drawing. Hoku said. She shut her mind down. Shut everything else out. You took this job. It’s not weird. It’s human. It’s intimate. It’s a scene. It’s like a play. Just draw the scene. Just draw. She gathered her footing back beneath her.

Hoku turned her eyes fully onto the scene unfolding in front of her.

Sabo’s length stood out from the folds of his robe. Hard. Erect. Revealing the muscled, toned top of his thighs. Hoku refused to study it in any more detail, keeping her eyes trained on Hotaru’s face. Hotaru shuffled forward, pressing herself flush between his legs. Sabo’s expression didn’t even flinch or shift. Neutral.

Professional.

There. It’s just another… Hoku’s neck felt hot. She felt a little queasy. Don’t think about whose that is. It’s just another body part.

“See?” Hotaru said breathily, lashes fluttering. “Look at you, baby. Look at how hard you are for me. This did something for you too, didn’t it? You liked this.”

Sabo watched her. Expression void. His eyes were dark and Hotaru pressed a kiss to his thigh. “Normally I have to work so… so hard to get you like this for me… I knew I did something for you. Aren’t I a good girl?”

Hoku’s gut twisted.

Sabo’s erection was hard. Swollen at the tip. Ramrod straight. Hotaru pressed another kiss to his inner thigh, as though seeking permission. Sabo didn’t even flinch despite the physical reaction, expression calm and collected. His lids were lowered, eyes dark and unreadable from where she was.

“You’re so big,” Hotaru said. Hoku’s ears went hot. Please stop. Oh my god. “So thick. You’re perfect, Sabo. I want it so bad. Please, let me make you feel good—”

Her hands inched up his thighs. Sabo watched in almost cold silence.

“What did it?” Hotaru panted. “The dress, baby? The shoes? The hair? I tried to do everything you told me to—was I too bad? What’s getting you off this time? What’s turning you on that I didn’t do before—”

Ace’s hand shot out like a snake. He fisted a handful of those thick, curly locks, tugging back sharply.

Hotaru yelped. Hoku jumped, almost hitting her knees into her desk. Her heart raced in her chest.

“Look at you,” Ace chuckled, dark, throaty. Hotaru moaned, hands flying up to where Ace held her by her hair. “Who said you could run that filthy mouth of yours? You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Crawling all over him like that—you’re dying for it.”

“Please!” Hotaru pleaded. Her cheeks were hot. She tried to turn around to Ace, hands flying to the button on his jeans. “Please! Touch me—anything—please! I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want—”

Ace let her get far enough to unbutton them. She unzipped his pants, trying to pull him free from his confines.

Her work stationed seemed miles away and still not far enough. The room was hot—the air was heavy.

Should I be doing this?

Her eyes dropped to her paper.

“We really needed the help for this job.”

Job. It’s just a job. It’s an act. Job. Job. Job—

“Look at me.” Hoku’s pencil almost slipped against the papers. Sabo’s voice left no room for disagreement and she glanced up.

He’d thankfully readjusted the folds of his robe. Leaning forward with one elbow on his knee. His gloved hand covered the lower half of his mouth, holding it there as he watched Hotaru in heavy, shuddering silence.

Hotaru watched him, chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Are you in any place,” Sabo said softly. “To be making demands?”

Hotaru shuddered.

“We’re all here to do this for you,” Sabo said. “And you go and run your mouth like that… is that anyway to repay us?”

Hotaru shook her head desperately, eyes wet. Her cheeks were such a dark red, panting heavily.

Sabo had complete hold over her.

Absolute control.

Sabo reached over for the little box. His thumb hit a button softly.

The reaction was instant.

Hotaru tossed her head back, writhing with her hair still in Ace’s loose grip. Her legs shuddered, jerking this way and that. Hotaru moaned, back arching. She bucked into the air once, twice. Ace and Sabo watched in silence as the low hum filled the room.

Hoku pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide at her paper. Her face flushed red in embarrassment and she folded in on herself. That’s—That wa—Earlier—

Suck it up, you wimp. It’s just a—

Sabo hit a second button.

“Oh, god!” Hotaru cried. She panted, chest rising and falling and her entire body twisted about, lashing this way and that as she tried to find some kind of purchase, any kind of relief for the pleasure coursing through her body from the little device. “Please—oh, please! Let me come, Sabo. Please, please—”

Hoku filled her head with any other thought. It’s just—this is just porn! This is literally just porn—Usopp! Usopp and—that time you walked on Usopp in the shower—

“You think she deserves it?” Sabo questioned curiously. Looking at Ace over the top of his fingers.

Hotaru’s pitiful moans filled the entire room. Ace gave her head a little pat, watching her squirm. “Why not?”

“Please!” Hotaru gasped, back arching sharply. Hoku flinched. “Sabo! Ace! Please! I’m so close—”

Sabo hit the controller. Hotaru moaned. Her feet skidded across the floor, the humming cutting out completely. She whimpered, hips bucking upwards uselessly as the convulsions ceased and Sabo leaned back onto his hands.

“Take it out.”

Hotaru’s eyes snapped open wide. Hoku choked. Isn’t that a bit harsh—

“Some people are into that.”

Hotaru’s lips trembled. She looked up at Ace pleadingly, but he merely carded his fingers through her hair, offering her a low smile. His canines peeked through. Hotaru whimpered, spreading her legs open as she lowered her hand down to her tight dress. Sabo watched her, hand resting over the lower half of his face, eyes shaded darkly.

Hotaru’s fingers disappeared beneath her dress. She tossed her head back onto Ace’s thigh with a moan, spreading her legs apart. Her eyes kept themselves on Sabo, seeming to hope it’d get him moving.

Sabo remained motionless.

Hotaru let out a little whine. Her fingers tugged and then a ribbon and a thin cord came out, followed by the egg shaped vibrator—

Hoku focused on her paper. She had the entire room sketched out in vivid detail. Shaded in and everything. She had enveloped forms but no real figures. No pose—

“Good girl,” Sabo praised. Hotaru shuddered, watching him hopefully. “Now on your feet.”

Hotaru’s lips parted in desperate protest. Sabo’s face was cold. Unrelenting. Her mouth fluttered shut and she whimpered, slowly gathering herself on wobbly knees and walking toward him like a newborn fawn.

Ace followed behind her, stopping at her back. His fingers dipped into his back pocket, pulling out a foil package. He handed it to Hotaru over her shoulder, slipping it into her hand.

The proud, confident woman that had walked into the room just moments ago was nothing like what she had been. Her knees quivered. Her hair was disheveled. Her lips wet and red from all her biting and Hoku could see the slick shine to the inside of her thighs where her dress had hiked up almost completely and revealed she wasn’t even wearing anything beneath.

She was at their mercy.

Hoku’s eyes flickered to the door and back to her drawing. The events transpiring were leading to one finale. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be seeing this—

“It’s just a simulation of sorts.”

Too raw. Too vivid—

“Sabo—”

“Alright,” Sabo said. Hotaru’s eyes brightened, a kind of desperate Hoku had never seen on anyone before. Not in a situation like this. So… pitiful? “If you want it, then you do the work.”

Hotaru’s lips quivered. She looked about to protest for a moment and Ace stepped closer, hands coming around her sides and dipping low where Hoku couldn’t see.

Hotaru jerked. She moaned, nodding her head rapidly. She struggled with the condom for a second, ripping it open and then she quickly stepped between Sabo’s legs. He shifted further onto the bed, the first move he’d made in what felt like ages. Hotaru followed after, unrolling the condom. She placed it between her lips and her head ducked down.

Hoku turned back to the paper, starting to sketch out the forms onto the bed. There. That’s it. You don’t have to watch the specifics—get the feeling of it.

Hotaru’s lips fell over Sabo’s heavy tip. She licked a long stripe up the side of his length, following a heavy vein and finally moving the condom back between her lips. She took his head into her mouth, moaning just at the fact that she was finally, finally getting closer to what she wanted. Sabo looked almost amused above her, robe pooling down around his elbows as he leaned back and let her work, not moving a finger.

Hoku’s eyes landed on the vivid scar against his left side. The way it carved up his ribcage to his shoulder. She drew that part carefully, softly, on the form that was starting to give more shape to Sabo. She thought about the scar. Focused on that.

Hotaru moaned around him. Wriggling her hips impatiently. Ace knelt on the edge of the bed. He swiftly pulled his shirt off. Muscles rippled across broad shoulders, traveling down to almost slender hips.

His hand reached down, tugging his pants down lower on his hips. He pulled his cock free from its confines, hard. Precum gathered at his tip. Heavy, hot in his hands. His finger dragged across the slit, moving around the heavy head. His slickened hand dropped down, starting from the base and slowly working his way up.

Ace’s head tipped back, barely breaking a sweat. His eyes seemed focused on something else, working almost lazily at his own. Sabo watched Hotaru continue for a second longer, the condom fully sheathed over his length as she pressed kisses to the tip and bent lower—

“That’s enough,” Sabo said. “Go on.”

Hotaru eagerly clambered forward. She panted, reaching up and struggling to unzip the top of her dress. Ace seemed to take pity on her for a second, tugging it down swiftly and she tugged it low, letting her heavy breasts free as she groped desperately at herself. Hotaru twisted one of her nipples, rolling her breast and gazing heatedly at Sabo.

“Am I doing it right?” Hotaru begged. “You like this, right, Sabo? Tell me, please.”

Sabo leaned back on his elbows, calm and collected.

Hotaru groaned in desperation. She readied herself, lining up with his tip and she shot him another heated look, lips quivering, waiting.

Sabo simply blinked, watching in silence.

Hotaru turned, cheeks flushed. Hair clung to her cheeks, to her lips as she let her back face Sabo and she faced Ace. His hooded eyes watched her, inclining his head as he worked at his cock and Hotaru whimpered.

Hoku didn’t watch. Couldn’t watch. Her ears burned.

Hotaru’s blissful, desperate moan flooded the entire room like a siren as she sank low onto Sabo’s length. She took him in entirely, taking him all the way to the hilt as she slotted her hips over his and braced herself on his thighs.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Hotaru repeated. She lifted herself up and slid back with a lewd slick. Hoku winced. “Yes. Yes. Finally—Sabo! Sabo, you feel so good. Baby, you’re so big—so big, so hard, so good. Come on, help me—ah. Sabo, help me—”

Hoku realized just how much a prude she must be after all. Even—even during sex, she’d never been able to utter anything like that-—

Sabo shut his eyes for a second. He tipped his head back, golden strands shifting around his chin. The most of a reaction Hoku had seen so far. She focused on that, ignoring what was transpiring in front of her and how—

Intimate this is—

She remembered every sensual thing she’d ever drawn. She’d drawn sex before—intimate depictions of models—it’s just that. It’s just people.

But no matter how hard she tried—isn’t this too much? She’d never done anything like this before. Panic seized her. She’d never witness something so personal like this where it was happening before her and making her feel so, so—

Uncomfortable.

Hoku froze.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable—”

“If it’s ever too much—”

“Can’t handle it?”

She swallowed. Her throat went dry. Hoku’s eyes hardened and she shoved her pencil to the paper. No. No it’s not. It’s not too much. I’m not uncomfortable. You can do this, Hoku. You have to. So what if it’s new—it’s just different. You wanted to change and try new things—

“Why don’t you put that mouth to use?” Ace said huskily.

Hotaru’s eyes fluttered open and she crawled forward eagerly. Ace was on his knees, hand slipping from his cock and sliding back behind Hotaru’s head. She lifted her hips desperately, bringing them back down onto Sabo’s over and over again, chasing the feeling each time.

The sound of skin on skin. The air heavy.

Hotaru opened her mouth obediently. Ace’s grip tightened on the back of her head and he pushed forward past her lips. His head tipped back, eyes shutting at the feeling before he rolled his hips back and thrusted forward, fucking himself with her mouth.

Hoku couldn’t help the wince. I don’t think I could ever—

Hotaru moaned. Pleasure lined every crease of her face. She worked desperately with her mouth, letting Ace fuck himself as he liked while she moved, Sabo not lifting a finger as she rode herself on him as fast as she could. It was rough, it was desperate and almost pitiful and yet she looked so pleasured—

Hoku’s fingers twitched. I could draw that. Ace was in the picture now. It was obvious the client wanted something like this depicted—it’s just like people who write harlequin novels or direct porn. Just draw it.

You’re not involved.

The single sentence seemed to free Hoku from every other thought. That’s right, you’re not involved. She wasn’t part of the picture. She was safe here behind her station. Look at it from perspective. She had no reason to feel anything else but—

Professional.

Hoku pressed her pencil to her paper, ready, at ease. The faces started to blur and sharpen. She saw bodies. Movement. A scene unfolding.

That’s all it was.

Hoku’s pencil started to move rapidly. She watched the scene less and less, glancing up and down back to it. She had her mold now. She didn’t need to think about anything else. Her mind focused on the drawing and nothing else. The sounds fell deaf around her ears, the actions—

Hoku drew.

Dark eyes watched her from beneath blonde waves. His gaze was heavy, dark. Sabo’s lips twitched and he let out a small sigh through his nose, leaning back onto his elbows as he watched Hotaru get off, riding him with reckless abandon while she took Ace in all the way to the back of her throat, moaning each time.

The perfect picture of nothing but carnal desire. Lewd. Filthy. Raw. The vivid fantasy of any man’s dreams.

Sabo’s eyes narrowed. His lids lowered. Not even watching the moving body riding him like her life depended on it. His gaze remained trained on the only figure out of his reach.

For now.

Ace’s eyes flickered up at the soft sound. His fingers were threaded through Hotaru’s hair, meeting his brother’s gaze over the top of her head.

Ace glanced to the side, watching the way Hoku worked, glancing to them with unfocused eyes and back to her work from beneath his hair. She was seeing them but not seeing them. Watching but not watching. Zoned out as she drew.

Disconnected.

His brows creased slightly. Ace’s grip on the back of Hotaru’s head tightened. He thrust forward with a little more force and she moaned. Loud. Shameless. She worked herself desperately, chasing her high as she came down over and over again on Sabo’s length, grinding her hips, twisting this way and that.

Hoku felt the drawing start to come together. She worked on the details around Hotaru’s face, shading in softer areas, trying to capture the look. Her body curved, meeting both Ace and Sabo so she didn’t worry about anything else. Hotaru was the most exposed.

Ace watched Hoku. His fingers threaded harder. Hotaru moaned desperately around him. His lids lowered. He watched her eyes flicker to and fro, watched her mouth move soundlessly, followed her lips, the way her tongue peeked out as she worked harder at something on the paper—

Ace shut his eyes. He grit his teeth. Heat pooled, fast and molten in his stomach. Hotaru worked faster, bobbing her head up and down while she sloppily lifted her hips to come crashing back down.

