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letterboxd · 3 years

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Blurring the Line.

As a new Space Jam film beams down to Earth, Kambole Campbell argues that a commitment to silliness and a sincere love for the medium is what it takes to make a great live-action/animation hybrid.

The live-action and animation hybrid movie is something of a dicey prospect. It’s tricky to create believable interaction between what’s real and what’s drawn, puppeteered or rendered—and blending the live and the animated has so far resulted in wild swings in quality. It is a highly specific and technically demanding niche, one with only a select few major hits, though plenty of cult oddities. So what makes a good live-action/animation hybrid?

To borrow words from Hayao Miyazaki, “live action is becoming part of that whole soup called animation”. Characters distinct from the humans they interact with, but rendered as though they were real creatures (or ghosts), are everywhere lately; in Paddington, in Scooby Doo, in David Lowery’s (wonderful) update of Pete’s Dragon.

The original ‘Pete’s Dragon’ (1977) alongside the 2016 remake.

Lowery’s dragon is realized with highly realistic lighting and visual-effects work. By comparison, the cartoon-like characters in the 1977 Pete’s Dragon—along with other films listed in Louise’s handy compendium of Disney’s live-action animation—are far more exaggerated. That said, there’s still the occasional holdout for the classical version of these crossovers: this year’s Tom and Jerry replicating the look of 2D through 3D/CGI animation, specifically harkens back to the shorts of the 1940s and ’50s.

One type of live-action/animation hybrid focuses on seamless immersion, the other is interested in exploring the seams themselves. Elf (2003) uses the aberration of stop-motion animals to represent the eponymous character as a fish out of water. Ninjababy, a Letterboxd favorite from this year’s SXSW Festival, employs an animated doodle as a representation of the protagonist’s state of mind while she processes her unplanned pregnancy.

Meanwhile, every Muppets film ever literally tears at the seams until we’re in stitches, but, for the sake of simplicity, puppets are not invited to this particular party. What we are concerned with here is the overlap between hand-drawn animation and live-action scenes (with honorable mentions of equally valid stop-motion work), and the ways in which these hybrids have moved from whimsical confections to nod-and-wink blockbusters across a century of cinema.

Betty Boop and Koko the clown in a 1938 instalment of the Fleischer brothers’ ‘Out of the Inkwell’ series.

Early crossovers often involve animators playing with their characters, in scenarios such as the inventive Out of the Inkwell series of shorts from Rotoscope inventor Max Fleischer and his director brother Dave. Things get even more interactive mid-century, when Gene Kelly holds hands with Jerry Mouse in Anchors Aweigh.

The 1960s and ’70s deliver ever more delightful family fare involving human actors entering cartoon worlds, notably in the Robert Stevenson-directed Mary Poppins and Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and Chuck Jones’ puntastic The Phantom Tollbooth.

Jerry and Gene dance off their worries in ‘Anchors Aweigh’ (1945).

Mary Poppins is one of the highest-rated live-action/animation hybrids on Letterboxd for good reason. Its sense of control in how it engages with its animated creations makes it—still!—an incredibly engaging watch. It is simply far less evil than the singin’, dancin’ glorification of slavery in Disney’s Song of the South (1946), and far more engaging than Victory Through Air Power (1943), a war-propaganda film about the benefits of long-range bombing in the fight against Hitler. The studio’s The Reluctant Dragon (1941) also serves a propagandistic function, as a behind-the-scenes studio tour made when the studio’s animators were striking.

By comparison, Mary Poppins’ excursions into the painted world—replicated in Rob Marshall’s belated, underrated 2018 sequel, Mary Poppins Returns—are full of magical whimsicality. “Films have added the gimmick of making animation and live characters interact countless times, but paradoxically none as pristine-looking as this creation,” writes Edgar in this review. “This is a visual landmark, a watershed… the effect of making everything float magically, to the detail of when a drawing should appear in front or the back of [Dick] Van Dyke is a creation beyond my comprehension.” (For Van Dyke, who played dual roles as Bert and Mr Dawes Senior, the experience sparked a lifelong love of animation and visual effects.)

Julie Andrews, Dick Van Dyke and penguins, in ‘Mary Poppins’ (1964).

Generally speaking, and the Mary Poppins sequel aside, more contemporary efforts seek to subvert this feeling of harmony and control, instead embracing the chaos of two worlds colliding, the cartoons there to shock rather than sing. Henry Selick’s frequently nightmarish James and the Giant Peach (1996) leans into this crossover as something uncanny and macabre by combining live action with stop motion, as its young protagonist eats his way into another world, meeting mechanical sharks and man-eating rhinos. Sally Jane Black describes it as “riding the Burton-esque wave of mid-’90s mall goth trends and blending with the differently demonic Dahl story”.

Science-classroom staple Osmosis Jones (2001) finds that within the human body, the internal organs serve as cities full of drawn white-blood-cell cops. The late Stephen Hillenburg’s The Spongebob Squarepants Movie (2004) turns its real-life humans into living cartoons themselves, particularly in a bonkers sequence featuring David Hasselhoff basically turning into a speedboat.

David Hasselhoff picks up speed in ‘The Spongebob Squarepants Movie’ (2004).

The absurdity behind the collision of the drawn and the real is never better embodied than in another of our highest-rated live/animated hybrids. Released in 1988, Robert Zemeckis’ Who Framed Roger Rabbit shows off a deep understanding—narratively and aesthetically—of the material that it’s parodying, seeking out the impeccable craftsmanship of legends such as director of animation Richard Williams (1993’s The Thief and the Cobbler), and his close collaborator Roy Naisbitt. The forced perspectives of Naisbitt’s mind-bending layouts provide much of the rocket fuel driving the film’s madcap cartoon opening.

Distributed by Walt Disney Pictures, Roger Rabbit utilizes the Disney stable of characters as well as the Looney Tunes cast to harken back to America’s golden age of animation. It continues a familiar scenario where the ’toons themselves are autonomous actors (as also seen in Friz Freleng’s 1940 short You Ought to Be in Pictures, in which Daffy Duck convinces Porky Pig to try his acting luck in the big studios).

Daffy Duck plots his rise up the acting ranks in ‘You Ought to Be in Pictures’ (1940).

Through this conceit, Zemeckis is able to celebrate the craft of animation, while pastiching both Chinatown, the noir genre, and the mercenary nature of the film industry (“the best part is… they work for peanuts!” a studio exec says of the cast of Fantasia). As Eddie Valiant, Bob Hoskins’ skepticism and disdain towards “toons” is a giant parody of Disney’s more traditional approach to matching humans and drawings.

Adult audiences are catered for with plenty of euphemistic humor and in-jokes about the history of the medium. It’s both hilarious (“they… dropped a piano on him,” one character solemnly notes of his son) and just the beginning of Hollywood toying with feature-length stories in which people co-exist with cartoons, rather than dipping in and out of fantasy sequences. It’s not just about how the cartoons appear on the screen, but how the human world reacts to them, and Zemeckis gets a lot of mileage out of applying ’toon lunacy to our world.

Bob Hoskins in ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ (1988).

The groundbreaking optical effects and compositing are excellent (and Hoskins’ amazing performance should also be credited for holding all of it together), but what makes Roger Rabbit such a hit is that sense of controlled chaos and a clever tonal weaving of violence and noirish seediness (“I’m not bad… I’m just drawn that way”) through the cartoony feel. And it is simply very, very funny.

It could be said that, with Roger Rabbit, Zemeckis unlocked the formula for how to modernize the live-action and animation hybrid, by leaning into a winking parody of what came before. It worked so perfectly well that it helped kickstart the ‘Disney renaissance' era of animation. Roger Rabbit has influenced every well-known live-action/animation hybrid produced since, proving that there is success and fun to be had by completely upending Mary Poppins-esque quirks. Even Disney’s delightful 2007 rom-com Enchanted makes comedy out of the idea of cartoons crossing that boundary.

When a cartoon character meets real-world obstacles.

Even when done well, though, hybrids are not an automatic hit. Sitting at a 2.8-star average, Joe Dante’s stealthily great Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003) is considered by the righteous to be the superior live-action/animated Looney Tunes hybrid, harkening back to the world of Chuck Jones and Frank Tashlin. SilentDawn states that the film deserves the nostalgic reverence reserved for Space Jam: “From gag to gag, set piece to set piece, Back in Action is utterly bonkers in its logic-free plotting and the constant manipulation of busy frames.”

With its Tinseltown parody, Back in Action pulls from the same bag of tricks as Roger Rabbit; here, the Looney Tunes characters are famous, self-entitled actors. Dante cranks the meta comedy up to eleven, opening the film with Matthew Lillard being accosted by Shaggy for his performance in the aforementioned Scooby Doo movie (and early on throwing in backhanded jokes about the practice of films like itself as one character yells, “I was brought in to leverage your synergy!”).

Daffy Duck with more non-stop banter in ‘Looney Tunes: Back in Action’ (2003).

Back in Action is even more technically complex than Roger Rabbit, seamlessly bringing Looney Tunes physics and visual language into the real world. Don’t forget that Dante had been here before, when he had Anthony banish Ethel into a cartoon-populated television show in his segment of Twilight Zone: The Movie. Another key to this seamlessness is star Brendan Fraser, at the height of his powers here as “Brendan Fraser’s stunt double”.

Like Hoskins before him, Fraser brings a wholehearted commitment to playing the fed-up straight man amidst cartoon zaniness. Fraser also brought that dedication to Henry Selick's Monkeybone (2001), a Roger Rabbit-inspired sex comedy that deploys a combo of stop-motion animation and live acting in a premise amusingly close to that of 1992’s Cool World (but more on that cult anomaly shortly). A commercial flop, Back in Action was the last cinematic outing for the Looney Tunes for some time.

Nowadays, when we think of live-action animation, it’s hard not to jump straight to an image of Michael Jordan’s arm stretching to do a half-court dunk to save the Looney Tunes from slavery. There’s not a lot that can be fully rationalized about the 1996 box-office smash, Space Jam. It is a bewildering cartoon advert for Michael Jordan’s baseball career, dreamed up off the back of his basketball retirement, while also mashing together different American icons. Never forget that the soundtrack—one that, according to Benjamin, “makes you have to throw ass”—includes a song with B-Real, Coolio, Method Man and LL Cool J.

Michael Jordan and teammates in ‘Space Jam’ (1996).

Space Jam is a film inherently born to sell something, predicated on the existing success of a Nike commercial rather than any obvious passion for experimentation. But its pure strangeness, a growing nostalgia for the nineties, and meticulous compositing work from visual-effects supervisor Ed Jones and the film’s animation team (a number of whom also worked on both Roger Rabbit and Back in Action), have all kept it in the cultural memory.

The films is backwards, writes Jesse, in that it wants to distance itself from the very cartoons it leverages: “This really almost feels like a follow-up to Looney Tunes: Back in Action, rather than a predecessor, because it feels like someone watched the later movie, decided these Looney Tunes characters were a problem, and asked someone to make sure they were as secondary as possible.” That attempt to place all the agency in Jordan’s hands was a point of contention for Chuck Jones, the legendary Warner Bros cartoonist. He hated the film, stating that Bugs would never ask for help and would have dealt with the aliens in seven minutes.

Space Jam has its moments, however. Guy proclaims “there is nothing that Deadpool as a character will ever have to offer that isn’t done infinitely better by a good Bugs Bunny bit”. For some, its problems are a bit more straightforward, for others it’s a matter of safety in sport. But the overriding sentiments surrounding the film point to a sort of morbid fascination with the brazenness of its concept.

Holli Would (voiced by Kim Basinger) and Frank Harris (Brad Pitt) blur the lines in ‘Cool World’ (1992).

Existing in the same demented… space… as Space Jam, Paramount Pictures bought the idea for Cool World from Ralph Bakshi as it sought to have its own Roger Rabbit. While Brad Pitt described it as “Roger Rabbit on acid” ahead of release, Cool World itself looks like a nightmare version of Toontown. The film was universally panned at the time, caught awkwardly between being far too adult for children but too lacking in any real substance for adults (there’s something of a connective thread between Jessica Rabbit, Lola Bunny and Holli Would).

Ralph Bakshi’s risqué and calamitously horny formal experiment builds on the animator’s fascination with the relationship between the medium and the human body. Of course, he would go from the immensely detailed rotoscoping of Fire and Ice (1983) to clashing hand-drawn characters with real ones, something he had already touched upon in the seventies with Heavy Traffic and Coonskin, whose animated characters were drawn into real locations. But no one besides Bakshi quite knew what to do with the perverse concept of Brad Pitt as a noir detective trying to stop Gabriel Byrne’s cartoonist from having sex with a character that he drew—an animated Kim Basinger.

Jack Deebs (Gabriel Byrne) attempts to cross over to Hollie Would in ‘Cool World’ (1992).

Cool World’s awkwardness can be attributed to stilted interactions between Byrne, Pitt and the animated world, as well as studio meddling. Producer Frank Mancuso Jr (who was on the film due to his father running Paramount) demanded that the film be reworked into something PG-rated, against Bakshi’s wishes (he envisioned an R-rated horror), and the script was rewritten in secret. It went badly, so much so that Bakshi eventually punched Mancuso Jr in the face.

While Cool World averages two stars on Letterboxd, there are some enthusiastic holdouts. There are the people impressed by the insanity of it all, those who just love them a horny toon, and then there is Andrew, a five-star Cool World fan: “On the surface, it’s a Lovecraftian horror with Betty Boop as the villain, featuring a more impressive cityscape than Blade Runner and Dick Tracy combined, and multidimensional effects that make In the Mouth of Madness look like trash. The true star, however, proves to be the condensed surplus of unrelated gags clogging the arteries of the screen—in every corner is some of the silliest cel animation that will likely ever be created.”

There are even those who enjoy its “clear response to Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, with David writing that “the film presents a similar concept through the lens of the darkly comic, perverted world of the underground cartoonists”, though also noting that without Bakshi’s original script, the film is “a series of half steps and never really commits like it could”. Cool World feels both completely deranged and strangely low-energy, caught between different ideas as to how best to mix the two mediums. But it did give us a David Bowie jam.

‘Space Jam: A New Legacy’ is in cinemas and on HBO Max now.

Craft is of course important, but generally speaking, maybe nowadays a commitment to silliness and a sincere love for the medium’s history is the thing that makes successful live-action/animation hybrids click. It’s an idea that doesn’t lend itself to being too cool, or even entirely palatable. The trick is to be as fully dotty as Mary Poppins, or steer into the gaucheness of the concept, à la Roger Rabbit and Looney Tunes: Back in Action.

It’s quite a tightrope to walk between good meta-comedy and a parade of references to intellectual property. The winningest strategy is to weave the characters into the tapestry of the plot and let the gags grow from there, rather than hoping their very inclusion is its own reward. Wait, you said what is coming out this week?

Related content

Rootfish Jones’s list of cartoons people are horny for

The 100 Sequences that Shaped Animation: the companion list to the Vulture story

Jose Moreno’s list of every animated film made from 1888 to the present

Follow Kambole on Letterboxd

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juliabohemian · 3 years

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the sky is falling

Apparently...

I have been a fan of LOKI since he first appeared on screen. I will admit that I did not seek out other fans on social media until after The Dark World. Mostly because I had a lot of other things going on in my life.

I distinctly remember being filled with hope that LOKI would appear in Age of Ultron, and being filled with hope that Ragnarok would magically resolve everything between LOKI and his family. I remember being disappointed about both. I remember having renewed hope that Infinity War or Endgame would somehow make up for those disappointments, only to be further let down by the kind of mediocre writing that is typical of blockbuster movies. That is a disappointment that many of us have shared, and even bonded over.

And I was so relieved to have a fandom where I could share my disappointment. I was happy to critically analyze what had been problematic about LOKI's story so far, even if most of it was due to poor/inconsistent writing as opposed to a conscious decision on anyone's part (minus Ragnarok, probably, but I digress). I was happy to have a place where I could write meta about problematic themes in fictional media and how they might negatively affect those who digest them.

When I found out the LOKI show was happening, I felt the same lurch in my gut that I'm sure you all felt. Will it suck? Will it just be another cash grab, using Tom Hiddleston as a lure? Even the trailers I was seeing in the months beforehand did nothing to quell my fears. The trailers were carefully edited for the sole purpose of gaining viewers for the show. Which is an almost laughable notion, since people would probably have watched it anyway. But I was still apprehensive, right up until the last minute.

Then, I watched episode one.

And I immediately realized a few things.

The first is that what we are seeing, now, is as close to 100% Tom-Hiddleston-approved as ANYTHING we have seen on screen so far.

Take a minute to let that soak in. What we are seeing is how Tom sees LOKI. It isn't the product of someone else's editing, or someone else's vision. This isn’t a product of LOKI being a side character who they simply don’t have time to develop. This is a show about LOKI.

The second thing I realized is that this show is almost like an AU story that exists separately from everything else. So, LOKI isn't going to be exactly like any other specific version we have seen before. And that's totally fine. Because he has never been in this situation before, we have no idea how he would behave under these circumstances. It is uncharted territory.

Now, I realize that not everyone in the fandom has written fiction, or knows what it's like to construct a long narrative. I can personally attest to throwing in an occasional plot device that made slightly less sense than I would like, simply to put the story where I wanted it to be. I can also attest to completely disregarding minor aspects of canon that would have rendered my story pointless or required me to write an additional 5 chapters, simply to explain them away. That is writing, folks.

What I DO know is that we have only seen episode 1. We don't know what the big picture is yet. And I can tell you that if I had written a story and planned the whole thing out and, after posting chapter 1, people had posted giant rants about how everything I'd done so far was wrong, I would be extremely concerned about the mental health of those people. And I would hope that they would stop reading my story and go find something else to do.

From a purely scientific perspective, we don’t have enough information to draw a conclusion. And yet, I have been inundated with Chicken Little posts about how the sky is falling. I am practically getting whiplash from scrambling to unfollow these people.

This show is not going to be perfect.

There are going to be things about it that you don't like.

It is totally okay not to like the show, or to simply dislike things about it. But PLEASE PLEASE acknowledge that you not liking something does not equate to it being problematic. It doesn't even equate to an objective measurement of the show's value. It just means that YOU don't like it. I feel like a lot of LOKI fans have an image in their heads of who they think LOKI is and they feel so strongly about it, that they would assert their headcanon as being more in character than whatever Tom Hiddleston might choose to do with LOKI. And frankly, that is very sad. It also means that those people will always be disappointed, because you have zero control over what Tom chooses to do with his character.

