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cowgurrrl · 4 months

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Something in the Orange

Pairing: Joel Miller x art teacher!reader

Author's note: this might become a mini series idk idk

Summary: A parent-teacher conference leads to trouble [4.0k]

Warnings: no outbreak! au, teacher things, Ellie being a little loner, Joel the Menace making a return, Joel gets both his daughters in this one because it's what he deserves, flirty flirt, i think that's it???

You feel like you've been running a million miles a minute since you got in this morning. The second you could unlock the door, at least three students spilled into your room and chaotically ran to the kiln to collect their most recent pottery projects. One of them ended up shattering (the exact one you warned Colin about, but he didn't listen), and, as per high school custom, they were all screaming about it. You consoled the students just in time for your principal to walk by and ask about lesson plans which made you scramble through your backpack for your notebook even though you knew damn well there wasn't a single lesson plan in there. "Do you always have those lights on?" Principal Martinez asked, gesturing to the room's fairy lights and orange lamps. Leave it to administration to want to avoid art classrooms so much that they don't even know about the Big Light Philosophy.

Since then, it's been class after class. You only have one more period before your planning period and then, finally, the end of the day. There are a hundred things to do, but you can't focus on any of them. You got so caught up in managing your classroom and helping students with the hardest parts of their portfolio work that you almost forgot you had a parent meeting scheduled during your planning period.

Calling in parents for meetings about their children may be your least favorite part of your job. It makes you feel like a bad teacher, and parents usually don't feel great about getting called in on a workday to talk about their kid. Luckily, Ellie's dad, Joel, seemed more than happy to take time to talk about her. You rack your mind for his occupation as you add some detail to a canvas you've been hiding in your office and working on when you can. Was he a blue-collar worker? Or was he another stuck-up Austin transplant parent who's gonna accuse you of lying? He'd make the fifth parent who's made you cry this semester.

A knock on your locked door pulls you from your thoughts, and you quickly put away your painting before answering the door. "I told you she was in here!" One of your students, Dina, announces as she and a posse of three other kids you don't recognize push their way into the room. "Miss, you've gotta take that thing off your door; otherwise, people are gonna think you went home!"

"You mean the sign that says, 'planning period. Do not enter?'" You ask, and she snaps her fingers.

"That's the one." She says as she and her friends start putting their backpacks down at one of your high tables. You sigh and kick the door stopper into the threshold.

"You guys can't stay here. I have a meeting in five minutes."

"With who?"

"None of your business."

"Miss!" Dina acts wounded, and you cross your arms over your chest, your keys jingling around your neck in the process.

"I am an adult with a college degree and the debt to show for it. You are a teenager with a still-developing brain. You have to listen to me," you say. "Wait, whose class are you supposed to be in right now?"

"Mr. Flynn's."

"Guys!" You groan before walking over to your desk and quickly writing up a hall pass for them. "I know you don't like math-"

"No, we don't like Mr. Flynn." Dina cuts you off.

"Or math!" One of her friends adds, and you shoot them a (loving) disapproving look.

"Whatever you don't like, you can't keep hiding out here. Mr. Flynn is two seconds away from trying to get me fired for how often I let his kids in here during class, and I actually like this job, so," you rip the hall pass off the pad and hand it to Dina. As they pack their stuff up, a tall, bearded man steps into your classroom and makes eye contact with you. "Out, out, out! I love you. You're gonna change the world one day, but please get out." You blow them kisses as you usher them out of the room.

"Are you Ellie's art teacher?" He asks, a confused look on his face, and you nod.

"Yes, I am. Sorry about that. They're still figuring out that I have work to get done even when I don't have a class," you explain, a little breathless from running all over the place and getting caught off-guard. You really do try to act a little more professional with parents, but the kids threw you off. The kettle whistling behind your desk doesn't make it any better. "Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Tea?" You pick up a random mug off your desk but find it full of murky water. "Paint water?"

"Are you allowed to have an electric kettle in here?" He asks, and you laugh nervously as you find a clean mug and your tea box.

"I won't tell if you won't." You say. He stands there awkwardly as you pour yourself some tea, and you realize you didn't pull a chair up for him. "Um, we can sit..." you glance around your messy classroom until you find a clear table and gesture toward it. "Here." He follows your lead, and you take a deep breath as you sit down.

"You gonna be okay?" He asks, the hint of a smirk on his lips. His curly hair looks golden brown in the low light, and his round eyes have a little knowing twinkle. You take another breath to compose yourself and nod.

"Yes. Sorry. It's been a long day."

"Don't worry bout it. I'm sure they run you ragged."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you do have paint in your hair." He says, and panic seizes in your chest. You're never more aware of how crazy your job can be until you meet Real Adults. Even if you can't remember what he does for a living, you still have to admit that you look a little silly next to each other: you, with your paint-stained sunflower dress and markered hands, and him, with his black shirt and jeans. He doesn't have any apparent stains or splatters on his clothes, but he's broad with thick biceps. He must work with his hands or something within that capacity. You clear your throat and try to get back on track with the meeting.

"Uh, so Mr. Miller, the reason I called you here today was to talk to you about Ellie," you start. "First, I just wanna say that she is an amazing student. She always does her work and engages thoughtfully with the material. I really do enjoy having her in class."

"Well, that's certainly good to hear. She talks a whole lot bout this class and you, so... it's nice to place a face to the name," he says, adjusting his position on the stool. "But I have a feelin' you didn't call me down here just to tell me how great my kid is."

"She is great. She's extremely talented, smart, and funny, but she spends more time in my classroom during lunch than anything else. I'm worried about her making friends and finding a community here at school. I've tried convincing her to join the art club, but she's hesitant. During class, she just sits with her headphones in and draws. She really doesn't like talking to anybody but me." You wait for blame to be assigned to you or get lectured, but it never comes. He just sighs, and he deflates a little in his chair.

"She's been through a lot this year. Well, her whole life, really, but 'specially recently," he says dejectedly. "What can I do for her?"

"There's an art show this Friday night here at the school. It'll all be student work from across the district. I thought if maybe you or... whatever adults she has at home came with her to this, she might feel more comfortable talking to her peers or even want to submit some of her own stuff."

"We can do that. I'll get off work early and ask her uncle if he wants to come," he's quick with his solution, and you're a little shocked. You rarely get parents, let alone fathers, who act this swiftly when something is going on with their kids. "Is there anythin' else goin' on that I should know bout?"

"Uh, no. Like I said, she's a great kid. You should be really proud." You say, and the concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears with a proud smile.

"Thank you," he mumbles, suddenly shy. "And thanks for carin' so much bout her. It's nice to know she's got someone lookin' out for her here." You don't know what to say, so you just nod and stare at him. You know, like an idiot. It takes a chuckle from him to snap you out of your thoughts, and blood rushes to your cheeks.

"Yes, of course. She's a good kid." You say.

"You said that already."

"I bet you'd be a little scatterbrained if you were at the mercy of two hundred teenagers all day."

"You're absolutely right. I would be," he says, smirking devastatingly. "Someone ought to get you a coffee or somethin' if you're dealing with all that."

"People like you should go argue with the school board. I'm sure you'd be popular with all the teachers."

"That'd be a first. I think I might've been the least favorite parent for all of my girls' teachers."

"Well, I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah?" He asks, leaning forward just a little, and you nod, smiling. Your brain struggles to come up with something to say, and you're a little embarrassed at your silence, but luckily, your projector saves the day by buzzing loudly and making the picture on the board cut in and out. You mumble a quick apology before getting up and climbing up on a desk to jiggle a piece back into place. You hear Joel curse behind you, and when you turn to see what the problem is, you see him holding his arms out behind you. "Do you stand on desks often?"

"Only every day. I haven't fallen yet this year." You laugh at his exasperated expression and turn back to the projector. It's still making a weird noise, so you move it around a little more, moving the desk under your feet, and Joel stabilizes it with a sigh.

"How long has it been doin' that?"

"Couple months. I keep putting in maintenance requests, but nobody ever comes to fix it."

"I can fix it for ya," he says simply, and you look down at him. "I've got tools in my truck. It wouldn't take long at all."

"Really?" You ask, and he nods.

"It'd make me feel better knowin' you're not almost breakin' your neck every day."

"You mean, standing on a decades-old desk to mess with an ancient piece of equipment isn't OSHA compliant?"

"Please," he says, grabbing your ankle when the desk wobbles under you, and you laugh at his worry. "Let me fix it for you before you give me a heart attack." You think about declining and just putting in another work order, but the likelihood that anyone would actually come and fix it is slim to none. Plus, you really shouldn't be climbing on top of desks every day. You pretend to think it over for a few more seconds just to watch the worry play across his features as his grip on your ankle gets tighter.

"Only if you really mean it."

"I really mean it," he says, offering you his other hand. "Now, would you please get down?"

"Fine." You say and take his hand. You bend to safely get yourself down, but Joel moves his other hand from your ankle to your waist and basically hoists you to the ground. Once your feet touch the floor, he doesn't let you go immediately like he's trying to figure out if you somehow got hurt when he wasn't looking. There's a part of your brain that's aware of how inappropriate this would look to any passersby, but you're also highly aware of how warm his big hand is on your hip.

"Ya alright?" He asks softly, and you nod, taking a conscious step back from his arms.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good," he says, also taking a step back. "Let me go get my tools, and I'll get that fixed for you."

"Perfect. I'll be here." You stand there, staring at each other awkwardly, for another moment before he turns on his heels and walks out of the classroom. The second he's out of your line of sight, you bury your head in your hands and start silently freaking out.

What the fuck are you doing? How did a parent-teacher meeting turn into him hauling you off a desk and offering to fix your projector? Technically, nothing incriminating has happened, and it needs to stay that way. It doesn't matter if you think he's attractive or like how he worries about everything. He's Ellie's dad. Teachers have gotten fired for much less than this, and you're not willing to risk your career because of one guy.

When he gets back with his toolbox, you're sitting at your desk and sorting through assignments like a reasonable adult. He doesn't say anything as he climbs up on the same desk you were standing on and begins messing with the mechanics of the equipment. You each work in silence for a few minutes before a screw clatters to the ground, and he grumbles something under his breath. "Do you mind..." he starts, pointing toward the lost piece.

"Not at all." You cover your anxiety with your chipper teacher voice and search for the screw with your phone flashlight. You find it tucked between canvases, carefully pick it up, and walk over to where he's standing, waiting for him to be ready for it.

"It looks like it's just an old piece in here. I'm sure you can order a new one, and I can come back and install it if ya want," he explains, looking down at you. You probably look stupid just standing there with a tiny screw in your hand, but he doesn't laugh. "D'you mind handing me that tool to your right?" He asks, and you blindly reach for the tool you think he's talking about. "Your other right." He corrects, and you flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry. I never was a very good woodshop student." You say, and he laughs once he has the tool in hand.

"My girls are the same way. Just askin' ‘em to hold a flashlight while I work on their car is like pullin' teeth," he says fondly. "Speaking of which, is there a reason the lights aren't on in here?"

"The lamp light is less harsh, and it helps students focus. Plus, nobody likes coming into a bright classroom first thing in the morning." You explain, and he hums.

"If I'd had a teacher like you growing up, I would've been at school much more than I was."

"You didn't like school?"

"Hated it," he says, opening his hand for the screw. Once you drop the tiny thing into his large palm, he straightens up, and you can barely hear it going back into its rightful place. "'S a miracle I graduated."

"That was me in college."

"Now, I don't believe that for a second."

"Really?" You laugh, and he nods.

"Someone like you, with your pretty dresses and all that empathy, was meant to be a teacher."

"I wasn't always like this," you evade the compliment despite the butterflies in your stomach. "Being a teacher was never on my radar until I graduated. A lot of my life was never on my radar until then." He puts the hood of the projector back on and climbs down from the desk until he's standing in front of you again, wiping his hands on a red handkerchief from his toolbox.

"Well, with the way you carry yourself, I never woulda guessed." He says. He opens his mouth to say something more, but the sharp tone of the bell ringing cuts him off. You jump at the sound and look at the clock as if it were wrong.

"I'm so sorry. Time must've gotten away from me. Thank you so much again, Mr. Miller, for coming in to talk with me and looking at the projector. I hope to see you and Ellie on Friday." You say quickly as the sound of rowdy kids fills the hallway, and you hold your hand out to him. He takes it and squeezes it firmly.

"You can call me Joel. Mr. Miller makes me feel old." He says, and you smile. He doesn't look old, unlike the other dads you've encountered. Sure, he's got some gray at his temples and in his beard, but it suits him.

"Joel, it is then." You resolve. His hand lingers in yours for a little too long before finally pulling away. "Well, Joel, unless you want to elbow through teenagers, I'd suggest you hide out here for a few more minutes." He does happily, even helping you carry supplies to your car once the hallways have cleared out enough. He's a proper gentleman, slinging your backpack over his shoulder and opening doors for you. You part only once everything is in your trunk, and he bids you goodnight with a charming smile that fills your thoughts on your drive home.

Ellie surprises you the next day as you're setting up the classroom. Normally, she isn't in until right before the bell rings, so seeing her this early is a little bit of a shock. The ink staining her hands is not. "Hey, dude. What's going on?" You ask. "Did you get breakfast from the cafeteria today? I heard Mrs. Hodges has those French toast sticks that everyone loves. You can probably get two servings if you run."

"No, I already ate. My dad and uncle had to leave early this morning, so we got breakfast. Speaking of which," she says as she takes off her backpack and pulls a cup of iced coffee out of her water bottle pocket. "This is for you. We didn't know what you liked, so we got a vanilla latte or something."

"Oh, El! You didn't have to do that. Thank you, honey." You say, and she sets it on your desk for you to enjoy once you don't have paintbrushes in hand. "If this is your way of getting a good grade on your piece, I already told you that you have nothing to worry about."

"It wasn't my idea. It was my dad's." She says nonchalantly before moving to the back of the classroom to get her sketch book. You, however, are confused and secretly pleased that Joel thought of you when he didn't have to. You find a message scribbled on the side when you reach for the cup to take a sip.

Thanks again. See you Friday. -J

You turn to hide your smile from Ellie, but she's so deep in her work that you doubt she would've noticed anyway. You put some music on, and you and Ellie work silently on your projects until the bell rings and the day starts.

The rest of the week goes by without a hitch, meaning that nobody accidentally ingested paint, and you only had to have one Come to Jesus talk with your Art 1 class. When Friday night rolls around, you're excited to see all the students work and treat yourself by wearing a new shirt with black scribbles all over it and black dress pants. You figure you should look as art teachery as possible for an art teacher event.

By the time you get to the school, the hallways are buzzing with students dragging their parents from one piece to another and administrators praising their art programs even though you know not one of them has seen the inside of an art classroom in months. You make small talk with some of your students and their parents before finding a way out of the conversation and letting yourself wander through the makeshift gallery. You love your kids, but you really don't want them breathing down your neck as you look at all the art. You're almost at the end when you hear a familiar voice calling your name, and you turn to find Ellie walking toward you with Joel and, who you assume to be her uncle, next to her.

"Hey, kid! I'm so happy to see you here!" You say sincerely, and she smiles shyly. You turn to her uncle and hold your hand out to introduce yourself.

"Tommy. We sure have heard a whole lot bout you at home." He says with a smirk, and you laugh.

"All good things, I hope."

"Of course. Ellie just bout worships the ground you walk on," he says. "Joel was singin' your praises, too."

"Alright, I think that's enough. Why don't y'all go walk around, and I'll catch up with ya?" He suggests, and Tommy chuckles. Another teacher calls Ellie's name from down the hallway, and she's quick to drag Tommy off to meet him, leaving you and Joel alone. He's replaced his black shirt with a light blue dress shirt, and it looks like he's recently trimmed his beard. He looks nice.

"Singing praises, huh?" You raise your eyebrows at him, and he smiles sheepishly. "Thank you for the coffee the other morning, by the way. It was a really nice surprise."

"Figured it was the least I could do to thank you for takin' such good care of my girl."

"Well, thank you. I owe you."

"You don't owe me a thing," he says. "Although, Tommy was a little upset that I didn't bill you for lookin' at the projector."

"Was he?" You ask, and he nods.

"Oh, yeah," he laughs. "Said next time I should, at least, ask you on a date."

"Mr. Miller-"

"I thought you agreed to call me Joel." He raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge, and you shake your head, fighting a smile.

"Joel, while I'm flattered by the offer from someone so handsome-"

"You think I'm handsome?"

"I can't date my students' parents." You say, ignoring his question, but even then, the playful look on his face doesn't fade. "Well, I can leave you to it. I know Ellie will probably want to show you around."

"Right. Of course," he says. "It's really nice to see you."

"You, too. I'm just glad I didn't have paint in my hair this time."

"I don't know. I thought it was kinda cute." You feel yourself blush at his words, but you have to shut it down before it can become anything more than flattery. You take a deep breath and try not to let that stupid smirk weaken your knees as he watches you.

"Goodnight, Joel."

"Goodnight, ma'am." He says, tipping his head politely before sauntering down the hallway like he owns the place. Trouble, you think to yourself. But you can handle trouble. It's in your job description, for Christ's sake.

So, you brush off the flirting and try to ignore how his kindness and sweet words made you feel. You absolutely cannot flirt with the parent of one of your students. Dating is completely off the table. You can handle this like an adult. You have to.

After a cold shower and a leftover dinner, you check your email once more before going to bed that night. Sitting in your inbox with alarming clarity is an email from Ellie with the subject line: Art Club. Her email is somehow just as short as her subject line.

Simply, "When can I start -E."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

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shocymer · 1 month

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For Never to Forever

"What if the illustrator of your newest novel covers is actually your highschool enemy in the past?"

Pairing : Yunho × afab!reader

Word counts : 3.2k

Contents & warning : highly suggestive mdni! , fluff (maybe), college art students! Yunho, novelist! reader, short tempered Yunho (not in bad way), Hongjoong as reader manager, cursed words here and there, sloppy kisses, slightly dry humping, enemies to lovers.

× Happy Yunho Day! ×

Time is ticking like its always supposed to do, but Yunho couldn’t stop looking at it. The hour hand has only moved maybe a quarter of millimeter from its original position, made him annoyed even more. How could it not be, he just let his impulsive thoughts win over his professionalism few hours ago.

Well, It all happened this morning. He went to the nearest café where the appointment was made via email last night.

Sipping a cup of warm expresso that fulfilled his taste bud while waiting for his client. The café ambiance was so cozy, it plays as complementary role to his mood lifting. And the main reason of his happy self was, he got a commission for a commercial purpose the first time ever in his entire life. Plus, it’s not just an ordinary client, the request came from a well known novelist.

From : Eternal Sunshine

To : Me (Tyudongi99)

Subject : Commission Request For Novels Covers

Hello Tyudongi-nim.

I’m Eternal Sunshine, one of the novelist from Break The Wall Book Company Publisher. I really interested with your art. Would you like to work on my next novels cover? If you are interested, we can set up an appointment to discuss the further details.

I would be very grateful if you willing to accept my request.

Sincerely,

Eternal Sunshine

That’s the content of an email that Yunho received the night before. Kicking on his feet, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He’s just a 3rd year college students that majoring in art. Never expected that opening commission on a whim would bring him to this. And then, he sent a quick replied as soon as possible that leading to today’s meeting.

“Oh hello, Tyudongi-nim.” A lady pulled her hand over to Yunho. She’s accompanied by a not so tall, with blonde lock man who’s standing next to her.

He shook your offering hand politely, “Hello, uhm perhaps Eternal Sunshine-nim?”

You nodded, throwing a simple smile before sitting right across to him. He’s staring at you closely while immersed in conversation. The way your hazel orb getting lighter when the sun beam hits them or the way your dainty lips curled when you smile occasionally. Somehow, all of it reminded him with the past. Wait wait, his past?!

He blinked his eyes rapidly, couldn’t believe what he just thought earlier. Your voice became a mere chant that drowning with the café hustle and bustle sounds at this very moment. He knew exactly who you are after the pile of his memories collided like it’s clicking on the switch inside of him.

“…so that’s the concept. I really-” a loud scrape noise coming from his chair was heard, interrupted your words. “-want you to..”

You turned your gaze out of the concept papers and found him staring intently towards you. Did I say something wrong? Am I offended him or something? Those questions played over and over on your mind nicely for solid three seconds, before his sarcastic laugh startled you.

“Well well, after all those great time. Now you’re asking this ‘going to be no where artist’ to work on your covers.” He crossed his arms while still looking down at you.

Your manager had the same reaction as you, dropping the jaw for a mere seconds. Then started to talk, craving for more contexts. “Ahem.. Tyudongi-nim, I’m sorry but what do you mean exactly?”

