#also each one was a specific painting session. some were smaller sessions with only a few colours used

[bmpmp3]

11 fish

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

does any part of four feel more left out than the others, specifically green? cause i havent seen a lot of stuff centering on green, if any at all. most of the fics ive read have to do with the other parts and green is just kinda left behind. honestly i just want more green content and angst 😅 so yeah. hope this helps spring up more ideas 😊

[Decided to take this as a prompt since it's still technically Four Weeks of Four. Green angst sounds pretty good honestly. Take some self-reflection ^u^ Also this is unedited. Let me know if I need to tag anything differently.]

Warning(s): talk of self-blame and unhealthy habits, but it's pretty brief.

For once, it was quiet at home. Everyone was still asleep, but Green found that he couldn't sleep anymore. With a quiet sigh, he sat up in the large bed he shared with the other Colors, taking a moment to smile at the sight of them cuddled close together.

Red seemed to have grabbed Blue in his sleep, huddled into his chest in his spot between Vio and Blue. The former had wrapped his arms around the both of them, his lankier frame easily encompassing the both of them. Blue had grabbed Green's shirt in his sleep with one hand while the other was holding onto Vio. It was a comforting sight.

Carefully, he peeled Blue's hand off of his shirt, trying not to startle the other awake. As he slipped out of bed and onto the chilled hardwood floor, he took a moment to check around the crowded room. The other heroes were asleep as well, and for that he was grateful.

He took a moment to count heads, Wild cuddled up against Twilight, Sky holding Hyrule and Wind close, the latter of which had a hand on Hyrule's shirt, Legend was back-to-back with Hyrule with Time laying still on his back in between Legend and Warriors, the latter of which was pressed up against the wall.

Stepping carefully around the sleeping bodies, he made his way to the stairway. Avoiding the creaky steps, he entered the main room and headed for the kitchen. He could see the sky from the window and could see that it looked to be a cloudy day. Silently he hoped it wouldn't rain. Grabbing a kettle, he filled it with water and headed to the living room, stirring the fireplace to life and setting the water to boil above it.

The quiet was nice, refreshing even, especially with how loud it could get with so many heroes in one place. They had taken them splitting quite well, especially the Veteran who had seemed to already know about it. It was relieving and allowed them to split much more often. The very fact that they could have time to be away from each other for even a short while was perfect. A fact that Green was currently making the most of.

When the kettle whistled, he quietly cursed and hurriedly took it off the fire. He walked back into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboard until he found a suitable mug and his box of tea. Pulling out the small wooden box, smiling slightly at the chiseled and painted green air element symbol on the front, he grabbed a tea bag and dropped it into the empty cup. When the boiling water had been poured inside, he set the kettle on a hot pad to avoid burning the wooden counter (like he had many times before to Blue's frustration).

He made his way back to the living room, a small jar of honey in one hand and the steaming mug of tea in the other. Setting the mug on a coaster, he sat and waited for it to steep. His mind seemed to be just as loud today as it had been when the four were one.

He thought about the groups' goal, to fight the Shadow that had brought them all together. His mind drifted to a similar Shadow, how he had sacrificed himself for them on their last adventure. How they had tried to find a way to bring him back, only to find no leads. How Vio had taken that fact badly and shut down nearly completely, Blue had gotten angry with even the slightest mention of the missing Shade, Red had tried to stay cheerful despite how he would quietly cry alone when no one was watching.

He had ignored his own needs then, trying to make sure everyone was okay and taking care of themselves. It took time, and in fact, it was still a work in progress as every mention of the Shadow they were chasing had them all flinch and clench their fists. He had tried to keep the peace, tried to make sure that they'd all be okay, and now that he had the time to reflect on everything, he realized he was tired.

After their adventure, he was worried that he'd lose them all, that he wouldn't be good enough or strong enough to keep them all safe and alive. The addition of eight other heroes to worry about only made his already stretched worries stretch even further.

With a start, he remembered his tea and quickly took out the teabag. He frowned at the darker color of the tea, knowing he had over-steeped it. He sighed, taking the honey and pouring in a more generous amount than he normally would. He stirred it and then took a sip, the taste not as strong as he had feared it would've been. He chuckled slightly, self-deprecatingly as he realized that maybe he needed a longer break than he thought.

He sat back against the cushion of the chair, holding his warm mug of tea and staring at the fire burning away in the hearth. Each sip of his tea relaxed him further, though not as much as he hoped it would. The quiet sounds of the fire crackling away and the wind blowing against the house was comforting, yet he felt uneasy. He could feel the discomfort of not doing enough right now to help the others growing, making him fidget, but a small part of him, sounding similar to Vio, simply stated that everyone was still asleep and that there isn't anything to do currently.

It was the truth, the only thing he could do currently was cook breakfast, but he had a feeling Red would throw a fit if he wrecked yet another of his pans. The memory of the first time that happened made him chuckle, how Red's face turned the color of his namesake as he yelled and gestured with the mishappen pan. Green had been apologetic and slightly fearful, but Red had calmed considerably when he had offered to make him new cooking tools.

His mind then turned to other memories; Blue demanding a sparring session with him several days in a row, losing often enough that he vowed to knock Green on his ass one day. Vio pulling him aside one day to get him to go on a trip to a far-off town just so he could learn about the culture and people there.

And then newer memories with the group; Sky sitting next to him and asking questions about his era, eyes sparkling with wonder at each new story of their life. Time helping them with taking down bigger opponents, offering pointers that sounded as though from experience. Twilight letting him hitch a ride on his back after he had embarrassed himself by stumbling and twisting his ankle in front of the other Colors. Warriors going over strategies with him late into the night after they had encountered several unfamiliar enemies. Legend helping them with weapon maintenance and trading stories of awful customers as they worked. Wind and Wild taking them on a little adventure to explore a new area no one had seen before. Hyrule going on an even smaller adventure with them to a Minish Village for a celebration.

Green couldn't help but smile more genuinely at each thought, each memory of simply hanging out and having fun or even doing something that he enjoyed. He finished off the mug of tea, now fully relaxed as his mind had finally drifted away from the more stressful topics. As he put the mug into the sink and put the honey away, he found that maybe it would be a good idea to stop keeping such thoughts of his worries bottled up. He would tell one of the others, starting with the other Colors.

'But for now,' he thought, finishing cleaning up after himself with a small smile and glancing out the window to the sun peeking through the clouds, 'I think I'll enjoy the quiet and distance from everyone and take a break.'

[reversemoon255]

(This is the final of a three-part series chronicling the development and ideas behind “Dungeons ‘n’ Dragonites,” a Pokémon DnD campaign. This last entry will be about the final string of encounters, some of the later ideas for story elements, and a deep dive into the overarching themes of the campaign’s Starters. Speaking of, the fantastic art of them, along with many of the other original Pokémon seen here, was done by @extyrannomon on Twitter, and I highly suggest you check them out.)

Dungeons ‘n’ Dragonites - Phase 3: Fauxchemine

Like the Queen Durant, the Steelix/Glacix fight would have been a transitory battle between phases of the campaign, taking place right before the Starters were about to evolve for the final time. Glacix was an idea I came up with early in development. As Rock, Steel, and Ice have a relationship throughout Pokémon, having Onix evolve into a specially tanky Ice-Type rather than the physically tanky Steelix made sense. This was also a design I put a lot of work into the actual proportions, like stretching its face vertically as Onix is circular, and Steelix is horizontally stretched. Also, as Steelix has two long spikes on every other segment, Glacix has four smaller spikes in the same pattern.

Glacix was also the first of the four penultimate boss encounters before the close of the campaign, each representing one of the four sacred beasts of Chinese mythology. I thought it would be a pattern that players could recognize and possibly plan ahead for. Glacix was always planned as the Phase 2-to-3 transitory boss, but I actually had roughly prototyped the other three before I realized Glacix fit into role of the Azure Dragon (which I was missing).

The second of the bosses, representing both the Black Tortoise and Rare Variants, was a Dire Torterra. The idea was this Torterra was symbiotic, housing a Sudowoodo instead of a tree, and hiding its identity was a shiny Altaria capable of Mega Evolving thanks to the Key Stone that had replaced one of Torterra’s stone spikes. This was a rough concept, and I’m sure it would have changed drastically by the time the players would actually encounter it.

Third, representing both the White Tiger and Ultra Beasts, was Shora (from Shodo and Tora, the Japanese words for calligraphy and tiger). A pure white tiger that paints floating, metal stripes above its body with its brush-like tail. This was an idea I was very happy with, though I lacked the artistic abilities to render it effectively. If I remember correctly, the markings above its shoulder were based on the Kanji for Tiger. I also hadn’t settled on an ability for it, which was key for depicting Ultra Beasts in this campaign.

And the last of the penultimate bosses was Phanic, being a second Ultra Beast and representing the Vermilion Phoenix. Sadly, I had little planned for this guy apart from some concept designs, like the rest of them. I was working on these as the campaign was starting, and didn’t pursue finishing them after its premature conclusion.

Phanic (from Phoenix and Panic) is actually an Ostrich. If you picture a phoenix, you typically imagine great plumes of feathers around the head, wings, and tail, which are all things Ostriches specifically lack, and I wanted to subvert that typical depiction. I liked the idea that when it was startled, it would scatter its feathers resulting in an exclamation point forming using the spot on its face. It was supposed to seem unassuming compared to the many larger and more imposing bosses, though just as dangerous. Also, it was Electric-Type because it is frequently “shocked” *Ba-dum-tish.*

=====

Let’s talk about our players. One of the backstory elements our Grass Trainer, Ethan, had was that his parents’ restaurant was struck by lightning and destroyed some time before he went to school, and saw a Pokémon at that time. This left him with a fear of lightning (ironically picking an Electric-Type Starter). With this knowledge, and as I was using Ultra Beasts, I altered his backstory slightly so that it was caused by a Xurkitree, and would eventually encounter one during the campaign with his victory over it (probably with a lot of Wisdom Saves) curing his phobia.

Johnny, our Fire Trainer, had a goal of becoming an entertainer, but was vague about what kind. I had an idea for a “Streamer” Trainer Class he could run into. Someone who uses their Rotom Phone to live stream battles and get reactions and advice from their chat. (Let’s face it, if Pokémon were real, this would totally be a thing.) There was also DJ Tomomitsu, who runs Stelopy City’s Trainer Radio, and was a Gym Leader. The idea was to present a bunch of different Pokémon-based entertainment ideas and professions and have him decide which ideas he liked and wanted to pursue.

While our other players were aiming for careers, Orion, our Water Trainer, was more interested in exploring his relationship with his family. His father in particular; both he and his wife being high-ranking executives for Silph Co., and raising their children to also be successful. However, Orion had always wanted to be a Trainer, and it was his parents that prevented him from adventuring. I had it that his father was so against the idea was because he, too, was a Trainer in his youth. But not a successful one, failing many more times than he succeeded, and didn’t want his son to suffer the same disappointments as he did. His partner was Rhyperior, btw.

Lastly was our Fairy Trainer, Arthur. He wanted to be a Gym Leader, and cited specific interest in the Galar League. He also mentioned in his back story that his father was belligerent and against the idea. While the Leaders of the Galar League are entertainers by profession, if you look at the list of Gym Leaders and Kahunas in US equivalent regions, almost all of them have a profession and run Gyms on the side:

(Restaurant Owner, Museum Curator, Artist, Model, Business Tycoon, Pilot, Actor, Teacher, Rock Star, Mayor, Shop Owner, Police Officer; 12/15)

It felt like a hobby, rather than a career, and I ran with this idea as it seemed like Arthur and his obsession with the Galar League hadn’t noticed this fact (nor had his player), but his father had and was pushing him into a sports-based career (one that is usually lucrative and has off-seasons) so he could have a well-paying job and time on the side for his interests, similar to Orion’s father.

Though, no DM can control their players, and even by the end of our fist session I could tell I would have to change some things. It’s just good to have some idea of where to lead everyone, and adjust as you go.

=====

There’s one more Pokémon I want to talk about before we get to the Starters.

This is Necrotiti (Combining Necro with the Egyptian God Nefertiti), an evolution of Cofagrigus, evolving if it’s holding an item called the “Ceremonial Jar” (literally a jar filled with Yamask’s human intestines). It was meant to evolve from the Yamask they could catch during their museum field trip. The reason it exists is... silly. It’s another instances where I wanted to surprise my players, and giving the “Gardevoir Treatment” to what I consider the creepiest Pokémon was funny (which I feel is a reason I cite a lot). And I was really happy with this design, which is why it got commissioned.

A lot of the original ideas I had for this campaign were meant to either surprise or creep out my players. Everyone I was playing with knew Pokémon very well, so I had this fear that if I presented them with a standard adventure they would either become bored or be able to easily predict where things were going. Having a Pokémon adventure within a single city, having it be more a mystery than a collect-a-thon, and using new Pokémon were all ways I came up with to keep interest high and have them guessing as to what would happen next.

Back to Necrotiti, despite having a sarcophagus Pokémon, we didn’t get a mummy. I wanted to make the body effeminate without being overly so, which is why her body is very geometrical in specific areas. For the mask, I went with a typical Egyptian Nubian motif mixed with some of the overall design elements and basic lines from Yamask, and the colors and patterns from Cofagrigus. But despite how much I like it, I don’t know if I would have used it. It didn’t match the Mutant Evolution concept, with its only similarity being that it’s a rare occurrence.

Onto the Starters: Epipesis has evolved into Drachenura (from Dragon, Lichen, and Meganeura). Grass Starters are typically based on extinct animals, and Flymph’s line is based on a Meganeura (an ancient species of giant dragonfly). Apart from some bulking out and additional colors, the lichen sacks in its tail are now yellow, as the plant matter has evolved with it. It supplies it with so much energy that it has to constantly move while the sun’s up to burn it off. Its tail tip is also based on the X-15, the fastest aircraft to date, as it was designed to be the fastest Grass-Type.

Steared has evolved into Auradiat (from Aura, Auroch, and Radiate). Now a Fire/Ice-Type, it’s based on an extinct species of cattle found around the time of the Ice Age. Its ability to absorb energy with its horns has become so powerful that they have frozen over. When I was originally designing it, I was actually trying to base it on the phrase “Irish Bull” (meaning a paradoxical statement), but as I kept working on it, it became more and more Minotaur-like, so I kept the Fire/Ice-Typing and dropped the more abstract elements. As I did, I actually made it more bull and less Minotaur since all Fire Starters are bipedal, and I wanted to try and avoid that.

Knaval has evolved into Chivalazuli (from Chivalier, the French word for knight, and Lapis Lazuli). This was probably my favorite example of features naturally changing as it evolves, with the antenna growing longer and the shield and lance growing harder (going from carapace, to stone, to crystal). Some of the things you might not have noticed at first glace were his forelegs becoming sub-arms on his chest, him gaining the lobster nose and it becoming a face guard, and how his eyes recess into his head. Also, almost every Starter is symmetrical (apart from patterns), with the only exception being Torterra, so I designed it to be asymmetrical throughout.

And Uteteo has evolved into Makutah (from the Aztec naming scheme used for their Gods of wealth and abundance and Utahraptor). He’s Fairy/Flying, with the gold adornments that first appeared on Uteteo now on his head and arms, giving him a more bird-like appearance. The idea was to have him naturally evolve from a Dinosaur into a bird, with the leg bands making them look more like talons, and the face mask giving him a beak. Also, he starts out with the singular sickle toe raptors are known for, and gets a new one every evolution, ending with a full set.

The thing that sets these Starters apart from ones you’d find in the games is that these are designed to be a team. As such, there are a few themes they all share to help reinforce that. (This ignores Utaw, but) All the Starters, throughout their evolutions, have a distinct yellow detail on their heads (eyes, nose ring, and antenna). Furthermore, once they reach their final stages, they share colors between them, with Drachenura having red on its extremities, Auradiat having blue neck fur, and Chivalazuli having flecks of green in its gemstone. And on top of that, they also all have two overarching themes. First is they all represent different time periods, with Drachenura being pre-humans (Precambrian), Auradiat being prehistoric humans (Ice Age), and Chivalazuli being more modern (Medieval Period). Secondly they all represent DnD, with a Dragon(fly), Auradiat filling the role of a minotaur and its connection to a labyrinth/dungeon, and the adventurous knight who traverses them.

There’s also reasoning behind their types, as all three’s secondary Types are also strong against their usual counterpart (Grass and Electric are both strong against Water, Fire and Ice against Grass, and Water and Rock against Fire). Furthermore, Electric, Ice, and Rock are all strong against Flying, which is the reason behind Makutah’s Type (a joke against the player who joined late).

Makutah does fit into these themes, but more loosely as it was created later. Utaw and Uteteo lack the yellow facial details (though they do have yellow eyes), only really achieving this during their final evolution. He also doesn’t share any colors, as Fairy is outside the usual threesome. It does somewhat fit into the themes of the others, but not as cleanly. Utaw, being a Dinosaur, is still pre-humans, but closer to them than Flymph is, and having Aztec themes puts him past Medieval and closer to the Renaissance in terms of human history, but is very close compared to the other time gaps. Also, the gold was partly to fit him into the DnD theme, representing treasure.

=====

One of the first things the players were told at the beginning of the campaign, and was reinforced throughout, was that Pokémon from outside the Wellou Region were mysteriously popping up all over the place, with the Ultra Beasts being the most extreme example. As to the cause, there were a number of red herrings. Silph Co. employees could occasionally be seen in areas where UBs were with strange equipment, Tomomitsu could occasionally be found before something would show up, and there were a few other strange characters like the Regional Champion or Silph Co.’s president. The only definite thing they would know was that there was a strange, creepy, grey Charizard that would occasionally appear when they took something down.

However, it would eventually be revealed that the above were only trying to understand what was going on, and prevent the appearances of such dangerous Pokémon, like our heroes. And as a massive Ultra Wormhole appears above the city, they come face-to-face with the true mastermind. Not an evil team, or a lone conqueror. Merely a single, twisted Pokémon. And our heroes have interfered with its fun long enough.

“You stare up at the now familiar form of the grey Charizard, which stares back with unblinking, dead eyes... Its mouth stretches wide, wide enough to swallow you whole, and a hand appears. And another. And another. Four skeletal hands pry its maw open from the inside, stretching it until its skin falls down to settle on its hips. What looks down on you now, with a single, glowing eye, is a monstrous form made of bone and rotting flesh. And witnessing the four of you before it, it lets out a high-pitched, chilling laugh...

“‘Fofofofofo...’“

Fauxchemine. A sadistic Ultra Beast capable of warping time and space to its will. All the disturbances throughout the town, all the strange creatures that have appeared, all the monsters sent to terrorize our heroes; all the result of its twisted sense of fun, and the consequences of getting in the way of it.

So there’s a running joke among my friends that we all “hate” Charizard. Not actually, but it’s always pushed in marketing with new forms and such, even though its popularity has been dropping steadily over the years. As such, I thought it would be somewhat cathartic to have the big bad they have to beat up at the end be related to Charizard. ‘Chemine’s skeletal nature comes from trying to cinematicly picture the encounter in my mind, with the eerie image of the mouth stretching open from the dialogue earlier. With bone white and rotten greens, the skin wasn’t meant to reflect Charizard as a shiny, but rather with all its color drained from it, as it’s more a puppeted skin than an actual part of the Pokémon. And as many Pokémon draw inspiration from Kaiju, ‘Chemine does, too, specifically calling back to an Ultra-Kaiju named Greeza with space warping abilities.

It’s Steel/Dragon with Thick Fat. When planning encounters, especially this late into the game, Auradiat made things tough since its offensive Typing is insane, and that combination made it resistant to all of the Starter Types except Fairy. This was supposed to be the toughest fight in the campaign, so I wanted to build a Pokémon that would be difficult to deal damage to. A swift Pokémon able to warp around the field, summoning Ultra Beasts or other versions of Charizard as adds or for specific attacks, I wanted this to be memorably difficult.

Oh, and the name? It’s meant to rhythmically sound like “Pokémon,” with the ‘faux’ symbolizing its disguise, and the ‘mine’ representing its personality. Everything in this world is its to play with.

But that giant Ultra Wormhole wasn’t just for show. Part-way through Phase 2 our players were sucked through a Wormhole themselves, both they and Fauxchemine bearing witness to a titanic creature as they did, and upon its defeat, it is let loose upon the city:

Standing over 100ft tall is Wreknarogg (from wreck, to destroy, Níðhöggr, a massive world-ending creature from Norse mythology, and Ragnarok, the end of the world). A massive symbiotic group of four Pokémon from a dead world, the whale-squid Bayleige, the parasitic Serrasite, and the barnacle Rhizocano. This was actually the first symbiotic Pokémon I designed, and its creation sparked the others like Shiinotic and Torterra so this wouldn’t be the first time our players encountered one.

Whales are the largest creatures on Earth, so using one as the base for a kaiju-sized Pokémon fit. It also helped that the prototype designs for the Cloverfield monster were based on a whale, so I had something to go on. Secondly, I really like a lot of the eldritch design philosophy, and a lot of those are based on sea creatures, which is where the combined squid elements came from. Also, when I was prototyping the design and trying to make it creepier, a friend suggested having a parasite coming out of its blowhole, which is what sparked the creation of Serrasite and Rhizocano (as whale’s are known to have such parasites in real life).

This was a design very inspired by the world it was supposed to inhabit. Coming from a desert world where they are the only living things remaining, they symbiotically support each other to stave off their own inevitable death, with Bayleige able to create rain with its ability and Rhizocano able to make artificial sunlight to feed Serrasite. Serrasite then gives energy to Bayleige to allow it to keep moving, and Rhizocano takes energy from Bayleige. It’s an incomplete system where energy is slowly lost over time.

Stage 2 of the final boss wasn’t supposed to be as intense as the last one. A gimmick for this fight was, at the start of every round, I was going to roll a D100, and an event would happen. They would be things like their friends showing up with healing items, trainers they knew joining the battle, wild Pokémon they’d befriended getting in pot shots, etc. It was meant to be a fun, celebratory, “you’re at the end of the campaign” fight rather than an intense one off the back of another. I was even considering having everyone use their full parties.

But after it’s defeated, a thick, dark haze enshrouds everyone. With their allies gone, and left with just their Starters, our players are alone in a dark void. I did say there were four Pokémon earlier...

And the final encounter is Wreknarogg (Core). The Pokémon who brought the three titans together, and controls them while siphoning off some of their energy to survive. Similar to Phanic, this was another unassuming Pokémon. Designed to resemble a virus while calling back to aspects from mythical Pokémon like Jirachi or Manaphy. I understand it might not feel as climactic as there wasn’t any set-up compared to ‘Chemine, who was shown throughout, or the previous Wreknarogg, who was foreshadowed, but I wanted a 3-stage boss fight, and this felt like a good way of concluding it.

While stage 1 was supposed to be difficult, and stage 2 was meant to be fun and call back to the long journey, stage 3 was an un-losable, cinematic fight with a somewhat somber tone to it. It was the final fight, the end of it all, and there’s a certain level of sadness that comes with that in accordance with the jubilation of completion. It was also meant to see how much everyone had grown; how would they handle this encounter? Fight it? Catch it? Persuade it? Maybe I haven’t listened to enough DnD finalés, but in how many can you beat the final boss by being nice to it and calming it down?

=====

And that’s the end. There would be some sort of epilogue, picking up with our characters some months or years later, but that’s not something I could write without witnessing the actions of the players. I was debating having everything that came from an Ultra Wormhole be sucked back in after Fauxchemine’s defeat, including the Starters (pull a Digimon Tamers), but as Wreknarogg came from a dead world I thought that a little cruel.

And to end things how I usually do; Overall, despite not getting off the ground, I was very happy with this project. I’m the type to pick up and drop projects frequently, and the fact that I stuck with and continued to work on it for months was something I was really proud of. It was also a great learning experience on many levels. And who knows; maybe I might do something like this again in the future...?

[yourafms]

            hi  everyone  !  i’m  kofi  ,  the  odd  age  of  24  ,  from  the  est  timezone  ,  and  prefer  either  she / her  or  they / them  pronouns  !  i’m  super  excited  that  i  came  across  this  group  ,  as  i’ve  been  itching  to  play  a  rich  muse  for  a  while  and  also  to  play  yu  jimin  (  or  karina  !  )  once  again  .  i’m  so  ridiculously  attached  to  youra  that  this  intro  may  end  up  getting  pretty  long  ,  but  i  promise  all  the  info  is  necessary  .  that  being  said  ,  i  won’t  keep  this  part  long  ,  and  i  can’t  wait  to  plot  with  everyone  !

            *  (  cis  woman  &  she / her  )      i  thought  i  saw  YU  JIMIN  walking  down  5th  avenue  ,  but  it  was  just  YOURA  KI  .  you  know  ,  the  TWENTY  ONE  year  old  STUDENT  &  HEIRESS  .  they  seemed  to  be  feeling  IRRITATED  about  the  book  announcement  ,  it  might  be  because  they  ARE  expected  to  be  in  it  .  i’ve  heard  they  are  WINSOME  and  can  also  be  QUERULOUS  ,  but  the  best  way  to  describe  them  is  CRYSTALLINE  TEARS  STAINING  SOFT  SATIN  ,  THE  INESCAPABLE  FEELING  OF  FAILURE  ,  MELODIOUS  LAUGHTER  ECHOING  IN  SILENT  PASSAGEWAYS  ,  AND  BITTERNESS  DRIPPING  FROM  HER  TONGUE  LIKE  HONEY  . 

template  credit  :  @gunshzt  &  yearbook  doodle  credit  :  @springdoy  !

content  warnings  :  depression  ,  car  accident  ,  and  injury  .

      tidbits.

            name  :  youra  ki  (  ki  youra  )  .  nickname(s)  :  ra - ra  .  age  +  date  of  birth  :  21  +  may  26th  ,  2000  .  zodiac  :  gemini  .  moral  alignment  :  chaotic  neutral  .  place  of  birth  :  pyeongchang - dong  ,  south  korea  .  place  of  residence  :  hell’s  kitchen  ,  new  york  .  occupation  :  student  and  heiress  .  nationality  :  korean  .  ethnicity  :  korean  .  height  :  5′5″  .  language(s)  spoken  :  korean  ,  english  ,  conversational  japanese  ,  and  elementary  french  .

      details.

            from  the  moment  ki  ye - eun  and  ki  si - woo  discover  they’re  pregnant  (  following  what  was  supposed  to  be  a regular  doctor’s  appointment  )  ,  the  tiny  being  growing  inside  of  ye - eun  was  lavished  with  love  and  everything  that  money  could  buy  .  with  si - woo  hailing  from  the  ki  family  of  kg  group  ,  known  for  their  success  in  the  entertainment  community  while  ye - eun  hails  from  the  park  family  of  pkr  group  ,  responsible  for  south  korea’s  largest  banks  .  it  was  only  fate  that  the  two  crossed  paths  ,  and  oh  how  the  media  loved  as  their  relationship  progressed  .  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  before  the  couple  decided  to  get  married  .  it  was  an  over - the - top  ,  multi - million  dollar  wedding  that  was  covered  by  various  media  outlets  .

            it  was  five  years  following  their  wedding  that  the  couple  discovered  they  were  pregnant  ,  and  were  happy  to  have  a  baby  of  their  own  .  deciding  to  keep  the  sex  of  their  baby  a  secret  ,  and  it’s  when  the  sweet  baby  is  pressed  into  ye - eun’s  arms  that  they  decide  to  name  her  youra  .  for  the  first  five  years  of  her  life  ,  youra  lives  in  a  penthouse  in  the  sky  with  her  parents  ,  constantly  showered  with  love  and  everything  she  so  desired  .  suddenly  ,  though  ,  when  new  opportunities  arose  the  family  moved  to  their  new  home  in  new  york  city  ,  specifically  ,  a  multi - million  dollar  townhouse  in  the  upper  east  side  .  youra  begins  school  at  one  of  the  best  schools  money  could  afford  ,  and  her  parents  easily  find  her  some  activities  to  take  part  in  .

            for  about  a  month  ,  her  parents  try  out  a  handful  of  activities  for  their  daughter  ranging  from  gymnastics  to  even  a  painting  class  ,  but  nothing  sticks  .  it’s  not  until  they  enroll  her  for  ballet  that  youra  finally  finds  something  she’s  not  crying  about  on  the  drive  back  home  .  ballet  truly  sticks  to  their  daughter  ,  so  it’s  no  surprise  that  as  she  gets  older  ,  she  becomes  serious  with  her  discipline  .  when  she’s  ten  years  old  ,  youra  makes  her  stage  debut  when  she’s  cast  as  clara  in  the  nutcracker  .  from  then  on  ,  youra’s  star  continues  to  shine  brighter  and  brighter  ,  and  her  list  of  leading  roles  grows  longer  and  longer  .  she  does  well  academically  ,  despite  her  busy  life  as  a  ballerina  ,  and  if  you  were  to  take  a  peek  into  her  bedroom  ,  you’d  see  that  youra  had  her  set  on  one  thing  and  one  thing  only  :  the  juilliard  school  .  

            attending  such  a  prestigious  school  was  the  only  thing  youra  ever  wanted  in  her  life  ,  so  it’s  no  surprise  that  during  her  senior  year  it’s  the  only  thing  she  can  think  about  .  after  her  studies  are  complete  ,  youra  trains  for  hours  on  end  ,  often  not  returning  to  the  family  home  until  late  at  night  .  the  only  event  capable  of  tearing  youra  away  from  her  pointe  shoes  and  the  studio  is  prom  night  .  it  was  the  one  event  youra  wanted  to  attend  ,  a  last  hoorah  with  her  friends  before  they  all  went  off  to  chase  their  own  dreams  .  it’s  all  fun  for  the  friends  ,  car  filled  with  giggles  and  singing  along  to  whatever  pop  song  was  playing  on  the  radio  until  it  all  came  crashing  down  .  [  CAR  ACCIDENT  AND  INJURY  CW  ]  all  it  takes  is  for  a  drunken  driver  to  ruin  their  night  ,  and  the  last  thing  youra  sees  is  pair  of  blinding  headlights  .   when  she  wakes  up  ,  it’s  in  the  hospital  with  a  cast  on  her  right  leg  .  her  fears  are  confirmed  when  she’s  told  how  bad  the  damage  is  ,  and  no  amount  of  tears  or  begging  her  parents  to  get  a  second  opinion  to  save  her  from  the  dread  that  suddenly  takes  over  .  [  END  CW  ]

            [  DEPRESSION  CW  ]  for  a  full  year  youra  secludes  herself  .  with  each  day  that  passes  ,  youra  becomes  angry  and  bitter  towards  her  fate  ,  often  ignoring  her  physical  therapy  sessions  and  crumbling  when  she  puts  on  her  pointe  shoes  and  is  unable  to  do  as  she  once  was  .  for  that  year  ,  youra  struggles  with  the  loss  of  the  love  she  once  for  ballet  ,  walls  suddenly  stripped  bare  of  the  posters  that  once  lined  them  and  moving  the  vast  array  of  costumes  out  of  her  closet  .  [  END  CW  ]  it  takes  a  long  time  for  youra  to  feel  better  ,  and  for  some  of  that  anger  to  dissipate  ,  although  it  still  lingers  .  eventually  ,  youra  gets  accepted  to  new  york  university  ,  where  she’s  currently  in  her  second  year  of  study  .  now  ,  youra  is  in  her  third  year  of  study  ,  majoring  in  art  and  art  history  .  on  top  of  that  ,  she’s  working  as  an  intern  at  the  met  .

      summarized.

youra  could  be  classified  as  being  ‘  bitchy  ’  ,  but  in  reality  ,  she’s  still  angry  and  bitter  about  the  loss  of  her  dream  career  .  she’s  been  told  by  numerous  professionals  that  she  could  never  practice  ballet  again  ,  but  she  has  a  tendency  of  pushing  herself  to  do  movements  she  once  could  do  with  ease  ,  and  that  doesn’t  always  end  well  for  her  .  

since  the  loss  of  her  career  ,  youra  finds  comfort  in  the  material  things  .  more  often  than  not  ,  she  simply  buys  things  to  have  them  ,  not  out  of  necessity  .  her  purchases  remain  in  their  boxes  and  bags  shoved  in  a  corner  somewhere  ,  and  they  only  get  put  away  when  her  housekeeper  comes  by  during  the  week  .  it  wouldn’t  be  surprising  if  mostly  everything  in  her  closet  still  has  tags  on  them  .

has  a  habit  of  touching  her  hair  ,  even  when  there’s  nothing  wrong  with  it  .  she  chops  it  up  to  needing  something  to  do  with  her  hands  ,  but  it’s  more  of  a  nervous  tick  .

currently  lives  in  a  too  big  three - bedroom  apartment  in  hell’s  kitchen  sans  roommate  .  outside  of  the  main  bedroom  ,  one  of  the  rooms  has  been  turned  into  a  larger - than - life  closet  while  the  smaller  of  the  two  is  her  office  .  she  doesn’t  really  know  why  she  has  an  office  when  most  of  her  work  gets  done  on  the  floor  at  the  coffee  table  .

extremely  self  conscious  about  the  scar  on  her  leg  .  the  one  benefit  of  having  $$  is  that  doctor’s  were  able  to  ensure  it  healed  well  and  there  wasn’t  too  much  scarring  ,  but  it’s  still  there  and  it’s  so  ugly  (  at  least  to  her  )  .  

since  finishing  physical  therapy  ,  youra  keeps  herself  busy  with  a  regular  workout  routine  ,  which  is  mostly  yoga  and  pilates  .  it’s  not  a  surprise  if  you  catch  her  at  a  fancy  café  picking  up  a  weird  looking  green  juice  or  sporting  her  gymshark  /  athleta  gym  wear  . 

[rairaidango]

SEEDS THAT GROW - Tobisaku, Madasaku, Ita(masaku)

CHAPTER 2 - BEST FRIENDS

1

First chapter garnered more attention than I had expected it to ngl! But it felt nice to know ppl like wtv im trying out here. Here is chapter 2! Just a reminder I’m not a creative writer (nor do I write well at all lol). This is just fun for me and allows me to focus on something new during quarantine :) It’s pr slowburn but focuses on a lot of Sakura’s thoughts and feelings. (and her amazing friendship with Ino) 

TW : mentions of depression, anxiety, self-loathing, etc

“Yeah I’ve definitely seen you at the club before!” Itama pointed at her, mouth wide open in a boyish smile.

There was no way this Itama boy was that boy. Was there? 

Sakura’s eyes were eagle wide but she quickly shook it off with an awkward laugh. She really couldn’t be sure if it was him, but maybe it was? There really was a possibility. 

“Ah, you know maybe! I can’t recall if I have seen you on a night out though.” she tried to calm her nerves down with even more awkward laughter, but she caught Itachi’s eyes. He could see she was a little uncomfortable.

“Maybe you were like really drunk or something but I’ve definitely seen you-”

“Itama, you’ve seen everyone at the club.” Itachi rescued her. She gave Itachi a silent look of thanks. He only nodded in reply. “And you know, you talk too much man.” He slapped the Itama boy on the back.

“Was just trying to be friendly!”

“More like annoying. Why are we friends again?” Shisui tapped his finger on his chin comedically before laughing and receiving punches. 

The boys were strangers to her, with maybe the exception of Itachi, but she barely ever spoke to anyone outside of her girl group. She never allowed herself to talk to guys casually, and there was a reason for that as stupid as some people felt about it- but it made sense to her at the time and she feared getting close to people.

So this, this, this was nice. And this was a good thing, a casual conversation with friendly guys. She smiled at the thought, because she missed the times when she had close male friends. 