I think that after so much continued disappointment, many LOKI fans have learned to seek their dopamine reward from criticizing LOKI content, as opposed to actually enjoying it. Because, frankly, that affords them more control over the outcome. If we go into a situation assuming it will be bad, and it turns out to be bad, we get to pat ourselves on the back for our genius. If we go into it hoping that it will be good and it ends up being bad, then we have to cope with that negative feeling. And no one wants to feel disappointed over and over again.

And I’ve realized that all the time I spent ranting about what I didn’t like about the MCU has not been good for me, mentally. It is not healthy to dwell on negative things, unless that dwelling is somehow productive. And this hasn’t been productive. It hasn’t led to anything but more ranting and whining.

I am choosing to have an open mind, not because I think that everything is going to be wonderful, but because it is the most mentally healthy thing for me to do.

I am GRATEFUL to have this show.

Even if it ends up being less than awesome, I am still grateful to have a show that is all about LOKI, that gives us lots of Tom being LOKI on screen without anyone trying to steal the mic from him. I want to do my best to enjoy it. And so far, I am enjoying it.

And if, when the show is all over, I realize that it contained some genuinely problematic scenes or themes, I will explore those OBJECTIVELY. I will analyze them CRITICALLY.

But we're NOT there yet.

#loki show #juliabohemianrant #juliabohemian #loki positivity #loki

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rouiyan · 4 years

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𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘐 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the fourth volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: and when i fall, will you be there to catch me by the waist?

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst, fluff ✧ word count : 7.4k ✧ disclaimers : disclaimers — violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, bloody/gory scenes, mentions and allusions to character death, malintent

✧ author’s note — this is the one where i romanticize everything.

read volume three here: dearly departed.

prince donghyuck is running. he's sprinting almost, and his strapped bow and quiver hits his back with each of his coming strides. his hands are furious in breaking away the tall grasses that surround him on all sides with a blunt blade. cutting through them with swift flicks of his wrist. the dirt beneath his feet crunch and the blades of grass he's cut sway to the ground with slow and deliberate motions, avoiding the drag of gravity like paper in the wind. donghyuck is aware that he's leaving an obvious trail but there isn't time to spare if he doesn't want to meet death at his destination. he wished he'd been smart enough to take a horse, though he knows he would have had to abandon it as he drew close.

the skies are clear today, rare for the winter that has made itself evident in the past few weeks. there are no clouds to stir up a storm, and no threat of rain to muddle his sight. donghyuck pulls a compass from beneath his armored chest. his feet are still moving fast though his arms are now pulled in to read the display on the device. the grass that's no longer pushed back springs up and brushes the skin of his forehead, the skin under the cut of his hair, obtrusively. the needle points south albeit a tad east. he continues forth. the sun is just about setting, flakes of purple beginning to bleed into the blue and donghyuck swears he can hear the ocean. he swears it's near.

he breaks out into an open expanse, sudden in the way the grass stops short, but he sees soon enough that it stops short at the curb of a trodden dirt path. his hand against the ground, he feels the soil fine in between his fingers, sifting almost as finely as sand does. donghyuck's face tinges with the slightest annoyance in the realization that thin soil meant that tracks were covered up all the more easily, something that'd indeed be in his favor, if only there were tracks left to follow in the first place. the compass resurfaces again, the fine chain on which it hangs sloshing in the wind in conjunction with his hurried movements. lee donghyuck bites the bullet and recedes back into the mass of grassland, this time hurrying along the edge of the road whilst ducking once again in the cover of the reeds.

the sun is fast in waning and it's as if the prince is chasing it. he is on the descent of the hill himself when he begins to hear it clearly, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks, sputtering along the shore. he wishes he had time to go down and relish in the feeling of the water lapping between his toes, the salt and sand it carries shrugging off his dead skin. the sight he's first met with is the thatching of the roof, worn down and sodden through days of heavy rainfall. it sits like a weight upon the rest of the structure that soon forms in his line of vision. a decrepit shack, almost, or a sizable shack. the shiplack that holds the siding in place is doing the exact opposite, lifting off of its holds and fraying downwards into the ground, carrying pieces of the inner insulation of the walls with it. the shutters are absent in barricading the gaping holes the windows have abated to, the awning of the porch creases earthwards, blocking most of the front door. the visage reads, 'seaside home succumbs to the inexorable confines of loneliness and lack of care.' there is no other way to describe the forces that keep the assembly upright except the willfulness of a wicked hand.

donghyuck pauses and crouches to the roots of the turf. he peers between the strands to see a guard, no, two placed just before the widest cavity in the side of the house, the only way in he supposes. his fingers are quick to pluck the end of an arrow, to slot it in its place, to draw and arm back, an eye squinting. he's quick to duck under the cover of the grass once again when the arrow pierces the left of a guards' eye. he's quick to avoid ruffling the grass that would otherwise be giving away the whereabouts of his presence away to the other, frantic, guard. prince donghyuck is crouched at the foot of a tree when he draws another arrow, slots it, draws back, releases. he knows that death meets wherever the point of his arrows land, he's accustomed to it, he feels pride in knowing that one shot is all he needs to become the greater version of him, to decide who lives and who doesn't. one shot is all he needs to play god. at least, that is what you had told him on a lonely day of his fifth summer, the first summer he had spent at the northern palace but definitely not the last.

"and you'll keep staring from afar, will you? you in the creepers," you turned your head in exact to where he'd been crouching, "as if i wouldn't know." young donghyuck removed himself effectively from the brush, dusting off bracts from his trousers in effort to present himself with a little more ease. sheepily, he treaded across to a few yards behind where you were stood, stance rigid and facial muscles pulled taut when staring into the bullseye. you plucked an arrow, turned it over in your hands, fingers running along the ridges to inspect. prince donghyuck knew that you were the same age as him, he'd been taught of the four, of which he was one, who were birthed in the same year, in each of the kingdoms. he knew this, yet with the aura you're giving off, he couldn't help but think that you've been around for much longer. the arrow split the previous arrow in a clean half. both lodged into the red-marked center, fifty or so meters away and barely visible to the eye at such distance.

prince donghyuck stumbled to take a bow from the stand beside you. he placed an arrow clumsily between his fingers, strangely he felt the need to prove himself though he does just the opposite by fumbling. the arrow launched after his third try, but rather than taking on a straight course, it gave a feeble arc and lodged itself into the soil before him. the prince was a sight of vexation at this point, "my instructor said- he said…"

you crossed your arms over your chest, bow tucked neatly in between. "oh, i bet he said a whole bunch."

you taught him all you know and he learned with a newfound respect, though he was unwilling to admit to himself. you had him practice on a bird first, a bigger target than the red dot, so tiny that frustrations would surely be easy to come if he'd started there. donghyuck gave you an apprehensive glance behind his shoulders but you nudged him along with a nod of your head. it's the first time he hasn't missed. he never misses a shot after that. "is- is it dead?" donghyuck didn't dare peer over, afraid of what he might see.

"of course it is."

the five-year old boy was rendered a stuttering mess at this point, "d- did i just commit a felony?" shrugging, you plucked a stone from the shore of the creek, tossing it light across the water, "hunting is legal, if that's what you're asking."

"but i just killed a- a living thing!" he exclaims as if you hadn't said what you had said moments before. sighing, the next thing that comes from you left the boy in confoundment and annoyance at how curt you were, like an grown up he thought. "well, there are times where we are left with no choice but to comply with the blurred lines of right and wrong. there are times where we are left with no choice but to play god.”

his snappy attitude is all too quick to arise, no clue as to even what you were referring to and only in the knowledge that he disliked talking to you. "you're only five, just like me. what do you know?"

"i know a great deal," you turned abruptly to face the boy. you stepped in slow, paced motions, eyes strong and unwavering. he gulps as you spoke though unsure of why. "i know because i look for all my answers from what's put before me, not from my instructors."

prince donghyuck bites down on his lip, he wasn't nearly done with you yet, "so you're saying that you've learned all you know? then when will you learn that you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're already crown princess."

"i don't act. i am not an entertainer." he could not count the amount of times you've rendered him unable to process his thoughts. donghyuck can only retort back, "then what are you?"

"i am crown princess y/n, just as you've said it."

it's years later when he realizes why the earth seems to quiver beneath you, it's years later when he understands that it's because unlike the earth, soil that is bound by the pull of gravity, you've never allowed yourself to be limited to what something, someone, anything else subjects you to. you are a subject to no one, and that is why you will be queen one day.

he thinks this even as the second of the guards drop dead. he thinks this because he has never had less of a reason to carry out a task, yet he finds himself doing so with attentiveness to detail. donghyuck by no means could categorize you as manipulative, nor persuasive. he simply understands the way you work, the things you desire, the people you need by your side. even he, as much as he disagrees with the likes of prince jeno, he knows that only he can be your king.

the dust settles thick as he crosses through the threshold, one leg after another. he doesn't need to breathe to know that the air could suffocate if he didn't have his arm sleeve pressed into his nose. the inside of the cottage, the wreck that it is, seemed to be intact, for the most part. donghyuck even thinks that if you were to run a thick duster across the tapestries, the carpet, the counters, the armoire, most everything, that the place could live up to the coziness of just about a decade ago, minus the blatant hole in the wall and the condition of the walls itself.

donghyuck does his best, he's sure, but the halls twist in ways meant to confuse and he ends up at the same stairwell all too many times to count. he finds it soon enough, just as the sun regresses into night. the one stairwell that led down in the midst of all the ups. the absence of light is the only noticeable thing by sight, the moon isn’t nearly upon the horizon, but he uses all that he knows to make out the shine of the door at the foot of the steps.

skipping the last few steps, he rams into it with all his body weight. the brass, weakened through weather and age, cripples beneath him revealing the darker of night.

the first thing donghyuck does is cough, there is no way around that. his arm is back by his nose but this time his mouth also clamps tight onto the roughened fabric of his sleeve. he has a short blade in hand, his least favorite weapon of choice but a sword would have been too inefficient and a single arrow too thin. besides the heavy air that hangs, the room is also dead silent. four paces in and his foot hits a solid, a clang, a metal. he drags it along in the same direction, clang, clang, clang. bars. metal bars. a cage, an imprisonment of sorts.

the last bar he's hit escapes him, it swings open. the door, he supposes though he wonders why it hadn't been locked, why the door to the very basement hadn't been locked, why the whole vicinity was put under the supervision of two, poorly trained guards. donghyuck understands when his eyes do their part in adjusting to the dimness of the room and he sees the prince, slumped and unconscious, out cold.

perhaps, death really was waiting for him at his destination.

time is running thin as donghyuck dismisses his urge to check for a pulse, he figures he'd have to bring the body back anyways, alive or dead, and furthermore he has a deadline. long gone is the dagger, tucked away on the side of his left thigh, replaced with a metal arrow that clangs itself with each time it strikes the wall adjacent to it. to prince donghyuck, picking a lock with a sharpened point of an arrow is second nature; he's done it as many times as little boy scouts practice their square knots and soprano's run through their warmups. but even then, he hates the feeling of picking a lock that binds two wrists, he hates the feeling of how the wrists fall when they are no longer bound, and he hates the feeling of the chains as they clatter and clump at his feet. more than that, the dead weight of a man on his shoulders, void of all vicarious pretenses, is the worst among all feelings.

the sun carries with it shadows as it sets. it draws them like a coachman and his horses, a dog on its leash, a flock of baby geese and their mother. the shadow of the cottage, in particular, is seven feet from where it was when donghyuck entered. he doubts he'll have much time to get back into town on foot, running wouldn't work well with his already depleted stamina and the hunk of a man on his shoulders. he plays it safe with a jog and his compass in hand, the shine of the needle becoming harder to decipher in the fast-coming shadows that drown out his sight.

the first break he takes under a tree a little ways down from the cottage, shoving the weight of jeno under the cover of a few tendrils of vines. he almost wants to kick his figure in annoyance but under the guise that he was trying to wake him. prince jeno is very poor company when he's knocked out, or dead, he supposes now is as good of a time as any to check. fingers against his wrist, he feels the faintest of a pulse and is relieved in the most concealed way, though there is no one around for him to be concealing from. donghyuck thinks, with sureness, that if he were to let the boy wilt in his arms, to deliver him dead when he might as well have been alive, he himself would be dead in your eyes. he shakes his head and brings his flask to the lips of the older, slightly older.

the first few drops of water do nothing except sit in his dry mouth but the rest is gurgled, choked, swallowed. the prince, and soon to be king, lunges at donghyuck with his eyes still shut closed. he has his fingers tight around the eastern prince's neck when he finally regains the will to peel open his lids. the sun is long gone at this point and the moon has still yet to appear over the horizon. jeno is startled when he realizes that the ground his knees are rubbing against isn't dusted concrete but thick soil and stones. he draws back at that though his arms wind back as well, as if to drive into his unknown captor's cheek, to knock him out. donghyuck is a whirlwind of coughs as he barely registers the fist that's approaching fast, he's glad he still has it in him to roll to the side and croak out an, "it's me."

two princes are panting under the span of a tree, the roots that jut out slashing the backs of one of them and the twigs that litter the ground cutting into the kneecaps of the other. their breaths alternate, loud sighs and sharp inhales, as they regain their bearings enough to acknowledge each other. two princes sit side by side under the span of a tree, glancing at each other, or what they believe to be each other, in the shroud of darkness that envelops them. they wait for the moon.

jeno finds himself reaching for the flask that lays discarded a few feet away. he chugs and donghyuck eyes him in disgust, feeling how his own throat is clenching up with the same thirst. jeno must sense this because he holds it out for him when he's had his fill, "how much time has passed?" donghyuck throws back the rest of the water. they are bound to come across a freshwater stream on the long way back, he's sure and he swallows, "a week in approximation."

a week, he's sure a lot of things could've happened in the week he was gone. possibly, you'd know of his absence. surely, you know of the death of your father. no doubt were you in mourning and he was halfway across the region and in no state to comfort you. his brows furrow, "anything notable that's happened?"

there are many things donghyuck could say in response. he hasn't left your side since the day after your father's body was found, the day he'd arrived at the palace, ready to comfort. he'd never have expected you to lash out in rage with no one to blame. he'd been there when the maid had delivered news of the anonymous tip that'd made your knees go weak in an instant. a hell of a week it had been, indeed. he prefaces with the general. "the coronation has been moved up, three days from now you will be crowned king."

jeno nods in understanding. it's all his parents have ever wanted from him, to marry off into golden blood, to become golden blood, for their immediate family to bathe in golden blood. he sighs knowing that he feels it's fine if it's with you, that your presence in his life simply mocks that of his parents. but he needs answers, the yearning to see you is set alight in the pits of his stomach. "and how is she holding up?"

disgruntled, prince donghyuck answers curt and vague, the exact opposite of what jeno needs to soothe his worries, "she's holding up just fine." neither of them are in high spirits when they set off into the night. they suffice with the silence and when they come across the expected stream, donghyuck fills the flask, they bathe. the moon is kind that night, outshining all nights before and illuminating the compass needle, the guide into the outskirts of the southern kingdom.

the sun is on the rise when the two princes are met with the sight of buildings in the distance, small shacks, roofs thatched but unkempt and messy unlike that of the seaside cottage for royalty. the people bustling about are donned in the plainest of clothing and donghyuck is sure that his combat gear and jeno's days old and crinkle suit would draw unwanted attention from the commoners, after all, he's almost sure that they wouldn't recognize the faces of two royalty if they were dressed down, not here in the southern kingdom where the prospects of royalty are told like a fairy tale.

like how any disguise is gained, donghyuck sneaks through the bushels of the nearest house and snatches two pairs of trousers, two plain cotton tops, and a tweed satchel, leaving four golden coins under the back awning. they change before the sun arrives to clear the air of fog and mist and they bustle and weave within the crowd with ease when the sun peeks over diagonal, mid-morning.

they don't make it far on foot, there is still a ways to go before they can safely make it past jeno's homeland without being noticed. the farther they delve into the heart of the kingdom, the closer they mingle with the nobles, the higher-ranking families, those who would recognize them almost immediately.

a first of many close calls come when they are at the back end of a manor, a huge estate, spanning about half the palace itself. whoever the owner was, the individual jeno was rambling on about, wouldn't suffer the loss of two horses. that is, if they could be stolen in the first place. the stables were a mile into the plot of land from the back and though donghyuck could be so efficient in simply shooting dead all the guards that lined the outer premises, he really did not wish to cause a ruckus, not when he's sure the officials of the southern kingdom are aware of the escape of their second prince. and if jeno is correct in labeling this very estate as the abode of the capital governor, he wouldn't be keen in taking chances where it could hurt most.

night falls for a second time and, under the cover of darkness, jeno slashes the calves of two of the guards, a stroke that could easily be mistaken to be of a running and wild badger if timed correctly. he ducks between the electrical cords of the fencing, donghyuck just behind him, as he gets on all fours to survey the grounds. the guards that are left mill around the stables, the only structure that'll provide them light during their break. they are jolly and big-bellied when they laugh and jeno finds it all too easy to slip past the commotion to the back of the stables where the gates open onto the track. donghyuck moves with practiced stealth to the opposite end, foot looping on the edge of a table where kegs of beer are stood tall. he steadies himself, centering his movements around his breaths and not his impulses. retrieving his compass, he doesn't stop to crack it open this time, angling the sleek alloy cover in such a way that it glints in accordance with the glass of the window, left side of the stables that's illuminated inside out.

they count to three. the kegs meet the earth and while some roll, others simply spill. donghyuck leaves a mess in his wake. he'd like to stay back, admire his work, the looks of shock on their faces and the realization that'll come when they check the stables a little later. he gets this feeling each time he completes a mission, and very rarely is a prince allowed to do so. prince donghyuck loves the rush, the adrenaline, the anticipation and the satisfaction of completion. he knows that jeno feels the same. although as much as he would love to linger in the shadows to bathe in his victory, he knows that if he doesn't remove himself from the scene he will have a great deal more things to be worrying about. perhaps, his head on a stick.

with the horses accompanied by night, an ever-so-welcome friend, they are able to make haste. their course deviating the slightest to avoid the boundaries of the royal palace. jeno is familiar with the towns that lay just a little beyond and just a little before the middle glade. his familiarity means he knows where to book a rest for the night, where to get the needed replenishments for themselves and the horses and where to stock up for the coming day that will be spent entirely in the middle glade. his familiarity is helpful, but deemed futile when they arrive to see that each stall, selling food or goods, has a banner hung on the overhead. the prince's face is printed on each one, a lost prince, help needed! captioning each notice.

the pitstop, originally jotted to span a whole of two hours becomes a series of laborious tasks that involve intricate planning of thievery, indirect thievery as they make sure to leave, in their ructions, the rest of their gold coins, distributed evenly. they enter the middle glades with relieved and wearied hearts and sacks upon sacks of provisions.

the middle glade is the right place for any wearied heart. the grass is knee-length here, and it stays that way for a day's trip worth of land. the edges are crowded by a thick forest of trees with trunks too wide to hug and roots so big that traversing the land on foot is treacherous enough. but just beyond the thickets of trees and boughs that hang low is the glade itself. the four kingdoms were built to accommodate the livelihood of the grasses, wildflowers, gentle ponds that stretched only a few feet deep. the glade is a sight for sore eyes, and a marvel for all traveling through. it's where the four kingdoms diverge, and also where they meet.

rays of sun are harsh on their backs, it's been a little over an hour and though the looming threat of the southern kingdom has been left in the dust, the road ahead proves bleak, grasses the run along the horizon and, seemingly, endlessly beyond. jeno thinks of what he'll say when he sees you. he thinks of the smile that's sure to grace your features and he thinks of your warm embrace. jeno is patient when he thinks of you.