He snorted in annoyance, “She never appreciate my works on the first place to begin with.”

Oh great, It’s been a long time for your manager, Kim Hongjoong was facing a person like this. He took a deep breath, rolled the sleeve of his shirt to the elbow, before intended to give a long nice talk. “I deeply understand if her previous words probably hurt you, I’ll apologize on her be-”

“Ah right! Now I remember!” You spurted out, interrupting your manager just like adding gasoline to the fire in this situation. Both male gazes fixed on you. “Jeong Yunho right?” You got up from your seat, trying to match his height, and of course you can’t. He’s much taller than you, but at least you got those spirit to match him.

You snapped your fingers, before pointing at him. “Surprisingly, your attitude didn’t change at all.” Then, you poked on his chest with the same finger, “if you smart enough, you can figure it out by yourself why I said that to you.”

Furrowed the eyebrows while his face turning red as a boiled lobster, he slapped your hand away. How could he figured it out, if you’re the one who’s started to pick a fight with him in the high school. He thought to himself while his eyes still pierced into yours alternately left and right. The rationality went out of his head completely, and only anger was left behind. Hurting on his own ego, he grabbed the concept papers unwittingly then shoving it in his own bag before barging out of the café furiously.

Hongjoong and you exchanged glances after all of the ruckus. He ruffled his hair as if he still digested about what the actual fuck just happen, “you need to find another illustrator, like- how’d you find a weird artist with bad temper? Plus, he just left right away?!” You shrugged, giving him an expression like “I didn’t expect that either.” While tidying up less than a half of the papers left.

“But I think, you don’t need to worry about that.” You assured him that still yapping nonstop in the background. However, you knew Yunho so well despite his unreasonable hatred towards you.

Back to the square one in the young male artist’s flat who’s regretted it all. He just sent an apology email to your manager, after reading the concept papers thoroughly. Stopping the urge to bang his head on the wall surface, right after thinking carefully. He need some pocket money for the next months surviving here, how could he nearly miss this good opportunity due to his stupid action.

An hour has passed, all of the wait just paid off. A notification popped up from the email icon on his computer taskbar. His heart almost jumped out of the rib cage that your email address written on the screen instead of your manager. He clicked it with anticipation, perhaps all of the swearing and cursed words spilled in the email body because he deserved it. But it turns out a short sentence showed up instead, “Give me your contact information.”

He was silenced, typing the replied with a blank stare just like that. To be honest, he hated to admit about what you said in the café earlier. Only to realize that he didn’t change at all.

After he shared the chat ID to you, not too long your message coming through his chat lists.

(You) It’s much easier to discuss everything here rather than in email. And I think we need to meet again. Like you know, you just left half of the written concepts behind.

Even from the text, your unbothered manner radiating through it. He felt embarrassed due to how childish he was this morning.

(Yunho) Okay cool, when?

(You) Tomorrow afternoon?

(Yunho) Okay

On the next day, he pulled up to the same café after his morning class ended. First thing first to do was sketching the given concepts on a blank paper. He’s still remembered some details from yesterday and then he let you revised it when you arrived later.

Around 3 p.m. you almost there, to catch up the appointment with Yunho. Setting your feet on the sidewalk, you only need approximately ten steps to reach the café entrance. You saw your reflection on the glass window, before your focus shift to him. His prominent side profile and his soft cheek is a perfect combination. He’s still busy scribbling something with a serious expression drawn on his face, that made him hotter than his usual self. You can’t deny how attractive he is, even in the high school back then.

You came back to your sense, after Yunho knocking on the glass for few times, and read through the way his lips mouthing “are you okay?” from the opposite. You rushed in to the café in embarrassment that he caught up you’re gawking over him for quite some time.

“Ehm, y-you.” Still struggled to collecting yourself, your eyes darting to the table. His cup of coffee is nearly empty and some of his drawing tools scattered next to it. “How long you’ve been here?” You asked.

“11 or something. I don’t have anything else to do after class.” He explained it to you while busy on sorting some of his sketches. Then he handed it over, “I made several version of it, you can choose which one that suit on your taste.”

You took all of it, scanning thoroughly one by one. After thinking for quite some time, you drew out two papers of your choice to him. “I can’t decided between these two...” And yeah, the discussion continued until the evening of that day.

A week later, Yunho stomping on his way to your flat. Proceed to press your doorbell multiple times furiously. The reason behind it? He could counts on how many times you wanted revision. Not to mention he work fast and he wanted to report on every progress he made due to his own pretention, becoming a reliable artist for his clients. But for this one, he forgot to spell out his terms and condition especially about the revision limit.

Your sleepy face slowly appeared. You just opened your door after being annoyed with the doorbell rang over and over bombarding your eardrums. “What?” Out of all of the words that exist, why those one left from your mouth instead.

Yunho folded his lips into thin line for a split second and rolled his eyes after seeing you who’s completely clueless. He’ll fume at any seconds right after doing all of those ‘Jeong Yunho pre-angry habits’. You immediately stuffed your palm on his mouth as prevention, then pulled him into your flat.

He literally would protest but it didn’t happen, because you started to talk first. “Uhm, I know there must be something on your mind. But, we can sort it out together, right?” To be truth you don’t even know what’s wrong while you sat him down on the soft fur rug which placed in your TV room.

He removed your hand out of his face, “Is it fun for you?”

Ah, shit. He’s mad mad. You shushed him down, then you ran to the kitchen pantry on the pretext of making a cup of tea for him. Strangely, he complied. He just sat there quietly, while scrolling on his phone.

After you returned with two cups of the tea in your hands, you positioned yourself sitting to his opposite. “There’s like maybe.. you feel unsatisfied about something?” You asked him carefully.

Putting his phone to the side, he cleared his throat before answered you. “Listen, how many times did you asked for revisions?”

“A.. lot?” You’re not sure about the numbers and better not to mention it.

“Yeah right!” His veiny hand brushing through the strands of his hair, trying to pull back all of his sense. “You know what, it’s over than 25 times, it’s still only a week though!”

You’re confused as he did it all of it already, you meant to give it for a month task to do. “I didn’t expect that you do that so fast. I’ll pay you handsomely, okay?” You said that in your defense.

“Are you testing me? I bet there comes a lot more after I give you the last one.” Remembering all the sleepless nights he went through, plus he still kept up with the class schedule on the day time.

“Trust me, you’ll know why I did this. Or do you want to back off instead?”

He chuckled in anger, “Or do you mean to pick a fight on the first place?”

Your patience runs out as you literally fed up by those three words ‘pick a fight’ that feels like his only vocabulary since high school days, whenever he saw you. You pulled his collar, bringing his face closer to yours. “Now it’s my turn, listen to me. First, never in any slightest on my mind to mess with you.” You hardened the grip, “and second, please be matured Jeong Yunho, we are not a kid anymore!”

He pushed you down till you’re laying flat against the rug, he automatically join to fall as you still holding onto his collar for your dear life. Luckily, his steady hands kept himself from weighting on you. “If you’re not messing with me, why did you said all of that?”

“Said what?! Speak clearly! you always yapping that I picked a fight first, I said this, I said that. Just tell me what did I say before.” Your eyes getting redder as you worked up shouting at this stubborn young male, ruining your peaceful morning.

“You told me that I’m going to be nowhere with that kind of skills.” He took a deep breath, “You never know just a mere sentence, makes me think about it all the time.” The truth was he almost gave up on his dream when the insult coming especially from you, which he once had a feelings for.

“Because your art sucks back then.” You snapped. Before he’s going feral, you circled his waist with both of your legs, then turning him over to the side. Now you’re on top of him, while holding his shoulder to keep him stay still. You told the side of your story how you heard him talking with the group of his friends, meanwhile he’s your crush at that time.

You remembered how they’re talked on your back when you’re going insane preparing for the first debut novel.

“You saw her this morning? She’s such a book freak. Like every single days, I can see the pile of books on her desk, or in the library. To the point I’m sick looking at my own books.” One of Yunho’s friends talking.

First of all, it doesn’t matter if somebody else bad mouthing on you but it also came from him that making it worse.

Those friend slightly tapped Yunho’s upper arm, “She’s weird, right?”

Without hesitation he said, “Yeah she is-”

Enough is enough, you got up from the chair. You sure it was his voice, right on the opposite of the class wall to the corridor. You storming out of the class, hating to see your crush face. Then, you came back at noon only to mock his wobbly drawing on his sketchbook. Honestly you just want to take a revenge, but after you saw his badly drawn art, you can’t hold back your laugh. So that seems like you genuinely mocking after him.

Those newly information made Yunho speechless, which he’s still pinned down right now, under you. He averted his eyes from you that looking straight at him. “I never hate you okay, I even liked you.” You remarked.

He's still processing his thought, “I- I still can’t believed it”

Running your finger tips to his soft bear like cheeks, you cupped it and turned his head over so he looked back at you who’s alternately staring on both of his eyes to his reddish thin lips. “I’ll prove it, until you believed me.”

You pressed your lips to his all of sudden, made him flinched in surprise. Slowly but surely he kissed you back. The innocent kiss turn into a chaotic one as he hold the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His tongue forced its way in, clashing on each other with yours. To the point you could hear the sound of both his and your front teeth bumped sometimes.

He sat up while continuing the kiss. His other hand busy tracing on your back, touched it by following your spine from the top to bottom. You slightly moved your chest forward in response, as his fingers tickling you, till the distance between both of you completely disappear.

You could feel his hard member poking through beneath his black jeans, while you grinding on his lap. He groaned between the kiss as you moving your hips back and forth faster than before. His digits slipped underneath the thin clothes you’re wearing, caressing your bare skin gently. A string of saliva formed after he decided to pull out from the kiss slowly, trying to stop before both of you coming undone anytime while fully clothed.

He lean on your slender shoulder, catching on his breath. On the other hand, you played with the tip from his nape hair while doing the same. Yunho and you stayed still for a while like that, till you realized there’s another pair of eyes watching you. When you turned your head to the front door, you saw your manager hanging speechless and slowly back away.

That lead you to slap your own forehead. Just forgot that you sent him text before, begging to be companied cause you didn’t want to deal with angry Yunho by yourself.

“No, it’s not like that manager-nim.” You wanted to stop him but Yunho still hugging you tight. “Please stay! Manager-nim, Kim Hongjoong!” Your plead is useless as his figure already disappear behind those door.

⁠✧

Today is Sunday morning, both of you went to a picnic date. Spreading out the mat with beautiful pattern on the grass field, you breathing in the fresh air. It’s located on the side of the lake. This was Yunho’s idea to bring you here, he said that giving it as a reward after spending full month of hell ride.

His design immediately approved by the editorial team without any problems by the end of last month. All thanks to your crazy revisions, he managed to survive walking out of the editorial room alive while people around including you said that they’re super annoying to begin with.

Now, Yunho busy painting on his sketchbook as his back lean to yours. Both of you sit back to back, enjoying the morning atmosphere. Chatting about a lot of topics here and there, while you’re flipping the page of your favorite book.

“I’m curious, how did you find me?” His skilled hand stained the colors from the tip of brush onto the paper surface.

“Hmm.. I don’t really know if it’s you behind the tyudongi artist tho.” You said that without taking your eyes off those collection of printed words.

He mixed another colors on the palette and back to questioned you, “I mean, why choose me out of another artists? I don’t have any experience on the big project like this.”

You stopped your activity then change the sitting position to face him. “Huh? I saw your works hanging in the local art exhibition few months back. Isn’t it also a big project?”

“Ah that thing, the artists doing it voluntarily without being paid. So there’s no pressure behind.” He explained to you clearly.

You nodded, “I see.. Uhm yeah, basically I was interested in your painting which the title is Forever, as I remember it.”

Yunho’s gaze shift to you as he realized something, “with the n or without the n?”

“Do you mean for never or forever?” You were dumbfounded by him. But he remained silent looking straight at you even though you are waiting for his answer. You sighed, “there’s no n between it, I’m pretty sure.”

He chuckled softly that you took his bait. “Then..” Putting his drawing tools aside, he grab your waist, pulling you into his arms. “There’s also no end between us.” He kissed your blushing cheek.

“Be my forever okay?”

a/n I had so much fun writing on this. and annoyed yunho looking hella hot, proof 1, proof 2, proof 3 (© tiktok edits)

#jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez fics #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #yunho ateez #ateez x reader #ateez hard hours #yunho hard hours #yunho hard thoughts #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #yunho birthday special #cy for ateez birthday #shocymer

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emsgoodthinkin · 6 months

Text

18+

“Oh.. hell yea baby bounce on it”

You and Steve have been together for 5 months now. Met in college, specifically art class, he was forced to take an elective, anything for him to graduate. That’s when he saw you in the middle of the room.. naked. Well kinda, there was a long white sheet wrapped around you. Figure drawing was that days subject.

You seemed happy? Not at all flustered having all eyes on you, Steve was a bit intimidated, not only because of how beautiful you looked and all, but everything about you made the whole room glow. And made the bulge in his pants grow.

After class he was the last one out, he wanted to talk to you, little were you aware he was stuck behind in the room; that’s when you dropped the sheet to put your clothes back on. You both screamed in sync and he scrambled out of the door faster than you could’ve blinked.

Later that afternoon, you seen him in the library and came up to him to talk about the book he was reading. He was surprised you didn’t mention the incident, and since then you two hit it off.

He knew you were a virgin, so heavy make out sessions, mutual masturbation and lots of oral was the base of your guys relationship.

You woke up, extremely needy and horny. No vibrator or dildo could sedate your craving other than Steve. He wanted to take his time with you, telling you that you’ll know when the time is right. He made a mistake years ago losing his to quickly so in his terms, he’s doing you a favor. In your terms, he’s torturing you.

You swear he gets off on it.

You’ve been rubbing your pussy up against your hand every five seconds at work, coaxing him through sexy texts and lewd photos. Trying to give him the heads up you’re ready for him to finally fuck you. Or “make love” as he’d exclaim. same shit

He’s usually arrived home by the time you get off of work and today, you were definitely worked; panties have been sticking to your cunt since 10 this morning

“I need you now!” you shout kicking your shoes off and tossing your bag elsewhere, meanwhile, he’s wide-eyed, staring at you with a mouth full of cereal

“Pardon?”

“Steve baby please I love you so much but I need your cock in me right now, I’ve been so horny all day, I mean I can literally smell myself through my own pants right now,” you admit ridding him of the bowl, climbing into his lap, immediately grinding your hips

He scoffs.

“Baby we’ve been through this.. damn, really can smell it huh?” he replies cursing himself, biting his lip, “I thought we were going to wait? you know I want it to be special for you”—

“and it will be, please I promise I’m ready” you pout

The heavy feeling of you has him already babbling.

—“just like that baby, bounce it a little bit — y-yeah that’s it there we go,” he strains bucking, his hips up into yours, cock fully solid

“yeah? like that daddy?”—

“Don’t! Stop that.. fuck, don’t call me that, you know what that does to me”

“what does it do hm?” you lean down to nip his ear, “does it make you wanna fuck my brains out?”

He growls, moving your hips faster “What the fuck are you doing? Why are you doing this to me, fuck! keep bouncin, keep boucin that hot pussy on my dick sweetheart oh— shit”—

“Come on Stevie you know you want it, you’ve been dying to feel my pussy squeeze it, anytime with you will be s-speacial, just.. PLEASE!” you, almost in tears, begging; your thighs are burning the faster and harder you grind

“Ahhh, fuck it, get up!”, he demands angrily and eagerly ripping your pants and soaked panties off—

“Open those fuckin legs, ill make ya feel real special tonight”

reblogs appreciated

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x virgin reader #steve harrignton #steve harrington smut #perv!steve harrington x perv!reader #joe keery #stranger things #daddy steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #perv!steve harrington x virgin reader #afab reader #dom!steve harrington #soft!dom steve #steve harrington one shot

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galamalion · 1 month

Text

┈ ✧.* romance in the red line

┈ ✧.* summary﹕You and Nami attend Vivi's well-planned sleepover, and meet a new face the next day.

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕4.1k

┈ ✧.* chapter v﹕three's a crowd

“Wow, Vivi…” You took a deep breath in, marveling at the architectural wonder before you. “This is…”

“Totally awesome?” Nami chimed in, looking around the room.

“I was gonna say that it rivals the work of Michaelangelo, but that works too…” you replied.

Vivi crouched down and crawled into the blanket-pillow fort, poking her head out and looking up at the two of you.

“Feel free to come in! There are many snacks for us to share and movies to watch!” Vivi said cheerily, tucking herself back into the fort.

Both of you crawled after her, choosing your spots within and diving straight into the generously provided snacks.

Nami shoved a handful of pretzels in her mouth, “You’ve really outdone yourself, Vivi.”

“For sure,” you added. “Having a sleepover wasn’t on my college to-do list, but it definitely should have been.”

“And without the boys!” Nami cheered, kicking her legs excitedly. “No Luffy here to eat all the food!”

Vivi smiled at you both, “I’m glad you are enjoying the sleepover! I don’t have any siblings, so I have perfected the art of fort-making from a young age…”

“Well, that’s what friends are for!” You took a couple pretzels from the bowl. “Now we can do all sorts of things you couldn’t do back then.”

“And we can drink!” Nami interrupted, stealing a pretzel from you.

You rolled your eyes, moving over to the laptop to pick a movie, “I’ll leave the drinking to you, Nami.”

“Really?” she snickered. “You seemed pretty open to it when we were at the Baratie. If I can remember correctly, Sanji had to carry you back to the dorm…”

“How the hell would you know that?” you gaped, crossing your arms defensively. “You drank more than I did!”

Nami laughed, crossing her arms proudly, “I can hold my liquor pretty well, for your information! I’ve outdrank at least 30 grown men before!”

“What an accomplishment, Nami!” Vivi clapped.

You grimaced at Vivi’s cheeriness, “Don’t congratulate her for that, Vi…”

“Any more interesting bits of information from you, ____? A story we’ve yet to hear, maybe a long lost love? Or perhaps you and Sanji…”

“Nope, not a thing,” you quickly countered.

“Oh, you’re no fun!” Nami pouted.

You were quick to bring this party back on track, and away from your own personal life, moving to the laptop to search for movies.

“Alright, what are we thinking, gang? Romance? Comedy? Horror?”

Nami made a gagging noise, “Ew, no horror, please. I’m here for a good night, not a nightmare-filled one.”

“I do love romance!” Vivi said excitedly, looking over your shoulder with Nami at the selection of movies.

“Also, I want something classic!” Nami reached for the laptop, scrolling endlessly for movies. “And no superhero stuff, or future-y stuff.”

“Ok, well, we’ve got Clueless, Mean Girls, 10 Things I Hate About You…”

“10 Things I Hate About You!” Nami shrieked, reaching over and clicking on the movie before you could stop her.

Vivi gave Nami a confused look, “I’ve never seen it before, is it good?”

Nami scoffed, “Only the best romance movie of all time! Trust me, Vi, you’re in for a treat.”

“Agreed,” you added, “it’s at least in the top ten best movies of all time.”

“Make that top five,” Nami corrected, leaning back into the pillows.

“I’m glad to be experiencing it, then!” Vivi cheered, joining Nami in her cushioned throne.

You cracked your knuckles, “Alright, ladies! Movie’s starting now, I expect all phones to be silenced and all mouths to be zipped! Now, please enjoy the show.”

“Ok, mom,” Nami quipped, throwing her arms behind her head.

“You wish I was your mom.”

“Nuh uh, my mom’s already the greatest mom, like, ever!" Nami hissed, sticking her tongue out at you.

“Yeah, I already know, we had a fantastic time last night.” You grinned, copying Nami’s pose.

You earned a pillow to the face for that joke.

“I knew it! They belonged together from the start!” Vivi sobbed as the credits rolled, throwing her face into a nearby pillow and staining it with her tears.

“It’s a romantic comedy, Vi,” you said, pinching your nose, “you’re not supposed to be crying.”

Vivi’s lip wobbled, “I can’t help it…”

“Shh…there, there, Vi,” Nami cooed, rubbing the poor girl’s shoulders. “Be nice, ____! It was her first time seeing the movie of a lifetime.”

“It was a romantic comedy, ” you groaned, laying down in the mass of pillows.

Nami hummed, giving Vivi her blanket before collapsing down beside you.

“Tell you what, girls,” Nami yawned, pulling her sleeping mask over her head. “We absolutely need to go shopping soon. I know we all need a break after this heart-wrenching cinematic experience.”

“It was a fucking romantic comedy!”

“Well, so was the Fault in our Stars, and I cried at that!”