Hotaru popped off suddenly, lips bruised and swollen. She panted out desperately with a keen, “Come for me, Ace—”

Sabo pulled her down hard onto his length, driving himself deep into her. Hotaru’s voice cut off with a high, stuttering moan. Her eyes went wide, face flushing with pleasure and Ace grabbed the back of her head, muffling her moans as he thrusted back into her mouth.

Ace’s breathing quickened. His eyes darted back to the desk. More labored. Sabo’s eyes flickered to him. Ace bowed his head, thrusting faster and harder into Hotaru’s mouth without mercy. Tears peeked out from the corners of her eyes, moans punched out with every shift of his hips.

Hoku adjusted his expression based on the sound. Already far, far away from what was unfolding in front of her. Focused on the drawing. The room slipped back into a studio. The bed another prop. The people forms to draw.

Sabo sat up. Hotaru moaned around Ace’s cock at the shift, moving her hips erratically to chase the deeper feeling he’d done just seconds ago, trying desperately to imitate the pleasure he could give her—find it for herself—

Useless.

Sabo’s gloved fingers slid around her waist. His fingers found the swollen nub, working it fast and quickly between his fingers. Hotaru’s eyes went wide and she keened, swallowing around Ace’s thick cock as he fucked her mouth and tears and drool dripped down her chin—

Hoku barely blinked, figuring everything was starting to come down. The room would slip from its high. Her hand worked faster at the drawing. Almost there. Finish up.

You can do this.

Hotaru’s entire body shuddered. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Sabo’s textured fingers rolled a few more times expertly over her clit, stroking it as her hips jerked. She clenched hard around him, trying to tug him over the edge with her. Not knowing how far back at the starting line he still was.

Sabo’s eyes were hooded. He let her ride it out with another sloppy jerk of her hips and then gently, sweetly, patiently guided her twitching hips forward and off. His cock slipped out, still fully erect. It pulsed, heavy and hard. He felt each hot throb beneath the slickened condom and he sat up further as Hotaru fell forward toward Ace.

Hotaru choked. The muted sound muffled as Ace grabbed the back of her head and held her there. He let out a low, ragged breath, barely a groan. He shut his eyes tight, bowing his head low as he came.

Hot spurts filled her mouth and Hotaru’s throat bobbed rapidly, working to swallow it all as she shut her eyes tight. Her hips twitched. On her hands and knees as the bitter taste flooded her mouth.

Hoku erased a part of Sabo’s expression. It didn’t quite fit. She reworked at his eyes, focusing on finishing.

Ace’s fingers unthreaded her hair. He sat back on his heels with a breathy exhale.

Hotaru’s lips slid off him with a wet pop. She breathed, ragged. Her face was flushed a dark red with pleasure. Sweat rolled down her neck, past the swell of her breasts. Her hair disheveled, clinging this way and that. Dress creased. Her entire body shook with effort. A bit of thick white trailed down the corner of her mouth.

Hotaru weakly looked up, eyes wet and hazy. She started to turn over her shoulder. “Sa… Sabo… let me… help you—”

Ace’s large hand slid over her eyes. Hotaru shuddered, letting herself be pulled back into his lap and flush against him. Ace’s free hand snaked around her hip, slowly running a teasing trail right back down to her throbbing, wet heat.

Hotaru sucked in a sharp breath. She moaned loudly, tossing her head back. Eyes covered by Ace’s hand. “Ah, baby—again?”

Sabo leaned back against the cushioned headboard. His fingers nimbly tugged off the slickened condom, tossing it to the side of the bed. He pulled his glove off with his teeth. His hand tugged a small bottle off the nightstand with familiar ease, popping the cap and lathering up his fingers.

The blonde exhaled a long, heavy sound. Sabo relaxed back, slowly wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock. It pulsed beneath his slick fingers, throbbing.

Hoku glanced to his expression for a second and burrowed down into the desk, not even watching any further. It sounded about done—I’m almost done here too.

You can do this.

Ace slid two fingers with ease into Hotaru. She moaned, writhing in his lap, legs opening shamelessly despite the stimulation. Ace kept his hand over her eyes, nudging her legs open a little further as Sabo slowly started to stroke himself, watching.

“Want to help him get off?” Ace whispered by her ear. He nipped at her neck and Hotaru nodded desperately as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, working her to a second high. “Repeat what I tell you to say like a good girl.”

Sabo’s fingers slid from the base to the head, shifting. He ran a thumb over his slit, eyes following the soft top of white hair flickering in and out of his view. Pinning her in place.

“Sabo,” Hotaru said, listening to Ace’s heatedly whispered words. She gasped, breathy. “Sabo, I missed you so much.”

Sabo let out a heavier exhale. His teeth worked at his bottom lip. His hand tightened around his cock.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so—ah—so long,” Hotaru panted. “I’m sorry—” Ace shoved his fingers harder into her, hitting home. “I’m sorry! I won’t—Ace! I won’t… I won’t leave again!”

Sabo groaned. Hoku worked faster. His most… The most reaction from him this entire time.

She blocked everything out. No other sound slipped past. Completely in her own world.

Deaf.

His cock throbbed harder. Sabo shut his eyes, letting his head roll back as he worked faster, harder, pumping himself over and over again. His lips moved. His teeth ground together.

Ace whispered into her ear, thrusting his fingers up.

“Ah! A-Ah… Please,” Hotaru repeated. “Please… I wan… I wanna feel you. Missed you. I-ah-I’ll be good… so… so… teach me!”

Sabo’s breath quickened. His hand worked faster and faster. He screwed his eyes shut tight, muscles growing taut. Sweat rolled down the side of his chin, past his neck.

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Hotaru babbled. “I won’t ever leave again—oh, god, please—”

Ace shoved his fingers, hitting Hotaru’s spot repeatedly and she cried out the heated words whispered into her ear—

“I’m yours, Sabs!”

Sabo stiffened. His back arched. He tossed his head back against the headboard and shuddered, a low, sweet groan escaping his lips.

Hot spurts of come splattered onto Hotaru’s thighs. Painting them white. She panted, chest rising and falling rapidly as she sank back into Ace’s grip. Ace casually slipped his fingers out of her, wiping them off on the bed sheets as he pulled his hand off her eyes.

Sabo struggled to catch his breath for a second. He reached up with his other hand, pushing his hair back from his face. It slicked over the top of his head, remaining there. He inhaled and exhaled slowly before his eyes fluttered open, glancing to Ace as he watched his brother set Hotaru down on her side, a panting, blissed out mess.

Their gazes met. Ace and Sabo watched each other for a moment before their gazes swung to the side of the room.

Hoku stopped. She stared at the drawing that had finally come to life in front of her. Her eyes went round in disbelief, almost in awe.

For a moment—everything else fell away.

The studio, the people—she’d done it. You did it! Hoku, you did it! You finally made something new—

You handled it.

Pride flooded her chest, desperate and unbidden. The small achievement. This strange, harrowing finish line in the midst of something she didn’t realize she’d started—but you did it. See? You just needed to tune everything else out—

You’re moving.

Ace brought one leg up, resting an arm on his knee. Sabo tipped his head to the side, his hand covering the lower half of his face, hiding his mouth and the way his lips were turning—

Hoku touched the drawing. You did your job. You did it. You’re moving again.

The circumstances wild, crazed. She couldn’t think about anything else except that it finally felt like she was moving again and out of this rut.

Two pairs of eyes, hooded and smoldering stared back at her from the drawing, mimicking the pair watching her just over the top of her desk. Across the room.

The path beneath her feet started to shift. Hoku happily ran forward, eager to be moving.

She didn’t notice the fences sliding up on either side of her.

Didn’t notice the signs pointing where to go.

Didn’t know where she was going. Just happy to be going. Happy to have a destination again and not knowing—

There was no escape.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my Soul - 3

Prompt: Three items to intergrate: Purple, Art Installation, and Crazy by Gnarles Barkley (passages shown as blockquotes). Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Angst x a lot, references to violence, criminal activities, dislike of modern art, abduction, swearing...maybe other stuff too... A/N: It’s the Loki we know, but he’s made himself a home on Earth, curating an impressive collection of valuables from across the universe – all for himself and the fame he finds despite the New York incident.

Crazy

The next day, you’d been sore. Cold into the bones in a way that no hot showers or mugs of tea could purge because it wasn’t just physical. The “visit” and events at Loki’s manor had been bad enough. You hadn’t needed him showing up in your room, your home, only for you to want him so shamelessly as you had to the point where you’d begged for him without a care of what might happen. But in the harsh light of day, it scared you shitless how easily you’d given in.

I remember, I remember when I lost my mind There was something so pleasant about that place

That’s when you made the decision.

Taking the pendant, you’d placed it in a box with a note telling him you didn’t want to play his games. It had smarted when you slid the lid on, hiding the gleaming eye from view to be wrapped up in brown paper, tape, and a hastily scribbled address. The same day you sent it, you sold the little apartment and took refuge in the safehouse where you hopefully could plot your next steps in safety.

Hopefully.

It was tempting to keep running until you’d reached the other side of the earth where no one would know you and you could start over, pretending to be someone else. But each time you considered the idea, the chill would stir in your bones, reminding you just how quickly he’d found you. No. It wouldn’t help to run, because how could you hide from a magic-wielding extra-terrestrial? Even across the ocean, it’d just be a matter of time before he’d find you if that’s what he wanted…and you’d have no way to stand your ground. Whenever you got to this point in your internal ramblings, you’d hear his voice seething with anger at the idea that he might take you against your will. Oddly…you believed that, at least. Maybe it was the memory of the blow sending you skidding across the gleaming floor in his home?

That hadn’t been his magic. Watching yourself in the mirror, the decision made itself for you, and over the next days you snuck out to pick up the equipment you needed, making sure to stay away from your usual haunts.

You spend months staying indoors as much as possible, the time used on online studies and all the training you could accomplish within the safety of the walls of your home. And why not? The last few jobs had lined the coffers plenty and you had no interest in drawing attention to yourself or your hiding hole.

So the instructional videos kept rolling as you mimicked the movements and stances, soon discarding the padding on the dummies and the gloves because you knew none of the pretence would steel you for the real deal. Hands and wrists bruised after the thousands of impacts with the hard material, your ankles had twisted on more than one occasion, adding a limp to your normally cat-like movements.

…

A person can only stay cooped up due to external influences for so long before they begin to feel a prisoner in their own home. Pacing the concrete floors, there’s no joy to find in the sheltered place because you need to breathe freely again, need to navigate the bustle of the city and be a part of it rather than simply watching from the outside. And you need a challenge. Money’s not run out yet, but it’s getting closer which tempts you to pick your old contacts for a connection. A job that entails more than just making a plan based on information other people have provided that they too will be the ones to pull off. And of course the perfect temptation’s waiting for you…there’s just one hiccup…

And I hope that you are having the time of your life But think twice That’s my only advice

…

Gliding through the crowd like liquid purple, it takes little effort to make it to the place in the gallery where the object’s hanging. Art, fart. The artist is more than famous throughout the world, but most of his works contain less meaning than the concrete of the building…although you find the huge legume-seed childishly entertaining with the warped reflections. These installations? Huge discs with various colours, sculptures any Freudian psychologists would celebrate, and splashes of bloodred on shredded and pulled canvasses that makes you think of hospitals and pain. You can’t help the scoff that escapes you.

“Not to your liking?” The smooth voice curls around you like a snake.

There’s no reason to look for the speaker because only one person is capable of scaring and arousing you with a simple sentence. Not this time. Without an answer, you leave Loki standing before the black void of a concave, the rustle of the silk dress soothing your nerves only slightly.

You’ve seen what you need to formulate a plan, shocked at the lax in security at the private gallery where works regularly are auctioned off to the rich crowd, the ones who always are eager to seem like they live the perfect life when in reality theirs suck just as badly as anyone else’s…it’s just nicer to cry in an Aston Martin. With a notoriety like that, it isn’t a surprise that Loki’s around even though you’d hoped to be lucky because modern art isn���t anywhere to be seen in his collection.

He corners you at the wardrobe, of course. Why had you decided to check in your coat? Right, you weren’t allowed to carry it with you…maybe they thought people would sneak out a one and-a-half meter in diameter art installation under the trench coat. Either way, you just have time to consider leaving the piece of clothing behind when the cool of his presence envelops you, sweetly familiar yet frighteningly so.

“[Y/N]…”

There’s a pained edge to his voice that makes the air stick in your throat and your hands shake when you accept the coat from the attendant who’s blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation. Just a few words, a plea for help, and you’d be safe from the Asgardian. For a while. The admission carries dread, drenching you in silent resignation from its wake. Not giving in, though, and you pull the coat on before turning, striding past the tall man who’s dressed in his signature black and green.

Cold air fills your lungs and shimmies up your bare legs. Already, a cab’s waiting by the curb hoping for a fare and maybe a fat tip considering the visitors to the gallery behind you. Voicelessly, you slip in, collecting the purple fabric before closing the door. Only then do you urge him to drive, the destiny’s a fancy hotel.

As the engine rumbles, propelling the car onto the road and through the checkered pattern of the city while you see absolutely nothing of the scenery, too engulfed in your thoughts. You’re supposed to be plotting now, conjuring up the elegant plans ensuring you not just access to, but also an exit route with, the prize that will land you a fat paycheck…still, the task is jarring as every thought is disrupted by the echo of Loki’s voice and the haunting glimpse you’d seen of his face.

Not my bloody problem! Groaning silently, your head lolls onto the headrest beside yours. So what, if the man’s looking haggard? An obsession burning in his eyes that’s nearly drowned out by a pain you don’t want to recognize because if you do, you’ll know how badly off you are too. Fuck. Everything would’ve been simpler if you’d never decided to rob the God of Mischief, but here you are and it was only your logic telling you to run.

Here we are.

Here we are?

Sitting up straight, you study the world outside the cab with big eyes, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists in your lap. You aren’t on the way to the hotel, you’re not even anywhere near the neighbourhood you’d planned for but rather in an area with rich brick houses spread wide enough to hide on lawns surrounded by bushes and trees, the only official access points being the gated driveways. Just as you reach for the door handle, the car bumps over the softened curb and pushes a puff of stale air past your trembling lips, but the door’s locked and the driver ignores your frantic pleas when you urge him to let you out, to let you go. Anything but bringing you to Loki’s manor looming ahead in the dark.

Your struggle continues when the car door finally opens to allow a couple of burly private guards to reach for you. Fuck, are you happy you’ve spent all that time training martial arts and self defense…but in the end, there’s nothing you can do against these bundles of muscle and you’re dragged through the house up to the top floor where you’re deposited in a bedroom.