“Alright, everyone’s here according to the attendance list.” Madara announced whilst shuffling the papers in his hand. He pointed to the board making sure to point out the layout of the plans for tomorrow. “The introductory session is tomorrow and we’ve all assigned you to specific roles. We have a large group of eager college students who want to learn more about the wondrous world of medicine and medical practices. If you look at the board you’ll see about 5 groups, each group having 10 students. And two of you will essentially be leading each group and bring them around our campus, then the facilities in our building. This tour will all happen after the presentation that I and Izuna will prepare. Lecture hall 2 alright. You should ALL be there before students arrive. Is that clear?” 

The many student volunteers nodded. 

“Do we have to do anything before the talk?” Itama raised his hand and spoke. 

“Usher in and organise the students coming into the hall. Just make sure everything’s done in an orderly fashion. Knowing you Itama...please do this and work with Itachi.” 

Madara knew Itama? Sakura quirked her brow glancing ever so slightly at the boy with the badly done highlights. She wondered what relationship they had for Madara to speak so casually of him. 

“Will this be sent to us through email?”

“Of course, you’ll receive the plans, groups, layout and even the presentation when you leave the union. We professors aren’t stupid enough to think any of you, or one of you, could remember this stuff.” A playful smirk plastered on Madara’s face was all it took for Sakura to understand that he was probably only referring to Itama. “Alright 3.30pm tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.”

Who were they to each other?

“You know, I get why nii-san finds your uncle annoying and doesn’t like him very much.” Itama grumbled. 

“Eh well to be honest, I get your brother.” Shisui shrugged in response. “Madara likes Itachi though, because he’s a ‘prodigy’.” Itachi only smiled at the mention of his name.“He’s your professor right uh-sorry what’s your name?” 

“Ah yeah he is.” a pause. “Uh my name is Sakura. And he’s really a good teacher though.” She got up from her seat and caught sight of the mentioned professor turning off the projector. 

And then she realised he was looking right back at her with a piercing red gaze. Embarrassment rose in her and her cheeks felt hot; she looked away as quickly as she noticed his gaze and covered her face from him. 

What was that reaction?

“Sakura? I bet you hear how fitting that is.” Shisui snorted. She noticed Itachi was giving her some sort of look, but she couldn’t really figure it out. 

Ah shit, he knows. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have him constantly picking on you in class and after class and outside of university.” 

“Outside of university?” Sakura questioned. 

“Yeah, he’s just close to my family. Don’t really understand how or why.” Itama says hands stretched up in the air. 

“Don’t know why we’re close to you.” Itachi teased coolly, earning him an annoyed look from Itama. 

“Yo, anyone wants some bubble tea. Kokoro Kafe?” Shisui and Itachi grabbed their bags and headed towards the door. “I could do with some milk tea.”

“My sweet tooth and I agree. Sakura?” Sakura looked at the boys in front her. Were they really inviting her to go out and eat? Her? 

It was a good thing, they were nice people, and where was the harm in getting to know them?

But Sakura couldn't accept this.

“It’s alright, thank you though. I really do appreciate the invite. I’m just going to go back home and eat.” She smiled, eyes closed. “It was really nice meeting you three though.” She waved, and the boys all waved back and left the union. 

She sighed.

Outside, it was getting dark. The blue paint of the sky was darkening to a violet tone dashed with white specks of clouds. The yellow street lights only added to the magical transition of day to evening. It was quiet - but not eerily so, soft fading chatter of students echoed around the campus and the sounds of distant birds were sung in the air. 

Sakura breathed in, taking in the moment. She was sitting down on the cold stone steps in front of the union. She rarely ever looked at the scenery around her, but when she did, it helped her feel a little bit more at peace. It helped her feel a little bit more alive.

“Sakura?”

“Sir, you haven’t left?” a sudden bubble of anxiety exploding in her.

“I am now. Are you alright?” He asked. She wasn’t sure if he was asking just to be nice or if he genuinely was concerned. 

He probably didn’t care, he just had to ask as her teacher. Realistically speaking, why would anyone really care anyways. She was pretty burdensome and didn’t deserve to be worried about by even her closest friends. 

“Yeah, I’m fine!” She smiled, her smile feigning genuine happiness.

“Alright then.” He passed her a...cookie? “Just making sure. Get home safe, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pointed at her, his expression asking her for confirmation. She just nodded in reply with the same smile.

His figure grew smaller as he walked away and into the parking area, and her stomach felt even more uncomfortable now that she was alone. But she wanted to be alone, so she really couldn’t complain about the discomfort. 

Also, what the fuck? A cookie?

--

“I kind of wanted to ask for her number…” 

“Then you should have before we left.” Shisui sipped his Chatime drink. “But then again, maybe you scared her off with all that eagerness.” 

“I don’t think I came off too forward.” Itama stated questioningly, and looked to Itachi for an answer.

“I mean...when you mentioned the club..she did look a bit uncomfortable.” Itachi pointed out. Itama pouted slightly. “Maybe next time. You need to be able to read people better if you wanna find someone.” Shisui only laughed. All of the boys, including Itama himself, knew that it was hard for the boy to date. “Not your fault though, cheer up.”

“I was a bit nervous.” Itama said, taking a sip of his green tea latte with a nervous smile.”I’m sure I’ve seen her at Kyo, but only in passing maybe, once or twice. Pretty sure we never talked before.” he sunk into the chair. Itachi just stared at his friend’s disappointed features. “I would’ve remembered.”

“You’re so upset, awh!” Shisui teased.

“She was just really pretty, you know?”

--

In their house it was always quite lively; everyone was cooking and getting dinner ready before communing in the living room area to gossip and talk about their day. Hinata and Ino were undoubtedly the best cooks of the house, while Sakura and TenTen were often the ones buying readymade food. 

Tonight however, Sakura’s fridge was almost empty and all she could really make was some good old penne pasta with ready done tomato sauce. She wasn’t upset about the option, but it was about the fourth time in a row now that she’s had to eat pasta for dinner. 

Ino came into the living room - bouncing happily as her usually gleeful self- with an amazing katsu curry dish she had whipped up. The curry flavours lit up the whole room in salivating awe. 

“Yes, all of you can have some too. I made a lot.” She grinned with a certain kind of confidence only the Yamanakas had. Taking a seat on the floor between Sakura and Tenten, Ino dug into her delicious dish.

“Honestly I’d marry you just for your food.” Sakura hummed after taking a spoon of her curry. 

“JUST for my food?”

“Let me correct myself.” Sakura rubbed her chin in a joking manner. “Because I love you.” Sakura hugged her best friend, and everyone erupted with laughter. 

“Ino would be an annoying wife though, think about it.” Temari piped in. “All that nagging and having to do everything her way blah blah.” 

“Well, Shikamaru seems to be completely fine with Ino.” Tenten winked and gave a sly look to her long haired blonde friend. 

“Oh shut up, we aren’t a thing. We’re just hooking up here and there and we enjoy each other’s company.” 

“Well I bet 50 that they’ll end up together!” Ino shot a look at Tenten.

“Honestly I’d be happy if you guys date Pig, you’ve known each other for a while and he is actually a nice person.” Sakura thought of them dating, and she had always rooted for them to eventually end up together. Ino furrowed he brows. 

“Maybe Ino just wants to just leave it as it is?” Hinata, usually just an observer, added. “I’m happy you’re having fun though!”

“Okay enough about me guys. My love life is always a hot topic but it gets tiresome when-” Ino flipped her hair back dramatically, “-its always about me” she grinned and sat prettily. 

“Yeah oh my god Hinata how are you and Naruto!” Tenten squealed like a little 15 year old girl. Hinata blushed at the question, she was usually more reserved when talking about her personal life.

But Sakura could feel a tightness in her chest at hearing that name. 

Hinata noticed this, and smiled softly. 

“We’re doing really good. It’s been about 2 months and he’s already met my family.” Hinata made sure to keep it short for her pink haired friend. She knew there was a lot to unpack there and hadn’t expected Tenten to carelessly bring that name about. 

“Awh, you guys are honestly so cute. It makes me happy knowing that 2 of us here are having good and fun love lives.” Tenten sighed as she slid next to Temari. 

“Let’s not talk about me though!” Hinata waves her hands off nervously. “My relationship isn’t very interesting, we all know about it!” She glanced at Sakura, who was fumbling with her fork and pasta. Ino noticed it too and caught on to redirect the conversation. 

“Sakura! So, found that mystery hot makeout session boy in Kyo yet?” Ino grinned nudging her best friend.

“Ah?” Sakura woke up from a trance. 

Fuck. She didn’t like falling in and out of conversation and her thoughts like this. It was really tiring and disorienting. 

“Kyo guy!” Tenten giggled back.

“Oh you know what, maybe? I met this guy today and he said he recognised me-”

“What?! You’re only saying this now?? Bitch the fuck!!” Ino’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped to the floor. 

“What’s his name?” Temari asked amidst all the shocked faces.

“Well uh..I met 3 guys. The guy who I think could be the one I met at Kyo is Itama. Then I met Sasuke’s brother and another Uchiha. Shisui if I remember right.” Sakura remembered. They were all really friendly guys.

“Was it at that meeting today?” Ino asked.

“Yeah, Madara knows like all three of them personally. Madara’s Itachi’s uncle. And I think Madara also knows Itama’s family? Or something? Honestly I’m not sure.” It was confusing to be fair. 

“Even I’ve never met the famous Itachi…” Ino muttered. “So, Itama was it?”

“Yeah. He’s got like brown hair with silver highlights and it’s not done well I can tell you that.” Sakura scoffed. “He said he recognised me because he’s seen me in the club.”

“Ah but everyone here goes to all the clubs. Your pink hair sticks out so he probably just remembered that.” Temari waved her hand and looked at Sakura before smirking. “Was he cute though?” 

“I mean..he was actually pretty cute...in a boyish charming kinda way.” All the girls had wide smiles on their faces.

“Will Sakura finally find the one?!” Ino shrieked.

“Is this Kyo club makeout boy?!” Tenten added.

“Will Sakura go on dates again?!” Temari furthered the questioning.

“Stay tuned to find out!” Hinata closed the statements clapping her hands together. It was followed by her kind smile and all the girls laughing- the atmosphere was light and warm between them. The girls, all 5 of them, shared a strong bond. 

Sakura smiled at their jokes, but she also knew they genuinely wanted her to be happy. All of them understood how hard it was for Sakura to engage in meaningful conversations with boys; her anxiety and defenses would instantly go up if a boy approached her on campus. Which was why they were all so interested in ‘Kyo club makeout boy’ who Sakura -though very drunk and out of it -chose to instigate a hot kissing battle with. 

However happy they were for her -and she was appreciative of this, don’t mistake that - it was hard to see herself dating again. It was a scary thing to think about, even though deep down she wanted to fall in love, again. She missed being in love, and the last time she was - she was unlucky. 

--

There was a knock at Sakura’s door. 

“Just come in!” Sakura yelled from her desk spilling with notes from lectures. The door opened revealing Ino in her flowery satin nightdress. 

“Almost done?” The blonde sat on Sakura’s double bed that was messily covered in her grey covers detailed with white and pink sakura trees. Looking at Sakura - who was dressed in her oversized Neck deep tee - Ino could see she was stressed; but this was often how Sakura looked. It worried Ino.

“Yeah - I’ll get to bed soon.” Sakura muttered, completely focused on her assignment. Scribbling away, her desk lamp was bright and boring into her papers and laptop screen; her jade eyes were tired and her eyelids weighed heavy. She sighed. She wasn’t taking care of herself with all of these late nights. 

She was tired of feeling this way.

“Do you need me to stay? Ino asked. “I can’t really sleep either... I’m just feeling a little off as well.” Sakura turned to look at her, not sure what she was saying.

“Yeah..of course. What’s..wrong?” Sakura asked, turning around from her work. Ino shuffled uncomfortably and crossed her legs on the bed. Had Sakura been so caught up in her own head that she completely ignored her best friend? Was Ino hiding it well or was Sakura that selfish?

“The whole talk earlier about Shikamaru...it just made me uncomfortable.” Ino paused. Sakura had completely forgotten and internally facepalmed herself. “I don’t like him that way. And you know how I feel about relationships.” The issue here was that Ino didn’t want to settle down, and Sakura would often bring up relationships to Ino - about how Ino should get in a relationship. Sakura knew that her friend was a strong and confident person, but had taken that for advantage and pressed on Ino’s insecurities.

“Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have projected my own wants of being in a relationship onto you..” Sakura muttered, guilt strung in her words. Her head was swirling and she felt horrible. Why was she such a bad friend? People always had to support her, people always had to help her, and she couldn’t even keep her own mouth shut. Why was Sakura such a fucking shit friend- and to Ino who had been there for her every step of the way. 

“No it’s okay, I just felt weird talking about it and I know I won’t date him. I just don’t want to get into a relationship.” Sakura’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but her head was heavy with guilt. “Hey, honestly don’t feel too bad about it at all. I came to also just sit with you. I knew you were uncomfortable too.”

Ino could pick up on Sakura’s discomfort, and Sakura couldn’t even do the same for her friend. She didn’t deserve Ino. 

“Yeah. The whole Naruto thing kinda just made me space out.” Sakura ducked her head as she moved to sit next to her best friend. “It’s just...it hurts to think about it sometimes.”

“You know, I think if you tried to talk to him now he would be all for it. You know how much he cares about you. Heck he loves you as much as I do.” Ino’s head fell into Sakura’s neck to remind her that she wasn’t alone. 

“Maybe one day I can. When I’m better.” Sakura muttered, wanting to believe it could happen. She wanted it to, but somewhere inside, she didn’t want it to. 

“Well, when you’re feeling good, or bad, and on your best and worst days I’m here for you okay?” Ino smiled reassuringly. 

“I know.” Sakura smiled in response. “I...I also emailed welfare for a session…its in 2 days” Ino jumped up and looked at her friend. 

“You did?” Sakura nodded smiling. “I’m so proud of you! That’s a really big step! I can’t wait” Sakura was met with a loving hug and giggled in response. “I am so proud of you. I’m coming with you okay?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I am.” 

Sakura thanked Ino. That night, Ino slept on Sakura’s bed to make sure Sakura slept alright and that she would feel at ease falling asleep. Ino missed being at peace with her best friend, and she just wanted the best for Sakura. 

There were no other two best friends like those two. 

--

She doesn’t even know why she’s here at this point. Why did she volunteer to do this? 

Sakura groaned internally, her back against the wall. She was standing in the hall filled with college students, and she was lined up on the sides of the hall with other volunteers. She slept pretty late last night, but she was glad she managed to get sleep anyway. The anxiety and self-deprecating thoughts always snuck their way into her head when she wanted to find peace in slumber; but she felt like she deserved it anyways.

It was just exhausting. 

“Oh I think he’s finally about to end his speech.” Shisui spoke. 

“Finally.” Itama yawned. “We gotta gather the students and call the groups after this.” Itama looked at Sakura, expecting an answer from his group partner. She was looking at Izuna presenting, but her mind seemed elsewhere. 

“Honestly, Madara talks a lot, but Izuna can go on forever. At least Madara is able to get straight to the bush rather than beat around it.” Shisui huffed. “Don’t know how Sasuke and you dealt with uncle Izuna over summer.”

Sakura woke up. Sasuke?

Itachi noticed.

“We were fine. It wasn’t hard.” Itachi shrugged his shoulders.

“And now your tour shall start. The volunteers will bring you around campus and the facilities - they’ll call you by name so when they do please stand up and come on stage.” Izuna closed signalling a thumbs up. 

“Aight, that's our cue Sakura.” Itama nudged her with a grin. 

He had such a boyish grin, Sakura thought. 

“Lets round up the kids.” She joked, a more confident part of her showing. Itama looked at her, amused.

Gathering their group, Sakura felt a little out of place. She had to remind herself to be confident, to just go with it, and that she would be fine. A little speaking wouldn’t hurt her and she chose to do this, so she had to live up to it. 

“So here we have our main cafeteria. Conveniently close to the Student Union, so it’ll be easy to grab lunch.” Sakura walked the students through the food hall. It was large and circular shaped, and it smelled like damn good food. 

“It’ll be easy unless you’re studying art.” Itama joked. “Which none of y’all are, so it’ll be an easy quick lunch!” he winked, earning him a laugh from the younger people. Sakura smiled. This Itama boy had charm, that much she knew. “Alright so that concludes the main campus. We’ve just got the facilities left in our building.” he led the way. 

Itama was so confident, and so happy. He carried himself so well and just by the way he walked, you knew he was someone whose company people enjoyed. 

“Oh yeah we’re passing the main Law building, if any of you were interested in what’s that big old rusty building. It’s the Law building. Just one of their buildings.” Itama pointed to a very wide and stretched out red brick build. 

Laughs, and a lot of them. 

“They like you.” Sakura noted, walking by Itama’s side. She peered to see his reaction which wasn’t any less than what she expected from the boy. A toothy grin. He may be older, but sometimes she swore he was 15. 

“I’m just a likable guy haha! They like you too, you know. You speak very well.” he replied pointing backwards to their walking group of students.

“Oh no, I really don’t.” He looked at her with a really-bitch-? Face. “Alright, I guess..yeah I can speak quite well. But I’m not as confident as you.”

“What? Really? You seem really confident to me.” That earned him a sweet laugh. He suddenly felt a jump in his stomach.

“I’m not. I can be, but I doubt myself a lot.” They were close to the building entrance. “You also don’t really know me.” She pointed out, opening the doors to their building.

“Okay everyone, we’ll take you to labs first.” Itama announced to the buzzing group, before turning to Sakura. “Well then, can I get to know you?” he swung his phone out. 

--

“Did you get her number?” Shisui asked, slinging an arm around his two friends. 

Itama looked at the pink haired girl across the lecture hall.

“No, I didn’t.”

[btssunnyboy]

Mistakes- Jeon Jungkook

Being drunk is such a cliche excuse, but being sober only makes matters worse.

Word Count- 3,087

Warning - Cheating, implied sexual themes and mentions of alcohol.

Also this was inspired by the amazing @hobisgorgeousass and their Shattered fic! I really hope you don’t mind me tagging you!

Masterlist

——————————————————————-

It definitely wasn’t a spur of the moment type thing.

It took months, more specifically four months. It was all good at the start, almost too good to actually be true. The longing kisses and the desperate touches were something you began to crave the longer you stayed. It was all so delectable, who would want to willingly leave something so amazing like that. Through your eyes it seemed like a perfect relationship.

Oh god, where would you begin to describe why it was immaculate. For starters the luscious dates he’d always prepare. Moonlit dinners with soft candle light, or a cheesy, but very wonderful walk on the beach. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and sway to an unheard rhythm. It was peaceful and beautiful, as were all of his dates.

His perfect words. He had a way to hook you in with a single syllable that dripped past those honey like lips. They’d wrap around you like a fluffy blanket, trying to provide you with some sort of comfort. You should’ve paid more attention to often he spoke those caring words, versus what he does now. He’d usually treat his words like a poem, making sure they follow a pattern and definitely making sure they express all the feelings that run a muck in his oh so troubled mind.

His touch and his overall scene of love. At the start, it was like being on cloud nine. He showered you in affection every chance. His large hands clasping over your smaller ones. Rubbing those comforting circles over your smooth knuckles. Pressing his soft lips your tender neck and painting a beautiful masterpiece of the blank canvas. As possessive as it sounds he loved letting everyone know your heart is already taken and not up for sale.

The thing is he’s worked out a routine. A precise and well thought out routine. It has to be perfect he can’t get caught, but he can’t fall behind and accidentally mix two things that should never mix as long as he’s alive. He has to make sure you received the gentle smooches and the others received the rough part of him that is begging to be released. The tequila that lingered on his breath done more then just sting, it made his body reactions a bit more uncalled for. He had control, but at the same time he didn’t.

He knew it was a bad idea to mix stress with the overwhelming amount of alcohol. Yet he did it. Despite all the nagging in his ears, he grabbed his keys and raced to a secluded bar. Filled with only ones who could keep a secret or those who were going through the same famous troubles as him. A soft hand, kinda like yours, but the difference between the two were easily noticeable.

He should’ve stopped it right then and there. Let this stranger know his love was at home, and he couldn’t betray her. Yet he allowed one drink to quickly turn into another which then led to another. Pretty soon her face was slightly distorted and the sight resembled you in a weird way. Her lips were so inviting, so damn inviting. He couldn’t help himself.

Do you wanna take this somewhere else?

The question hung heavy in the air, but his body reacted before his mind. His tattooed fingers cling to her ink-less skin within a second. The walk to the car sobered him up a bit, but his mind was already set. There was a beautiful woman — not as beautiful as you — giving him bedroom eyes, and he needed to release. His inner roughness was clawing at his insides and the way this mystery women was talking it seemed like he hit the jackpot. Saying she could last a few rounds, and she was already half way undress in the car.

The moment the car pulled up to the doom he led her to his room as quietly as he could. The soft giggles she was letting out were distracting, and he’s do anything to get that horrendous sound to spot echoing in his head. So he grabbed her waist and held her against the wall. The steaming hot kiss between the two leaving them breathless. Her shaky breathes were edging him on as he attacked her neck with this honey lips. The same lips that placed loving kisses on your forehead, but now instead of honey they’re venom.

They’re a substance to be used with caution, it’s dangerous to play with something like this. She knew as she pulled him into another kiss and it was at that moment she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they met. When his bedroom closed and the legs opened, he knew this was a mistake. It went on to happen though, with the sound of the headboard assaulting the wall. Making the paint chip with the harder it happened.

He was careful as can be the first time. Besides one thing. He didn’t plan on someone banging on the door with urgency. The sound made him shoot up and his eyes dart to the sleeping body placed beside him. The mystery stranger, whose name he soon found out was Piper. He shook her wildly and tossed her discarded clothes in her direction and made her hide in the closet. It was such a childish thing to do, hide the one who just slept with. Why not own up and just say you got laid.

Oh that’s right he can’t, because that’s not you in the closet. But that could be you at the door, and he can’t let these two situations meet in the middle. Time, that was all he needed, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be caught in his dirty tracks. He deserved to have his dirty laundry aired out for the entire fucking world to see.

She blew him a kiss when he shut the wooden door once more and raced to other. He swung it open and a sight of relief passed through his body. It wasn’t you, but it someone he knew would keep this secret. Jimin eyed his out of breath figure suspiciously and soon let his gaze linger around the room.

“I thought Y/n hated pink?” He questioned, what was supposed to be an innocent question as well. His head tilted in confusion before he put the small puzzle together. You hated pink with a passion, and he knew that bra definitely wasn’t your style. “You mother fucker.”

“Jimin I can explain!” Jungkook gasped out as he yanked the man into his room.

Jimin let out a dry scoff as he watched the women come out of the closet. Jimin forcefully yanked himself away from Jungkooks touch, like the mere brush of his fingertips burned him like a raging fire. His face held a mix of emotions, but disgust was overtaking them all.

“You screwed up big time.”

“Is anyone else here.” Jungkook panicked as he peeked his head out of the door. Seeing no one insight he grabbed a handful of cash and said get a cab to the women. When he finally heard the front door slam shut he turned to a pissed off Jimin. “Don’t say anything! Please!”

“And why the hell should I keep this a secret. You fucking cheated on y/n!” Jimin bellowed as he made wild hand gestures to prove his point. “Besides I don’t even have to open my mouth for her to find out.”

Jungkook held a confused look until he followed Jimin’s gaze down to his neck. At neck breaking speed he raced to his bathroom. His canvas was painted. Purple with splotches of red littered his neck. For once, you weren’t the paintbrush in this example. He knew he was royal screwed now, oh god he didn’t want this to happen.

“Jimin please I’m begging you I love her! I swear this’ll be the only time.” Jungkook sobbed with his bloodshot eyes. He couldn’t lose you, he just couldn’t bare the thought.

“You better not be lying.”

Those five little words lifted a weight off of Jungkook’s shoulders. After this he went on his day as usually, just making sure his neck was covered. On the other hand Jimin was a ball of nerves. The stress from this secret was eating him alive. He should’ve said something and made you’d leave Jungkook once in for all. When he decided to keep this secret he thought it was for a once time mistake, what he didn’t realize was this one time mistake was growing into a common occurrence.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

He’s being distant. A lot more then he is usually. You knew the stress of the upcoming tour, and he needed to sort things out. It was best you kept your distance as well. If only you knew what that meant. Right now he wasn’t complaining about the stressful choreography, but he was praising the women beneath him. After the usually session was done he grabbed his clothes and bolted.

“What took so long?” You questioned as you sat up from the floor.

“Yeah just needed a longer bathroom break.” Jungkook shrugged as he placed a sweet kiss onto your cheek. Your eyes lingered on the sweat that was dripping down his neck and the stain right above the collar of his shirt. Before you had the chance to speak up another voice beat you to it.

“How about we all go out and eat. I can ask Piper to arrange something.” Namjoon suggested as he downed his water.

“I’m up for it.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Jimin felt like he was going to throw up all over his meal. He couldn’t believe that’s she of all people got hired as a personal assistant. He wished he could just scream at the two of them and let this shit get settled. He almost gagged at the sight of them giving sideways glance to each other each time you turned around.

That fucker promised him it was a one time mistake. He’d lost count of how many times he’s caught then since then. The other members are beginning to catch on and oh how they wished they had the balls and tell you. Their breaths hitched slightly when Piper has to excuse herself due to a so called urgent phone call. Like clockwork, Jungkook excused himself to the bathroom.

“Geez, you could cut the tension with a knife.” You commented lightly as you picked up a piece of your meat. Your softly chewed under the tense eyes of the others.

“He’s cheating.”

It caught you off guard. In the process making your meat go down the wrong pipe. Seokjin softly sighed as he hit the boy next to him.

“Are you being serious?”

“Y/n-“

“Don’t say my name when it’s not relevant, are you being serious? Is there any proof?” You asked worriedly as you bounced your leg up and down. Their eyes stayed casted downward and that was all the evidence you needed. You quickly excused yourself and hastily walked towards the restroom. As soon as you yanked opened the bathroom door two figures stepped out of a stall.

You’d remember those red bottom heels anywhere. And those black combat boots as well.

“You’ve got be to fucking kidding me!”

Both stopped dead in their tracks when their eyes landed on you. Your eyes were glossy and tears were screaming to fall over your waterline. Your legs felt like jello as you fell into the nearby wall. Out of instinct Jungkook’s arms began to wrap themselves around your fragile form. When his skin touched your all those suppressed feelings surfaced and a sob raked through your body.

You yanked yourself away and quickly wiped underneath your eyes. If anyone saw you like this then they’d know what happened in this stupid bathroom. You couldn’t afford to cause a scene, if this got out who knows what would happen to the boy’s reputation. Even though you wanted so desperately to take everything away from Jungkook you couldn’t do that to the rest of them, even if they know all along.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You should’ve connected the dots sooner. From the red wine stain on his white shirt, he drinks tequila and you never drink red. Next, was the late night hours he’d come back home. You knew he worked hard, but he was unusually tired and you never would’ve guessed that the reason was another woman. Lastly, you should’ve known your nose wasn’t fooling you. That cheap perfume was a dead giveaway, since you’d never use something that, well cheap.

If you had just paid a smidge more attention you could’ve avoided this whole thing. The boys wouldn’t have had to lie and keep this dirty secret. Right now you probably wouldn’t have all of his belongings in a box ready for it leave your sight at once.

“Get your shit.”

The harshness of your voice took him back more then a bit. He came not only because of his stuff, but he wanted to make peace. He wanted to try to win you back. It was a stupid plan, at least that’s what everyone was preaching to him, but he needed to make things right.

“Baby please it was an honest mistake.”

“Don’t baby me, and besides cheating is a choice not a mistake.”

The conversation died after those words. They echoed in his brain like a taunt. He deserved it though, is what he kept telling himself. He deserved every ounce of pain and guilt that were gonna come his way. If anything he deserved for his whole career be destroyed, just like destroyed your relationship.

“I know your legs work, use them and leave.”

You have no remorse for him. You wanted him out of your house, and out of your life completely. Not caring about how harsh you sounded, you were not going to be gentle and caring version of yourself. You were going to be a stone cold bitch. Jungkook eyed the box once more with a guilt stricken face. His eyes soon glossed over, and he almost let the sob loose.

“I’m still so sorry, y/n.”

“You should be, now get out.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

He’s a total wreck, from his head to his toes. Everyone could only watch on as his light dimmed each and every day. They felt bad, but he brought this on himself and he needed to learn from his actions. Just because he was famous doesn’t mean his actions can’t have consequences.

“Y/n, he’s a mess.”

That didn’t bother you one bit. It’s only been two weeks since the breakup and in all honesty you were doing fine. Not perfect, but you were getting along just fine without him. By the sounds of it, Jungkook seemed to be taking this hardest.

“Should I care?” You shrugged as you nonchalantly sipped on your drink. “Why am I even here?”

“We just wanted to see if you’d consider just talking to him for a few minutes, the poor boy looks like he could use some time with you.” Yoongi softly spoke, as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He knew how the whole ordeal happened, and he knew this was a touchy subject. Surprisingly, he was the only one who didn’t know this was happening at the start.

“I get it you guys care about him, but he broke my heart. He cheated on me and now I’m gonna have to live with this constant doubt that I’ll never be good enough.”

“You’re more then enough, Y/n.” Jimin stated rather quickly as he soon zipped his mouth shut. His cheeks burned a bright red as he kept his head down.

You ignored those words as your mind kept replaying that night. As you watched the two walk out of that stall. Her burgundy lipstick smeared across her chin, and the shoulder strap of her dress hanging limply beside of her arm. His arm was wrapped around her waist and his lips were still pressing soft kisses to the base of her neck. Then their eyes met yours and the color drained from their faces.

In all honesty, you wished you’d slapped him. Tell him how much of a fucking idiot he was. Make him wither in a pit of his guilt and despair, but you didn’t. You let yourself go in that moment and you swore to yourself that you’d never let yourself get caught up in anything like that again.

“He still texts me a lot.” You sighed as you ran a hand though your hair. The soft sensation calming you down slightly. You shouldn’t have said anything, but you needed to get this off of your chest. “I barley open them, but if I do I never respond.”

“Are you ever gonna talk to him again?” Hoseok asked while his fingers tapped away at the table. As much as you tried to focus on that sound you still couldn’t get the situation out of your head.

“I want to say no, I really do, but in all honesty I’ll probably give in like I always do.” You scoffed at your pathetic self. He cheated, he’s the one who destroyed this relationship. You shouldn’t even give him the time of day. Now here you are actually thinking of talking to him again. Talking to the one person who single handily destroyed the way you see yourself.

“Just talk for a few minutes and get every last thing off of your chest. It might help you feel better.” Taehyung suggested as he gestured to the buzzing phone on the table. The screen lighting up multiple times with a phone number. “Did you take him out of your contacts?”

“I had too, because the temptation to text him got stronger every time I looked at his name.” You mumbled, while fiddling with the sleeve of your worn out sweater. “I thought he would’ve got the hint by now.”

“Y/n, please just try to give him one more chance to get some last minute things off of his chest.”

You took their advice too heart and tried to settle things out. You typed your heartfelt text and poured every ounce of your hatred and sorrow into as well.

Let’s just hope he finally gets the hint, you’re done. And you want him to finally leave and go be with another. Considering it wasn’t that hard for him when you were together, now he’s free real-a-state anyone can have him.

[i-am-church-the-cat]

In A Few Minutes

Now that Buffy was back and she and TJ were on good terms, the three friends regularly found themselves studying together after school. They normally went to Cyrus’s house and they had been to Buffy’s once or twice, but the trio had never gone over to TJ’s house. Until now. Cyrus was trying not to just, burst into little sparks like a firework, as he and Buffy walked up the basketball captain’s porch. Buffy waited for Cyrus to give her the okay before pressing the doorbell. The pair could hear the ring all through the house and then a “Just a sec!” come from the inside.

A second later, the door was opened to just about the cutest thing had ever seen. TJ was in sweatpants and his Jefferson hoodie, his hair ungelled and glasses perched on the end of his nose. In the boy’s arms sat a light orange cat that gave the two newcomers a bored look. Cyrus' brain shut off, any chance of coherent thought abandoned.

“Hey guys”, TJ said, flashing a dazzling grin. “Come on in.” The boy moved aside to allow his two guests entrance, one pulling the other inside since their motor skills had also been abandoned. The cat wriggled a little and TJ dropped them. They landed with ease and gave a short meow before retreating to the inner depths of the house.

“Macaroni's not very social”, TJ explained before turning back to his two friends and clapping his hands, jarring Cyrus out of his cuteness-induced coma. “Anyway, my parents are gone, but my sister and her friend are in her room, so we have free reign as long as we’re not too loud. You guys want to start or do you want to grab snacks or something?”

“Snacks please”, Buffy replied quickly, partly because she hadn’t had breakfast and partly because she knew that Cyrus wouldn’t be able to produce an answer without coherently. Their host nodded and led the way to the kitchen. It was a normal kitchen, if not a little small, and was relatively clean(relative in this instance meaning cleaner than Buffy’s but nowhere near as polished as either of Cyrus’s). Buffy walked over to what she assumed was the pantry and started rifling around. TJ rolled his eyes at the girl but his attention was soon caught by the boy who was still kind of out of it.

“You okay, Underdog?”, TJ asked. The concerned tone in his voice caused Cyrus’s heart to melt.

“Ye-Yeah”, Cyrus croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, do you have any tea or anything?”

“Yeah”, the older boy said nodding. “There should be some in the corner cabinet, but don’t take any on the second shelf, that’s my mom’s “private” teas.”

“Private teas”, Buffy repeated as Cyrus made his way over to the cabinet. Her eyebrow was raised as she turned to look at the other captain.

“Yeah”, TJ said with a shrug. “It’s the tea that she reserves specifically for herself. Not even any of us are allowed to have those.” Buffy gave him an incredulous look before turning back to the snack cave. Cyrus. Meanwhile, was busy filling a kettle with water and placing it on the stove to heat. He then turned back to the cabinets to get a cup when a notification sounded on TJ’s phone. TJ looked at it and typed something back before shoving his phone back in his pocket. Cyrus was about to ask who the text was from when he heard people tromping down the stairs. Buffy looked up from her scourge as the footsteps rounded the corner.

“Amber?”, she asked in a bewildered tone. “And Iris?”

“Buffy, Cyrus, what are you doing here?”, the blonde girl asked upon seeing the two in her kitchen.

“We were invited, what are you doing here?”, Buffy responded.

“I live here”, she said, sounding slightly offended.

“You’re TJ’s sister?”, Cyrus gasped, his eyes popping out of his head.

“Yeah, how do you know each other?”, TJ asked, his eyes flicking between Buffy, Amber, and Cyrus.

“She’s Jonah’s ex and Cyrus’s enemy-t0-friend project before you”, Buffy supplied.

“How did we not know you guys were siblings?”, Cyrus asked, choosing to ignore Buffy’s comment.

“As if I would ever want people to know I was related to this loser”, the siblings said at the same time before glaring at each other. Buffy turned toward Iris, the only one who didn’t look surprised.

“Wait, you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”, Buffy asked, more curious than accusing. The girl just shrugged.

“I thought you guys knew”, she answered.

“Wait, how do you guys know Iris?”, TJ asked. Cyrus's eyes widened as he realized he would have to explain to his crush, who didn’t know he was gay, that he had dated his sister’s best friend. Before anyone could answer, however, Cyrus was saved by the whistle of the tea kettle. Iris and Cyrus both lit up and went toward it. Iris explained that the two girls had come down for tea and soon the tea was poured, Buffy’s arms were filled with snacks, and each of the friends were settled in their respective friends’ bedrooms.