“You’re supposed to!” you yelled, hitting Nami with a pillow, “it’s not a comedy!”

“Comedy, shmomedy,” Nami shrugged, “you in for a shopping trip, Vi?”

Vivi smiled, her blanket pulled up to her chin, “Yes, it sounds very fun! I would love to go out with the two of you again!”

“Well, I suppose that depends on our little roomie,” Nami smiled devilishly, turning towards you. “You in, ____?”

You grimaced as the two girls looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer you didn’t want to give. Nami’s eyes were dark and knowing, while Vivi’s were light and full of happiness, unaware that Nami would probably coerce her into paying. You were more than capable of saying no to Nami, but Vi? A world with a sad Vivi was a world you couldn’t bear to live in.

“...How about Friday evening, after classes?” you muttered.

“Perfect!” Nami cheered, sliding the sleeping mask down to cover her eyes. “I’ll see you girls then. Just text me when you two are out of class and we can head out!”

“A terrific plan!” Vivi said, snuggling into her pillow. “I will see you both in the morning, good night!”

“Yeah, night, Vi,” you murmured to yourself, fearing for the safety of your wallet.

And so you joined their roommates in their quests for sleep, shutting your eyes and curling up in the mound of blankets and pillows surrounding you, giving you a very cushioned send off to the world of dreams.

*⋆✧*.𖥔⋆☆⋆𖥔.*✧⋆*

“...up, ____,” a voice mumbled above you, though you were hardly able to make out their words on account of the pillows smothering your ears.

Instead of responding, you just rolled to your side and pulled the fluffy comforter over your body, deciding that whatever the person was trying to tell you wasn’t worth it. You could decipher it in a minute, or five. Hell, why not just make it ten?

“Wake up!” the voice, now shouting, called out.

The dull pain in your ears was nothing compared to the unexpected pain in your face as a pillow hurled at top speed smacked you in the head.

“Hey!” you shrieked, clutching your cheek and looking around frantically. Nami stood above you, fully dressed with a hand on her hip, brows furrowed.

“Are you kidding me? How many times are we gonna have to wake you up?” she huffed, throwing a pile of clothes at you. “You’re lucky I set my alarm for earlier, you still have time to get ready.”

“My savior,” you groaned, examining the clothes laid before you. “Thanks for the clothes, though.”

Nami certainly had style, and it wasn’t hard to see with her daily outfits. What she picked for you chic, but comfortable enough to walk to your classes in, and wasn’t that the college dream?

“Oh it’s nothing, just something I threw together for you,” she giggled. “Vi’s in the shower right now, so once she’s done and dressed we can head out, ‘kay?”

“Got it, girl boss.” You rose from the jumbled mess of pillows and blankets and stepped carefully over to the closed bathroom door, gingerly knocking.

“Vi, it’s me! Mind if I come in for a sec?” you called out.

A muffled ‘yes’ came from the other side, so you creaked the door open and stepped inside with your bundle of clothes, doing your best to get dressed as quickly as possible.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Vivi,” you apologized, slinging the top over your shoulders.

“Ah, it’s no problem, really!” she said from behind the glass walls of the shower. “I hope you had a good night’s rest after our sleepover.”

You scoffed, “Oh, believe me, the rest was wonderful. It was the wake up call that sucked.”

Vivi laughed heartily, the sound echoing in the cramped bathroom, “This is the second time Nami has woken you up, yes? I am glad I missed this time, the first was quite…brutal.”

“Be lucky you’re not on her bad side, Vi,” you snorted, pulling your phone out.

Aside from notifications from games and emails, you did have a couple unread texts from Sanji this morning.

You raised an eyebrow as Sanji’s final text, clearly too disordered to be anything except for a violet keyboard smash.

The picture featured was a selfie of Zoro and a very angry Sanji, the latter attempting to wrestle the phone out of the former’s hands. You could also make out a very blurry Luffy crawling over a horrified Usopp in the background, clearly trying to be a part of the picture.

“I’ll give you some space, Vi,” you said, exiting the bathroom and making your way over to Nami amongst the mess of comforters.

“I got a text from Sanji—well, from Zoro, technically. They’re planning on heading down at nine, if that’s cool,” you said, sitting beside her.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Nami responded, scrolling through her phone. “We’ll probably have a few minutes to kill, depending on how fast Vivi can get ready.”

Vivi’s voice rang out from the bathroom, “I will be out shortly, do not worry!”

“Take your time, Vi!” you shouted back before turning to Nami. “Judging by Zoro’s texts, Sanji might be a while.”

“That tracks,” Nami sighed, a smile slowly forming on her face. “Knowing him, he’s probably ironing his suit right now.”

“Or curling his eyebrows.”

“Or waxing his shoes.”

Vivi’s head poked out of the bathroom, clearly trying to hold back her laughter.

“Perhaps,” she giggled, “he is powdering his nose!”

The room was silent for a second before the three of you burst into laughter, doubling over at your stupid jokes. You could afford wasting a couple of minutes to laugh, unknowing that the boys were, indeed, waiting for Sanji to finish ironing his suit.

“Pancakes aren’t that bad, Vi,” Nami said, drizzling her stack of pancakes in tangerine syrup. “You just gotta add what you like on top!”

“Yeah, Vivi!” Luffy said, voice muffled as he stuffed his face with his seventh pancake. “You’ve got syrup, sugar, butter, ice cream, gravy, meat—”

“You can’t put meat on pancakes, Luffy,” you pointed out, sliding your plate further away from Luffy’s potential grasp.

“Sure you can!” Sanji said, carefully decorating his own stack. “There’s plenty of traditional recipes that utilize meat and ‘pancake’, though I’m not sure you could call every example a pancake…”

“I’m saying you can’t put meat on pancakes like how Luffy does it.” You gestured to Luffy’s plate, which consisted of pancakes with huge pieces of steak and chicken on top.

“They’re not even serving steak right now!” Usopp hissed, looking at Luffy’s food with a mixture of awe and terror. “This is crazy! He’s crazy!”

“Pancakes don’t have any special nutritional benefits, but they are yummy,” Chopper remarked, taking a bite of his cotton candy-covered pancakes.

“I will stick to rice, but I thank you for your unique perspectives,” Vivi said, giving a polite smile to everyone.

“Here here,” Zoro agreed, taking a sip from his bottle.

“Stop drinking during breakfast, you have classes afterwards,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder.

“I’ll quit when I’m dead,” he responded unflinchingly, taking another swig.

You sighed, continuing to eat your meal amidst your chattering table of friends. Every conversation seemed to switch, both in topic and participants, every five minutes. You were able to catch details about the introduction of new majors—as if Grand Line didn’t have enough—as well as the topic of Luffy’s potential major.

“Come on, Luffy,” Usopp said, pointing his fork in Luffy’s direction, “you’re gonna have to choose a major soon. Why not try engineering?”

“I don’t wanna do math!” he pouted.

“You could do exercise science like Zoro,” Nami added. “Isn’t Ace doing something similar?”

Zoro hummed in agreement, “I think you’d like it, Luf. You’ve gotta learn a little bit, but you might like it.”

“But I don’t wanna copy Ace!” Luffy cried, shoveling more food into his mouth.

“If you’re interested in it, then you’re not copying,” you reassured.

“But I’m not interested.”

The table sighed in unison, knowing that any hope of finding Luffy a major would be short-lived on account of his short attention span.

“Well, you can always talk to your advisor,” Sanji concluded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Or your brothers. They’re juniors, aren’t they? Should have plenty of experience.”

“Oh, yeah!” Luffy exclaimed, practically jumping out of his seat. “I bet Sabo would know what to do! He’s way smarter than Ace!”

“I wouldn’t say that out loud, Luf,” a blond man sitting behind Luffy said, turning to face your group. “You know how Ace gets when you compare us.”

Luffy’s momentary confused expression turned to one of glee as he tackled the man, grabbing onto him like a koala.

“Sabo!” he shrieked, earning the attention of nearly half the cafeteria.

“I think I remember something like this happening with the other brother,” Usopp grimaced, looking all around as if something would hit him at any moment.“Has he been there the whole time?” you whispered to Nami.

“I’ve only started sitting here since last week,” Sabo replied, giving you a knowing smile. “I heard Ace had a rather ostentatious entrance, so I thought I’d surprise Luffy in a little quieter way.”

“...I’m not sure you can call this quiet,” Nami said, watching Luffy squeeze Sabo rather violently.

“Does this mean Luffy’s off our hands?” Sanji asked, peeking over at the reunion.

Sabo seemed to think for a minute, looking between Luffy and your group, before saying, “I doubt he’ll let go in time for his classes, so I can take him for a bit.”

“Sounds good to me!” Nami cheered, standing up from the table. “We should all head to class anyway.”

“Have fun on your field trip, Luffy!” Vivi smiled, waving at Luffy before dashing out of the cafeteria with Nami.

You grabbed your plate and turned to Chopper, “Do you have class right now, Chopper? I’m heading over to the science building to talk to a professor before my biology lab, so we might be heading the same way.”

“I have my chemistry lab there in a bit!” Chopper said.

“Perfect, we can head over now.” You smiled, before thinking for a second. “Are you in organic chemistry, Chopper? Or are you in some higher class?”

“No, I’m still in general chemistry,” Chopper nodded excitedly, but then looked down at his feet. “I think I’m in your class…”

“Oh, shit,” you blurted, feeling guilty. “Where do you sit? I don’t think I’ve seen you in class before…”

“In the front.”

“...Really?”

Chopper blushed, looking embarrassed, “I can’t see when I sit in the back…”

“Well, I can sit up there with you tomorrow!” you offered. “If that’s not a problem, that is. It might be nice to have someone to talk to.”

“I’d like that!” Chopper smiled, picking up his bag. “But we should head over now, before all the spots get taken.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, calling back to the table, “See you guys later! Don’t let Luffy cause too much trouble, please!”

Sabo waved back, laughing, “I’ll do my best, but he can be unpredictable…”

“Hey!” Luffy shouted, “I’m 100% predictable!”

“That’s not—”

Before the conversation could grow into an uncontrollable argument, you escaped with Chopper in tow. Luffy may be unpredictable in seemingly every other aspect of life, but you could certainly predict how that was going to go. There would be no winners in that cafeteria, only poor, emotionally-scarred college students.

It’s truly amazing what you can learn from someone despite knowing them for less than a month.

“I fucking hate chemistry, Chopper,” you deadpanned, feeling wrinkles etch on your face as you looked over the lab you’d gotten on Tuesday.

You’d been sitting at one of the few tables in the building, trying to get a start on your lab before Chopper finished completing the in-class portion of his, but you’d been struggling with question two for roughly the entirety of Chopper’s lab, leaving you feeling hopeless, even with the aid you’d received from the professor.

Chopper looked shocked, joining you at the table, “It’s not that bad! I promise it’ll get better, ____! If you want, I can help you study?”

“Truly, Chopper,” you sighed, “I think I’m a lost cause. But I’ll still take you up your offer.”

You dug your phone out of your pocket and opened your contacts, swapping info with Chopper. Another friend to add to the collection, and this one had inherent value to your major!

“Thanks, Chop.” You smiled, tucking your phone away. “I should probably head to my psych class now, so good luck with your lab.”

“Thank you, ____!” Chopper beamed, waving you goodbye.

Luckily, your psych class was in the next building over, so you didn’t have to worry about being late. In fact, the only thing you had to worry about was your chemistry lab. Psychology wasn’t too hard for you, especially back at South Blue High. It was basically just memorization—albeit a lot of memorization—that you didn’t really struggle with. Differentiating ideas could be a tad difficult, but nothing you couldn’t manage. Way better than chemistry, at least.

Your class wasn’t all too great, however. It was full of people who didn’t really want to talk to others, leading to incredibly bland discussion times. Their lack of enthusiasm killed your vibe, so despite the subject being a total snoozefest, you weren’t really looking forward—

“Hey, ____!” Luffy yelled, waving at you from a lone table near the back.

Sitting beside your rambunctious friend was his brother, Sabo, who also gave you a polite wave.

“...Is this part of the field trip?” you asked Sabo.

“Well, I’m TA-ing for this class, so I thought it might help Luffy to learn about other subjects!” Sabo said, grinning.

“Wait, you’re the TA for this class?” You raised an eyebrow, setting your bag down at a nearby desk. “I didn’t see you on Wednesday, and you weren’t introduced either.”

Sabo leaned back in his chair, “It was a spur of the moment thing. I’m a sociology major, but I thought I might dabble in psychology. It’s fascinating, the mind, and what you can do with it…”

“You sound like a supervillain.”

“Me? A supervillain?” Sabo gasped, putting a hand over his heart. “I’ll have you know, I am the kindest, gentlest, utmost altruistic gentleman this world has ever seen! Isn’t that right, Luffy?”

Luffy blinked, not a single thought going on behind his eyes, “Sabo is totally awesome! One time Ace dared him to eat a caterpillar, and he did it!”

“...Gentleman, huh?” you snickered.

Sabo shrugged, his grin tugging at one end of his mouth, “What can I say, I was a strange child. But not as strange as Luffy…”

“Hey!” Luffy yelled, shaking Sabo violently as the latter laughed.

“Well, if you have any questions, just ask,” Sabo said, easily pushing Luffy off. “Though, you seem like a smart cookie, so I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Or you could ask me!” Luffy shrieked, trying to push back against Sabo.

You laughed, finally taking your seat as class began. With Sabo and Luffy providing you company, the class wasn’t so bad. Sabo was nice to talk to during discussion times, as well as when you were filling out your notes—though it was slightly grating to hear your notes being critiqued. Luffy, despite being reprimanded by the professor multiple times, kept the mood of the entire class up. Luckily Sabo was good at smooth talking, or else Luffy would have probably been expelled. You can only break the same desk so many times before being a lost cause.

As soon as the clock struck 3:20, everyone filed out of the room. You left with Sabo and Luffy, making your way over to the cafeteria for dinner, though Sabo planned on showing Luffy one more class before officially ending their ‘field trip.’

“Has any class struck a chord with you, Luffy?” you asked, glancing over to your friend.

Luffy seemed to think for a moment before speaking, “Nope.”

“Seriously, Luf?” Sabo groaned, pulling on his hair. “Not even sociology? Come one, it’s awesome!”

“I hate sitting in a classroom all day!” Luffy pouted, dragging his feet as he walked. “I wanna do something cool, like being a firefighter!”

“Well, you can bring that up to your advisor,” you offered. “I’m sure there’s a degree that—”

“Fire Fist!”

You felt a tug on your waist as Sabo pulled you ever-so-slightly closer to him and away from Luffy, and within an instant you understood why. Hurling towards Luffy at top speeds was Ace, who tackled Luffy and sailed into the nearby grass patch.

“That’s 572 to 0, Luffy!” Ace cackled, slapping his brother harshly on the back.

Luffy heaved for a couple of seconds, clearly trying to catch his breath after being so blatantly assaulted by his older brother.

“I’ll get you next time,” Luffy scowled, jumping to his feet. “I’ve been working on my punches too!”

“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” Ace snorted.

“Now, now, guys,” Sabo said, releasing you. “You almost hurt this poor young lady! What would Dadan say if she saw you now?”

“Don’t leave the house until you’ve done your chores?” Luffy responded, picking his nose.

Ace punched Luffy again, causing the latter to fall over onto the grass. He stepped up back onto the sidewalk, approaching you with an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry ‘bout that, ____,” Ace chuckled, scratching his head. “But brothers will be brothers, ya know? Can’t go a day without tackling one of them.”

“I seem to manage just fine,” Sabo coughed.

“...In other news,” Ace said, “I thought I might invite Luffy and his gang of pals—that’s you—to a lovely restaurant in order to celebrate the upcoming hockey season!”

“Is it really hockey season? School literally just started,” you deadpanned.

Ace barked out a laugh, “Every season is hockey season, baby! Now, I have other plans currently that I’m 10 minutes late for—”

“You’re what ?” Sabo’s eyes widened as he turned to Ace.

“—and I need to be there soon, so I’ll take your stunned silence as a ‘yes’ to coming, and I’ll see you Saturday night at eight!”

Before you could even respond to Ace’s outlandish statements, he sprinted away as quickly as he came, dashing through—not around—groups of people, knocking over countless bystanders as he ran away.

“Your brother is a work of art, Sabo,” you finally said, feeling breathless watching Ace’s escape.

Sabo only snorted, looking down amusedly as his little brother rolled angrily through the grass.

“Which one?”

“...Fair point.”

tag list: @sylum , @dimplewonie , @kingofthemfingpirates , @luuffyswife

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kbspangler · 1 month

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This is the public statement from @alepresser and myself which went up at Webtoons tonight.

Now for some ranting. Just from me, not from Ale—she's innocent of the art crimes I've committed in the past, and boy howdy have I committed art crimes.

This is the first page of my first webcomic, A Girl and Her Fed. I started this thing back in 2006. (I don't actually need a head count of those reading this who weren't yet born in 2006. I'm sure you're delightful and I wish you well in college.)

And this is the last page I drew in early 2020 before I turned art duties over to Dr. Beer. It's better, right?

Well, these days, A Girl and Her Fed has pages like this:

I drew this comic for fourteen fucking years because it's a story I wanted to tell, and I thought webcomics were the perfect format for it. I didn't know how to draw. I got better through sheer obstinate perseverance and sticking to deadlines as best I could for, again, fourteen fucking years. I sought out a replacement artist when I ran into time constraints and couldn't do art plus writing anymore; I'm a much better writer than an artist, so I had no problems whatsoever kicking art to the curb.

The first time Ale sent me art that would go up on the website—art I hadn't needed to draw myself—I literally cried in relief because I had been grinding myself down for, yet again, fourteen fucking years.

So when I read comments from people who say they want to make a webcomic but can't draw themselves and therefore need to resort to AI, that little line between my eyes gets dangerously deep.

This isn't like I'm some old dude who's bitching over student loans getting cancelled after making regular payments. This is me, someone who threw raw art onto the internet like a monkey hurling fresh poo, because I wanted to make a webcomic and the art is part of the process of storytelling via webcomics! I could've (arguably should've) hired an artist right out of the gate, and that would've been part of the process of making comics, too: a partnership between an artist and a writer is also something which grows and develops over time.

For example, after Dr. Beer and I spent two years working on AGAHF, we decided we enjoyed our partnership so much that we set out to make another webcomic! It's great! It's got wonderful art and consistent storytelling! You should read it!

But turning art duties over to unaltered images generated by AI because you want to make a webcomic but "just can't draw" is, frankly, a bullshit excuse. I'm not talking about persons who are physically unable to draw due to disability—I'm talking about people who say they want to make webcomics but simply don't wanna do the art part.

Friends, if you don't want to show your entire ass in front of God and country, you don't actually want to make a webcomic.

Do the thing yourself.

If you're scared, don't be. Take the plunge. Set a goal of twenty strips and do the thing yourself. If you can already draw but can't write? Great! Write twenty strips, write forty panels, etc. You might surprise yourself. If you can write but can't draw? Great! Draw twenty panels and see what happens.

Whatever comes out of it, it's a thing you've done yourself. It's something new you've given to the world, no matter how big or small. Be proud of that. And if you need to partner with someone else to make your comic dreams work? You can do that, too! It's still a thing you've done yourself, and many projects are stronger when done together.

...but maaaaaaaaaybe hire that partner before you've busted your own ass for fourteen fucking years. That one's on me.

#webcomic #webcomics #side quested #comic #comics #indie comics #webtoon #webtoons #AI #ai art #ai generated #ai image #ai artwork #artificial intelligence

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year

Text

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 1

Title: Assembly’s and Introductions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Mild Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: There’s a new kid at your prestigious university, he’s tall, tattooed and muscular, and oh yeah, he’s the Prince.

Warnings: PG13, mild swearing, a general ‘lets get the ball rolling’ first chapter

Word Count: 5410

Release Date: January 26, 2023, 12:40PM

A/N 1: I’ve been working on this since September 2022, got 80K in, and have accidentally taken an extended break from Dec 1st until now. I need a kick in the pants to continue writing it so here’s the first chapter. I hope you enjoy as I have read this about 400 times and I’m sick of editing it.

A/N 1.5: it’s pronounced ‘Nehl” not “Neal”

“Come on, come ooooon!!” Yuri says as she drags you by one arm down the corridor, the other filled with books and study notes. You’re being dragged from your mid morning study session and she's starting to stretch your favourite sweater from how hard she’s pulling.

Slipping from her grasp to save it from any permanent damage, Yuri uses her new freedom to take the lead.