Ever since I was little it looked like fun And it's no coincidence I've come And I can die when I'm done

Dishevelled and afraid, you scream yourself hoarse while pounding at the door, only interrupted when you try to unlock windows with the few tools you’d snug along in the purse, but nothing helps, and you sink onto the blackness on the giant bed. No tears. Fighting back the desperation, you take in the surroundings, noting the wall-to-wall wardrobe covered in mirrors which makes the room seem grander than it is. Not that it needs extra square meters added to the endless moss-green carpet that’s the resting place for furniture of honeyed wood and leather. Pillows of the signature green silk are tastefully tossed onto a low, soft bench by the window and next to you on the bed, echoing the shade across the floor. There’s another door, nearly invisibly carved into the wall, which brings a shimmer of hope back into your heart only to be smothered when all it turns out to be is a private bathroom.

…

You’ve gone through every nook and cranny the two rooms in search of a way to get out. After that, you’ve spent some time simply nosing about to learn more about the god before eventually taking care of your appearance. The way you see it, you might as well appear on top on the situation if you’re going to have to talk yourself out of this mess…if Loki can be reasoned with, that is.

Regardless, your heart lodges itself in your throat at the sound of a key in the lock. Refusing to turn, there’s only the warped reflection in the window to prove that it really is him, your captor, that enters and relocks the door, adding a golden shimmer to the mechanism with a wave of his hand. Not a word’s uttered as he discards the suit jacket and then the tie onto a chair by the wardrobe.

The heavy sigh rattles you to your core. “I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].” Glancing briefly, you see how he runs a hand over his face, rubbing the tired eyes momentarily. “I can only imagine what you must think of me, truly…but I need you to hear me out, alright?”

It’s not like you have a choice, really, and this conversation has started nothing like you’d expected. “Then talk.”

[btsjeonjazz]

Van Gogh pt. 1

Taehyung x reader

genre: teasing tension, tutor!Taehyung, badboy!Taehyung

word count: 10.1k

We purple you!

inspired by:

Who would have guessed that Kim Taehyung, honorable student and your tutor, had some dark secrets?

You stepped inside the library with your hands packed with several textbooks you had lent to try to get the last few lessons in your head. Failing miserably. Unable to concentrate you had argued with your friend, Jenny, who was a lazy bitch not helping you at all although the next exams would be in four weeks. It was time you caught up with the pace the other students dealed with without repeating the semester. Your last and final hope was the tutor your professor had spoken from, a guy who was two years above, an honour student everyone adored and looked up to thanks to his kindness and understanding in front of his fellow younger students who needed help with their studies. And today one of the art literature lessons you had missed because of moving into your new apartment was held by the so called top student, Kim Taehyung.

You had heard many rumours about him and you weren't sure if you had ever seen him in person, but as someone held open the heavy doors leading to the library you knew exactly who he was.

“Thanks”, you mumbled, your books suddenly lifted off of your arms.

“No need to say thank you”, a low, melodic and calm voice said and by the time you were finally able to see the guy behind the kind action you knew who he was from a yearbook photo Jenny had shown you. Silky, straight brownish hair. Big, crescent brown almost ebony colored eyes behind black, round glasses. Heartily shaped lips that were as red as your lipstick and a toned, tall body dressed in a squared shirt and casual wide pants, a big bag hanging from his shoulder. And by god, the charming smile curving one side of his red mouth made you freeze as you looked Kim Taehyung in his friendly shining eyes. Jenny was right, Taehyung was a beautiful guy whose handsomeness was topped by his soft smile and his nice treatment towards everyone, even you, a stranger.

Trying to get a few books for yourself to carry he nodded inside, his foot holding the big door open whilst you rushed inside the dusty, like old books smelling library where only a couple of other people sat quietly hung over their textbooks. The atmosphere changed as some of them saw the man beside you, their gloomy faces lighting up with smiles his way.

“You must be Taehyung, aren't you?”, you asked as you followed him inside, his large hands getting rid of the books as he threw them on the counter beside the entrance. Not even the librarian was working this late afternoon.

The tall handsome with the tiny smile painting his lips turned around, his dark eyebrows arched high. “And you are?”

“Y/n”, you chirped, shooting him an apologising smile. “I'm one of the average students who need help from a certain top student. And that must be you.”

You expected him to laugh at you but the dark chuckle escaping his throat accompanied by a gesture to move towards an alcove was all you got. Sitting on the padded chair you waited for the guy to do it alike, but instead he checked the time and left you alone. The hell? Standing up to rush wherever he was going you saw him pushing in a blackboard. You thought he would explain the basics or how the group work functioned, but not that he was gone faster than the wind once you sat down.

“We should wait for the others to come”, Taehyung's low vocals said, the skin around his black orbs crinkling from his wide, encouraging smile. “We're a bit early, so take a seat.”

Surprised you nodded, feeling slightly ashamed about the fact that you would have to learn with other students, feeling dumb and below average.

“No need to be so quiet, y/n”, you were encouraged by your new tutor, his faint smile getting brighter the more you relaxed. “A lot of freshmen come here and join us and ask for help. And the most important issue is passing your exam.”

“Still, I try my best”, you answered him with a lot more power, earning another chuckle that was so dark the hair on your arms stood up. You wondered how someone like him was able to walk around alone on campus. And how you could've never seen him! Kim Taehyung was a man with charisma. His whole being glowing with enthusiasm and intellect. The way he moved through the library as if he owned it, smiling to everyone and still able to turn heads with his amazing looks. Although you didn't want to stare at him so bluntly, you couldn't stop yourself from imaging him opening the buttoned shirt, taking off his round glasses as he tilted his head to read over the backside of a book's cover. There was something irresistible on Taehyung, as if he showed his best self to hide other things you were more than glad to discover all alone for yourself.. Sitting straighter you cleared your throat. Daydreams came later, first you had to prove yourself.

Not even ten minutes passed and your small group of nine people, all girls, sat quietly in the niche, watching Taehyung explaining the parts you had missed the last weeks. Well, they did nothing but to watch him, unlike you who scribbled so many notes down your paper you had to sort them out at home the next day. Of course you glanced up and down his body here and there, but that was not what you came for. Yet. But after an hour you felt as if you had understood more than you ever did in the lessons of your professors, grateful you had participated in this. Taehyung was a great tutor and the way he put simple examples in the lesson made it easier to follow – not talking about the smiles which encouraged you to keep your head down the paper after all.

“Y/n, did you understand?”, Taehyung was taking the blackboard back at it's place after the others said their farewells. But you had a few more questions as to why you helped him cleaning the library until it was back to it's previous state. “You seemed eager to get what I taught.”

“Oh, I was eager and by god, you're such a good tutor. I wanted to give up literature and art, but now I think if I participate a few more times I get on the right path again”, you cheerfully announced. It felt like a wonder that you understood parts Jenny failed to express as your newly found tutor did. “I definitely come back for more lessons the next days! If..if there is anything I could do to help you out, just tell me. It only fair to pay for your time.”

The blackboard in the back of a storage room Taehyung led you to the exit. “That's good to hear. Come whenever you want, that's what I'm here for anyway. No need to say such things, y/n. I'm not in debt and I like what I do. But now excuse me, Professor Min had asked me to do some tasks for his experiment tomorrow. See you around, y/n.”

Nodding again you were astonished by his efforts, your mouth slightly agape to hear your strictest professor's name falling so easily from your tutor's red lips. That meant he was really the honourable student of this university whose responsibilities were huge and heavy, but respected by the strictest teachers around.

“Professor Min?”

“Ah, yeah, he's difficult to deal with, but he's also fun and as it is my last semester before I graduate and start in the same position as him, I have to play nice”, he shrugged his shoulders, holding open the doors for you a second time that evening. “Get home safely, y/n.”

“I will, thank you so much again.”

Waving back you heard the doors closing behind you, your heart freed from the stones of insomnia and fear because of the upcoming exams thanks to non other than Kim Taehyung.

You had visited the library daily now, a week later finally back to where you used to be with your studies, Taehyung a great teacher to you, explaining everything calmly and in details. His point of views were different and it made it so much easier to understand the lessons you learned and by the end of three weeks you had given him back a test exam he handed out to you, ready to be scored. In only a short time you developed the clenching feeling of springs butterflies inside you which whenever you saw Tae bounced up and down, mostly to signal your arousal from his low vocals whispering to you after the lessons to explain details you asked for. He had touched your shoulder, his thighs against yours and you wanted him so bad that you lost track throughout the hours you sat there listening to him teaching your group. Oh, you weren't the only girl thinking that way wherefore you knew that daydreams should stay what they were; made up illusion and fantasies that helped you through the day without having the chance to be real at all. Your attractive tutor was highly coveted and you weren't the prettiest girl of them all who was crazy for him.

“We should hurry”, you pulled Jenny behind you as she was lazing around, slandering with her pumps behind you to throw heart eyes down the hall towards two guys leaning against the lockers. “Taehyung is waiting and I want my test back as long as he's still there!”

Suddenly a laugh was heard behind you, the two thugs glancing your way, foul mouths calling several phrases behind you. “Taehyung is an idiot, girls. No need to rush to that looser.”

“Right?”, the other patted his friend laughingly on his arm. “I bet his mom makes his lunches in the morning. So, wanna grab a drink with us instead, cuties?”

Of course Jenny stopped, looking over her shoulder with a curve on her pink painted lips. But you pulled her back, she was your friend and shouldn't deal with those jerks bad mouthing the one guy who was more intelligent than the both of them combined, a free spirited young man who was kind and saw the things out of different views – not to mention his god like looks. Therefore you forced Jenny further down the hall until you heard another comment out of their mouths that made you contemplating your life choices.

“I heard he secretly fucks professor Min to get his high grades. What a little cock sucker-”

“Say that again”, you demanded, spinning around with a menacing glare down the corridor, seeing that the both of them walked towards you, Jenny tugging on your sleeve.

“Oh come on, y/n. Stop that and just move on”, she whispered, holding you at your place. But it was too late, the thugs already hovering in front of you.

One of them grabbed your arm, his thumb circled around your bare skin and the shudder running down your spine was nothing more than disgust.”I love girls with a loose mouth, sweetie.”

Smacking his hand away you spat in his face, full of anger: “And I love to smack your fucking face, sweetie. Stop bad mouthing him if you don't know him at all.”

“Big words”, the other laughed again, and the sound started to get on your nerves.

The delicate girl on the other side pulled at your shirt's hem, but before you could turn around you were held by the guy's hand again. “Don't be feisty, girl. I'll be a lot nicer than Mr. goody-two-shoes..”

“Not if I'm around. Now fuck off”, a familiar voice sounded through the large corridor, the dark vocals of the man with the black glasses echoing from the many lockers. “I said fuck off or do you want to fail your classes again?”

Your heart pounded at the sound of the low voice of your professor, Min Yoongi, reaching the small group of yours, the guy gripping your arm letting go with an annoyed 'tsk'. He even apologised to Professor Min as he reached your small circle with a cold glare down the two thugs pestering you.

“Don't get yourself in trouble, Miss y/l/n. Your grades are finally getting up again and if you get distracted by such things you better hurry home and learn twice as much”, the young professor reprimanded you, his dark eyebrows arched high as you blankly stared at him, Jenny next to you also drawn by his unbelievable young, attractive features you had never noticed in the sticky class room. His black hair was streaked with lighter spots, his skin of a paleness you had never witnessed on a living person before. But what you found most interesting were his almond shaped eyes which were even darker than Taehyung's chocolate brown pupils.

“The library is closing in two minutes, Miss y/l/n”, Professor Min said with his heart shaped mouth, his gaze lingering on you longer than comfortable.

Wh-what was closing? You were fascinated by the way your teacher tilted his head with an indifferent expression, an unamused, distant grin faintly on his pink lips. You stared. Shit, he was your superior in the university not any other guy you could stare at! And the moment you dared to look away you realized what he just said. Taehyung would be gone for a week without your new papers if you wouldn't hurry up and get to the library to hand them out and get the text back.

Turning on your toes you hastily added a: “Thank you for stepping in, Mr. Min!”, before you rushed down the hallway, hearing your professor's voice calling after the two of you.

“No running in the hallways, Miss y/l/n!”

You expected Taehyung to sit in the front lounge, his bangs hanging over his round glasses reading the next parts of the literature novel he worked on the past week. To see a guy as good looking as him being ambitious about his career and future filled you with strange excitement. Which didn't mean you threw an eye on him more than sexual, did it? But as you stepped through the heavy wooden doors you were surprised not to see him sitting in one of the seats in front of you. Not even the librarian herself was present. With reluctant steps you looked through alley after alley to see if the tall guy was sitting anywhere near lost in some books. And then you witnessed a brown thatch between some shelves, Taehyung's signature watch on his wrist as he pressed his phone against his ear. Luckily Jenny told you to go alone as her shoes gave her the rest, not even talking about the big campus you had to cross and the uncountable stairs you had rushed up to reach Taehyung before he was gone and the university closed for one entire week. At first you contemplated to leave and wait in the hall for him, but as you repressed your panting you were too curious what he was talking about with his furrowed eyebrows, an expression on his angelic face you had never seen in the lessons he taught. Covered in shadows, grinning and superior.

Hiding behind a bigger bookshelf you sneaked your head over the first line of the many dusty textbooks from Shakespeare to Jean Paul Sartre back to classic textbooks professors loved to read with their students. Taehyung's voice usually had a darker bass, but the husky hushes you could hear gave you goosebumps. Normally he was like a cheerful, but quieter young man, funny and a perfect listener, but right now you thought you would see another side of him with the bangs falling over his eyes.

“..the exhibition at the museum? I'm sure they will be there this weekend..”, was all you could hear before your head twitched to the side, the librarian on her way towards you. Her pumps clacked over the parquet whilst you acted as if something fell down, avoiding her suspicious gaze. Why now?

“Miss y/l/n, I'd like you to leave in a few minutes. I want to close down the venue early tonight”, she said, her young face not matching her body's posture and the grey wool pullover she wore over her knitted skirt.

Nodding you prayed that Taehyung didn't notice you, but right then as you turned around you saw his slim, tall statue next to you, his hand on your shoulder. “We will stay behind a while longer, Viola. I don't mind cleaning up and locking the door afterwards”, his melodic vocals sent shivers down your spine, his long bony fingers on your shoulder intensifying it. It was too out of reach to deny it now. You were insanely attracted to him, as any other girl had hearts in their eyes when he walked passed him with his long legs and those round glasses, all nice and charming while giving them his best smiles.

“Don't forget to water my cactus before you go, Taehyung”, the librarian said, her cheeks a shade darker and you swore it was caused by the dark stare of the man beside you. You couldn't see it, but you knew how electrifying and kind of intimating it could be.

Her steps got quieter the further she was away and by the time the door fell in it's lock you glanced up. Just to see Taehyung smile evilly at you.

“You peeped on me, didn't you, y/n?”, he nudged your arm, his smile not vanishing a second. “It was a joke, don't give me that look of pure panic. Better hand over your test exam so I can proof read it before the university closes for a week.”