TJ’s room was different than Cyrus had expected. Yes, he had been prepared for the basketball posters and the shelf of trophies, but wast he hadn’t expected is the bookcase situated up against one wall. The top three rows were double-rowed with books and the lower two held several bins of old records. A record player sat on the other side of the closet door and TJ’s desk and bed were on the other two walls, his desk sitting under an uncovered window.

“Welcome to my third favorite place in the world”, TJ announced before plopping down on the bed. Buffy decided to take the floor, situating her snacks around her, so Cyrus sat in the desk chair, placing his stuff on the desk. The desk held a few books and a cup full of pens and pencils, but otherwise, it was bare.    

“Third favorite?”, Cyrus asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, the basketball courts down the street where I shot my first basket is my second favorite. And my favorite place is the swings, of course”, the older boy answered nonchalantly. Cyrus blushed at the words and Buffy raised an eyebrow but no one commented.

“So”, Cyrus began, breaking the silence that had settled around them. “What subject do you guys want to start on first?”

“Math”, Buffy and TJ said at the same time, already pulling out their notebooks. The trio had a system, Math first so they could help TJ with the hardest parts while they still had patience, and then Science because Buffy wasn’t that good at it and Cyrus thought it was more productive to group all of the technical subjects first. Then a quick break, with either a television episode or a short one-v-one in basketball between Buffy and TJ while Cyrus kept score. Next, English, because Cyrus and TJ rocked in that department, while Buffy was, less than ideal. And finally, History, because it was the thing Cyrus was worst at and he was the easiest to help without feeling like breaking down or punching something(both something TJ and Buffy had done, though they would never admit it). Plus, TJ was a “History god”, as he put it, and Cyrus loved to end a study session with TJ showing off something he was good at.

The group went through their schedule in just under four hours, their break having gone long because Buffy and TJ would not end on a tie. The three threw their stuff down and flopped down when they were finished, TJ and Buffy now both on the floor and Cyrus on the bed. They sat there for a while before Cyrus got up and wandered over to all the records on the bookcase.

TJ watched him look around for a minute before saying, “You can put one on if you want.” Cyrus looked at him and smiled before turning back to the records. The selection was quite varied, everything from musicals to 80’s rock to Ariana Grande. Finally, Cyrus saw a Wicked album and happily bounced over to the record player, careful to avoid his friends on the floor. His grandfather had had a record player, so he knew how to use one. Cyrus placed the album on the track and started it before heading back to the bed and plopping down again.

Buffy gave him a pointed look as the opening song started, but she didn’t say anything, the effort of arguing not worth moving from her position. TJ just smiled and hummed along to the music. As “Popular” started to play, TJ pushed himself off the ground and walked over to the bed. He laid down next to Cyrus on the bed, both of them looking up at the glow-in-the-dark paint flecks splattered across the ceiling. They had gotten there after TJ had decided it was a good idea to break a glow stick and then flick it at the ceiling in place of glow-in-the-dark stars.

“So”, TJ said softly so only Cyrus could hear. “You never told me how you knew Iris.” Cyrus’s heart sped at that. He was tempted to deflect the question, but he knew that wouldn’t work and he could never lie to TJ.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend”, Cyrus answered in the same tone as TJ.

“Oh”, TJ replied. “W-Why did you break up.”

A feeling of courage flooded Cyrus. He didn’t know if it was because of the slight sound of heartbreak in the older boy’s voice or just because it was TJ. It was probably both, Cyrus decided as he said, “Well, it was around the time I realized I was gay and I didn’t want to lead her on.”

The room was silent before TJ sat up, turning to face Cyrus. Cyrus did the same, facing the other boy and trying to read his facial expression.

“You’re gay?”, TJ asked curiously.

“Y-Yeah”, Cyrus said, the feeling of bravery having left as soon as the words had left his mouth. “Are you okay with that?”

TJ gave Cyrus a soft smile before pulling the smaller boy into a hug. Cyrus melted against the blonde boy.

“Of course”, TJ answered into Cyrus’s hair, rubbing circles into Cyrus’s back. “And I’m really proud of you for trusting me enough with this.”

“It’s no problem”, Cyrus mumbled burrowing into the boy’s chest.

“It is, but also”, TJ began, pulling Cyrus away so that he could look into the boy’s eyes. “I’m gay, too.”

“Yeah?”, Cyrus said, smiling brightly.

“Yeah”, TJ repeated, laughing slightly. “And, I really like you. As in, more than a friend way.”

The smile Cyrus gave TJ would’ve blinded him, but thankfully, he only saw it for a second before the boy’s lips were on his.

“I really like you, too, Teej”, Cyrus said pulling away. TJ beamed and pulled Cyrus back to his chest. When they got up a few minutes later, they’ll discover that Buffy had snuck out and that the three girls had been spying on them. In a few minutes, they would open the door to “finally” and “congratulations”. In a few minutes, they’ll remember that they still had to come out to their parents. But right now, they just laid together, two boys in love.  

[unimpressedperson]

Jackpot | pt. 2

(Found this picture in @youthstuffs , thank you for posting it)

Genre: Fluff and Crack, I guess…

Warnings: None

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x @taesbetch , Kim Namjoon x Reader

Word Counting: 4.7k

Synopsis: Nya spent her whole life in Las Vegas, she would never imagine that local knowledge would ever be useful. However, her vision changed when Kim Seokjin appeared and introduced her to a few friends, film producers, whose needed guidance through Las Vegas underrated places for a movie. She agreed in working for them, and in that moment none of their lives would ever be the same. What happens in Vegas, not always has to be kept in Vegas.

A/N: Heeeeeeeey Nya!! Finally the second part is on! Late, but not gone. Guuurl! It’s a bit more romantic chapter, yet I used it to discuss LGBT culture more further. I’m really proactive in the LGBTQ+ community and want to talk about it, since I feel a lack of queers characters with voice, personality and opinion on oneshots and fanfics here. Since it’s not properly turned to that public, I tried to mingle the storyline a bit. Hope you enjoy it :) forgive any grammar mistakes.

- x - x - x - x -

It was 3 a.m, whilst some cities around the world were down to nest and rest, Las Vegas wouldn't stop. Nighttime is their time. Everything worked after midnight, entertainment would never lack after midnight. Clubs, bars, pubs, casinos, diners, stores, nothing stopped when moon reached its peak.

Therefore, Nya defined “Paris” as the last stop. Everyone was tired and almost falling asleep. Jungkook bought new underwear at a Walmart, but decided to keep on using his new skirt. Namjoon and Yoongi took a short nap whilst being driven to “Paris”. Hoseok chugged two cans of Red Bull and feeling like his blood turned into electricity, at any moment he could grow wings and fly, or float like a balloon.

Paris was a Drag Queen club. Specifically Nya's favourite. A few from her favourite childhood memories were made there. Sequins, feathers, leotards, wigs, astounding makeup, gorgeous dresses, pump music, lip syncs, dances and fun, a whole lot of fun and caring people looking after a very young Nya. No one would ever understand completely the bond she shared with most performers inside there. They raised Nya.

The cab dropped them in front of a bright purple building, windows fully painted in black, a glass door allowing outsiders to see blinking lights, a woman dressed in suit and tie as door guard, even though a velvet rope could be seen, there was no waiting line.

Nya got closer to the guard and after a few minutes of talking, which neither one of the sleepy men registered, they were allowed in.

Ok, let’s begin with saying what’s a Ball, then the story can keep going.

A Ball organized by and for drag queens is outstandingly different from a School Ball. According to the most entertaining and famous documentary about drag queens in late 70s and 80s, as known as Paris is Burning, Ball is basically a competition where drag queens put together looks based on a previously defined theme. Sewing, glueing, buying and creating, everything can go. There is a runway to catwalk and judges, also they perform lip syncs (some even are included and count points, something in RuPaul’s Drag Race style). The winner receives a trophy or money as prize.

Nya was a clever woman, so she chose specifically a day where Paris had a Ball happening. Nothing screams queer culture as a ball.

When the group got in, a loud music by Nicki Minaj blasted from every sound box, colourful flashlights and spotlights were focused on one corner of the room, where a table covered with a silk fabric, three drag queens (Hoseok recognized one of them as being Jasmine Masters) as judges. One competitor was catwalking with a revealing outfit completed by a tiger leotard, knee-high black boots, a straightened blonde wig and a mixture of pink and black makeup. Stunning.

While Nya marched animatedly going straight to the backstage, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook now were wide awake again. A lot of colours and people, all sort of wearing the most creative clothings ever saw. Some of them weren’t even in drag.

The backstage consisted in thick velvet curtains, hiding from the public's eye a mess of sparkly accessories and huge wigs, clothes and heels, some of them higher than Nya's calves. Observing everything through openings, a person tall and clearly important, with well sewed dress and expensive shoes, exhaling respect from all pores covered in layers of make up.

— Guys, this is the first, the best and the only Honey Dejour. - Nya hugged tightly someone dressed in a black and sparkly long gown, huge jewelry around her neck and wrists, high-heels, a brown wavy wig, arched high brows, black cut crease, a lot of golden highlighter and red lipstick. She held the smaller woman and kissed the top of her head, nodding at them right after. - Those are the people I’m guiding today, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and Jeon Jungkook. They are film producers, aunt. They want to film here and are willing to pay for it.

— Hi guys, nice to meet you. Hope no one here is banging with my kittygirl. - Honey had a very bass voice, which intimidated them, except for Hoseok. - Just kidding, she could really make the use of some dick. She’s been single for a very long time.

— AUNT! - Nya looked to the ground flustered.

— Nice to meet you, Ms.Dejour, I’m Min Yoongi. What exactly is happening tonight? - Yoongi questioned, still astonished by everything around.

— Tonight we are hosting the annual “Glamour Awards Ball”, and I’m the hostess. In a few minutes I’ll go there and announce the next category. - Dejour was almost two heads taller than Yoongi, which wasn’t small himself. - By the way, I loved your skirt… Namjoon?

— Thank you, and no, I’m Jungkook. - He shook hands with Honey.

The group kept a small talk, Honey having fun with them. Namjoon and Nya were lost watching the queens catwalking with stunning leotards. He was curious about her life, and looking for a way of asking what’s been bugging him the whole night.

— Nya, if it’s not crossing the line between professional and personal talk, how do you know that many people? - The purple-haired man asked, trying to sound chill.

— Well, it’s not professional, but I don’t care. - Nya turned to him, but looking at his neck, not straight on eyes. - I know them because of my father. See, not everyone can live off of their dreams, and my daddy was one of those people. He was a genius comedian, kind of like an underground Jerry Lewis. I never got to meet my mother, so I was raised by him and most people you guys met tonight. Also, I lived my whole life in Las Vegas so it’s something like my neighbourhood.

“Whilst my father did his stand up sessions, sometimes he dropped me with friends. Most times it was here, in Paris. Honey Dejour is basically a mother. If I’m someone with so many connections it’s because I had a gypsy life. During day at school, ‘cuz daddy worked as bartender in Caesar’s Palace, comedy at night shift. He never reached the big casinos popularity level and gave up, but he was so funny. Never had his thunder, though. That’s why I want you guys to help my friends, so they won’t give up as well.”

— Whoa. It’s quite personal, thank you for sharing. - Namjoon smiled at her, showing dimples and a bright set of teeth.

— You shared a bit of your life with me as well. - Nya felt her heart melt a little everytime Namjoon smiled, specially at her directly.

They kept staring at each other, getting closer, as if a magnetic force attracted them. Hands touched and pinkies intertwined, but before they could kiss, Jungkook pulled Namjoon’s arm and yelled gladly.

— HONEY AGREED IN HELPING US GET IN DRAG!

— Great, but what does it have to do with me? - Namjoon raised one eyebrow already sensing the danger.

— You are getting in drag too, dumbass. - Yoongi grunted, a bit thwarted. Apparently Jungkook convinced him of accepting, not something voluntary.

— Oh Lord, give me strength. - Namjoon felt zero comfortable with the idea of using high-heels.

— Stop praying! You are an atheist. - Hoseok said, also pumped up like Jungkook.

— I don't see why dragging me up would be necessary. - Namjoon shrugged shoulders, not looking straight at anyone. - It should be something only for those who really want, and is capable of living it fully.

— How can you direct and show emotions from something you never tried? - Nya touched his shoulder lightly. - Maybe feeling like Moonchild for a while will help you to understand its essence.

— In other words. Don't knock it till you try it. - Yoongi, still not fully into the idea, tried to drag his friend to it. Perhaps, some motivation would bring them to the joy of snatching new experiences.

Namjoon still took a while to accept. Honey went and announced the next category before going back and receiving a half hearted smile from Kim Namjoon. Don't knock it till you try it, his brain repeated incessantly.

— I will do it, only for the experience. - He shook hands with Honey Dejour, as if making a business deal. - Hopefully I'll a pretty lady.

— With your body structure, I can make Liu Wen beg you for exercise tips, baby. - Honey blinked and pulled Namjoon by the hand previously shook.

- x - x - x - x -

“Category is… Streetstyle Drag” - Honey Dejour announced and the crowd applauded, some cheering, others singing and dancing to the song playing. Hoseok spinned like a ballerina, body straight and firm, spine erect, right leg tensioned enough to gather force and balance, whilst the left stood in a hook shape, arms in first position. His muscle memory never failing in reminding how to move. Jungkook received his idol title, but it doesn’t mean he was the only one aiming for that. Jung Hoseok tried and failed, no agency accepted his appliance tapes.

Although, art was a passion. Regardless of what type. Hoseok lived a whole life of drama, repressing, gargantuan levels of conservatism, a tall and skinny bisexual boy who spent his free time dancing, defying every narrow-minded in Gwangju and their stupid retrograde thoughts. The count itself had always been perspiting art and conceiting themselves for something their citizens fought, died and conquered over 30 years before, however when living off dancing, singing, painting or whatever, went from the core and not only a job, the reprimand could lead people into killing themselves.

Hoseok spent a lifetime of frustrations. When his last video for YG Entertainment was sent back with a denial e-mail, he decided to try another types of art. Working part-time as a street dance teacher and spending every coin received with art supply, he met a cinema student interested in painting: the rich and underestimated Kim Taehyung.

Jung would never forget how ethereal Taehyung seemed to be, on his expensive brown coat with fur, tight jeans and white Chuck Taylors. The lights formed a halo around his head, making the brown strands shine. What a first impression. By contrast, Hoseok with a plaid blue shirt, t-shirt stained with tint, sweatpants and overused Nike Airshots, gave a very endearing vision of him.

Once they finally began talking to each other, then it never stopped. Taehyung and Hoseok got along very well, similar interests made their bond grow stronger everyday, also Jung understood some aspects of Kim which no one even tried.

Taehyung was rich, therefore had everything but the essential: happiness. Nothing expensive bought was ever with his own money, every ounce and dime belonged to his family. Decided to drop off his parents command, Kim began working as an art teacher and even gaining only a few Wongs per week, living off of it felt amazing. Independence felt amazing.

Hoseok understood why buying cheap art supply and eating Cup Noodles made the younger man feel fulfilled, and decided to help, moved from his parents home and rented a small apartment with Taehyung.

It took them only a few weeks until they were making out on the couch, but a few months to definitely engage in a relationship. Hoseok and Taehyung attended the same college, and after graduating, keep on living in Korea, specifically in Gwangju, felt like a waste of time.

Moving to London was the last time Taehyung touched his inherited money.

Hoseok and Taehyung met Yoongi during a LGBT Parade in London. They got along pretty well, even both clearly representing the total opposite in comparison with Yoongi’s personality. They were fun and talented, after speaking to Namjoon, hiring them seemed the right thing to do.

Writing a script about LGBT folks, searching about Queer culture and being able to experience it, every single second of it felt like a dream to Hoseok. His younger self would never imagine walking in heels, dress and being characterized as a drag queen. Living in Gwangju limited his perception of world, but now, staring at himself in a mirror and checking how his eyeliner was lit, impossible situations felt like lack of vision. He envisioned Moonchild afterall.

Regardless of how happy he felt so far, Taehyung being there would only improve it all. However someone had to stay in London and take care of business. Their democratic way of deciding stuff (a.k.a rock, scissor, paper) established that Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, Jade and Emerson were the ones chosen to stay.

Spinning again, Hoseok felt how every fiber from the fabric held his figure, anchoring himself to reality. He was wearing a mid-length light-blue dress, a flowy kind of fabric, white high-heels and pantyhose. Of course he tucked (something no one imagined he knew how to do, except for Taehyung and Jimin, who were there when Jung did it for the first time and, of course, showed up at their living room looking like an eunuch), covered his eyebrows with glue and powder. Practicing what was learnt during 10 seasons of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Whilst Hoseok was having an internal realization, Yoongi gave up on dressing up and decided to use his own clothes, but still kept the wig and makeup. He was looking good with black eyeliner, mascara, contour and purple lipstick, also the curly, long black wig really made him taller.

Jungkook tried to fit himself in a corsage, but failed, so kept his skirt and put on a white cropped, plus a pair of 10cm high heels. He indeed looked good, makeup on point, killing eyelashes and a long black wig (“Do I look like Park Bom?”).

Honey Dejour wasn’t lying when she promised to make Namjoon look pretty, but Nya could never imagine how gorgeous the result would be.

After a lot of work, Namjoon showed up in a long red dress, topped with a silk kimono and red heels, making the already tall man look like Empire State Building. Honey decided to make him embrace his facial shape, so a short black wig was chosen. Every trace and detail planned to highlight his features.

— Damn it, Namjoon! I think I’m attracted to you! - Yoongi exclaimed.

— Shut up, Yoonji. - Namjoon felt his face getting warm, glad that all layer of makeup made him look unfazed. - By the way, now I’m Sailor Joon.

— Did you just name yourself after Sailor Moon? C’mon sis, I’m the nerd one! I’m Sailor Kook! - Jungkook protested profusely.

— Why are you guys fighting? There are plenty of Sailors in that cartoon. You guys can both be Sailor Joon and Kook. - Nya rolled her eyes in a condescending way. - I’m sure Yoonji and Jay Hope agree with me.

— Since you named me, now I’m your drag daughter. - Hoseok giggled and wrapped one of his arms around Nya’s shoulder. - Hi momma!

— Only over my dead body! - Honey showed up, carrying brown paper bags with their clothings, throwing them at its respective owner. - I’m your drag mom, Jay Hope. I built you, I reclaim you. And Jungkook, you are Scarlet Kook, Sailor Kook sounds like a brand of breakfast cereals, and I’m for sure not hosting a Cap’n’ Crunch realness Ball.

After discussing and complimenting each other’s look, Honey Dejour decided they should catwalk as well (“I didn’t sweat and put four grown men in drag for nothing. I gotta exhibit my work”). So she pulled Nya outside the backstage, bringing a chair with her, the woman was now a judge. The music stopped because a new category was about to be announced.

— Category is… - Honey stared straight at the backstage. - First Time in Drag Realness. I introduce my newborn daughter, Scarlet Kook!

When “Sissy That Walk by RuPaul” began playing, Jungkook walked from behind the curtains, hips swaying from left to right, feeling himself again and being applauded. Of course, his legs were tense, and visually speaking, he looked a bit insecure up on high heels, yet Jeon Jungkook nailed his catwalk, loving every second of it: the lights, the cheers, the feeling.  At the backstage, his heart pounded against ribcage, almost climbing its way up to his throat.

— Every mother has a rebel daughter. Oh believe me, I have a whole bunch of them. - The music was lowered so Honey could speak. - Now, please applaud my other newborn daughter, Min Yoonji!

The music got louder again. Yoongi opted for not strut, fearing the fall and how humiliating it would be, mainly with so many eyes focused on him. Why did he agreed on it anyways? Even not being a proper catwalk, the way he walked down and stopped in front of the judge’s table fitted his description: a rebel daughter. The cheers flustered him, yet it was a nice experience.

— Please prepare your hearts and hold your wigs, ladies, ‘cuz my daughter ain’t here to play. - Honey Dejour smiled bright to a camera taking pictures around and got back to her role as hostess. - I give you… JAAAAAY HOPE!

“Crazy In Love by Beyoncé” began playing and Hoseok left the backstage channeling his inner diva. Hips swaying, one foot after other, wig moving with the wind. Jay Hope was fierce, gorgeous and confident. The dress flowing and spotlights making everything almost divine. Walking down the runway and being applauded brought a pack of mixed emotions.

Jung Hoseok felt loved and accepted.

Not that his friends and gay community in London never loved him, but for the first time being bisexual, enjoying arts and being his grinning, delicate self felt truly right. Hoseok hated stereotypes and how people assumed stuff about him out of his preferences, so for a good part of his days on earth were wasted trying to prove ‘em wrong. Yes, I’m bisexual and date another man, but I don’t do ballet and don’t use skirts. After walking down the catwalk, all his pre-concepts about being LGBT in a mutable world changed.

Why prove everyone is wrong, when they are clearly right? They are right, but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. They are wrong for thinking it’s right to reduce people based on their sexuality, hobbys, abilities, etc.

As Lady Gaga said in Born This Way: “Don't hide yourself in regret. Just love yourself and you're set. I'm on the right track, baby. I was born this way”.

In the end, getting in drag proved to be more than just a costume, or a persona, it was a whole political statement.

Jung Hoseok was loving himself.

After arriving back behind the thick curtains, Hoseok felt tears stream down his face. Moments of output, everyone should have one of these. It’s amazing to finally realize and accept something about yourself, once you do it, regardless of what it is, then other aspects of your life slowly adapts to your new vision.

— Last, but not least, I introduce you my newborn daughter. - Honey grinned slightly at how Nya’s face lit up with expectation. - She is tall, she is gorgeous, she is smart and she snatches hearts. I give you… Sailor Joon!!

Perhaps Honey planned it beforehand while teaching Namjoon how to tuck (by the way, he felt like his balls were in his stomach, but still found it a useful skill). In the moment she finished speaking, “I Am The Best by 2NE1” began playing and Sailor Joon decided to try walking in the rhythm. Halfway through the runway, feeling his legs shaking and sweating dumps because of how much effort was put only in walking.

Kim Namjoon, a grown ass man, empathized with babies learning how to walk.

The heels were high and hard to keep stead, his legs were long and couldn’t be seen under the dress, so Namjoon could only feel them touching each other. Beside not being able to see where he was stepping. Is that the right equation to a concussion? Absolutely.

Even lasting only a few minutes, it felt like hours of walking and when Namjoon finally attained himself to the judge’s table, his legs somehow tangled on each other and his fall was almost epical. If Homer witnessed Kim Namjoon nosediving from the top of 12cm high heels, he would probably write a rhapsody about it. A tall building being demolished, that’s what watching him hitting the cold hard ground felt like.

Namjoon saw his legs going up and suddenly his head crashing against the wooden floor. Everything blacked out for a few seconds, maybe of embarrassment or because the fall was actually titanic. Honey and Nya showed up to help him getting on his feet again and also guided him to backstage, where Jungkook wrapped an arm around hyung. The woman also sneaked behind him and found a chair under piles of fabrics, sitting him down and watching the way Kim propped his head back and covered his face with one hand, mouth still tasting like blood.

— I want an alcohol beverage and pretend I don’t exist. I’d really appreciate if everyone respected my final demands.- Namjoon babbled, still feeling his mind spinning. - Also, some ice would be great.

— Let me grab the drink and some ice. - Yoongi wisely offered, since he was the only one not wearing heels.

Five minutes and not a word was spoken. Honey Dejour had to stay and announce the winners from every category. Everyone stared at Namjoon looking like he fought with his heels and was defeated. Still ashamed and cursing at himself for what occurred. Yoongi emerged from the crowd holding a glass with whiskey and ice in a plastic bag.

Sipping on the whiskey and holding the bag of ice over the new wound. Heels left aside, he wanted to burn them, but since it belonged to Honey Dejour, only taking off seemed decent enough.

After half an hour, Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook went outside to party, leaving Nya and Namjoon alone. Still silent, absorbing the fall, the rise and the whiskey.

— How’s your head? - Nya asked, sitting on the ground beside Namjoon, one of her hands leaning over his clothed knee.

— I haven’t had any complaints. - Namjoon replied grinning, still a bit grumpy, but the alcohol was soothing his pain away. Or was it the ice?

They stood there, smiling and silently appreciating each other’s company. Even though the song was making his head latches a little, he would never ruin the night for everyone else. Staying there and drinking something was good enough. Also Namjoon had zero intention of leaving the backstage, not after almost staining the wood with his brain and blood.

Namjoon’s hand slided from his chest and reached for Nya’s one. They held hands and stared at each other for a while. She wanted to kiss him, but making him fall again would be cruelty [ha, pun intended!]. Odds seemed to be at her favour, ‘cuz after a few more seconds, himself bent down, the fingers previously intertwined, now holding her chin lightly and their lips connected in a liplock.

Fireworks! Party! Confetti! Nya wanted to jump and punch fists in the air, but enjoying the moment felt more appropriate. Slowly, lips opened and tongues connected, however, Namjoon’s position wasn’t quite comfortable so he got back up, but smiling at her. Dimples, those dimples!

They instinctively stood on their feet, the bag of ice being left aside. His cold hand made Nya feel goosebumps, but her arms still wrapped around Namjoon’s waist, whilst his hands held her face. They kissed once again, now actually losing themselves and allowing mouths to open, tongues to tangle and hormones flowing freely.

Such a romantic moment, which was interrupted by Yoongi, Jungkook and Hoseok coming back cackling. Namjoon and Nya separated, pretending to be doing nothing, however Min Yoongi saw and looked at his friend with disapproval.

— What time is it now? - Nya questioned, hands stucking on her back pockets.

— Almost six in the morning. - Yoongi checked his phone quickly, and stared at Namjoon again. - I think it’s time for us to conclude the night and head back to hotel. I’m exhausted and Sailor Joon is probably needing some pain killers. We can go check thrift shops during afternoon.

— I agree. - Nya saw Jungkook and Hoseok pouting.

They returned the outfits to Honey Dejour, traded phone numbers (business still was a priority) and left, stopping a cab.

- x - x - x - x -

The group arrived at the hotel. Hoseok and Jungkook went to their shared room, Yoongi and Namjoon did the same, but the humour was catastrophically different between both groups. One was tired and sleepy, the other was tense and in verge of a discussion.

The rooms were big. Two double beds, cotton fiber bed sheets, fluff pillows and thick duvets. There was a bathroom, one wardrobe filled with towels, shampoos, conditioners, soaps (both liquid and bar). The television was big and connected on internet, so the lodgers could watch Netflix or Youtube.

Namjoon entered the bedroom and headed straight to the bathroom, bringing a towel and his pajamas. Taking a long time and leaving a trade of steam out of it, he laid down under the duvet, but Yoongi told him to stay awake. Apparently they had something to talk about.

— Man! It’s not right! - Yoongi yelled at Namjoon. - You can’t date someone, not while we have the fucking rope ready to hang us!

— What? Now I can’t make out with someone? It’s not like I’m proposing to Nya! We kissed! - Namjoon was sitting on his bed, using Ryan pajamas, ready to sleep, but still arguing with Yoongi. - We met in person 12 hours ago, I'm not in love or obsessed with her!

— You are not in love with her YET! Beside, I would extract your brain through the nose and yeet it in a trash can if you somehow fell for someone in 12 hours of wandering around Las Vegas! - The man felt really frustrated, his temples almost visually pulsing. - You can fuck with every single human being around Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t care! I’m not your dick! But Nya is our guide, she is working for us! Also, you are getting attached, but know pretty well how things will turn! - Yoongi was also sitting on his own bed, common white pajamas and wet hair. - You are not the kind of guy who dates someone! You have affairs and get tired! I know you for a decade, man! I’m sick of seeing you dumping people and becoming grumpy! That project we are searching for places to film is important. It can save our finances! But if you get involved now, the break up will probably happen one week before we start filming. Everytime it happens, the movie becomes shitty because of your humour! And Kim Namjoon, I swear, I won’t allow you to ruin this. Not this time!  Not after your dramatical break up with Barbara and the critics detonating our movie. Hoseok and Taehyung worked way too hard on that script, only for your horny ass not pay a jot attention to it!

— Go fuck yourself, Yoongi! - Namjoon had nothing to say. Yoongi was right, he knew it, but would never admit it. Never in a million years.

— You fucking know I’m right! - Yoongi pronounced harshly, drops of spit flying from his mouth. - If you end up getting into Nya now, you are going to make a shitty movie after breaking up! You surrender yourself easily, and I don’t care most times, but after our last movie, we need to have you 100% focused.

— I’m focused. I was the only one not punchy! I accepted to be dressed up! I’m 100% into the project! I could marry and divorce someone, that it wouldn’t affect how I’m going to direct! - Namjoon was now spitting too, with rage and frustration. - You, Min Yoongi, are not the only one worried sick about finances and hating the idea of possibly working for some cocky entrepeuner with a big company.

— If you for yourself don’t stop hitting on Nya, then I’ll end it myself. - Yoongi assumed a gloomy expression, his body language screaming discomfort, with a hand covering his face, legs moving incessantly and ears getting red. - I ain’t gonna allow you and your romantic ass to ruin my career, business and life.

— You are preposterous. - Namjoon whispered in disappointment and laid down again, covering his head with the duvet, finishing their argument in the most childish way possible.

To be continued...

[icehvs]

Morning Practice (Stars Alight)

Biriette La’Anre walked into the chamber before the sun, or any of her fellow students rose. She forsook her training armor, in the hope of avoiding detection. There were no rules against the acolytes coming down to train outside of a session, of course, but she felt the timing put her in a sketchy position. She glanced around nervously, and often, and when the wind moved the branches of the white trees, and their golden leaves, and the shadows shifted, she stirred uncomfortably.

The training chamber was a large, round auditorium, with an enormous, open field in the middle. The early rays of the sun shone through the glass dome of the roof, painting the wood on the ground with shades of red and orange. The smell of yesterday’s sweat and blood still lingered in the air, ever so softly. Biriette wondered if it ever went away, or has it been part of this place for countless centuries?

She walked in from one of the base-level entrances, as she would have done during an actual session. She grabbed a blade from the rack, and measured it in her hand: it was a uniformed longsword, it’s weight and material the same a soldier in the army would receive. The design, however, followed the broad blade and the bastard-sword like hilt of the Knights’ weapon, to allow the hopefuls a chance to get used to their future weapons.

She made a few swings, and decided that this blade would do. She walked to the middle of the room, closed her eyes, and began her routine.

First came the opening stance. The Five Great Forms all had specific stances, moves, ups and downs, but Biriette had attempted to fuse as much of them together as she could. She spent years studying the Five Great Forms, watching their performers clash in duels, and reading about the theories behind them. The one that appealed to her most was the Roaccha, the Form of Beauty. It started with legs in a slight, open stance, the free hand beside her body, and the blade extended, pointing at the opponent. This time, she imagined a figure standing against her.

The Roaccha demanded patience, and the user to be willing to see their opponent as more than a simple person, but as muscle and blood, every stirring observed. She imagined the man charging forward, blade coming down in a wide arch. Biriette stepped backward, and brought her weapon up to parry, then, when the man’s defenses opened up, she made a kick, and pushed him back. She struck forward with her sword, in a simple thrust, and imagined impaling her opponent on her blade.

“Good,” said a voice, “but it will never be as simple.”

She twisted around, losing her balance and concentration immedietly. Her turn was far from graceful, and the man standing on top of the stairs chuckled quietly upon seeing this. Biriette felt the red mist of shame cloud her fair skin.

The man began walking down the stairs. The shadows that surrounded him so far dissipated, and revealed a man who looked young – though it was difficult to tell young from middle-aged, Biriette knew. Her own father, a man who had lived for a millennia looked not much older than her. Yet, she had a feeling this man was not as old, even though he wore a neatly trimmed, full beard, and what of his raven-black hair was not knotted on top, fell freely to the base of his neck.  He wore an elegant tunic that seemed comfortable, with golden threads running along its edges in the front.

“I always found,” he continued as he came close enough so that he would not have to rely on the auditorium to carry his voice, “that not one thing can substitute for a real opponent.”

“I fought real opponents,” Biriette blurted out. The assumption that she was some green recruit hurt her pride, at least as much as the man spying on her did.

“Oh. So is it only I who cannot see them?”

“Not now. My fellow students. Every day.”

“If so, then you should most definitely not train alone. The bad habits are that much harder to eradicate afterwards.”

“I have no bad habits, when it comes to swordsmanship,” Biriette stated, her chin raised high.

The man froze at the base of the stairs, his eye fixated on her, and an eyebrow raised. He did not believe her, that much was obvious. Biriette gritted her teeth – nobody ever believed her. It was the curse of being young in a society that could live longer than the trees they grew with such care.

“A statement like that,” he smiled, “cannot go unchallenged. I hope you understand.”

Before Biriette could have said anything, he grabbed another training blade. His face twisted in a displeasured smirk when he measured the blade, but it was expressionless again by the time he turned to face Biriette.

“What say you? Want someone to fight against?”

Biriette smiled, and, instead of answering, simply took her base stance. She looked down at the man without blinking an eye, she followed his movements with the tip of her blade. He stirred, placing his weight on his left foot, then bringing his blade up beside his face. The opening stance of Atoara, the Form of the Serpents.

He attacked faster than she had anticipated. With two, long and quick strides, he closed the distance between them. Biriette, shocked by his sheer speed, brought her weapon up to block more out of muscle-memory, then of conscious decision. She backed away, attempting to gain breathing room, but the man did not allow her – he pressed on, battering her defenses with quick, precise strikes Biriette was hardly capable of containing. When her mind did get a second to think, she admitted that this could not have been a beginner’s form: whoever was on the other end of her big mouth was most definitely out of her weight.

She also knew, without conscious thought, as one would know that the sky was up and the earth is down, that if things continued like this, she would lose. Roaccha demanded finesse, and maneuverability, and she could not possibly move anywhere. The man had boxed her in, deprived her of her best weapon, and slowly bled her dry. Her defeat was the question of when, and not an if.

She parried his blade, and made a break for it, dancing to the right. Her feet hardly touched the ground, providing the smallest possible target. This gave her a moment to breathe, but only a moment. Sometimes, however, she thought, as she became keenly aware of her wet, golden hair sticking to the side of her face, a moment was all that was needed. One breath of fresh air, one draw of cool, calming oxygen

The next attack came soon. She did the same as she always did, originally, bringing her blade to intercept the weapon. Then, before they would have made contact, she shifted, and launched forward, under the arch of her opponent’s slash, and barreled into him. Her muscles, her joints, her entire body shrieked in pain, revolting against such a sudden shift. The Forms were not meant to be changed at a whim, and going from the Form preferring elegance and the fluidity of movement to one emphasizing sheer, overwhelming force was quite the change. She bit into her lower lip, and stopped herself from giving into the pain.

She achieved what she wanted. She may have been smaller and lighter than the man, but a body slamming into him sent him staggering back. Biriette did not stop, she attacked, and pressed her advantage. The Sholecco, the Form of Power slowed her down, forcing her to wind up her attacks, and give all her might, but it was this brute strength that did not allow the man to strike back against her. The sheer force of her strikes had to be dodged, as parrying them would have been impossible.

She tired, fast. By the time of her tenth strike, she fought with only a portion of the zeal she began with. She heaved, and the drops of sweat fell to the ground from the top of her pointy chin. The man took this opportunity, and instead of dodging her blow, he raised his blade, and stopped it.

For seconds, they stood there, weapons locked, and stared at each other. The man was tired too, Biriette could see, yet, a smile played in the corner of his mouth, as if he was thoroughly enjoying this fight.

“Nice,” he said, “I have never met anyone who could pull the switch off so effortlessly…”

“Nor will you,” Biriette claimed.

“Once again, the arrogance,” the man gave a short laugh. “I’m beginning to enjoy it.”