“Not everyone cares as much about this as you do,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I get you’re here because your parents put you here but I worked for it. I can’t just abandon my study plans for some guy,” voice echoing in the corridor as you succeed in keeping up with her quick pace.

Yuri mocks your words in gibberish, matching your tone, just more nasally.

She’s heard this hundreds of times since becoming your best friend in first year after being assigned your roommate. She may force you to go to places and parties you don’t find nearly as important as she does, but you also know she’s the only reason you’ve had any fun since starting university.

That doesn’t deter you though.

“I’m serious,” you insist, refusing to back down.

A look you know well flashes over her face. One that’s a mixture of absurdity and exhaustion— specifically at you.

“You know, sometimes I can’t even believe we’re friends. He’s not just some guy YN,” she looks over her shoulder to make eye contact. “He's the prince.”

Ah yes, the prince.

How could you be so foolish?

The fancy name given to the poor bastard who doesn’t get to decide his future—or work for it for that matter. Just has it handed to him because he was born at the right place, right time.

The prince who’ll be king to the biggest nation in the west one day.

The prince everyone freaks out over.

Sure, he’s cute enough, and will eventually have lots of money and power, because those are so important for someone like him.

But what’s money and power if you’re miserable or an asshole or you don’t know what to do with it? What’s money and power for someone who’s never known poverty and helplessness?

The title of Prince means nothing if you don’t earn it. Means nothing if you don’t know how to use it properly.

Who knows if this one does? So why should you particularly care?

Unfortunately, most people can’t get past the ‘young, handsome, future king of the Western Shores, hunk-a-hunk of dreamy’—blah, blah, blah, the media splatters over every magazine cover they possibly can, earning the prince a hefty social following of adoring, screaming—slightly brain dead if you had any say about it— ‘followers’ aka fans.

And Yuri, like every other girl on campus, is one of them. Minus the brain dead and screaming.

Well…Sort of minus the screaming.

She has screamed, in the past at least. So maybe just minus the brain dead part…

Anyways, she’s grabbing your wrist and you sigh, wringing yourself free of her near iron grip, again. But you can’t blame her.

Yuri’s focused on one thing, and one thing only.

And it’s beginning in 15 minutes.

“Plus I want good seats!”

You scoff.

“He’s just a person, Yuri. I get he’s got an important title and fancy job, but that’s all that separates him from us.”

She glares at you as you reach the courtyard of your school.

Trees surround the perimeter in evenly placed lines, a large running fountain at its center. There’s plenty of open grass space the students use to study, picnic or throw a ball around on. And its cobblestone walkways are currently covered in rows upon rows of filled up seats.

Most of those filled seats are in the middle though, which surprises you. You would’ve thought girls would be lining up at the front row to see their prince.

“Yeah, just the title and fancy job,” Yuri says, taking her turn to scoff and opens her hand to count on her fingers. “Let's not count the fact that he’s insanely hot—have you seen his body? His face? Or what of the land he’ll inherit on top of the land he already owns? And money! Can’t forget that. Or clothes. Not enough? I can keep going,” she switches to her other hand. “How about control over the largest kingdom in The West? They don't call him ‘Prince of the Western Shores’ for nothing, Sweets. Also the mass of adoring fans, security and advisors following his every move, nice cars, fancy vacation houses…should I keep going?”

You’re pretty sure she only stopped because she ran out of fingers and you don’t deign her with a reply. Yuri seems content to have made her point and she did.

But you’d never admit that to her. Instead you keep walking, taking in the sights around you.

Your school is The Royal Academy of Business and Fine Arts. Anyone can study here if they have the cash, or the brains, though one method is much more abused than the other.

It’s one of the most prestigious schools in the world because it’s where nearly every royal on this half of the continent goes to university. Hence the “Royal'' in the title.

Ladys, lords, dukes, duchesses, princesses and yes, princes all go here—are most of your classmates, actually. But there is only one prince everyone cares about. The one who, in the next few short years, will not only be at your school for whatever it is his father deems appropriate for him to study in his post secondary education, but the one who is also first in line and heir to the biggest kingdom in The West—if it hadn’t been mentioned before.

His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook.

Okay… look.

It’s not that you don’t like him, he hasn’t done anything to make you hate him, and you’re sure he’s a decent guy once you get to know him.

It’s just that you don’t really feel any type of way about him, positive or negative. And that confuses so many people around you.

Which in turn, confuses you.

Most people seem to think he’s some sort of god sent angel carved by the hands of whoever created the universe. Fawning over him and thinking he can do no wrong. But what they all fail to see is that he’s just like them.

Got a bit more of a leg up on life than most, sure, but still human. Like you, or Yuri.

He eats and showers and uses the bathroom. He gets a runny nose and puffy eyes when he’s sick. He has bad hair days and ties his own shoes… you think.

He’s just a regular guy with an irregular job. So no, you had no opinion on him other than disinterested neutrality.

But if you had to feel something? You guess you probably felt pity.

You worked your ass off in highschool to get where you are. You and your mom screamed until your voices were hoarse when you got your acceptance letter two and a half years ago. One of 25 scholarship students accepted on a full ride every year.

You were doing a major in fine arts and a minor business, wanting to milk your education for all it’s worth on their dime. Lucking out that your two areas of interest were not only at one school, but at one of the best schools in the world for both subjects.

You chose what you wanted for your life and you worked for it for years. And now you sit comfortably at the top of your class in both fine arts and business, not taking your opportunity for granted for a second.

Jungkook though? He’s expected to go here. Doesn’t have much of a choice about it, and he doesn’t have to work for it either.

A small part of you that has yet to mature envies him for how easy he has it, for the privileges he is given simply because of one six letter word in front of his name. That he didn’t have to put in 60 hour weeks and give up his teenage years just to prove he was good enough to be here.

He was born good enough.

But that’s a small part of you, and you can ignore it if you try hard enough.

The point is you felt pity because he’s probably never had to work for something a day in his life. He doesn’t know the satisfaction of working towards something, to not only succeed, but to be the best.

To earn what he has.

He won’t know what to do when real life hits him.

Yuri lets a baby scream loose as she spots her desired seats and yanks you out of your thought spiral.

The front of the courtyard is still relatively empty, middle still filling up faster than anything else.

“Yes! Score! First row, left side, that’s perfect! He'll definitely see us.”

She grabs your arm a third time and it’s an effort not to drop your books and groan at her.

Yuri’s like you in the sense where she is not royalty, but unlike you she—or should you say, her parents—are loaded.

Family business perks.

She’s here because she can be, because her family can afford to send her and make donations, not because she wants to be or because she worked for it.

But don’t misunderstand that, Yuri works hard. She just happens to party more than she studies most days. That and plan her future with a very rich and handsome guy who has yet to be determined.

You’d jokingly deemed her a royalty hunter after about an hour of meeting her for how badly she wanted to ‘marry up.’

“See you,” you correct, or has she forgotten about Nel, your boyfriend of 5 years? Your high school sweetheart and who is currently, much to your dismay, at school about 5000 miles away.

“I’m sure Cornelius wouldn’t be mad if the prince charms his girl just once, seeing as his royal highness can do that to most people just by breathing near them,” she quips. ”And even if he would get mad, Jungkook can just have him thrown in a dungeon for being overprotective and jealous.”

“The royal palace doesn’t have dungeons, but they do have a series of interrogation rooms on the third lower level,” you inform her. You did a project on the history and architecture of the royal palace in tenth grade—and Nel really wouldn’t care, he knows where he stands, just like you do.

“How do you just know that!”

Yuri didn’t know you in highschool and you used that to your advantage every single time you could, laughing bright and loud.

She starts dragging you down the walkway again, a habit of hers. Like she’s worried you’ll try to slip away if she isn’t forcing you where she wants you to be.

It’s a good instinct on her part.

You're nearly there, so you focus more on the trees just starting to turn colours overhead, casting slightly pigmented shadows on the ground. Fall is just starting to creep up on the heels of summer, the days of sunscreen and chlorine slowly being replaced by pumpkin spice and crisp apples.

She sits exactly where she wanted too, and you plop beside her, glad you’re wearing a light sweater and tights. They are just warm enough to keep the slight breeze from giving you chills, but also keep your legs from sticking to the plastic seats.

For such an expensive school to go to you’d think they’d have better assembly furniture.

You notice a news camera off in the distance and suddenly understand the empty front seats. No one wants to publicly embarrass themselves on national television from seeing the prince, rewindable and replayable, forever seared into the internet.

It’s times like these you’re happy you’ve never been one to get starstruck. They’re all just people, why be shocked or surprised when they exist near you?

Opening up your books on your lap, you figure you can kill the next ten minutes in a productive way, considering what happened to your original plans for the mid morning.

And as you do, you feel the seats around you begin to fill, not a single one empty by the time the event starts. Not even the ones up front.

A jerked movement catches your eyes and you see that two seats closer to the pedestal from Yuri is Adaline.

Great.

Adaline Dupree is basically a princess from the Eastern Shores. ‘Basically’ because she’s not, but she certainly acts like she is. A fake princess, an even bigger royalty hunter than your best friend and your not so secret arch nemesis.

She’s in your fine arts classes—all of them, unfortunately—her proper title being ‘Duchess of…’ some province you never bothered to learn the name of, and she’s one of the most well known people on campus.

Tall, with beautiful blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles, a slim figure and quite the socialite. You’re surprised she went into fine arts and not modeling. She’s got the ego part of the job down pat.

Good for her for being pretty. But anyone could be beautiful on the outside with enough money and a surgeon. That’s not why you considered her your nemesis, you don’t give a shit about any of that.

She was your nemesis in the academic world. Because not only was she beautiful, she was also brilliant at her craft.

Which happened to also be your craft, and it pissed you off to no end.

Where you were first, she was second and where she was first, you were second. Always neck in neck with one another, always trying to one up each other.

You only considered yourself better than her because unlike her, you hoped at least, Adaline was a complete and total bitch. She took what she wanted without remorse and she wasn’t above sabotage to get it.

You learned that the hard way in your first year. And you’ve always wondered if that was her privileged upbringing speaking or if she’s just like that naturally, so unused to not getting what she wanted that she’d take it.

Therefore, it is of absolutely no shock to you that she’s sitting as close as she possibly can to where the prince will be standing. Directly in front of the pedestal at the base of the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

A door opens to your right followed by a couple screams, and you can only assume the man of the hour has arrived. A red camera light flicks on in your peripheral vision and you take that as your confirmation and cue to close your books.

The Dean of Schools, a few advisor looking people, a good handful of terrifyingly large security guards, and a head of black hair you conclude to be the prince all make their way towards their destination.

A smirk graces your face at all the girls batting eyelashes or screaming his name, as if that would get his attention. You’re about to mention that exact thought to Yuri, but you notice her eyelashes looking awfully similar to those around you and can’t help failing to stifle a laugh.

She catches it. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say. “You might just want to pick your jaw up off the ground.”

Her response gets cut off when a voice comes over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for such a warm welcome,” says the Dean, calm and assured. She knew exactly the welcome they'd receive. “I’ll keep my introduction short. Today, I present to you not only the newest addition to The Royal Academy of Business and Fine Arts, but the future King of our great nation. He has requested to formally address the student body before he starts classes this fall semester, so without further adieu: His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook.”

Riigghht. Did you mention he was the prince of the country you’re living in?

Well…he is.

The crowd soars in volume once more, a couple “I love you’s” thrown in for good measure as the prince steps up and you zone out.

From your angle, you can see his whole body from the side, and that even though he’s holding cue cards, he doesn’t use them, placing them face down on the pedestal.

His dark hair is swept back in a suave styling and he’s wearing a simple navy long sleeve button up, black dress pants and matching leather shoes.

The outfit makes him look ever so princely and very much not like a student. More like one of the faculty.

However, what you don’t expect are the small patches of ink on his arm peeking out of his right sleeve. Or just how tight the clothes he wears are on his apparently very muscular form.

You remember Yuri’s words from earlier, only now registering. You knew he had muscles, no one ever shut up about them. But seeing them in person… wow.

You kind of want to sketch him—for anatomy practice, of course.

The prince begins his address to the crowd and an eerie silence replaces the roars from earlier. You take a quick look around and notice that not one person isn’t completely transfixed on him. Even the dean can’t keep her eyes off him.

You give him credit for not balking under the intense gazes of literally everyone. You know you sure as hell would have, never being one to like being the center of attention. At least, not like this.

You clue into his speech as you look back at him. He’s talking about how he found himself as a teenager thinking of what he wanted his future to look like and what he wanted to do with his schooling, which is not only why he took a couple years to explore the continent before enrolling, but why he will be doing a major and a minor at the school.

One for his career, and one for his heart.

You won’t admit to yourself that the sentiment very closely resonates with you.

He continues.

“All that said, I asked to address you all today for one very simple reason, being that, for my time here at the academy, I wish to be treated like any other student. I am not unaware of my celebrity and how I am seen to the outside world. It is not lost on me my place in the world and who I am to become. I know for some that it may be… difficult to see me for anything other than who I am, and this is why I ask you humbly, just for the short while that I’m here, you all treat me no differently than you already do one another,” he pauses for a moment. “I extend my request most deeply to those who will be studying alongside me in my business administration major and photography minor, as I don’t want it to affect my studies.”

Yuri slaps her hand down onto your leg causing you to jerk forward and you clamor to not drop any of your books. Business administration is her major. Her parents want her to take over the family biz after school.

That was probably why she partied so much. Living as much as she can before being thrust into a job she doesn’t want for the rest of her life.

Pity creeps back up your throat at the thought.

Jungkook notices your jerking movement, but only for a second. His eyes meet yours and you hope yours convey ‘sorry for interrupting’.

You may not care about him, but just like him you are not unaware of his status in the world outside the walls of your school.

Yuri, of course, thinks he’s looking at her and not only does her grip on your leg tighten to the point of circulation cut off, she returns to her earlier routine of batting her eyelashes.

You roll your eyes away from her sight, but unbeknownst to you, well within the gaze of Jungkook.

He suppresses a smile at your response to your friend's clear attempts to gain his attention.

You, on the other hand, seem indifferent to him. He has the entire student body watching his every move with hawk-like precision, enraptured. Normal, for him.

But you?

You just seem to… not care. Like he wasn’t anyone special. Like the word in front of his name meant nothing.

And if it wasn't the most freeing feeling he’s felt in a long time.

“Thank you so much for your time, and I’ll see you all around campus,” he finishes before stepping down, security wrapping around him again until he’s barely visible. The dean pops up to conclude the gathering but you aren’t paying attention anymore, too busy trying to peel Yuri’s hand off your thigh.

“Yuri, retract the claws please!” you whisper-yell to your friend. And she does in fact, retract instantly.

“Shit, sorry. My brain is running a million miles a minute,” she says as she pinches herself, shaking her head and smiling. “I’m three years ahead of him in his major. His major YN! But he’s still older than us, which is so hot. I'm so glad he did that tour in the east and whatever else that kept him back for a couple years, it makes this whole situation even better,” you start to worry at the look in her eye as she continues.

“What if he needs a tutor? What if I become his tutor, and we fall in love like a cliche romance movie. I could be the future queen. YN, this could actually happen for me. I could actually get the prince, it’s not some wild dream anymore. I could talk to him and he would talk back and this could happen.”

You can feel that she’ll just keep spiraling, nothing being able to stop her train of thought at this point, so you try your best to at least have her do her thinking in her head.

“Maybe! I wish you nothing but luck!” And you mean it. You don’t think it will happen the way she does, but you never know. And you don’t want to give her false hope.

You’ve always been the realist to Yuri’s optimist.

With the assembly over, most of the crowd files out of the courtyard quickly, prior plans calling to them or classes starting soon.

Only a few stragglers are left behind. You and Yuri are two of them, as well as Adaline, and a couple more you don’t know.

Security starts to spread out and you watch as Jungkook makes his way to the people farthest from you, much to their delight.

It’s a group of guys, all of whom look muscular enough to be varsity athletes. Maybe Jungkook will want to do sports while he’s here. You know that he’s an accomplished rugby player, greatly to his fathers dismay, but to the pleasure of anyone who has about $10 and has access to magazines or wifi.

“Oh my god he’s making his way over. Do. Not. Move. I want him to come to us,” Yuri says, forcing you to stay in your spot. It would be fruitless to try anything anyway. Another lesson you learned the hard way in first year.

She starts fluffing her hair and asking you to check her teeth. You do. She’s in the clear.

Unfortunately, you two would most likely be the last people he greeted, so you had to watch as he made his way down the line of people.

He greets the guys with a handshake and a clap to the back, and the girls with a kiss to the top of the hand.

One thing you notice as he meets more and more people is that everyone still calls him ‘prince’ or ‘your highness.’

It’s automatic for them, they’re not even thinking twice about it, but it’s also completely besides the point of half of his whole speech. He wanted to be treated like everybody else.

It especially irked you when it was Adaline’s turn and she put on her most feminine, formal, and ridiculously overly flirty, “Hello, Prince Jungkook,” before curtseying, blasting her full facade of charm and courteousness.

Ever the dainty, prim and proper duchess, she’s all small laughs and less than subtle flirting, never impolite, and never speaking out of turn.

You wanted to gag, and you’re quite sure that’s exactly what your face conveyed. But Jungkook smiles wide for her, and is as kind to her as he was to everyone else prior. He even flirts back a little bit.

Yeah, you definitely want to gag. What a match those two would make.

But just as soon as he greets Adaline and her friend, he politely steps away and moves on to you and Yuri.

“Hello ladies, what might your names be?” he asks ever so formally.

You gently laugh at being called a lady and Yuri shoots you a look. Jungkook doesn’t appear to take offense though.

“Hello, your highness!” Yuri chirps in the most ‘I'm trying to flirt but trying to not sound like I’m flirting’ voice you’ve ever heard her use. “My name is Yuri Yeun, and I’m actually a business admin major too, just a few years ahead.”

Jungkook lifts her hand to his mouth, giving it a light kiss and she looks like she’s about to explode.

“It’s lovely to meet you Yuri, I’ll look forward to seeing you around the halls,” he says in the same tone he’s used for everyone else. He’s about to face you, but Yuri cuts in quickly.

“If you ever need any help with your studies, just let me know. I’d be happy to help you with anything you might need help with. Having already been through it, I may be able to give a students insight versus a professors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. Thank you for your generosity.” Again that same tone, you mentally dub it his ‘greeting the public like the ever so good royal I am’ voice.

He turns to you and extends his hand for yours.

You reach for it, twisting it so that instead of a hand turned upright to be kissed, it’s a regular handshake. If he wanted to be treated like anyone else here, you sure as hell were going to.

“I’m YN, it’s nice to meet you Jungkook.” At the mention of his name untitled, he pauses, eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not a bad pause, just a surprised one. And by the looks of the small smile on his face, a good one.

Yuri's eyes, on the other hand, almost bug out of her skull at your informal greeting.

“Likewise,” he manages to get out, completely unlike his usually composed self.

You're the only one who hasn’t addressed him with his title, and it’s the most like him he’s ever felt.

Twice in one day—in one hour—you’ve managed to make him feel more human and more like himself than he ever has. With your distinct indifference to him of all things.

Jungkook decides then and there he’s very sure he wants more of it in his life.

He still hasn’t stopped shaking your hand, and you don’t know why that’s the only thing you can focus on. His hand is firm and calloused, the kind that can only be built over years of hard work.

Releasing you the second you think it, he looks as if he hadn’t realized he was still holding on too.

Quick to step back into his princely role, Jungkook says, “Pardon my forwardness, but I just have to say that the two of you are beautiful, and that it’s been lovely to meet you both.”

You swear you see Yuri’s soul ascend from her body at his words. “Thank you, Your Highness! That means so much coming from someone as well met as yourself,” she nearly fawns, and you roll your eyes out of her sight for the second time today.

And for the second time today, Jungkook does not let the gesture go unnoticed. How you hold no fear in showing how you feel in front of others, even those you’ve just met. As if it holds no consequence.

It doesn’t for you, he realizes.

You can freely show how you feel without worry of anyone over-analyzing your every facial tic. No fear that a slight misuse of a lip quirk or eyebrow raise could give away national secrets or offend a visiting diplomat.

He envies you for it. For having that freedom he so rarely does.

“You’re most welcome, Yuri. I’m glad you hold my opinion in such high regard.” He flashes her that well practiced bright smile and you already know what she won’t be shutting up about it anytime soon.

“I’ve always been told I have my fathers bone structure but my mothers beauty. I’ll be sure to let them know their Prince thinks the combination is worth complimenting,” you respond, not braggadocious or sarcastic in the slightest.

You know it would make your mom so proud to hear the future king found you pretty, even if you knew the compliment was given to every girl here.