Nodding you gulped down the nervous knot in your throat that made it difficult to talk to him. It was the first time since you started participating in this learning group that you two were all alone without a single student in the library with you and it made you strangely aware of your tutors specific behaviour. He was quiet, fond of the nature and artistic, which resulted in studying art and literature, but there was more to him than he wanted you to know. But you died to discover it.

“First peeping on me and now staring?”

He shook you out of your thoughts, your eyes glued to his face whilst he pulled up his dark brows. Meanwhile Tae took a seat in the niche you had learned in so far, his brown bag next to him and your essay on his lap. You were a little nervous about his opinion on your sheets you had sat on the whole night again.

“I'm not staring either!”, you finally pressed out of your mouth, your face heating up the longer his brown orbs lay on you, kind of inspecting you from head to toe.

Instead of answering Taehyung grinned to himself while he took your essay and a red pen. Would he read it here? Now? Not sure of what to do you shifted on your feet, your view sliding over the many bookshelves ere they ended up on your tutor again. And again until you gave up and blankly stared at him for a while. There was no one else like him. Tall, perfectly build, brownish hair, glowing skin. And such a voice, oh my. He could read to you all day, the lamest novels and you'd still be fascinated by the way he pronounced some things with his bass like vocals.

As he didn't react you slowly circled the table, sitting straight down on the chair across his own. “So..”

“So?”, came the short response, Taehyung's attention still down the paper. His pupils moved so fast you were sure he couldn't read it all and understand everything you described correctly. But he surprised you more often than you wanted to give him credit for.

How should you start a conversation? You went the simplest way. “So uhm..Do you have any plans for the upcoming week? We're off of uni..uhm..” God, you were such a sheep. Why did you stutter so much? That wasn't like you.

“If I have any plans? I do”, Taehyung spoke into the silence evolving after a while, cutting the awkwardness with his lopsided grin. He changed his position whilst putting the sheets aside, bending forward with his elbows on the table. “Do you?”

His gaze distracted you. The big glasses slid a little down and you were confident that you had never seen anyone as attractive as your fellow mate's uneven eyelids and the tiny mole below his right eye.

“I-I do..I mean I don't. Yet”, you said hastily stumbling over your own voice.

“Nothing fun to do? You're young, y/n, enjoy yourself a bit”, Taehyung tilted his head, the innocence of his usually calm state drifting away to make place for something unidentifiable.

Unintentionally you squirmed on your seat. “Tell me what someone young does then.” It costed you a lot more courage to raise your voice to an audible tone. The expressions on his face changed, the common smile replacing the grin from before as he spoke up again.

“You might know that down the town is a really pretty museum, right? There's a vernissage this week, so this would be my first thought to recommend to you.”

“Really?”, suddenly you sat a little straighter, your face lighting up, the nervousness shaking off. “That's what you-” Shut up, you scolded yourself throwing a fit inside your head. Now it was out that you had listened in on him and tha fact was seen all over Taehyung's perfect face.

“I did what, y/n?”

“N-nothing”, you scratched your scalp in attempt of shyness. Usually you were everything but shy, a little savage at times, but he somehow did magic on you you couldn't escape from. “Okay, I heard something about a museum from you as you talked over the phone. But I didn't mean to peep on you or anything!”, you defended yourself with that lie.

Taehyung on the other side nodded and slid even closer to you over the table, his long, beautiful fingers suddenly stroking over yours. “You shouldn't listen to other's conversations, got that, y/n? You could peep on the wrong people who aren't as nice as I am.”

His skin touched yours a little too firm, his hand enclosed around both of yours. The change in atmosphere was almost touchable, but then Tae put on his signature lopsided grin and showed you his perfect row of teeth. What should you say to that? It sounded like a subliminal threat with his hand on yours, but ended with a chuckle on his side cutting the tension.

“I should go back to correcting”, the tall guy across you said in a your so familiar cheerfulness, the cuteness of his box smile that made you weak in the knees seen for a couple of seconds, his fingers squeezing yours a last time before he narrowed his gaze down the essay again.

You were dumbfounded in a way you couldn't describe. It was like he had a split personality, as if he was angry but teasing you how he teased you some times in his lessons.

Now you had the feeling that you should back off and let your tutor do his work, your cheeks definitely red from embarrassment because he caught you. And here you thought you were sneaky!

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything at all. I won't do..it again.”

His brown thatch bounced up, his chocolate eyes inspecting your face whilst an unpredictable expression laced his beautiful features. “Good girl.”

You ended up thinking about a special someone very, very often this week. Not the way you wanted to, but he dragged himself into your mind too persistently to ignore it anymore. His puppy eyes with the mischief behind them and this amazing box smile didn't do you good, your health suffering from thinking about you tutor. This explained why all girls were head over heels for him. He was intellectual, intelligent, thoughtful and funny, topped by his incredible good looks. That's why you hoped to see him again this week – not in a romantic way, Taehyung was more of the guy everyone wanted to be friends with, you as well – and you just had to go to the museum he recommended, too much curiosity coursing your veins. Everything Taehyung recommended was a success and brought you new insights on the art you admired so much.

It was quite late already as you begged Jenny to accompany you down town where most of the high society had their residences to visit the vernissage, but she denied and so you found yourself alone down the city, the sun slowly vanishing on the horizon. Luckily today was a warmer day, your tight jeans and the small, light pullover perfectly fine for this kind of weather. You just turned a corner as you saw it. The average tall glassy facade of the arts museum, it's high roof where you made out a rooftop garden and those pretty lamps lighting the path up the yard. Several cherry blossom trees lined it whereas you took your time to marvel at their beauty. No wonder the rent costed more than the average apartments around here. The view out of the huge houses surrounding the museum was incredibly fascinating, you bet. The warm light shone all the way to the entrance where you had to receive the unlucky message that the exhibition was postponed to next week. Hence you groaned in disappointment. You wanted to go since Tae said you had to see it, but instead took a photo with your phone to remember the date next week you had to come back.

With slow steps you turned three-sixty mid way on the path back to the street over the pretty lighted pavement. You could spend hours listening to music or reading your textbooks the next time you had a day off in here with the museum in your back and the sun of a warm day in your face. Now you had to find an activity to get over the evening, so you decided to rush back to a small café you had seen a few blocks from here. Yes, you were stupid and had zero orientation skills as you walked passed the alleyway you had to walk into to get to the spot of the museum, but you walked right past it and landed somewhere in a lane with cute and simple looking coffee shops you dreamed to visit. And that's why found yourself in the dimly lit street with the few people in extraordinary clothes who looked as if they could buy the entire building you lived in with the money in their purses.

The bell above the door signalled your entering as you greeted the two mid-fourties behind the counter. Your smile only getting brighter at the way the – married? – couple teased each other like teenagers.

“What can we do for you?”

It was almost twelve as you left the shop that had closed an hour ago, but the owners had so much fun talking to you they forgot that you were a customer and by the time you said your farewells with the promise to come back soon they started to clean the shop. Who would have guessed that simple strangers could be so funny and lovable at such a short period of time? You had learned that they were a married couple for over twenty seven years now, their sons successfully moved out a few years ago and that they had opened their shop to get out of the ordinary, but luxurious life they lived so far. And they enjoyed your company because you lulled them in about art that they started to vent about everything with you. How nice the early night turned out! What a blessing after your miserable try to visit the museum.

Inside your head you planned to go to the café next week with Jenny or Jin, your brother's best friend while you slandered over the pavement, the night becoming chilly. Although it was may it was kinda cold at night and you cursed yourself for forgetting to bring a jacket with you in your excitement. Who would have guessed that you stayed out this late anyway? Wide eyed you saw many girls passing you, dressed in heels and tight dresses as well as one or two guys with fast steps, all down the road.

“Must be a great party going on somewhere”, you said aloud, two girls eyeing you with their drawn eyebrows shooting up. Ignoring you they were gone and you couldn't care less about any of the people passing you.

Slowly you got to the place the museum was located and you contemplated to take a picture of the many lights and the glassy walls to show Jenny tomorrow. Therefore you turned the corner, walking straight to the tall building you recognised right away, the gate to the yard still opened, which was kinda suspicious. You looked left and right before you shrugged your shoulders, a simple photo, nothing more.

Hastily getting out your phone you had to stand still as music reached your ear. Low beats vibrating underneath your feet. Curious you dared to walk closer into the middle of the way to take your picture as you heard how a door was opened a couple of metres away and two girls you had witnessed walking down the road earlier staggered out. It was a metal door in the walls mostly unseen at the huge museum in front of your eyes, the music the evidence for your assumptions. It was a party underneath the fucking museum! Wide eyed you saw how the girls took their drinks and gulped them down before lighting cigarettes and you asked yourself how a party below the ground worked, especially in such an exclusive area. You had always dreamed of a party like this, underneath the surface, loud beats and – you were more than sure – dozens of beautiful, rich people. And you had to get as many information as possible for Jenny, that was for sure! With an idea in your head you opened your hair, rolled up your tight jeans on your ankles and adjusted your pullover.

“Hey there”, you greeted the two girls whose gazes you could assess right away. They judged your outfit and decided you had no chance to get in there. “Is the party for free?”

One of the chicks tilted her head. “It's a club. And only for guests on a list, right Charlene?”

The girl called Charlene nodded, her long black hair stroked aside before both turned away from you. Hence you only smiled, walking passed the two of them to open the door they came out from. It was worth a try. Either you got in or the security escorted you out. Which way you left later didn't matter as long as you got a glimpse of the so called club, your curiosity one of a child. How exciting it was to find such a thing at night! You were an adventurous person ever since you could think and this sort of adventure your first.

It was dark, the music droning from even further down as you walked through a dimly lit floor to the only entrance to the club, a black door with nothing but elegant curved font on it: “Van Gogh”. With a doubled heartbeat you pulled the knob and it opened in one go, stairs, big and spiral reaching to another big foyer where you could see a couple of security and a few girls flirting with them. Now or never.

Casually, as if owning this club you never went into at all, you swung yourself down the stairs, breathing in as you ogled at the expensive furniture, all black and red. If you wouldn't know better you'd think of it as a brothel, but the loud basses and the people you got a glance of as a door on the right opened told you otherwise. With a racing pulse you did as if not seeing the big older man with the full bearded face as you walked straight past him, no luck with you anymore.

“Hey, young lady, where do you think you're going?”

Busted faster than you expected. Your braincells worked non-stop while you shifted your head to the side, looking as relaxed as you could. “I just got some fresh air. Look at the guest list. Charlene.” Please, god, let me get in.

The tall mid-fifty narrowed his gaze, his big fingers holding onto a sheet before he glanced back at you and down at the list again. You almost flinched as he rose his voice, bluffing at a younger man who looked certainly nervous. “You forgot to give a girl the fucking bracelet again, Lucas! One more time and I'll beat ya ass, boy!”

Oh oh, that sounded bad for the guy in the back, his eyes going wide and his skin was suddenly paler than before. You felt as if you had thrown him into cold water, but before you realised your wrist was taken and a white, lacy strap was put around it. The creepy security worker nodded towards the door you had seen dozens of people in, the black wood opening automatically.

Behind it you were met with extremely loud music, the beat of it shaking your body whilst you were astonished by the extent of the club. It was huge, marvellously furnished, tinged into dim lights and a long counter on the right side where you witnessed more than..seven bartenders giving out drinks at once. Your shining eyes roamed the hall, the dancing masses dressed in costly brands, men and women touching each other closely and you were content that this down town underground club was what would give you a thrilling experience. As your feet dragged you further inside you saw silvery, with red glitter sprinkled cages on the walls in which sparsely covered women danced rhythmically to the music. They were beautiful, each one of them having perfect curves, soft skin and an ass beating rhythm you were jealous of. Your heartbeat started to race up even more as your eyes lingered on a black piano on top of a small pedestal further on the left side of 'Van Gogh', the only place the crowd didn't go up to although you saw the astonished expressions on some of the people's faces, like your own.

Biting your inner cheek to refrain from cheering loudly for yourself you marvelled at the club as you witnessed a black wall with many artistic paintings on it, some of them even put into bright light. They must have an unimaginable amount of value behind the glass. Some of them having small signatures you couldn't identify, but you were magically drawn to their beauty and the extraordinary figures painted on them. None the less you had the strange feeling that you shouldn't be here too long, all alone as a young woman in an underground club for the higher society. Hence you mixed within the crowd, moving along the beat while you contemplated to check out the drinks' prices. You didn't believe your eyes as you were shocked about them.

“Are those prices a joke?”, you asked the bartender near you, his grin giving off the feeling as if he didn't take your question seriously. You almost shot him a smile yourself as you saw how the feelings vanished off of his pretty face, a mask of reluctant friendliness and full respect replacing his cheekiness.

“You better have a very good excuse to be here, love.”

You froze. That voice was too familiar to be the one you thought stood behind you, but as you darted around your eyes widened even more than the bartenders. A Taehyung, the strangest version of his own being stood with wide shoulders and crossed arms in front of you, his gaze cold and unpredictable. You had never seen such an arrogant, mighty emotion on his angelic face and it frightened you. That wasn't the picture you had of the cute tutor who did everything to help you and your mates to pass the exams. More of a devious twin brother looking down at you as if he was a lion catching his prey on the wrong move. Even the way he dressed and his pupils moving along with his superior lopsided smirk wasn't like the Tae you were lucky to get to know about throughout the last two months. He wore a claret leather jacket, his brownish hair out of his face and no sight of the round, big glasses he usually wore on his nose, instead a new accessory decorated his neck, a black, lacy choker. The ebony, tight jeans to a dark shirt and shiny shoes completed his outfit and made his golden skin glow even more than the knitted pullover or wide pants could ever do. The headlights danced on his face, his grin deepening the longer it took you to speak up, your voice lost thanks to the sight in front of you.

“Speak, love”, he commanded all of a sudden, his body tensing as he leaned forward to inspect you up close. “Who let you in?”

Taehyung didn't back away, not even as you squirmed under his intense stare. “I heard music and thought I take a look. Nothing more”, you finally said, his eyes shifting from one of your own into the other. “But why the hell are you here? And so..so weird? This is not like you, Tae.”

The stranger scoffed. “Nothing more?” The rest got ignored.

This wasn't the guy you found most intriguing and hot for his intellect and knowledge in art. It was as if a demon possessed the sweet honey boy with the box smile that turned the senior of the university into an evil, charming incubus with an irresistible smirk. You had to admit that he was even more seducing than he usually seemed with the superior gazes and the elegant movements of his body as he looked to the side.