Biriette grunted, and pushed herself backwards. She knew she did not have the power for another strike, and the man would just parry it again. So she gave her a second, and readjusted again, returning to the Roaccha, and its lightness. She had to finish this.

“A draw?” the man asked, with a grin on his face.

“No,” she stated ruthlessly. “Come!”

He gave a shrug, and charged forward. Biriette saw his blade coming, pointed forward. She ducked, rolled to the side, and brought her own weapon up, as if to use it as a spear. She had forgotten how sharp even the training blades were. The thought occurred to her a second too late, when she felt the resistance flesh gives, as she shrieked just as the man yelled like a wounded boar.

She dropped her weapon, and jumped to her feet.

The man was standing by then, holding his hand to his side. Blood tickled slowly between his fingers. He, however, seemed more annoyed, than afraid, as dying man should. In an instant, Biriette saw what had happened: she had almost missed. Her roll took her too far out, and the weapon simply scratched the man’s side. It was a nasty wound, but far from fatal. It had to be painful though, and she stepped forward, feeling guilt rise in her heart.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, “I do not know…”

The man laughed bitterly.

“That was the best fight I’ve had in years. Still, do they teach you youngsters to slaughter each other here?”

She meant to explain that it was an accident, that she had seen red, and anger overtook her, clouded her judgement. Her hands still trembled: she could have killed this man. It was hard to look at him, to search for his eyes, which he gave with ease and willingly, but this she owed him.

A bang saved her, as the door at the top of the auditorium slammed open, and a man barged in.

“Lord Gauthen, they told me you are here!” he yelled. “I bring important news from the High Council!”

Biriette felt her head go light, and blood seemed to escape her body. She took a step back, her skin turning ashen, and stared at the man, wide-eyed. Now, there was a shame in the man’s expression, as if he was a little boy, caught doing something nasty. After a few seconds, he turned halfway, and looked at the man.

“I am here, courier,” he said reluctantly. “What does the Mighty want with me this time in the morning?”

By the time Biriette fell on her knee, the man was downstairs, and took in the situation. He lowered his voice, and the two spoke a few, quick words in hushed whispers. Biriette saw the newcomer glance at her, and then Lord Gauthen shake his head slightly. Then she turned her attention back to the floor, and only raised her eyes again when the man touched her shoulder lightly.

By then, the second man was gone, and they were alone, again. The sun shone brightly now, and Biriette felt her bones rattle in her body. It had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, but with the sudden cold that gripped her body and soul.

“I am sorry, My Lord,” she stated, “I have not known…”

“That was the point,” Lord Gauthen grinned. “Rise.”

He even made an inviting gesture with his hand. Biriette rose to her feet, but still, she averted her eyes. The man kept his distance now, a hand still on his side.

“You have not held back?” the man asked her.

“No, My Lord,” she shook her head.

“Good. That was damn impressive.”

Biriette could not help hide the smile that came over her face. The man’s words caressed her pride gently. A Lord thought her fighting was impressive…

“May you…”

“Stop,” Lord Gauthen held up his hand. “None of that. You drew my blood, the least you can do is drop the formality.”

Biriette stared at the man in wonder. The Lords were so far removed from the simple acolytes, many times they only heard the tales of their deeds. They commanded units, lead dangerous missions, and hunted the most vile of enemies, both off-world, and at home. To have one of them stand in front of her, and be this kind felt unreal.

“I have to go now,” the man stated, and gave a yearning look to the blade on the floor. “But I hope this is not the last time we meet.”

“As do I…”

“Training!” the man exclaimed.

“I’m sorry?” she looked at him in confusion.

“Training. We have to train again. I cannot remain in debt, and you will benefit from my patronage.”

“I would be glad to,” Biriette nodded, “but I have to refuse the patronage. If I rise, Lord Gauthen, it will be by my own power, and not by the help of someone higher up.”

The man looked at her through narrowed eyes. Biriette felt instinctively, with the notions honed by a lifetime in colonial high society, that the man was trying to figure out her game. She smiled at him, and stood his gaze.

“So be it,” Lord Gauthen said. “But do not dare to hold back.”

“I would never,” she answered, with a hint of that former cockiness on her tongue.

The man turned around and, as fast as his wound would allow, rushed up the stairs. Biriette remained, alone in the ring, and, when the door finally closed behind the lord, she allowed her smile to become so wide, it hurt, and numbed her face.

[joonbird]

Blue Blood

➭ “Prince Jimin was born with blue blood. His coronation is rapidly approaching, but there are two requirements he must fulfil before becoming a king. He must have the skills to fight in battle, and he must have a Queen with blood as blue as his. You, a member of the royal guard, are assigned to teach Jimin the ins and outs of combat. You are not scared of death, of blood, or of battle. What you are scared of however, is falling in love with Jimin, the one man your blood decrees you can never have.”

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: royalty au, smut, angst

wordcount: 26k

❀ 1 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

** warnings: this is angsty!, jimin is a light dom, slow burn, violence, mentions of blood, heavy themes, lots of drama, character death

“You know, if our ancestors could see us right now, they would roll in their graves.” You hiss, folding your arms. “We’re members of the Obsidian guard, I really think our skill level goes beyond teaching some bratty prince how to fight.”

Hyungwon just lets out a dry snort.

“Seriously. I train half my life, for what? To be called in by the idiot-”

“Ha.”

“-idiot King to teach his son how to fight?”

Hyungwon just smirks at you. “Y/N,” He says calmly. “Like you said. We’re members of the Obsidian guard. We don’t exactly have a choice, do we?”

You purse your lips, hating that he’s right.

The Obsidian guard are your kingdom’s military. More specifically, the royal family’s impeccably trained personal military. The members of the guard are revered for being formidable opponents: it was as if some deity had given them the gift of brute strength and unwavering fearlessness.

Both the royal family and the guard have ancestries that date back centuries. Myth and legend tells that while the Royals have blood as calm and azure blue as the ocean, the guard have blood as unpenetrable and black as the stone they are aptly named after.

In this kingdom, the only thing that matters is blood. People are divided neatly, andt according to their bloodlines. The systematic division of people is, at first glance, simple. The Royals, who live in the central palace, a heavily guarded fortress. The Obsidian guard, who mostly dwell in the mountains training. And everybody else, scattered amongst several rundown villages in the kingdom.

Blood is a constitution in this kingdom. It is blood that governs above all else, as it decrees law and order. In your kingdom, blood is thicker than water, than flesh, than bone. And it is blood that ties the guard to the Royal family. 

The Obsidian guard were created centuries ago to profit the Royals. Folklore told that the Obsidians were birthed from the mountain side, eyes and hearts as pitch black and hard as obsidian stone. Children were taught that Obsdians were created from one drop of royal blood, dripped over a piece of obsdian heartstone. As history told, the Royals gave Obsdians life. And the Obsdians lives would be used to protect the Royals. Black blood protecting blue.

Which of course means that if the King himself requests the services of the two strongest members of the guard, those services being to personally train his own son in combat... you don’t exactly have a say in the matter. 

The Prince is a mystery to you, and to most people. The King has kept him shielded all his life, raising him from within the shelter of the palace walls. All you know is that the Prince’s coronation is due to happen soon, and that each future King needs to fulfil to requirements before taking the throne.

One, the ability to fight in battle, and two, a chosen Queen with blood as blue as the Prince himself.

Both are, in your humble opinion, stupid fucking requirements.

So all of this means that you are here. Standing in front of the palace, shifting comfortably from foot to foot. You are restless, irritated, while Hyungwon is standing perfectly still. 

Hyungwon is your longest friend and another member of the Obsidian guard. You are happy that Hyungwon was selected to be your training partner. While you excel in attack, there is no one better than him in the entire Kingdom at defense. There's that, and the fact that Hyungwon shares your distaste for the royal hierarchy (although admittedly, he is much less openly vocal about it than you).

“Let’s get this over and done, shall we?” He asks as the doors finally open, and you just let out a sigh in response.

You walk into the palace together.

As always, you feel a bit taken aback when you’re on the other side of the palace gates. Everything inside the palace is impossibly ornate. Polished marble, orange chrome, and crystal as far as your eye can see. 

You gaze in disdain at the ceilings, which feature hand painted murals and chandeliers, and you can’t help but think that the Royals really must have a lot of free time if they’re painting on the damn ceilings.

A few people shoot you curious gazes as they stroll past, and you shudder at the obnoxious display of velvet clothing, immaculately made up faces. Everything in the palace is luxurious, even the people. Everywhere you turn, you see generations of wealth, blood money. 

Meanwhile, you and Hyungwon stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in simple, tattered training garments that have greyed with age and wear. 

One of the royal advisors, a tall man dressed in an embroidered blazer, comes rushing out to greet the two of you. He introduces himself as either Namjoon or Manjoon, you can’t remember and you also don’t care, and he leads you through the palace.

You’re led into a room adorned with plush looking couches and bookshelves crammed with books. At the centre of it all is the King, sitting on one of the couches, flanked by three guards.

“Thank you for coming,” The King says, bowing his head slightly and smiling graciously at you. “I trust you and your people are well?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response,, continuing on blithely. 

“My son requires combat training before his coronation, and I trust you both will be more than capable of training him in time. He-”

“When is his coronation exactly?” You interrupt, you feel Hyungwon prod at your side. “Your Highness,” You hurry to add, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

There is a slight silence that hangs between the three of you before the King clears his throat.

“Six months.”

It’s soon, sooner than you had anticipated. You wonder why that is, knowing the coronations usually happen in summer. The Royals like having their fancy coronation ceremonies when mother nature is more generous. 

Six months is a fraction of the time you take to train the Obsidian fledglings, let alone an inexperienced Prince. You glance sideways at Hyungwon, who also has a doubtful expression on his face.

The King catches this and hastens to reassure the two of you.

“We will have daily training sessions, six days a week.” He says authoritatively. “Six hour ones, attack and defense alternating day by day. I need him to be prepared in time for his coronation.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Hyungwon intervenes smoothly.

“We should be able to get him ready in time, Your Highness.” 

You hiss in your breath at that, loud enough for only Hyungwon to hear. You are appalled at the thought of how much time you are going to have to spend here, with the Prince, in this palace. 

Suddenly, the thought of being back in the mountains training the fledglings seem pleasant. Even with their penchant for biting and letting out random, high pitched screams.

“Wonderful.” The King smiles, leaning back in satisfaction. 

“So,” Hyungwon asks, glancing around the room. “… Where is the Prince, Your Highness?”

The King claps his hands together. “Ah. Son,” He calls out. “Come forth.”

You glance up as a young man strolls into the room. You feel a wave of surprise - you weren’t sure what you were expecting exactly, but whatever it was, it isn’t this.

The man is lean, and he has a smaller, more compact frame than you expected. He is also much, much more handsome than you expected.

He is dressed in a perfectly fitted black shirt, it’s adorned with lavish embroidery. His shirt is tucked into his pants, and his hair is a shade of burnt  silver, swept off of his forehead. 

He has quite unusual features, you muse to yourself. Almost feline eyes, strong eyebrows, and full lips. He has a dainty face, and as you look closer, a small silver earring dangles from his left ear.

He commands all attention from the moment he walks in the room without even trying. It’s not all due to his striking looks, it’s also his presence. He is oddly magnetic. It is  something that you’re sure will benefit him as the future King of this kingdom.

As your eyes rise to meet his, a tiny smile ghosts over his lips and you immediately frown.

He’s soft. There is no other way to describe it. Although he has sharp features, a piercing gaze… he is soft. He walks with the poise of a man who has lived a life in luxury, he smiles at you with the quiet shyness of someone who is too trusting, too open. Soft.

Now that you’ve identified it, you can practically see it radiating off of him in waves. He keeps glancing at you, his lips turned upward in a smile, and he even turns to look at Hyungwon and smiles. 

You can tell your comrade is equally baffled, because the Obsidian guard are not like this. No one smiles in the mountains, unless you are asking to be bitten by a fledgling.

Your lip curls. You have no patience for people who are soft, whose hearts are malleable and too easy influenced by others. Your expression doesn’t change, even when he continues to smile at you. You watch with a grim satisfaction as his lips droop downward.

“Chae,” The King begins, gesturing to Hyungwon. “Y/N.” He nods to his son, who is standing still, clasping at his own fingers.

“This is my son. Prince Jimin.”

Jimin, Prince Jimin, glances up and nods meekly at the two of you.

“It’s nice to meet you,” He says in a melodic voice. The words roll off of his tongue eloquently and your frown deepens.

“Nice to meet you too, your Highness.” Hyungwon says politely, you grit your teeth as Jimin turns his eyes to you.

“Nice to meet you too, Prince Jimin.” You say stiffly, and Jimin holds your eyes for a long moment before you finally look away.

“Will we start training tomorrow?” You ask, addressing the King and tilting your body away from the Prince. “Your Highness,” You add on.

You feel like you’re about to break out into hives, and all you want to do is leave the palace and drink ten litres of whiskey-

“Today.”

You can’t hide the shock from your face, because today? 

“If that’s difficult for um, Y/N and Hyungwon, we should start tomorrow, Father.” Jimin pipes up. Your eyes meet Jimin’s again and you see that he’s apologetic, biting his bottom lip as his eyes dart from his father to you.

You immediately decide that you hate him and the puppy dog look on his face.

“No,” You force out instead, pasting a fake smile onto your face. It must look terrifying because Jimin’s eyes widen. Come to think of it, you’re pretty much baring your teeth at him. Like you said, Obsdians don’t smile. You relax the expression as you turn to the King.

“Starting today sounds great, your Highness.”

You walk into the training field at 3PM on the dot, immediately spotting Jimin standing to the side. 

He looks ridiculous – wearing brand new black training gear so crisp and so untouched, that you can’t help but roll your eyes as you approach.

“So,” You begin. “Do you have any experience with combat?”

Jimin jumps in place at the sound of your voice, reaching up as if to run a hand through his hair. He stops, his hand hovering in mid-air, and then he shakes his head.

“No. None.” He answers in a polite tone and you cross your arms.

“… Nothing? Throwing, hitting, how to choke someone?” 

Jimin just shakes his head and wrinkles his nose delicately.

You frown. “Well, can you at least throw a punch?”

Jimin hesitates, long enough so that you can see him nibble his bottom lip, before he nods decisively. 

“I can.”

You nod, relieved.

“...I think.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, ten years of training up in the mountains and this is my life. Training a silver haired imbecile who doesn’t know if he can punch. 

“You think?” You repeat, not even bothering to mask the disbelief dripping from your words.

Jimin just nods again.

“Alright,” You sigh. “We’ll move onto actual fighting later. But for now… punch me.”

His eyes practically boggle out of his head as you hold out your palm in front of him, a makeshift punching bag.

“Punch you? I- I can’t. I can’t punch a woman.”

You let out a noise of impatience. “Just do it.”

“Aren’t we, I don’t know, gonna do warm ups or something?”

You roll your eyes. “This is a warm up. Punch me.”

He hesitates and then he shakes his head again, firmly. “No. I can’t.”

You raise an eyebrow at him irritably. “Punch me, or I will punch myself.”

You don’t really mean it, but you say the words as menacingly as you can and Jimin’s eyes widen before he coils his hand into a fist and strikes. 

He punches your palm, and you can tell from even the seconds before the hit lands that he has absolutely no experience. For one thing, his finger is curled into his own fist. Furthermore, instead of throwing his body weight behind the punch, he flings his arm out and bats uselessly against your palm like a cat hitting a piece of string.

“God,” You groan. “That was so bad.” 

Jimin is shaking his hand, wincing. “What? Really? Because that hurt.” 

“So you don’t know how to fight, you don’t know how to attack somebody, and you can’t even throw a punch.” This is beginning to feel like a very cruel joke. “How have you gone this far in life and without knowing how to punch someone?” You ask incredulously.

Jimin just shrugs. “I’m not a very violent person.” He comments, and then he gives you a tiny smile. “People don’t want to fight me.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “I find that hard to believe.” You mutter. Jimin just smiles at you like you’ve made a great joke.

“Alright. We’ll we’ve got… what, a few months of training? We’ll try go through what we can. You’re training with me every second day, right Jimin?”

Jimin flinches at the last word and you stop still, staring at him.

“Did you just flinch?” You demand in a low, accusatory tone.

Jimin hesitates. You can practically see the words forming on his lips before he falls decidedly silent, and you narrow your eyes.  

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to it. Not being called Your Highness.” His shoulders drop up and down and he at least has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. “Or Prince.”

“Just because the blood in your veins runs blue doesn’t mean that you are better than me.” You tell him evenly.

He nods, his eyes apologetic. “I know. I’m just not used to it. My own father doesn’t even call me Jimin half the time. But  really, I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I’m just… me, I guess. I’ll get used to it, I promise.” He says, and there’s something the sincerity in his voice, the way he’s babbling on, that grates at your nerves.

You coil your fist back and punch him in the stomach. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to knock the wind out of him. 

As expected, he staggers back a little, making a small “oof” and clutching his stomach. 

“That is how you punch someone,” You say evenly, crossing your arms. “Jimin.”

Halfway into your third session with Jimin, you call for a quick break. 

As you promptly crouch down on the ground, you glance at the other man. You’re tired, but you can tell Jimin is exhausted – his chest is heaving with exertion, his face dotted with sweat, his silver hair mussed up. 

Your first session had been all about teaching Jimin how to land punches and hit with his fists. The second session entailed you teaching him how to use his feet. This session is all about facing your opponent and gaining the upper hand. In other words- you were basically hitting Jimin over and over and yelling at him, ‘Upper hand Jimin! Upper fucking hand!’ 

You have to give credit to Jimin for his determination. He’s dedicated, trying hard, but you refuse to ease up on him. If he is going to learn how to fight, well then, he is going to learn how to fight.

Jimin senses your stare and cranes his head to look at you.

“You okay?” You ask bluntly, and Jimin nods.

“How was I?” He asks keenly, and you shrug. 

“Better.”

That’s another thing that surprises you about Jimin, how he constantly asks you for your opinion on his progress. Whenever you offer even the barest shred of positive feedback, you can see that he’s pleased- he sits up straighter, fighting to hide a smile on his face. 

You don’t know why that is, why he cares so much about what you have to say... but you shrug off thinking about it too much.

“You’re a better learner than I expected,” You offer finally. Jimin smiles at that, taking a drink of water. “Thank you.”

You just shrug in response, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment.

“You weren’t what I was expecting.” Jimin confesses, wiping at some of the sweat on his forehead. “I didn’t know women could be Obsidian guards. No offense,” He added, seeing you narrow your eyes. “Please don’t punch me again.”

Your lips twitch and you fight the urge to smile. You study him closely, and when you see no maliciousness in his face, you relax a fraction. 

“Yeah,” You say finally. “I’m one of the only ones. There aren’t many. They’re meant to be men, in all the books and in history they were always men. They usually don’t even let women train in the mountains. They don’t even let woman touch weapons.” You let out an angry snort at that. 

Jimin nods, and you sneak a glance at him before continuing. He is gazing at you attentively, his knees tucked into his chest.

“They didn’t even want me to become one,” You continue wryly. “But I kept pushing, and fighting. Then eventually they said they would let me train if I beat their top fledgling, thinking that would get rid of me.” You smile at the old memory, shaking your head. 

“And you beat him,” Jimin finishes, and you grin at him.

“Sure did. It was close, but I destroyed his ass. Don’t let him tell you otherwise. Attack always wins over defense.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “It was Hyungwon?”

You nod. “So, I trained. Trained hard. And now I’m here.” With you.

Jimin nods thoughtfully, resting his chin on top of his knees.

“So why did you want to become one then?” He asks curiously, and you hesitate.

“My…” You begin. Your voice cracks slightly. “My mother was the first female member of the Obsidian guard.” You say quietly. “I wanted to be like her. She always used to say, ‘life doesn’t play by the rules, so why should you?’ I know however hard I had to fight to join the guard, she fought twice as hard.”

You’re pulling the grass out of the earthy soil, and Jimin watches.

“What happened to her?” He asks softly, and you look up at him. His eyes are imploring, and you don’t ask how he knows. Something tells you that Jimin just gets things sometimes.

“She died in battle.” You say finally. “Ten years ago.” 

You can still remember that day clearly – a day when there were rumours of another kingdom planning an invasion. Your mother had ridden out to meet them in battle, to end the fight before it came to the royal grounds. 

Two hundred members of the guard had left that day. Only forty had returned. They had been triumphant, but only just. It was a bittersweet win, bodies were slain, dragged back into villages. You were young, but you can remember the sounds of the wails, the smell of death.

The entire time, those of blue blood had gone about their everyday lives, indifferent and uncaring about what had happened. Because that was the duty of the black blooded. Protect blue blood, at all costs.

“I’m sorry.” Jimin says softly, and he reaches out. He rests a few fingers on your wrist and you stop pulling at the grass. 

You suddenly didn’t know what to say. Everyone in this kingdom knows that Jimin’s mother, the previous Queen, had died when Jimin was young. Her death left Jimin without a mother, and the Kingdom without any other viable heir to the throne. 

You think back to the King, and how he actively shielded his son from the world after her death. You bit your lip. In a way, you suddenly understood. The day your mothers body was dragged back the village is one burned in your mind, like an ugly scar. You will carry it for the rest of your life.

You think that if you ever were to bring a child into the world, you would want to protect them at all costs too. 

Jimin’s fingers are still on your wrist and you drop your hand. Jimin pulls away and clears his throat.

“C’mon,” You say, straightening. There is a small pile of shredded grass on the ground and you kick it, sending the little pieces flying. “Back to work.”

You find yourself stopping by one of Jimin’s training sessions with Hyungwon.

For no reason other than curiosity, you tell yourself as you fold your arms and watch the two men. 

Hyungwon is unbeatable when it comes to defense. His long, lean limbs seem to be made of liquid, he is effortless, evading attacks and dodging strikes. 

There’s no one Jimin could be in better hands with. Still, you expect him to fail as miserably as he did with you at the start. 

So, you’re surprised when they start to fight.

Jimin is slow, as expected, and uncertain with his movements, also as expected… but he is surprisingly agile. He is almost graceful in the way he moves- his body slinks forth, he is in control of his movements. You realize that while he isn’t gifted with attack, with aggression… he maybe is okay at defense. Maybe. 

You watch the two of them, mesmerized.

Hyungwon calls for a rest and strolls over to you, one eyebrow raised. 

“What brings you here?” He asks, grabbing his water.

“How’s he doing?” You ask instead, nodding to the prince who has his water rucksack at his lips. You watch as droplets of water glide down from his lips his neck and something inside of you stutters. Hyungwon is staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

“Good,” He says slowly. “As I’m sure you can see.” He cocks his head at you quizzically. “You’re certainly interested in the prince prodigy.” 

You just shrug. “Doing my job, right?”

Hyungwon just gazes at you. “No other reason?”

Your eyes flicker from him to Jimin, who is practing his dodges, his burnt silver hair falling in his eyes as he practices, his face pinched in concentration.

“Nope,” You say, ignoring the fact that it feels like a blatant lie. You return your attention to Hyungwon, who is watching you intently. “No reason at all.”

You’re sparring with Jimin and for the first time, he’s not completely outmatched.

He’s doing well, more confident in his body and his movements. While you still neatly dodge all of his attacks, he comes close to landing a few punches.

But you’re still so much better, so much faster, and it’s almost fun to see the Prince frown in frustration every time you dodge away from his attempted attacks.

You keep your eyes on him, wondering if you should flip him on his back and call it a day, when he runs a hand through his hair. It’s an absentminded gesture, but something inside of you reacts, and you hesitate, staring at him.

His silver hair combed through his fingers, his eyes narrowed in focus, the tense of his muscles from underneath his black training shirt.

You swallow, your throat dry.

And then Jimin darts forward and lands a hit, right against your abdomen.

You stumble back, letting out a shocked gasp because most of your opponents never land a hit on you, let alone Jimin.

“Yes!” Jimin cheers, and you narrow your eyes. You sprint to him, he dodges your attack but your movements slice through the air as you hook behind his knee with your foot.

He comes tumbling down, within moments you’re on top of him. You pin his wrists to the floor, your leg keeping his down against the dirt. He’s winded, and you can’t help the triumphant smirk from dancing over your lips.

“You were getting a bit too cocky there, Park Jimin.” You say mockingly, but Jimin’s face is still scrunched up in pain. He lets out a tiny groan. You frown at him. “Hey asshole,” You mutter, loosening your grip on him slightly. “Are you okay?”

In a split second, Jimin headbutts you and you recoil in surprise, letting go of him. He takes the opportunity to roll, and before you quite know what’s happening, he’s pinning you to the ground. You struggle for a second, but your legs are pinned under his, your wrists locked in place by his fingers.

“Ah, that’s Your Highness to you,” He crows triumphantly. 

You can feel the dirt behind your hair and you can smell the earthiness of the soil, and Jimin is a lot stronger than you realized.

Jimin is also a lot closer than you realized. His face is only inches away from yours. You open your mouth to say something, but the words die from your lips when you see the way Jimin is staring at you. 

His eyes are intense, and this close, they’re unavoidable. They’re a deep, dark brown, with flecks of green and gold. This close, you can smell him. He’s a mix of different scents – sweat, mingled with a sharp, sweet, woody smell. Your eyes trail down to his lips and you feel a heat start to rise in your body. His lips are soft, full, and so fucking kissable.

Since when did you consider the Prince’s lips kissable?

You shove Jimin off of you roughly, he doesn’t make any protests, collapsing to the ground beside you. 

What the fuck was that? You straighten, shaking the dirt free from your clothes and your hair, your heart hammering away in your chest. Jimin too was avoiding your gaze, shaking the dirt free from his clothes.

“Sorry,” Jimin apologizes, and you glance at him. His cheeks are tinged pink and you look away. Your eyes land on the imprint in the dirt, trying not to remember how close he had been to you.

“It’s fine.” You say in a clipped voice. Jimin glances up at you uncertainly. You relent. “You did good.”

“Because of you, Y/N. Thank you.”

Jimin’s face melts into a smile and you have to look away because God damn it, you’re here to do a job and that job doesn’t involve getting a weird tingly feeling in your stomach every time Prince Jimin smiles like that.

Probably indigestion from the leftover rabbit stew you had this morning.

“Anyway,” You mutter. “We’ve gone overtime for our session today so yeah. Good job. Get outta here.”

Jimin nods, but he doesn’t make to leave, lingering.

“You know Y/N. Out of all the classes that I’ve had to take to prepare for being King one day, this is my favourite.”

You don’t even try to hide your scoff, looking up to see him staring at you with an earnest, sincere expression. That tingling feeling comes back and you return your stare to the ground.

“Seriously,” He continues. “It’s better than ballroom dance, better than archery, better than aristocracy…”

“Artisocracy?” You snort, Jimin ignores you and continues on.

“…I don’t know, I feel like at least this way I’m doing something. I mean, it might not be the most useful, but-”

You interrupt him with a deadpan expression. “Combat and learning how to fight might not be useful?” You repeat, and then you snort derisively. “Oh never mind. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. You’re royalty. You have others to fight your own battles.”

There. You see it, a flash of irritation that crosses Jimin’s face. 

You feel it, a gnawing sense of relief. This is what you’re good at- testing people, pushing them further and further away. Not that Jimin is getting closer, you tell yourself quickly.

“No need for that,” Jimin says calmly. “There hasn’t been a war in centuries, my father never fought in a battle and neither did his forefather. I’ll be fine.”

You frown at him, there’s something spiking in your chest and you don’t know quite what it is. 

“When I talk about you making other people fight your own battles I’m not necessarily just talking about war, there are more sides to the damn coin than ‘war’ and peace,” You snap out. You hear your own voice back, you sound irritated, bothered. There’s something about Park Jimin that pushes all of your buttons all at once.

Jimin just frowns at you in confusion. He either doesn’t see the growing anger that is melting over your face, or he isn’t fazed by it.

“What,” He says in confusion. “An invasion?”

You narrow your eyes and you feel it seething inside of you. You look at him, with his hair, his eyes, and you can’t stand it.

“No,” You grit out in an icy tone. “Not a fucking invasion, this isn’t Troy and the wooden horse. I’m talking about the people out there.” You fling your arm vaguely outwards, Jimin’s eyes just trail your movement. “There are people who live in the villages, my people and other people, people beyond the four walls of this tiny palace, you know.”

Jimin just stares at you uncertainly. “I know that-”

“Do you?” You cut in. “Because they’re fighting different battles of their own. Famine, and having to work all day just to survive. You know last winter, when that blizzard struck? Do you know how many children perished? How many animals froze to death, leaving families starving? And what did you and the King and the rest of you blue blooded cowards do? Just burned through more firewood and called for warmer velvet jackets to be made, right?” 

Jimin is just staring at you, his eyes stricken and wide.

“We- we-” He stammers out and you just let out a frustrated sigh. 

Your eyes prick suddenly with tears and you have no idea why you’re so angry. Why it feels like your blood is boiling and your chest is thumping. It’s everything, you suppose. This day, today. Him, Park Jimin, who is the absolute epitome of everything you oppose, everything you despise about the royal hierarchy. Park Jimin who is so different to what you had expected him to be. 

A heavy, thick silence settles between the two of you. Jimin clears his throat.

“Can you take me?”

Your head snaps up as you stare at him. He is staring straight at you.

“Take you where?” You mutter, and Jimin bites his lip.

“To the villages. To your village. I don’t know, I just…” His voice breaks slightly and he swallows. “I haven’t been on non-royal business before and… I didn’t know…” His voice is tiny. 

You stare at him, your lips set in a firm line. You remember the royal official visits, days when the King and his royal advisors would travel to the different villages. Sometimes they would bring gifts – baskets of fruit, barely enough to make a dent in feeding people. Still, in the days leading up the village would be in a frenzy. Pooling together scraps of money and desperately buying nice garments to wear, scrubbing their faces, putting on the façade of happiness. 

You had hated it, even from a young age, and you can still remember clearly the resentment you had felt watching the King stroll through your village. And you can also remember the younger Prince by his side during one of those visits, cherubic and smiley, gazing around thoughtfully. 

You had decided then you hated him too. It’s ironic, that he’s standing in front of you now, asking to return to a village he’s already visited but doesn’t even remember.

“You really want to go?” You ask, and Jimin nods. His eyes are full of determination.

“I do.”

You stare at him and you sigh. Before you can quite stop yourself, you hear the words spilling out of your mouth.

“I’d take you, but there’s no way out of this Kingdom without guards seeing what we’re doing. And you can’t exactly just leave.”

You half expect to see Jimin nod in resignation. But instead, Jimin just smiles. His eyes dance and you frown. 

“What if I told you there’s a way out of the palace that no one knows about?”

“I’d say you’re a liar.” You retort, but Jimin just grins and walks forward, taking your hand. 

You almost snatch your hand away but Jimin’s hands are warm and laced into yours so comfortably that you just kind of just stop in place. Jimin just walks, leading you out of the training field. 

And as you walk,you ignore that feeling that’s back, in your stomach. It’s indigestion, you think firmly, I must be getting sick. Nothing else. Nothing to do with Park Jimin, and his hand, resting in yours.

It turns out that Jimin really does have a way in and out. 

There is a small hatch hidden behind a wooden plank in bedroom, and it funnels out to a drainway outside the heavily guarded palace walls.

When you arrive on the other side, blinking down at the soggy earth beneath you, you can’t help but feel impressed. Jimin catches the look on you face and smirks triumphantly.

“Still think I’m a liar?” He teases, and you begrudgingly shake your head.

“What d’you use it for?” 

“... To sneak in girls from the palace into my room. There’s another entryway that goes into one of the halls in the palace.” 

You let out a shocked, guffawing laugh. “You? Yeah right.”

Jimin just shrugs. “It’s true.”

You glance at him and you see the fullness of his lips, his hair, and you think about how close you were to kissing him earlier.

Nope, no kissing thoughts. You shake your head abruptly and change the topic. The last thing you want to think about is kissing Prince Jimin.

“So you haven’t used it to leave?”

“I haven’t,” He admits. “Not properly. I’ve known about it since I was a kid but I never even thought to use it. But then after my… after my mother died, I went through and I used to just sit here. On the bridge between my world and the outside world. I thought about running away a lot.” His voice is soft, and you glance at him. He has a pensive look on his face and you feel something akin to empathy.

“When my mother passed,” You say quietly. “I thought about running away all the time.”

Jimin glances at you and you feel your breath halt. The sky is nearly all but black now, and he has such a soft look on his face that you feel unnerved by it. 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” He murmurs.

Time stills.

“Yep,” You say brusquely. “Let’s go to my place. I’ve got a cape and some of Hyungwon’s old pants that’ll fit you… you’ll need to hide your hair and change clothes.” You glance dismissively at his black, sleek training pants and his silk shirt, and Jimin looks at you with a surprised expression.

“People don’t dress like this in the villages?”

You stare at him and then his face breaks into a laugh. His eyes crease in the corners and he laughs with his entire body and it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, and you honestly cannot stop staring.

“I’m just kidding. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. Sounds like a good idea, thanks.”

His voice is slightly throaty from laughing and you just swallow hard and nod, wondering how it is that Jimin’s laugh makes your stomach do backflips. A very abnormal reaction. Possibly dangerous. Definitely not indigestion.

You make a quiet mental note to yourself that from now on, when it seems like he might start laughing, to avert your gaze. It’s a matter of your own safety, you think.

You have to suppress your laughter every time you look at Jimin. 

He’s dressed in Hyungwon’s old training pants that you found buried in a corner of your room. They’re black, made of a heavy fabric and Jimin had to roll them up at his ankles. 

You’ve given him an old charcoal grey cape that he wraps around his shoulders and hoists over his head, blocking his distinctive hair and most of his face from view. You have a feeling no one in your village will recognize him anyway, but still, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

You are walking with him down the footpath from your small, tucked away home to the main part of the village.

“So,” Jimin begins. “Who lives here?”

You bat at a branch ahead of you, it snaps and falls to the ground. “A lot of families of the Obsidian guard.” You say. “And old members of the Guard. The guard themselves either live in the palace fulfilling their duties, or in the mountains, training.” 

Jimin nods at this, the hood slipping slightly over his face. He pushes it up hastily and you fight the urge to giggle. It doesn’t work, and a small giggle escapes your lips. You clap your hand to your mouth.

“Did you just… giggle?” Jimin asks incredulously and you open your mouth in protest. You are not a giggler. Or a laugher. Or even a smiler.

“No,” You begin in a strong voice but Jimin is just grinning at you and God damn it. You giggle again and then groan when you hear Jimin laugh loudly. “Shut up.”

The two of you trudge down the path in companionable silence and then you hear Jimin clear his throat.

“So… these are Hyungwon’s pants, right?” He asks, and you look down at them, the fabric rolled neatly around his calves. 

Even though they’re too long, Jimin has surprisingly muscular legs, strong thighs and calves that have a curved muscle running through them. They’re tensed now as he walks and you suddenly rip your eyes away, realizing that you’re staring at the prince’s legs.

“Yep,” You say instead, ignoring the prickling heat threatening to crawl up your face.

“Oh,” Jimin says lightly. “So you and him…” his voice lilts up in a question and you give him a dry, slightly disgusted look.

“Hell fucking no.”

Jimin smiles at this and your stomach flip flops. “Oh.” This time, the oh sounds completely different. You try not to dwell on why.

“We’re just friends. I’ve known him my whole life.” You say instead. 

“Oh, so he’s like your best friend?”

“No. I don’t have a best friend.”

Jimin frowns at this, a small pout. He looks ridiculous, the hood still pulled low over his face, rolled up pants, pouting.

“That’s sad.”

You roll your eyes. “What, do you have a best friend?”

Jimin thinks on this. “No. But I hope my future wife will be my best friend. As well as the love of my life.”