Your father wasn’t in the picture, but that didn’t matter and the prince didn’t need to know.

“I hope they won’t mind a stranger's compliment on their daughter then,” Jungkook says, ducking his head slightly and giving you a smaller smile.

This one felt genuine, like he wanted to hold it back but couldn’t. So you return a small one of your own, to let him know this was an even exchange. You may not feel any type of way about the prince, but you were raised to be kind.

“Any praise for their daughter from the future King would be welcomed any day, I’m sure,” Yuri cuts back in, killing his smile along with it.

You’re sad to see it go.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he responds, princely public persona back on. Stupid flashy smile back on. “What will you two be heading off to do now?”

“What I wanted to be doing for the last half hour in the first place before being hauled down here by this one,” you point a thumb at Yuri. “Finishing my study hour at the library,” you add quickly, before Yuri can get out her answer. You almost wish you hadn't because the hand that had your thigh in a death grip earlier now only somewhat playfully swats your shoulder.

“YN!”

“What!? I’m just being honest. He wants to be treated like anyone else right? That comes with people being honest to you instead of glazing over their answers with pretty little white lies to appease you.”

Yuri looks ready to rip you a new one, but she’s cut off again before she can open her mouth. This time by the prince.

“No, no it’s okay,” Jungkook says before she can swat you again. She stops mid swing at his words, eyes as wide as saucers at being stopped. “YN’s right, I appreciate the honesty, and I apologize for the interruption. I hope your studies will not be too greatly affected because of it.”

“Guess we’ll find out during midterm season,” you say with a smirk that turns into a genuine smile as you see Jungkook look panicked, like he actually thinks he messed up your education by disturbing your study session.

Relief quickly replaces the panic when he sees your smile and realises it was a joke.

Being treated like a regular person also meant being joked with at their expense, and he takes it in stride as his small smile from earlier makes a comeback.

“Well I have class in half an hour,” Yuri says, finally answering his question, “So probably grabbing a coffee from the cafe near the biz-admin building… I could show you if you want?”

“That sounds great actually, I’m still trying to figure out where everything is.”

“Great! Let’s go.”

Jungkook, ever the gentleman, lifts an arm for her to take and you watch them walk off, Yuri absolutely beaming as she glances back at you. You give her a thumbs up before collecting your books and heading back in the direction of the library.

Chapter Two: Unknown Numbers and Sharp Tongues

A/N 2: and so it begins.

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dragoncat223 · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple of days. A more mature Scooby-Doo series can be done, and it can be done well. I’ve seen a lot of proposals for an adult Scooby-Doo series, so here’s mine.

Fred doesn’t have family. His parents change from series to series. The only consistent thing about Fred’s family is that it is uncertain, so it starts like this: Something strange and unexplained happened to Fred’s parents when he was a child. He was five years old and ever since he’s been filled with only questions. So he grows up with a curiosity that can never be satisfied. He goes to college, and gets a degree in physics. All the moving parts of any kind of machine is have always fascinated him. As a little ten year old he’d stand for hours in Krispy Kreme watching the machine that makes the donuts. So he’s an inventor. His pride and joy is his old van he paid $100 for an fixed up himself.

The Blakes are old money. They haven’t known financial insecurity since the 1610s. So they’ve got houses, and planes, and helicopters, and cars. Old cars. But the head of the family, (picks name out of hat) Robert “Dick” Blake has no idea how to take care of them. He’s a business man. He finds Fred Jones, a genius mechanic, and hires him on the spot.

Now, Dick loves his daughters dearly. All six of them. He’s been grooming his oldest to take over the company when he retires. Unfortunately that means he gets to spend less and less time with his other daughters to the point where his youngest daughter, Daphne, only gets to see him on holidays and her birthday (he’s trying, he really is). But Daphne is fine with that. After being raised in the lap of luxury, silver spoon in her mouth, she has had access to almost every hobby imaginable. She got excellent grades at her fancy private schools, and in her free time she did Karate, Boxing, Kick boxing, Mixed Martial arts, gymnastics, Ballet, tap dancing, tennis, basketball, soccer, volley ball, skiing, knitting, crochet, baking, embroidery, sewing, synchronized swimming, you name it, she’s done it. She graduated college with a degree in marketing she didn’t really want, wondering what she was going to do with her life. So, she wonders into the garage one day and discovers Fred working on a car. So she asks him about it. She listens and she learns. Eventually, they stop talking about cars. Daphne asks about Fred’s inventions and Fred asks about Daphne’s hobbies. They are fast friends and once they get close enough, Fred tells Daphne about his parents. Daphne immediately pledges to help her friend (and now secret crush) figure out what happened to his parents.

Velma is Daphne’s genius best friend. They were roommates in college. The building Velma had all her lab classes in had Daphne’s last name on it. Velma worked hard to get her scholarship for her forensic chemistry degree, and she was not going to let some spoiled, rich, daddy’s girl, ruin it for her. But one night Velma was walking back to her dorm after dark. Everyone knows to be wary on a college campus after dark, but Velma had just studied her brain into mush. She got cornered by some drunk asshole. Velma in her fear and panic, froze. Her voice wouldn’t work, and she feared for her life, when suddenly, the guy gets punched in the face. By Daphne. The guy crumples to the ground, Daphne grabs Velma by the wrist, and they don’t stop running until they are safely back in their dorm. Velma never doubts her again.

Now, for all their skills and knowledge, none of the three of them, know how to cook. Which is where Shaggy and Scooby come in. I saw someone (on Twitter, I think) say that Shaggy could have diabetes (I don’t know anything about diabetes so I am really sorry about any inaccuracies) and Scooby is Shaggy’s low blood sugar alert dog. I really like the idea that Shaggy is a licensed dietitian, and the only one who knows how to cook. After every case, shaggy herds them all back home and makes a nice, home cooked meal for everyone. Lasagna, stir fry, curry, soup, idk food.

Shaggy is Fred’s roommate, after college. They have a deal, Shaggy cooks, Fred cleans.

In my mind, Scooby starts off as a normal dog. On the gang’s very first case together, they encounter the series’ over all villain, or maybe the first villain they face is an actual witch or something I don’t know, but this witch is caught and tries to put a curse on the gang, but it hits Scooby instead, and now he’s a talking dog. He’s still very much Shaggy’s alert dog, but I like to think he becomes concerned with everyone’s health at least a little bit. They do all that running around, and all these mysteries they solve are very high stress, so he likes to make sure they get plenty of rest.

I’m not really sure about their first case, but I think every episode would start with a grizzly murder. We are using the R rating for blood and guts and bones and death. Not sex or nudity. And Fred is the only one who gets to swear.

Now, Daphne is the one that talks to clients. If they’re particularly shaken up, Shaggy will make them a hot drink and maybe give them a blanket.

I call it Scooby Doo: Private Investigators

I have more thoughts about this, so if you want to know more please ask!!

#scooby doo #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #velma dinkley #shaggy and scooby #Scooby Doo PI

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kaitlynpcallmebeepme · 2 years

Text

Late Night Talking

Damian Wayne x Reader

Idea: Damian wayne x reader where he gets kicked on her fire escape and knocked out. She takes him in and tries to patch him up. His brothers get scared about his disappearance and go to find him not wanting to leave her company (she could be wanting to be a veterinarian and he's listening to her talk about cow's 4 stomachs (completely Dr. Pol knowledge, not actual veterinarian knowledge))

Requested: Nope.

Author’s Note: I tried to start this during my night shift, but I'm really tired right now and I work again tonight, so I need sleep (I ended up finishing this about a month later). This is Reader POV most of the time. Both reader and Damian are about 16, but I’m still thinking of the art and costume style of the Batman vs Robin animated movie instead of JDL: Apokolips War Damian. Family dynamics are based on the Batman: Wayne Family Adventures Webtoon series where they all have a somewhat working relationship. I have ideas in the works, but requests are still OPEN. Feedback is always appreciated, especially since I don’t know if I characterized Damian correctly. Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new.

Warning: Injuries and blood mentioned, Veterinarian knowledge (that’s completely Dr. Pol based, should not be used for any factual diagnosis), a shirtless Damian, the Batfam crashing the party (although you only hear Batman and Nightwing talk), tell me if I missed any warnings

Word Count: 2,111

Curled underneath a cave of blankets, I was reading Murder on the Orient Express for the ten billionth time. Snow was falling outside of my room in Gotham, building up a layer on top of the fire escape outside of my window. I needed a break from reading all of my other Veterinarian books. I haven’t even applied to any college for undergrad much less to be a Veterinarian yet, but if I was going to get an internship somewhere before school, then I wasn’t going to limit the animals that I worked on. I’m currently reading about a cow's four stomachs.

**THUD**

What the fuck was that. It sounded like something dead hit my window, but louder. It better not be another bat. I got in trouble from my parents trying to help one that was almost dead on my fire escape. I put down my book, grabbed a baseball bat I kept by my bed for intruders, and made my way toward my window. When I opened the blinds, there was this dark limp figure spread out over my fire escape. Through the darkness I could make out an R in a lighter color on his chest. Robin. Wow, Robin is almost dead on my fire escape. I opened the window and tried to assess what I could of his current condition. A sword layed next to him and his face was cut and bruised up with a pretty bad one around his eye as the snowflakes started to cover his unmoving long eyelashes. I poked his ribs with the end of my bat. He groaned in pain. Well he wasn’t dead, at least that’s good. Figuring it was a better idea to have Batman and Robin on my good side, even though I couldn’t think of a reason I would be on their bad side, I decided to help the injured boy instead of leaving him vulnerable to the jaws of Gotham.

I grabbed Robin’s wrists, hoping that they were not broken, and started to drag him into my room. He groaned out of pain every time I pulled, but he didn’t fight me. Probably didn’t have the energy anymore. I needed to figure out why he was so weak. I picked him up as best as I could with my weak arms and laid him on my bed. I didn’t care if he got my sheets bloody, they would wash out. I quickly went back to the window, whipped all the snow off my balcony so no one suspected anything, shut my window, latched it, and closed my blinds. No one is seeing this vulnerable Robin. The city needs him and the rest of the Batman group to be strong and fearless.

I looked at the rise and fall of his chest, ok he’s breathing. No hugely bleeding spots that I can see, but I’m not sure if he’s going to let me take off his suit to get a really good look. I slowly move my hand toward his neck, but retract it before I can get too close. Best to try to see if he’s awake now and establish at least a working relationship.

“Robin.”

“What?” He didn’t sound confused, so that’s good. He kinda sounded like he was giving me the cold shoulder, but I’m not going to take it too personal. He probably had a rough night.

“Ok, well, my name is Y/n. I’m not going to hurt you or fight you. You landed on my balcony half dead and really hurt. I’m not going to force you to do anything, but is it okay if I take off your suit or parts of it to make sure you’re not extremely hurt or bleeding anywhere else?”

“No.” I was expecting that. “You’re asking me to drop my guard and be a defenseless civilian.”

“First of all, even in your REALLY battered state right now, I’m pretty sure you could kick my ass if you wanted to, not gonna to lie. Second of all, would anyone who’s trying to help you hurt you?” That was probably a stupid question. He’s probably been double crossed countless times.

“In my line of work. Yes.” Figured.

“Okay, it’s your choice to bleed out if I can’t figure out if you’re bleeding at all.” I picked up whatever book was closest. Dang it, some of his blood got on the cover. Well, it made Murder on the Orient Express more murderous. I just kept reading my book on the floor. He could leave if he wanted to. I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t even turn when I heard him grunting through the pain and rustling my bedspread. I thought I was going to hear his boots hitting the ground next to me to make his way out of my room, but that’s not what I heard at all. It sounded like the clicks of a keyboard and then the sound of metal hitting each other and the soft thud of it hitting my bedspread. I turned to look up at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his chest plate armor off along with his cape/hood, but his domino mask was still on. That would be enough. His chest was littered with old white scars, purple and green bruises at different stages of healing, and some new red cuts that he probably got tonight. I put my book back down and grabbed some exam gloves while he heaves himself to lay back on my bed. “Anywhere you’re super concerned about?” Figured it would be better to ask. I’m pretty sure he hurts all over, but I couldn’t tell that, and I currently can’t see any gushing blood on his skin. Just some pretty purple bruises that scored his ribs, some small but long cuts that were bleeding near the top of his chest, and a couple of white scars painted his lower abdomen. For someone you assumed who’s been through a lot to be his age and fighting with Batman, he didn’t look too bad. He shook his head no at me.

I left him on my bed and returned with a small bar soap and a small plastic bucket, which I use to shave my legs with, filled with tempered water, and a couple washcloths.

I got the washcloths wet and dabbed them on the soap so it wouldn’t sting his cuts too badly, but clean his slightly dark skin so there would be a less chance of infection. I kept looking up at his eyes. His emerald green eyes. Part of my brain wants to look at his eyes just for pleasure and the other wants to make sure his nervous system is okay.

“Why do you keep staring at my eyes? Do I look that bad?” Even though his facial expression was completely serious, I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. I decided to play it safe and repeat the first logical thing that came to my head.

“Well, I’m watching the skin behind your eyes because I don’t know what other people hit you over the head tonight. So if the skin behind your eyes turns black, also called racoon eyes, it could mean you had severe head trauma and your cerebrospinal fluid, which is the fluid surrounding your brain and spinal cord, is leaking and you need way more care than I could provide. You would need a hospital at that point.” His facial expression to me couldn’t tell whether to be impressed or offended.

“You seem too young to be a doctor.”

“You seem to young to be Batman.” Damn my big mouth. I was SURE he was going to march out of my room. He did stare at me with an ‘if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under’ look. Better try to explain myself quickly. “Both of my parents are ICU doctors who specialize in trauma, and since I want to be a Veterinarian, some of their knowledge rubs off on me.”

I tried to avoid his eye contact after that because I couldn’t tell whether I was on his good side or not. I couldn’t do much with my limited current skill, but I squeezed his skin together to make the skin as close together as possible before I put some gauze and bandages over them, which were Superman bandaids ok, don’t judge me. I look up at him while finishing my work to find his deep emerald eyes focusing behind me where my books lay. I turned over my shoulder to find him staring at my Veterinarian book.

“You like animals, because you keep staring at my Vet book?”

“They’re nicer than people sometimes and that’s the reason why I’m a vegetarian now.” You’re just glad the thick air between the two of you has broken. He was actually becoming a better person to talk to.

“You just gotta make sure you replace your nutritional intake that you would have gotten from meat. That’s the main mistake people make when going vegan is they become too deficient in protein.”

“Why do you want to be a Vet, may I ask?” I sat next to him on my bed as I was done patching him up and we were just talking like old friends at this moment.

“Animals are just so complex it’s really cool. For instance, cows have four stomachs and if they have gas trapped in their 4th stomach, how you fix it is you twist their head so their sense of balance gets off, roll them on their back, listen for the stomach which would sound like a balloon, sew it to the belly wall, then roll them right side up so the stomach stays in the correct place.”

“I actually have a cow that I rescued from a slaughterhouse.” He shared this fact before thinking that maybe he shouldn’t mention it. What was she doing to me?

“WOW Really?!?! I mean, I don’t think you would let me see them because that would reveal your identity, but that’s still really cool.”

**BANG!!**

A noise of someone landing not so gently on my fire escape silenced the room. Robin put his finger to his lips and I nodded in response not wanting to move or make a sound.

He silently got off my bed and crept over to the window, making sure to stay crouched out of sight. He slowly moved the curtain to peek through the glass. After a moment he threw open the window.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your tracker was off and you weren't answering any of your calls. We tracked your last location to around here and found the balcony with significantly less snow on it figuring you had to go into hiding.” Ok that HAD to be Batman, there was no way that deep scary voice wasn’t him. Even though you haven’t had any interaction with him before, and you’d like to keep it that way, that’s just what you’d imagine him sounding like.

“Who you got in there birdie that you had to take your shirt off for?” Ok this was a completely less mature voice than Batman. I suspect it’s one of the other and maybe former robins, but I couldn’t tell which one without being able to look out the window.

“I didn’t want to leave her company. I’ll be out in a sec.” Robin closed the window with more force than you think he intended.

“So there IS a SHE! We were scared you were dead again.” You heard muffled through the window glass and THAT you couldn’t help but laugh at.

I picked up Robin’s suit as he turned back towards me and I helped him get it on without messing up my stitching job too much. As the final pieces of his hood came on and he picked up his sword, he turned towards me in the darkness of my room.

“So this is goodbye I guess.” I say with only a little sadness behind it. I mean, what else am I supposed to think. He landed on my balcony by accident. He has no obligation to me, nor would I think he would want an obligation.

“Don’t be certain of that beloved.” Woah, I like that nickname. “I might just crash on your balcony on purpose next time.” He said with a smirk. He turned and opened my window and left without a trace. Well, not exactly, because I heard multiple metal clanks of the fire escapes from multiple people jumping on them. Maybe tonight wasn’t the worst night to get lost in a book.

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genericpuff · 2 months

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Heya!! just wanted to say I'm totally in love with your work and with how are you rewriting their story, I'm so happy I found this.

Is just... idk how to put it but I used to like LO when I was younger and kinda binged it in a couple days, y'know? Now I'm re-reading it as I'm older and I'm like "wtf is this". Might sound silly but is kind of a heartbreak, something I used to like and now I just realize how... not good is it in reality.

So reading this makes me really, really happy. Your work is amazing and is dripping PASSION and love from it and I just love that.

Also- on another note: i read in a couple of chapters that there's a discord?? for some reason the link doesn't work, do you happen to have another one? or is the discord closed for now?

Aaaahhh thanks so much! (｡・//ε//・｡) I feel like every time there's a new update a new flood of people discover it and idk, it just makes me really happy to see so many of y'all enjoying it, I'm having a really great time making it and seeing all the great feedback and reception and comments just makes it even more fun <3

I can definitely share that feeling with how it feels now to go back and reread LO, it's just not the same anymore. I wasn't even that young when I picked it up (grand scheme, yes, but not compared to the folks who picked it up when they were in high school, I was well out of college by the time I started reading it, so like... early-to-mid 20's?) but I was still admittedly pretty naive at the time and rarely noticed the red flags from the start; and when I did, I just brushed them off or went "I'm sure Rachel has something planned for that" which, unfortunately, she never really did in the long run (it took until the trial arc for me to go "oh god I don't think Rachel planned this out" and that's when the rose-colored glasses started to fall off lol)

I made Rekindled for exactly that purpose, to recapture that magical feeling of reading LO for the first time, just like it was for me and many others who shared the same experience back then. It's also really gotten me out of my stubborn ass comfort zone, I've learned so many new art techniques making it and the plot that I chose to go with is one that I adore writing because it's not far from the stuff I normally write (the original foundation for the Act of Wrath plot was the biggest one I wanted to retell because so much of it resonated with me as someone who's written plotlines similar to it in the past).

We do have a Discord! Just note that I always set temporary memberships to invites so pick yourself out a role as soon as you have access otherwise you'll get kicked after a bit ;0 Hope to see you in there!! Thanks so much again for the kind words ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical #lore rekindled #lore rekindled comic #lore rekindled ama

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mrghostrat · 5 months

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The only thing on my mind lately has been your absolutely amazing streamer au and how I just know damn well that The Them (now being older and getting into streaming as well) are little chaos gremlins and occasionally Crowley does streams w them. (Anathema also definitely hops on with them occasionally bc she misses them and just sits in calls on discord or even just plays silently in games while typing her response to them on discord off stream) They definitely all play jackbox together on weekends and fortnite and valorant or like some lawless minecraft server like 2b2t almost. (Crowley doesn’t really know how to play mc but The Them are trying to teach him lol) They do the most heinous crimes on any server they play on in any game they can get their grubby hands on (they love sea of thieves) but also have like chill days where they have like a really nice Raft server and their own modded mc server but none of them are very good at keeping things totally calm so streams on chill days always end in chaos anyways. Silly little rambles sorry abt that! But I just know the Them being young adults now would definitely be streamers too. Crowley probably wouldn’t stream with them too often but in my head that’s what The Them are up to as well in this au:)

im always kicking my feet and absolutely squealing every time I remember the streamer au. Your art, writing, and ideas are absolutely fantastic and a seriously great part of my day when i read ur posts. I can’t wait to spend my entire holiday break from college just reading ur current fic and getting even more hype for streamer and fandom au.

thank you for your services to this deranged and truly feral fandom. As a twitch enjoyer, i am feeling so seen and heard w the streamer au bc i know I’d definitely be in their chats going neurotic!!!!! I simply cannot get enough of ur work!!! ehehehehehhagahage ur so cool keep at it:))

YES YES YES!! and did i mention YES!!! this is a perfect Them and i'm LOSTTTTT thinkin about old man crowley, as modern and up to date as he is, needing a bunch of kids to tell him you don't attack zombies with your pickaxe

thank you for being so sweet and sharing this with me omg 😭 i'm having the best time talkin about my silly fixations and collaborating with so many enthusiastic askers. i hope you like my fics!! (and best of luck getting through classes!!!)