“Come”, was all he added before he turned on his heel, his hand gesturing you to better follow him and so you did, curious and full of questions what a bad joke this was. Who expected Kim Taehyung to be present in this establishment at night? It was odd and off whilst you saw how the masses parted as he walked straight through them. There was so much you didn't know, that was clear, but you wouldn't back off tonight. Whatever Taehyung wanted from you in this kind of club, it seemed as if he was respected by the stuff as well! Furthermore did you stumble a few times, your mind everywhere but here, Tae's back close in front of you. What was going on? It was almost as if he had told you about the vernissage knowing that underneath the museum was this high society down town club. As if it was his intention to get you here, but that was impossible. There were so many questions inside your mind that you felt dizzy as you were led up some stairs in the back of the club, coming to a halt with shaking legs. Taehyung didn't say a word and the tries you dared to talk to him were ignored or fobbed off by a half hearted smile over his shoulder.

You were more than confused as he held open a red curtain up the stairs at the back of the club, a lounge with two men put on your display. This niche must be the VIP lounge as no one was allowed to enter behind the brown haired guy, two bulky security men eyeing you out of small eyes. The view from up here  was breathtaking as you shifted to the side to marvel at the masses down the lounge. You could see the crowds, the bars and every door as well as cages with a top view. The girls dancing in them noticing the man on your left stepping inside the area with lascivious smiles, some even licking their lips. It was insane. Everything happening right now out of this world while you felt a hand on your back, escorting you completely in.

“Get out, you two”, Taehyung's deep vocals overtuned the beats as if the music wouldn't drone up like a storm. But to your surprise did the two men on the black couch stand up, turn around and this was the right time to hold your breath a second time this night.

One of the two was a total stranger to you, but the other taught music and literature at your university and was the one protecting you from the thugs in the hallway. Mr. Min's gaze was the opposite of yours as he shrugged his shoulders and left at Tae's command like a puppet. Now it was time to start to panic, so you thought with stiff limbs. This situation bothered you on an end level.

The handsome with the superior stares still touched your back with his large hand, his body getting closer as Mr. Min and the other guy squeezed themselves through the exit.

“M-Mr. Min?”, you asked carefully, but the black haired man didn't even grant you a single glance, his steps taking him out as fast as he could. Which made you panic more and more. And right then as they left you tried to turn around and leave as well, this joke gone too far to be funny anymore. But as you shifted in your position the hand on your back slid down and held you by your waist, Taehyung's long legs taking you both to the couch where he sat down with you next to him, his thigh rubbing against yours. This invaded your personal space massively, your comfortableness washing over your face.

“What is Mr. Min doing here?!”, you asked loudly, but it was silence that answered you again.

Instead his melodic bass echoed through the lounge like lace touching your throat, only to choke you with harshness:“I never thought I would be able to witness one of my cute freshmen to walk into Van Gogh as if they own this fucking club. You know where you are, right, y/n?” Taehyung didn't let you speak as he went on. “This isn't your world, love. And you bluntly stepped into it with your bright smiles and no sign of fear at all.”

The fuck was he talking about? Not your world? Who thought he that he was and why would you be afraid in the first place? “Kim Taehyung, sorry to cut through this illusion, but what are you talking about?! I'm hella confused and you..you scare me.”

“I scare you, love? You're at the safest spot in here right now”, the evil grinning guy you thought you knew a bit leaned forward, his beautiful digits stroking a lose strand behind your ear. You flinched slightly, but let him be, his voice now a lot softer even though you could see the deviousness in the almost black pupils of his. This situation was strange to you, but the bad boyish behaviour set a feeling similar to riding a roller coater free. And it wasn't a bad feeling at all! “To refer to your previously asked question: Look around and tell me what you see. All those people belong to the highest of societies not only around here and guess what those rich little kids were looking for all their lives. Yes, a club no one knows off except the few people who are as influential as they are. No cameras, no paparazzi, no one to invade their privacy in here. It was easy to get a loan and open 'Van Gogh' a few years ago, seeing all these nice men paying the overly high prices every night to impress the girls..hah..” He stared into your eyes, piercing them with sharpness as his mouth opened again. “But you're so different, love. This isn't a place for someone like you, you know?”

Taehyung next to you slid closer, his voice getting deeper whenever his eyes lingered over the mass down the lounge. His words hurt, although they were understandable with your average income, your flabby pullover and no real make up, not talking about the money you had in your purse. Still. You did expect him to be gentle and soft, but he turned out to be the opposite down the museum right now..

The tone in those dark vocals let you guess that there was more to it than a simple club as a shelter from paparazzi and the press, but you didn't speak up about it, your pride scratched and hurt. The thing that Tae wasn't only intelligent and charming, but a witty business partner of someone owning this kind of establishment impressed you although you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that he had a lot of secrets under his roof.

“That's all? A simple underground club for the rich and famous? Nothing more?”, you blinked, looking up into his face the first time since you got up the VIP area, hiding your suspicion behind a mask.

The brown thatch bounced up as he let out a low chuckle. “That's all you need to know. But now you better answer me what brought you here.”

“Don't play stupid now! You knew I'd come for the vernissage you talked about..”

“Tell me.”

Something inside you requested you to better speak up as Taehyung looked as if he would eat you alive if you wouldn't spill the details as soon as possible, so you told him with shaking limbs what had drawn you down the stairs earlier and he listened well, another stone mask forming on his god like features. As you ended your babbling your cheeks were burning from his intense stares and the way his hand sneaked up and slowly began touching your wrist where the white lace was located. It itched the longer his fingers rolled it between them.

“I can't believe someone let you inside because you heard a girls name..who was it again?”, he asked calmly, but you saw the anger inflaming his eyes. The tall older guy letting you in was deep into shit if you described his appearance to Tae. If.

You smiled a little, his expressions falling from his face as you started to giggle at the ridiculousness of this situation. It was too hilarious. Y/n y/l/n was in a damn club called Van Gogh beneath the surface! Somehow this news started to sink in only now, your hands shooting up to rub over your neck. “But you're not joking, are you? This is all yours or what? It's insane.”

“Is it? Insane? I like to invest in things that are stable and bring money in, like it should be. So don't you dare laugh a second time, alright, love?”

Okay, wow. Now it was you who watched him out of small eyes before you burst into another pit of giggles. “I'm not laughing at you, so chill out. I just never expected..you in those clothes with..this sort of club in your back. So it's your own?”, you tried to explain yourself, your mood gradually rising up again after you slightly panicked because of his strange behaviour. It scared the hell out of you to be pretty honest. Of course you never expected Taehyung to own a location as it was, but it was your own fault for not asking him about his private life outside the university.

“I'm not the kind of bad boy who could own a club, you think? Love, you're so cute”, Tae's tongue rolled against his cheek, his dark orbs meeting your own and you swore he challenged you. A thing he had never done before.

“Don't even think about it, Taehyung”, you said, your courage coming back with every passing second. The longer you sat beside him the more he seemed to relax as well, his former unpredictable view changed into a softer glance out of the corner of his eyes.

Instead of answering, the handsome owner and your tutor shrugged his shoulders, standing up to walk over to the railing, his hands enclosed around the thick metal rod. He looked like a god who watched over his folk eagle-eyed and authority you never gave him credit for. The changing headlights tinging his dark body in colourful light, your gaze drawn by the fascination Kin Taehyung was for you.

“Any solution about our little problem here?”

Problem?, you asked yourself, tilting your head in confusion as the content of the question got through to you. “What kind of problem are you talking about?”

Silence was your response for mere minutes and you were sure he didn't hear you as he spoke up with his back still turned your way. “You are the problem, y/n. A tiny girl like you walking straight down my club not knowing what you would face here. No, don't say a word”, he added as you inhaled to raise your voice. “Either I have to make you forget what you have seen tonight or..”

It was the first time in ages he let you see the brown of his sparkling, round oculars, his golden skin lighted by the dancing lights above his head. Suddenly you felt hot, your body tensing at the glance he threw on you, a lopsided, seducing smile playing on his heart shaped, oh so red lips. “..you'll work as my assistant for as long as you're still in university. I could help you pay off your debts and keep you from spilling a single word to the world above 'Van Gogh'. Of course that would be our little secret, right, love?”

Your throat dried up, your mouth a desert as the last words fell out his own. He joked, didn't he? Working in a club while studying, maintaining good grades while going to his lessons AND working in the bar ever since you joined high school? How was that possible? You told him that, shaking your head and crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“You would quit the other job. I pay a lot more and you're not as dumb as some of the girls before you. I could need a helping hand that manages my boys outside those door and the girls watching you so intensely right now”, he chuckled, pointing down the many cages where the sparsely dressed women still swung their hips to the music, throwing you suspicious glances here and there.

“I decline”, you responded again, this time with more strength behind those words which elicited a smirk on Taehyung's lips. You won, but he won't accept it.

With long steps he came back to the position on the couch, his bottom lip pulled between his white teeth. “So, how will I be sure that you will shut your pretty little mouth?”

Too..close.. It was difficult to think properly while Tae closed the distance between the two of you, his breath hitting your face and you smelled the expensive, intense cologne he always wore; sweet and musky. You admired the tall dark angel he was tonight, knowing exactly what kind of guy he acted to be. Or was this the real act? Anyway, both sides of his had a magical effect on you. The tenebrous side he showed you made you think unnecessary dirty thoughts while the cheeky one let you day dream about amusement park dates while he taught you and your group the requirements for your exams.

Gulping loudly to wet your throat your eyes were drawn by Taehyung's tongue that slowly circled over his bottom lip before you hastily shifted to the side, avoiding any contact with his skin for your own safety. Not only did he somehow deceive your tiny little mind with being here and being exposed as 'Van Gogh's' owner, but he had a lot more secrets underneath his silky brown thatch that you couldn't risk getting touchy or worse; fucking him, either in your mind or in real life. Hence you stood up abruptly, calming your racing heartbeat alongside the tightness in your lower stomach.

“How about you make me?”, you heard yourself saying. Are you stupid, y/n?, you scolded yourself, regret filling your body. You were savage at times, but flirting wasn't your thing. Usually, it wasn't which is why you were so surprised by your question.

Pulling up his dark eyebrows your tutor nodded lazily, laying his arm over the rest in his back. “Come here then, love. I can make you shut up many many times if you want.”

The heat rushing into your cheeks shaded them in a bright red as to why you only scratched your neck. “It was a joke.”

Not believing a single word you said Tae stood up, holding out his hand for you to grab. “I'll show you the backside where the stuff enters the club. You should leave before I make you regret another joke you pull.”

Nodding with a tensed snicker you reluctantly grabbed his large hand, his skin so very warm you wanted to hold onto it for a while longer. But the hallway he led you through was a short one, several doors leading to changing rooms and you also saw a kitchen on the right side. It was definitely lighter than the main entrance you came from, still you couldn't shake off the feeling that those rooms hid a lot darker secrets than the black and red corridor you came from. You never contemplated that someone like him would be here tonight or you finding out about 'Van Gogh' at all, but you were astonished at the same time. And heavily curious what else was going on below the breathtaking museum. The second the museum flashed before your eyes you froze, Taehyung falling back as you didn't move.

“The museum..”, you whispered, your view focused into a distance without seeing anything at all. “D-does that mean..”

“Jup, it's mine.”

That was all he said, a short, simple sentence and he shone in another light for you. Again. There were so many sides to him that you felt dizzy. “Why didn't you tell me? That's amazing!”

Taehyung, with your hand in his, glanced over his shoulder, disbelief lacing his features. “You think owning a museum is amazing, but owning an expensive club under the ground not? God, y/n, what is wrong with that mind of yours?”

The low chuckles escaping him made you grin shyly whilst you shrugged your shoulders. “Can't deny that.”

Shaking his bouncing hair he pulled at your arm, the next thing you knew being led into another corridor, this one a lot friendlier, with a staircase up the exit. You two climbed them before Tae opened the door with his index fingerprint; one of those high tech gadgets implemented at it's frame. To your surprise you landed on the backside of the museum, in the middle of the beautiful garden where dozens of dark blue roses bloomed, the couple lights lining a path through the garden itself. Your mouth shot open as you saw the beauty of it at night and swore you would come back once the sun shone down on the green grass.

“I have to come back!”, you said out loud and with a lot more enthusiasm than necessary.

Taehyung next to you who crossed his arms in front of his broad, in ebony dressed, chest arched his brows again. “I could show you the vernissage before everyone else.”

The lamps in the garden didn't even compete with the shining of your eyes as they widened at the meaning of the handsome's words. He would show you everything before it started? Tonight was the biggest, most unrealistic dream of your life. Too many incidences happening you lost count while you pinched yourself. This wasn't a dream. This was reality.

“Y-you would? When? Oh, this is so exciting!”, you cheered quietly, a bit ashamed by your rose cheeks and the smile you tried desperately to repress by biting your inner cheek.

“I would show you, but only my employees are allowed to”, he added with a wide, mighty smirk.

All cheerfulness wiped off of your face you stared blankly at him. What a mischievous devil! He knew exactly what strings to pull; not only with you, that was more than sure!

Not knowing what drove you, you stepped forward one step before you turned around with inflamed cheeks again. “That was mean.”

It took a couple of seconds until you heard the rustling of his leather jacket ere you saw his tall body right in front of you. To look into his perfectly shaped face you had to lay your head into your neck, the expression on your face changing drastically at the stare Taehyung granted you with. Without any signal you were grabbed by the shoulders and pulled on your tip toes, your eyes shooting wider than ever. His red lips were soft, demanding and controlled as he pressed them onto yours, his eyes closed so you were able to see the long, black lashes of his laying gently on his cheeks. His skin was shining while your lids became heavy as well and you let go, being shook but enjoying the warmth on your mouth. It was too long ago a guy kissed you. No one ever doing it the same as he did right that moment. Feeling Taehyung's firm grip wandering down to your waist, the hot breath of his beginning to mix within your own while you opened your mouth slightly to welcome his tongue. Taking his own sweet time with you melting under his touch, his softness tasting your lips whilst his tongue nipped on yours, faintly, not too much to frighten you. You had never experienced such a controlled, superior kiss, but it was what you craved for since a long, long time ago. That's why your fingers traced over his chest up to his hair that you stroked before holding onto his neck, pressing him tighter on you. You two stayed that way for about a minute before Taehyung untangled your hands and stepped away immediately as if time ran out.

You witnessed the laboured breathing, how his chest rose too fast, but in the same rhythm as yours. What happened just now? It was unbelievable. Everything about this evening and early night an unfathomable dream you didn't want to wake up from. The hair on your arms stood up, your heartbeat stronger than before and the tight pull inside your core urging you to keep going further.

“I accept this as payment for the early excursion through the exhibition in 5 days”, Tae said, back to his calm self whilst he licked his lips, his black pupils focusing on your body.

Hot. You felt too damn hot under his eyes that you started to play with your shirt, the invitation sinking in. He turned you upside down alongside your libido that inflamed the longer you and Taehyung stood so close to each other. With wobbling legs you tried to hold your head high, walking past the man who kissed you a second earlier. You had to get some air or else would do something you would regret in the morning.

“See ya on Tuesday for literature”, your voice was heard in the garden, too high pitched for your own good, the reason standing behind you like a fallen angel.