"she's been troubled."

jeno looks over in surprise at the sound of his companions voice, he notes the lilt and remains silent for him to go on.

"the princess and i, as i'm sure you know, we've been well-acquainted for a long time now." donghyuck steals a glance of his own and finds that jeno's sights are held to the front but his brows are drawn in consideration, deliberation. "and i've always known her the best, loved her the best, been the best for her. we've both been, for each other i mean. we both also knew that there would be a day where the same would be said for someone besides the other. i don't mean harm when i say that i didn't think it'd be this soon, not for her."

"why not for her, distinctly?"

prince donghyuck gives a moment to think of an answer that he knows all too well from being by your side for the good majority of his life, "because she's not one to talk. she prefers to listen." nudging his point along, jeno makes it known, "she talks to me."

"that's how i know you're the one for her." jeno smiles to himself. he lets himself relish in the feeling of your love, even indirectly. his lips stay turned upwards, even when he wills them back down. he can't help but feel a little silly so he disguises his countenance with another question, "did she ask this of you? to come for me?" a question that he already knows the answer to.

"of course," a playful grin spreads with ease across donghyuck's face. he supposes that the taut strings between them have loosened up ever so slightly, either that or the dreariness of traveling for days on end with only each other's company have done the trick, "i'd have never gone out of my way for you." jeno's expression is gruff but his tone is light when he quips back in agreement, "neither would i."

"i'll have you know though, she's beyond excited about the wedding preparations. the coronation as well but i can sense that she's more apprehensive to take the throne so early on. it's a relief to know that you'll be by her side when the time comes."

"as i should be."

"you know, i've heard some rumors about you, just picked them up here and there. and while i have made sure of your sincerity by means of this," he gesticulates, "this trip of ours, i would like to confirm that you're not...after her for the throne, are you?"

"not i, but i wouldn't put it past you to see it as so. much of my family sees her for only her blood," he doesn't bother to palliate the resentment in his expression as he spits out the last half. the other in the conversation is thrown into thought, once again. the moments he gives himself to respond are filled with the sounds of horse hooves fast on the crimpling grass.

"the death of her father, were you aware that it was dawning upon us?" donghyuck airs prudently, "in the assumption that it was of your lineage's doing."

jeno replies dismissively, not in the context that he is avoiding the inquiry, but more so that he found the case scenario obvious, "i was not aware, no. it had certainly been staged so that i could not have been there to prevent it, unfortunately." his eyes slide from the grassy hills ahead to his friend beside him, he lets new information fall from his lips in the face of someone he has come to trust, "i'm also apprehensive about her taking the throne so young, and not because of her duties. i have an inkling that she might be stolen before her throne is."

"another scheme of your parents, the king and queen? or is that past my bounds to be asking?"

the dismissive tone laces his voice again, but only for a few cumulative seconds, "not at all, there are many times a day where even i find it hard to identify as one of them." a turning point is reached where he gazes grows stern and the dismissiveness is replaced with an air of officiality, "but yes, i believe it to be one of their schemes to place a crown atop my head."

donghyuck considers jeno's words with heavy thought and a heavily-ladened question, "would you take it if it was offered?" he takes his answer with an equally heavy understanding.

"at the cost of her, i would give it up in a heartbeat."

you've lost count of the nights you've spent staring at the same ceiling you were faced with now. even turning onto your sides you know that you'll be met with all too familiar scenes. your mind, instead of relenting to the rest it needs, replays the same track over and over of prince jeno asking for you not to stay up too late, ironic in the sense that that's simultaneously exactly what you've succumbed to. you miss the way his locks bunch in between your fingers, something you haven't quite grasped the reasonings behind your liking of. it's just hair, but it being his hair supposedly makes all the difference. would it be foolish for you to be thinking of his hair when he might as well be taking his last breaths in the same second? there wouldn't be a way to know, the wall that you've encountered each time you venture down the glum alleyways of 'what if.'

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame." (my co--star day at a glance 1119).

you wallow in acceptance because the fear, the darkness, the shame stands too tall against your thin spears of hope. they've dwindled with each day that you've spent circulating between those three emotions in a hopeless and never-ending circle of self-induced torture. somewhere in between your fourth and fifth hour of intermittent lapses between sleep and wakeful exhaustion, the inner door of your chamber is burst open and you swear under your breath. murder is in the night.

or rather, it's your lady-in-waiting, her eyes bugged out and a coat haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. "your highness!" that's when you see the smile on her face, that's when a similar one begins to light your own. "the guards down in the valley, they say they've seen them!"

legs kicking up the blankets that hold you down, you scramble out of bed, even slipping on a coat is deemed too much a time-consuming task when the raptures that have enveloped you for the past weeks are now coming to a close. your fingers barely catch onto the door frame just as you skid out, peering back in to get another word for your maid, "them, them as in two. both lively and well?"

"i've been told of two men, both on horseback."

a grin splits your cheeks wide as your bare feet clap down hard on the frigid marble flooring. it echoes unlike the sound of your nightgown flitting between your form with each step, the whistling of wind curling your insides with warmth and joy. your heart sings like a village girl, whose love has just returned safe from the battling seas. perhaps you were a juliet, in the pretense that 'star-crossed' meant that you and him were written in the stars, not torn apart by them. your lungs welcome the morning air as you inhale as much as you can, replenishing the depths of your spirit, invigorating you down to each cell that you were built of.

the guard at the foot of the steps implores you not to go any further, the crisp winds that sift through the orchard would be far too dangerous with how little you are wearing. he sends for your lady-in-waiting, who had just arrived behind you, panting with all her might, to head back in to retrieve a coat or two for you. you tell her to take her time.

you're on your knees weeping when they come into view, the sight is unsuitable for the weak-hearted. head in your hands, you're making frantic motions to swipe away the furious tears that trace down your cheeks when the soiled dust from a sudden break of hooves lifts into the air before you. prince jeno dismounts as if it were his life's duty, his strides are long, as they have always been, and when he takes you in his arms, collecting your listless limbs and wearied bones in place, you find home within his embrace.

at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, a man clad in plain white and a woman in a silk nightgown rejoice in the name of love. his fingers never let the goosebumps on your skin stay for as long as he smoothes them over, you are absent of the wintry weather on your bare skin. at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, the up and coming king and queen of the northern kingdom rejoice in the names of each other, alive and so, so full of life.

you're looking up in curiosity at him as he crosses the room to the side of the bed, opposite of yours. jeno has a book in his hand, and rather than looking at you, his sights are on the pages, a finger skimming along with his eyes. he's by your side when he looks up, satisfied, "i brought something to read to you, love."

your eyes sparkle in the moonlight that slips undisturbed through your open balcony doors, "and what might it be?"

"you'll know when you hear, i assure you." he extends an arm and your back is pressed against his chest without a question, his arms encircling your frame, both hands converging to hold the book in front of the two of you. he spoke the truth when he said you'd recognize it. a smile makes its way to your face before you can even take notice. and when you do indeed notice, you mouth the words along with his voice.

“i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. i will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. i will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. i will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. i will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. i will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

i will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…i will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. i will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…i will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else–and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

(Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters)

the book is discarded, but unforgotten, to the side when the curtains are pulled back. the moon is at its height. renjun has a lot of work to do.

the scene is as expected, the princess, inseparable from her prince is on the bed and clasped on all sides by his form. he regrets that he did not have the guts to ask for the murder of them both. his orders strictly called for the death of one, a much more tedious task when a possible witness, such as the prince, could hold a hefty punishment over his head if he were to be caught. renjun knows that isn't likely to begin with.

his first mistake is waking the prince. perhaps going in for a knife to the heart was the most efficient but the least accessible, seeing as the man clung to you like no other. renjun doesn't bother hiding though he knows his face covering and hood aren't enough to cover his unmistakable stature. the prince charges at him once he's gained a sense of his surroundings. renjun dodges his sleepful fit easily and uses this opportunity to strike at you. a quick blow to the side should do enough damage for his job to be considered completed.

his second mistake is misconstruing the sheer amount of power the prince possesses. in truth, the prince does not know himself, especially if that power is being drawn by the prospects regarding your safety and wellbeing. renjun is pulled back with veined arms that encase as if to wrestle him into surrender. he's experienced enough to worm his way out and to position himself opposite of the bed where you're now beginning to stir from all the commotion, the prince standing in front of him, shaking his head in disgruntledness as he tries to fight off the waves of post-awakening exhaustion and strain.

renjun knows a lot of things. he knows much about caged animals, he knows even more about greedy men, specifically greedy and powerful men, he knows of hierarchies and classes and exactly how to get what he wants from them, but in this moment, he knows nothing more than the fact that prince jeno will duck. and that he will regret.

when one is young and naive and still in the belief that their blanket will shield them from the monsters in the dark, they simply disregard that it will not. the flimsy, flimsy blanket, made of nothing more than woven, and likely processed, fabrics will do nothing against the demons that await, under your bed, in your shadows, from your ceiling. you are not young, nor are you naive, and it's in your understanding that these demons, they are a breed of sorts, fallen angels. perhaps, you will never understand. and in their line of work, they have never halted at the sight of a blanket. you toss it aside and you charge even as your prospects of living dim as the dagger parts the air, the air that scampers away and leaves an open trail for the dagger to the dead center of your abdomen, the very spot your father had been punctured with.

there is a part of renjun that wishes he missed.

the man in the moon frowns as the beams that foam and froth and bubble behind him are poured down from the heavens onto the west wing of the palace solely, the west-facing windows, a specific west-facing, wrought iron traced door that gives into the expanse of your room, your bed. it illuminates you, it bares its shine upon you, unabashedly, unashamedly. and it is also the sole reason jeno can see, with such clarity, the shank that slits your silk nightgown with ease, that embeds itself within your now-withering body, that in turn, makes his blood run cold.

renjun is long gone when jeno begins his cry for help. there are guards just outside but it would take a miracle for a medic to arrive before you bleed out your internal organs completely. the white of your sheets is stained with your blood, the strands of your hair are strung together with the stickiness of the substance, jeno's hands, the beds of his fingernails are deluged in the blood that spurts from where he is desperately trying to press down on. the hole in your front gushes with each breath you take and jeno could only wish that he could breathe for you, in your stead.

prince jeno cries, in the most literal and figurative senses, for help, for someone to wipe away his tears and to tell him that you're alright. to shake him awake as he dissolves further into the abyss of his fears. to kneel by his bedside and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that you're fine, really, that you've just gone to get a cup of earl grey with honey, that when you come back, there will be no dagger struck between your intestines and no red staining your nightgown. lee jeno cries because as time drags, and the guards that scramble about, fruitlessly counting on a distant and frankly unprepared medic, you are in his arms taking your last breaths.

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame."

and so he accepts.

volume five, the final installment: heaven belongs to you will be updated whenever the author sees fit.

✧ end note — i hope this piece brought back some cherished memories of 'a series of unfortunate events,' personally, such a great memory of my childhood, reading-wise. i say this a lot but, this has got to be one of my most favorite things i've ever written. i think i did quite well with this. it makes me happy. i hope it made you happy, i love you, have a nice day.

#nct fics #nct jeno #lee jeno #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno fics #jeno x reader #lee jeno fics #lee jeno angst #nct scenarios #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

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It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me." Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #kana: just admits to himself he has a crush on axa #aloth: does this instead #next up: super fun times at the fantasy psychiatrist's office!#thanks for reading ♡

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leomitchellart · 4 years

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So… about this latest Inktober controversy….

Time to begrudgingly chuck in my two penneth… (Remeber you can always press “J” to skip this post altogether)

As most of you may or may not know, Alphonso Dunn released a Youtube video wherein he publicly accused Jake Parker, and creator of the Inktober challenge, of plagiarising his book. Both of these men are public figures, artists specialising in pen & ink. In the video Dunn looks at the preview pages and flip through footage of Parker’s “Inktober All Year Round” and says they draw many similarities in the illustrations, language and layout that he used in his own book, “Pen & Ink Drawing”. Parker’s book was set to this month. Hense why Dunn only used footage and not a physical copy.

Since the video’s release, the art community has been very spilt down the middle. The book’s publisher has halted the launch of Parker’s book until the matter can be investigated. Even DeviantArt cancelled their own Inktober event thing (I’ll admit I don’t keep up with these things DA keeps doing). Parker has since released a statement in the matter. Now it’s up to the courts to decide what’s happening next. The video itself is an hour long, but it’s crucial to see it yourself.

People are, understandably, outraged after seeing it. This seems like a shitty thing to rip-off Dunn - not to mention stupid. Since Dunn is the more popular pen & ink artist with more social media followers and name recognition. Many have called to boycott inktober and condemn Parker. I’ll admit, I was right alongside them at first, at least for feeling outraged. The similarities are there. But if YMS’s Kimba video has taught me anything, it’s that, even if an accusation of plagiarism may be obvious at a cursory glance, sometimes it’s important to take a more critical eye and do more research to learn that things aren’t as cut and dry as they first seem. If there’s a lesson I can take away from the internet as a whole, it’s that no one thinks about the consequences of mob mentality.

The most common defence of Parker is that because they’re both books about pen and ink drawing, then they’re inevitably going to be similar. I’ll admit that, when you pick-up so many art books, a lot of them will cover the same basic grounds of materials, tutorials, strokes, techniques etc. The parts about rendering textures on spheres and cubes isnt new. Look up “texture study” and you’ll see so many examples of artists rendering these kinds of things digitally. I’ve also noticed a common theme of people more formally educated in art pointing out how none of these are original. Everything down to the steps and illustrations are things they’ve learned from years ago. Since I'm a pen & ink artist, inspired by my love of comics, I have quite a few books about inking: Dunn’s included. I own both his books and still highly recommend them. I didn't even preorder Parker’s book. Ironically because I didn't think it could offer anything new that my other books hadn’t already.

While Ethan Becker took the time to cross-examine Dunn and Parker’s books with several others, there weren’t many of the ones I actually owned. So I looked to my shelves to see what I could find. Books like:

“The Art of Comic Book Inking” by Gary Martin & Steve Rude

“How Comics Work” by Dave Gibbons & Tim Pilcher

“The DC Comics guide to Inking Comics” by Klaus Janson

“Making Comics” by Scott McCloud

“Stan Lee’s How to Draw Comics”

I’m sure there’s plenty more examples out there. I was planning to go through all of these and take pictures. But ultimately that’s not the core point of these post. Plus it would’ve taken WAY too long and this post itself, is long enough.

Of course, none of the them are 100% close to Dunn’s in the way they’re displayed. Not as close as Parker’s could be considered. That being said, I know Dunn is trying to claim that he invented these techniques. The nucleus of the issue is how similar they are in terms of order and how these pages are displayed. Some I can chock-up to standard practice, while others seem more coincidental.

If there’s one thing I’m adamant about, it’s that I think that Dunn should’ve messaged Parker first before making the accusation public. Some try to dispute that this would've made it easier for Dunn to be “silenced”, whatever that means; but that sounds a bit conspiratorial to me. Ideally, you confront him about it in private, if he makes any threats or blows you off, get your lawyer on the phone and then make the video. Not only is it the more civil thing to do - but it’s the smarter thing to do. This is a serious legal matter, not just internet drama. While I’m sure Dunn had no intention of tearing Parker down or getting a mob onto him, that’s unfortunately what’s happened. A backlash both from the general artisan community and several companies. Wherein it was left to Parker himself to make this an official legal matter. If Parker’s found not guilty, then this could easily leave the gate open for him to sue Dunn for damages, loss of revenue, defamation of character or whatever else, should he see fit. As could the publishers, given how this affected their sales. Companies responded to the accusation of the video alone, before an investigation could be launched. Sure, it wouldn't be “acting the bigger man” but he’d be well within his right to do it. Dunn showed that Jake has mentioned him before, shown admiration for his career and referenced him in other posts. If it comes to light in court, that Dunn is even cited as an inspiration or source in the book itself, then it’s case closed.

Then there’s the other possibility that Parker might not have done this on his own, but that he has a team behind the book. If that’s the case, the most I can accuse Parker of is being a hack. I worry Dunn has kneecapped himself for just how badly he’s handled this situation. Made worse by him not having an actual physical copy to assess and just had footage of preview pages to go on. So far, the circumstances don’t seem on his favour.

I don’t think ill of Dunn. I do think he believes he’s been wronged and no malice in his intentions. I just think he’s made some critical errors on how to handled this. As for Parker himself, I couldn't give a donkey’s doo-dah about him. I’m sure you could accuse me of playing devil’s advocate earlier, but to me, he was the guy who released the annual prompt list. If it really does turn out that he’s a plagiarist and had malicious intent, then fuck ‘im. I never regarded him as an inspiration of mine or paid much attention to him outside of that. It was the community that made Inktober what it is. I’ve never met Parker. Maybe he’s a cool guy? Maybe he’s a bellend? I don’t know.

Granted this isn't the first time Parker has proved himself to be a controversial figure: - Last year people were upset about him trademarking (not copywriting, as many have erroneously claimed) the word “Inktober” and some artists were stopped from selling their related work or zines. Parker would issue a statement: claiming the takedowns were a mistake of “overzealous lawyers” and it’s just a matter of the logo being trademarked. People can sell their Inktober works and even mention they are Inktober-related. Just not use the official logo. On the one hand, from a business standpoint, I get it. It’s the bare minimum you need to do to protect your IP, especially when you have a store. BUT, like most people, I don’t like how, what’s intended as a community challenge, has slowly become more of a brand associated with one man. Hardly a surprise it left a bad taste in so many people’s mouths. But, since it doesn't actually effect anyone’s ability to take part in the challenge, outside of personal principle, I went ahead with it the previous year.