#ineffable streamers #fun rat fact: Why Not is my favourite line in the whole damn show thpfhthudhksha #ask a rat

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beloveddawn-blog · 4 days

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Nine people to get to know

Thanks to @leahnardo-da-veggie for tagging me! I did this a bit ago, but have no trouble doing it again!

Last song: San Quentin by Nickleback. I know there was at least one other song on after that on the drive home, but that was what I had turned up.

Favourite Colour: red, bright and bold. It washes me out badly though, so blue or purple for wearing

Currently watching: still Sailor Moon R. We're out of the Doom Tree arc, but life has been kicking mine and coffeeangelinabox's asses and we haven't been consistent with the actual watching of things on movie night

Favourite flavour: pistachio or saskatoon

Current Obsession: pokemon. I bought Sword secondhand when my neices decided they were into it (I got them Sheild for Christmas) and now I'm at the point where I'm hassling my sister about them getting leveled up so I can get those goddamn exclusives and complete my pokedex.

Last thing I googled: Avril Lavigne's age when her career started

Favourite season: fall. I love the way leaves crunch, and I can wear my collection of awesome hoodies/light jackets everywhere. Mostly though by the time a season changes I'm bored of it anyway and am looking forward to the next.

Skill I'd like to learn: Sewing or art. I can do basics of both, but I'd like to get good at them. That, however, entirely depends on time and I usually don't prioritize them enough for that.

Best Advice: Please and Thank you for everything. My Dad gave me a great object lesson in this by being a petty-ass jerk to a rude and entitled student and the college he worked at, and it's served me well. I'm a crew lead at my own job and I cannot overemphasize the difference it makes in my team when I thank them earnestly for doing the things they're supposed to do anyway. They work harder, look for ways to help, and are generally much more chill and happier when they feel valued.

If I tagged you last time, sorry. If I haven't tagged you at all but you want to play, sorry for that too and feel free to join in! @slimylittlemaggot @messy-jaxx @mitchell-nihil @poetinlovewithflowersonhisgrave @stesierra @squarebracket-trickster @minnieposting @artistvicky @mageofcolors

#tag game

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offbrandkyoya · 5 months

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74 Better luck next time

previous | masterlist | next

With your boyfriend and friends touring around the world, you are all alone. You kept yourself busy with college work and the art competition. You even went to hang with Lumine like olds times. However, it didn’t feel right. You miss the boys, you miss Scaramouche.

You let out a long sigh and laid your head on the table. You’re at the twins place and eating dinner with Lumine. The blonde raises a brow, “Now what?” “I miss my boyfriend…” You pout and she hits your head with her fist. “You’ll see him soon! Now eat or I’ll feed it to the rats outside!” You rubbed your head before taking a nibble of your food.

“Why don’t you call him?” She suggests but that just makes you even more sad. “I’ve tried like a hundred times but he’s busy. I’ve left him almost a 100 voicemails!” Lumine shakes her head. “Yn, you’re miserable.” You frown, “It’s true love!” Lumine gives you a look of sympathy. “I know this might sound mean but if you can’t handle being away from Scaramouche then maybe you should take some time away from him.” You sit up properly with a confused expression.

“Take some time away? You mean I should break up with him?” Lumina nods slowly and your brows furrowed. “I’m not going to do that! I’ll be okay. WE’RE okay! Everything’s perfect. He’s just…really super…duper….busy…….” Your voice fades and Lumine sighs, “I don’t know, Yn. I’m worried for you. You’re always so sad. Long distance isn’t for everyone you know so don’t force yourself to do this. I’m sure Scaramouche will understand.” You abruptly stand up causing her to flinch.

“Thank you for the food, Lumine but I’m going to head home.” “Yn-“ You grab your coat and dash out the door in tears. ‘She doesn’t get it. She’s never been in love.’ You get in your car and sit there for awhile. The thought of breaking up with Scaramouche makes you shiver. You can’t do that. He needs you, he needs you a lot. You begin to drive back to your apartment. Once arriving, you enter your home, and head straight to your bedroom.

You kick your shoes off and plopped right onto your bed. You lay there, staring at your ceiling. “I love you, Scaramouche.” You say out loud. How can you break up with him when he’s already told you he loves you? So what, you guys are a million ways apart? You’re in love! You wiped your eyes, ‘Does Scara think the same?’

You take out your phone and scroll through your Twitter feed. So many fancams of the guys that it’s kind of making you uncomfortable. There’s one thing you didn’t like and it was seeing Xiao with his broken leg. You’re still pissed he was forced to perform but there is nothing you can do. You liked almost all of Scaramouche’s fancams but not so much that it’s suspicious. Your heart flutters seeing his pretty face and you smile. You couldn’t wait to see them live.

Unfortunately, you don’t have enough to buy a ticket. You’re kind of poor and tours are expensive. You barely made it on their last one and it ended up a shit show. You lay your phone on your chest and sigh. “I’m tired.” Your phone starts to vibrate and you see the caller ID. “Albedo? He must’ve ran out of paint.” You stay in your position and answer, “Hello?” But you were met with panic coming from the man’s voice. “Yn, please come. Right now.” You sit up, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

Hurriedly, you left your home again and decided you’d run to the building where the art competition is at. You didn’t know what happened but hearing Albedos frighten voice made you worry. You see the building and sped up a bit more. You were out of breathe but you didn’t stop running. You slam the door open, “Albedo! What’s wrong-“ You froze. You stand there in disbelief and anguish. Albedo stood next to you in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Yn. I-“ You started to walk slowly to your painting, pushing pass the crowd that huddled over it.

You wished this was a dream but it wasn’t. Your painting that you’ve worked hard on, that you wanted to surprise Scaramouche with was ruined. It was covered with black ink and different colored splotches of cool colors. You noticed water was dripping down as well with pencil scratches on…

You grit your teeth and, in a flash, grab hold of your canvas and smash it into the ground. You begin to stomp on the painting, breaking it entirely. Albedo rushes to you, pulling your arms. “Yn! Please stop!” You shake him off and cried, falling to your knees. “Why?! Why would someone do this?!” You screamed and covered your face. Albedo kneels right next to you and places a hand on your back. “I don’t know. I’m so so sorry.” He wanted to cry too.

“Ln.” You lift your head up and look behind you. It was the instructor, the one behind this competition. “I’m sorry this has happened. Unfortunately, we can’t really catch the culprit since we don’t have any cameras.” “Bullshit! This is all bullshit!” You replied. “I was almost done! This ain’t fair!” The lady raises her hand. “I understand but there’s nothing we can do. I highly doubt you can create a piece in just a few days before the deadline.” Your eyes widen, “W-Wha-“ “I advise you step down from the competition. It’s for the best.” Your whole world shatters.

You shove Albedo out of your hold and run out of the building, hearing everyone’s whispers about you. You ran and ran and ran with tears flowing. You shakily open the apartment door and head in, running to your room. The first thing you do is sit on your bed and take out your phone, dialing your boyfriends number. “Please leave a message after-“ You bit your lip and dial again. “Please leave-“ You scream and harshly press the numbers once more. “Yn?” You gasp, “Scara! Finally! Listen I-“ “Yn, can you call me another time?” Instantly, you shut your mouth. “I’m sorry but I really have to go. Nows not a good time but I’ll call you when I’m free, okay?”

You grip your phone. “Yn? Yn, can you hear-“ You hang up and throw your phone to your bedroom door. You cry even harder and hide under your covers. “This can’t be happening!” You shout in between tears. You never hated yourself even more than now.

- HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!

- I’ve been super busy with school I’m sorry

- anyways we’re saur back

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr @lxkeeeee @silvermah @baby-bread-in @yelleloww @magica-ren @itzblazekun @im-inlovewithy0u @featuredtofu @anastaxiah @ask-aph-tanzania @drmyday @what-just-happened-huh @xtobefreex @v4lerixxq @duckyyyx @hannoahs-third-eyelash @brain-r0tt

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pinkwright · 1 year

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don't know why, just know i want u | shuri udaku.

ƸӜƷ

pairing — college!shuri x college!y/n

trope — best friends 2 lovers

inspo — james joint by rihanna

warnings — fingering (reader receiving), dom!shuri, reader praises shuri, they smoke weed!!, humiliation kink n i mean shuri laughs at reader a lot, dumbification, possessive!shuri, shuri is touchy n a lil mean, kissing, overstimulation, shuri’s kinda filthy like omg, shuri is mouthy, heightened senses shuri too, dirty talk, shuri’s kinda cocky, dacryphilia. i went simple this time lol so its quick.

a/n — u can definitely tell i like my music to leave my ears ringing LMFAO, it’s my birthday today haha so i decided to work on this for like the whole day as a gift 2 yall lol <3 also i swear a lot irl so the reader is gon do that too my bad anyway hope u enjoy!

⟢˚ @mbakuetshurisprincess @inmyheadimobsessed @letitias-fav @barkbarkbo @saintwrld @shurismainbxtch

ஜ

i’d rather be smoking weed whenever we breathe. every time you kiss me. don’t say that you miss me, just come get me.

kiss it better pounds through your ears as you pack up your bag, wrapping up the charcoal sticks before placing them into their case. a tired sigh leaves your lips as you flick the bangs out of your face and haul the heavy art bag over your shoulder, and you’re shifting the weight to go to carry the large and smudge-prone drawing sitting on your desk when a hand slides across your lower back to the dip of your waist and squeezes softly.

the flinch that grips your body is unforgiving as you spin in the person’s grip but soon your eyes tightly shut in annoyance as you heave out a deep breath, your gaze dragging past the pretty smirking lips of your sly best friend to meet the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. she reaches her hands up and the tune blasting from your headphones fades out as she moves them to rest around your neck, her hands sliding across your skin when she lifts the hair caught beneath them.

“i always tell you to not fucking do that, shuri, oh my god.”

“and what do i always say about playing your music so loud that you’re not aware of your surroundings?”

her voice is chastising and firm in your ears, and it makes you blink before you give her a sheepish smile, “i was gonna remove the one ear when i left the studio.” she raises an eyebrow, the melody of the song is still audible in the now empty lecture studio, and you’re chuckling, raising your hand to playfully shove against her shoulder, “i’m serious, shuri!”

she shakes her head before stepping further into your space, pressing you against the desk as she leans over you, her cologne wrapping around your figure as her arm reaches for the drawing you were working on, your breath hitches and then, she’s gone, carrying the drawing carefully as she steps away from you.

you clear your throat, avoiding her gaze, before straightening and making your way to the foyer, the warm air caressing your skin when you step outside onto the busy campus grounds. your voice is light as you talk to shuri, rambling on about your day as she listens attentively, letting the occasional hum slip out as you both journey on to your dorm.

you’re laughing when you reach the familiar door to your dorm, unlocking the door and allowing shuri to slip into the room and she places your artwork and the bag that she had swiftly swiped from you on the way, atop your desk. you watch her sigh before she flops heavily onto your bed, kicking off her shoes as she makes herself comfortable on the abundance of pillows decorating your bed. your eyes are rolling before you stride to your refrigerator to grab a pack of strawberries and blueberries as well as two cans of iced tea.

when your eyes settle on her, her dark gaze is already on you, following your movements like a cat would her prey, and you avoid eye contact as you walk toward her. her eyes are lidded as she sits up with her back against the wall your bed is pushed against, her long legs stretched against the covers as one of her arms is stretched above her head, pressing into the mountain of pillows atop your bed, while the other is laying lazily between her slightly spread legs.

the sight makes your heart pulse, the breath in your lungs feeling denser as you move to place the items on your side table, feeling her gaze burn into the heat of your skin. you exhale before turning to face her, “i thought you were trying to smoke at your place?” remembering her insistence to walk you to your room to drop off your belongings before you would both make your way to her apartment to let the smoke relax your tense muscles.

“come here.”

you hesitate before going to kneel beside her lithe frame, your heart pumping in your chest, and her tattooed hand shoots out to wrap around your thigh, her slim fingers curling just under the cheek of your ass, and your breath hitches. a smirk curls around her lips before she pulls you to straddle her, her other hand gripping your waist to steady you when you stumble into her from the force.

her fingers refuse to remain still against you, tracing your body like a canvas, and you’re sure she can hear the thrum of the blood in your veins, the unruly pace of the muscle in your chest and you look down at her lips to avoid her eyes, “thought we could just light one here, is that cool, s’thandwa?” her lips wrap around the words like she’s caressing them and it makes the heat inside you grow.

the silent nod of your head has her chuckling, removing her hand from your waist to gently curl around your throat, the warmth of her fingers wrapping beneath your jaw to lift your gaze to her. her eyes are smouldering as she regards you, her grip tightening slightly as your eyes flutter and your lips part.

the hem of your skirt rises against your skin when her hands drop to slide against the bare skin of your thighs, and you’re so wet, so embarrassed because you know you could leak on to her at any moment and there would be nothing to stop her feeling the depth of your affection for her, feeling the wetness of your cunt's craving for her.

the clouds in your mind clear slightly when she takes her hands off of you to reach into drawer of your bedside table, her stretch slightly shifting you on her, drawing a silent gasp from your lips, the material of her sweats barely brushing against you. she quickly rolls a joint for the both of you to share, expertly sealing it before she reaches for your lighter, sitting back up to face you, “open up for me, won’t you, baby?”

she places the joint between your glossy lips before going to light it, the intensity of her eyes keeping you in place as she watches you inhale the smoke. the atmosphere burns as the smoke passes between you, burns under the heaviness of your skin, floods your damp panties beyond redemption, and you’re sure she can feel it, feel just how much you drip for her.

the relaxing release of the tension in your muscles causes you to sink into her form, her hands getting more daring against you, sliding up the skin of your inner thighs, gripping the flare of your ribs just below your heaving breasts, her lips skimming the skin of your shoulder and running up the stretch of your neck. the room feels tight with tension, your mind screaming at you to give yourself to her, beg her to take you, own you like the predator inside her calls her to.

“you’re so pretty, shuri, the prettiest ever.” you mumble, your head tilting to gaze at the skin of her collarbone.

shuri’s smirking lazily, letting your praises sink into her skin, her hands tightening their grip on you before the one shifts up to grip your neck again, the joint forgotten in the ashtray, as she tilts your head up to look into her eyes, “want you to look at me when you say shit like that, angel. need those eyes on me while you tell me how pretty i am.”

the mean lilt in her command makes a sweet whimper escape your lips and you’re nodding frantically, murmuring about how pretty she is and she’s humming to your words, craving to make you cry, make you weep around your words while she drives her strap into the warmth between your legs. her hand is on your waist, pressing you down into her before she brings your face close enough to where your lips brush against hers and it makes your legs clench in desperation.

and shuri’s endeared by the action, wanting to see just how desperate you can get for her, for her love. her voice lulls your senses as she drops her hands to slide up your quivering thighs, “you gonna let me touch you, baby?”

the smirk on her face widens as your eyes shut when you nod, your nails digging into her shoulders as your hips buck against her thighs, she watches her hands lift the hem of your skirt until your panties are on display and her eyes flutter on a groan as she spots just how much you were soaking the material.

when she brushes the tips of her fingers against you through your underwear, you let out a soft gasp, the haze in your mind from the smoke enhancing your sensitivity and shuri smiles against your lips, speaking her words into you, “my poor princess, you've just been so fucking wet huh? dripping against me like i can’t smell when my pussy's calling out to me, baby.”

and you whimper so loud that shuri chuckles, her hand sliding into the band of your underwear to circle against your pulsing clit, drawing firm circles that have your head dizzy, your voice pleading as you gasp out, “please, please.. please.” she shushes you softly before sliding her fingers to circle around your entrance, laughing when your pussy clenches repeatedly, trying to invite her in, draw her into your warmth.

“yeah, this is my pussy, right angel?”

the dark tinge to her voice coaxes your head to drop into her neck, your hips stuttering as the heat licks at your throat pouring from your mouth in heavy, desperate pants, and her other hand slides to grab your ass, squeezing before guiding you to swallow her fingers, guiding you down her fingers like she was helping your pussy take the length of her strap and she grinds your hips against her hand.

"bast, s'thandwa, that's it, let me in, let this pussy know who she belongs to, hm?"

the sob you let out is filthy, thick with spit, and raspy as it flows into shuri’s ears, and she’s groaning into your temple, her fingers thrusting in and out of you, curling before she drags them out, your wetness sliding down her palm and she’s entranced by you. whispering about her desperate fucking girl and praising the clench of her pussy around her fingers, talking about how she never wants to leave the warmth of your walls, how they never want her to leave.

and your lungs are caving before you clench your thighs, your walls spasming unrelentingly as you cry out at your orgasm, your hips chasing the increasing pace of shuri’s fingers as she guides you through it, “just like that, baby, fuck yourself onto me like a greedy little slut.” she’s praising you, cooing into your ear as she whispers condescendingly about her dumb little baby being so good for her, thanking her pretty princess for letting her play with her pretty pussy.

“you’re gonna give me one more,” at your whimper in protest, she lifts your head to look into her eyes, “wasn’t a question, my love. you know i know what’s best for my baby, hm?”

the words make your hips buck against her fingers, the overstimulation causing you to gasp sharply, your hips stilling for a second before fucking back onto her uncontrollably, craving more but protesting it simultaneously. and she chuckles before bringing your lips to hers, slotting the pretty muscle between your parted lips, and you’re panting into her mouth, tears gathering in your eyes, the love she presses into your mouth making you whine.

the heat of her coaxes you to move your hips, her thumb moving to press against your clit as her fingers graze against the spongy tissue inside you, and she’s speaking encouragement into your skin, her lips skimming against the skin of your face, along the rise of your cheekbones, the soft bags of your eyes, sliding down the line of your jaw. a soft smile spreads across her lips when the salt of your tears presses into her senses, the warm drops of your pleasure lighting an ache inside her.

“keep crying for me, princess, let those dumb baby tears fall for me.”

the lump in your throat escapes at her command, wanting to please her, cry for her, let her know how much you love her, your sobs break into the atmosphere as your thighs clench tightly, your weeping pussy clenching so tightly it hurts, scratching at a part of your psyche that only she had access to, and you’re coming around her fingers, drowning her in your love.

“shuri, please, please, i’m coming for you, please.”

your voice is broken, breathy as your body trembles violently, the aftershocks of your orgasm prolonged by the queen’s unrelenting fingers, she hums praises against your now quivering lips, going to pull her fingers out of you even as they try to pull her back in, and she smiles, her pussy.

your eyes are shut when she pulls back to look at you, her gaze longing and lidded as she takes in your state and she can’t stop herself from leaning in to peck your lips, her fingers wiping your tears away before sliding to your shaking shoulders and gliding against your skin to ground you, to bring you back to her.

by the time you’re hiccupping, you’ve collected yourself enough to lift your eyes to look at her, your lashes clinging together like you do to her, and your heart clenches as you see the immense love that pours from her gaze, resisting the urge to look away, you push up instead and meet her lips in a sweet kiss, your thighs still trembling around her lap, making you both giggle into the comfort of each other's embrace.

too busy kissing to remember the snacks or the burning joint a few feet away from you.

how you live and love, like fuck rules? don’t care why just know i love you

ஜ

#pinkwrighting ⊹ ۪ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ.#shuri x black!reader #shuri udaku #shuri imagine #shuri angst #shuri smut #shuri x reader #shuri fluff #shuri black panther #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #letitia wright #shuri x you

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schraubd · 11 months

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How To Train Your Writer

Right now, on a purely technical/stylistic level, ChatGPT is an okay writer.

It's not great. But it's not bad, either. It's better (and again, we're talking purely technical here -- leaving aside factual hallucinations and the like) than some of my students, and I teach at a law school. Of course, even when I taught undergraduates I was inordinately concerned that many of my students seemingly never learned and never were taught how to write. So there has always been a cadre of students who are very smart and diligent, but just didn't really have writing in their toolkit. And I'd say ChatGPT has now exceeded their level.

The thing that worries me most about ChatGPT, though, isn't that it's better than some of my law students. It's that it will always be better than essentially every middle schooler.

Learning to write is a process. Repetition is an important part of that process (this blog was a great asset to my writing just because it meant I was writing essentially every day for years). But part of that process is writing repeatedly even when one was is not good at writing. Writing a bunch of objectively mediocre essays in middle school is how you learn to write better ones in high school and even better ones in college.