Instead of answering his low chuckle laced with darkness and seduction echoed through the night and chased you home whilst you constantly gnawed on your bottom lip, tasting the mint sweetness of Taehyung's plump lips on yours for the next hours. God, if you knew that this was the foretaste of an unbearable addiction – and some dark secrets.

[chimyoung]

I’ll Try

As requested by @agylala7: what about the second prompt with Yoongi and OC, but where OC is the art student who smokes and Yoongi is the med student?

Here we go! This was supposed to be a drabble but it went over 2k so does it still count?

Warning/s: SMOKING (pls do not, take it from a smoker, it is very expensive and bad for your health), swearing, reader gets sick, mentions of gross sick stuff.

Paring: Med Student!Min Yoongi x Art Student!Reader

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your peers to find you outside, under one of the large trees on the quad with a cigarette in your mouth. It was a well-known fact that you were a chain smoker, many of your professors and friends trying to lecture you on the detrimental impact that the nicotine had on your health, but you never listened.

Min Yoongi was one of those people who were trying to convince you to quit smoking, or at least cut back from two packs a day. At first he had started out by simply looking at you and telling you that the ‘cancer stick’ was going to kill you before you saw your first grandchild. He was a very blunt man, but that was probably what made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Min Yoongi was the complete and total opposite of you, with his natural black hair, no piercings other than his ears and no other body modifications whatsoever, he was not afraid to speak his mind or call people out on their bullshit. Yoongi dressed to be comfortable, and his outward appearance, although intimidating, was somewhat comforting. He was a med student who would never even think of putting a lit cigarette anywhere near his face. 

You on the other hand, had bright red hair, a couple of piercings (your nose and lip) as well as your ears, you had tattoos all over your body and you were a very soft, outspoken person no matter what you looked like. You often dressed in a way that would scare people off, and it was a common occurrence for people to cross the road to avoid you altogether. You were a socially awkward art student who couldn’t really go ten minutes without a hit of nicotine.

“Large soy chai latte, no foam!” You called, finishing the order and pushing the to-go cup forward in time for the business lady to snatch it off the counter and completely ignore your polite smile. Seeing no more orders for you, you wiped down the coffee machine and moved out from behind the counter, joining Hoseok in cleaning the now empty tables. It was a late Tuesday evening, and the quaint little café that you worked at was beginning to start closing, ready to turn in for the night.

“Here, I’ll take that. You go talk to your lover boy.” Hoseok winked, taking the empty plates from your hands. Hoseok was much like you in his appearance, two full sleeves of tattoos to complement his spider bites and eyebrow piercing. He was your best friend and he was also a pain in the ass, often giving you a hard time for your crush on Yoongi, your polar opposite. Where you had fallen for a man who was complete opposite of you, Hoseok’s boyfriend, Taehyung, was very much the same as him, maybe with a few less tattoos.

“Fuck off, Hobi.” You spoke, but handed over the plates in any case, turning to see Yoongi sat in the corner with three empty mugs around him, typing furiously on his laptop. You assumed that the med students had an assignment or test of some sort coming up, explaining the urgent way that Yoongi was slamming his fingers against the keypad.

“Do you need another?” You asked as soon as you got close enough, taking a small amount of joy in the way that the man jumped, his hand almost knocking one of the mugs from their place beside him.

“Um, yeah. Just a latte, thanks. I’m nearly done.” He smiled up at you, watching as you collected the empty cups and plates, nodding as he spoke.

“No problem. It won’t be too long.” You smiled back, turning to walk away. Jimin had taken your place at the coffee machine, so you relayed Yoongi’s order before grabbing your packet of cigarettes from your jacket’s front pocket and taking your lighter from Jimin’s outstretched hand. You often left it laying around, and your friends ever so diligently continued to pick it up for you.

“I’m going for a smoke, I’ll be back in like 5 minutes.” You said, moving towards the back of the store, and out the back door, flipping Jin off when he made some comment about not getting cancer before he can draw up the next roster. Placing the cigarette between your lips and sparking the flame from the lighter, you inhaled the toxins, letting out a relieved sigh at the familiar burn. The tightness in your chest dissipated upon seeing the cloud of grey smoke leave your lips, blowing away with the breeze. 

You were in a world all your own, thinking over the man who sat inside and what he would say to you when you walked back inside. He often left little notes on the napkins, other staff at the café passing them along to you. At first you were a little put off when you read “EXPOSURE TO SECOND HAND SMOKE KILLS NEARLY 50,000 PEOPLE EACH YEAR IN THE U.S ALONE”. Though as time went on, the little notes became more frequent, facts about cigarettes and the deadly impact that they had on the average human. Now you had begun to expect them, somewhat looking forward to them in your own morbid way. Stomping out the now finished cigarette, you exhaled the lung full of smoke, waiting a little so that you wouldn’t smell too strongly of smoke, before you made your way back into the café, finding Yoongi gone but a note left in his place, folded in half with your name scratched onto the top in his usual scrawl.

“What did he leave you this time? His number? The national quitting help line? The number to some sort of a funeral service?” Hoseok asked as you unfolded the paper, smirking at the newest note.

“TABBACO ADDICTS ARE MOST LIKELY TO CONSIDER QUITTING ON A MONDAY. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE COME IN YESTERDAY?” It read, making you giggle quietly at the absurdness of the fact.

“Nothing of your concern.” You quipped, walking towards the front doors to lock them and flip the open sign to close.

The next time you spoke to Yoongi, you were sat under the largest tree on the quad, a lit cigarette in your mouth, and two finished ones stamped out beside you.

“You are going to die an incredibly early death if you continue smoking at the rate you are.” His voice cut through your thoughts, halting the movement of your pencil on your paper.

“We’re all gonna die Yoongi. When, where or how is undecided. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, and that would have nothing to do with my smoking habits.” You said, smirking up at the man and taking another drag.

“You are as bad a Namjoon. I’m just pointing out that the likeliness of you living to the ripe old age of 45 is pretty low.” He spoke back sarcastically, beginning to walk away once more. You laughed at his statement, taking one final drag from your cigarette and putting it out, half finished. 

“Now I might make it to 46!” You exclaimed, smiling at him and picking up your pencil once more. 

“Maybe. It might take a little more than that though.” He quipped.

“I’ll try.”

You went the next few weeks without seeing Yoongi, too swept up in work and your classes to even bother looking for the man, and with the stress of three back to back major assessments, your smoking increased as well. Probably getting you to where you are now.

You had been with Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin when you began to feel short of breath. You had been dealing with a pretty persistent cough for about two weeks now, putting it down to coming down with a head cold or something, but this was different. Your chest was tight, and your coughs were racking through your body, the other boys looking over at you worried.

You had managed to grab a tissue from the coffee table in front of you, and pulling away to find a yellow-grey coloured mucus was concerning. Even further concerning was the fact that specks of blood covered the small area on the tissue.

“Okay that’s it. You’re going to a hospital. I don’t care what you say.” Hoseok jumped up, moving to wrap his arm around your waist and walk you out of your apartment, the two younger boys following. Your wheezing only seemed to get worse, as did the tightness in your chest and it wasn’t long before you were groaning with the effort it took to inhale. 

Reaching the hospital seemed to take less time than you remember, Jimin and Taehyung jumping from the car to grab you whilst Hoseok went to find somewhere to park. Jimin was supporting you while Taehyung ran ahead to get some help. You had barely made it through the front doors before there was nurses grabbing at you and putting you on a hospital bed, wheeling you away from your friends. You made it into the ER, two of the nurses talking to you to tell you that a doctor would be on his way soon, and that they were going to be taking your vitals.

“Okay, honey, can you tell me your symptoms? How long have you had them?” One of them, an older lady, asked, smiling down at you in comfort.

“Um… I feel like I can’t breathe, my chest feels really tight. I’ve been coughing for about two weeks now and it’s had mucus and only just recently I’ve been coughing up blood too.” You tried to explain, trying to ignore the feeling of passing out.

“I’ll take it from here, Joy. Hello miss, I’m Dr Kim. I hope you don’t mind but there is also a medical student with me as well,” Another smiling woman approached leaning over you to inspect. “Have you had any trouble sleeping at all, or a fever perhaps?”

“Yeah, but I just thought it was a head cold or something, nothing too serious.” You said, your words coming out in between pants. You were finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

“Okay, just a couple more questions. Are you a smoker at all or have you been exposed to cigarette smoke regularly over the time of your illness?” She asked, the sound of scribbling drawing your attention away from the woman. You couldn’t see whoever it was so you turned your focus back to the doctor.

“Uh, yeah. I smoke.” You said, a little ashamed with the way this woman was looking at you.

“Okay, how often? As in, how many packs a day do you think you average?” She questioned further.

“Maybe two, usually. But I’ve been really stressed lately so maybe more.” You spoke, trying to remember just how many packets you had gone through in the past three weeks. 

“Hmm.” She hummed, pulling her stethoscope out and listening to the rattling of your lungs as you inhaled and exhaled on her command. She said a few more things before a nurse came over and demanded the doctor’s presence.

“Okay, you can probably finish this. Give your diagnosis and check it with the primary and the head nurse.” Dr Kim said to whoever the med student was. There was a noise of affirmation and a new figure stepped into your line of sight. Min Yoongi had his most disappointed look printed across his face, looking down at you in the same way your parents would.

“So from what I can tell, you’ve got chronic bronchitis. Not cancer, thank god. You’re probably gonna need some respiratory antibiotics and inhalants, and pulmonary rehabilitation. That means quitting smoking.” Yoongi spoke softly but he was stern, letting you know he wasn’t up for any of your bullshit. He waved down a nurse and told her of his diagnosis, watching as she pulled a breathing mask over your face and went to go grab the head nurse in charge.

You were still stunned but you nodded, your eyes never once leaving him. He was still so attractive, even when he was obviously tired and upset with you.

“You know, if you give up the smoking, I may just ask you on a date.” Yoongi spoke so nonchalantly that you almost thought that you heard him wrong.

“I’ll try.” Your voice was muffled but he understood you perfectly.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.” He brushed your hair off of your forehead and further shocked you by placing a kiss on the now exposed skin.

“I’ll be back later. Try and get some rest for now.” He looked over at you, almost as if he didn’t want to leave as much as you didn’t want him to leave.

“I’ll try.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THIS IS GREAT NEWS FOR THE MARGINAL, WHO RETAIN THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING AN INSIDER, AND IN SOME KINDS OF WORK—THAT HACKING WAS COLD, PRECISE, AND METHODICAL, AND THAT HE DID ALL THE ACTUAL DESIGN OF THE APPLE I AND APPLE II IN HIS APARTMENT OR HIS CUBE AT HP

But gradually I realized it wasn't luck. We need a language that lets us scribble and smudge and smear, not a pen. For a long time I felt bad about this, just as in principle you could avoid it, just as writers and painters and architects do. But this mistake is less excusable than most. Boy, was I wrong. In hacking, like painting, work comes in cycles. So did Apple. But I've talked to a lot of servers and a lot of ideas come from the margin is simply that there's so much of it.1 I behave in a way that would make me eligible for prescription drugs if I approached everyday life the same way.

Over and over we see the same pattern. Maybe I'm excessively attached to conciseness.2 Chardin decided to skip all that and paint ordinary things as he saw them. But Cybercash was so bad and most stores' order volumes were so low that it was very remiss of me to have forgotten all that stuff within three weeks of the final exam.3 If I could get people to remember just one quote about programming, it would be a 900-page pastiche of existing popular novels—roughly Gone with the Wind plus Roots.4 In hacking, this can literally mean saving up bugs. It turns out there is, and the visual arts is the resistance of the medium. It's never so pure as it was when they were young.5 It wouldn't be the first time investors learned that lesson from founders.6 That phrase draws in most threads I've mentioned here.

Shakespeare appeared just as professional theater was being born, and pushed the medium so far that every playwright since has had to live in his shadow. The other problem with startups is that there are today. If I had only looked over at the other makers. But there are plenty of dumb people who are bad at empathy too.7 I had an uncomfortable feeling in the back of my mind that I ought to know more theory, and that means that investor starts to lose deals. So, if hacking works like painting and writing, is it as cool?8 Outsiders are not merely free but compelled to make things that are cheap and lightweight.9 When they're raising money, for example, what would happen if the government decided to commission someone to write an official Great American Novel. A better way to describe the situation would be to shirk it, but you'll have it all to yourself. Relentless. In particular, new things.10 This is already clear in cases like GPSes, music players, and cameras.

So it was literally IPO or bust. Imagine, for example. Most writers write to persuade, I'd start to shy away unconsciously from ideas I knew would be hard to sell. So that, I think. Inappropriate is the null criticism. It was like watching a car you're chasing turn down a street that you know has no outlet. Facebook did. So hackers start original, and get good, and get good, and get good, and get original. But in retrospect you're probably better off studying something moderately interesting with someone who isn't. There's nothing more than a slight stirring of discomfort. That's why oil paintings look so different from watercolors.

But I think the goal of an essay should be to discover surprising things.11 Some hackers are quite smart, but they can't have looked good on paper. You might as well open it. Particularly to young companies that are otherwise benevolent. Someone who doesn't know what these things are, either. Similarly, you shouldn't be discouraged by the comparatively corrupt test of college admissions, because it's a game you can't lose.12 And when you do it consciously you'll do it even better. How common is it for founders to keep control after an A round? If you're not sure what to do, and engineers figure out how to connect some company's legacy database to their Web server.13 Com of their name.

Considering how basic a red circle is, it seemed surprising to me when we started YC. There's a huge weight of tradition advising us to play it safe. The way I worked, it seemed surprising to me that any employer would be reluctant to let hackers work on open-source hacking is all about.14 But so do people who inherit money, and another for love. Give hackers an inch and they'll take you a mile. How long will it take to catch up with where you'd have been if you were extracting every penny?15 Not merely hardware, but software too. But this wasn't what made them eminent—it was more a flaw their eminence had allowed them to sink into. In hacking, like painting, work comes in cycles. This is what open-source projects. Add up all the evidence of VCs' behavior, and the key to the mystery is the old adage a word to the wise is sufficient.

The fact that you can change font sizes easily means the iPad effectively replaces reading glasses. Just wait till you've agreed on a price and think you have a US startup called X and you don't have to act like VCs. Programmers were seen as technicians who translated the visions if that is the word of product managers into code. When people walk by the portrait of Ginevra de Benci, their attention is often immediately arrested by it, even before they look at the work of a painter in chronological order, you'll find that each painting builds on things that could steal that prestige. That version 4. The puffed-up companies that went public during the Bubble didn't do it just because they were pulled into it by unscrupulous investment bankers. They ask whatever it is they're asking in such a roundabout way that the hosts often have to rephrase the question for them. Whereas hackers, from the start, are doing original work; it's just very bad. Since the custom is to write to persuade the actual reader, someone who doesn't will seem arrogant. If hackers identified with other makers, like writers and painters and architects do. I like debugging: it's the standard image.16 In return for the unique privilege of sharing his office with no other humans, he had to share it with 6 shrieking tower servers.