You wonder if he’s joking, but his face is deadly serious. You’re so used to royal marriages being talked about as if they’re economical, clinical affairs – marriages designed to benefit two Kingdoms, to bring about the maximum prosperity possible. That’s your idea of a royal marriage. Not two best friends who are in love.

You’re not sure how to respond to that, to Jimin’s frank words, the earnest expression on his face. The trees are thinning ahead of you and you clear your throat.

“Um, we’re nearly there. We shouldn’t say your name, you know, just in case. We should call you something else.”

“Okay. Like what? Something that makes me sound tall and handsome and cool.” He grins, he’s in such a good mood and for a moment your walls slip and you smile back.

“Uh- sorry to break it to you. You’re not tall, or cool.” You say witheringly and then a small, sly smile spreads across Jimin’s face.

“But you think I’m handsome.” 

God, are you blushing? You just look ahead to where the village main square is, and you ignore Jimin entirely. Jimin laughs again, spotting your blush, and of course, you blush even harder.

“We’ll just call you John, okay?” You say aloud instead and Jimin hums beside you.

“Okay. John the Handsome.”

Your blush deepens.

You reach the main square, and it’s busy. Even now, when the sun has set fully, the square is dimly lit and you can see people working. Carts being dragged, taking the produce to safe places of shelter, small children running around selling goods. Old, wizened women laid on the floor with only a thin blanket beneath them, shivering in the cold, old pieces of fruit and vegetables laid out carefully by their feet. 

And then, scattered throughout, people in threadbare rags, curled up, speaking to nobody and seeing nothing – presumably, just trying to hold themselves together and last through the winter.

It’s a familiar sight to you. One that you hate, but one that also feels like home. 

“Home sweet home.” You mutter, but Jimin hasn’t heard you. He steps forward, his eyes widened as he takes in the scene. He looks stunned, the earlier lightness gone from his face, the smile no longer on his lips. 

You watch him, biting your lip. “Hey,” You say softly. “John.” 

He barely reacts, you see him staring at a small huddle of people sitting together. A family, a woman, a young child, a baby. The mother is dressed in thin, barely there rags, her baby in her arms swaddled in what must be her only clothes. She is shivering in the wind.

Jimin is staring at them, a stricken look on his face. You watch as he begins to grab at the cape. “I should…” You hear him mutter and you stop him, your hand catching his wrist.

“You can’t.” You say bluntly. You meet his gaze and your eyes soften when you see the look in his eyes. 

“C’mon.” You murmur, and before you quite know what you’re doing, your hand is slipping back into his again. “Let’s go.”

You’re a familiar face in the village, and some people nod and greet you as you pass. Jimin is intrigued by this, and he turns to you.

“How do they all know you?”

You shrug. “I’m one of the few female Obsidian guards, I guess.”

Jimin doesn’t buy it, you can tell by the way he pokes your side.  “And what else?”

You squirm, but his gaze is unrelenting. Finally, you shrug.

“I give people in the village supplies and stuff when I can, okay?” You mutter, and you glance up to see a tender look on Jimin’s face. You shrug. “It’s the least I can do. You should see some of the other villages. This is one of the better ones. The others are so much worse.” Your expression darkens and you see Jimin bite his lip and stare at his feet.

You take him around in fairly aimless circles, eventually ending up back in the main square. The entire time, Jimin is mostly silent, only asking isolated questions every now and then like ‘how many people live here?’, and ‘where do people live if they don’t have houses?’ You can practically hear the thoughts churning through his mind, right up until he asks, ‘How many people die?’ You end up answering with ‘Too many’, and you see the way Jimin’s face crumples. He doesn’t ask questions after that.

You end up waiting outside a small rickety home, a makeshift bakery where the owners make hot loaves of corn bread. It is nothing compared to the crunchy sourdough they make at the palace. But on a cold day like today, it’s better than nothing. As you take the hot, small loaf in your hands, giving the lady money, you return to the spot where you told Jimin to wait for you. 

The rain has started to fall, it’s more of a drizzle than rain, causing the square to be filled with a strange slate grey haze. A mist. 

Eventually, you spot him sitting by that same woman with the two children. They’re talking, and the woman’s face is tilted to him, and you wonder what it is that Jimin is saying. But the woman looks happy, and then Jimin smiles and you see the woman smile back. The young child who is tucked shyly into her mother’s arms beams too. You can understand that, how Jimin’s smile can make you feel. It seems to blot out the darkness and the bitterness and replace it with something gold and warm.

You approach them. “Hey John,” You mutter. “Here.” You pass him the loaf because you feel like he should eat. He’s royalty and they’re renowned for eating several lavish meals a day. 

Jimin glances up at you and accepts the loaf. He holds it in his hands and then passes it to the woman.

She starts to refuse, her protests feeble, but Jimin presses it into the young girl’s hands instead. She, of course, lights up with enthusiasm, her tiny palms splayed over the bread as she starts babbling excitedly about how warm it feels.

The woman is grateful, so grateful, and Jimin is still talking to her about something. You’re not sure what. You’ve stopped paying attention, because the entire scene unfolding in front of you has you feeling it. That same golden, soft butteriness. It seems like it’s spreading into every inch of your bloodstream as you watch Jimin gently offer his palm to the young girl’s. She shyly gives him a high five and you it feels like you’re made up entirely of warmth.

“John,” You murmur, and Jimin glances up at you. 

You feel something inside of you buckle, like a rubber band snapping. He’s so beautiful- the mistiness of the rain causing tiny droplets to hang on his lashes, his full lips slightly parted, his eyes distracted. The cape around his head has slipped slightly and you can see a flash of hair, silver, framing his face.

“We…” You stammer, and then you tear your eyes away because you’re not sure if you can handle looking at him for much longer. “We should get going. It’s late.” 

You’re staring off into the distance as you speak, and you hear Jimin sigh, nodding and standing up. 

“Okay.” 

You hear him brushing the dirt off his clothes, then his voice, soft and sweet.

“It was so lovely to meet you. Really. I… I won’t forget you.”

You hear her response, her words tumbling over themselves in an effort to get out quicker. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you, John.”

You don’t look at Jimin, you wait until he’s by your side and then you turn your head, practically marching away. 

“Thank you for showing me.” Jimin says softly beside you. 

You don’t speak, because you have too many thoughts in your head and you’re confused and overwhelmed. All you want to do is reach your house so you can give Jimin his clothes back and get him back to the palace. 

All the neat compartments of your life aren’t as neat as you thought they were, and now the lines are blurred. You’re so confused that all you can do is keep your head down, staring at the ground and the heavy indents of your footprints left behind in the dirt, trying to get your thoughts together.

You reach your place and more or less shove Jimin’s clothes at him, muttering ‘get dressed’. 

When Jimin is finally back in his normal clothes, he lingers by your doorway, sighing. You can see by the expression on his face that he’s deep in thought, biting his bottom lip contemplatively.

“We have to do something,” He suddenly bursts out. “I have to do something.” He continues, shaking his head fervently. “I’m going to be different when I’m the king,” He says firmly. “I’m gonna change things, you know? I don’t know how, but I will. I’ll… I’ll I don’t know, use some of the resources to make things more balanced, improve peoples lives, figure out a way everyone can last through the winter…”

He stares at you and you can see it in his eyes. He means what he’s saying. And that in itself terrifies you. He’s good, you realize with a jolt, he has a good heart and he has good intentions, and he’s empathetic. Everything that you thought you knew about royalty, about Jimin, about everything... is wrong. 

There’s that, and he’s also going to be the King, and he’s standing here in your house where he doesn’t belong and God, that feeling is back in your belly.

You’ve been staring for so long that you don’t even notice how silent it has gotten, just the sounds of him, breathing, and you, breathless.

“Yep,” You say finally, sarcastically. “Sure.”

Jimin frowns. “What, you think I can’t?”

You don’t respond, and you hear Jimin take a sharp breath in.

“Or do you think I won’t?”

You roll your eyes instead because it’s the only way you know how to respond, because you’re too afraid to speak. Too afraid of what it is that you’re feeling in your chest.

“Stop doing that!” Jimin snaps, and for the first time you hear his voice harden. 

“Stop doing what?” You taunt back, and you’re doing it again, pushing, pulling, prodding at him. And you don’t know why. But unlike everyone else in the past, he doesn’t back away. Instead he steps closer.

“Talking to me like you think I’m a bad person,” he continues. “Belittling me. What is it? Do you really hate me that much?”

His eyes are flashing with hurt and he’s standing with his shoulders square, directly in front of you. 

You almost say no, I don’t, I don’t hate you at all and that’s the problem but instead you stiffen your shoulders and put on the steeliest face you can.

“Do you really think I have it in me to hate you? I don’t care about you enough to hate you, Park Jimin.” 

You almost expect Jimin to react but he’s just staring at you, a strange expression on his face.

“Do you always push people away?” He asks instead, his voice calming down.

His words hit a nerve. You are lost for words, staring at him, but Jimin is just watching you. 

“You know what,” You mutter venomously. “Scratch what I said earlier. I do hate you. I can’t stand you.”

You take an angry step towards him, expecting him to flinch, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there still, his eyebrow raised. 

Something flashes in his eyes – anger, frustration, blended with something else. Something you recognize. Lust. And then Jimin pushes you against the wall, his fingers laced with yours, your back against the stained stone of your home.

Your breath shudders out in surprise as you stare at him. All your attempts to curb that feeling crumble as you take in the look on his eyes, the clench of his jaw. 

You stay there for a moment, locked under him, and the two of you stare at each other evenly like you’re waiting for someone to make a move. A stalemate. And then you can’t tell who breaks it first, but somehow your lips collide in a hungry, urgent kiss.

Your body keens into his the moment you feel the urgency in his kiss. He kisses you deep, hungrily, desperately, like he wants to consume you whole. His touch is rough, his fingers grip so tight against your hip that it hurts, and the pain just spurs on the arousal beginning to pool in your belly. 

He’s pressing your hard against the wall and your back aches, but the ache in between your legs is stronger, tugging you into a headspace of dizzy arousal.

Jimin bites his lips as he pulls away, his eyes scanning over your face. 

“You can’t stand me?” He comments calmly, and you just whimper under the heaviness of his gaze. He responds by pressing his thumb hard against your slit, pushing it inside the folds of your pussy and making you cry out. His touch is rough, dominant, and it fills you with so much heat.

“Yes, I can’t fucking stand you,” You pant out, you lie right through your teeth, and Jimin’s eyes flash. 

“Get on your knees,” He commands, and you stare up at him. 

“Why?” You ask, even though you already know what the reason is. 

“Because I want you to suck my cock dry.” 

Your breath hisses in involuntarily as you look down at the bulge in his pants, your eyes flitting back up to Jimin’s face. 

He has a quietly calm look on his face, and it occurs to you that you had never expected Park Jimin to be like this. 

For a moment you consider saying no, standing up and strolling out. This is a bad idea, the rational side of your brain chides. He’s royalty, this is so wrong, not to mention you’re supposed to be his coach. You’re supposed to maintain some kind of power and authority…

But when you look into Jimin’s dark eyes and see the way he licks his lip, the quiet confidence that emanates from him. And all reason flies out of your head. 

You want him. The thought of Prince Jimin, too soft for his own good, ‘I talk to high five children and I don’t know how to land a punch’ Prince Jimin demanding that you get on your knees has gotten you so fucking wet. So wet that you have to squeeze your thighs together. 

With a tiny whimper, you fall to your knees, wincing a little as your kneecaps hit the hard ground below. 

Jimin grasps his pants and underwear and yanks them down, and your eyes widen. You’re not exactly a connoisseur of cocks -a cock is a cock, okay- but Jimin’s… It’s thick, thicker than you expected, and it stands up straight and hard, and you suddenly wonder how his thick cock is going to feel when you’re taking it down your throat. 

You swallow, seeing his balls, tense and full already, and the pinkness of his head. It’s wet with his precum and the sight is obscene and wildly arousing. Your mouth waters.

You shuffle towards Jimin and carefully take his length in your hand. It’s been so long since you’ve done this that each movement is uncertain. 

Jimin doesn’t encourage you. He simply stands there and looks down, his dark eyes hypnotic. He has strong, thick thighs, more defined than when you first saw him – a byproduct of your intense training sessions, you assume. The thought of your training sessions: you telling Jimin what to do, the frustration on his face as you bark orders at him… and how completely reversed the dynamic is now, you perched between his legs like this… it has your mouth drying with lust. 

He wasn’t kidding, you realize, when he talked about how he was experienced, sneaking women into his palace bedroom. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what to say. The thought of him being like this with other women, demanding that they get on their knees and blow him, saying it without cockiness or nastiness but stating it firmly and calmly… sweet God. It’s hot, so hot that it feels like flames are licking at your face and under your skin.

And suddenly, all you want is to have his dick in your mouth and down your throat until you can’t breathe. As dirty as that is, you want it, and you want it bad.

You stick your tongue out and press it flat against the head of his dick, tasting his salty precum. He lets out a suppressed grunt and the sound makes you smile. Your smile widens when you swirl your tongue around his head and feel his thighs stiffen. 

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock properly, and flick your tongue over it. He lets out a low, almost guttural moan and it causes something inside of you to ignite. You like this, hearing his tiny moans of pleasure, being on your knees. "You feel amazing,” Jimin moans and you like that even more. You don’t have time to question what the fuck that means because you’re slowly easing your mouth down and taking in more of his dick.

He isn’t very long, but he is thick. Carefully you ease more of his cock into your throat until it hits the base of your throat and you let out a tiny, choked gag. Tears spring to your eyes and you glance up through your eyelashes to see Jimin watching you. He reaches out and brushes the hair off your forehead.

“Keep going, darling.” 

What is it about the silkiness of his words that has you taking in even more of him down your throat? You have no idea but whatever it is, it’s a turn on. A huge turn on, because your legs are still squeezed together and you’re fighting the urge to slip your hand between the folds of your pussy and get yourself off. 

You can hear it, the small “mmmhms” and the hooded look in his eyes as he gazes down at you. You can feel it, his cock hitting the base of your throat as you bob your head up and down carefully.

“You feel so good, fucking me with your mouth.” Jimin moans, “I swear I’m going to cum down your pretty little throat soon you feel so good.” You moan around his cock at his words, and then he pulls out of you, his fingers grasping your chin. “Up, clothes off. I want to fuck you.”

His dick is still standing up tall and erect, glistening from having been thrust down your mouth just moments ago. You stay there on your knees, dazed for a moment. You snap into action and hurry onto your feet, fingers trembling as you yank off your pants and your training shirt. 

They fall to the floor and then you’re naked. Naked, in front of Prince Jimin. You barely have time or awareness for that to sink in, because you want him so badly it’s the only prominent thought in your brain. You’re desperate, rushed.

Jimin however, scans over you slowly. His eyes are wide and you watch as his mouth drops open a little. He’s taken aback somewhat, and then he swallows, hard.

“Fuck. Wow.” He says simply, and you realize right then and there that you have to fuck this man. You want to communicate this to him, but all you manage is a small whine of his name.

“Jimin.”

He reacts immediately, he all but rips his shirt off, throwing it to the floor – it’s raw silkworm fabric and you don’t even want to know how much gold that would’ve cost – and you gape. You haven’t seen him shirtless before, and although you’ve guessed that he’s well built by the ripple of his muscles under his training clothes... this is something else entirely.

You can’t help but boggle, at the tautness of his stomach, the muscles in his arms. 

He’s lean, muscle on top of muscle and he’s lithe. He moves with intention and purpose. While the men in the guard are bulky, tall, fleshy and blatant… Jimin is smooth. Every line of him is supple, yet strong. It turns you on more than you thought possible.

He nods over to the small stool that you have in the centre of your room, you use it to do stretches and to toss your clothes on at the end of the day.

“Bend over on that chair,” He snaps, his voice soft and his words icily firm, and you do what you are told. It fills you with a dangerously hot arousal, your tummy tucked over your stool, your ass propped up in the air, as Jimin walks towards you. 

He runs his palms over your ass and he moans, and you feel so wet and you ache so bad that it hurts. 

“You want it, don’t you?” He hums, his voice is still liquid smooth but you can hear the throatiness in his words and you know he’s as turned on as you are.

“Yes,” You whimper out. “God yes.” 

Jimin’s hand is still caressing your ass.

“Why should I give my cock to you?” Jimin asks, his words hard and unrelenting, his voice still pleasant.

“Because,” You pant out. “Because I want it. Please, please your highness.” 

The words spill out of you, you’re begging for him. In any other situation your lip would curl at the words coming out of your mouth. But right now, with the throb between your legs this dense and heavy, you’ll say anything.

Being at the mercy of Prince Jimin like this, it fills you with a strange, fiery kind of want. Your hear him groan at your words and then his hands are at your hips. He teases your wet entrance with the tip of your cock and your jaw is clenched hard and tight. You can feel it, the tip of him brushing over your clit and over your wetness and it’s such a tease that you almost feel like crying. 

“Jimin,” You grit out. “Please.”

Jimin just responds by sliding a fraction of his length inside of you, it’s so close that it has you whimpering out. 

“Please, please,” You beg out, your voice is breathy and full of desperation, but you need him. Feeling his hands on your hips, the strength of his hold on you. It’s immense. It feels like every moment until now, the sparring, the crackling sexual tension, has let to this. 

The sounds of your breathiness, you begging.

And then Jimin slides inside of you.

He takes it slow, likely on purpose, and you let out a cry at the feeling. 

His cock is thicker than what you’re used to, and it stretches you out. It’s been such a long time since you’ve had sex, and when you have in the past, it was always rushed. You, riding a guy until you had a quick, mildly satisfying orgasm. But it was never this – drawn out, teased, you sprawled under a man with plump lips and a silky smooth voice. 

When he’s finally all the way inside of you, you release a long breath that you hadn’t even known you’d been holding in. You hear Jimin let out a stuttering breath, the two of you are still for a moment, just feeling one another, and then Jimin starts to thrust.

He is fucking into you hard, his pace steady and at just the right speed that has you crying out his name. The blood is rushing to your face and you’re slightly dizzy but all you can feel is him, the loud slap of skin as he slams into you. 

You can hear the vocalizations he makes with every thrust, grunts, growls, and then small soft mewls as he arches upwards and hits you at different angles. Each push of his cock leaves you a writhing mess beneath him.

You’re spiraling fast into it, at this angle and this speed it feels like you’re about to either sink into the fucking earth or float into the stratosphere. You’re both heavy and light all at once and you have never, ever felt this good before. You’re being fucked out on your chair like a sex doll, and then just when you think you can’t be pushed any further to an edge that you never knew existed, Jimin’s fingers run through your hair and whe wraps your hair in his fingers with a twist of his wrist.

Your breath hitches in as you realize what he is doing, seconds before he pulls. The sting on your scalp, the hand he has rested on the top of your ass, the vulgar slaps of his messy, intense thrusts has you wondering if you can die from pleasure, because seriously, you’re going to fucking die it feels so good.

He pulls hard, and you focus in on the words that are coming out of his mouth and it feels like your insides are going to spool out of you, you’re that fucking messy. Pain and pleasure mingling together, spikes of white hot heat flashing through you. 

“You’re such a mess for my cock, you’re falling apart around it,” Jimin is saying in a throaty voice. “I wonder what everyone else would think, Y/N getting fucked out on her chair like this, begging for me…” He tugs again and you let out a loud moan. It feels good, so good that even the word ‘good’ doesn’t fit, and then it happens. 

You gasp for air and you let out a loud, strangled moan and your body collapses forward. Your orgasm is intense, sharp and shooting and delicious and warm all at the same time. Just before your head hits the floor Jimin is pulling out of you and scooping you up.

He carries you to your bed and lays you down, he hovers over you for a second and you open your eyes, wincing a little.

“More,” You pant out, you’re still high but you still want, and Jimin just smiles. “More huh,” he murmurs, his voice controlled, but you see the way he bites his lip and the aroused roll of his eyes. And then he’s inside of you again. 

You almost can’t believe that you want more but you do. It feels insatiable the hunger you have for Jimin. You’re blissed out, your orgasm still glittering inside of you, but you want him to cum, you want his cum inside of you. You want to see what an orgasm looks and sounds like coming from his lips. If his smile does what it does to you, you can’t even imagine what his orgasm face will look like..

Jimin is thrusting into you hard and fast and desperate and you stare up at him. He looks so good from this angle, his dark eyes dilated and staring directly at you. His full lips are bitten from your kisses, his hair a mess. He looks beautiful. Prince fucking Jimin, you think, and then you see him clench his jaw. 

“I’m going to, God I’m gonna-” He stammers out and then he orgasms, hard and messy and intense, his body folding on top of yours, his body weight heavy on top of you as he moans out into your scratchy bedspread.

You close your eyes and bask in it for a moment. You feel good, your body relaxed, your core sated, your limbs slippery. 

Your mind however, is not as rested, racing with dirty images of him, and even though yes, you feel satiated sexually, you still want him. It’s like you’ve unlocked a floodgate and you want more, more, more.

“Was that alright?” Jimin asks breathlessly, you glance up and your face flushes with heat. He’s lying on his side, propped up with his elbow. “I wasn’t too… rough?”

You stare at him. He’s biting his lip, smiling at you. How does he go from that, pinning you down, pulling your hair and saying those hot, dirty things... to this? Buttoning up his shirt, a sweet smile on his face? That duality turns you on yet again and you swallow heavily, resisting the urge to ask for more.

“Yeah it was… it was good,” You manage to say, and you keep your eyes averted. Still, you can sense that he’s smiling, pleased with your words.

“I wanted you from the moment I first saw you.” He confesses, and you glance at him. 

“I…” Your voice trails off and you suddenly have no idea what to say. He waits for an answer and then steps towards you. 

He misses, his lips landing on your jaw. Your head snaps towards him in surprise and then he kisses you. Softly, tenderly, and you can’t help but melt into it for a split second before you shake it off, shake him off. 

This is insane, this isn’t you. This is Jimin, Prince Jimin.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You see Jimin’s face fall just a fraction before he shrugs.

“I wanted to kiss you.” He says simply, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Yeah, well don’t.” You snap out. “This is just sex, okay? I have needs, you have needs, that’s it.” 

Jimin stares at you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. You feel something deep in your belly and you quash it down, hardening your voice even more.

Needing to gain authority, to gain control again, because your body is trembling and your heart is slamming around in your chest and it’s terrifying.

“Got it?” Your words come out harsher than intended but you can’t take them back now.

Jimin just stares, and then he nods, glancing down. He picks up his embroidered jacket and slips it on, his face taut. 

He walks towards the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. 

“Got it.” He says quietly, before he leaves.

Jimin trains with Hyungwon the next morning. You’re lingering around the palace, sneaking bread from the kitchen. You’re moping about the sex, trying not to dwell on it too much but also unable to stop dwelling on it, when you hear a voice behind you.

“Y/N.” 

You whirl around, a bread roll in hand., to see the King. Behind him, one of his guards stands, his face turned away politely.

You gape for a moment, but you don’t let go of the bread roll as you bow to the King. When you straighten, you take an inconspicious nibble. Because, priorities.

“How is Jimin’s training going?” The King asks, and you blink, unsure why he’s here, why he’s talking to you. 

“Um,” You say, swallowing the bread. “Good?” The training is good, the sex is good... wait no, don’t think about it, don’t think about the sex when you’re talking to his Dad. Who is also the King. Fuck. 

The King nods, and you see worry flit over his face. “Do you think he’s ready to be a king?” He asks you tentatively.

You have no idea why he’s asking you, but something inside of you weakens. You lower the bread roll and sigh heavily.

“Yes and no.” You say honestly, and the King nods.

“I appreciate your honesty.”

You just shrug in response. You study him, seeing the tension in his face, the aged sigh that seems to continuously drift from his lips.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” You begin hesitantly. “Why were you so insistent on ensuring Jimin has such thorough combat training? I know it’s a condition of the throne, but I’ve heard in the past that most princes skim through that requirement. Er, Your Highness.”

The King frowns at your question, you can sense his eyes on you, assessing you. He’s trying to get a sense of whether or not he can trust me, you realize. 

“I’ve heard whispers of things. Of tension.” The King said finally. “Things in this kingdom have been so peaceful. For years. Too peaceful. I’m worried.” He sighs, that same weary sigh. “When Jimin takes the throne, things may collapse. In ways worse than I can even imagine. That’s why Jimin needs to be prepared. He needs to be the best King possible, better than I ever was, better than my father ever was. He needs to hold thing kingdom together before it falls apart.”

He’s talking negatively, and you open your mouth to let out reassurances. Or maybe criticisms. Because he hasn’t exactly been a good King the last fifty years. But you fall silent. It occurs to you that maybe the King already knows that. 

“I’ll train him well.” You say instead, lamely, and the King just nods. 

“Please.” He says. “Do.” Then he turns, nodding at his guard, who straightens. 

The King doesn’t say anything to you as he leaves, and you watch him retreat, stuffing the last of the bread roll into your mouth.

The next day at training, you keep your eyes on Jimin, waiting for a sign of something. 

You haven’t spoken to him since you all but pushed him out of your place, and as much as you want to act like it isn’t there, a knot of worry has gathered in the pit of your stomach.

“Hello, Prince Jimin.” You greet, biting your lip. Jimin glances up, meeting your gaze. His face is carefully composed.

“Hello.” He says coolly, and you feel your muscles stiffen. Your eyes are searching his. And you see it. Jimin’s mouth twitches, just a fraction. A tiny hint of a smile. Everything is okay.

You don’t realize how tense you were until your body relaxes. You wonder what that means- why you were so worried about this, about seeing him again, but you push that thought away. You have a job to do.

“We’re going to run over weapon strategy today,” You begin, and Jimin steps towards you.

“Wait. Before we start, I just wanted to say... thank you. For taking me to your village.”

You’re surprised by his words, which is why you stammer out a startled sounding “It’s okay.”

Jimin nods, a serious look on his face. 

“I meant what I said, Y/N. Things are going to change when I’m, you know. The King.”

You gaze at him and feel something twist in your chest. He’s so idealistic, so determined, and you can’t help but wonder how many other rulers started off like that. Countless. But then again, you also wonder how many other rulers were like this. Like Jimin. None.

“I really hope so.” You just say back.

Jimin nods. “I promise you.” He says, and you stare at him, before you finally clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from his face, focusing on the wooden rack of weapons in front of you.

“Which do you think you’d prefer to use?” You glance up at Jimin, your fingers lingering over the different choices. Mace, sword, crossbow, flail, axe. Jimin just shrugs.

“The weapon of my brilliant mind and kind heart?” He jokes, and your lips twitch before you give him a disapproving look. 

Jimin frowns. “Do you really think that I’ll ever be in a one on one battle?” He asks dubiously, and you can understand his confusion. Royalty are never on the forefront of war, they stay cloaked, shielded behind rows and rows of men.

Guards like yourself take the risks. Take the deaths.

“Probably not.” You said honestly. “But I think it’s important regardless.”

You hadn’t run over this particular element of training with anyone from the royal family. You hadn’t even run it over with Hyungwon. It hadn’t been officially approved, and you know that you’re supposed to be teaching Jimin ‘battle tactics’ (and by tactics you know that means the 'send in the weaker first then retreat’, a cop out that you refuse to teach). But after last night and your conversation with the King, you have decided to do things differently. 

“Don’t tell anyone I’m teaching you this,” You continue. “Royalty don’t usually learn, because they don’t need to. But…” Your voice trails off and you shrug. “I’ve taught the ten year old kids in my clan weaponry skills, so I figure you may as well learn too.”

Jimin nods and shrugs, easygoing as ever. 

You feel relieved, and nod curtly. “We’re going to run over weapon strategy today,” You begin, and Jimin nods at your words. “So,” You continue. “Choose.”

“Dunno,” He mutters. “Crossbow maybe? I’m good at archery.” 

“Hmm.” You hum. “Good for long distance or for stealth attacks,” You begin. “But not for one on one battle.”

Jimin nods, absorbing your words. Your hands rest on the different options. 

“Royalty often hold swords,” You continue, “But they’re heavy and slow. Maces and flails are good for those with brute strength. Axes are good for when there’s thick masses in battle, a good way to cut down the people ahead of you.” 

You watch him carefully but Jimin’s face holds firm. He is a far cry from the man you had first begun training who couldn’t punch. A flutter of pride eases it’s way in your chest.

“Okay, so for me…?” Jimin continues, and you gaze at him thoughtfully.

You reach in your pants to the weapon sitting flush against your thigh. You pull it out in one smooth motion, setting it on the wooden table in front of him.

“Dagger.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “Where…?”

You bite your lip. “I stitch a loop into all my pants,” You admit. “I’m kind of a sewing genius. Don’t tell anyone.” You lift the dagger menacingly to him but Jimin just laughs. You frown, lowering the weapon. 

“Seriously. Maybe I’m paranoid,” You shrug. “But keeping a weapon on you that no one knows about is a smart idea. I don’t know, I really believe in keeping some things hidden. For yourself only.”

Jimin just shrugs. “Fair enough.”

You sigh. “Here.” You mutter, tossing the weapon over to him. He picks it up, analyzing the blade. It’s metal forged in the mountains, ancient metal that is sharp to the touch. Stronger and deadlier than any blade you’ve encountered in battle. A rare heirloom, passed down from your mother. 

You pick up the mace, testing its weight in your hands. Jimin’s eyes widen as he sees what you’re holding.

“Uh,” He begins uncertainly. “What are you going to do with that?”

You smile at Jimin. “We, your highness,” You begin in a slightly mocking tone, enjoying the way his face pales. “Are going to practice your weaponry skills.”

Jimin’s jaw drops open. “That… against this?” He raises the dagger and you nod. 

“Uh huh,” You begin, lifting the mace. “I’ve taught you agility and attack and you’ve learned defense from Hyungwon, right? Plus, the best way to learn is to try. So…” You smile. “You’ll be fine.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “Are… you sure?”

You shrug. “I’ll go easy on you…”

Jimin’s face relaxes and you smirk.

“At first.”

You don’t know how it happens, but sleeping with Jimin has become a part of your routine.

It just happens. Nights when Jimin doesn’t have commitments, you meet up – so far into the inky black night that as you walk to the palace, you can hear birds and animals stirring to start the day. 

Every time you crawl through the tiny tunnel and end up in his bedroom, you feel a thrill of exhilaration.

You tell yourself it’s because of the sneaking around, and not due to the prince waiting for you.

It’s starting to become a bit of a mindfuck, honestly. The sex is always intense, toe-curling orgasms and not much emotional intimacy. Even with the furious kisses you exchange. But it’s the afterwards that has started messing with your head. 

It’s the look Jimin has on his face after the two of you have fucked, the way his eyes linger on yours. It’s a look that you picture at random moments during the day- while you eat your fig porridge for supper, or sit by the pond near your house. His smile, radiant. The creases that feather out from his eyes to the tiny chip on his tooth that’s exposed when he smiles at you.

Still, you keep going. You tell yourself it’s for the sex, for the tension drain that the orgasms give you. But in the late of the night, when you’re walking to his palace, listening to the sparrows communicate… you know there’s another reason altogether. A reason you can’t define. A reason you don’t want to define.

Now, lying in Jimin’s bed staring at the ceiling trying to catch your breath, that same question mark floats back into your mind. 

“That was great,” Jimin pants, and your eyes flutter open. His hand has found it’s way to your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp comfortingly. You tell yourself to snap at him to stop it, but you can’t find the words.

I’m too tired right now, that’s why, you tell yourself feebly. 

“Mhm.” You mutter back noncommitedly, but Jimin just smirks wryly at you.

“Don’t try to act like I didn’t blow your mind,” He grins, and fuck, it’s that smile again. Like sunshine, or that really expensive butter that they sometimes sell have here in the palace. You stare at him for a moment and then break your eyes away.

“Mhm.” You grumble. Jimin just chuckles to himself. 

A silence settles between the two of you. “Hey,” Jimin says quietly. “Seriously. That was great.” You can sense the hesitance in his words, but before you can respond (or cut him off with another grunt), he hurries to fill in the rest of his sentence. “You’re great. Not just the sex, or the blowjobs…” His face breaks off into a grin before he sobers. “But everything. You’ve really… taught me a lot. Fighting, and… other stuff. You’re a really good person, Y/N. I hope I can be half the person you are when I take the throne.”

Is this what it feels like to have the breath knocked out of you? 

“Jimin…” You mumble. You snap your head to Jimin, your eyes wide. You’re sure you look like an idiot, like a kid, eyes wide and vulnerable and surprised. Jimin’s eyes soften.

“I used to be scared about being the King one day.” Jimin says quietly. “It just felt like I’d never be ready. That I’d never live up to my father’s shoes. And honestly… I didn’t want to make sacrifices. I wanted to do what other people my age do, you know. Go to the tavern with my friends… just live a normal life. And I felt like I wasn’t ever going to be able to make those decisions. The big ones, you know. I didn’t want to think about it, responsibility, the Kingdom…” His words trail off and then he meets your eyes. Your heart is beating so fast in your chest you’re suddenly afraid he can hear it.

“But since I met you, I don’t feel afraid anymore.” 

You feel like you’re going to sink into the bed, and you blink hard and fix your eyes on the ceiling. Jimin’s ceiling is intricate, hand painted, depicting famous scenes from the past. Battle scenes, mostly. You gather yourself as your eyes hone in on one particular scene from a few centuries ago, a past king on a horse, being slain. 

The myth told that he had been looking the other way, falsely misled by something in the distance, and that moment had been his downfall. Another panel depicts a King surrounded by riches, a famine ravaging outside his Kingdom walls. You know one day Jimin will be on one of these panels, his features painted in dainty dots of colour. Jimin will be memorialized and you don’t know how. And you won’t be painted by his side. Members of the guard are never included. They are the silent partners in the background.

“You should always feel afraid.” You say instead, in a short, sharp voice. You don’t turn your head, but you can hear Jimin clear his throat, surprised by your change in mood.

“I know,” He responds. “I’m just saying… when I’m with you I feel like I can do anything. I trust you.”

You let out a scoff, still staring at the ceiling. You close your eyes. What are you doing? Lying here next to the prince?

You open your eyes and turn your head, staring at Jimin straight in the eyes.

“Then that is a weakness.” You say shortly, and you stand up. “Don’t let anything or anyone be your weakness. Let alone me.”

You say nothing as you get dressed, Jimin too is silent, watching you.

“You know, my father has all these women from other kingdoms that he wants me to consider marrying.” Jimin says finally. His voice is passive. You glance up at him. “I said no to all of them.”

You have no idea why he’s saying this.

“Jimin…” You’re stammering, and you fight to keep the waver out of your voice.

Your palms are clammy and your heart is racing and suddenly, it all feels too real. Jimin, with his warm eyes and the concern that fills them. Jimin, who’s heart is too pure and too good for this. For you.

You don’t finish that sentence, instead, you turn and leave. 

Thankfully Jimin doesn’t follow you, and you’re all alone as you walk home. 

The sun is beginning to rise, the sky looks as if it is tea stained. And they’re louder than ever, stronger than ever. 

The birds, your mind, your thoughts, tumbling one after the other. Figments and pieces and memories of Park Jimin.

A few days later, during a training session with Jimin, he asks the question.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

He says it nonchalantly, and you hiss in, reaching out and kicking his shin. The man dodges your attack easily and you narrow your eyes.

“Hyungwon is right there, keep it down.” Your eyes flicker over to your comrade, who is watching the two of you from a distance. 

“He can’t hear us,” Jimin smirks. “Relax.” 

He says it with way too much confidence and you narrow your eyes. 

“You know, I was going to go easy on you today, but that’s not fucking happening anymore.”

Jimin’s smile just widens and you have to look away because your chest is hammering so fucking loudly you can hear it.