- The year before, when asked if one can do Inktober digitally, Parker said the following:

I know some are still bitter about that, but speaking as someone who inks traditionally and digitally, this came across as needless whinging and blowing things out of proportion. Claiming that Jake had derided digital artists and said they were invalid etc etc. Take it from me, challenging yourself to try out different methods to ink traditionally can greatly improve the work you do digitally. It’s like how learning traditional fundamentals of art can still be applied to digital. Plus he never said “No.” he just gave valid reasons about how it makes it a different experience. That said, if you’re someone who can’t afford any kind of inking equipment or pens and only have a selected application to draw on - then none of this applies to you. Just the aforementioned few who took it upon themselves to get angry over nothing. Recently I’ve heard from subscribers of his newsletter that he’s now embraced the idea of people doing inktober digitally, to the point of selling digital brushes for inktober. I’m sure some will call this “backsliding” or “money grubbing” because people aren’t allowed to change their minds or update their statements.

For weeks I’ve been torn on what to do, not being able to solidify one stance over another. One minute I thought #JusticeForAlphonsoDunn then I wonder “Wait maybe I should look again?” to “But wait, those are way too similar!” Having splinters in my arse from sitting on the fence for so long. The longer this went on, however, I began to realise that I can’t take one stance over another. This case is far too muddy and complicated. I don’t have enough sufficient knowledge or evidence. Nor do any of you. We literally only have Dunn’s video to go on. While it’s a good start, it’s not enough to be taken 100% as gospel when it’s the only thing to hand.

As previously mentioned, a lot of artists have decided to not take part in Inktober at all, or follow different prompt lists. That’s completely fine. A lot of them are based around a specific theme: halloween, kinky stuff, bears, transformers, OCs, Disney or whatever. That has massive appeal. I just can’d do it myself. I prefer the focus on random words, rather than all centred on a single subject; allowing me to be creative with my ideas and execution. I actually did try to make a list of my own random words. Problem is, I worried that because I was choosing my own, I might be subconsciously bias towards certain prompts and not truly challenging myself. Even narrowing down my options was taking too long. In the end…. I’ve decided to just do the official prompts again this year.

For me, that’s what it ultimately came down to. TIME. It’s the middle of September. I can’t afford to wait for the court case to be settled. No other prominent artists I respect have released their own prompt lists. I know there’s been some shitty people who are condemning this choice. Attacking others, accusing them of supporting plagiarism, looking to block anyone who does the official prompts. Even trying to make this a racial issue. Just…. no.

If someone doesn’t want to take part in Inktober, that’s fine. If someone wants to do the official prompts, that’s fine. If someone wants to do their own prompts, that’s fine.

Don’t go around aggressively making snap judgements or accusing people of taking a side. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. This has been a shit year, let people enjoy something.

If you look at this situation and it makes you feel angry, and you don’t feel comfortable in taking part in a challenge because of it’s creator. I get that, I literally get that. It’s why I haven't done Mermay. And please don’t mention Pinktober, I’m aware of it, but given his insta video on the subject and the things he said, I quickly came to the conclusion that I can’t take this person seriously. I’m sure this might make me seem hypocritical, but how this differs, if only for me, is the sheer amount Inktober means to me. It’s more than a simple challenge. Inktober's the one thing I’ve been most excited about all year. As it was ruined for me in 2019, when I lost my home and I didn't get to complete every prompt. (Long story, I’m okay now). As we all know, 2020, has been an AWFUL year. We’ve got to take whatever joy we can. As I’ve looked longer at the official prompts, I found ideas I’m really excited for.

Once I started to really dedicate myself to it, it became a massive event. I hype myself up as I prepare for the busy month. Buy in supplies, clean the house and workspace, cook and freeze meals in bulk to save time, printing off a sheet that allows me to jot down ideas as I plan ahead. Then once it’s done, after so much work, it makes the reward all the sweeter: Ordering a takeaway, celebrating a great halloween night and still rocking those vibes throughout November. Feeling proud of myself for doing it and seeing myself improve my technique, discipline and earning a few lie-ins to make up for the sleep I lost working. I’m like a kid waiting for Christmas. That said, don’t think that there’s something wrong with you when you understandably can’t dedicate that amount time for a simple art challenge. If anything that’s plenty of reason to why you’re smarter than me. You have a life and don’t push yourself too much.

Now, I need to crack on with the preparations. If you want to boycott Jake Parker, just not buying any of his products should be enough. Doing the inktober challenge doesn't bring attention to him, as I doubt most people even know him as the creator, nor does it even line his pockets. I just hate how cancel culture can do such serious damage like this and then try and put pressure on others to act accordingly without even doing any research themselves.

As long as you’re not harassing anybody. Just do what YOU want to do. That’s fine.

#Inktober #Inktober 2020 #My two penneth #Jake Parker #alphonso dunn

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hazelenergy · 4 years

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How I Digitally Paint like a Scenic Artist/Designer

Aka: how I did this and put my degree to good use.

LONG POST WARNING

Step 1: Research.

First off, get to your image search. If you are going to be using Google, you may want to type “-pinterest” in the search to eliminate the countless boards.

I had to figure out clothing that is vaguely late 1800s. I found a multitude of reference images that were fancier clothes- but I wanted to find images of clothing for kindred across all social classes. Photographs from the era and paintings are your friend. They will more accurately showcase what was worn.

After Fashion research comes location research. The 1890s in America is known for the rapid industrialization. Factories were getting bigger and work days were getting longer. But, I wanted the moonlight to be cascading into the place, illuminating the scene. This means I needed to find a structure that had skylights or let sunlight in. And the best images I found? Slaughterhouses. Fitting, huh?

The same rule for fashion still stands- if you can find photographs or paintings from the era- they’re better. There are tons of places still standing today from the 1800s. But today, they look WAY different. Ya know, Abandoned! So just be sure to take this into consideration if you search “abandoned slaughterhouses” or go trespassing like I did.

Lastly, pose research. Finding the poses for a fight scene can be tedious. So, I enlisted some help from a few fight choreographers and stunt men. You can record their fights and play them back at quarter or half speed. You can also get a mirror and flop on the floor a bunch. I did both. This lets you see the action/motion lines you are going to replicate in the drawing. Heres how we initially did fina’s pose:

And sometimes you have to go back and get a clean shot. I ended up using this pose for the axe.

Step 2: Set up and Background!

When you open a new file, set it to the dimensions and resolution you want. I was working at 600. Usually, I’m working at 300-350. You can always reduce resolution. Its hard to prevent fuzzy lines if you increase it later.

I cannot stress the following enough:

You work background to foreground. Big Shapes and areas to little shapes. Work your way forward. What this means is you need to fill in as much space as possible first. Then build your details. I prefer working as follows: Big Solid tones, Soft shadows, Dark Shadows, Highlights, then final blend. Once you finish this, put an overlay on top. This knocks everything back and helps create the illusion of depth. See this at work with the video below or here

Step 3: Figure Drawings + Composition

Utilize that research and images you collected to pose your characters. I create subfolders for each set of figures. Organization is important here. This will help keep you on the right layer and prevent the eternal digital artist struggle of “Fuck that was on the wrong layer!”

Even after you move on to lineart and shading, Keep the sketch layer as a reference. You may need to see what youre original notes/ figures looked like as you do the lineart and shade. Don’t be afraid to move them around and alter the composition rn. You want to be able to make changes. Make notes! Detail light sources!

I’m about to through out some art jargon:

You want to think about asymmetric balance. The easiest way to achieve this in an eye-pleasing manner is to use the Fibonacci spiral. Yeah. This boi:

Place your figures and actions in a similar sequence to the spiral and the viewer’s eye tends to naturally follow it. This is sometimes called the Golden Ratio in the art world.

Doesn’t need to be perfectly on the spiral. You can break it- but its an excellent tool to plan how things move in the piece.

Step 4: Lineart

Once you got things sketched- its time to do the lineart. I’m using clip studio paint’s standard brushes. Nothing fancy. I often switch between the G-pen and the For Effect Liner. Mapping and Turnip are for thicker lines.

Usually I set these pens to a specific thickness depending on where I’m drawing.

My background figures are lined at 0.05 thickness, the midground is .1 to .2, Fina is .3 and the foreground is .4. I set my stabilization high to help keep my lines smooth. Stabilization 100 means there’s a significant delay between where the pen is and the cursor. I like the stabilization to be at 20 for freehanding and at 50 ish for outlining. Dont become completely reliant on the stabilization though. Good and smooth lineart is drawn from the arm not the wrist. Your range of motion is severely limited if you only move your wrist. Practice moving from your elbow and you’ll be surprised how much smoother your lines get.

Once I finish lining the figures, I usually go around it with an outline. This does three things:

1. Solidifies the figure and cleans lineart for paint bucket tool. More on that in the next step.

2. Its a stylistic choice. Helps give it that comic book feel with a heavy outline.

3. Pushes figures forward or back in the composition. Thicker outline helps denote that a figure is farther forward than another. My background figures have no outline to push them away

Step 5: Digitally coloring

For each figure you are going to select outside the lineart.

Create a new layer under the lineart

Invert the selection. Paint bucket. You should now have a solid shape of the figure under the lineart. Do not deselect.

Create a new layer above the one color. Title it solid colors. Paint in thick, solid tones. I like to use the mapping pen and turnip pen to color in my solid tones: skin, clothing, hair, etc.

After that, deselect. Create a multiply layer if you can. If your program does not have a multiplier function, Pick a tone you want to use for shadows and lower the opacity (usually 30-40% I like to use lavenders or blue tones). It will not be as vibrant, but you can edit it in post. Select off of the solid colors layer. I like to start with skin tones. Use the airbrush tool to create soft shadows. You don’t want to create harsh lines on this layer.

Then repeat this process with harsh lines.

Then knock it all back with an overlay. If you dont have the ability to create an overlay, you can again drop a solid color and lower the opacity, but you’ll have to mess with the color balance/ brightness/contrast to let all the hard work come through.

You’re going to repeat this for every single figure. Here’s a few color theory tips though.

Your overlay colors should be darker (not more vibrant) in the foreground and lighter (avoid using pure white) in the background. This helps with the depth of the piece. Things closer tend to be darker (not always true, depends on lighting)

You can choose to use color theory to aid your shadows. Instead of choosing black or grey for shadows, choose a complimentary color. I used a lot of green for this piece, I used red for really dark shadows. Its not that black drains color- its just loses some depth if not used carefully.

Keep your colors consistent. Helps unify the piece. You can strategically break the consistency to draw focus. For example, Fina is the only figure with a true blue overlay. This helps her stand out from the other figures who have reds and greens.

Step 6: Touch Ups and Final Renderings

Now comes the most tedious part. If you’re like me, your computer fans have been whirring for the last few hours trying to render this monster of a file. If you havent already, SAVE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD

These are the last four layers I have for the entire piece. Here, I am trying to create effective and believable lighting. This kind of work I have only been able to achieve in clip studio or photoshop. You can do it with normal layers, but choose your colors CAREFULLY. Stay away from pure white. Carefully utilize your knowledge of light and shadow to create soft highlights. Harsh lines tend to be a stylistic choice for me. The final layer, subtract, dulls out harsh red tones. I used this as a final overlay to help put everyone and everything in the scene. Without it, things are a little too green and skin tones are a little too blushed for vampires.

The challenge here is I want to tone down the red, but not lose the vibrancy of the blood. So, shift it to a blue. This also helped reinforce the “nighttime” effect. Its only a slight change.

Final thoughts:

Whenever you finish something, its important to reflect.

1. I am so FUCKING PROUD OF MYSELF. This is easily one of the most complicated pieces I’ve done in a while- and I’ve made 16′ tall faux stained glass. Brag. Let yourself feel awesome cuz you just made something awesome.

2. I timed myself on the piece. I could have easily spent another 7 hours on it. But its important to know when to stop messing with it. Partially for budget reasons but also when you get down to the details you can make yourself go insane. Theres also a ton of detail work I lost cuz of overlays or its just too small to notice. Fina’s face? hard to see cuz its not close enough.

3. I needed to take frequent breaks for this piece. That was good. Resting and stretching was very important. That is one of the reasons why I was able to work so fast.

4. I started doing more digital art in April 2020. I have to say, practice makes perfect. I practice drawing and digital painting for at least 3 hours a day.

That discipline has allowed me to improve so rapidly. So- I don’t wanna hear shit about I can’t possibly get this good! Or I couldn’t even draw a stick figure! BULLSHIT. You can. Get yourself some free software like Krita or Autodesk sketchbook and start playing!

And thats what I got! Thanks for coming with me on this long post!

#digital art #my art #okay to reblog #how to #long post

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lavalampelfchild · 4 years

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Lava’s Art Masterpost

Hey, all! Welcome to my art masterpost! I have no idea if this is a thing that is done typically for art, but oh well, I like organizing things, so here we are! What you’ll find here is mostly Dragon Age, with a few non-DA pieces in there, and there’s a range of styles I like to use, depending on my mood. But a lot of what you’ll see will most likely combine lineart with some other form of coloring/shading.

Feel free to browse at your leisure, and I hope anyone who stumbles upon this enjoys what they find! :D And thank you to anyone who sees this and likes, or reblogs, or even just stops by to peruse a bit!

All that said, away we go!

Digital Portraits:

1. Portrait of Nameless Woman, 2020 - This one is just an experiment with a watercolor brush that I did. It’s not anatomically perfect, but I enjoyed playing around with shading.

2. Sketch of Aja Amell, 2020 - This one is basically sketch practice with my Amell~ Not really the most expressive pictures, but it’s a start toward drawing her more expressively. Full disclosure: Aja is one of those OCs of mine that I have had trouble with deciding on a definitive appearance for several pictures, and I really want to work on upping my level of consistency when drawing her.

3. Long-Haired Fenris, 2020 - Exactly what it sounds like; this was for practice drawing Fenris’s features (I love how distinct they are), but with long hair because I am weak for it. This one was a fun piece to shade, and mixing the stylized lineart that I normally use with a greyscale shading spectrum was really enjoyable.

4. Portrait of Ilorin Lavellan, 2016 - This is an oldie. Basically practicing expressions, and it is technically a WIP, but I’m still very happy with how the shading turned out, especially because this is actually (aside from the unfinished hair) one of the more minimal pieces I’ve done in terms of lineart It’s still there, and it still shapes the flow of the picture in some ways, but it also ends up flowing with the shading instead of standing out next to it, which I like. (Both styles are good, though, and I love seeing other artists try both too.)

5. Old Portrait of Aja Amell, 2016 - Much older picture I did of Aja; she... honestly looks very little like the newer one, I think, and that consistency is something I’m still working on, but this one was the first picture of Aja with that particular hairstyle I drew. What I like about this picture is how young she looks; it fits with her image as a fresh and sheltered Circle mage who’s only about 20 years old at the time of DAO.

6. Old Portrait of Trilyn, 2016 - They very first piece of art I posted to tumblr~ It’s not exactly how I envision Trilyn anymore, but it was still very fun to draw, and helped me get a feel for drawing him in the future.

Dynamic Movement Pictures/”Moment’s in Time”:

1. Tabris in Arl’s Estate, 2020 - TW: blood. I am super proud of this one. My ultimate goal is to draw all of my Warden DAO OCs, and I could not believe I’ve never drawn my Tabris, and so here she is. This was, in large part, practicing expressions because I absolutely love art that depicts characters in motion, or capturing some kind of expression.

2. Velyn in the Rain, 2017 - This one was actually based on some art that I saw in a Teen Wolf fic! It was an experiment with a more expressive style (and one of the first pieces I did without lineart left in the finished version) and it was a huge step out of my comfort zone. But overall, I am extremely happy with how it turned out.

3. Jem Nocking an Arrow, 2016 - And here is the lineart version. This was entirely an excuse to draw my DAI baby, Jem, and to do a cool archer pose because archers are my fav, and I love characters in motion.

4. Solas Teaching Trilyn Fade Magic, 2016 - This one was a painterly picture that was also (like the Velyn picture) something which I tried to keep lineart out of. Overall, I am proud of a lot of parts of the pic, but I think I would definitely go back over it and change a few things now if I had the patience.

5. Trilyn Closeup WIP, 2016 - TW: injury, blood, mention of abuse in the author’s note. A lot of early pictures I have are of my OC, Trilyn, and this is one of my absolute favorites. His entire upper body is technically in the picture, but I hadn’t finished rendering it yet, so this was what I posted. And it was an experiment with a cross-hatching style with the pencil tool for some texture, with air brush shading and a blurring tool. It’s a style I had fun playing around with!

6. Trilyn Blood Ritual, 2016 - TW: blood, injury (the slight cut used to supply the ritual with blood). This one was definitely a sort of “captured moment” from a backstory I gave Trilyn, and I think what I was really going for was an atmospheric piece that could fit with any potential fic I wanted to write for Trilyn. And then it ended up being practice for extreme lighting/shading techniques, and drawing the blood and the gross mass of demon ichor (or whatever the heck that is) turned out to be highlights of making the piece for me.

Art + Text:

1. Freedom and Control, 2020 - TW: scars, but very difficult to see. This one was ambitious for me! It started originally just as Solas and my Tal-Vashoth OC, Saara, facing each other, because I love the dynamic I’ve built for them in my head, but then it turned into an attempt at a tarot-esque background, and just sorta grew from there... Overall, I’m happy with how it turned out, especially with how Solas and Saara themselves turned out. The version you can actually see a larger view is here.

2. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 1, 2020 - I love writing my own codex entries, first off, and I love combining art with text to create a (hopefully) seamless work. This work was an attempt to flesh out these OCs of mine with both art (because unique facial structures are hard for me to get down, but so important regardless) and text (because writing~). I think it turned out well overall, but there are elements of the portraits that I might at some point touch up a bit.

3. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 2, 2020 - Part 2, with what I refer to as a “DAI Outfit Change” because I have always loved seeing fans show their own OCs as they look in DAO, DA2, and then finally DAI. So I absolutely wanted to jump on that bandwagon myself. The skin tones are a little off (and I’m sorry about that!) because I was playing with the watercolor brush at that point, and it dilutes the colors I use. Still working to figure that out, but I was very happy with the overall lineart and structures of the faces.

4. Alistair/Aja Amell Picture with a Blurb, 2017 - Ooooold, old, old, old, OLD! I still love the art, and I’m soooo happy with how the interaction between Alistair and Aja turned out (drawing kisses is extremely difficult for me; I always end up creating a distorted weird lip-creature, instead of realistically puckered lips...). I’m not as happy with the blurb that went with it? At that point, I was still very much figuring out my own DAO worldstate, and the characterization for everyone, so, eh. Take it with a grain of salt!

Unfinished Costume Designs:

1. Ancient Elvhen Armor with Dwarven Influence, 2018 - People who do costume design work are amazing and mystical beings, and I wish I could do what they do. This was an attempt at merging the Keeper robes from DAI with a more dwarven armor aesthetic, solely because I created an ancient elvhen character, Ceda, who was taken in by the Cad’halash dwarves mentioned in the Witch Hunt dlc, and I wanted this character to have a mix of the elven style of armor and the dwarven style. I’m overall decently happy with it, but there’s still that persistent level of self-criticism present.

2. Herald of Andraste Outfit WIP, 2016 - This was a very old picture, not one I showed around a lot, but the idea for this was entirely born of my intense interest in how fashion and outfit designs could be used to create a symbolic image for the Herald of Andraste. In general, I love the combination of ceremonial armor with long and flowing cloth, so that was what I went for here. I’m still actually very proud of how this came out, and headcanon something similar for my Herald in my canon DAI worldstate.

Pencil Sketches:

1. Quick Saara Sketch, 2019 - TW: saarebas mouth scars. Exactly what it says; very quick sketch of Saara I did in a small notebook I carry around with me. This was basically a test for myself to see if I could manage to draw Saara with the features and facial structure I envisioned for her without needing to use a lot of references.

2. Mass Effect Character Sketch; Jesse, 2018 - Similar reason for drawing this one as the above Saara sketch! With these characters, I love sometimes the way they can turn out with the specific character creator used for them, and when I draw them, I enjoy trying to create a definitive look for them using what I get from the CC, and my own knowledge of Hooman Faces.

3. Saara Sketch, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars. A more detailed sketch of Saara than the one above, and one I definitely put more time into overall. It’s currently the profile picture I’m using for ao3, and is the definitive go-to reference picture I use whenever imagining Saara in a fic, or for other Saara pics I make. I am extremely proud of this picture, and feel like I should work in graphite more often. It’s such fun, and the texture is so nice to look at.

4. Sketch of Nameless Alamarri Woman, 2017 - This was a sketch I did of what I envisioned some Alamarri tribes to look like; I used artistic depictions of Gaul tribes and hairstyles for inspiration, and have used this as a go-to reference for my version of Alamarri tribes. Nothing super notable about this one, but I really liked the way the shape of her face turned out.

Events and Gifts:

1. Another Scar, 2020 - TW: blood, injuries, gore. The most recent piece of art on the list, and a gift for @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold; featuring sisterly love between Rica and fem!Brosca, which was her requested prompt. This was a tough piece for me because of the difficulty with the lighting I dealt with. For some reason, that one particular element of it gave me so much trouble. Overall, I’m very happy with how it turned out, though, especially the skin tones of the sisters; Brosca I always sort of like as having this greyish, more gaunt look to her, while Rica I like seeing with a darker, richer, and warmer tone to her.

2. A Very Cousland Christmas!, 2019 - This was for a holiday exchange for a server, and I drew a friend’s Cousland (Elissa, the girl on the left) with my Cousland (Gazza, the girl on the right). I love kid-fic, and I love kid-art, and so I decided... baby Cousland art! Drawing kid proportions was the toughest part, I recall, and I thiiiink it turned out well, and I’m still quite proud of it overall. Elissa’s design came entirely from my friend, but I added the holly~

3. Exchange Gift with Dis Brosca and Mabari, 2018 - This was an exchange gift for @fanfoolishness, using her lovely Dis Brosca, and was my first real attempt at backgrounds... I struggled with the coherence of the foreground and background a bit, but I’m still very proud of how it turned out, especially with the colors I had to work with. What I also really enjoyed working with was the lighting and the expression on Dis’s face. Backlit subjects are always fun to play around with!

4. Inktober Picture, “Deep”, 2017 - TW: scars, injury, mentions of abuse in the author’s note/attached dialogue snippets. This was for an Inktober prompt (the only one I’ve ever done, sadly... because I am bad with deadlines...), and again features Trilyn. Trilyn’s backstory has him a former slave in Tevinter, and a lot of the early works I do for him are sort of deep-dives into his life there. It’s all meant to be an exploration of the things he endures, and then those moments when he overcomes it all and takes back his own autonomy and self. This art is definitely provocative, and I can understand if not everyone likes it, but to me, I just wanted to show just what he faces (without glorifying it) before showing the moment of his own triumph.

5. Christmas Holiday Picture with my Brosca and a Friend’s Amell, 2017 - This was a piece of art drawn first by a friend of mine, @nanahuatli~ She drew the Amell, the background, the mistletoe, etc. All I did was add my Brosca to the mix to finish the image. It was a lot of fun to do, 1) because it was fun trying to match her style so that the picture looked cohesive, 2) because I love doing collabs with friends, and 3) because it was just such a fun thing to imagine my surly short Brosca, looking at this weird plant/fungus/thing dangling over some puckering human! It was an absolute joy to do this collab with her!

6. OC Kiss Week Pic of Jem and Saara, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars. A spur-of-the-moment thing meant to demonstrate just what kind of dynamic my OC, Jem, has with my other OC, Saara (both of whom are members of Leliana’s network in DAI). This was a very quick picture (deadlines...) and was mostly just to have fun drawing these two characters interacting, and to see if I could make them look like themselves. I think I did a decent job with it overall, especially with Jem’s kissy-face! (Again... drawing kisses are the bane of my existence, although hands and feet take a close second.)

#lavalampelfchild's art #masterpost #dragon age #some not DA stuff

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gotham-ruaidh · 5 years

Text

Pas De Deux - A Moodboard (Three Part) One-Shot (Part Three)

@iamnottrisha - thanks for organizing!

@taamagams - thanks for creating this beautiful moodboard!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

They split the bill for dinner, and then Claire let Jamie take her hand and lead her across the street. Lights in the fountain sparked reflections across all three buildings at Lincoln Center.

“I’ve never been here before,” she breathed.

Jamie pulled her tightly against his side, watching people bustle about the complex. “I’m glad to give this to you,” he whispered, kissing her temple.

Something surged within her – but Jamie was already tugging at her hand, striding toward the building at the back of the square.

“Sometimes I’m sorry that I didn’t see the original Metropolitan Opera House, before this complex was built by Robert Moses in the 60s.” Jamie’s voice was strong, quiet, as they approached the theater. “But I do have to say – there’s something very special about this place.”

Once inside, he went directly to the Will Call.

“Two for tonight’s performance, please. Last name is Fraser.”

And then she stared down at her ticket.

“Swan Lake,” she whispered.

“Of course. I told you it’s one of my favorites. But I didn’t tell you that my sister Jenny is dancing in it tonight.”

Stunned, Claire met his smiling eyes.

“How else do you think I could have afforded these tickets?”

Walking up the curving, red carpeted staircase to their seats was like something out of a dream.

“Some people say that orchestra seating is the best,” Jamie explained as they carefully walked down the sloping aisle to their seats at the front of the balcony. “But I like sitting up here – you can see the entire stage, plus the musicians.”

Heavy gold curtains draped across the stage. Claire watched individual musicians warm up in the pit, practicing their scales, laughing with each other.

“How long has your sister been with the ballet company?”

“About ten years now – she’s worked her way up to be what they call a principal dancer. And one of only a handful of dancers in the New York City ballet who are actually from New York City. The company truly seeks the best talent from all around the world.”

Claire thumbed through her Playbill – Jamie was right. Dancers hailed from Kiev, and Buenos Aires, and Paris, and Moscow, and Los Angeles.

“I don’t see a Fraser,” she frowned.

Jamie’s finger pointed out a smiling, dark-haired woman. “Janet Murray. She’s married to my best friend Ian – we all went to school together. She’s one of the only married dancers.”

“Is Ian a dancer as well?”

“God, no!” Jamie laughed. “He’s a police officer. Passed the sergeant’s exam earlier this year.”

Claire shook her head, then squinted at Jenny’s photograph. “I’d expected she’d be red-haired, like you.”

“She takes after Dad’s side of the family – they were all much darker in complexion. I take after Mom’s side.”

She turned the page. “Jenny is dancing Odette. Is that the main character?”

“Yes. She’s danced in this ballet many times, but only this season she’s started dancing Odette.”

Claire set down her Playbill, and took both of Jamie’s hands. “Thank you for taking me here. It’s – it’s all so much more than I ever could have expected.”

He raised one of her hands to his lips, and kissed it ever so gently. “Thank you for allowing me to take you here. It’s…I’ve never had anyone to share this with. Who would appreciate it.”

He flushed.

“Did you ever dance ballet, Jamie?”

“I tried – but I don’t have the coordination for it. I’d rather be drawing.”

“So – what do you draw?”

“Whatever I see around me. I like charcoal – it’s so simple, so freeing. Just a few strokes and life begins to take shape.”

She crossed one leg, rubbing her boot against his. “Anything in particular that you like to draw?”

“People. Faces. I drew a lot of dancers when Jenny and I were growing up – I had my Degas phase. It’s very hard to capture movement accurately.”

“Would you like to draw me?”

Quickly Jamie glanced at his watch, then fished around in his jacket pocket, producing a small rectangular metal case.

“That looks like what my uncle would put his cigarettes in.”

He lay the case on the armrest between them, and carefully flicked it open. “It used to be something like that.” He turned it around so that Claire could see inside – six neat rectangles of chalk, black and white and four shades of gray. “Now I never leave home without it.”

He flipped through his Playbill, removed the paper insert announcing the casting change for the night, and placed it, blank side up, on his knees. He turned in his seat, balancing carefully, facing her. Began to draw.

Suddenly self-conscious, Claire swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Hold still,” he whispered, eyes flicking between her face and the paper.

She did, mind racing, watching as he rotated the paper, smudged it a bit with the pads of his fingers, then smiled once it was all done.

“Here.” He held it out between them.

It was her, all right – rendered in the most delicate of lines. With just three sweeps of chalk he had captured her brow, cheeks, nose, chin – and smile.

Simple. Stunning.

She swallowed, fishing in her purse for a tissue. “Here – I didn’t see anything in that case to clean your hands with.”

Tentatively she took the drawing, studying it as he wiped his hands.

“It’s amazing how quickly you can do that.”

“It’s easy when I have a beautiful subject.”

She closed her eyes. Knowing he could see her hands shake.

“What are we doing, Jamie?”

“We’re going to watch the ballet. I’ll hold you close to me, and tell you the story, and hope against hope that you’ll continue to open your heart to me. And then when it’s done, I’ll introduce you to my sister. Maybe we’ll go for a drink. And I’ll see you back home to Adso.”

His warm, warm hand carefully rested on her knee. “I hope that one day, you’ll see this drawing and remember every moment – every second – of this night.”

She swallowed. “I can’t believe I found you.”

Her hand found his. Carefully he slipped the drawing into his Playbill, set it on the floor, and enveloped her hand in between both of his. “We found each other, Claire.”

Then a chime sounded, and the light fixtures began ascending up to the ceiling, and they settled into their seats – Jamie’s strong arm around her back, his hand safe between both of Claire’s.

He kept his promises that night.

Whispering the story unfolding on the stage:

That’s Prince Siegfried, and his overbearing mother who tells him he must choose a bride at the royal ball. He’s upset that he can’t marry for love. His buddies try to cheer him up, but it’s no use. As evening falls, Siegfried sees a flock of swans flying overhead, and suggests they go on a hunt to clear his mind.

Now here we pick up the story a bit later – and we see Siegfried lost at the lakeside. A flock of swans lands – and just as he aims his bow, one of them transforms into Odette. I can say Odette, and not Jenny, because to be honest I can’t recognize her with her hair and makeup and costume. You can see how terrified she is – but Siegfried explains that he won’t harm her. She tells him that she and the other swans are the victims of a curse from an evil sorcerer. By day they are swans, and by night, beside this enchanted lake, they regain their human form.

Odette tells him that the spell can only be broken if a man who has never loved before, swears to Odette that he will love her forever.

Then the sorcerer appears, and Siegfried wants to kill him – but Odette persuades him not to, for she fears that if the sorcerer dies, she will be cursed to live under the terrible spell forever.

Odette and Siegfried fall in love, that night by the lake – and as dawn breaks, she and her companions turn into swans again.

Now here we are the following evening at the costume ball – where Siegfried has been ordered to find a wife. Here are the girls his mother wants him to marry. And look – here is the sorcerer, in disguise, with his daughter who is disguised to resemble Odette. Siegfried gives her attention, thinking she is Odette.

And now we see Odette appear in her human form, trying desperately to warn Siegfried – but he doesn’t see her. And he proclaims to the court that he will marry the sorcerer’s daughter. But then the sorcerer shows Siegfried a magical vision of Odette – and he realizes she’s not there. He flees the castle, hurrying back to the lake to find her.

Odette is distraught. Siegfried appears and apologizes. Odette realizes she can never have the life with him that she wants, so she chooses to die. Siegfried chooses to die with her, and they leap into the lake. This breaks the sorcerer’s spell over the other swans. He dies. And in the last scene of the ballet, the swan maidens watch Siegfried and Odette ascend to heaven together.

The orchestra rose to a crashing crescendo, followed by a sliver of silence. The crowd rose to its feet with thundering applause.

Claire turned to Jamie, tears streaking down her face. She caressed his cheek and pulled him close for a long, long, sweet kiss.

“I’ve never loved before, Claire,” he rasped against her lips. “But I hope – ”

“I only want to be under your spell, Jamie,” she whispered, pulling him back for more.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #pas de deux

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jincherie · 5 years

Text

fox rain | four

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 13.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop one on the angst train express!!! conflict, crying, hurt feelings and perhaps a little bit of a complex... also someone gets slapped (rightfully). what a chapter! • ☽ — notes: two months late LETS GET IT FOOOXXX RRAAAIIINNN !!! this shit HURTED. for maximum owies, I advise reading a particular intermission before this one uwu

— posted; 08.09.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | four | next • —

Never in your life, have you ever truly entertained the thought of killing someone before now.

As though your stormy mood is a thick fog permeating the air and rendering it unbreathable, the students moving past you in the hall hasten to give you a wide berth. You’d appreciate it, if you weren’t so caught up in your half-baked murder plans that you didn’t even notice.

You’re a nice enough person, right? You’ve never gone out of your way to be mean, or bullied anyone—hell, sometimes you feel so bad about the current state of the earth that you walk around the park looking for litter to pick up. Being the stellar example to humanity that you are, you’ve managed to steer clear of—for the most part, also not counting these very stressful past few weeks—drama. In high school you managed to dodge the drama entailed by school dances, juvenile love triangles, and pretty much anything pubescent you can think of. You did your own thing, and generally most people took enough pity on your poor excuse of an existence that they became oddly endeared and protective of you, like they were adopting a small alien ball of slime that fell from the heavens and wheezed painfully with each breath. You’ve never had to face the cold, agonizing frostbite of betrayal, and you didn’t really ever expect to.

But now for the first time ever you have, and god does it suck. You woke up this morning like you had a hangover, head throbbing as though an iron ball was rolling from one side of your skull to the other in uneven laps, and your eyes were somehow a combination of dry and tight, swollen and moist— admittedly, you still kind of feel like that to a degree. You woke up sad, and angry and hurt, but thankfully Karma isn’t one to leave you stewing in any one emotion too long. What a benevolent queen you find yourself ruled by.

As soon as you settled down this morning with your flavoured coffee (the last sachet from your “depression days” emergency stash on the top shelf of the cupboard—you feel as though with all you’ve been through, you deserve it) and opened your phone like a fool to pass the time while your waffle (another comfort food from your stash) cooked in the kitchen, you were met with a very sudden and very stark change in emotional stasis. No longer were you a moody, depressed and sad sack of mouldy mashed potato—now you were a fucking livid sack of mouldy, mashed potato, who nearly snapped her fork in half from the sheer strength of her tight grip.

After all you’d learnt of Sera the afternoon previous, you shouldn’t have been as surprised to wake up to what you did. And yet, the second you laid eyes on that damn post it had taken you so off guard you’d nearly flown into a blind rage on the spot.

The gall, the absolute audacity of her to plead and proclaim that she was going to “fix this”, only to turn around and plunge another knife into your back by publicly announcing on the university forum she used to start all this that she is the author. This entire ordeal was already such a convoluted mess that even before this, she never could have truly fixed it—but she could have lessened it, made it more bearable. Yet she didn’t. And with her blatant choice to not only do the opposite but essentially plagiarise your damn poem and steal your unwanted, unintentional fame—you’ve never been so fucking furious in your life.

You’ve never considered murder before now either but you have to admit, the further onto campus you get and the more whispering and gossiping you catch about the “development” in the mystery moon poem drama, the more appealing it seems.

All day, you have put up with this shit. All day, as you sit through class and then move from one session to another, you have heard people gasp and chatter and rant and rave about how Sera is the supposed author to the poem. You’ve heard them wax poetic about her and her “skills” that she doesn’t deserve and aren’t really for her, flattering comments about her ‘humble’, ‘sweet’, ‘sensitive soul’ character that you now know couldn’t be further from the truth. The combination of her betrayal and the injustice of the situation as you now find yourself in it are almost enough to break you into a soggy, emotional mess, but it seems the pure, unadulterated rage will be enough to feed your fire and keep you going for now.

You’ve been in such a state all day that you can hardly remember what it was like before you were angry. Depression? What depression? You’ve never heard of her. This must be what it feels like to be an Aries, you think. You almost feel invincible, and would if it weren’t for the looming cloud above you that rained angry droplets on your parade.

By the time you drag yourself through the day and your first tutoring session arrives, you feel a strange combination of emotionally exhausted and absolutely fucking wired. You’re still seething, of course, but it’s less of an in-your-face anger and more of a crazed undertone at this point. You attempt a smile when you enter the library and see Hoseok, but you mustn’t be very close to achieving it because a brief expression of fear flits across his features and he straightens in his seat. Oops, you forgot Hoseok is a scaredy cat. It seems you’ve accidentally activated his deeply ingrained and well-exercised fight or flight response.

“H-hey, y/n…. are you okay?” His concern for your wellbeing has seemed to override his initial fear response, and you feel a little touched amongst the angry bubbling of your insides. You try again to flash a smile, and this one appears to be a closer approximation than the last as some of the tension leaves Hoseok’s form.

“It’s a lovely day,” you say, fighting a twitch that’s trying to make itself known in your left eye. “But enough about that, let’s talk about you. What are we going over today?”

Hoseok is hesitant, pausing a moment as his eyes survey your seated form like he’s assessing whether it’s worth it to probe a little more. He seems to reach a decision and turns to his bag, pulling out his things. They hit the table with a tentative thunk, even the sound seeming cautious. He is treating you like a bomb that could go off at any moment and to be honest… you can’t blame him.

“I need your help brainstorming for a project that’s due in a few weeks,” he says, most of the fear having left his voice. “But I was wondering if we could practice essay writing some more, maybe timed? One of my exams is an essay.”

You wince for him, but nod and reach for your phone, unlocking it carelessly and trying to shove down the hot spark of anger that ignites down your spine at the post being the last thing you were looking at. With a little more anger than necessary, you flick that screen away and pull up the timer app. “Yeah, we can do that. We’ll split the session in half, I’ll start the timer.”

When you turn back to Hoseok, his gaze is on your phone as his brows draw together in a pensive sort of expression. Something you can’t decipher washes over his face in the next second, his eyes flitting to you and then to your phone before he’s sitting back, covering his momentary lapse with a bright smile. You’re a little bit suspicious but not bothered enough to really be wondering about whatever is going through his head.

You start the session, and given how previous ones have gone you’re kind of expecting him to fall into the same serious, broody mood as he has been. To your complete and utter surprise, however, Hoseok begins acting in his usual dumbass antics right off the bat. He’s more animated than you’ve seen him in weeks, making weird Hoseok Noises™ and laughing loudly, even poking you playfully every now and then.

You still feel a little stormy, but the longer the session goes on the more he has a smile fighting to be set free. It’s Hoseok, so of course that resistance doesn’t last long. By the time his session is drawing to a close he has you chuckling, a small smile on your face. He appears accomplished, grinning brightly himself before he catches sight of the time and it falters slightly. You wonder what could have incurred such a reaction before the realisation smacks you and suddenly the inklings of sunlight peeking through the clouds above your head are swallowed up again. Right, the whole thing with Jimin.

With the events of yesterday and this morning still fresh in your mind, the slight parallel hits a little closer to home than you’d like.

You don’t have to wonder if Hoseok has noticed the backtrack in your mood, because the expression of slight regret playing across his features tells you he has. He gives you a somewhat strained smile as he hastens to pack his things away, almost hesitating once done as though he wants to stay despite a deeper desire to avoid Jimin.

“I’m gonna head now, avoid some of the traffic on the way home,” he rambles, seemingly torn between meeting your eyes so he can smile and avoiding them since he’s fibbing and he knows you know. You squint at him.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Wouldn’t want you stuck in traffic,” you say, staring him dead in the eyes. “You live so far away after all.”

He lets out a nervous-sounding laugh, most likely at the way you’re looking at him, and slings his overstuffed bag over his shoulder. “Ahah… yeah.”

He lives about ten minutes away, the little turd.

You roll your eyes, giving the boy a brief smile. “See you on Friday, Hoseok.”

Somewhat relieved you’re not too mad, Hoseok grins and salutes, returning the sentiment before he’s hightailing it out of there faster than you can say “emotional constipation”. Well, now that you’re left to your own devices for the next eight or so minutes, you’re not really sure what to do. For a moment you sit there, staring in a somewhat disassociating manner at the dark, matte grey surface of the library table. It’s a little quieter than usual this afternoon, and it really allows you to zone out more.

You don’t really want to look at your phone, lest it appear like a request for more suffering to the powers that be. The last thing you want is them thinking you’re hungry for more shitty luck and going out of their way to give you more. So with your phone out of the question, you’re left with nothing to do for the next few minutes except sit and stare at nothing, and maybe transcend the mortal plane a bit while you’re at it. Which is what you do, and do so thoroughly that when a voice sounds next to you, you nearly scream and shit yourself.

“Uh, excuse me…”

“HOLYFUCK!” A strangled noise escapes you, body spinning to face whoever almost scared you to death. “DUDE, you can’t just—oh, hey Jungkook.”

The tall boy flushes as your face softens upon seeing him, the anger that resulted from your scare quickly fizzling away. Jungkook has a face that you’ve always found impossible to be angry at. It feels like being angry at a baby, or a puppy, or a little sugar glider with their big ol’ eyes and tiny paws. You just… can’t do it. You’re lucky he’s not aware of his power or else, like any other bastard adolescent male, he might use it to get up to no good.

“Oh, sorry! Sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you, I- I just saw this on the ground and came to give it to you. I think… I think one of you dropped it. I don’t know if it was you or Hoseok.” Jungkook does his best to meet your eyes, voice soft as he stumbles ever so slightly over his words. He can’t manage to hold your gaze for long however, before his is flying away and straying to the floor, and the ceiling, anywhere but you really. One of his hands rises to sweep through his long, inky curls and rub the back of his neck, the other occupied with gripping a notebook by his side.

You examine the object a little closer, quickly coming to the conclusion you’ve never seen it before in your life. “I don’t recognise it. Could be Hoseok’s though. I’ll keep it for him in case it is his. Thank you, Jungkook.”

The male freezes, completely disarmed for a moment as you flash him a grateful smile. He is so completely still in the seconds following that you can’t help but worry—did you look so bad just then that you shocked him into a coma? Do you have a pimple you don’t know about, glaring at him from somewhere humiliatingly obvious on your face? Is there something in your teeth??

"O-oh," Jungkook clears his throat, blinking twice and then giving his head a little shake as though to clear it. "It's no— It's no problem! I mean I kind of work here so... it would be irresponsible of me to leave it? I mean, not that I would, I—"

You can't help the brief chuckle that wrestles its way from your chest to escape unbidden, your hands reaching to take the notebook that he'd begun holding out for you not long after he started talking. In the process your fingertips brush his own and Jungkook lets out a sound that rings suspiciously like a squeak, hands yanking back so suddenly you almost drop the book before you can adjust your own grasp.

"Oop," he says, the tips of his ears beginning to glow pink beneath the tan of his skin. "Sorry, your next session is probably about to start. I'll leave you be."

Then, as abruptly as he'd arrived, he departs— for a second your wired brain almost tricks you into seeing a cloud of dust form behind him from how fast he flees, reminiscent of the cartoon characters from your childhood.

Well, certainly not the strangest interaction you’ve ever had with Jungkook.

Blinking, you adjust your grip on the book, fingers feeling like they’re slipping against the back for a moment before they finally stop sliding and the notebook remains firm in your hold. Weird, you think, but quickly dismiss it as nothing more than sweaty butterfingers—something you’re prone to getting when stressed. Which, lately, seems to be all the damn time.

You slip the book into your bag, setting a mental reminder to bring it next time you have a session with Hoseok so that you can ask if it’s his. You don’t actually remember what his notebooks look like (you’ve never really made it a point to burn them into your memory) so there’s a fair chance it could be his. In which case, you’re going to make fun of him for being a dumb doo-doo and dropping his book without even realising.

Considering Hoseok left before his session could even end, you were kind of expecting at least a few minutes of peace to yourself where you sit and dissociate by staring at the table again. You’re mistaken however, it seems, and you barely get to blink before there is a familiar set of footsteps making their way to your table and the subsequent light, melodic voice that sounds as they announce themselves loudly and clearly, as they usually do.

“y/n! Honey, I’m here!”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. He seems to be in a good mood. May the lord give you strength.

Jimin’s footfalls change and you look up just in time to catch him begin skipping over to where you’re seated at the table, arms swinging and a bright grin overtaking his face, almost making his eyes disappear. You stare at him, caught off-guard by his sudden sunny disposition (the past few sessions haven’t been awesome to him, after all), but he doesn’t stop grinning at you the whole way over. You think you catch Jungkook giving him a dubious look from the front desk, but can’t be sure before Jimin is right in front of you and blocking your view of anything else with his midsection.

“Hi y/n!” he greets again, body swaying slightly where he stands before he slings his bag off and moves to plop in the chair. “Isn’t it such a lovely day tod—oh? Oh!”

Torn from your inner musings of whether or not you should be concerned at Jimin’s sudden mood shift, your eyes whip to his hand where it’s reaching for the chair seat, plucking something from the surface before he suddenly turns and flops down as originally intended.

Jimin’s face has morphed into a picturesque expression of curiosity as he holds up what was between him and his seat; a piece of paper, barely a slip, folded neatly in half. The nosy male is quick to open it, clearly enunciating the words that are apparently scrawled across the inside.

“’You look pretty today’… Aw, y/n, you shouldn’t have !”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost feel the nerve pinch inside your skull. Jimin, of course, knows that you didn’t leave the note for him, but apparently today is one of the days he delights in your suffering.

You almost contemplate the effort of giving a response before realising that you don’t even need one; the male has quickly lost interest in the paper, leaving it discarded on the table top, and is now staring somewhat wistfully out the window with a slightly dazed grin. Okay, what? When he’d first rocked up, he seemed like he was buzzed and brighter than the sun, in one of those energetic top-of-the-world moods. Now… you’re rethinking that observation. If anything, he seems a little distracted.

And as your session with Jimin begins and proceeds, you quickly realise just how true this is.

Initially, you’d been slightly worried about Jimin rocking up with the same knowledge everyone else on this damn campus no doubt possesses after this morning. However, the further into the session you get, the more it becomes apparent that he’s far too off in space to have picked up anything like that. Not to mention, the more you think about it, the more you realise that you’re not even sure if Jimin even goes here. So would he know about all the latest campus gossip and drama? He is friends with Taehyung…

Ultimately you’re unsure, but cautiously optimistic that Jimin hasn’t seen anything to do with the poem or the post that was released this morning. You also figure that, given how distracted he currently is, he probably wouldn’t have had a chance to pick up on the gossip running through the halls anyway— you’re glad that you don’t have to worry about Jimin pitching in his two cents as to who the author is, but honestly? A small part of you kind of wishes that he knew, if only so you could see who he supported in this scenario, like whether he would defend your honour or whether he would betray you and stomp all over your friendship garden by falling for Sera's propaganda.

You suppose there's no way to know, since you're definitely not going to inform him about everything just to find out. No, this peace and calm that comes from how simply detached he feels from the current messy climate of your life is nice and you don't really want to throw that away just yet. For now, you're content to just sit and let it be. It's actually helping a little more of your anger fizzle out, so that's a definitely plus as well.

Content as you may be to let Jimin stay oblivious and wrapped up in his own little world as he currently is, you can't help but wonder what on earth has him so out of it in the first place. You don't think you've ever seen him like this, all spacey and distracted, dreamy smiles sent into the air where his eyes stare, half-lidded and dazed. You'd almost worry he's high on something were it not the brief moments of clarity where he checks back in to be a little shit and tease you.

Today's session for Jimin consists of a few worksheets he's brought for you to assist him with— two of which are similar enough and the third nothing to do with the others— and you do your best to guide him through them. Usually Jimin isn't that hard to tutor. You figured out early on that he's motivated by positive reinforcement more than anything else, and praise is what tickles him most. With this little hack up your sleeve, you never usually have an issue with guiding him along in sessions. Today, however, not even praise seems to be enough to bring him back to the present long enough to pay attention and actually make a dent in the work.

You like to think you're a pretty patient person, but even you have limits and they're reached about two thirds of the way into the session when Jimin gets distracted once more mid-sentence and leaves you sitting in place waiting for him, for a solid three or so minutes.

"Hey, Park," you bark sharply, hoping that if you sound enough like Hoseok then maybe it will startle him fully out of his reverie. "What's going on with you today? What the hell has you so distracted?"

Jimin jumps in his seat at your sudden tone, and turns to you now with wide eyes. It takes a moment for your words to sink in through the shock, but as soon as they register he sags in his seat and the tension leaves his form. His eyes flick to the right, a shy, lazy smile tugging his lips as his thoughts clearly go somewhere else. Seriously? Just how easily distracted is he right now? You only just got his attention, for crying out loud!

Just when you feel about ready to reach over and strangle an answer out of him, the crimson-haired male speaks and halts your violent thoughts in place.

"It's, um..." Jimin rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, using both hands to fiddle with his decorative ice-cream pen, a sundae with chocolate and cherries sitting cutely on the end. "Say, do you..."

Great, you can't help but think, looks like you're in this for the long haul.

"Do I...?" you prompt him, when you decide he's dawdled long enough in giving you an answer.

"Do you... you know... uh." Jimin rakes a hand through his hair, a button on the sleeve of his light denim jacket almost catching on the strands. He pauses, taking a deep breath, and then turns to meet your eyes— wait, is he blushing? "y/n... you know Lee Sera, right?"

Your entire brain seems to halt, the tip of your pen hitting the tabletop despondently. There's something funny about the way he looks right now, something odd and niggling at the back of your mind, but you can't quite place it because you're sitting there with a mild case of whiplash. What. "What?"

Jimin lets out a noise that is somewhere between a chuckle and a giggle, and shifts his gaze down to the paper on the table before him. Fiddling with the ice-cream pen once more, he bites his lip to hide a shy smile— oh, you realise what it is now. He looks like a school girl talking about her crush.

Two beats pass before that thought really sinks in —oh. no— and it's just in time for Jimin's continuation to sucker punch you in the face.

"Do you know if she... likes anyone?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Your brain decides to pitch in, the words mere millimetres from your lips, 'Give me one reason why I shouldn't just kill you right now—'

You just barely hold the words back. The noise you make instead doesn't really sound human, nor does it constitute an actual response of any sort, yet it's all the male gets and still, he's not deterred. It's as though he hasn't noticed the steam currently beginning to spill from the surface of your head, coiling tendrils betraying your current fuming state. What kind of cruel injustice is this? No, you almost want to plead to the heavens and appeal the cruelty currently taking place on this earth— please no.

“Y-you’re asking me if… if she…” You can’t seem to get the words out, the sounds choking in your throat. Jimin does seem to notice this, taking a moment to send you a somewhat concerned expression. It’s brief, though, and he’s soon off in his thoughts once again.

“Yeah,” he says, appearing bashful for a moment. “Although, that’s kind of silly of me, isn’t it. I mean, it’s Sera. Of course she has someone special, right?”

For one thing, you’re wondering just how you’ve managed to get this far in your tutoring sessions without finding out about Jimin’s evident crush on your ex-best friend. Like, is this a recent thing? Or is it more of a slow-burn, consistent for a long period of time thing? And on the other hand, given the context of the situation (despite full details being privy only to you), you can’t help but marvel at Jimin’s apparent poor taste in suitors.

Really, of all the people he could happen to have a crush on, it has to be her?!

“Nggh…” you choke down the words that attempt to rise to your lips, suddenly very uncomfortable in your seat. A barrage of thoughts rain upon your brain, overloading your mind.

Does he know? Does he know about the whole mystery poem ordeal that has so far worked to ruin your life in more than one way? Has he seen the posts? Especially the one that Sera made this morning? It’s hard to pinpoint, but when Jimin doesn’t elaborate further and simply resorts to doodling on his paper as he disappears with the fairies once more, you muse that maybe he hasn’t. If he’d seen it, surely he’d be mentioning it as he spoke of her? Bitterly, you recall that no one today could seem to pass up the opportunity to praise her with every fibre of their being. Just the memory makes hot flames of anger lick at your chest, and you do your best to cool them before Jimin picks up on the Big Kill Energy beginning to emanate from your general direction.

Somewhat thankfully, it’s at this moment that the timer on your phone goes off, signifying the end of the session. A long breath of relief escapes you as you reach for the device, sliding your thumb across the screen to dismiss the timer. The sound seems to have brought Jimin back to the present too, as he’s begun packing away his things in an indolent manner, humming softly to himself. He pulls his phone out, skimming through his feed distractedly as he does so. You decide you may as well do the same, beginning to pack up while he does. There’s no rush, so you actually take your time packing your things away instead of hastily cramming them all in your backpack at once like you usually are inclined to do.

You almost zone out yourself before a sharp gasp breaks you from whatever reverie you were about to get stuck in. Your eyes whip up to Jimin and, immediately after seeing the expression on his face, a feeling of dread begins to creep into your gut.

“Oh my god…” he murmurs, hushed, eyes wide and glued to the screen of his phone. A beat passes before he scrambles to take it into his hold, ring-adorned finger whipping across the screen as he rapidly reads whatever is on there. You don’t like the way he seems to glow with each moment more that passes.

“y/n!” he exclaims very suddenly and very, very loudly. You jump in a combination of fright and tension. “y/n! She— she’s—!”

Oh, god. You wish you could sink into the earth and never resurface. He’s seen it.

Cramming the last few items in your bag, you make use of the fact that Jimin is still staring at his phone and pretend that you don’t hear him, rising from your chair and beginning to walk towards the library doors. Jimin scrambles to his feet, following after you like a puppy, or a child wishing to show their parent something important. “y/n!”

“Hm?” You throw the noise over your shoulder half-heartedly, looking hastily for the best escape route that Jimin isn’t likely to follow you down. Unfortunately this isn’t downtown, this is the second-biggest library on your campus, and there is nowhere you can go that Jimin wouldn’t be able to follow you.

“I— y/n! Do you know that whole mystery poem author thing? I heard something about it a while ago but I just— I only just read about it and! y/n!” Jimin reaches out to grasp you by the sleeve, effectively halting you for a moment. “It’s just been found that Lee Sera is the author!”

Lord give you strength, you absolutely want to die.

“O-oh?” The utterance is literally ground through your teeth, but Jimin seems to be in such a state of euphoria that he doesn’t even notice. Of course.

“I mean, this is such a shock but… I’m not surprised.” The male is positively beaming with pride, looking down at his phone fondly. You think you’re going to be sick. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? And she’s so humble to have kept quiet about the whole thing, too. Wah, she’s so….”

You don’t know whether you’re going to implode from anger or frustration, or maybe a dangerous cocktail of both. It’s as though there are live wires beneath your skin, nerves abuzz and wrought with the urge to strangle someone (preferably a certain someone) or hit something (preferably your head, against a desk).

“She sure is something,” you say, the toothy smile you slap on completely juxtaposing the bitter note to your voice. Jimin again, bless him, completely misses it.

You’re so close to the doors, but not close enough. Please… you just want to go home and angry cry into your pillow.

“I never really paid it much attention, but now that I’m rereading the poem… she’s so talented,” Jimin’s tone is full of awe, and you know that you felt murderous this morning but now you feel that and incredibly done. When will karma finish rawing you? Have you not suffered enough? Was everyday living not torture enough? Jimin’s lovestruck babbling stops for no man, “It’s no wonder it blew up so much, she’s such a gifted—”

“Who’s such a gifted what?”

You jump slightly at the sound of a new voice, eyes whipping over to catch sight of Kim Taehyung as he slips into the library through the widening gap in the doors and makes his way over. It seems he’s donned a loose white shirt and black pants ensemble today, something you notice because of the way they flow as he walks. His question was directed at Jimin, but his eyes seem to be surveying your expression to get a read on the situation.

Regrettably, you can feel that the face you’re currently pulling… really isn’t a good one.

The second he sees him, Jimin changes targets and latches onto his friend’s arm instead. “Tae! The author of that poem you’re always raging about—oofft—”

You don’t quite catch it, but you swear you glimpse Taehyung— whose cheeks seem to have taken on a flushed tone— deliver a powerful elbow to Jimin’s ribs, who grunts but nonetheless continues, undeterred. You’ve really gotta give him points for his determination and perseverance at this stage.