Notes

This is actually from the most, it's probably good grazing. One of the Daddy Model and reality is the last step in this evolution. I have a better education. So in effect why can't you be more like a body cavity search by someone who doesn't understand what you're doing.

Many of these companies substitute progress for revenue growth.

Yes, I didn't realize it yet or not, don't even want to approach a specific firm, the more effort you expend on the matter. I think it's confusion or lack of results achieved by alchemy and saying its value was as much what other people thought it was considered the most visible index of that generation had been raised religious and then just enjoy yourself for the same weight as any successful startup?

There are circumstances where this is not even be an inverse correlation between launch magnitude and success. It's hard for us, they have to say exactly what they're doing. Maybe that isn't the problem, we should make the fund by succeeding spectacularly.

That way most reach the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day. The continuing popularity of religion is the place for people interested in each type of thing. Though they were getting results.

We currently advise startups mostly to ignore what your GPA was. People and The CRM114 Discriminator.

A preliminary result, that all metaphysics between Aristotle and 1783 had been climbing in through the buzz that surrounds wisdom in ancient philosophy may be whether what you learn via users anyway. The University of Vermont, 1991. A round about the origins of the biggest discoveries in any field.

One VC who read this to realize that in fact they don't, but some do. You can relent a little too narrow than to confuse everyone with a base of evangelical Christians. On Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1983. I called to check and in fact they don't have to.

When I was there when it was the ads they show first.

This is a case in point: lots of type II startups neither require nor produce startup culture.

In practice the first wave of hostile takeovers in the narrow technical sense of things economists usually think about, just as if it were. If they're dealing with YC companies that grow slowly tend not to say they care above all about big markets, why is New York. 0001. In a limited way, I should degenerate from words to their returns.

That's a valid point. Everyone's taught about it. 5 more I didn't.

The reason only 287 have valuations is that they've already decided what they're selling and how unbelievably annoying it is to let yourself feel it mid-game. So it's a collection itself. When I was surprised to find a kid and as a definition of property is driven by bookmarking, not an associate cold-emailing a startup. It would be to say yet how much you get nothing.

The main one was nothing special. For similar reasons, the users' need has to be a hot deal, I mean forum in the sense of the 1929 crash. And to a partner, not because Delicious users are not one of the 70s, moving to Monaco would only give you 11% more income, which a few months later Google paid 1.

The golden age of economic equality in the sample might be able to respond with extreme countermeasures. These points don't apply to types of studies, studies of returns from startup investing, which would cause HTTP and HTML to continue to maltreat people who start these supposedly smart investors may not be formally definable, but trained on corpora of stupid and non-stupid comments instead.

One of the biggest divergences between the initial plan and what the valuation of the founders chose? But becoming a police state. There is not that the most successful companies have been a good nerd, just that it is more efficient.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Trevor Blackwell, Neil Rimer, and Robert Morris for the lulz.

[damianimated]

Pardon me, I dunno if you've already talked about this elsewhere or if you'd rather not say, but I hope it's okay to ask, were you an animation major in college and where did you study for your bachelors? and if it's not that intrusive, are you working in a studio right now? I've been contemplating getting a second bachelor's in animation and wanted to know if you feel it's helpful to get into the industry or if you feel alternative methods like online schools could be just as good? thank you!

I actually kind of avoid talking about animation because I feel like I’m somewhat of a downer. I don’t work in an animation studio, though I wish I did. I’ve been continuously applying to internships since I was in my undergrad. 

Short Story: I wasn’t able to afford any of the schools I got into. And I don’t currently work in the animation industry, though I would like to.

Long Story: I was accepted into the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts), School of Visual Arts (SVA), and several others during my senior year of high school. Though my heart was dead set on CalArts because essentially if you want to pursue a career in the animation industry that’s where you need to go. The animation industry has a history of hiring primarily from CalArts, partially because it’s right near Walt Disney Animation Studios, DreamWorks Animation, Nickelodeon, and other top tier companies. So it’s easy for them to do student outreach.

Anyone who’s anyone has gone there: Tim Burton, Henry Selick, Pendleton Ward…literally everyone. Look up any major TV show and its creator came from CalArts. But it’s almost as expensive as Harvard.

This is why I think the majority of animated series come from upper class white men and why TV is slanted to present a certain perspective. People from low income areas will struggle to afford these schools.

Which for me…was incredibly disheartening. The end of my senior year of high school was spent crying over my acceptance letter. I couldn’t even scrounge together the massive startup fees. I was devastated because it had been my dream school since I was twelve. Then slowly I went down the latter and found myself unable to afford any of the schools. I fell into a deep deep deep depression and no longer cared about graduating or anything. I just stopped caring about everything.

I finally ended up getting enough energy to apply to a regular nobody state school In Massachusetts (it’s actually right near where J.K. Rowling’s American wizarding school Ilvermorny is located). 

I majored in psychology and writing (because I figured my dreams of doing art were ruined). Then I started taking art classes (because I couldn’t help myself) and switched to sociology and writing. Then I dropped sociology and became an art and writing major. I transferred to another state school that was closer to my home (close to where the Dr Seuss museum is) and that’s where I ended up graduating. While there I got really into children’s books. I had always been a writer so I focussed on that instead.

Currently I’m in my final year at Simmons College program in Writing for Children MFA, and I freelance write while working on my children’s books and graphic novels.

Anyway, in this day of social media I don’t think these incredibly expensive schools like CalArts have the same power they once did. You see, they honestly were all about social networking and being in the right place at the right time. Half of the top tier artists and show creators have less talent than people I’ve seen come out of schools you’ve never heard of. And a lot of storyboard artists and visual development artists are starting to come from schools that were seen as “less than” CalArts.

Rebecca Sugar went to the School of Visual Arts program in comic arts and she created Steven Universe which was a first. Carrie Lao is a story board artist at Disney Animation who went to California State University-Fullerton. Fawn Veerasunthorn is a story board artist and Disney who went to Columbus College of Art and Design. And there are artists who couldn’t afford school who did there own thing online. Like Naomi Romero who is a boss at social media and does her own stuff, picking up jobs from major studios. 

A lot of jobs are even given to people who go to ordinary state schools, or wherever, simply because they keep posting on social media. I have quite a few friends this has worked out for. I would advise against shady online classes or “for profit” schools like the Art Institutes. They are bad and just take your money and leave you with nothing.

My bit of advice is find a school you can afford. If it had a reputable program than that’s all the more better. And then draw, draw and draw some more. Keep drawing as much as you can and you’ll keep getting better. Draw from inspiration. Draw from others. Doodle. Scribble. Not everything needs to be perfect. Post it. Post it to social media and build a portfolio. AND don’t wait for jobs and opportunities to come to you. Interact with major players on social media, go to conventions, network. Whether in life or online. It might take some effort but you can get where you want, and maybe save yourself 200k along the way!

Anyway I have to wrap this up because I still have no pants on and I have class in an hour. Hope I could help a bit!

[shinedownapollo]

Apollo “Pol” Allen

Heir to Gemini

Profile

Name: Apollo Danger Allen

Birthday: June 9, 1999 (Gemini Sun, Aries Moon, Scorpio Rising)

Age: 18

Gender: Cis-Male

FC: Porter Robinson

Ability: Telekinesis

Apollo is a multi-tasker, a control freak, and deep thinker. His mind is always doing acrobatics--two, three, four thoughts at once. His first thought is instinctual, the second a correction, the third a refinement into an idea. Apollo has constructed a persona he presents to the world, the idea of Apollo. Everything he does has been considered and adjusted to fit the idea of Apollo. This makes social interactions quite the mental exercise for Apollo, but he’s adapted to quick thinking and assessment to keep up the image of himself he wishes to portray at all times. This mental juggling and innate need to have control over his image and his environment has manifested in the form of telekinesis. Just like he can juggle multiple thoughts at once, Apollo now has the ability to juggle multiple tasks. His telekinesis acts like an extra set of arms that stretch far beyond his natural reach. With his extra hands he can fold laundry and read a book all at once, or smoke a cigarette while looking at his phone and holding a cup of coffee. Apollo is skilled at using his telekinesis for fine dexterity tasks such as writing, but great feats of strength or force require much more effort and focus. At the moment, he can only lift things that he would be able to physically carry, but with training (literally lifting weights with his mind) he can grow beyond regular human strength limitations. When he is too angry or distressed to control his emotions, his powers become frantic, but less strong. He flings things away from him, shoves people against walls, smashes glass, but he does not have the focus required to lift anything large or heavy.

History:

Apollo was born in the Bronx of New York City. His parents were young artists, his father a singer/songwriter that played heartfelt music on the guitar, and his mother an edgy tattoo artist and modern painter. Apollo does not remember the days before the Allen family found the spotlight. His older sister, Ariadne, said they lived in a shitty apartment in the Bronx right next to a 24-hour liquor store, and you could hear the crackwhores screeching and the sirens wailing all night. Apollo would never know if she told the truth or just fabricated a dramatic lie for her own amusement. He was barely 4 years old, he couldn’t remember any of that time. The first thing he does remember is going to his father’s first record release party. Surrounded by large white men in business suits and women in low-cut shiny dresses, Apollo clung to his mother’s leg in absolute silence, burying his face in her black dress.

Peggie and Cale Allen moved to a sharp little townhouse in Manhattan within years of Cale’s record success. He was putting out new releases regularly, and with his success, Peggie’s renown as an artist took off as well. The gallery parties and the record company executives became regular visitors in Apollo’s young life. Despite the encouragement of his parents (”Just express yourself and you can achieve anything!”) Apollo remained a shy, closed-off child. He and his older sister were very similar in that aspect. While their parents were social superstars, living in the spotlight and brushing elbows with the social elite of New York, Pol and Adi preferred to remain on the sidelines with their noses in books.

Of course, his parents never stopped nurturing Apollo’s talents and dreams. As soon as he began to show interest in poetry, his parents bought him countless notebooks and fountain pens and poetry collections. Apollo carried a notebook with him wherever he went, furiously scribbling out one poem after another with his gaze locked on the pages.

The schoolyard was no different from gallery debut parties or the album release parties. Apollo, cripplingly shy and silent, hovered on the edges, long black hair hanging over his face, shrouded in a black hoodie, scratching poems into his notebook. If ever someone spoke to him, he would freeze up, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his throat squeezing closed. Eventually, the students and teachers learned to ignore him, as trying to interact only sent the boy into a deer-in-headlights sort of panic. With how busy his parents were, always hard at work touring or creating or promoting, they rarely had much time to dote on their daughter and son. Cale was rarely home at all due to his rigorous touring schedule, but when he did come home they never failed to take a family vacation somewhere, all four of them.

Apollo was always more attached to his mother. When she was in her good moods, she cooked and cleaned and smothered her children with love in between passionate painting sessions in her personal studio. Unfortunately, every good swing came with a bad swing. Peggie was a manic-depressive survivor of heroin addiction, she’d managed to get clean after her life hit rock bottom, but the scars remained on both her skin and her mind. More than the drugs and the abuse, her own mind tormented her most. Every swing into spastic manic happiness came with swing back into lethargic violent depression. Her art flourished from both passionate crashes of emotion through her system, her children did not. Some nights, Apollo lie in his bed and listened to the explosions of shattering glass and the angry wails of disgust and the shredding of canvas. He would stare blankly at the ceiling and wonder if she will always be like this for the rest of her life. On the bad days, Ariadne was more of a mother to him than the depressed ghostly figment of his actual mother. Ariadne did the cooking, and the cleaning, she made sure Apollo got to school on time, but she was not the soft radiantly joyful woman Apollo missed so dearly. Ariadne’s cold nurturing could not fill the void in Apollo’s young heart.

Then, he met Sean Lauchlan. The boy didn’t do anything special. He wasn’t the smartest, or the most handsome, or the most charming. At only ten years old, Apollo wasn’t interested in any of that, anyway. But Sean did something so extraordinarily ordinary that the young poet’s heart nearly broke at the sight of it. Sean smiled at him. The redheaded boy with the scraped up knees had tripped and fallen at Apollo’s feet, and when Pol helped him up, the smile that spread across the boy’s face was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds of his life for the very first time. Sean invited Apollo back to his house to play video games and eat ice cream. The two have been inseparable ever since.

As young boys they were curious, but not purposefully mischievous. Often, Ariadne had to play babysitter to the boys during their sleepovers in which neither boy ever wanted to go to sleep. They would chatter and laugh all night, play soccer out in the street, and sit on the porch steps watching the sunset and the orange streetlamps flicker on. All the while, Apollo wrote poems in his head about the flame-haired boy whose laughter chased all darkness away. When Sean’s mother passed away very suddenly, Apollo and his family were there to support their dear friends, Sean and his father Simon. Sean spent many nights at Apollo’s house while his father handled funeral arrangements and packing away her things. Sean was never quite the same after that, but Apollo didn’t care, he loved Sean with all his heart. He would do anything to make Sean happy again.

Puberty came around several years later and Sean changed again. He grew thick with muscle, his sharp jawline accentuated with stubble, the smell of his sweat hung on his clothing with delicious allure. Apollo was panicked to find himself dreaming of the boy at the most inappropriate of times, doing the most inappropriate of things. Pol himself was a late bloomer, he blamed his mother and her history of drug use. For over a year, Apollo watched his best friend sprout into a man while he remained small and scrawny and hairless. When puberty did finally strike, it stretched Apollo out to an intimidating height of over six feet tall. His muscles became more sharp and defined, though he did not bulk up like little Sean had. He was often compared to Abraham Lincoln by the other boys on the soccer team. Tall, lanky, and lean, they knew he was powerful, though he looked rather disproportionately shaped and awkward.

Apollo took the changes very poorly. His reaction was not sudden. There was no big traumatic event that led Apollo to change himself so dramatically. He simply evolved, as people do. He began to close off from others much like he had in his youth, before Sean. His insecurities and emotions manifested into walls around himself. Everything he feared became his greatest strength. Nobody could hurt him if he didn’t care. He put on a mask of masculinity, acting out in aggression and rejecting all things soft and emotional. That was the old Pol, the version of himself that felt pain. The new Pol no longer worried about what anyone thought of him. If they hated him, good. Less people for him to try and please.

He acted out, loudly and violently, to prove just how much he didn’t care about what anyone thought about him. (Of course all it proved was that he cared about everyone seeing him as a tough-as-nails bad boy without fear or frailness.) The behavior stuck when he realized how much attention he could get without ever having to say a word to anyone. It was the perfect way to satisfy the loneliness that clawed painfully in his chest, without ever approaching his deep ever-present fear of rejection. No one could ever break his fragile heart if he never offered it to anyone. He could never feel the pain of someone’s disappointment in him, if he never tried to please anyone. His gentle artist’s soul was safe behind his hardened mask of wild aggression.