You are sparring with Jimin, with Hyungwon analyzing for weaknesses. Hyungwon’s had multiple sessions with Jimin, and so for that reason, you’ve avoided him with ease this week. 

You haven’t seen him since the other night when you slipped out of his room. You have been fighting the urge to sneak over and see him. I’m too tired for sex, you told yourself, knowing you were lying through your teeth as you lay awake until daylight broke, wondering if Jimin was waiting for you.

“Okay, starting sometime soon would be appreciated…” Hyungwon yells out and you focus your attention on Jimin. 

This, you can do. Your eyes narrow. This, you’re familiar with.

You lash out with your fist, but Jimin dodges the attack, moving swiftly.

“Predictable,” He teases, and you narrow your eyes.

“Asshole,” You say back in exactly the same tone of voice, and annoyingly enough, Jimin just laughs.

“So,” He says. “Why haven’t you been coming around?” He pouts a little and you kick out with your feet, hoping to sweep him. He just jumps up and dodges effortlessly. He’s fast, and it’s like he can read your mind. 

You tell yourself to focus, but it’s hard to when Jimin is doing this, dancing around you and taunting you.

“Been busy,” You mutter.

“Okay. Are you too busy tonight, then? Because I have ideas involving blindfolds and you naked on my lap…”

You lash out with a violent, intense roundhouse kick and Jimin darts out of the way, popping up beside you. He’s in an almost unbearably good mood today.

Still, your thighs tremble at the thought of being perched on Jimin’s lap, one of his favourite black silk blindfolds tied tight around your eyes.

“Why are you so annoying today?” You growl. Jimin just grins.

“I’m just happy to see you,” He responds, and you try and land a punch on him, he just swerves. God damn it. He’s getting too comfortable, too cocky. You eye him closely, knowing he knows your pattern, he thinks he’s got this in the bag. Please.

You feign punching out with your left arm but then lash out with your left foot in a smooth, intense roundhouse kick. As expected, Jimin collapses with a grunt, the sound of your attack echoing throughout the field.

But on his way down, his hand darts out and catches your ankle, pulling you down with him. Your body more or less collapses on his, and you blink. De ja fucking vu. You can smell him, Jimin- his scent, rich and intense and so utterly Jimin that it clouds your head. You can’t focus on anything else except that you want to kiss him. 

In fact, you’re about to, his pillowy lips so close to meeting yours. All you want to do is close that distance, to kiss him…

Bad idea.

“See,” You mutter, jumping off of him jerkily and dusting the dirt off of your clothes. “You’re never as good as you think you are.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything, he’s still lying in the dirt with a surprised look on his face as you march away from him and towards Hyungwon. 

“Can you take over the session?” You ask in a short, clipped voice and Hyungwon just nods.

You turn and walk away, ignoring the raised eyebrow Hyngwon gives you.

At the end of the day, you’re sitting by the pond in your village. 

It feels like a stormcloud is hovering above your head, your muscles restless. You’re debating with yourself internally about what exactly is going to happen later tonight, whether or not you’re going to end up at the mercy of Park Jimin and a black silk blindfold.

It’s a bad idea, it’s not just sex anymore, you tell yourself firmly, tossing a pebble across the water. 

It skims across five times. 

But… the thought slips in, and it’s much more powerful than the previous one. But. That says it all, doesn’t it? You’re here, the most self-assured person in the whole kindom, and yet, Park Jimin is the one thing that messes you up. 

He is the big ‘but’ in the already constructed sentence of your life.

Ugh.

“Y/N.” At the sound of your voice, you glance up to see Hyungwon strolling towards you. 

You nod at your friend moodily, throwing another pebble. It skims across the stream’s surface ten times.

“What are you doing?” He asks, amused. You just shrug.

“Thinking.” You mutter.

“That’s unlike you,” Hyungwon says dryly, and you just hiss in response. Hyungwon laughs.

“Jimin’s improved a lot. He was good today, sparring with you.” Hyungwon comments, eyeing you carefully. You just shrug, throwing another pebble.

Seven times.

“Yeah well I’d hope so, seeing as we’re the ones training him.” You say back a little snarkier than intended. Hyungwon as always, is unaffected by your tone of voice.

“The two of you are close,” He comments. You shrug, throwing another pebble.

Twelve times.

“He has feelings for you.” Hyungwon states in a matter of fact voice. “Kid’s in deep.”

You give him a wry look. “Watch who you’re calling kid, Hyungwon. He’s the same age as you.”

Hyungwon just laughs. “And you’re avoiding what I just said.”

You fall silent, throwing another pebble. Three times.

“He doesn’t have feelings for me,” You say aloud. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s getting married to a royal before the coronation.” 

Saying the words aloud sends a flash of something through you, you can’t place what it is, but it hurts. You ignore it and hurl another pebble into the lake, it only skims twice.

“Hm.” Hyungwon just says, and his tone of voice gives nothing away.

“Please. Hyungwon. You know me.” You turn to look at him. Your lip quivers. “There’s no way anything would or could happen between us. Ever. I’m… part of the guard. He’s royalty. It’s just… not even an option.”

Hyungwon studies you closely, before he shrugs. He plucks a pebble from your hand and throws it, it skims fourteen times.

“No matter how far they travel,” He comments, his eyes fixated on the lake. “They always sink.”

He stares straight at you and you swallow. A heavy beat hangs between the two of you before you drop the rest of the pebbles to the ground, they sink into the dirt.

“Look at you being all philosophical and shit,” You roll your eyes and reach out to punch your friend on the chest. “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat.”

You can feel Jimin’s eyes on you as you pull yourself out of his bed, the duck feather mattress shifting underneath your weight. 

You reach down and pick up your black clothes from the floor, slipping into them. You are both silent, as you get dressed, straightening. Getting ready to leave.

As you pass Jimin’s mirror, you catch sight of your reflection – bitten, swollen lips, wide fucked out eyes. You pull down the collar of your shirt and see a spattering of purple hickies, dotted over your breasts and your collarbones.

‘Lovebites’, Jimin called them, and you always flinched at him saying the word ‘love’, hissing at him, ‘just call them hickies’.

Your eyes linger on them now, the marks on your skin. Jimin had taken his time giving them to you tonight, being slow and torturous, as if he could sense your antsiness ever since your conversation with Hyungwon. 

He had wrapped the silk blindfold over your eyes, trapping your vision and limiting it to only darkness. His teeth had latched against the curve of your breasts, the slopes of your collarbones. The pressure and pain was effective in silencing the swirl of thoughts surrounding him, you, and his coronation. His wedding to whichever royal was deemed the best fit for the kingdom and for Jimin’s hand in marriage.

Of course, the minute the sex was over, all of those thoughts came creeping back in. Which was why now, you were going.

“You’re always in such a hurry to leave.” Jimin notes. 

You hesitate, glancing at him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s sitting upright in his bed, still shirtless. The blanket is pulled up around his armpits and he is just staring at you.

“Stay. Please.” 

He says the words softly, and for a moment you weaken. 

Just as quickly as that moment arrives, it passes, and you straighten, tugging your collar up to hide your mottled skin. 

“I don’t have any reason to stay.”

The words come out harsher than you had wanted them to, and you watch in the mirror as Jimin’s face falls. 

“What if I want you to stay?” He asks quietly.

You freeze. It’s a question you know has been coming for weeks. You’re reaching the end of your training with Jimin, and as time has slipped away, your sense of urgency with whatever it is that you are both doing has only increased. 

You’ve spent so many nights together. Half nights – bodies pressed together and hot, desperate kisses… only for you to leave immediately, every single time. 

You’ve never missed the look on Jimin’s face every time he watches you go. You’ve never missed the way his lips curve around the a question he’s never gotten the courage to ask. 

Until now.

“Like I said. No reason.” You answer back curtly. 

You ignore the stirrings in your chest and the pang in your belly. 

What are you supposed to say? That with each press of his lips to your skin, each time he pulls out of you, you lose yourself harder and faster in him? How are you supposed to put words to the dazed heat that is always flickering in your ribcage?

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that it is much too easy to be lost in Park Jimin.

“Got it.” Jimin mumbles, and you feel a strange twist in your heart from the crestfallen expression on his face.

You let out a sigh, turning and walking back to the bed. You sit on the end, far away from him. 

You sit there in silence for a long moment, unsure of how to translate your thoughts into words. 

You fumble with your hands.

“We…” You begin, and Jimin just glances at you. 

His expression is guarded.

“What? Just say it. You don’t have to tiptoe around me.”

“We can never be more than this, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s stare is defiant. “Why not?”

His stare is all too stubborn and you frown at him. That’s definitely something he’s picked up from you.

“Because, when this is over, when our training is done, I am going to return to my village and do what I always do. Train fledglings and wait for the day that I die in battle. When this is over, when our training is done, you will marry a royal and be crowned king. That’s the plan for you. Somehow, I don’t think that plan involves fucking a member of the Obsidian guard on the side.” 

Jimin is considering your words, biting his lip. 

“Alright, but what if I don’t want to just fuck you on the side? What if I want you by my side? During all of it? The coronation, the future… everything?” 

You freeze.

Your eyes meet his and you’re sure he can see the panic in them. But you have no idea what he’s saying, what he’s trying to imply. That he wants you by his side? There are so many things wrong with that, so many terrifying elements to that, and you shake your head, once, and then again, vigorously. 

“Not a chance in hell.” 

Jimin just frowns. “And why is that?” He demands. 

“Because you’re you, you’re royal, and I’m-”

“What does that matter?” Jimin’s words sputter out, and he looks genuinely disbelieved. “You talk constantly about wanting to abolish social classes, about how fucked up the royal hierarchy is, yet you seem pretty stuck in their ways of thinking.”

You reel backwards at his words. 

“You’re wrong, that’s not it, it’s-”

“What is it then?” Jimin interrupts, and you suddenly feel lost for words. You don’t know how to vocalize what it is. The big comma that’s making you pause. The ‘but’. What is it about Park Jimin that does this to you? Dredges up feelings you’ve never felt before, forces you to confront sides of yourself that you’ve kept hidden for years?

You just stay silent, and Jimin snorts derisively.

“If you ask me, you’re scared.” He says in an even tone. “For someone who’s supposed to be strong and brave… you’re being a damn coward.”

His words are like a whip. They lash, and they hurt. And, you can’t help but think, maybe it’s the honesty behind them that causes the sting.

“What does courage have to do with any of this?” You hiss. “With us fucking?That’s all it is, Jimin. We’re fucking. What, do you really think if we tried to take this any further it would work?”

Jimin scowls at your words. “Why do you always see things so negatively?” He says in a low, hurt voice. “You’ve doomed us to fail before we’ve even tried.”

His words hit home, but you refuse to dwell on that. Instead, you chest puffs up and you narrow your eyes. 

If there’s something you’re good at, it’s fighting. If there’s something you feel comfortable in, it’s this – spikes of tension, lashes of words. 

“There is no us, Jimin.”

Jimin opens his mouth and fire flickers in his eyes, and you wait, poised to reply, ready to argue, ready to fight... but then he deflates. 

His face crumples just a fraction and then he looks away, at the wall. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and you feel your heart start to ache when you realize he has tears in his eyes.

“Okay. Got it. I guess this is it, then. It’s done, whatever this was. Fucking on the side or whatever you called it.” He says harshly, and you hesitate.

Somehow, this feels wrong. You need to say something, anything, to soothe over this. Your mind races for the words, and you feel an awful sense of panic. 

“Jimin. I-”

“Don’t. Just… please. Just go.” 

His face is completely closed off and you stand still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you want to rewind time, to say different things, to be different – to not jump and attack like you always do. To not fuck things up like you always do. 

Jimin looks like he’s about to cry, and you feel your throat itch with tears of your own.

But you can’t stay. How can you stay? This was never going to work in the first place, and it is with that thought that you stand up and walk.

You don’t look back, you walk out, and keep walking, through the tunnel, emerging on the other side of the palace. 

This is what you wanted, you tell yourself. A clean break.

Still, it feels wrong. Every step you take feels wrong. 

You think about the tears that had pricked Jimin’s eyes, thinking about him, in that huge bed, crying because of you.

And it isn’t until you reach your house that you realize you’re crying too.

You wake up with your spine stiff. 

You sit up in bed, your muscles clenched and rigid. 

You look down at your arms, they are dotted with goosebumps. 

It feels like every nerve ending in your body has short circuited, an ominous voice in your head telling you that something is very wrong.

You’ve never felt this before. You can almost taste it in your mouth, metallic and bitter. 

You have heard about this before, it’s a legacy almost, that those with black blood can sense imminent danger. 

Is this it? 

You don’t have time to question, instead, you react. You are pulling on your clothes and running out the door.

You arrive at the palace in a few minutes, that feeling only growing. You pull at the tunnel’s planks and then you are inside Jimin’s bedroom. 

It’s still, peaceful, and you spot Jimin asleep in his bed. You rush to his side.

“Jimin,” You hiss, shaking him awake. He awakes drowsily, a smile flickering on his face as his eyes focus on you. 

“Get the fuck up.” You mutter. “Why,” He mumbles, his mouth opening impossibly wide in a yawn. 

“Wait, what are you doing here?” He narrows his eyes at you, his eyes going flat. You let out an impatient noise.

“Just get up.” You all but drag him out of the bed. 

“What is it?” Jimin whispers, seeing the worry on your face. 

You let out a sigh, shrugging irritably. “I don’t know,” You mutter. “I just… had a feeling. That something is wrong. I can’t explain it, okay? It’s just a feeling. I had it the day my mother died, and I have it now…”

You shoot Jimin a look, scared he’ll be staring at you like you are crazy because maybe you really have lost the plot. But he is looking at you seriously. 

“Okay, I trust you. Let’s go.”

You nod, and Jimin makes for the tunnel. You follow, but then you stop altogether.

You hear it. Footsteps, in the hallway, towards you. Metal, clanking softly. A blade.

You can’t quite explain the feeling that washes over you. It’s a prickling intensity, the most instinctual kind of heat, as you wheel around.

“Go.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen. “No,” he whispers back but you narrow your eyes.

“Go. Now. The tunnel.” He’ll be safe there, you think. 

“I-”

“Jimin. Go. I’ll meet you, I promise, but… go.” Jimin just gives you a long, conflicted stare before he nods. 

He disappears through the hallway, the wooden plank slotting back neatly in place. You let out a silent breath, striding over and extinguishing the candle that is illuminating Jimin’s room.

The room elapses into near entire blackness and you slip into the corner of the room, staying perfectly still.

The figures step into your periphery, into the room itself. You watch with bated breath as they creep near the bed. 

You feel your breath hiss in as you recognize them. Members of the Obsidian guard.

What are they doing here? You wonder if you should reveal yourself, these are your people after all. But something holds you back. 

They’re holding blades, dressed in black. You would recognize them anywhere, by their clothes and even their stance. They are warriors, fighters, they are never subtle, and never secret. Yet they are here, stealthing around. For Jimin. 

But why?

You’re trying to go over it in your head when a seventh sense kicks in. A chill, both hot and cold, screaming danger. 

You spin around but you are too late. Arms clench around your neck, squeezing hard. Squeezing expertly. You know this chokehold, and you know that in moments you’ll be passed out. 

You writhe against the arms pinning you, lashing and twisting your body. But they seem to know every move before you make it, easily avoiding each of your attacks. 

Your energy is draining, your vision speckled with indigo and black. You’re praying that Jimin has made it through the tunnel, that he is safe, when your eyes fall across the room onto the mirror.

And you see it. You see the person who has you in a chokehold, his biceps pressed to the pressure point in your neck. 

You recognize that face, a face you have known for years. 

It feels like you’ve been plunged in ice cold water, your eyes meeting his in the reflection before everything slips away into the abyss.

Hyungwon.

You wake up with an ache wrapped over your body like cling film. 

You wake slowly but keep your body still, your eyes closed, as everything flashes back into your still groggy mind.

Hyungwon.

There was no mistaking who it was holding your neck so tight. You feel a shudder in your body as you recall the look on Hyungwon’s face- his face as cold as ever, his lips pursed slightly in apology as he cradled your head in his arms.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. Why was Hyungwon in Jimin’s room, why had he incapitacited you?

Your head is starting to clear, the fuzzy veil of unconsciousness slipping away, and you focus. You can hear voices- three, One of which you could recognize anywhere. Hyungwon.

You feel your nostrils flare and your breathing quicken, he’s talking in quick, rapid-fire Obsidian dialect, and you strain to make out what he is saying. 

You move your limbs, careful to shift them in a way that won’t draw too much attention. You have ropes coiled around you- so tight they are threatening to break your skin. You knew there is no chance of trying to get out of the ropes, knowing Hyungwon and the intricacy of which he would have tied these knots.

Fuck.

Where am I right now? You wriggle your back slightly, experimentally. You are lying on something hard, stone maybe. 

You hope Jimin is alright.

You are still trying to decipher what the men are saying, your mind racing incoherently as you attempt to formulate some kind of plan –any plan- when you hear a fourth voice.

This fourth voice is familiar to you, just like Hyungwon’s was, but this time it is for entirely different reasons.

“Please,” The voice murmurs out hoarsely. “Let me go.”

Your eyes snap open and you tilt your head. Your suspicions are confirmed and your breathing quickens.

Jimin’s father, the King, is in front of you. Your eyes widen as you take his appearance in – he has dried blood oozing from a gash on his forehead, and he too, is wrapped up in ropes. 

He’s seated on a throne, and you realize exactly which throne he is sitting in. He’s in the coronation throne. A throne that is only sat in during coronation ceremonies. 

You are in the coronation hall of the palace.

You glance down frantically at yourself, not surprised when you see the complex knots that bind the rope against your body. Hyungwon’s specialty, and you know with a sickening certainty that you have no chance in hell of getting out. 

“She’s awake.” 

Your head snaps back as you spot Hyungwon, stepping into your line of vision. His arms are crossed.

“Y/N. I’m sorry for knocking you out, but we both know you’re the better fighter out of the two of us. It had to be done.” He gives you a crooked smile and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Fuck you,” You spit out. “What the fuck is this?”

Hyungwon’s smile slips away, his eyes flat and cold.

“What do you think it is?” He asks in an hard voice. “It’s what you and I used to talk about when we were training. We are ending this system, the royal system. We are taking back what is rightfully ours.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “What… what are you talking about?” 

“For centuries,” Hyungwon says. “We were the ones to fight their battles. We are the ones who have legacy in our blood, we are the ones who shed lives and win wars. We have glory in our roots. And we give it all to them. The royals. And what do they give us? Nothing. We fight, we work, we die, so they can sit in this palace and hide from the outside world.” 

Hyungwon looks bitter.

“Not anymore.”

“Hyungwon,” You begin shakily. “This isn’t you.”

Hyungwon just stares straight at you. “It isn’t?” He asks quietly. “Because this has been in the works for years. It is me. And it’s funny, because if I had asked you six months ago, if I had approached you then about joining us, I have a feeling this would’ve been you too.”

Your blood runs cold at his words, you feel uncomfortable under the weight of them. You know how Hyungwon feels, the anger he’s carrying around. But things have changed now. Your view has shifted, and you think of Jimin’s kind eyes, his promises to making things better.

Your voice is shaky. “Things are going to change,” You begin. “Jimin will-”

Hyungwon just kneels down. “Speaking of Jimin,” He says, interrupting you. “Where is he, Y/N?”

You ignore his question. 

“What’s your plan Hyungwon,” You snap out. “Find him and kill him? You really think you won’t be held accountable for this? You’re stupider than I thought.”

Hyungwon doesn’t seem affected by your words. He never is.

“To end a line, you cut it at the source. And then you end everything that follows thereafter.” Hyungwon says calmly. “Jimin is the end of the line. I kill him before his coronation, and everything will fall apart. You know as well as I do how fraught this kingdom is. So much tension waiting to be released, all bridged on the coronation of the next King. And when there is no King, our people will step up.”

You start quivering.

“There are Obsidians who are loyal,” You hiss. “Who are loyal to the throne and who will fight. And the other royals won’t stand for this.”

Hyungwon nods thoughtfully, a flash of regret passing over his features. “Yes,” He murmurs. “Unfortunate casualties. But I think you underestimate how people’s loyalties will shift when the hand that forces those loyalties is eliminated.”

Your breath shudders out at his words.

“Prince Jimin is going to die regardless,” Hyungwon continues. “We’ll find him. It’s just up to you whether you want to help us make his death fast and painless, or slow. So slow that you won’t get the sound of his screams out of your head for days.”

It feels like you’re drowning, you pull against the ropes desperately but they keep your limbs locked behind you.

“I’m not telling you shit,” You snarl out. Hyungwon just shrugs. 

“I thought so. In that case…” He pulls out a blade, it glints menacingly in the dark light of the coronation room. 

“I’ll kill the King,” He begins, pointing the tip of the knife at the King, who is groaning softly in the throne. “Then I’ll kill you,” He continues. “And then he himself will come to my feet. I know he will do it, because he is weak. Especially when it comes to you.”

He knows. Your own words come floating back to you. Don’t let anything or anyone be your weakness. Least of all me. 

You had been right, your advice more crucial, more important, you ever expected. You watch in anger as Hyungwon stalks towards the king, balancing the knife carefully in his hand.

“Hyungwon,” You plead. “This isn’t the way.”

Hyungwon turns and he stares at you, his eyes cold. 

“This is the only way.”

You scream as he sinks the blade into the King’s stomach, wrenching up with a quick, efficient twist of his wrist. 

You thrash violently against the rope, wanting so badly to be freed, but the more you struggle the more you feel your chest tighten. You are helpless, so helpless, and the ropes are beginning to burn against your skin. 

You see red and black, and you close your eyes as you hear the King’s choked breaths. They slow to a stop. When you open your eyes again, there is scarlet red dripping down the seat of the throne.

You let out a cry, and your head tips forward. You have tears dripping down your face and you see feet in front of you. 

You lift your head to see Hyungwon standing in front, wiping his blade.

“He didn’t deserve that, Hyungwon.” You choke out, and Hyungwon just stares at you.

“Didn’t he?”

You have no idea as to how much time has passed, and you are still lying on the ground, your muscles cramped and aching. 

The King is still slumped in the throne, blood now pooled around the floor below him. Hyungwon and the other Obsidians are waiting, taking turns to rest and keep watch for Jimin.

You are only praying that Jimin has left, that whatever anger he had felt towards you from your argument before has encouraged him to leave. 

To be honest, you hope he never returns. Because if he does return, you know the odds are not in Jimin’s favour. Even if he does return, even if he returns with help, he will be facing Obsidians. Obsidians, who strike hard and fast, who strike before you know what is happening.

If Jimin steps foot into this palace, he will die.

You are flipping through your thoughts, searching for ways to do something. Anything. But you have no options. 

You are trapped, your muscles paralyzed and aching under the thick coils of the rope. No one will enter the palace, not when it is so isolated from the central living quarters. Not when entering the coronation palace is strictly forbidden unless there is a coronation occurring. 

No one will come to help. Not until morning, when they notice the King is missing, when they notice the most likely dead guards outside of his room. 

You can’t help but think that this is your fault somehow. That if you hadn’t entered Jimin’s life, if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in him to see what was happening around you, that you could’ve maybe stopped this. That you could’ve maybe stopped Hyungwon. Then things would be different.

Or would you have been here with him, by his side? The thought creeps dangerously into your mind and you shake your head. 

No, you think, but in all honesty, you don’t know. Things are different now, you think. I’m different. And it’s true, you realize. While in the past you saw the world as black and white, Jimin has shown you the shades of grey in between. 

Your eyes flicker up to the king and you feel tears fill your eyes. Jimin’s father, the only family Jimin had left in this world. 

And you, your death now imminent. It isn’t your death that you are afraid of, but what is to come after it. What will happen when you are gone.

This was never meant to happen. As a member of the Obsodian guard, you are never meant to put the ones you love in danger. You are supposed to protect, to fight, to be strong. You are not meant to be like this, watching people die in front of you while you wait for your own imminent death.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, to the King, to Jimin.  To your mother.  “I’m so sorry.”

Time passes, and you sense Hyungwon beginning to stress. You can tell in Hyungwon’s body language, in the way his spine stiffens just a fraction and the scrunch of his brows. 

Jimin isn’t here yet.

There are only a few hours until daylight breaks, and you know that you being in Jimin’s room to intercept them had not been part of his plan. 

You suppose that’s why there are only three of them here, they had assumed, wrongly, that it would be an easy fight. None of the men have moved the King’s body, and you have kept your eyes trained away from him. 

You too, are beginning to hope that Jimin has fled. Too much time has passed. He won’t return, surely.

That at least gives you some inkling of solace. 

You watch Hyungwon and it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach. How could you not realize? 

Out of everyone in the world, there are few people that you care for. You don’t really trust anyone, but care is different. And you care for Hyungwon. You cared for him. Now, you don’t know what you feel. Just anger. 

You think to yourself, as your eyes focus on Hyungwon, that it is either you or Hyungwon dying tonight. 

It’s strange, you sitting here and thinking about Hyungwon’s death, thinking about how you would kill him. But, just as he showed no hesitancy to you before in mentioning your death, you would show him no mercy. 

Because that is the life of an Obsidian. Lives are just gambling chips, used to claim the bigger prize. And while you always thought the bigger prize was protecting, fighting, justice… Hyungwon’s mind was slanted in another way from yours. He is tilted towards a darker justice.

You glance again at Hyungwon, and then you spot it. 

A figure, small, crouched in the shadows. You would recognize the slope of those shoulders anywhere, and you only catch sight of him by chance. It’s Jimin.

How has he concealed himself so well? He’s like a shadow, melted against the wall. His eyes catch yours and you see the shock on his face. 

You want to tell him to leave, to tell him that he’s put himself in inherent danger. You can’t exactly call out his name, whisper out a warning… so you do the next best thing.

“Hyungwon,” Your voice comes out scratchy. “I’ll tell you. I’ll fucking tell you. Just let me go.”

Hyungwon strides over to you in moments. He stands in front of you and you swallow. “Speak.” He says in a low, dangerous voice and you hesitate. 

“There’s a tunnel,” You say finally, “Hidden in an old boarded over duct in Jimin’s bedroom. It leads outside of the palace. He’ll be in there. He’ll be waiting for me.”

Hyungwon stares at you, long and hard, and you fight to keep your composure. He leans down, his blade in his hands, and you suddenly wonder if he’s going to kill you. If he can see through your façade.

Instead, he grips at two of the larger knots around you and pulls. You let out a strangled sound as the ropes tighten around you. They’re so tight they hurt, and it feels like you can barely breathe. The thick, fraying rope is cutting hard and fast into you and you let out a gurgle of pain. 

Hyungwon straightens.

“Stay here. Watch her.” He snaps at the two Obsidians standing nearby, and then he leaves the coronation room.

You figure you have about ten minutes. Maybe less. You know Hyungwon is suspicious of your intentions, and you don’t know what the plan is, but maybe Jimin can sneak over here and cut your ropes. 

You need to be freed from them because they’re cutting off your circulation, and you can already feel yourself starting to go faint. When you’re free, you can take down these two Obsidians taking guard with ease. 

Hyungwon will be more of a challenge. While you excel at attack, he is the master of defense. More than that, he knows you so well, he knows each of your attack moves, he reads your face, your thoughts. You have a fifty/fifty chance of death, but it’s a risk worth taking, you decide.

And just when you decide that, you hear a cry of pain.

Your head snaps up just in time to see one of the Obsidians collapse to the ground, his knees buckling. 

It’s Jimin. 

He’s quick, sharp, intense with his attacks, he punches hard and fast at the throat – a proper punch, just like you had taught him – and the guard lets out a “Hk.” With that, Jimin raises his knee and slams it under the Obsidian’s chin. He collapses, unconscious.

You barely have time to feel anything other than shock because the other Obsidian is barreling towards Jimin. Jimin is quick, he wheels around and kicks the Obsidian in the face, the Obsidian reels backwards and grimaces but is otherwise unaffected. 

Jimin is back on the balls of his feet. He ducks and weaves, and you are shocked to see how good he is. He must’ve practiced, you think, concealed how hard he had worked in his spare time. 

He listened, you think. Trust nobody. Keep some things hidden. Keep some things for only yourself.

The other Obsidian is larger, stronger… but Jimin is agile and quick and he attacks with short jabs that has the other Obsidian crying out in pain. Jimin darts out with his fingers and jabs the Obsidian in the eye, causing him to holler out, and then Jimin grabs his neck and twists. He uses his whole body, it’s an effort. 

You hear the crack of bone, and then the man collapses onto the floor, his body twitching before it finally stills.

Jimin rushes to your side.

“Set me free,” You pant, and Jimin is trembling. 

“I don’t have a weapon,” He says, his words stuttering, his voice panicky. “I didn’t even get anyone from the palace, I didn’t know that it would be like this, what the hell is going?”

“That’s fine, get one from them,” You begin, nodding to the guards’ bodies, but Jimin’s entire jaw is slack.

He’s staring at the throne. At his father. 

You see it on his face, and your heart sinks, then breaks. 

There is nothing but raw confusion all over Jimin’s face as he stares at his father. Lifeless, still crudely tied to his own throne. 

“Father?” Jimin whispers.

You need to pull him out of this, to snap him back to attention, to get him to focus so you can both live, so he can live, you tell yourself fiercely.

“Jimin!” You snap, but he is still staring. His eyes filling with tears. His mouth opening and closing almost robotically.

“Jimin,” You repeat. “Please. Look at me. Look at me.” You all but shout the last words and Jimin rips his eyes away to stare at you. He’s crying, fat tears pooling in his eyes. 

“Focus,” You plead, and then you hear it.

The palace doors slam open. Hyungwon. He’s back early, too damn early. 

Your eyes snap to him, his eyes are flat and black and furious as he strides towards the two of you. You’re dizzy, from how tight the ropes are. They are bound around your wrists, your stomach, your chest. 

“Jimin,” You repeat, but Jimin is staring at his father again, as if he is in a trance. 

“Jimin!” You scream, as Hyungwon nears.

Hyungwon punches Jimin hard on the jaw, and the sound of bone against bone reverberates throughout the hallowy palace. Jimin’s body goes flying, collapsing on the marble. 

You watch as Jimin lifts his head dizzily, you see the beginning of a bruise forming against his sharp jawline. 

Hyungwon is right on Jimin’s heels and he plants one, two, three punches against Jimin’s ribs, and Jimin’s howls out in pain. 

The sound rips into you and you struggle harder than before against the ropes, but it does nothing. Your head is beginning to go woozy. Your body hurts.

Hyungwon moves away from Jimin, walking towards the Obsidian’s bodies.

“Fuck!” He bellows out, he is angry, and you realize that this is all going to be over soon. You need to get out of these ropes. 

You cry out Jimin’s name, and he glances up, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Jimin pulls himself across of the floor until he is by your side. You glance behind him, Hyungwon is picking up a weapon. He has a mace, the ball is thick with spikes, and you see his tall body approaching. Like a predator stalking prey.

You don’t have long now. There isn’t time for Jimin to cut the ropes. Jimin needs to run. You don’t know how he is going to outrun Hyungwon, and your blood is racing under your skin.

“Jimin,” Your voice comes out shakily, desperately. “I love you. I love you so much, okay? I love you, fuck. I’m so sorry.” Your words are tumbling out, and Jimin’s eyes are still unfocused. He is still staring at his father, but his head snaps to you at your words. 

He leans his forehead against yours, and you realize you are crying. 

Your head is starting to spin, the ropes are so tight that you are losing vision, things beginning to get out of focus.

“I love you.” Jimin whispers, and then his hands are at your waist and tugging down, hard. 

His fingers grasp inside your pants, around your concealed dagger. Hyungwon is still approaching, you can hear the anger in his heavy, drawn breaths. 

Your vision is fading, fast, and the last thing you see before everything fades to black is Jimin standing up shakily, your dagger in his hand.

It all starts coming back to you in pieces.

First, you are aware of your throat. It feels like cotton has been stuffed down your windpipe. Each breath of air that you take, rattles. 

In fact, that isn’t exclusive to your throat, every bone in your body feels like it has been brushed with sandpaper. You are sore, and it’s a rough, unrelenting soreness. 

Next, you open your eyes. You are so heavy lidded that it takes an effort, but you manage to force them open. You blink upwards wearily. 

For a beat, you think you’re back in the palace, tied against the throne, and you panic. But you recognize the carvings in the ceiling. 

The palace infirmary.

Your mind is racing, flipping through the different ideas of what exactly could have happened to you. 

The last thing you remember is Hyungwon, his face bent down by yours, demanding answers about Jimin-

Jimin.

You stiffen and jerk upwards, ignoring the ache in your body and the sharp pain that shoots up your legs from your sudden movement. 

Jimin. You remember the look of anguish that had spooled over Jimin’s face as he saw his father slumped in the throne. Your mind replays the image of his face, his cheeks stained with tears, his voice telling you that he loved you as he grasped at your dagger.

Jimin. Where was Jimin?

You hear footsteps, and as you glance up, you feel like you are going to melt into the floor with relief.

Jimin is standing in front of you, concern written all over his delicate features. He looks like the same Jimin you have known for the last few months. His silver hair is pushed back off of his forehead, he is dressed in an immaculate black suit. 

You let out a weak cry, and he is by your side in seconds.

“Jimin,” You breathe out, and your chest feels tight and you are faint with relief.

“You’re awake,” Jimin murmurs, relief is pouring over his face too as he brushes the back of his hand down one of your cheeks. “Thank God.”

You blink dazedly as Jimin reaches over to one of the nearby tables, passing you a ceramic cup of water. You accept, relishing in the coolness against your sore throat.

“What happened?” You ask finally. “The others? Hyungwon…?” 

Your voice trails off and Jimin’s eyes are downcast.

“One Obsidian guard is dead, the other imprisoned. We are trying to get him to talk. Hyungwon…” Jimin says quietly and his voice wavers. “We fought,” He continues. “He got me a few times,” He adds, and you remember the heavy mace Hyungwon had held in his hands right before you blacked out. 

”But it’s over. I… I killed him.” 

You feel a pang in your throat, a heavy lump. You have known Hyungwon since you were a child, and you don’t know what hurts more, the sharp bitterness of his betrayal or this, his death. 

Jimin nods over at the table and your eyes follow his movement, you spot your dagger sitting neatly there. You can see even from here that the blade has been wiped clean. Jimin bows his head forward, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back to him. “Why are you sorry?” You whisper.

“He was your friend.” Jimin murmurs back. 

“No,” You reply, your voice shaking with conviction. You take Jimin’s hand in yours. “He was a different man to the man I befriended.”

Jimin swallows and nods. “Regardless,” he whispers brokenly. “I killed him. I killed two men.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” You tell him fiercely, but you see the shadowy doubt that crosses Jimin’s face. You open your mouth to ask more questions, but you fall silent instead. 

You know all too well the heaviness that lingers after your first kill, survival kill or otherwise.

You wonder how he did it, how he overcame Hyungwon who fought like a snake, slipping through the cracks. He is strong, you think. He will be an incredible king.

“How long have I been out?” You ask.

“Only a day.” Jimin answers. “You’re fine, just a few surface injuries. You’ll heal fast.”

“And you?”

Jimin just shrugs. “Some bruising. I’ll be okay.”

You stare at Jimin, searching his face. “Are you okay?” You murmur.

Jimin thinks on this.

“As far as the public knows, my father died in his sleep. A peaceful death. Nothing untoward, happy days in this kingdom.” His lips twist and he blinks rapidly and you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist.

“Jimin,” You whisper, and Jimin just shakes his head, his eyes welling with tears.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just… my father is dead.”

He shrugs and you don’t miss the glint of tears in his eyes, feeling a tug in your chest. 