“The author of the poem, it’s Lee Sera! I know I always ignored you when you talked about it, but now that I think about it, it makes so much sense!” Jimin’s gushing again, and you really think you might be sick sometime soon. Is it possible to be so angry that you become nauseous? You suppose you’re about to find out. “She’s one of the best in her class, isn’t she? Of course she’s able to make such a beautiful poem that goes viral the second it’s released— it’s her!”

Taehyung’s eyes had been trained upon Jimin the whole time he spoke, but now they’re sweeping to you and for some reason, you find yourself freezing in place under their weight. The dark cocoa of his iris’ swim with something indecipherable, a curious tilt to the corner of his heart-shaped mouth. It’s as though he’s watching for your reaction to something. His gaze doesn’t leave you for the entire moment that he answers his friend, “Uh huh. Is that so?”

You’re unnerved— or maybe it’s just a very sudden, very potent overload of your senses. You’re angry, you’re upset and hurt; you’re frustrated now more than ever at the injustice of the situation and how much of an absolutely helpless position you have found yourself in. You want to leave, and you know that if you don’t soon, you’re probably going to start angry crying in the middle of the library and that is a mess you absolutely do not want to experience handling. Besides, you don’t think poor Jungkook at the reception is really equipped to handle those sorts of breakdowns. You really wouldn’t want to put him through it either.

“Right, well I really have to go. I have a bunch of readings to do, so… better get started on those,” you announce loudly, cutting Jimin off before he can start again and drive you any further towards insanity than he already has. “Finish those sheets, Jimin. Don’t make me chase you up.”

Jimin whips his hand to his forehead in a salute, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Already turning on your heel, you make your escape while you can and wave goodbye. “Okay, see you! Have fun doing whatever it is you’re about to do!”

And then you absolutely yeet yourself out the library doors and all but bolt home.

Alright. You have a date with your pillow and some tears, and you’re not about to miss it. May the gods of fortune guide you home without anymore incidents that make you want to slam your head against a brick wall, please and thank you.

x x x x

“— I just, sort of like, you know, write whatever comes to my head. Like, whatever I feel comes from the heart—”

She follows you like the plague, bits and pieces of her and oh-so-casual reminders that she exists and is tormenting you, everywhere you go, and it takes every inch of your willpower to block her out and keep walking as you have every other time you encountered her preaching to admirers in the public spaces you frequent on campus. Sometimes Sera sees you, and you think that if she weren’t surrounded by half a hundred people sucking her toes then she might chase after you. You’ve been screening her calls, after all, and there have been a lot of them.

You regret to say, that in the days following that cursed announcement, things don’t begin to die down nearly as much as you hope they would. People are still talking, still whispering about it, and instead of it becoming old news it’s as though instead it’s a rampant forest fire, feeding ravenously on the hot gossip passed between peers at brunch, posts typed out meticulously on various media and dramatic recounts told by the friends of those that, wisely, seem to live under a rock.

You, of course, couldn’t be any less pleased with how the situation is panning out.

Your hot, scalding, unadulterated cauldron of bubbling rage has since settled down to a reluctant simmer. This is partly because you realised it is kind of unhealthy to be that angry so constantly, and partly because you’re not a fan of the constipation that results from being so tense with anger. You lose some, you lose some, you suppose. It’s lose-lose these days, babey!

The climate at university isn’t looking good for you, and each day passes with great testament to your willpower and determination not to purchase an automated vehicle and run yourself over. You still go to classes, and attend even the stupidest of lectures and tutorials (you’ve had to suffer through experiencing Seokjin more often than you’d like, but he seems to have toned himself down a little the past few times you’ve seen him— perhaps he’s caught wind of that [redacted] post and actually feels sorry for you?... No, he’s probably just got the flu and doesn’t want to use his voice up to torment you all at once). To be honest, you even kind of forgot about Jimin and his apparent crush for a while— probably would have continued forgetting if it weren’t for your sudden recollection approximately three minutes before his session on Friday.

With Hoseok gone, early as usual these days, you’re left to stew in your own thoughts and it’s barely a few minutes into dissociating that you remember Jimin’s last session and the knowledge that unfolded towards the end of it.

True to your luck and arguably a few minutes early to being right on time, you hear Jimin’s patent patter of footsteps and fight the urge to sink in your seat. You really need to get it together because this is ridiculous, you’re not prepared for anything and everything is out to ruin your day one way or another. You’re well on your way to crashing and burning in some sort of way but you still have no idea when exactly it’s gonna go down. An absolute travesty. You’re a mess waiting to get even messier at barely a moment’s notice.

“Afternoon, y/n!” Jimin crows in greeting as he nears you, a skip in his step and three books in his arms on topics that have absolutely nothing to do with each other. Does he even go here? You really wonder sometimes. “The sun says hello!”

You’re unsure whether he’s referring to himself, or the fact that the sun has indeed just peeked out from behind the clouds that have obscured it since early this morning, but either way the best you can manage is a strained smile in returned greeting. You can’t really bring yourself to look at him the same. Have you lost respect for Jimin after finding out that he has a massive crush on Sera, the person single-handedly responsible for ruining your life the most it has ever been ruined before and then going to ruin it further after you confronted her about it? Absolutely. Can you tell him without sounding like an absolute asshole because evidently to everyone but you Sera has managed to keep up a stellar appearance and benevolent persona? No, no you cannot and it’s probably going to end up making you drink questionable fluids later.

Somewhat stupidly optimistic, a small part of you hopes that maybe it was a brief crush, a spur of the moment affection erection, and that this Jimin in front of you now has realised the error of his ways and has moved on from this blight in his romantic record.

Of course, this is not to be, and the second there’s a lull in conversation after he’s begun working on the task you set him, he begins chattering away as he scribbles his half-hearted answers on the paper. If he starts dotting his I’s with hearts, you really might k-word yourself.

The topic of his vocal musings is, of course, one Lee Sera. You manage to sit there as he waxes the usual poetic, the stuff you heard last session and the things you’ve heard floating in the halls, with minimal incidence. While he’s talking about Sera, you’re constructing a little zen garden in the depths of your mind and it’s taking all of your brain power. Well, almost all of it— you do catch one little tidbit that makes you halt in your mental raking of sand.

“-- and I mean, I know it’s dumb, but I just can’t stop thinking about all those conspiracy posts on the forum, and, like… well, now they know who the author is, but they haven’t discovered the muse, you know? So like…”

The implication of his words hits you like a freight train, and the anger sizzling in your abdomen cooling suddenly into an odd sense of dread. Oh, oh no.

“I don’t think it is, but what if it really is me she wrote it about…?”

It seems, that Jimin— bless his pure, naive heart— has begun to hope. Learning that “Sera” is the author of a poem he’s suspected to be starred in seems to have crumbled the floodgate keeping the bulk of his feelings at bay. As he continues to mutter and ramble, pausing in his writing every so often to doodle a heart, or a tree with a heart and initials on it, you realise just how deep he seems to be in this little infatuation.

The very prospect of there being a chance his feelings aren’t unrequited? He can’t help but cling to it, and the more you hear tumble from his mouth the more you realise this tomato-haired crackhead is actually a hopeless romantic, and literally cannot stop himself from hoping, from feeding that fantasy he has.

Sitting there and listening to him, as the person knowing who the poem is really about and where Sera’s fixation doesn’t lie, you begin to feel a little guilty. You can’t tell him, can’t inform him of the reality because it would compromise you— not only that, he’s so taken with Sera and caught up in the romantic glow of the situation as he sees it that you doubt he’d believe you. That saddens you a little, that realisation. You’ve been friends with Jimin for months now, you’ve tutored him and even had a few impromptu therapy sessions when he rocks up a mess; but not once have you ever seen him or Sera so much as glance at each other, not once has his name passed her lips, and yet… if you were to confess to him, right here and right now, that you are the real author of the poem… would he believe you?

A part of you suspects the answer, and it makes your heart sink.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything to him. The rest of his session is spent stewing internally in your own perplexing cocktail of guilt and hurt, and you realise only as it ends and you watch him leave through the door that you never even had a chance to convince him that he’s not the muse. It feels cruel, thinking of doing such a thing when you now know how attached he is to the possibility of being the muse with Sera as the author. It would be an awful thing for you to do, to stomp on the morsels of hope that have bloomed within him for his crush. But it doesn’t change the fact that you are the original author, and you know who the poem was really written about— is it not the morally right thing to do, to tell him the truth?

Do you protect his feelings, or do you hurt them for a greater good?

You don’t know which is the right thing to do in this situation, and when you eventually pack your things up and exit the library, it’s with a sick feeling in your stomach and a foreboding tingling of your sixth sense that tells you this… isn’t going to end well.

x x x x x x

VVVVVBBT. VVVVVVVBT. VVVVVVVBT. VVVVVBT.

It seems to take longer for the ringing to end this time, you note, as you somewhat despondently watch the phone vibrate and move across the table slightly from the force of it. Then again, it could just be the thousands of calls you’ve screened over the weekend that have you feeling so weary. Most would get the message that your continued silence and refusal to answer indicate, but apparently not Sera. You’ve always known she’s stubborn, and determined, but this is borderline crazy and you’re having trouble wrapping your head around the emergence of all these facets you never knew about or even noticed before now.

The weekend just gone, the two days that are meant to be your one time of reprieve and sanctuary from the messy shithole your world has become lately, had been desecrated. Not even in the safety of your own home could you pretend your anxieties didn’t exist, the tell-tale vibrations of your phone and the occasional, persistent series of dings that alert you to a new message were ceaseless. It’s a little concerning, her dogged dedication to attempting to contact you, but at this point you’re not even interested in psycho-analysing it. You just want a break, and for the “block call” function on your phone to maybe actually work for once.

Actually, you’ve been (unfortunately, regrettably) given a lot of insight into sides of Sera you’d never witnessed before, faces she’d kept hidden behind a carefully prepared facade and the persona she wanted to present to the world for the duration of your friendship. The messages she sends you come in groups, and more often than not in completely contradicting tones. Begging, pleading, empty apologies, anger, spite— you’ve seen them all, sometimes in the same message. For the most part, they’re shameless pleas and begs for you to talk to her, to answer her calls and listen to what she has to say. Some of them, though, give you a massive whiplash when you read them.

One such text from mid-Sunday reads from the notification bar, “i’m doing what you wanted, what the fuck is your problem? why are you so mad? honestly, at this point it’s a little selfish of you, i’m sacrificing so damn much just to…”

Another, barely an hour after that one, was quick to backtrack, “llisten y/n, i’m sso fuckiggn sorry for that last tesct. it was so uncalled for im so sorry. i’m trying so hrard but you wont evenn anser my callss, and im jsut, imr realluy having g scucjh a hard time with all of this stuff goigng on adn…”

You didn’t click on the notification or open them, so you don’t actually know what she says in the latter half of her messages. You don’t think you want to though, if the start of some of them are any indication as to what the rest will hold.

As if your phone being constantly lit up in some way or another due to her wasn’t enough, you also had to bear witness to the rest of the bullshit manifesting at her hands. In actuality, it was largely this that is responsible for relighting your rage pit and getting you back on the “incredibly pissed and absolutely unimpressed” track.

Contrary to the texts and voicemails Sera left you over the course of the weekend, she is simultaneously active on the cursed forum that she used to start all this, and the posts you've been seeing only serve to fuel your anger. At one point you got so mad you nearly threw your phone into your pot of noodles, the only thing stopping you being that you’re better than that and you’d rather throw yourself off the bank into the nearby river than let her get one up on you in any way.

Pleading and begging she would be in your inbox, and then she’d turn and press send on a post in the forum that completely contradicts whatever crap she bawled at you in her messages. The forum is currently an absolute mess of shipping posts (no longer starring you, but her) with varying suspected muses, the odd conspiracy post, and questions directed her as the ‘author’ that she answered in full character. You could deal with the shipping posts (well, all but one. That one made your blood boil and your stomach twist into an ugly pit of warped envy), but her impersonating you as the author and answering questions about your work as though she wrote it herself? You’re ready to spill blood.

The most common question, of course, in all its variations is something best encapsulated by this particular gem that shows up late Sunday evening: ‘omg, i love love love moonlight sonata! the second i read it i couldn’t help but fall in love, whether with you or the poem idk yet! I just wanted to know, like probably everyone does, who was the muse?’

That [redacted]’s response to this is probably the one that gets your blood boiling the most too.

‘hi, thank you so so much for all the love! its so strange since this was never meant to get out and i never really get such response to my works,, but i’m getting more used to it and im so so grateful!! haha! its actually funny you say that,, it was so embarrassing at the time but i once had a teacher say that they thought i could make someone fall in love with me with a poem alone >< hehe i guess they were right! and i did write moonlight sonata for someone, but i’m not sure if i should reveal that just yet… you’ll have to wait and see!’

Murder is illegal and so is manslaughter. Again, with more feeling. Murder is illegal, and so is manslaughter. There. You take in a deep breath, attempting desperately to find some zen after recalling all the forum posts you’d seen over the duration of the weekend. You suppose the only silver lining you’re going to be able to find in this is the fact that Sera doesn’t actually know who you wrote the poem for. Well, she might have a suspicion, but you’ve never told her. And even so, there would be no point in her ‘revealing’ who your muse is, since she’s claimed she is the author and ‘confessing’ someone would lead to circumstances she’d likely rather avoid.

But, now that you think about it, shouldn’t that mean that she’d try and avoid mentioning it altogether? If so, why is she feeding it every chance she gets…?

You don’t get to spare that train of thought much time, since despite how long the weekend drags on, the next day arrives very quickly. Before you know it, almost the entire day is gone and you’re zipping through your tutoring session with Hoseok, helping the somewhat frantic boy with a last-minute assessment he’d completely forgotten about. You’ve spent the whole day successfully avoiding anything to do with Sera and that stupid poem, and you’re actually feeling quite good at this point, in comparison to how you’ve been feeling the past, well, the past month or so. The hour passes quicker than you’d like and before long you’re packing your things up and helping Hoseok with his own bulging assortment of textbooks and notepads before they all go tumbling to the floor. You swear you see some receipts with hasty scribbles littering the bottom of his bag but you try not to look since you don’t want to ruin your progress and stress yourself out. You’re in such an oddly peaceful mood you’re actually thinking of asking Jimin if he wants to spend the session outside under the trees in the new garden the university brought in. Uncharacteristic, you know, but what is the human experience if not getting so stressed and exceeding your emotional capacity so extensively that you transcend all planes of feeling and feel contrarily at peace?

It’s as you’re exiting the library after your session with Hoseok, carrying some of his things for him while he fixes his bag, that the universe decides to remind you of your place and the fact that you can never truly avoid your problems in life. Apparently, they’re prone to chasing you down and sniffing you out like a bloodhound, and like a particularly nasty yeast infection they never truly go away until you seek professional help and purchase an antibiotic restraining order for that shit.

You barely get the words, ‘See you on Wednesday, Hoseok’, out of your mouth before you hear another familiar sound, much sooner than you anticipated. Hoseok returns the farewell and turns away, still cramming the rest of his things in his bag as he begins to move off. A laugh, light and airy and very familiar, brushes your ears and you turn with a slight smile on your face. Excellent, given he doesn’t see Hoseok making his quick escape, then he’ll probably still be in a good enough mood to agree to studying outside with you.

You turn, greeting already on the tip of your tongue, and promptly feel the words die in your throat and the smile on your lips drop completely. Oh, for the love of fuck.

Jimin is smiling, laughing, as he comes down the hallway, cheeks flushed pink and eyes disappearing into gleeful crescents— it’s a sight that would made you smile if it weren’t for the fact that he’s not alone.

The woman of the hour, the source of your suffering for the past month or so, is striding along next to the oblivious male, like the scorpion perched on the frog’s back. She’s placed her hand on the back of his arm as they walk, smiling at something he’s said as he chatters away, resembling an eager puppy as he does so. You recognise the move as one of her favourite lightly flirty ones.

Somewhat belatedly, your flight response kicks in, and you go to move and leave while you can— but its not before Sera turns and notices you standing there, mid-movement.

The shift is instantaneous. You might have thought that the interested expression she was directing at Jimin was genuine, if it weren’t for the way her entire demeanour changes the second she catches sight of you. Your first instinct is to be angry that she’d managed to find her way to Jimin, and that he’d probably fall for whatever bullshit spouted from her mouth about being the author, but as you see the slight, victorious flicker pass through her gaze, you become angry for another reason entirely. The suspicion weighing heavy in your gut makes your blood boil as Sera straightens, angling her body away from Jimin completely and all but non-verbally dismissing him, as though he’s no longer even there.

Jimin halts, brows drawing together as he takes in the change in Sera’s behaviour, confusion colouring his puppy-like features as he looks around for anything that could have triggered it. His eyes fall on you and they light in recognition, smile returning to his face as he waves at you, some of his crimson locks falling across his forehead from the movement. “Oh, y/n! Hey! I was just on my way to the session!”

Something churns in your gut, a foreboding feeling that feels far too icky to touch.

He takes a step closer, but pauses when Sera moves forward. Your entire body is tense with the conflicting urges to run and sock her in the face, limbs coiled and ready to spring you away. You’re going to have a massive crick in your neck after this. She begins stepping closer, hand stretching out as though to touch your arm, her brows drawing together in as close an approximation as she can get to regretful.

“y/n, I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” she says, tone having adopted an edge you’re very familiar with. Is she stupid? You know all her manipulation tactics, what is the point in employing them now? You think you know, though, and the thought only serves to stoke the bubbling pit of molten rage in your stomach.

Her hand reaches for your arm, trying to touch it, and you move it out of the way before she can, taking a few firm steps back. “Don’t touch me,” you warn, unable to help the glare that your features are pulled into. “I’m not interested in talking to you. I don’t want to.”

She’s really pushing it. You’re a patient woman, but even you have a limit and she’s fast approaching it.

A flicker of irritation flashes across Sera’s features before she masks it with her go-to ‘kicked puppy’ look. From the corner of your eye, you see Jimin flounder in confusion, probably because he has absolutely no idea what happened between you.

“y/n,” Sera whimpers, and when you see Jimin shift in concern behind her you realise why she’s acting the way she is. She’s using him as collateral, and she used him for land development to actually lock you down. Seems she doesn’t take being avoided very well. “Why are you being so harsh? I— I’m doing what you asked, why are you still so mad?”

You can’t help the venomous response that rips itself off your tongue, glare deepening. “Cut the shit. You know exactly why I’m pissed— it’s the same fucking reason I was pissed last week, except now it’s worse because you’ve made it worse. How could you possibly think any of what you’ve been doing is what I asked?”