ChatGPT is going to short-circuit that scaffolding. It is one thing to say that an excellent writer in, say, high school, can still outperform ChatGPT. But how will that kid become excellent if, in the years leading up to that, they're always going to underperform a bot that could do all their homework in 35 seconds? The pressure to kick that work over to the bot will be irresistible, and we're already learning that it's difficult-to-impossible to catch. How can we get middle schoolers to spend time being bad writers when they can instantly access tools that are better?

There might be workarounds. I've heard suggestions of reverting to long-hand essay writing and more in-class assignments. There might be ways to leverage ChatGPT as a comparator -- have them write their own essay, then compare it to a AI-generated one and play spot-the-difference. I think frankly that we might also be wise to abolish grading, at least in lower-level writing oriented classes, to take away that temptation to use the bot. I don't care how conscientious you are, there aren't a lot of 14 year olds who can stand putting in hours trying to actually do their homework and then getting blown out of the water by little Cameron who popped the prompt into an LLM and 45 seconds later is back to playing Overwatch. And again, that's going to be the reality, because ChatGPT's output just is better than anything one can reasonably expect a young writer to produce.

In many ways, large language models are like any mechanism of mass production. They displace older artisans, not because their product is better -- it isn't, it's objectively worse -- but on sheer volume and accessibility. The art is worse, but it's available to the masses on the cheap.

And like with mass production, this isn't necessarily a bad thing even though it's disruptive. It's fine that many people now can, in effect, be "okay writers" essentially for free. It's like mass-produced clothing -- yes, most people's t-shirts are of lower-quality than a bespoke Italian suit, but that's okay because now most people can afford a bunch of t-shirts that are of acceptable quality (albeit far less good than a bespoke Italian suit). The alternative was never "everyone gets an entire wardrobe of bespoke Italian suits", it was "a couple of people enjoy the benefits of intense luxury and most people get scraps." Likewise, I'm not so naive as to think that most people in absence of ChatGPT would have become great writers. So this is a net benefit -- it brings acceptable-level writing to the masses.

If that was all that happened -- the big middle gets expanded access to cheap, okay writing, with "artisanal" great writing remaining costly and being reserved for the "elite" -- it might not be that bad. But the question is whether this process will inevitably short-circuit the development of great writers. You have to pass through a long period of being a crummy writer before you become a good or great writer. Who is still going to do that when adequacy is so easily at hand?

I'm not tempted to use ChatGPT because even though my writing takes longer, I'm confident that at the end my work product will be better. But that's only true because I spent a long time writing terribly. Luckily for me, I didn't have an alternative. Kids these days? They absolutely have an alternative. It's going to be very hard to get them to pass that up.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/zlrha2Q

#artificial intelligence #writing

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ebirdwatching · 4 months

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update

hi. i know i don't post as much as i used to, and part of that has to do with my wrist. it hasn't gotten worse, but even after last year's surgery, i'm pretty much permanently limited in how much art i can make -- one big project at a time is as much as i can handle. for the past year, my one big project has been my undergrad thesis.

and it's now complete!

my thesis is an original 19-page comic in full color. it's called VITA and you can read it if you'd like. go to https://vitacomic.com/ and hit "first" or click the link below the cover here for page 1.

VITA is about a space probe that discovers something alien on a remote world. it's my second completed comic, uh, ever. i think it's cool. this blog is supposed to be for fanart but since i don't have a dedicated account for original work yet, i'm sharing the product of my huge undertaking here lol.

i just finished my degree, so i'm in a transition period now. i'd like to make art for a living, and set up some stuff online to do that. i need to figure out a way to make a sustainable living as an artist with what i guess is a disability. that means passive income, probably.

i fully intend to make more comics, which ideally would be part of that. that includes the strange journey fan project -- which, because of scope and now ability, may not be feasible to finish; i plan to at least make the introductory sequence, and i'm kicking around the idea of maybe making the rest of the story as a (free) VN. if i can do that without getting c&d'd. i'm also thinking about some other things -- i have some short-ish fancomic ideas that have been rattling around in my head. i'm also working on some other original stuff with a friend. when i have more material to share, i'll start posting it on a separate account for original art and link that here.

thanks for reading. i started this art account around when i began college and it's been cool to share my work in a space that's not fine art school, lol. i hope to post more soon :)

#original #tl;dr - i graduated and made an original comic you can read

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narcolini · 1 year

Text

five and one

rafa x gn!reader, 7598 words, canon typical drug use, hurt/comfort/angst, no happy ending(!!!)

the five times you were his friend, and the one time you weren’t

a/n: this has been in my docs waiting to be finished for sososo long omg finally the rafito despair is here. enjoy!

taglist: @ashlingiswriting @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas @cherixrosa @purplesong1028 @mandaloria314 @dashavau @yeetintomadness @thesandbeneathmytoes (as per i have forgotten who wants tagging and who doesnt sorry!)

Rafa’s been asking you for weeks. Come smoke, carnale, come on. I have something to show you.

Soon, you told him. I’m busy with school, work, I have to pick my Abuela up from church—I’m the only one who can drive her, remember?

They weren’t made up excuses, even if he thought they might’ve been. You didn’t like it either, having no time for him, but it’s how it went. How it is. He dropped out of school, never made it to college. You did. It gives you different markers now, different structures to shape the friendship around. When you were classmates it was easy, natural: before class, in class, after class. Simple. There you were, there he was. Now, you have to pencil him in like any other obligation.

He isn’t an obligation. You try not to let him feel like one.

‘Finally,’ is how he greets you, when you see him at last.

He’s come to you this time, to the place in the city that you’re sharing with your cousin, and another student on your course. He doesn’t comment on the mess, the mismatched furniture, the dishes, the piles of books and paints across the dining table. He just walks in, bag over his shoulder, then drops into the couch to unpack.

Something to show you, he’d said. Here it is. You’re sitting in the chair opposite, with a weed cutting in your palms, before he’s even bothered to ask about your day.

‘Looks like marijuana,’ you say, lifting the bud to your nose, ‘smells like marijuana.’

‘No, mira.’ He leans forward and reaches to put his fingers over yours, separating the green in front of your eyes. It splits, looks healthy. ‘No seeds,’ he informs.

Your brow arches. ‘None?’

‘None,’ he repeats, ‘never.’

‘It worked?’

‘It worked.’ He grins, all teeth. His hair bounces over his forehead. ‘I’m a genius, no?’

‘Dios mio,’ you laugh, ‘you actually did it, Rafi.’

The pride drips off him, pours over the coffee table between you and lulls at your knees like the tide. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘you knew I would.’

You did, you’re smiling with him. It doesn’t stop you from teasing him about it, though. ‘I thought you’d smoke too many of the samples and forget what you were doing, tonto.’ You pass the cutting back to him. ‘Have you dried any of it yet? How’s it taste?’

‘Ah,’ he sighs, leaning back again, ‘that’s what you’re interested in? You don’t want to know how I got it to work?’

You give a half-shake, no. ‘You’ll tell me even if I don’t.’

He’s explained the idea enough times already, but it never sticks, it doesn’t connect in you, the way it does for him. It’s in one ear, out the other. He’s always been for it, science, statistics, experiments and the answers beneath; you’re one for art. Subjectivity.

Your foot finds his sneaker under the table and gives it a kick. ‘Puedo probarlo, o no?’

His free hand goes into his jean pocket, retrieving the tin that’s never far from his person. It’s made of a rusty, scratched copper, held together with a loose elastic band. He hands it to you without comment.

‘Is this from the first plant?’ you ask, watching him.

He shakes his head, brows pulling together briefly. ‘I wanted to perfect it before I showed you. Primo’s greenhouse is full now. Fifteen plants, como esto.’

The cutting you’d been examining goes down, onto the table, and then he brings another up. He’s brought a complete collection, kept them wrapped in newspaper and cradled until now, when he can finally show them off to you.

‘This was from one of the outside plants,’ he says. ‘I think the pinche güeys next door have their own. They must’ve pollenated my shit, look.’

You hum, acknowledging without really listening, and flip open his tin. A single, pre-rolled joint sits inside.

You flick your eyes across to him. ‘This is it?’

He nods.

‘You’ve already some today, haven’t you?’ You’re smirking as you ask, knowing the answer already.

Rafa laughs, pinching the sound short by biting into his lip. Then he shrugs. ‘What? I had to. I still brought you some, didn’t I?’

‘You’re gonna smoke it all before you make any money off it, Rafa.’

He’s going to get sick of it before anyone else can even try.

‘No, no, Miguel Angel knows what to do, how to take us to the next step.’ He says it confidently, hopefully. His eyes gleam at the thought. A purpose, he must think, direction at last. ‘My job,’ he says proudly, ‘is to make sure the product is good.’

You smile, infected by him, by the excitement glowing off of him. ‘You’re aiming high, then?’ You hum, nodding over the cuttings on the table. ‘The two of you?’

The newspaper crinkles as he rewraps, his eyes down like he’s suddenly humble, shy of it. Scared to admit the dream aloud. ‘Si, es solo el comienzo, sabes?’

Yeah, and it’s long overdue for him. The start and the end, because he’ll never have to invent another thing in the world, if this all goes to plan.

You put the joint between your lips and hold out a hand. ‘Pues,’ you prompt, ‘give me a light. Let me see the future.’

He sounds like he’s crying. It could be the line, it could be the fact it’s past three in the morning and you’re tired, barely awake, and he’s tired, barely understandable. It could be that he knows you wouldn’t judge him if he was. But it sounds like he’s crying.

No, he is crying, definitely. He sniffs, loud and wet, then draws in another gasping breath afterwards. Says something else about soil, earth, plants and lying scientists, fucking lying scientists. You blink against the dark, push the heel of your free palm into your eye sockets. Wake up, come on, wake up.

‘Have you tried digging elsewhere?’ you ask, hating that it comes out through a yawn, but you can’t help it. You only fell asleep a couple of hours ago yourself. ‘It has to be there somewhere,’ you add.

‘Yes,’ he rasps, ‘it should be there, the guy, pinche pendejo, he said, he, we have the maps—’

‘Rafa,’ you cut him off, ‘breathe.’ It isn’t a suggestion; he ignores it anyway. Rattles on about hard soil and sore hands still.

You sit upright, phone-cord stretching out of its coil, and hope that it’ll rouse you some more. He isn’t there to look at, but you pretend that he is. Imagine him sitting at the end of your bed, head in his hands, tears streaking down his cheeks. If he was, you’d reach a hand out. Run it along the ridge of his spine and watch him decompress. It’s easier to know what to say to him when you have him there, like that. Even just in your head.

You speak over him again, awake enough to put some force into the question this time. ‘Have you told Miguel?’ They’re partners, brothers. This is what he’s there for. ‘Can’t he help?’ you say, because you can’t, you’re miles away.

‘If I fuck this up,’ Rafa whines, ‘they’ll kill us.’

‘Who will?’

The line crackles. You hear a thunk in you ear like he’s struck the handset against the nearest wall. He has, no doubt, but it holds. The call stays connected and buzzing in your palm.

‘Easy, Rafi.’

You wish he was there, at your feet. You wish you could lean forward and shake his shoulders until he listened to you.

‘The plants are dying,’ he says, once he’s back on his end. ‘If we don’t find it soon.’

He cuts himself off with a groan of frustration, then another thick, ugly sniff, snotty and unpleasant even through the phone. You’ve seen him cry like this before. Once when he left school, once when his mum died.

‘And you’ve tried everything?’ you ask, just to keep him talking, just to distract him. ‘No water at all?’

‘We dug deep.’ He takes another heaving breath and then, on the exhale, when he speaks, he sounds more annoyed than upset. It feels like progress. ‘It’s like pinche steel,’ he says, ‘my arms…I can’t get through anymore. The workers are tired.’

You sigh. He’s sounding like he’s given up. He never gives up.

‘I can’t do it.’

‘You can,’ you insist. ‘You’ve just forgotten to use your brain.’

‘Ay,’ he sucks a hiss through his teeth, ‘el desierto, lo ha matado.’

The Rafa on the end of your bed is pacing now, stood up and tracing lines into your floorboards. Moving helps him think, it always has, the motion forces the idea to catch and roar into life, like starting an engine. You close your eyes and picture it. Another method, you decide, another method, another result.

‘Have you tried blowing it up?’ you ask plainly, still watching the false image of him behind your eyelids.

‘What?’ He laughs without meaning it. ‘Estás loco o qué?’

‘How do they make quarries, Rafa? How do they break through rock?’

You can hear it connect, weirdly, in the silence that follows. Hear the gears click, the brain turn. He takes a breath that stills his lungs properly this time, rather than stuffing them with desperate, needed air, then says your name like you’re a genius. Like you’re him.

‘I haven’t tried that, no.’ His voice lifts, he’s on the edge of smiling. ‘It can’t hurt, right? Una pequeña grenada?’

Now, it’s your turn to relax. He’s not crying anymore, he’s thinking, trying. It’s three in the morning and he’s back to himself again. You fall into the pillows with a sigh.

‘Don’t kill yourself, tonto.’

Don’t blow yourself to pieces for the sake of water, for the sake of Miguel and his precious sinsemilla.

He laughs down the line. ‘I’m dead either way, friend. Better I go with a bang.’

You’re a stranger now, as much as he tries to fight it. You don’t fit into the world he’s made for himself, or the one Miguel’s made for him, rather. You walk through his home like a guest, not a friend. You merge with the walls the way the staff does. Another set of footsteps in the mansion, another hand trailed up the banister in wonder.

He sends a car for you, because he can, when he has something to show you these days. Or something to ask, if it strikes him as important. Picks you up with just a warning phone call and a rush of, it’s fine, it won’t take all day. What do you need to go to work for, anyway? I’ve told you already.

He could find a job for you, he says. You could sit by his pool and earn money like it grows, right there, in the flowerbeds. You could live like he does, if you wanted.

No, Rafi, I like what’s mine. I like the quiet.

‘You brought me all this way,’ you say, once you’re standing in his bedroom, ‘to pick an outfit?’

You look at him, then back to the bed—four-poster, ridiculous, like something out of a movie. He’s got three suits laid over it, all matching, all expensive: white and red, blue with stripes, purple. Bright purple. You touch the fabric just to feel it. You’d never own anything this smooth, this well made.

‘I trust you,’ he says, ‘your opinion.’ He fidgets, digs a fingernail into the carved detailing of the bed frame. There’s white under his nostrils, you haven’t missed that, but you haven’t commented on it, either. At least he smells of smoke as well. At least he’s balancing it out.

‘What’s it for?’ you ask, like that’ll help you decide.

‘A girl.’

Your head twitches back to face him, quicker than you’d have liked it to—but, a girl? He’s not mentioned dating since he got fixated on weed, not in any serious way. Not to you.

He’s frowning as you look at him, his own gaze on the suits, like he’s tormented by the choice. Like they’re an equation to unwind. He hasn’t even noticed your reaction yet. ‘She didn’t take me seriously,’ he says, ‘last time. She made fun of my clothes.’

You let him continue. Your brain is still trying to scramble to the point where any of this makes sense.

‘Her father is el Secretario de Educacion.’ He sighs. His hands go to his hips. ‘I want to impress her.’

A new project, you realise, that’s what he’s found. Something he can’t have, something impossible. Something to solve. A drug lord with the daughter of a politician, Dios mio, he picks them well. This will be harder than growing plants with no seed, as dangerous as following Miguel into the dark.

You can’t get away with anymore silence, you have to act invested now, helpful still. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Sofia.’

He’s smiling and he expects you to returns it. You look back to the suits.

‘Sofia,’ you mutter, partnering it with a sigh. ‘Lucky Sofia.’

It’s something he would never do for you. Before today, you wouldn’t have imagined him doing it for anyone. He’s always worn what he liked, always put himself to the world exactly as he is, no apology, no polish. Just him, wild as he came. None of these suits feel like the Rafa you know. Or knew. They’re all the man you haven’t quite caught up to yet. The owner of this absurd pinche mansion.

‘Is she worth all this?’ You point at them lazily. ‘How much did this cost you, tonto?’

‘You sound jealous,’ he says, smiling, trying to pass it off as a joke.

You shrug. ‘You’re putting a lot of pressure onto one suit.’

If this goes wrong for him, you’ll be back in the car to his house, talking him through the downfall, as always, as he wants, as you oblige. If she laughs at him still, you’ll have to think of something to throw down and bring him back up to Earth.

You pick up the sleeve closest and toy with the cuff of it. ‘I’m trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself,’ you tell him.

‘Not what is seems like.’

Maybe not, but where’s the issue? You’re worried about the aftermath, the risk of more headaches down the line and, yeah, maybe you’re jealous too. Unlikely as you are to admit it aloud. You’re jealous of him, his success. His house, the clothes, the suits. The money that pours off him. The money he pours onto you in turn. Take it, he says, let me. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, have it. I want you to have it. Why can’t we both enjoy it now that we’re here?

Because it’s not yours, it’s his. He doesn’t get that.

And you’re jealous of Sofia, too. You wish you weren’t but you are. It creeps up to you, the longer you stand here, it crawls up your trouser legs, into your ears along with her name. She caught his eyes, his heart. You got the brain and everything else, but she has a part of him that he never shared with you. Never tried to.

It’s not yours, it’s his. It’s hers.

You’ve always been jealous of concretes, of things without leeway. You never took to it the way he did. Can’t keep yourself in one direction, can’t reach a conclusion and relish in it. He finds his track and runs it, right to the end.

‘You really think she’s special?’ you ask, redirecting him and yourself alike. It does nothing to think about it. What you could’ve had, what you never will. All that matters, is what there is, what you can hold.

‘There’s no-one like her,’ he answers, leaning his shoulder against the bed-post, ‘in all of the world.’

That’s how he is. Passionate. He fixates, he works, he wins. Loves with a tunnel vision that you’ll never understand.

‘The white, then,’ you decide. ‘It suits you.’

His eyes light up, his smile broadens. ‘Yeah? You think she’ll recognise it? Scarface?’

‘She won’t care, Rafa. Eres guapo. Te ves rico.’ And that’s what they like, girls like her. That’s what matters. ‘You be good to her, okay? Treat her right. She’s not someone you should mess around.’

He laughs, then puts his head to the wood. He’s looking at you fondly, through the thick of his lashes, and it itches, makes you drop the sleeve and step back from the bed.

‘You talk like you know her,’ he says.

‘I know you, Rafi. That’s enough.’

You didn’t know how bad it had gotten, until he tried to pull himself out of it. You should’ve realised really, or predicted it, should have taken more notice at his parties, should’ve seen the way his logic and rationality had sped up and burnt itself out. How his life had become a cyclone of Sofia, Sofia and drugs and Miguel. Round and round. How little it became about himself, or what he wanted. How close he’d stumbled to the edge without you waiting a step behind.

You heard from him less and didn’t challenge it. You didn’t ask, he didn’t tell, so you lived through the whispers of him. Maybe it’s time, you thought, maybe he’s outgrown you at last. Maybe this is the part where you don’t play catch up.

And then he’d stopped all together. Run out of track and hit the wall behind.

You weren’t there when it happened, you don’t know the details, only that he’d broken up with Sofia, and Miguel had broken up with him, in a way. Snipped ties worse than you had, ones with actual weight. Purpose. Structure that couldn’t afford to be pulled from under him. He lost his fields, you found out, lost his life’s work. Watched the dream collapse in front of him, at the hands of his closest friend.

Like he always did, Rafa saw it as a problem to fix, a cause with a solution that was within his grasp—always within his grasp. So now he was off the coke, too. Cold turkey and rotting from it.

It was Cuco that told you how unwell he was; on a clear day, blue and unfitting of the message, he asked you to come over. Ayudame, he said, I don’t know what else to do.

Tomorrow, you told him, it’s the soonest I can.

Today, when you get there, he looks scared; pale and tired and damp with old sweat.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ you say, and you regret it immediately, because he nods. He agrees. He’s the only one Rafa will let into the room.

‘It’s bad, man,’ he says. ‘Hallucinating and shit.’ He rubs at his neck, inches from the door like he’d been waiting for the excuse to. ‘I only called you because he started saying your name.’

‘Mine?’

‘Yours and Sofia’s,’ he corrects, ‘but he told me…’ He sighs, then shrugs. ‘I’m not allowed to call her.’

‘Entiendo.’ You don’t want more of an explanation. ‘Can I?’ You gesture to the closed door in front of you. They’ve shut him in like a beast, oiled mahogany set firmly between them and him, him and you.

Cuco nods and waves you forward. You can see a warning on his tongue, in the pinch of his brows. When he decides against it, shaking his head instead, you leave him in the hall behind.