“Jimin…” You whisper. Jimin just glances at you and laces his fingers through yours. 

“I… I’m just… I’m just glad I didn’t lose you too. God, I don’t know what I would’ve done if-” His voices breaks off, his voice cracking and you stay there for a moment, your hand laced in his.

“Your coronation? I’m guessing it’s been pushed forward?” You ask quietly. 

Jimin nods. “It’s in three days.”

It feels like you’re falling, your stomach dropping uncomfortably as a wave of sadness washes over you. Three days? You look at your fingers, interlaced with Jimin’s. You knew this was going to have to come to an end eventually. But you didn’t expect three days.

“Oh,” You simply whisper. “There must be a wedding soon then.”

Jimin just nods and you suddenly feel like you’re going to cry.

“Well I hope that whoever-”

“Marry me.” 

A long silence stretches between the two of you, and you wonder if you have heard him correctly.

“What? Are you fucking crazy?”

Jimin just smiles. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I am in love with you. Every part of me loves you.” 

You stare at him and you realize you are shaking. “Jimin,” You begin, shaking your head. His hand is still holding yours. “I… I’m not royal.”

“Y/N. You made me see things differently. You gave me strength.”  

Suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“It made me a better man, a better ruler, a better fighter. You did.” He is firm, serious, desperate, all at once. “It is because of you I am alive. And I am so utterly certain that if I take your dagger,” He continues. “And pierce your skin, your blood would run blue. You are royalty. Not them, not those women my father had lined up for me. You.”

“Jimin…” You breathe out. “People will not accept me as a queen. I’m a member of the Obsidian guard. It’s written in blood.”

Jimin stares at you, and he softens. “Things are going to change,” He says in a firm voice. “This is just the first of many changes. Y/N, some things are stronger than blood.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment.

“It isn’t going to be easy.” You murmur. “Hyungwon… He mentioned it to me, and I know -I knew- him. He isn’t a lone wolf, Jimin. He follows orders. What he stood for, what he was trying to do? That wasn’t an idea from him. It was an idea from a collective of people.”

Jimin nods somberly. “I know.”

“Jimin,” You whisper. “You need stability. You need a queen who will settle the people, who will give them hope, who will inspire change-”

“I can settle the people.” Jimin interrupts softly. “I can give them hope. I can inspire change. And so can you.”

He squeezes your hand and you swallow.

“I…” You murmur. “I don’t even know if I want kids.”

Jimin just nods. “That’s okay.”

You shake your head furiously, your voice trembling. 

“What kind of royal couple doesn’t produce a family?” You ask bitterly. “And how could I ever be a Queen, I don’t know the first thing about royalty. This, us, it goes against every rule of royalty…”

“Well,” He cuts you off. “Someone once told me, that a great warrior told her that life doesn’t play by the rules, so why should you?”

You fall silent and your eyes prick with tears. You are filled with it, that same feeling in your chest. The feeling you used to get when walking the path from your place to his in the middle of the evening, the feeling you got whenever he smiled at you during your training sessions. 

This time though, you don’t run away from it. You don’t try and chase the emotion out of your head. 

Instead, you accept it. 

Love, intense, and terrifying, stronger than any bond you had ever known. You and Jimin, stronger together than you could ever be alone.

“So,” He whispers. “Will you marry me?”

You stare at him and your lips quiver. And for the first time, you don’t fight. You don’t turn away.

“Yes.”

The wedding is the day after the proposal.

You have to get married quickly, what with the coronation set to take place in just a few days time. It works well in your favour, the rushed nuptials, as there is decidedly no time to plan any kind of wedding ceremony. In the end, you decide on just you, Jimin, and the archbishop. 

Getting married is still a concept utterly foreign to you. Your entire life, you had been against the concept of marriage, convinced that you would never find yourself in a situation where you would want to get married. You accepted long ago that you would never find someone you’d be willing to give half of yourself to. 

For so long you had fought. You had fought against yourself, against any inkling of love, and it wasn’t until Jimin that you had stopped fighting.

The ceremony is easy. You are married in the training field. 

The air is so still, although cold, and the field is so private and familiar that it mutes most of your worries about the wedding. And when Jimin steps out onto the field, dressed simply in just a cream silk shirt and cream pants, your worries disappear entirely.

You don’t recite vows. You sign the wedding parchment, and then Jimin takes your hand in his, pressing a long kiss to the top of your hand. 

The ceremony is over quickly. And when it is done, you and Jimin go to his father’s gravestone, resting beside his mother’s. You stand there, Jimin’s fingers curl around yours and his eyes well with tears right up until the moment the two of you leave.

Your wedding day is a bittersweet day, and it ends with you in Jimin’s room. Your belongings, as bare as they are, sit in a small box by the door. It still feels a little surreal to be living in the palace, and you wonder if being part of the royal family will ever feel like home.

You excuse yourself to use Jimin’s bathroom, and as you close the door, hearing the click of the doorknob, you let out a sigh. You stand in front of the mirror, biting your lip in uncertainty as you survey your reflection. 

The time that has passed since what happened with Hyungwon has been strange, both slow and fast at once. If anything, it has given you perspective. The time has made you realize that your life, and moreover, Jimin’s, will always have death dangling over it.

The thought of just that has you pulling your dress over your head, leaving it on the floor. You slide off your underwear, and let out a shaky sigh.

You have been naked in front of Jimin so many times, but now you feel a prickle of heat wash over you. You pinch your cheeks experimentally, you are pale, nervous.

It’s Jimin, you tell yourself. Your husband. 

The thought of just that causes a deeper, darker heat to ripple through your body, and your cheeks flush pink. 

It gives you a push of courage.

You step outside of the bathroom. Jimin is sitting on the bed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. You linger by the doorway of the bathroom and look at Jimin.

Rather, you stare – it feels like you can’t drag your eyes away, your gaze controlled by a magnetic force. 

He looks exquisite. His cream silk shirt has been pulled out of his pants, the slippery fabric creased and rolled up carelessly around his elbows. The shirt is unbuttoned just low enough to hint at the curve of his pectoral muscles. His hair, so elegantly swept up during the ceremony, has been mussed, and is stiff with static from his own hand running through it so many times.

Jimin glances up, sensing your stare, and his eyes light up.

“Oh,” He breathes out, his eyes widening as he drinks you in. His gaze doesn’t miss anything. 

Jimin is meticulous in most things, and now, his stare is slow and purposeful. He starts from your legs, his gaze raking over your waist, your breasts, your neck… until finally his eyes meet yours.

You feel a flash of desire, hot and heavy, from how dilated his eyes are, the way his Adams apple bobs up and down in his throat. 

Prince Jimin’s gaze laps all over you, and it’s almost as if you can feel and taste how badly he wants you in the air.

You walk over, and when you are close enough, Jimin’s hands wind around your waist and tug you on top of his body. His fingers massage the flesh of your thigh, giving your leg a firm squeeze. The pressure of his touch causes you to moan, as he pulls your leg firmly around his waist.

You can feel it, him, as he shifts his body. The strain of his hardening cock from beneath his pants.The fabric of his trousers are thin and you can feel him grinding against you. 

You let out a small whimper, as Jimin slowly caresses over your legs with his hands. His hands roam over your shoulderblades, his fingers kissing the slip of your waist. He leaves no inch of you untouched, the whole while his eyes are locked on yours. 

His breaths come out as shuddery, hungry gasps of air and the sound of him makes something inside of you spike in need.

Jimin is touching soft, sensitive areas that aren’t usually erotic to you, but your entire body is coiled like a spring and reacts to each of his touches. The skimming of his skin against yours has you tipping your head back and moaning. His fingers are smoothening patterns over your arms, your belly, and the slope between your breasts.

“Jimin,” You whimper our his name, and Jimin’s eyes darken. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He says, his voice is assured as he leans forward and kisses you. Finally. The kiss is slow, torturous and languid, but is quickly deepened. Jimin’s tongue chases into the kiss as his hands squeeze right under your breasts by your rib cage, then again at the curve of your waist. 

You pull away from the kiss, breathless, and stare down at him as his hands reach behind you to cup your ass. 

He is a vision, lips bitten and swollen, his eyes wide. The softness in his eyes and the hungriness in the way he’s licking his lips has you arching your back and rolling yourself against his cock, your wetness leaving a faint stain on top of Jimin’s cream pants. 

Your fingers are trembling as you reach between your bodies and find the pearl buttons on Jimin’s shirt. You fumble a bit, but Jimin is slow, patient, planting a kiss on your wrist. 

You undo the first button, exposing more of his chest, and he plants a kiss on the inside of your elbow. You shiver, unbuttoning the next button. His shirt more or less falls nearly completely open, and your breath hisses in at the sight of his abdomen. His abs, taut underneath his skin, a few purplish, fading bruises dotted near his ribs. 

The thought brings you to earth for a moment, and fills you with something else. A strange desperation. You don’t want to lose Jimin. Not when he means so much to you.

“Jimin,” You whisper suddenly, Jimin just looks at you. “I love you.”

You don’t know why you need to say the words so badly but they spill out. “I love you,” You repeat. 

Jimin’s eyes just crease into a smile and he murmurs into your upper arm, his breath soft on your skin. “I love you too. So much.” He stamps a kiss on your shoulder and you shiver. 

You undo the final button and shrug the shirt off of him, the silk practically glides off and hits the floor. Jimin’s hands rest flat on the small of your back as he presses a last kiss to the base of your throat. He hums into his kiss and the vibrations of his voice against your neck have you keening into his hard cock yet again. 

You want him. You’ve wanted him before, but this is a new kind of want. You need him. Your legs are wrapped around his waist so tightly that your thighs ache, and you nip at his lips again. 

You lose yourself in a kiss that is so intense, your teeth clash for a moment before you bite at his bottom lip gently, eliciting a groan from his throat. His dick twitches in his pants as he slots his hands underneath your arms and lifts you with ease, turning you and laying you on your back.

Your hair fans out and Jimin’s body is hovering on top of yours in moments. He looks good- his hair falling into his eyes, his arms straining as he carefully holds his body on top of yours. 

You can feel the entirety of his warmth on top of you, keeping just enough of his body weight on you to make you almost squirm with how badly you want him.

At this point, your core is starting to throb, you are so wet it feels messy and slick in your slit as you lift your hips up to press firmly against his cock. You’re so desperate, and his eyes flash at your actions as he lets out a throaty moan.

His fingers find your hips, and you buck uncontrollably under his touch. His fingers dart right where your thigh meets your core, so close yet not quite touching. It’s a tease, a delicious tease - your breaths are ragged, your chest rising and falling. You’re panting, falling all over yourself for him.  

You’re so damn full of want you might implode, and being fully naked underneath Jimin means you are closer to it, to having him. 

He is back on top of you, his face inches from yours, and he captures your lips in another kiss. The moment his lips touch yours, he runs two fingers in a clean swipe down your slit with no warning. You let out a strangled moan, because it fills so good and it fills you with a crackling heat, and then it’s over.

Jimin just chuckles, pulling away, and you watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth. He tastes you, and you can see his eyes dilate, him swallowing.

“Jimin,” Your voice rushes out. “Please…” 

Jimin obliges, and his fingers work their way down your body to your pussy. He starts at your clit, working quick circles on you, and you’re writhing underneath him. 

His touch is intense, it gives you relief but it also makes you more frustrated, because you want more. All you do is want, you want more, you want Jimin, you just fucking want. You’re being so vocal with your want. Mewls, moans, suppressed yelps of pleasure, as your own hand reaches out and cups his dick.

He’s so hard- and you watch in satisfaction as he squeezes his eyes shut and swears under his breath. You’re not able to go slow and lavascious like he is, playing with you. You just want to feel his hard cock in your hands and you hurry to unzip his pants. He rolls off you, pulling off his pants and underwear hurriedly until he’s fully naked and hovering on top of you again.

You wrap your fingers around his cock and your eyes roll back in your head as Jimin suddenly presses his fingers hard and fast against your clit. Fuck. Your hand glides up the shaft of his cock but you can hardly concentrate with how Jimin is touching you. 

He is watching you the entire time, peppering kisses down your neck and at the top of your chest, but his fingers don’t relent and you’re so tense that you think you might explode.

“Jimin, please, I need you,” You whine desperately, and Jimin responds by rolling you on your side. He slots his body behind you, his fingers gripping your waist.

His breathing is shaky against the back of your neck, and his hand curves around your front to grasp your chin. He tilts your head back so he can lean forward and kiss you, his other hand guiding his cock to your entrance.

You kiss him, letting out a moan into his mouth, because you want him so badly that it hurts. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance, and Jimin lets go of your chin and his hand wraps around your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers as he thrusts.

He didn’t enter you before with his fingers, and you are tight around his cock. The feeling of him stretching you out and sliding inside of you is immense. Your breath locks in your throat, his hand is still massaging your breast as he pushes all of himself inside of your walls. 

“Jimin,” You whimper out, and he responds by kissing down the nape of your neck and moaning against your skin. 

Your lower back is curling, your toes are curling, it feels like your insides and your core are all curling, because it’s sensory overload. You can feel all of him around you. His body is folded around you, he is kissing along the slope of your neck, and then his lips are at your ear as he eases his cock out of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, and then his cock slams inside of you hard.

You let out a choked whine at the feeling of it, he slides out again, the wetness of your pussy making the movement easy and slick and fast. 

“I’m yours.”

With those words, his hand tightens around your breast, his other hand firm around your hips, and then he starts to thrust into you. 

He isn’t hard and fast like the other times you have fucked, full of desperation and urgency and him wanting to own you. This is different. You can feel every ridge of his cock so deep inside of you. 

Your belly is aching deliciously, his lips dragging kisses and bites down your neck. You can feel every inch of him on you. This is so sensual and so intense and so fucking everything that you feel yourself being pulled faster and faster to the edge.

You can hear it, the sound of his hips and the slap of skin as he fucks into you, strong, intense thrusts, his thighs working to ensure every inch of him is buried deep inside of you. 

“Jimin,” You pant out his name. “God!” 

Your voice rises to a cry as he rolls your nipple between his fingers and gives you one particularly intense thrust. You feel your vision start to narrow as you reach the point of climax.

Jimin senses it too, feeling you tighten around him, and he pulls out of you and rolls you onto your back. He’s on top of you in moments, his hands fluttering up to curve around the sides of your face. He pushes inside of you again, filling you up whole, and you moan. 

“Y/N,” He moans out your name, and you whimper. 

“I love you, Jimin,” You stutter out and Jimin just responds by pressing his forehead to yours and rocking his hips against you.

Your core is aching, and you know you’re close, so damn close that every muscle and cell is tensed and waiting for it. You can feel his breath coming out in soft shudders, hear the small whines he makes with each thrust. His hands are roaming over your body, his face inches from yours. 

You feel so connected to him, so aroused, so full that it’s like a wave washing over you. And then it hits.

You let out an incoherent moan, your hips bucking up as your body shakes, your fingers latching into his hair. Your nails rake down his shoulder blades, digging into his soft skin. 

It washes over you, and it’s like a ball of satisfaction and pleasure. White hot and freezing cold. Your orgasm is slow, it melts into every inch of your body.

Your eyes are rolling back into your head and you’re faintly aware of Jimin moaning at the feeling of your pussy tightening around him, your nails digging into his skin, but you barely notice. Your mind is just thumping, with it, how good it feels. Your lips curved around his name and him. Jimin.

The peak starts to fall, leaving behind a glow of warmth, and Jimin thrusts into you. He tilts his hips and grinds, as he lets out a groan. 

“I’m going-” He stutters out, his voice pitches upwards in desperation and then he lets out a moan. 

His voice is husky as he moans, a throaty gasp of air as his body stiffens and twitches. He’s buried deep inside of you as his face falls down beside yours, burying into the pillow. He’s so vocal with his orgasm and you listen to the sounds of his pleasure and feel the twitches of his body as he rides out his own high.

You stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing each other in and enjoying the warm blissful high. Finally, with a grunt, Jimin pulls out of you. 

You hiss in as you feel his cum pooling out of you and onto his sheets, Jimin just watches with a faintly proud smile before he rolls over beside you. 

His hand slips around your waist and pulls you to him, and you smile as he burrows into your side and plants a drowsy kiss on your ear.

It’s crazy, you think, how you’re feeling right now. Happiness, and bliss, and hope. Hope. Who would’ve thought. After a lifetime of violence, of slate grey slashes and blood-red tinged dreams, that this was what your future held all along. This. Drowning in luxurious cotton sheets and the scent of Park Jimin.

Filled with a happiness that you never knew existed.

“It’s kind of crazy huh,” You whisper, and he pulls away a fraction to gaze at you. His eyes are soft as he smiles. “It is.” 

He reads your mind somehow, as he always does. He reaches up and his thumb grazes over your lips, he follows up on his touch with a kiss. It’s tender, a whisper, and as he pulls away it feels like you’re floating.

He doesn’t say I love you, and neither do you. Words aren’t needed because the I love you is prominent between the two of you. 

It’s there, hanging in the atmosphere, and you think to yourself that it always will be.

On the day of the coronation, the air is crisp. 

You are standing inside the palace, by one of the large stained windows. You watch the hordes of people shuffling in to see the coronation ceremony, dressed carefully in their finest clothes. 

A smile toys on your lips as you spot a young woman dressed in training gear similar to yours, her chin held up defiantly as she marches in through the gates.

“I told you that you would be good for this kingdom.” You hear Jimin’s voice behind you, but you don’t move. You purse your lips in thought, still watching the people filtering in. “Inspiring other women to fight. To be strong.”

You feel his palm rest gently at your waist, and you finally turn, looking at him properly. 

Your face, however guarded you tend to keep it, cannot hide your feelings.

Jimin is a vision, his hair coiffed neatly off of his face. He is dressed in swathes of velvet, robes that are dense and luxurious, the collar of a pressed white shirt peeking out underneath. 

What strikes you the most though is the look on his face. His eyes are set, there is confidence in his smile. He looks calm, confident, assured. Regal.

“You look beautiful.” He says softly, and he squeezes your waist gently with his words. 

You glance down at what you’re wearing- a dress in brushed silk, the same shade as the dark blackberry of Jimin’s robes. It’s a bold dress, fabric that is cut to sweep down your body. It is different to what newly crowned queens of the past have worn,  but as Jimin had murmured when you voiced your concerns about your dress to him, “You’re different to queens of the past.”

You are nervous. Nervousness is an emotion you aren’t accustomed to yet, a feeling that you only became truly familiar with when Jimin entered your life. He, as always, senses your shift in mood and his hand moves from cupping your waist to skimming over your cheek, his fingertips grazing underneath your jaw.

“I love you.” He says slowly, his eyes locked on yours. His voice is like satin and it calms you down, settles the way your erratic hum of your pulse as Jimin pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I am by your side.”

You understand what he is saying, picking up on the darker side of his words. He is reading your fears about the days to come after this one, after the coronation. 

It’s like the air is thick with it, tension. The threat of war, the upcoming social shift of your kingdom, the inevitable consequences to follow.

Jimin’s words settle you, as does this, him holding you in his arms. 

“I love you too.” You whisper back, pulling away to see the smile on Jimin’s face. As always, his smile soothes at the ragged doubts flaring inside of you, and you can’t help yourself. You lean forward and press your lips to his, sighing into the kiss. 

“Your Highness?” A voice interrupts you and your heads pull apart to see Kim Namjoon, the King’s old advisor, standing there, politely casting his eyes downwards. 

“It’s time.”

Jimin nods, standing to his feet. You stand up beside him, falling into step with your husband as you follow Advisor Kim to the main palace room.

The main doors are in front of you, and you inhale shakily. You can hear it, the quiet murmuring of the crowd. 

Advisor Kim is standing to the side politely, as Jimin takes both of your hands in his. He doesn’t speak, neither do you, instead, you push open the doors and walk out.

The hushed chatter of the crowd falls to silence as you walk beside Jimin, stopping in front of the thrones.

There are so many people, a sea of faces, and you swallow as you try and scan through the crowd. 

The archbishop steps forward, speaking to the crowd and to you, but you don’t listen to him, zoning out and focusing on the thrones behind you. 

The King’s throne in particular looks new, untouched, as if the King’s blood hadn’t stained the brass. It feels odd, knowing that Jimin will be sitting in that throne, when the last person to sit there, his own father, had died such a gruesome death. A shiver travels up your spine and you close your eyes.

You vow then to protect yourself, to protect Jimin. You promise that no more blood will be shed unnecessarily over the throne.

You snap back into reality as a young girl comes forward, holding a blue velvet cushion. Two crowns are placed on top of it, side by side.

“Through fire and through darkness.” The archbishop is saying, and you watch as he picks up the crown with delicate fingers and lowers it onto Jimin’s head.

Jimin is kneeled forward, his head bowed. The crown is gold, burnished gold that is dulled with age, but it still gleams in the light. The metal is twisted, consisting of smooth curves, both soft and masculine.

“Through death and through life.”  Jimin finishes, straightening. 

You are lost in him for a moment, standing tall and strong with the crown perched on his head.

The archbishop strides over to you, and you take a shaky breath in.

“Through fire and through darkness.” He begins, and he lifts your crown from the pillow. 

It has not been worn in over a decade, not since Jimin’s mother, and the silver is dull. This close, you can see specks of age on the recently polished metal. Still, it is beautiful. It is different to Jimin’s crown, made up of delicate strands of fine silver. There are hundreds of them, entwined intricately to create something strong and unbreakable. 

The archbishop settles the crown down on the top of your head, it is heavy but not uncomfortable. 

He settles it down onto the top of your head, it is heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Through death,” The words come out of your mouth, and your eyes flicker to Jimin. “And through life.” You say the words loudly, clearly, meaning them. 

The archbishop steps away, and Jimin steps towards you. He takes your hands in his, and his lips brush across your cheek.

He pulls back, staring into your eyes, before he seals your lips in a kiss. 

It’s as soft as the one earlier, his lips gentle, tender. You know what it’s symbolizing. 

The start of a new life together, a new beginning. A new kingdom. 

“My Queen.” He whispers.

“My King.”

amynote: A huge thank you to the person who sent in the original request! I can’t believe I made My Guy hyungwon that person in this fic... But yeah I hope this was enjoyable to read. I really had fun writing it ♡ 

[di-sss-learning-engineering]

17 Scientifically Proven Ways to Study Better This Year

For better or worse, studying is part of college life. It is also a technique that requires patience, practice, and trial and error. As you think about studying methods that are right for you, consider the tips below. You might find techniques that will help you get the most out of your college classes (both the engaging and the not-so-engaging ones).

Set Yourself up for Success

One of the most beneficial ways to begin the studying process is to set yourself up for success from the start. Consider the following tips.

Featured Online Schools

1. Stick to Print

Tablets and other eLearning media are convenient and portable, but research suggests that traditional print materials still have the upper hand when it comes to studying. Some researchers argue that adopting interactive habits like scrolling, clicking, and pointing enhances the academic experience, but more than 90% of students polled said they prefer a hard copy or print over a digital device when it comes to studying and school work. Furthermore, a psychology lecturer finds that students required more repetition to learn new material if they were reading on a computer screen versus reading printed material.

2. Listen to music

While some experts argue the ability to concentrate during silence or listening to music while studying is left up to personal preference, many agree that playing certain types of music, such as "obscure 18th century composers," can help students engage parts of their brain that help them pay attention and make predictions. Not to mention, listening to music may improve your mood and change your whole outlook about studying in general.

3. Exercise First

The benefits of exercise on the brain have been well established in the fields of health, fitness, and psychology. Studies show our brainpower gets a boost following even a short workout, as our bodies are pumping oxygen and nutrients to the brain. According to Dr. Douglas B. McKeag, breaking a sweat shortly before cracking the books can make you more alert, open, and able to learn new information during your post-workout study session.

4. Relax

Stress hinders learning. UC Irvine researchers find that stress lasting as briefly as a couple of hours can engage corticotropin-releasing hormones that disrupt the process of creating and storing memories. Taking study breaks to exercise or drawing a few deep breaths will help your studying if they lower your stress level.

When and Where to Study

While you might think late-night study sessions are disadvantageous to your academic success, research suggests they are not necessarily a bad idea. Additionally, some psychologists even encourage students to break with their daily college-life routines, especially when it comes to studying for a midterm or final exam.

5. Study When You’re Tired, and Get Some Rest!

Studying at your tiredest can help your brain retain higher concentrations of new skills, such as speaking a foreign language or playing an instrument. There’s even a term for it: sleep-learning. As the memory-consolidation process does its best work during slow-wave sleep, your brain could be getting both the restoration and reactivation it needs during its time of rest. All of this means that reviewing study materials before bed can help you brain learn, even in your sleep.

6. Change Your Scenery

A change of scenery impacts learning and concentration abilities. Psychologist Robert Bjork suggests that simply moving to a different room to study (or going a step further and learning amongst the great outdoors) could increase both your concentration and retention levels.

Study Methods

Scientists have been investigating information retention and the studying process for decades. The best way to find the most effective study method for you is to test various tips, such as the ones listed below.

7. Thwart the "Curve of Forgetting"

Scientists started exploring the "curve of forgetting" in 1885, but the concept remains useful to today's study habits. The gist of the "curve of forgetting" is this: The first time you hear a lecture or study something new, you retain up to 80% of what you’ve just learned -- if you review the material within 24 hours. Fortunately, this effect is cumulative; so after a week, you may retain 100% of the same information after only five minutes of review. Generally, psychologists agree this type of interval studying -- as opposed to "cramming" -- is best, and that students should study closer to the day they learned the material than the day of the test.

8. Use Active Recall

This controversial method of studying was a hot topic in 2009, when a psychology professor published an article advising students against reading and rereading textbooks -- which, he argued, merely lead students to thinking they know the material better than they do since it is right in front of them. Conversely, he suggested students use active recall: closing the book and reciting everything they can remember up to that point to practice long-term memorization.

9. Use the Leitner System

Named for its originator, German scientist Sebastian Leitner, the study method forces students to learn, through repetition, the material they know least well. The system involves moving cards with correctly answered questions further down a line of boxes and moving incorrectly answered cards back to the first box. Thus, the cards in the first box are studied most frequently and the interval becomes greater as the student proceeds down the line, forcing her to review again and again the information she doesn't know.

10. Take the Practice Tests

As you would with the ACT, SAT, or GMAT, take advantage of professors and instructors who make old exams available as practice tests. You can get a sense of the instructor’s testing style and a become familiar with how the information might be presented on the real test day. A 2011 study finds students who tested themselves with a practice test after learning the material retained 50% more of the information a week later than their peers who did not take a practice test.

11. Make Connections

Experts argue that the difference between "slow learners" and "quick studiers" is the way they study; for example, instead of memorizing, "quick learners" make connections between ideas. Known as contextual learning, this process requires students to customize their own methods of learning, thus making connections that inspire all of the information to fall into place and make sense for them individually. Some students find that recording all information visually in one place (such as on a sheet of paper or chalkboard) can help to paint a fuller picture and aid their connections within the learning process.

12. Try the Feynman Notebook Method

Physicist Robert Feynman created this organization-based learning method by writing on the title page of an empty notebook, notebook of things I don’t know about. From there, he developed a technique of deconstruction and reconstruction of ideas, in an effort to understand even the most complicated of concepts. To use this method and learn how to study effectively, first identify what you want to learn. Then, try explaining it as you would to a five-year-old. The Feynman method is ideal for using analogies to further illustrate your concept (e.g., a bonsai tree is just like a big tree, but smaller).

13. Take on the Role of Teacher

Research shows that students have better memory and recall abilities when they learn new information with the expectation of having to teach it to someone else. This makes sense, as teachers are charged with not only learning information for themselves, but also with organizing key elements of said information to explain it clearly to others. Studies also suggest that students are more engaged and will instinctively seek out methods of recall and organization when expected to take on a "teacher" role. This can be especially effective with subjects like reading comprehension and science, though part of the magic involves working out how you’d "teach" each subject on a case-by-case basis.

14. Think About Your Thinking

Metacognition, or thinking about thinking, thrives on self-awareness. To achieve this, students need to be able to assess their level of skill and where they are in their studies, as well as monitor their emotional well-being around potentially stressful studying activities.

What Not to Do When Studying

While the studying methods included above are strategic and focused, the tips below remind us that we can, in fact, "overdo it" when it comes to studying.

15. Don't Overlearn

Once you’ve been able to cycle through your flashcards without making a single mistake, you may feel a sense of satisfaction and call it a day, or you may feel a charge of adrenaline and be tempted to continue studying. When you come to this fork in the road, keep in mind that a sharp onset of diminishing returns during "overlearning." With a limited amount of time to study each topic, you’re better served moving on to something else.

16. Stop Multitasking

Multitasking is a myth. You may think you’re killing two birds with one stone by texting while studying, for example, but you’re actually forming poor study habits. According to researchers, so-called "multitasking" extends your study time and ultimately may damage your grades.

17. Forget About "Learning Styles"

Researchers and learning experts debate the concept of learning styles, some even go so far as to say they don't exist. Our conclusion is this: Despite the amount of work on the subject, scientists have found "virtually no evidence" to support the concept of learning styles, though they left the possibility open to further investigation in years to come. We recommend you don’t go out of your way to try to make your material fit a specific style because it may not be worth the time or effort.

Bonus Tip: Don't Focus on One Subject for Too Long

If you’ve never felt "burned out" from repeatedly studying pages of history notes, scrutinizing chemistry formulas, or practicing music scales, consider yourself lucky. But know that the threat is real. It's best to vary your material rather than zeroing in persistently on one area. (It is acceptable to join related or similar subject areas together; for example, instead of only memorizing vocabulary, mix in reading as well. If doing math, tackle several concepts together instead of just one.)

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Musings #7: Gonna take a wild guess as to what I think Oscar’s semblance might be as I believe it could play a role in helping Jaune to finally awaken his.

According to what Ren said in Chapter 4, it is stated that one’s personality can define their semblance or vice versa. That being said, my guess for Oscar’s semblance is something to do with his mind, particularly the way how his mind is right now.

What if...and this is stretch here...Oscar’s semblance will have something to do with dreams and memories which will then grant him a more enhanced ability to connect to others through his mind.

(Fasten your seat belts and grab yourself a snack readers. This is gonna be a long one)

If we look back, the very first time we were introduced to Oscar was when he woke up from a bad dream following the scene with Salem addressing Team WTCH. To me, that scene insinuated that Oscar possibly dreamt that scene or at least bore witness to it in some form of outer body experience...maybe?

Maybe Oscar dreamt of Ozpin's battle with Cinder too and that was the first time the two actually connected mentally before Ozpin was eventually reborn inside of him. That could be a possibility, yes.  

As I said before, it's a stretch. And while I don't have much more evidence from the series to back my hunch, however I do strongly think that Oscar’s semblance would have something to do with his mind.

Maybe Oscar will have a Professor Xavier from X-Men kind of power. While I doubt he'll be able to read others minds and/or lift things telepathically like Jean Gray (though that would be freaking awesome if he could); I do like the idea of him being able to connect to others mentally, more specifically through their thoughts and dreams.

It would make sense. Oscar is a man (well boy) with two souls. He is the embodiment of two minds sharing one singular form so having a semblance that reflects that would fit. Plus I really want this cause I would love to see the series do a visual representation of Oscar's mind.

Gonna use another Yugioh reference here again. Remember back in the original series when the character Shadi used his Millennium Key to enter Yugi's mind when he suspected that he was the one who stole Pegasus' Millennium Eye (which was actually taken by Evil Bakura)? In that episode, we got a nice visual idea of the inside of Yugi's mind after pairing with the Pharaoh. As viewers, we actually got to SEE what both sides of the coin looked like with each being represented by a different room and door.

If I remember correctly, Yugi's was described to be more childlike, pure and innocent, as remarked by Shadi, whereas the Pharaoh’s was basically a cold dungeon labyrinth with endless staircases leading to many intricate doors housing a variety of tricks and traps, all to deceive unwanted intruders. Some were even guarded by Duel Monsters; one of them being Yugi’s signature card: The Dark Magician, as I recall. This was done, as I believe, to reflect the complexity and overall mystery of the Pharaoh’s character as part of the story was uncovering the secrets of his past and his true identity.

Gosh! That was such a cool part of the original Yugioh and I would LOVE it if the CRWBY did something like that for Oscar and Ozpin. Fingers crossed!

While hearing the mental banter between Oz and Oscar is nice; it would be an even greater touch if we actually got to see the inside of Oscar’s mind and what it looked like, especially now that Ozpin is there. Somehow I envision Oscar/Ozpin’s mind world being no different than how it was for Yugi and the Pharaoh.

Picture this everyone...

Oscar’s Inner Mind 

Imagine one room. One single room. An inner sanctum, if you will. The room is divided in half. On one side, there is a locked door with a clock cog symbol embedded on its surface to represent it being Ozpin’s room while on the opposite end, is another smaller, simpler wooden door to identify that it belongs to Oscar. At the centre of the main mind hall is a single long table with two chairs facing each other. It is here, within these uncharted walls, where Oscar and Ozpin meet within their inner mind (I need a more creatively whimsical word to describe this).

Since Oscar is still the more dominant soul, the room atmosphere changes to reflect his mood. When he's cheerful or perhaps relaxed, it becomes a tranquil afternoon sky in a large open field covered with lush green grass mirroring that of the one he would see all the time back in his home in Mistrel. When he's angry or upset, the skies turn grey and cloudy. Though they never rain, the raging thunder and lightning above are more than enough to voice his troubles. 

And when he thinks of Ruby; the ambiance transforms into a beautiful sunset and what was once a grassy field becomes a vast rose garden filled with an outstretch of blossoming red roses; their gorgeous petals blowing ever so delicately in the wind.

Okay, that one was for my RoseGarden shippers but c'mon, how sweet would that be.

Picture a scene where:

Oscar and Ozpin are having a private conversation within his inner mind world when Oscar is either dreaming or meditating (perhaps a session with Ren). Oscar is frustrated with his training and Ozpin is there to offer him some reassurance. The room atmosphere is a raging storm to reflect Oscar's brooding dissatisfaction but in the instance where Ozpin is able to calm the boy down, it simmers to a gentle breeze blowing through a green meadow.

Ozpin then tries to lighten the mood by asking Oscar about how he felt about his new teammates: Jaune, Nora and Ren. Oscar, of course, gives a good review of three remaining Team JNPR members, commenting that he gets along well with everyone. And since they're all so nice to him and help him with his training, he thinks they’re cool. Ozpin quietly accepts this answer. He then addresses the real Goliath Grimm in the room. He asks Oscar about his thoughts on Ruby and the instant he does Oscar’s whole demeanour changes in an almost comical manner. The young farm boy is suddenly fidgety and by Ozpin’s keen observation, a little red in the face, barely making his point audible as he clamoured out a bunch of nonsensical facts about Ruby (that Ozpin already knew of) all summing up to him basically saying that she’s just a huntress he really, really admires for her strength and considers a good friend.   While Ozpin accepts this answer as well, albeit with one of his trademark scrunch-nosed chuckles, he doesn’t however fail to point out that while Oscar’s mouth said one thing, his own mind betrayed him. For at that precise moment, unknown to Oscar, the room had changed again to match his current emotions; revealing his true blossoming feelings for Ruby (which literally take the shape of a freaking rose garden).

Imagine how perfect that would be. I know it’s just a thought however if the series somehow ever did something like this, I'd lose my shit.

The Room of Two Souls

I’d imagine the inside of Oscar's room would resemble that of his original home back on his aunt's farm cause right now it’s the only family tie he has.