You can only be glad that Hoseok has already left and the hallway is mostly deserted, the sole witness being Jimin to the spectacle beginning to unfold as Sera places a hand to her chest, sniffing and throwing her other hand out for emphasis. “Please, y/n, what do I have to do to fix this? I really have been doing what you asked, I’ve been—”

It’s as though something snaps within you, almost an entire week of her bullshit placing you at your wits end. You’re fuming, practically spitting flames, and it’s just barely that you hold yourself back from wrapping your hands around her throat. “You’ve been doing nothing but make things worse for me! You started this whole thing, you continued feeding into it even though you knew what it would mean for me— there is no fixing this!”

“y/n,” Sera’s eyes have begun to water, and you’re so enraged you don’t even see Jimin taking a few alarmed steps closer. “Please, I-I’m so sorry, I’ve said it a thousand times that I am s-so sorry—”

“Don’t you dare come to me and tell me you’re sorry. You’re not sorry, you were never sorry, and you clearly don’t regret a thing because the entire time since last Wednesday all you’ve been doing as parading around and proclaiming yourself as the author of that stupid poem when we both know it isn’t you!”

Sera flinches back, a visible clash of hurt and rage whipping across her features. It seems she settles on the latter emotion, face dropping into a glare and mouth opening to hurl a response back. The front she has put up is falling apart the longer this goes on. “I’ve told you so many times how much I regret what I did, how can you say—”

“y/n, what the hell?” Jimin’s voice has a sharp edge you don’t think you’ve ever heard before as he steps forward suddenly, looking incredulous and angry at once as he suddenly reminds you of his presence. “She’s the author, stop being so horrible. Isn’t she your friend? How could you doubt her? Is it so hard to believe that she’d want to write a poem for the person she likes?”

You’re momentarily stunned by his words, confused as to why he’s stepping in to defend her so avidly even with his little crush. It takes a moment, but it clicks eventually— dread fills the pit of your stomach as you realise that the idealistic hopes Jimin had revealed to you last session about being the subject of the poem have been exploited by a scorpion wishing to cross the pond.

“Shut up, this doesn’t concern you.”

Torn violently from your thoughts by the harsh, unexpected words, your gaze whips back to Sera, eyes wide. Jimin flinches, a soft noise of shock and surprise escaping him as his own wide-eyed gaze centers on her and hurt floods his deep chocolate irises. “Wh-what? But you said—?”

“Shut. Up,” she grinds out through teeth clenched so tight that part of you thinks they might shatter beneath the pressure.

Jimin fumbles, his confusion urging him to continue when he probably shouldn’t. “When we were walking here you said that you… that I was—”

Sera explodes, like a bomb with faulty wires and a timer that went off too soon. “I LIED! I’m not the author, and even if I was, that poem would never be about YOU!”

In the seconds that follow her booming exclamation, her words ring in the absolute silence of the hall. For a moment, it’s still. Then your eyes flick to Jimin’s face and you see how it falls, and all of a sudden it hits you— the realisation of what she just said, and who she said it to. How awful Jimin must feel, to hear those things directed at him. Now, for a moment, you see red, and you feel it slowly climb up your body from your toes to your fingertips and to your chest. You aren’t even aware of moving until you’re barely a foot away from Sera and your arm is whipping through the air, body apparently more in control than your brain.

You’ve never slapped anyone before, didn’t ever think that you really would, but the motion comes easily and the harsh impact of your hand against Sera’s cheek is satisfying in an odd, sickening way. Apparently you pack quite a punch when absolutely fucking livid, because her head turns from the force of your blow, her eyes shooting wide. You’ve left a mark in her foundation. Jimin’s crushed expression crosses your mind’s eye once more and suddenly the satisfaction you felt prior isn’t enough. You go to move again.

You get barely a split second into the movement before arms are looping under your armpits, your body being hauled away and out of hitting range. You’re so angry you barely pay attention to who it is, your focus on the piece of work in front of you and the absolute spitting rage that has swallowed you whole at the sight of her.

“How dare you—” you seethe, the words spilling like acid from your tongue faster than you can think them. “How could you say that to him—”

Everything suddenly hastens into movement from the stillness that had possessed it before. Distantly, you realise the person restraining you has stopped moving backwards and is attempting to calm you, but that doesn’t carry much weight when you hear a choked noise and your gaze is drawn suddenly to the side.

Jimin has taken a step back, almost stumbling in his leather boots, his hands trembling and brows drawn together, expression nothing short of crestfallen. You swear you catch his bottom lip quiver, and then your attention is taken by the way his dark eyes begin to water right in front of you. You’re almost rooted to the spot in shock as they begin to fill with tears, but you don’t get to see them fall because before they can, Jimin turns on his heel and begins walking away, pace quick and hurried.

“y/n.” The red has cleared from your vision enough that you now realise the person restraining you is Hoseok, his voice sounding close to your ear. He speaks again and you freeze because it’s with a tone you’ve never heard come from him before. It’s fury, but quiet and controlled unlike your hot spark of rage, and it makes you snap back into your senses instantly, spine straightening. “Go after him. He’s hurting.”

The brain cell rattling around in your brain reserved for mortal combat might be telling you to finish Sera off while you can, but Jimin is your friend and the reason you want to kill her in the first place is because she did hurt him. And the look on his face… you’ve never seen it on him before and you never want to again. For whatever reason, her careless words seem to have cut him deep, and you need to go and make sure he’s okay.

Without a second thought, you slip out of Hoseok’s arms and he lets you go. You begin in the direction that Jimin is going, footsteps hastening in an attempt to close the distance. You forget about Sera in favour of chasing more pressing things. “Jimin—”

The call had slipped out of your lips unwittingly, but the sound of it seems to set Jimin off. He quickens his pace further, and his legs aren’t that much longer than yours but the muscles are clearly more developed since you’re eating his dust even more than before. He disappears around the corner, and you just barely catch sight of his behind before you have to push to glimpse him once more.

Whether he doesn’t want to be followed by anyone, or whether he— heaven forbid— thinks it’s Sera coming after him, Jimin does his best to try and lose you. Around twists and turns, down hallways that you didn’t even know this building had, you chase him for what feels like forever and you can’t pinpoint where but somewhere in that time the two of you transitioned to almost running, Jimin’s light jog-speedwalk fusion easily getting the better of your own weak attempt.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, you can’t help but marvel that he really didn’t successfully streak across the university sports field for nothing— he’s super fast, and the only reason you’re able to keep up somewhat is through the temporary rush of adrenaline that slapping Sera gave you and the sheer determination not to lose him. You don’t normally have this much stamina, after all, but you don’t think Jimin is going to be running out on the other hand either. If he takes you up one more flight of stairs it’s game over for you.

“Jimin, wait—” you attempt to call out once or twice, but he never turns around, and each time you do so just results in him moving faster. You get the message quickly, but still have to bite your tongue to quell the natural urge to call out that rises.

The longer he goes, the more frantic he seems. Once or twice you think you see his shoulders shake, but can’t tell if it’s him or the rattling of your vision from your jerky movements. Jimin can’t evade you forever though, and this building and its hallways aren’t endless. Eventually you reach a dead-end, and the red-haired male gives up. He stumbles a little, making it through the doorway before he moves to the wall, his back to you.

Slowing down from your jog, you feel the tax of the exercise catch up with you as your breathing works to compensate the uncharacteristic energy use. You pause as you make your way towards him, somewhat tentative now he’s backed in a corner. Well, corner might not be the right word for it. Somehow, in all his evading, Jimin has managed to lead the two of you to the small balcony on the top floor of the building, barely anything more than a little alcove to overlook the horizon. It faces the direction that the sun sets, and you receive a view of that now, the soft reds, pinks and oranges a contrast to the light blue of Jimin’s denim jacket but a compliment to the scarlet of his hair.

Despite the fact you chased him this far, wanting to comfort him, now that you’re here… you feel kind of bad for intruding. Still, you didn’t tail him through the entire building for nothing. Tentatively, you make your way over to where he is. You’re not very loud, but he seems to sense your arrival when you step out onto the balcony with him, back still to you. You take another step closer, going to peer around his shoulder, but he flinches, bringing his hand up over the side of his face and using the other to wipe under his nose.

“Don’t look,” he sniffs. “This is humiliating.”

At his words, you feel your heart sink right down to your feet. The resulting sensation is an empty ache in your chest, something you think you can best describe as empathy that is a little too deeply rooted. Suddenly you realise that, in a way, this is your fault. You wrote the poem that ended up hurting him, and even though you weren’t the one who said those things to him, you’re the one that provided the fodder.

You don’t know what to say, so much was on the tip of your tongue trying to burst forth before, but now it’s as though your voice is stuck in your throat. You swallow, shuffling the slightest bit closer, and attempt to pull something meaningful from the dredges of your mind.

“It’s okay. Everyone looks a little bit ugly when they cry, you know.” Not what you intend to come out, but it comes out anyway.

It pulls an unwitting laugh from Jimin though, the sound tinged with the echo of a sob. He turns and presses his back to the wall, covering his face with both hands, and slides down until he’s seated on the floor, knees drawn up. You watch him for a moment, the way his form trembles slightly and he sniffs, before you’re carefully placing yourself down next to him, trying not to be too obnoxious in your movements.

You wait a moment, partly because you want to see if he is going to say anything and partly because you, yourself, have no idea where to start. It occurs to you, though, that maybe what he wants isn’t comfort in the form of words. When he doesn’t speak, and the moment still doesn’t feel right to say anything, you ease a little closer and, when he doesn’t protest or shift away, you do the only thing you can think might comfort him in this moment.

Silently, you move your arm up and around, slipping it over his shoulders and pulling him close to you into a half-embrace, feeling somewhat like a mother hen sheltering her chick from the harshness of the world. Jimin stills for a second, frozen in your arms, but then he lets himself fall into you and it seems the proverbial dam holding his tears at bay breaks.

He lets himself sob now, hands still over his face and his body shaking against your side as he curls up into you and draws his knees closer to his body. His tears flood his hands, some escaping to drip down onto your legs and shirt. Your heart aches at the sounds escaping him— trust Sera to unintentionally pinpoint someone’s deeply hidden trauma when insulting them. The only thing stronger than the dislike you feel for her right now is the regret that you allowed the circumstances of your own situation to spill out and affect other innocent people in your life, like Jimin.

You spend some time simply sitting there, letting Jimin cry out the hurt against you at the cost of your shirt and jeans, running your hand soothingly along his back and arm. You place your other hand on the knee closest to you, not much but another small symbol of comfort you hope he receives. He’s in a state for a while, sobbing and hiccuping until his voice grows a little hoarse and thick from the snot congesting his nose. Eventually, he calms enough that his body no longer shakes with his weeping, and after a period of silence broken only by a few sniffles here and there, the male pulls away so that he’s no longer leaning on you like the tower of Piza.

You let him slip out of your hold, simply sitting and waiting for him to speak— you could sense the intention in the way he wipes his face and swallows, readying himself. You don’t have to wait long.

“This is probably the one thing I’m most afraid of in life, you know,” he croaks softly, a humourless laugh tacked onto the end. Your heart gives a painful throb, but you bite your tongue from comforting him just yet. You can feel there’s more to come.

Jimin seems to finally manage to wipe his face somewhat clean, at last letting his hands drop onto his lap and allowing his head to fall back softly against the wall. His profile is illuminated by the last reaches of the sun, casting him in a soft pink glow that almost disguises the redness around his eyes and nose.

Watching him so keenly as you are, it doesn’t escape you when he opens his mouth to speak again and his chin wobbles, his gaze directed to the ceiling of the alcove. His voice wavers, growing strained as he vocalises the thoughts weighing him down so.

“It’s kind of stupid, isn’t it?” he says softly, still looking upwards. “Everyone’s afraid of rejection, but for me… I can’t— I can’t… handle it.”

“It’s stupid, to be crying over this,” he sniffles, eyes watering but no tears falling as he attempts to hold them back. “It’s stupid, but it just— it just hurts, you know? It fuckin’ hurts. All the people I admire, and the people I have admired in my life…”

Jimin blinks, a single tear slipping down over his cheekbone of its own accord. He lets it go, not bothering to wipe it. You’re caught frozen in your spot, watching with wide eyes as he reveals the most hidden part of himself and entrusts it to you. From just your usual interactions, you’d never have garnered that this side of him even exists. He takes a deep breath, a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter who they are, what they are to me, it never seems to change. Either they don’t want me from the beginning, or they— they find something more important to them than me and they leave.”

“A-and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but think,” he chokes a little, voice growing thicker and wobbling dangerously. He blinks rapidly, fresh tears burning his eyes. His voice cracks on the last of his words. “I can’t help but think, w-what if that’s what is meant for me? W-what if there’s no one who will stay?... What if no one will want me, y/n?”

His words are a boot crushing your heart beneath its sole, and you swear even with all you’ve been through in the past month or so you have never felt as gutted before as you feel now for him. The last question to leave his mouth seems to bring the rest of his feelings to the surface, his eyes closing as a soft sob slips from his lips once more. He brings his hands to his face again, elbows resting on the top of his knees, and you’re so busy trying to squash down your own tears for him that for a moment, you can only sit there and listen to him. You feel a bit lost.

What could you ever possibly do to even begin healing a wound that seems to run that deep?

You know, realistically, there isn’t anything you can do, and it’s not your place nor wound to heal. But still, you know there is something you can do to ease it a little in this moment, you just need to figure it out. It’s at that thought that suddenly, you receive a stroke of genius, an idea that honestly is a little embarrassing but definitely better than nothing coming to mind.

Already feeling somewhat humiliated in advance, you reach for your bag and open it enough to stick your hand in and rifle through it for the familiarly shaped object. Jimin has shown you one of the most vulnerable parts of him, so you can live with the embarrassment this once. Your hand finally locates what it’s looking for, pulling out the beaten-up A5 spiral notebook that has lived in your backpack for the past two years. Jimin either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care enough at the moment to pay attention to whatever the shuffling sound is, which you’re kind of thankful for because you need a minute or two to actually follow through with your idea.

You slip your hand back into your bag as you open the notebook with the other, performing a lucky-dip of sorts into the risky depths of your bag one more in search of a pen. You find one and pull it out without discrimination— god, alright, it’s the rainbow ink gel pen with a crystal cat on the end that you bought on a whim at the dollar store. Guess that’s the hill you’re dying on this afternoon.

Peeking to the side to make sure Jimin isn’t watching— he’s still crying into his hands, something you probably shouldn’t be slightly relieved about in the moment— you try and flick through the book as quietly as possible, eyes scanning the messy scribbles on each page.

This, is your little rough idea scrapbook. The only thing that’s in a state anywhere near as chaotic and messy as this is your phone notes, and you really don’t want to think about those right now. In this old, beaten notebook that surprisingly hasn’t run out of pages yet, is where you usually scribble your ideas for writings, or poems. You’re looking for one of the latter currently, a rough draft that came to you in a fever dream and you copied onto paper in a haze, before never touching again. It’s incomplete, but you’re finally about to give it the ending it deserves.

Finally, you catch sight of it on one of the pages to the back, the words “softer than the embrace of the moon” jumping out at you. Ah, this is it. The rough draft of Moonlight Sonata, the poem that ended up turning your life on it’s head and leaving you for dead in the dust from the upheaval.

Making sure Jimin is still not focusing on you, you uncap the stupid, glittery pen and hastily put it to paper, throwing down whatever enters your head that makes sense and feels right. You don’t think you’ve ever written anything this fast that wasn’t a heap of absolute trash, but perhaps it’s the emotional potency of the moment that has you scrawling lines across paper with ease.

You only take a few minutes, and after which you somehow simultaneously feel the cathartic effects of creating a poem and the embarrassment of the fact someone else is about to see it. Well, it’s not Moonlight Sonata in any way, but this little abridged creation… it’s not too bad.

Quietly as you can so you don’t prematurely disturb his weeping, you tear the page from the book and make sure there’s nothing on the back and the old title is scribbled out before you fold it in half, turning to Jimin at last.

Gently, you reach and brush some of the dyed strands from his forehead, successfully catching his attention. Jimin peels his hands from his face, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot but containing a curious glint as they turn to you.

You opt not to say anything just yet, pulling one hand towards you and placing the folded piece of paper onto his palm. Confused, he stares at it for a moment before bringing it back towards him and tentatively unfolding it. You wait until he begins to scan the page before you speak.

“Just because you weren’t the subject of that poem, doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of being the subject of any.”

His head whips to you as your soft words catch in his ears, eyes wide and glistening slightly, full lips parted and mouth slightly ajar. You can feel your face beginning to burn, but you ignore it for the sake of Jimin. You’ve come this far, you need to say it and he needs to hear it.

“There are many things about you to fall in love with, Jimin, and even if the author didn’t, I know someone will,” your voice shakes slightly as you speak, a small smile touching your lips. Something pops into your mind before you can call it quits, and you feel the rest of your face light on fire in anticipation. Right. Just do it, pussy. It was embarrassing when done to you, and it’s embarrassing to be the one doing it, too.

This is so humiliating, but you’ll do it… for him. Fuck this whole friendship thing, man.

Taking another deep breath, you reach for the hand closest to you and take it into your grasp, pulling it closer. “And I know it hurts, right now, a lot… and it might hurt for a while, and that’s okay.” You swallow your embarrassment and bring his palm to your lips, placing a soft kiss there, before moving his hand back and placing it over his heart. “But my mother always said kisses take the pain away, so I hope this can ease it, even a little.”

In the moments following your little spiel, it’s silent, and Jimin stares at you in a mixture of shock, appreciation, and something else you’re not quite emotionally equipped to decipher. The stillness breaks in the next second when his eyes water once more and he lets out a long whine that sounds suspiciously like your name, and to save face you let out a loud groan as you reach and pull him into a hug again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Hopeless,” you say, shuffling you both so you’re facing the sunset and watching the last of it slip past the horizon. “If you keep crying, how are we going to explain your face after? I know I told you everyone is a little ugly when they cry but you’re really— ow!”

Jimin chokes a sobbed laugh into your shoulder, retracing his fingers from where they jabbed your ribs. You glance from the corner of your eye and can’t help the smile that rises when you see he’s clutching the scribbled poem you finished for him to his chest.

“Shut up and let me commit the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me to memory and watch the sunset before I push you over the railing,” he grumbles, smile evident in his voice. You roll your eyes again, face still warm from your embarrassment. You relax into each other, soaking up the last of the sun’s warmth while it’s there.

Backtalk, after you willingly humiliated yourself to make him feel better? Fuck this friendship thing, bro. Gremlins have rights, too.

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