‘Rafa?’

You push the door open, shut it again behind you. The room’s dim despite the light from the high sun, drawn into shade with thin, orange curtains. One of the doors to the balcony is open, its partnering drape curls into the room on the breeze behind. Everything done in an attempt to make the space feel relaxing, unconfined and airy and easy on the eyes, everything done without reward, because Rafa’s not here.

You scan the room again. The covers are twisted from the bed, half off the mattress and onto the tiled floor beneath. You follow the disarray. Photo frames knocked down and smashed, discarded bowls of untouched food, ash trays that haven’t been emptied. Clothes that have been torn off and left where they fell. It’s a den, a cage. Distress that’s been played out and abandoned afterwards.

The bathroom door’s open, the trail of clothes leading right to it.

‘Rafa?’ you call again, but the shower’s on; he won’t hear you over the water.

You pause a step in from the doorway. The mirrors are fogged, the tiles are wet with condensation. It’s been running long enough to make the room uncomfortable, damp and warm, more of a wet room than the stylised bathroom it was designed to be. Like walking into the overused swamp of a public swimming pool.

Rafa’s stood with his back to you, head under the stream. He’s naked, hair flat and dripping, with his hands against the wall in front. The water’s so hot, that it’s managed to anger the skin over his shoulder blades. The stretch marks up his back, from that growth spurt he had at fifteen, are angry looking, like they’re complaining too.

‘It’s me,’ you say, louder now.

His head lifts weakly. ‘Sofia?’

No, not her, only you.

You take off your coat, your shoes, your socks. Pile them all up on the dry floor behind. For a moment, you consider taking the rest off too, but you’ll try this way first. The shower won’t saturate you completely, if just for a minute.

‘Rafa, you should come out now.’ You’re standing on the edge of the shower basin, a towel from the side clutched in your hands. When he doesn’t move, you put it over your shoulder and reach in for him. ‘No quieres saludarme, amigo?’

He flinches at first, at your palm to his shoulder, then he comes to, peels away from the wall and toward you with ease. Slow, then all at once.

‘Easy,’ you coo, ‘easy.’

You put the towel around him as he turns, lift the edges to dry his face once he finally shows it to you.

It’s bad, it is. You don’t know enough about withdrawals to know if it’s normal. If he’s supposed to look like this, if it’s part of the process. You don’t know if it’s even the drugs at all, but you know him, and you know this is bad for him. Lights off in the fucking dark.

What if this is him now? What if this is what happened while you were away, and it’s set too deep to be undone?

He looks scared, more than anything. Tired and sickly, yes, but his eyes are wide, and lost, and then welling up as your name falls from his tongue. The recognition at last, the return of the friend you’re used to.

‘You have to help me,’ he says, ‘I can’t do it, I can’t.’

‘I know. I know.’ You step back with him, holding the ends of the towel close under his chin. ‘Let’s get you dry, hm? Get you dressed, get something to eat.’ That first, that for now.

‘I miss her,’ he rushes, urgent like you had to hear it. ‘Sofia, I have to see her.’

‘Okay,’ you tell him. ‘Okay, we’ll call her.’

It might be a lie, a false promise. You haven’t decided what’s right yet. What’ll help and what’ll make it worse. You just have to get him out of this foggy room, out of the towel and into something comfortable and warm.

‘I miss you,’ he says, in the same way. Desperate, quick, like he’s only got a few words left to give. ‘You know that, right? I miss you, too.’

You pause. Nod. If he was his usual self, he’d see right through the gesture, know that you were lying; saying yes just to say yes. But his teeth are chattering now. His eyes focus—in and out—on you, desperately. His hands layer over yours and the corners of the towel.

‘You won’t leave again?’ he asks, shaking the two of you. ‘You’ll stay until I’m better?’

‘Yeah,’ you tell him, because it’s true for now, even if his better is worse than he’s ever been before. ‘Yeah, I’ll stay as long as you need me, Rafi.’

He never comes to your house. He never comes to your house. So why is he here now? Pounding on your door and peppering the button until the bell can’t complete a full ring anymore. It just spits out one shrill note, over and over. You’re there within the first couple minutes of his assault, and he’s acting like you’re late still, like you’ve kept him waiting. He doesn’t even let you say hello first, but pushes past you into the hall instead, like there’s a dog going for his heels. Nipping the tendons.

‘Jesus, Rafa,’ you scold, shutting the door behind him. ‘You forget your manners, cabrón?’

When you turn, he’s wild looking, eyes big and pupils swollen. High, you assume. He grabs your hands before you can comment on it. Both of them together, pinned into his damp palms.

‘What are you…’

‘I need you to trust me,’ he says. ‘No questions, okay?’

You take him in again. He’s erratic, fidgety, his shirt is done incorrectly—one button left at the bottom, one side longer than the other. So, he’s dressed in a hurry, driven in a hurry. Rushed to your door with an urgency you can’t grasp onto yet; it slips through your fingers, like him, like what you had. Scatters in the hallway like dropped ball-bearings. You can’t catch him like you used to.

‘Did something happen?’ you ask, bringing your gaze back to his face. ‘Are you in danger?’

‘No,’ he answers, too quick, all breath. His head shakes. ‘No, no, we just have to go away for a while.’ A smile. White teeth and false promise. ‘Okay?’

Not in danger yet, he means. Not if he’s fast enough.

‘We?’ You take a step back, pulling your hands free with a struggle, and he follows; you turn, head into the living room, and he tracks behind you still. ‘Rafa, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done, but—’

‘Me and Sofia will go first,’ he says over you, ‘then I want you to come. Okay? Te necesito demasiado para—’

And now you cut him off, turning back to him quickly. ‘Me? Me come with you?’

He nods, hair bouncing.

‘Come on, Rafi.’

‘Why not? Only for a while.’

‘Do you even realise what you’re asking?’ you ask, pointing a finger to his chest, pad to the stitching across his shirt. Spirals over the collarbone. ‘Have you actually stopped to think? I have a job, Rafa, a life. I’m not involved in your,’ your search for the word, the title of all his erratic decisions: adventures, war, ‘bullshit.’ Yeah, that fits.

‘Why?’ he asks, as he always does. Why won’t you let me help you? Why can’t I share this with you? ‘This isn’t like the other times,’ he adds. ‘It’s. It’s.’

‘Life or death?’

He scoffs, too dramatic to be natural, or innocent, then turns away to hide from the fact. Trying to compose himself, no doubt. Plan another lie. He thinks you don’t see the warning signs, the flaming lights behind his eyes. ‘No, just,’ he winds back to you, ‘please. You can’t trust me?’

You puff a hot breath out of your nose and allow the moment to still before trying again.

‘Have you planned any part of this, or did you do too much coke and come here on a whim?’ you ask evenly. You’re not judging him, but you have to know. Fear or drugs. It’s one of the two. You stare at him afterwards, waiting for an answer.

Then he looks down, and you look down, and you see that he’s brought a set of tickets from somewhere, clutched in his hand now, and is waiting to present them to you.

‘No mames, Rafi.’ You laugh flatly, head shaking as you take a step back, like the space will make your message clearer. ‘You thought you could show up with tickets and I’d leave? Just like that? Leave everything and follow you to,’ you pull his wrist up to read, ‘Costa Rica?’

He hesitates, chews the words into his bottom lip before admitting, ‘Well, yeah. It’s all paid for, carnale.’

You scoff.

‘You only have to get on the plane.’

Just get in the car, just come to the house, just pick up the phone. You roll your eyes and push the tickets back into his stomach. It’s too much, this time. This is something he can fix for himself. Whatever it is doesn’t have to involve you for once. ‘I’m not going,’ you tell him.

He catches your arm before you can turn. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says, and the break in his voice is enough to make you wait. ‘It’s important. Serious. I have to leave for a bit.’

‘Why?’

His chin twitches. You don’t need to know.

‘And Sofia…?’

‘She wants to come with me,’ he answers. ‘And I want you to come too, once it’s safe.’

You eye him. He’s smart still, it’s always in there, under all the shit, so there must be a logic to it. There must be some formula he’s got in mind, right? You just aren’t seeing it. You aren’t built the way he is. ‘For how long?’ you ask.

He laughs, shrugging. ‘As long as you want. About time you had a vacation, no?’

But that’s not the point, is it, primo?

‘I don’t like this, Rafa. This, this shit.’ You shake your head, force a deep breath. You can’t be considering this, you can’t. ‘It’s not me,’ you argue, it’s not you. ‘This is too far.’

‘I know, I know.’ His hands come up again, fussing. The tickets bend as he takes you by the shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

But what are you even agreeing to? What does he need you for, when he’d have Sofia with him already? Why would you go if he was going to—

‘You aren’t coming back, are you?’ It comes out as you realise it. He wants you to follow him there, because he might never come back, he might not be able to. ‘Is that it?’

You watch his gaze drop, his chin lower. His stomach pouches slightly as he slackens with the confession. No hiding now, Rafi.

‘Yeah,’ he admits, before pushing a palm into the front of his hair, fingers scraping, ‘maybe. I don’t know how it will go.’

And now the dread’s setting in. Rooting in your heels, the back of your neck. Things have never been this way before, not even close. ‘You know I can’t follow you, right?’ you say quietly. ‘Even if I come, for a little while, I can’t run with you forever.’

He nods, slight enough that you almost miss it. ‘I know.’

‘And if I do come, you can’t ask me again. To follow you. You can’t expect it of me.’

‘Yes.’ A step toward you. ‘Of course, entiendo.’

You’re losing the fight to deny him. He said two weeks until you go, más o menos, so you have time to sort something with work, if you want to. And what’s two weeks in Costa Rica after that, even if it is a goodbye? There are worse places for this to meet its end. One final time, you could show out for him just one final time, and then put it to bed. No more friendship, no more relying on you to pile up the bricks again. If he can’t come home afterwards, then you will, alone, and he’ll be free to take on the world. All by himself. Just as he wanted to.

‘Promise you’ll pick up if I ring?’ he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes. He’s sincere, pleading almost. He needs it, he needs you.

You nod.

‘And that you’ll meet me there.’ He taps the tickets you still haven’t taken from him. ‘Two weeks from now. We’ll meet you at the airport, okay?’

‘What if they find out where you are?’

A laugh you don’t like twitches out of him; he isn’t taking it seriously. He doesn’t realise how easy it is to fall yet, how close he is to the sun. ‘They won’t,’ he says. ‘Why would they? I’m nobody out there.’

He’s never been nobody anywhere. Even before all this shit.

‘They’ll think we’re on our honeymoon,’ he goes on, ‘and then me and you, and Sofia, we’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere new.’

‘And then I’ll come home,’ you add. He’s already talking like he’s forgotten, like he thinks you’ll follow him across the globe, one step behind as always. ‘And you will too, if you can,’ you prompt.

He nods, quick and unconvincing. ‘Por supuesto. Just as you say.’

You don’t believe him any more than he believes it himself.

‘Your pockets,’ the man instructs, without even looking at you. He’s looking over you, past your shoulder. Waiting for you to empty what’s in your jacket without so much of a hint that he’s talking to you in the first place. ‘Into the tray.’

You scoop out your car keys, your lighter. The cinema ticket from a couple weeks ago. Put them all into the plastic tray on the low counter beside you, obliging because there’s no choice. When you stand straight again, he mimes for you to put your arms up and out, so you do, and then begins to pat you down, all without really looking at you still. Eyes always elsewhere, head always titled slightly away, like he’s bored. Kind of like he hates to even be near you. He pats along your arms, then under them, over your chest and down your sides, over the jeans, your thighs—

‘Clear.’

You wait. Arms out still. He steps back.

‘Can I…?’

His head bobs up and down, a forced nod, as he grabs the tray of your things and pushes it toward you. You just about catch it before he lets go and steps around to face the person waiting behind you. His next unfortunate victim, good luck to them.

Why you agreed to this, you don’t know. Well, of course you fucking do, because that’s how it goes every time, isn’t it? Rafa calls, you come. Rafa needs help, you save the day. Rafa gets himself fucking arrested, and here you are, going through security in the mangiest looking prison you’ve ever seen, and never thought you’d step into, getting patted down for entry by a guard who looks like he’d spray you down with bleach if he wasn’t on camera. Just because you’re here, and someone you love is in there, waiting behind the bars. The association alone is more than enough for him to judge you.

And maybe he’s right to. Maybe everyone worth something would be smart enough to say no to this.

You never made it to Costa Rica, he got caught before he even had the chance to ring and give the all clear. The tickets are on your bedside still. Not that you’d even decided to use them; you were waiting for the call, to see what your gut would say once the exact moment of it came, and then it never did. And you watched the arrest on the news until your gut said to turn it off, so you listened then, instead.

They got Sofia too, and she sold him out like the criminal he is, without hesitation, confirmed his name without even weighing the options—you know, because that’s what he told you on that first call he was allowed. No hi, no apology. He spoke for two minutes before you even opened your mouth.

I’d have done the same, you said to him. Lying would’ve made it worse.

Not for him, of course. He’d reached the end of that rope. It would’ve made things worse for her, tagged her into the downfall alongside him, so it’s good that she avoided it. She stands a better chance of a future having done it.

She probably told them where I was in the first place, he said, though he didn’t mean it. It was all anger. Hurt. Liquid regret pouring through the handset. No-one knew we were there, carnale. Fucking no-one.

But it could only ever have been him that got himself into something like this. It was, every time, it was. He made every decision that led him to this moment, to this place. To this dingy visitors room with indoor picnic tables, and steel hoops for cuffs to be attached in the centre of them.

I’ll come see you, you said and you left it at that. The rest has to be done in person. You at least owe him that mercy, after everything. You’ll look him in the eye to say it.

In the doorway, you’re greeted by a less indifferent guard. He sits his clipboard on his curving stomach and asks for the prisoners name, looking at you, then your name, still looking at you, then ticks you both off and nods for you to continue into the room. He even smiles as he does, just a bit. It’s in the corners of his mouth as a gesture of goodwill.

You thought that maybe you’d have to search for him, but it mustn’t be a busy day for visitors. There’s a full table to your right, father, mother, kids. Food unwrapped and shared over the top of it. A couple are huddled over another in the far corner, as close to kissing as you assume they’re allowed, hands locked, noses tip to tip.

And then there’s Rafa, right in the middle.

He’s looking at you already, facing the door, expectant. He’s smiling so big that you catch onto it immediately, unintentionally. You shoot your own smile back at him before remembering why you’re here in the first place. It wasn’t the plan to come in like this was any other, normal reunion, like you’re seeing him after an impromptu vacation. The plan, was to be a friend to yourself, for once. You set your mouth back into the line firm you’d practiced with.

‘You look well,’ you admit, as you sit across from him. ‘Was expecting you to look like shit, Rafi.’

He laughs, unfazed, and goes with rattling wrists to hold your hands briefly. ‘I’ve been counting down the hours, carnale.’

You watch his hands over yours. The cuffs on his wrists, the chain between them and the hoop on the table that they’re welded to. This is the first time ever, really, that he’s been pinned down in one place, trapped with nowhere to go. The first problem he’s faced that he can’t think his way out of. It’s as unbecoming of him as you’d expect it to be.

‘I can’t stay long,’ you tell him.

‘It’s okay, I don’t mind.’ He’s smiling still, shaking his head likes it’s nothing. ‘I’ve been going fucking crazy in here,’ he says, ‘not even Neto wants to talk to me.’

‘Neto’s here too?’

You’ve met him before, of course. He isn’t a character you can forget easily.

Rafa nods. ‘They’ve separated us now.’

‘Why?’

‘Ahh…’ he sucks a breath through his teeth, winds his head away then back again, ‘es basura, he hates me, or something. Told the guards I’d kill him in his sleep.’

You raise a brow, a would you? brow. He just laughs.

‘Pinche viejo is paranoid,’ he explains. ‘Wants this place to be his kingdom.’

‘And you can’t have a kingdom with two kings, right?’

When he laughs this time, you join him, and again, for a minute, you forget what you’re here for. You let it stand. Just us, for a moment longer, Rafi. Peace before the storm.

He sighs on the come down, lifting his hands until the chain is taut. ‘Pues, qué clase de rey es esto, hm? Si Mama pudiera verme ahora.’

You nudge him under the table, your sneaker against his prison-issued pants. ‘She’d tell the guards they aren’t feeding you enough, flaco.’

A smile, another in return. Time to get it over with. He doesn’t know it—or maybe he does, maybe he’s always known—but he’s sanding back your conviction, as usual, one grin at a time.

‘Mira, I should tell you, Rafi.’ You cough, then look down to fiddle with the already scratched skin by your nail-bed. Say it. Say it. ‘I won’t come again.’ There.

‘What?’

‘After today…’

Your throat dries. You’d rehearsed it in the mirror; it wasn’t the same as speaking over the table in front of you. Honestly, you’d hoped you would at least have some glass between, you were counting on it, even. Something for his reaction to bounce off. Instead, it strikes you directly now, clear and targeted, hurt from his face right onto yours.

‘I won’t visit you,’ you manage. ‘Anymore.’

The tourists in the cantina, the university professor. The fucking DEA agent. How did you overlook all of that? The cocaine, Sofia, fleeing to Costa Rica. He’s been souring since he’d swapped you for Miguel, himself for the business. Been gone before you’d even realised. You’ve spent all this time trying to stitch him back together, keep the body whole, keep the motor running, and he was already a ghost. Gone through the fucking cracks. You were just too sentimental to see it, too loyal to the kid you’d met at the end of the street.

‘You won’t see me after this,’ you reiterate. ‘I should have done it a long time ago, but this is it, Rafi, this is where I get off.’

No more phone calls, no more cars sent for you. No more advice on things you had no right to be speaking on in the first place. This, is where you draw the line. You can’t put everything on hold and wait for him now. There’s a life for you outside of him. Outside of this.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ he says again, as dumbstruck as the first time. ‘Why?’ He leans forward and there’s a lingering smile behind his voice, an edge of disbelief. ‘It’s over now, I’m done.’ He thinks he’s invincible still, even at the end.

‘It’s always been about you, Rafa,’ you push, looking at the table instead of his hope, ‘every time, it’s all about you. I can’t do it anymore. I have to…’

He goes for your hands but you pull away. It doesn’t deter him. ‘You finally have me back,’ he says. ‘After I’m out, we do whatever you want, okay? No more shit.’

You shake your head. ‘I won’t wait, Rafa.’

He laughs, a hollow, limp sound. ‘It’s not like I’m asking you sit around doing nothing, carnale. Come on, you can’t spare a few hours a week to see your oldest friend?’

The silence can answer him this time. You let it work through the gaps, dowsing the humour he’s clinging to.

‘What?’ he continues, sounding anxious now. ‘You want to get married and move away, or something?’

‘Rafa…'

It’s starting to sink in. You can’t look at him, can’t watch it turn over in his head. The corners of his mouth dropping, the pinch of his brows. You can’t look. False woodgrain in the plastic table. His shoulders. His eyes. The chains between his wrists clatter as his arms go slack.

‘You won’t even call?’ he asks.

‘No.’

Maybe. Maybe on birthdays.

‘I shouldn’t,’ you tell him. ‘It’s better this way.’

He scoffs. It’s a sour enough sound to make you wince. ‘For who?’ he asks. ‘I need you in here, I’ll go crazy, I’ll—’

‘For me, Rafa.’ That’s the point, the whole point, and still he doesn’t get it. ‘It’s better for me, and I have to do it.’

And he has to let you. He said he wouldn’t ask again, wouldn’t expect you to follow him everywhere he went. Just because he’s stuck in one place now, doest mean you have to be too. One of you deserves a win, right? You won’t serve time on his behalf.

‘I’m sorry.’ You say it to the side of his face because he isn’t looking at you, won’t look at you. ‘Maybe something will…’ No, you stop yourself, put the wheel straight again. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve said something earlier. Long ago. I shouldn’t have waited until now.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You never let me—’

‘Well, if it’s my fault,’ he shrugs, ‘what else is there to talk about.’ He spares a moment to flick his eyes in your direction—and they betray him. Show the child behind the face. ‘Go,’ he says to the wall again, ‘you don’t want to be here.’

You don’t, and if this is how he wants to be, then fine, conversation over. Cloth cut from the body at last.

When you stand, he’s looking away still, with his forearms crossed over the table—awkward, but it’s what the cuffs allow—and you won’t say goodbye to the cheek of him, so you don’t say anything else at all.

You’ve found your track, now it’s time to run it, right to the end. Just like he would.

#rafa quintero x reader #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico #rafael caro quintero x reader #rafa caro quintero

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