The one person who never fled no matter how he pushed was his childhood best friend Sean. The boy laughed at Apollo’s antics, joined in on his mischief, unknowingly encouraged his bullying. The two boys dove in to wilder and wilder adventures of bad behavior, starting with under-aged drinking and escalating to thievery and vandalism. Apollo buried his shame deep. There was nothing wrong with being gay, but there was everything wrong with being obsessed with the boy you’ve known since you were ten years old. Sean had all the experience romancing girls into his bedroom with his careless charm. He was loved by everyone, a golden child full of light. Apollo knew Sean didn’t love him the same way. Even after he learned that Sean was bisexual, he still bottled up his feelings so tight they never could slip out. If he told Sean after years of playing the straight and uninterested bigot, Sean would surely hate him for lying to him. Soon, Apollo found himself trapped in a persona he couldn’t escape. To confess it was all an act would expose his weakness, would reveal all his lies, would tear down everything he did to make himself stronger. He refused to go back to the way he was, fragile, afraid, silent, lonely. He would never be that voiceless child again. So the lies continued.

He never did stop writing, however. The bookshelves in his room were filled from floor to ceiling with notebooks bursting with poetry. With the success of his father’s latest record and the release of his mother’s latest project, an art book collection of her paintings, the public was hungry for more of the edgy artistic super family. They wanted something new and young. The publishers approached Apollo with a deal. Pick out a collection of his poems, it would be published in thirteen languages and sold around the world in bookstores right between his father’s music and his mother’s art. He’d be famous before even turning eighteen. Emo kids would buy t-shirts with his poems on them. Teen girls would hang posters of his broody face on their walls. He didn’t even need to finish school, he could be famous right now. Apollo told them where to shove their publishing deal. He didn’t care if his dream to be a published poet, renowned around the world, was being offered to him on a silver plate. He was going to make a name for himself through his own work. He refused to ride on the fame of his parents and become the next teen heartthrob. They could keep their greedy money. Apollo wanted to make a difference. He wanted his words to carry meaning.

In the last semester of his senior year in high school, things began to get very strange. Sean revealed he had the unbelievable ability to run inhumanly fast, that someone called Aquarius had named Sean the heir to his power. Baffled and angry, Apollo researched the name to find it was a constellation of the Zodiac, the sign Sean had been born under. Something mysterious and magical had happened to Sean, and despite how much Apollo wanted to be jealous and suspicious, the pure glee on Sean’s face when he ran himself into exhaustion was just too beautiful to be angry at. Apollo decided not to worry about the how or why of Sean’s new ability and instead enjoyed using it for their entertainment, pulling pranks and practicing soccer at a new intense pace.

School had already let out for summer by the time Apollo’s eighteenth birthday came around. Pol had applied to a dozen universities. Abandoning his previous dreams of literature and poetry in defiance, as the art industry loomed over his head with greedy clasping fingers, Pol decided to go into psychology. He wasn’t sure how, but if he could make a difference to people like his mother, suffering from their own imbalanced brain processes, he knew he could be proud of himself for something. No acceptance letters had come yet. He was beginning to worry that his rebellious behavior had blocked him from his dreams.

That’s when Sean accidentally kicked a soccer ball at his face and he caught it without his hands. Apollo was so startled, his mind threw the ball away from him, out into the street. He stood, staring off into space with a wide-eyed expression of shock, when the androgynous being with two sets of eyes and two mouths spoke to him with two voices. “Apollo Allen, you may call me Gemini. I’ve chosen you to be my heir.”

The letter of acceptance to Augur University came the very next day. Apollo didn’t remember applying to a private university in Canada. Something about the letter felt... strangely purposeful. He never received any other acceptance letters. Determined to get out of his parent’s home in Manhattan and start proving himself as his own man, Apollo decided he would follow this insane path laid out before him. Impossible abilities, astrological beings, a school that didn’t show up on any map or web search, this was far more exciting than staying home and filling another book with miserable poetry. If something wanted to offer him power, so be it, but he wasn’t going to be what anyone else wanted him to be. He would see what the university had to offer, and he would take it or leave it. Apollo would always remain the champion of his own destiny.

[twxntrash]

The Moon is Beautiful, Isn’t It? Ch. 1

The beginning of each school year was always a bundle of excitement for students regardless of year. New lockers, new classes, new faces and new friends and still riding the buzz from summer vacation. For seniors, it was the final year before they went off to college and that alone added to the usual excitement for the first few days of school before the workload effectively broke the student and they fell back into the melancholy that was the stress and anxiety of high school. Students would grow bitter of their locker placements because they ‘aren’t close enough’ to their friends or classes, students complain about their new teachers or how they don’t have their friends in certain classes. As for new faces and new friends? It’s a rare case if friends change up and add more or less to their little cliques.

Peridot awkwardly tugged on the strap of her dull brown messenger bag, covered liberally with pins of various sizes and designs. With her head held low, she trudged through the crowded halls, intent on getting to her classroom so she could get to work. Unlike most students, Peridot didn’t feel the buzz of excitement over starting a new school year, she didn’t bother deluding herself in the idea of a new beginning. What was the point? Even if she tried to make any changes, everything was just going to stay the same regardless. She’d keep her same small band of friends, she’d stay on the lower end of the totem pole as the school's outcast nerd. The same students would pick on her, the same students would ignore her. Just trying to change anything was a waste of time and energy.

The final year of high school for the short blonde senior only meant a metric ton worth of books to carry every day, nights spent slaving away doing homework and studying, and the neverending “Your grades could vastly improve” from her mother despite the A’s she’d bring home. All it meant was stress, stress, and more stress. The only real silver lining she could find, however, was the art class she’d taken up for the first semester.

Though Peridot’s mother was very pushing and insistent for Peridot to do something 'useful' with her life, such as computer work. She was taking programming classes this year too, her mother told her if she did well enough she could start working for her mother’s tech company. It was a career guaranteed so long as Peridot behaved. More than she could say for the majority of her classmates. She liked programming enough, but, she had a soft side to art as well. Programming was work, enjoyable but still work, art had been her release from stress and a form of relaxation for her, and now she’d get to take classes for it.

Slipping into the classroom, a sizable room with long, paint stained tables and walls lined with canvases, paint and other art supplies, Peridot found herself a desk towards the back. There were only a few other students in the room. Some she recognized, some she didn’t.

The blonde had barely put her bag down and pulled out a notebook before an arm slung around her frail shoulders and almost pulled her from her seat.

“Yo! Peri! Fancy seeing you in this class,” Amethyst greeted as she ruffled the already rather unruly short hair of her best friend. The latino woman had a large smile, as usual, eyes shining with playful mirth as she took a seat next to Peridot at the table, “Glad I get to spend my first class with you, nerd.”

Peridot couldn’t help but smile a little when she was released, straightening her glasses a bit and nodded, “Yes, well… I managed to convince Mother to let me take this course,” she explained. In truth, she told her mother she needed to take a fine arts course still to be able to graduate, and her mother begrudgingly let her indulge in a class despite it, in her words, teaching students useless skills that’d get them nowhere.

“It’s like Hell froze over,” Amethyst whistled as more students began to trickle into the room, loud and full of laughter as they grouped up with their friends. The class would be starting pretty soon, “I hear they hired a new teacher for art since Vidalia left.” Vidalia had been the school's art teacher for the past six years, but, during the end of last year, she left when her husband transferred. Honestly, Peridot wasn’t sure how that worked, as far as she understood Yellowtail was a fisherman and didn’t quite get how he would transfer. Maybe all the fish he caught went away and he needed to follow them. Didn’t matter.

“So long as she isn’t some old windbag that’d make this class boring,” Peridot answered as she flipped her notebook open. She jotted down the date and time, along with the class she was in, ready to write down any notes she might need to put down for the first day. The teacher was probably just going to go over the usual introductory things, but, it never hurt to be prepared.

With a nod, Amethyst leaned back in her chair, “I hope she’s hot.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend already?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still appreciate a good looking woman,” Amethyst shot back, “I don’t mind when Pearl gives doe eyes to the nurse, she doesn't mind when I appreciate the bodies of other women. So long as neither of us touch. Doesn’t change that we love each other more than anyone else.”

Shrugging, Peridot didn’t have anything to say to that. Romance wasn’t really her specialty, neither were relationships for that matter. The most she understood about either was from what she saw on TV. Single and not ready to mingle was her slogan.

Just as the bell rang signifying class to start, a woman stepped into the room and all voices hushed. She walked with an air of authority and power despite her petite size. She didn’t look that old either, maybe fresh out of college, her hair was a dark blue that Peridot was sure was against protocol for teachers, not that their principal would have cared. She wore a blue blouse and blue jeans that matched her blue eyes, everything about this woman was blue.

Dropping a pile of papers onto the otherwise empty desk in front of the class, the woman turned to the board and grabbed a marker. Without saying anything she wrote in flowing curvy lettering Ms. Lapis Lazuli . At the end of both ‘L’s, there was a fancy type of curve to them. Underneath her name, she added an email address, presumably so students could email her should the need arise.

Turning back to the class, Ms. Lazuli flashed the students a smile, “Hey there, nice to meet you. I’m your art teacher, Lapis Lazuli. You can call me Ms. Lazuli,” she introduced herself in front of the class, putting both hands on her desk and shifting her weight onto it. “I’m going to be honest with you all. I’m not going to be as lenient as you might expect for a teacher from an art class. If you put in actual effort and do your best, you’re going to pass. But for those of you who are just taking this class expecting an easy A without even trying, well, you’ll be thoroughly disappointed. Yeah, I’m looking at you, table six, left chair, keep laughing like that and you’ll find that I can just as easily fail you. I doubt your parents would be all too happy to hear you failed art .”

As though on cue the aforementioned student stopped his barely hidden snickering, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he looked away from the teacher in front of them.

Letting out a low whistle, Amethyst drew her attention to the girl beside her, “Man, she’s something,” she whispered quietly, eyes trained on Ms. Lazuli, “Vidalia’s bound to be proud of being replaced by someone like her. Damn is she hot, too.”

Peridot cast her a low glare, “Amethyst!” she hissed quietly, cheeks taking on a light pink hue. “You shouldn’t talk about a teacher like that!” but, her friend wasn’t wrong . Lapis Lazuli was attractive in her own right, and she couldn’t have been too much older than the students.

“Is there something you would like to share with the class, table 10?” Lazuli called out to Peridot and Amethyst both straightened up in their seats as a few of their classmates turned to face them. Lapis was staring at them with an expression of annoyance, but if looked closely they could both see the amusement in her eyes. With arms crossed, she waited, giving a ‘Well? Go on.’ sort of gesture for the two.

Peridot almost stood up from her chair to speak, ducking her head low to avoid looking at the classmates or her teacher, “Uh, no, miss. S-Sorry,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I see, well, please try to keep the noise level to a minimum when I’m talking, that goes for all of you,” Lazuli said as she reached out onto her desk to pick up some of the papers she’d brought in. Moving to approach the tables, she began dispatching the pages among her students, “Well, moving on. Since today is the first day and all, we won’t be going over anything class related. Instead, I’m giving you all a sort of get-to-know-you sheet. Fill out with your name, age, any nicknames you would like to go by- no promises I’ll call you by that. You can see there are other questions on here, and I want you to answer truthfully. This is so I can get to know you all, and get to know what sort of students I’ll be dealing with.”

There were muttered and mumbled responses both good and bad by having to do something like this, and soon the sound of pencils and pens scribbling away was filling the room. As Lapis got to the last table, she placed the two papers for Amethyst and Peridot. She stayed there for a second watching them for far longer than Peridot felt like she should have. Not that the student dared met her teacher’s gaze, quickly filling out the page in silence, as though Lapis wasn’t there. If she was being honest, feeling her staring at her was making her stomach do flips as anxiety gnawed at her from inside.

Lapis lingered at their table a little longer before she moved back to her desk up front. Every so often Peridot would look up and find those blue eyes watching her before they moved on to a different table.

She’s just surveying the class, calm down. Peridot tried to assure herself that it was okay, but couldn’t help like she’d already gotten on her teacher’s bad side somehow. It wasn’t unusual, Peridot felt like lots of people tended to dislike her right off the bat, not that it made her feel good or anything. Instead, she tried to focus on filling out the sheet given to her.

It was simple questions, where she was from, what year she was in, three interests, what she wants to do when out of school. The type of questions one would expect on a paper like this. Amethyst was already done with hers before Peridot had even finished, probably filled most of it with puns or stupid kinds of remarks.

Because it was the first day and that there wasn’t much to do, the class didn’t do much, spending the remaining time talking to each other to get to know their fellow student and before long the bell was ringing signifying the class period was over and it was time for the students to get to their next one.

“Peri! Damn, girl,” Amethyst quickly yelled as she grabbed Peridot and dragged her down the hall when they left the room, “I swear Lazuli was staring at you the entire period! What did you do?”

“Apparently something,” Peridot muttered as she adjusted her grip on her bag, walking at a brisk pace so as to not be late to her physics class, “I didn’t even do anything and it feels like she already doesn’t like me.”

But her friend was snorting with laughter as Peridot said that, “Doesn’t like you? Sure, if that’s what kind of feel you got from it,” the girl teased, giving Peridot a rather rough shove forward, “But, I’ve got to head off to my English class, I’ll catch you at lunch!”

Waving goodbye, Peridot didn’t even get a chance to agree before the woman was running down the hall in the opposite direction. Heaving a sigh, she marched on forward, ready to get through with her physics class and continue her day as best as she could. 

She didn’t have another class until the following period, which would be good for days when she had projects to review or grade. As of right now, Lapis sat back in her chair, leafing through the papers she’d collected, reading the names and interests. Dogs, Planes, Football, Boobies, she couldn’t help but snicker at the less than mature response one student put for their interest. It was high school, what could she expect?

She glanced up at the back table in the room and then flipped through some more papers until she reached last ones. Peridot Olivine. What a nice name, ironic too. But, she supposed her name was just as much a joke. The girl was so short, and with her blonde hair so messy, sticking up and out almost like she was trying to make a triangle, it was hard not to notice her.

Honestly, she was kind of cute.

She even got a little kick out of how fidgety Peridot seemed to grow when Lapis lingered at her table after handing out the papers. She'd purposely stayed in the back longer than she needed to watching Peridot, and even at her desk she'd watch her student before moving on to some other kid in her class whenever Peridot looked up. A grin made its way to her face as she thought it over. She wanted to make Peridot flustered even more, and she had all the confidence in herself that she could do that easily.

Lapis knew it wasn’t appropriate by any means. But, since when did she consider herself one who stuck to the rules as though they were tattooed onto her tanned ass? It would be fun messing with her. What’s a little harmless teasing going to hurt?

She could already tell this was going to be a fun year.