However as he makes more connections with people he come to care about, the room will expand and even change depending on the person or bond he’s thinking of. Y’know how folks are always using the analogy of creating a space in their heart for someone or something they consider special to them. Maybe the same can work for the mind; in particular Oscar’s mind, with him creating a special place in his own mind room for certain cherished loved ones using the memories and feelings he’s shared with them to bring it to life within his inner mind. Imagine a place in Oscar’s mind built on the memories and sentiments of his time with Team RNJR which in turn links him mentally to all of them. Take special note of this point. I’ll elaborate more on it later in this post.

Ozpin's room, on the other hand, will be complicated with as much intricacy as the mechanical interior of a clock. As a matter of fact, I picture it being like a giant clock tower leading into another room decorated with towering portraits of different men; the faces of Ozpin's previous vessels with the memories of their lives and adventures contained behind each portrait. It within here where Ozpin’s past memories are all stored. For all the Star Vs The Forces of Evil fans in the audience, remember how in the episode ‘Into The Wand', we got to see all the past Queens of Mewni in portrait form including Moon.

I pictured something like that for Ozpin and all his past forms. The portraits not only paint a vivid depiction of what the previous Ozpins looked like physically but additionally it illustrated a perfect mosaic of all the major events in their lives; from rebirth to death.

Imagine if we got to see a portrait of Ozpin in his last form before Oscar; when he was simply known as just Professor Ozpin: Headmaster of Beacon Academy. An eternal collage all his achievements up until his demise by the hands of Cinder (maybe then we might actually learn how the events of that epic fight).

Why I’m taking my time to describe this in such detail is because I would honestly love to see the CRWBY do something like this in the series as I believe it can play a major part in Oscar’s growth as a character. Why would you create a character with two souls if you didn’t plan on showing us, the eager viewers, how the inside of his mind looked?

I’m just saying.

Now that I’ve described what I think Oscar’s semblance is, you might be wondering at this moment what does that have to do with Jaune and his semblance? I’ll explain.

I think I’m all finished here with Oscar. Let’s talk about Jaune for a bit.

 Jaune’s Semblance Is....

Back in Volume 1, I remember Pyrrha mentioning that Jaune possessed a lot of Aura after using some of hers to unlock his. Ren said that once one has mastered control of their Aura, not only can it aid them during battle as a form of defense but also recovery by gradually healing their wounds. The keyword there is gradual. When Jaune first unlocked his Aura, it instantly healed his wound. Sure it was only a scratch but...the way Ren implied it is that the healing process is supposed to be slow, not as quickly as Jaune recovered.

So what this says to me is that Jaune is certainly unique when it comes to his Aura level and that is one of the clues to figuring out his semblance. What else so we know about Jaune? Let’s only focus on the positive. He’s always willing to step up and do what he can for the people he cares about. Evidence? Despite his feelings for her being unrequited, Jaune still cared enough for Weiss that he called out Neptune on the way he was treating her.

He even empathized with him a little too by helping him through his own securities by making him see the error of his shallow ways. He was so willing to cheer Pyrrha up that he tossed all semblance of dignity out the window and wore a dress.

He was kind enough to help Ruby on their very first day of school, even though they had only just met.

He even forged a new weapon for himself combining his with a memento of Pyrhha’s. He did it, almost as a little tribute to her so that, even though she was gone, the memory for her will forever live on with him and their teammates.

Jaune Arc: Helpful. Compassionate. Loyalty with a high level of Aura...I think I’m starting to piece together a semblance of a semblance here guys.

While Pyrrha didn’t exactly say that Jaune possessed an infinite amount of Aura, the fact that she said he has a lot of it; so much so that he’s able to project it around his entire body is interesting. Up until now, I haven’t witnessed any other character in the series project such a strong Aura around themselves that they glow in the same manner as Jaune did. Maybe his semblance will be something along the lines of Restoration: Because he possesses such a high level of Aura, he is able to use it to help others. This way he can use his Aura to commit amazing feats: such as shield others with it and/or even use it to heal and replenish their strengths by restoring their own Aura. 

I hope it’s something  morally exciting like that and true to the nature of Jaune’s character...rather than a semblance that just makes him super OP for a limited (or unlimited) amount of time, destroying anything and anyone in his path (like Mario juiced up on star power in a Super Mario Bros game).

NO! That’ll be way too typical. Way too shounen protagonist cliché!

But Squiggles, what the fudge does Oscar’s semblance have to do with Jaune’s?

To me, Jaune seems to be suffering a block right now when it comes to his own untapped power. Based on what he said last episode, the reason for his block doesn’t seem to be a physical one nor even a lack of skill. So...maybe it’s something deeper...something psychological.

Remember the point I made earlier about if Oscar had a mind semblance then maybe he can connect to people he’s close to. Here’s where that ties in now.

With a mind semblance, maybe Oscar can enter the minds of those he connects to or look into the memories. Maybe Oscar unknowingly connects to Jaune during his sleep/meditation and ends up sharing a nightmare/thoughts with him about the events of the Fall of Beacon where he’s been constantly reliving the moment where Pyrrha abandoned him to fight Cinder. We have yet to truly touch base on how each member of the remaining Team JNPR felt after Pyrrha’s death. Sure we caught a little glimpse of it back in Volume 4 (during the first and last episodes of the volume, ironically) but still not too much. I’m particularly curious about Jaune’ feelings in this as he was there that night and was the last person Pyrrha spoke to before leaving for her inevitable death.

You can tell or at least immediately assume that he’s still grieving over losing Pyrrha. Remember that episode in Volume 4 when Ruby found him training at night to an old recording of Pyrhha’s mentoring. While a touching albeit a depressing scene, it definitely highlighted my point of Jaune’s internal grief over losing a close friend.

Maybe Oscar will help Jaune by entering his mind to help him deal with his grief. Perhaps Jaune is suffering from that kind of mental block. Maybe his guilt and grief over Pyrrha is what has been holding him back from unlocking his semblance.

Now that I think about it, it would make sense if that was true. Everything about Jaune’s development and improvement from amateur warrior into a full-fledged huntsman has more or less centred around Pyrrha. Pyrrha was the first person to acknowledge Jaune’s potential and reach out a helping hand to help him grow. She was the first person to truly believe that he could be a real huntsman before he believed it himself. So wouldn’t it make sense if SHE is the reason why he can’t move forward? I think Jaune’s reasoning for not unlocking his semblance has something to do with his feelings for Pyrrha. Feelings of never fully understanding her during her time of uncertainty and grief (y’know over the whole Fall Maiden scenario). Feelings of never getting the opportunity to reciprocate his own feelings for her (?).

Feelings of feeling as if he failed her, not just as a friend but as everything: a friend, someone that she felt worthy of her love; failure as a leader cause she was part of his team. She was his teammate. He was supposed to protect her. But...he didn’t! He failed her! He probably blames himself for being so powerless that Pyrrha felt it more fit to send him away to safety rather than stay and fight alongside her to stop Cinder. Maybe if he had been strong enough and less of a weak burden, maybe he could have saved her.

He might not have been able to stop Cinder especially at her full Fall Maiden strength but at least he might have been able to save Pyrrha. If it weren’t for his weakness and incompetence as a huntsman...maybe she’d still be alive and their team wouldn’t be so broken; incomplete and...cold without her.  

So maybe we’ll get a mental battle where Jaune faces off against his guilt which takes the form of Pyrrha. And after defeating that and overcoming those negative feelings, he either finally unlocks his semblance or comes much closer to unlocking it, feeling more confident that he’ll do soon. Y’know just in case the show writers wanna drag this out longer again.

All in all, those are my theories. It’s a pretty interesting theory. Kinda out there. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not canon. As I said, early. It’s a stretch.

I just think it would be cool if we got something like this. If Oscar’s semblance doesn’t have anything to do with the mind then I’ll be fascinated to see what it could be canonically.

That being said, as a top choice, I’m still gunning for another mind-based, mental semblance in the series. So far Emerald Sustrai is the only confirmed one with her mastery of mental hallucinations. Neo was technically another with her illusions however I’m not sure if she’s still part of the series. I know she’s in RWBY Chibi (then again, so are Pyrrha, Penny and Roman Torchwick and they’re all....YEAH!) and I know fans have been waiting hopefully for her to make a triumphant comeback.

However beyond those two, I want another character to possess a mental semblance especially a good guy (seriously Emerald and Neo are both villains). So yeah, we need a good guy main character to have a mental-based semblance.

CRWBY...C’MON! Golden opportunity here! OSCAR GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY!

I’m just saying; Oscar is right there. You’ve already set him up with having two minds. You’re basically writing his semblance for him. Make it a mental one.  

Give him a cool Professor X type of awesome mind semblance! I’m calling telepathy or some RWBY variant of it. Maybe he can read the minds of people he makes either physical or eye contact with. This could be a SWEET ability to have especially in combat cause then Oscar will be able to tell his opponent’s next move before they even make it. The only exception will is that he won’t be able to read certain people who either have a mental type semblance like him or have somehow been trained to block out mental intrusion abilities like that or...are Salem. I also call the ability to enter someone’s mind through their dreams or thoughts or just by having a strong connection with to a person due to an intimate bond (like a close friendship or relationship).

Fingers crossed here!

 But anyways, I think now I’m officially done with this musing. See you all in the next new episode! Hope we get another Mistral moment with Team JNRR and Oscar. As a matter of fact, each episode should contain a mandatory scene with them). Just saying.

~LitteMissSquiggles (2017)

[copperhawks]

OKAY SO IT’S FINALLY TIME TO TALK ABOUT DAINE AND NUMAIR ON BELTANE BECAUSE I LOVE THEM AND I HAVE HAD TO IGNORE THEM A FEW TIMES SO I COULD MAKE ONE LONG POST INSTEAD OF MANY SMALL ONES!

So I think I’ve mentioned in prior posts how much I adore that Daine and Numair’s relationship is the one most often used for exposition because, while it’s obviously exposition about the characters and the world, it also just shows such an interesting aspect to their relationship. Numair trusts Daine’s view of the world, and while he doesn’t take it entirely at face value, he certainly respects her opinions and the information she does share. And Daine, in return, always seems pretty ready to give it to him. She very VERY rarely refuses to answer a question he asks her about Galla or about her brothers. Usually, if she does, it’s because it’s something private that would be better answered by Sav himself, but that’s about it.

So, twice this chapter, we get Daine expositing at Numair.

The first is while they’re waiting to pick up Bon Bon at Eloise’s and Daine talks about Sav’s relationship to religion and how it relates to Beltane in particular.

Numair finds the subject of religion fascinating and clearly wants to hear her opinions on it, but Daine ends up changing the subject instead to Sav’s choice of outfit for Numair. She says she likes Sav’s choice to dress Numair in the styles of his chosen home, saying that on her first Beltane, Sav did much the same for her.

I spoke in the Sav/Numair post about how they are kindred spirits, sharing a very specific pain that no one else could understand.

Daine and Numair have something similar and that one comes straight out of canon. Both of them were forced to flee their homes in disgrace, leaving behind everything they knew and make a new home somewhere else. In the books, this was Tortall for both of them, with Numair being the one to show her why he chose Tortall for himself. In this fic, Daine’s new home was Cria. But that shared pain of their pasts still brings them together, still gives them something to connect over the same way it does for Sav and Numair. And this time, at least for now, it’s Daine showing her home to Numair. Numair has lost his home again, temporarily, stuck in Galla for the time being, forced to try to make as much of a home out of it as he can. Through their question and answer sessions, Daine shows Numair what kind of home this place can, and what kind of family these people can be. She often turns these little expository bits into little anecdotes about Sav and Don and Constant, bringing Numair just that little bit further into the family she made for herself.

How fortuitous that Numair managed to meet both of his kindred spirits in the same place while on a mission that had nothing to do with either of them.

The second bit of exposition comes after the face painting scene where Numair chooses to ask Daine to explain the King’s facepaint and its meaning. He knows that he’d likely get better and more information from Sav, but asking Sav would be insensitive and Sav’s run off anyway. Daine explains that the fire and thorns depicted in the face paint are meant to be a reminder that the monarchy doesn’t come without its consequences for the people and is the sitting monarch’s way of acknowledging that.

This part’s more about Don and Sav than it is about Daine and Numair and I’ve talked a lot about Don and Sav, so we’re just gonna skip right on over that.

Their next scene is the dancing bit where they try to come together and just CAN’T. Or don’t, in Daine’s case. Which, yeah, all kinda of metaphors about their current and future relationship here.

Obviously none of this is meant to be romantic, yet, Numair has admitted more than once that he’s falling in love with Sav, regardless of how much he knows it’s not a forever thing. It’s probably one of the first times he’s LET himself love someone since Ozorne (it’s only been about 5-6 years and 2-3 of those he spent on the run).

But his relationship with Daine, while not yet romantic, is just as important and meaningful as what he is building with Sav. In some ways, they are two sides of the same coin. Sav and Daine are both kindred spirits to Numair, sharing some of the pain of his history. With Sav, their connection during the healing session broke down a barrier between them that led to something more romantic, more sensual, a little sooner. Daine is still very guarded around Numair and she is his student, so there’s some distance Numair just isn’t able to cross with her yet. But Numair has brought a lot to Daine’s life: acceptance, belief, knowledge. She isn’t broken, she isn’t crazy, she isn’t wrong. She can control her magic, she doesn’t have to live the rest of her life in fear of it controlling her.

And Daine is the one helping this place feel more real. She’s the one who answers his questions, the one who broadens his understanding of it, without any real judgment or frustration or censure. He’s got a lot of questions and that’s something Sav’s made note of as an endearingly annoying quality, but Daine’s never really had an issue answering Numair’s questions unless it pertained to her own insecurities. Daine is HIS teacher as much as he is hers, she is his guide, an anchor of sorts. Daine leans on him when she needs to for support with her magic, the greatest fear she has right now. And Numair leans on her right back, when he needs a way to make sense of the world he’s found himself in. Both of them hold each other up without hesitation.

Any reader of this fic who’s read the Immortals quartet before knows these two end up together. They just do. So during the dance, we keep seeing them reach for each other and failing to grasp hold. They are separated by Numair’s lack of understanding, and then by Rain bringing politics into it, and then by Daine dodging Numair. They’ve got some obstacles to overcome before they can dance together and before they can come together as the couple we know they become.

Which is why their final scene is so beautiful.

The last dance of Beltane, at least the last that we see, is a flower chain dance. People are meant to create little flower chains that wrap around their wrists and then connect their chains to someone else’s and hold hands, growing larger and larger until you have a good sized circle and then you dance.

Numair keeps himself somewhat separate as he sees Sav and Constant begin the circle themselves, coming together in harmony for the first time in a while. People keep adding on: Adel and Elspeth, Don and Solange, Rain and Nora, Eloise.

Numair is happy just to watch this time, until he feels someone come up to him and hold his hand.

Daine wants to make up for the dance they didn’t get to share earlier, but for her own reasons, she also doesn’t want to interrupt the growing circle of their friends and family and chooses instead to dance with Numair alone.

It suited his greedy nature to have both her hands to hold instead of just one, and he was deeply touched by her gifting him her sole attention during a dance designed to forge connections.

At the end of it, he leans out and thanks her, and calls her magelet for the second time. Unlike the first, where it makes Daine shut him out, this time it earns Numair a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Daine CHOOSES Numair. She CHOOSES to dance with him and with him alone.

If acceptance is a major theme of Sav and Numair’s relationship, CHOICE is the major theme of Daine and Numair’s. Numair is brought there by the Badger and told to help her, but the choice was still mostly up to Numair. He chose to help her not because a god told him to but because she’s human, because she’s in pain and he can’t abide people being in pain when he can do something about it. He chose to care about her. He chose to stay when he had the chance to go home. He chose to be honest with her.

And in return, Daine has chosen to trust him. She has chosen to help him, to guide him. She has chosen to like him. 

They missed each other before, with Daine’s choice to dodge Numair for Rain, choose the comfort of the known over the risk of the unknown. But now, given the choice between her brothers and her friends or Numair, she chooses Numair. Even when Numair assumes they’re just going to joint he chain together, Daine asks to stay separate. Which suits Numair just fine.

Sav and Numair are very alike and their relationship is massively meaningful to both of them. One of the reasons they could never last is their loyalties to Tortall and to Galla. Sav could never love Tortall as Numair does, he could never make Tortall his home. And Numair can’t do the same for Galla. He’s already had to leave one home behind and start anew, give his loyalties to people who saved him and gave him a new life, he won’t abandon them. Sav has promised himself to the people of Galla, he feels responsible for them, and cannot abandon them.

But Daine can. Daine’s already had to leave one home and one family behind in a way Sav has not. She knows she can make a new home if she has to, she often has run away from the one she made in Cria in order to spare them her own instability. As much as she clearly loves Sav and Don and Constant and Rain, their love is all that might keep her in Galla. It’s not Galla itself that she stays for.

She could make a home in Tortall with Numair. She could allow their roles to swap as he shows her his home, answer her questions, help her understand how it works, just as she’s done for him in Galla. She could learn to love the people of Tortall as Numair does, so long as she knew the one she has in Galla is safe.

It’s not like Sav and Don, where they isolate themselves from the rest of the world, fractioning off their attention and their love in favor of each other. Daine and Numair are still there, within reach of the people they love, able to participate in their joy together, while still making a smaller space just for them to be in. Still connected, still whole.

[j3934]

Elective Week 1

In our first lesson in my elective, which focused on drawing. Our main aim was to ‘Generate a range of drawings in response to object’.

The first thing we had to do was find an object that we could draw from that also relates to our idea, so I decided to bring a tiger plush, that came from Colchester Zoo, a couple of years back.

I chose this because it will;

1. Help me when it comes to drawing in detail (looking and things such as fur)

2. It still relates to the cute and cartoon style I feel comfortable doing.

To start the lesson we had to talk about our item that we brought in, to then organise a list of words to describe our object to keep in consideration for when drawing later on, my list contains to words of;

-Toy

-Small

-Fluffy

-Soft

-Beady

-Cute

Then we had to do two drawings of our item, but we were put under specific rules; It has to be continuous line and each drawing must be drawn in different media.

My first one was pencil, the thing I noticed right away was that I did not have enough time to do the entire body and the biggest reason why that is, is because I was focusing too much on trying to get the line work perfect and that made me be slow with my drawing and run out of time.

I kept this in mind when doing the charcoal drawing, and I would only go around the line once and be a little fast with it, I expected this to make the work look rushed and messy, but it actually came out well and gave me more time to add detail and was more successful.

Once we did those, we then played enough with mark making, with look at different techniques and styles and media for us to choose and help us for when we do one final big drawing of our object.

The first page I did was ink and I tried multiple methods out, such as flicking the paint brush for a splash effect, switching to a stick for smaller lines and dots, etc.

But I figured that I wanted to stick to the charcoal idea, since it was already successful at the beginning of the session and it would be very odd and a bad idea to suddenly switch to ink for the last bit of the lesson, since there is a chance my final drawing will not be good enough to show any improvement in my drawing or sketching skills, which is what these next 3 weeks are for.

So I decided to do some charcoal mark making instead and the teacher actually gave me a very good suggestion for what I could possibly do. Since my object has a lot of far on it, she suggested I could draw using the charcoal on its side to help give the fur look, so I took that advice and did a whole page on it.

Overall I think ditching ink for charcoal was a great idea and I will use the idea of using the charcoal on its side to make the fur look like it is there for when I do my giant final drawing.

(The drawing currently is not up yet as I do not have a picture yet :( )

[elstonsblog]

May – Aug

In my last reflection, I spoke about doing a mix of larger and smaller pieces of work, Childs Alphabet etc. I think those months set me up nicely for what I've created/been part of between May-August. Over these 4 months, there have been dips in creating work due to doing things other than the drawing which has slowed down my progression of skills/experimentation. These dips haven’t impacted my 3x week posting schedule on social media but more the larger personal projects that needed to be chipped away at... haven’t been started. I hope to change this in October, I would say September but we’re already halfway through it so September will be used as a buffer month to get everything back in order before I get going properly again. 

 My goals in my last reflection were: 

Put the work in to ensure a successful exhibition in July 

Spend time working on targets set 

Find and talk to some local creatives 

Put together a PDF Portfolio 

Start putting together a self-promo pack 

 And I've completed the following: 

Put the work in to ensure a successful exhibition in July 

Find and talk to some local creatives 

Put together a PDF Portfolio 

The Land + Sea exhibition took a lot of time and preparation, I spent 7 weeks of evenings on just making the artwork. I ended up with 4 a3 giclee prints and 48 a5 hand-drawn pieces to be displayed along with my mum's paintings. The event was short but well-received. The work I created was purposely made to sell so I drew more common seaside themes (beach huts, fishermen, sea creatures, seaside scenes and boats) to suit the space we were exhibiting and the audience of the village.  

 The making on the a3 scenes was done using my normal process, the pieces had more elements to them than I usually put in and it was interesting to see how that affected the workflow and timescale of making them. I printed them on Giclee so that the colour vibrancy stayed close to what it looked like on the screen. Photo rag paper feels nice too. I’ll print using Giclee again, the downfall is that every print is individual and there isn't a way of doing multiples without spending out a lot of cash in advance.  

 At the start of preparing for the exhibition, I was conscious that I hadn't drawn anything just by hand for quite a while and I felt that it was something I needed to get my confidence back up with so I decided for the a5 images that they would all be hand-drawn. I used rag paper, ink and gouache paint to keep the colours as bright as they would have been digital. I made 12 pieces in each of the 4 topics (beach huts, fishermen, sea creatures & boats). I gave myself a week to complete 12 drawings and repeated that until all 48 were done. It was a quick turnaround which meant I didn’t overthink it but I also would say that they’re not my best work – having 12 of each gave room for variety within the area and it was interesting to see which ones different people liked the most. It’s funny my favourite ones to do were the sea creatures yet the people that came preferred the beach huts and fishermen. Some feedback during the show was that the set looked most impactful when they were shown together, it could be that I create a print with all individual’s on – this would only really work for the beach huts and fishermen as the size of each person/hut is similar. This is something I'm not in a rush to do during the winter months, but I will return to this for the start of spring. 

I think it was a good thing to have done as it helped me to see a physical audience and test what people like and dislike. The process of making for it kept my focus and showed that if I want to, I can chip away at larger pieces/projects rather than always making small fast work.  

 In August I started putting together a portfolio and website which made me take stock of what I'd created during the year. It was good to do this, but I quickly realised that I'd made a lot of images and not many of them had been shaped into projects/outcomes, so it looked sparse compared to my social media accounts. Also, that pretty much everything I've done has been personal projects and competitions as I haven’t reached out and contacted anyone about doing work for them. This needs to change. I need to start putting myself out there. I’m happy with how my portfolio is currently looking in terms of flow/work - I would like to add some basic animation into the pdf document to make it more engaging, once this is done, I will send be sending it out. I need to put the time into researching who and where I could get work - I know that it’s best to start with editorials so in the coming months I will research into art directors. I’m still under the impression that it is best to send out physical things to spark interest rather than be just another email. This is something that I also want to work on, this will take more time as I would expect that the physical work needs to be more specific and personally addressed to them. I know I'm going around in circles and I need to cut the crap and just email people. If that doesn’t work, then try something new rather than thinking I need to do everything at the same time, and it needs to be perfect. I need to see it as a process as currently, I'm getting nowhere. This 'business’ side doesn’t come naturally to me I'd quite happily be in a cave and draw for the rest of time if I could but that’s just not how it works. 

In some parts of May-Aug, my inspiration levels were running dry, so I started looking further afield for inspiration. I realised when drawing an Egyptian god for work that all the documentation of ancient Egypt was people drawn sideways – which is also my favourite angle to draw people. so I took a trip to the British Museum to draw lots of wall carvings. I focussed more on Assyria’s carvings, copying the poses but modernising them with sliders and socks and trying to think about what they’d be saying to each other. I hadn’t mixed in much speech in my drawings for a long while, and.. I think to do it well takes a practice that I haven’t been doing – I don’t make much in terms of comics/narrative pieces. I would like to stretch this muscle a bit more as after going to Hackney Comic and Zine fair I got hyped about comics again so I'm trying not to let the inspiration for it fizzle out before I start doing something. I think the images were successful, but the text/speech was too fragmented for a narrative. This is something I want to work on as zines/comics are great things and I need to start making them so that I can take them to stalls.  

During these 4 months, my process has continued to naturally refine for digital work (adding in illustrator as part of making). I have started to realise a reliance on compositing the images digitally. For example, when I draw by hand, I draw separate elements to then digitally fit together. This has both benefits and disadvantages; it makes pieces more editable and saves the time of me trying to draw it perfect all in one. The downside is that I'm over-relying on this and barely ever now drawing something fully for fear of messing up. I’m going to start combatting this again by making sure I add more work into my flash book. (My flash book is a photo album that I use to hold and store fully drawn pieces of work so that someday I can tattoo them on people). 

 I think since January my work and confidence overall have grown a lot. I’ve found a variety of colours I like using and I'm surer in the work I'm producing. I have seemed to stay very close to my Berol pen, but I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I have been finding it easier to define my work/ approach:  

I’m an Essex based Illustrator raised on a steady diet of cartoons and loud music; both of those things have influenced my approach to illustration. I like to communicate using block colour and bold lines to express what is being said with confidence.  

In my practice, I try to articulate the workings of my mind in relation to the ‘real’ world with the hope to examine and display my presence. I’ve always been intrigued with different ways of communicating, stories, morals and ideas. I get a lot of inspiration from songs, books and the mundane around me and use this information to help formulate an idea for a piece of work.    

I’ve grown to realise that I learn best by doing, so throughout the process of idea to the final piece, it can be revised, shaped and moulded until it looks and feels right. Projects are worked out methodically in terms of the steps that need to be done to create the outcome, what it is I’m trying to achieve and how best to communicate that through the medium used. A lot of the time, projects give me a chance to find new inspirations through researching an area that I’m not familiar with, this along with my existing interests feed into the outcome.  

I would say in my most recent work the overarching theme is a positive retaliation to the current socio/political climate that we’re living in. Within that, there are sub-strands of my work focusing on mental health, politics and societal intangible needs; using what’s around me and trying to draw out something hopeful so that the final pieces communicate positive messages. 

But I am still struggling to understand where and how I fit into illustration work. I hope this will come with time and perseverance. 

Overall, these last few months have been productive. I’ve done work that I wouldn’t usually do and I'm slowly creeping out from under my rock. I think it’s hard to reflect on such a large amount of time properly, so I'll try not to leave so much time between each time, next time. I think a shorter one every month will be more beneficial for me going forward to recap and set my focus for the coming month.  

Going forward my plans for October are: 

To complete Inktober and make it into a zine  

Go to 2 Drink and Draw sessions 

Find 10 suitable art directors/contacts 

Start working on a comic 

Spend time working on targets set 

Plan out Christmas merch plan and start making 

Apply to guardian competition 

[mysticsparklewings]

Tombow Recycled Colored Pencil Review

Look! I finally got some more colored pencils to try out!   This time we're looking at the Tombow Recycled Colored Pencils. Tombow is probably best known for their water-based dual brush pens, which I have a few of, but these and their other line, the Irojiten colored pencils (which are a bit fancier and noticeably more expensive than these), are more intriguing to me. These pencils specifically are called "recycled" pencils because if you look closely at the pencils in person, each one has a couple of zigzag lines dotted along the barrel/wood casing. These are "finger joints" where partial pieces of wood have been joined together to make a piece the proper length for making colored pencils, whereas most normal colored pencils just use whole pieces of wood and, apparently, thus generate a lot of wood-waste. But what really caught my attention about the recycled colored pencils, and why I ended up getting them before getting the Irojitens even though the packaging and idea behind those are ridiculously attractive to me, is because the word on the internet is that the core of these pencils used the exact same formula as the Irojitens. This is important because the 24 set of Recycled Pencils goes for about $14 on Amazon, and anywhere from $13-$30 depending on where else you look. But any of the three sets of 30 Irojiten pencils can go anywhere from $25-$50 depending on where you look, and while there are only 24 Recycled pencil colors, there are 90 Irojiten colors (the full set going for about $80-$100, again depending on where you look), so you'll end up paying a lot more to get the full set of those. What that means then, if they are indeed the same core--I couldn't find confirmation on Tombow's website or the Amazon listing, so it could very well just be a very strong rumor--that these are a cheaper way to try out the formula for the Irojiten pencils to see if you even want to invest in them. Hoping this was one of the times the internet is right, that's what I did. I'll get my big complaints out of the way first: I wish there were more colors, the pencils are a bit of the harder side (but not to the point they're painful to work with), and the white and metallics fell a little short for me. But, even so, I think the pencils are pretty nice for their price point. So let's take a bit of a deep dive and I'll address those things as they come up. The first thing I noticed once I actually had the pencils in my hand is that they're designed similarly to the Caran D'ache Luminance and Faber Castell PITT Pastel pencils, both of which are considered high/artist quality pencils and their price points reflect that very strongly. (Translation: Those pencils are hecka expensive). Most of the pencil is the naked wood casing, but the very ends, about 1/4 of an inch, are dipped in what's supposed to be the color of the pencil. The pencils, as well as the hinged tin they come in, have a lot of either Japanese or Vietnamese printed on them. (I've heard multiple times that Tombow is a Japanese company but these pencils both on the packaging and on the pencils themselves say there were made in Vietnam, and as uncultured American swine my untrained eyes can't tell the difference between the two written languages) This makes figuring out which color you have a wee bit tricky, but the color names are printed inside the lid of the tin and each pencil is numbered and they're laid out in the correct order, so if you can remember which color is which number, you should be okay. This problem could also be eased by some washi tape either on the tin with the number or one the pencils with the names (or both), but I got used to the numbers/placement to figure out which ones I wanted pretty quickly. This would be a much bigger problem if this was a larger set, though. Speaking of which, about those colors... For a 24 set, I do feel like you get a pretty good range; There's a white, black, pink, peachy/light skin tone color, even a gray and two metallics: silver and gold. Comparing this color range to both the Prismacolor 24 set and the Crayola Artist/Blend & Shade 24 set, I do wish they'd swapped one of the yellowish colors for a light turquoise/blue-green color like the other two sets have, and if I'm really splitting hairs then swapping the metallics for another lighter skin tone/peachy/tan color and/or light purple/lavender would've been really nice. But this set has a nice gray, which neither of the other sets do, and otherwise is pretty well-rounded for a small set, in my humble opinion. There is one thing that bugs me about this color selection though; there's one pencil, 16 Ultramarine, that from the paint on the pencil looks like the typical darker warm blue color you'd expect Ultramarine to be, but when you swatch it out, the color is noticeably lighter. So, in reality, it's about the same darkness/value as the regular 15 Blue. This is disappointing because that means unless you use black there's not a good darker blue in the set to shade with. The irony is that another color, 23 Magenta, is a lot more saturated/vibrant on the pencil than it is swatched. This is less disappointing because the slightly darker, more muted hot pink color is arguably more useful that the brighter, more fuchsia-ish color would've been. Otherwise, the colors on the pencils match the swatches fairly well. But I think the disparity is largely because there's no white base layer between the wood of the pencil and the color dips, and so the colors on the pencils are all slightly tainted by the color of the wood. Even with a layer of white pencil, with these or any other pencils, my tan and gray papers always affect the final colors, so it does matter. Anyway. As for performance, for the price point--which I'm garnering as the $13-$14 range because that's what I paid, even though it can be higher--they do really well. They're not as soft as Prismacolor, but from my pre-purchase research, I had already expected that for both these and the Irojitens. And I mean, if we're being realistic as this point there's only like two pencil brands I will ever expect to be as soft as good ol' Prismacolor--the Caran D'ache Luminance and the Holbein pencils from Japan--but those are ludicrously expensive and so it will probably be quite a while before I can see how true that impression holds. Unless the pencils are so hard/unpigmented that it hurts my hand to use them when coloring for long amounts of time (20 minutes or more sessions), I typically don't count that super harshly against the pencils. But I digress. It is a little queer though because these pencils--it's like they're somewhat soft at the same time that they're noticeably rigid, which reminded me somewhat of the Faber Castell Polychromos, which are an oil-based pencil. I couldn't find a definitive answer--on the Tombow website or the Amazon listing--on if these pencils or the Irojitens are supposed to be oil or wax-based (though I could have missed it somewhere), but this combined with the more creamy feel on the paper makes me think they're actually a strong wax/oil hybrid. When they go down on the paper, the amount of friction and general feel is nearly identical to wax-based pencils (creamy feel as opposed to oil pencils having a silky/gliding feel), but the more rigid nature and the fact that these prefer to be layered up slowly rather than trying to go right for a heavy pressure layer to get the best color pay-off is definitely more in the family of oil-based pencils. And they don't have as much a of a "waxy" sheen when you move them in the light, again like oil-based pencils. I'd almost say they are oil-based, but there's just enough feel of a wax-based pencil, and the way they look on the paper, I don't feel comfortable sticking them squarely in that category. As for layering and blending, my research had also pre-cautioned me that these do better to layer them up slowly instead of trying to burnish them in right away. And that does indeed seem to be the case, just like with the aforementioned Polychromos. You can get decent color pay-off from going in heavy straight away, but it's easier on the hand and I would say looks and feels better to use layers instead. They do blend better than I expected from the way they felt; it's not super-duper smooth like Prismacolor or like I've had with Schpirerr Farben sometimes, but it is pretty smooth and as you can see here is very workable. It helps that they do appear to have the layering power you'd expect from other oil or oil-hybrid pencils, meaning while the first couple of layers look a little rough and concerning, once you've built them up they smooth out and you can keep going to build them up for noticeably longer than your typical wax-based pencil. All this in mind and backing up a little bit, the white was disappointing to me because it's not that strong/pigmented on its own. It's not the worst I've ever seen, but unless you put the white down first and pre-plan where you're going to want that strong white highlight and avoid going over it with other colors, it's not very good for adding strong white color back into a drawing over other color layers. But it is pretty good for blending, which I find tends to be the give and take on white-colored pencils: if they can't stand strongly on their own they usually work better as blenders. You'll also notice that despite my earlier comment on not having a proper darker blue/Ultramarine color, I was able to fake it pretty well here by layering up purples, blues, and a bit of black. And overall I'd say they do mix pretty well to make new colors, so the smaller set size is a little less of a problem than I initially expected. I also have to mention that in testing they have some of the best erasing I've ever seen for colored pencils that aren't specifically marketed as being erasable. Naturally, they don't erase 100% completely just like no colored pencil does, but it did really surprise me. Also, my white gel pens were a little fussy over top of these pencils. Not as bad as some other pencils I've tried, but they responded very similarly to how my other wax-based pencils do. But obviously, I was able to get them to work without too much headache. Overall, I give the pencils a 3.5 out of 5, which is pretty good as far as my standards for colored pencils go. I did take into account that I'm not crazy about the hinged lid on the tin them come in, but that's not a huge dealbreaker as it doesn't make the tin annoying or outright unusual to me, unlike other packaging issues have in the past. Also, of course, I took into account the other issues I mentioned, along with even my beloved Prismacolors only get a 4.5 out of 5 for minor issues and there always being room for improvement, even for favorites or "the best." Like I said earlier, the pencils really did surprise me for the price that I paid. That said, this does make me want to get the Irojitens to compare and see the proof in the pudding as to whether they really are the same core or not, as well as if they are to just have many more colors at my disposal to pick from, as in the end, I think that really was my biggest problem with these; 24 is just not a huge range of color to pick from. And, like I said at the very beginning, the packaging gimmick for the Irojitens constantly calls my name, but I'll save talking about that for the day that I actually have them in my hands, whenever that ends up being. I'd say if you want an experience that manages to hit somewhere between Polychromos/oil-based colored pencils and Prismacolor/wax-based colored pencils, that are still pretty nice quality and won't totally break the bank, these are very much worth a try. And now if you'll excuse me, I have some other supplies and some backlogged art on my to-do list that demand my attention. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram