#Mulan-esque AUs too

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Here's the Tazercraft + Fit AU I was thinking about yesterday while lying on the floor sick to my stomach listening to "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" soundtrack on loop:

Tazercraft are known for being master thieves, so they get contracted to break into the Federation to steal something (or maybe they just hear about the Federation being powerful and impossible to infiltrate, so they take it as a challenge and see if they can steal something).

Either way, they get discovered in the middle of their heist, but not before Mike manages to nab something from the lab: a bunch of strange rounded objects which they shove into Mike's backpack. They manage to escape, but while they're running from the Feds, one of the objects falls out of Mike's backpack and Pac stalls for a moment to double-back and grab it. They get separated, and Pac gets chased down and winds up losing Mike completely. He hides somewhere and pauses for a moment to catch his breath and take a closer look at the object he grabbed.

He and Mike originally thought they were some kind of gems or even fancy Fabergé eggs or something, but it turns out to be an ACTUAL egg, which starts to crack right in Pac's hands. The small dragon that noses its way out is adorable... until it starts making noise, which alerts the lingering Feds to Pac's location.

—

Pac makes a break for it, but he has as much success as the mother at the beginning of the Hunchback of Notre Dame movie. Unlike the mother however, he doesn't die when he's knocked down the temple steps, but he does crack his head and gets knocked out.* The Feds were planning on killing him and dumping him somewhere, but the little dragon that hatched (Richarlyson) refuses to be separated from Pac. They realize their experiment imprinted on him, and since the rest of their subjects got kidnapped by Mike, they drag Pac back to Federation HQ with Richarlyson.

After hours searching for Pac, Mike finally finds the place where Pac was cornered, and seeing all the blood left behind on the steps of the temple, he assumes Pac was either killed or captured. I imagine he'd try (and fail) to infiltrate the Federation again, so he'd join the Rebels to try and take down the Feds and save his friend (thus taking on an Esmeralda-esque role in the story). I imagine the Rebels would be like the Court of Miracles group in the movie, and this would be how the rest of the Eggs wind up hatching / finding the parents they have in canon.

Meanwhile in the Federation, Pac's head injury (conveniently) damaged his memory enough that the Federation is able manipulate him into cooperating with them. He lives in the Federation’s Headquarters and takes care of Richarlyson, neither of them allowed to leave the premises. Pac's the only reason Richarlyson isn't an absolute terror (he's still a terror, but he'll at least let the Federation scientists run tests on him. Sometimes).

I imagine that this goes on for some time, maybe even a few years. The Rebels try chipping away at the Federation, but they're always thwarted. Maybe after one particularly aggressive attack, the Federation boosts security and that's how they wind up hiring Fit (whose closest counterpart in the movie would be Phoebus). Fit's still there on his own mission for Madagio, but he gets assigned to guard Richas (and Pac by extension) and that's how they wind up meeting. 

The conflict in the story would be Mike trying to rescue Pac + Richas, get Pac to remember who he is, and convince Pac that the Rebels are actually the good guys. There would also be conflict between Fit trying to keep his cover as a spy for Madagio but also getting attached to Richas and Pac, knowing if he helps them escape he'll blow his cover and if the Federation doesn't kill him, Madagio will.

Anyways! I'll never get around to writing this fic, but it's a fun idea to think about. Maybe Pac even wound up with Richas and Ramon, and things are complicated even further because of how much Fit winds up loving Ramon.

—

* It's fun imagining Felps filling the priest's role in the movie, but it's a bit hard imagining Cucurucho being swayed by Felps enough to let Pac live. (In canon, I think the only one who could really do that would be Antoine, but it's still fun imagining Felps helping out Pac like that).

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for— (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: it's time for some more ✨trauma✨ time to learn ur own backstory tehe <3 feel free to let me know what you think or any future... predictions... you think might be coming...

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

—CHAPTER THREE :: COMPANIONS

There's a girl screaming in the middle of camp.

Anguish, a pure guttural agony, litters her voice. She's shrieking, screaming herself hoarse, tortured cries piercing the air as a piece of her identity is ripped from her forcibly. The scream that you know only follows a wing clipping.

Fear rolls through your body, seizing every nerve til your limbs lock up. Your stomach lurches, nausea swimming and threatening to choke up your throat. The screams dive beneath your very skin and make a home there, unbidden.

The screaming isn't stopping and you acutely notice that you're crying because of it, big fat tears rolling down your face as though you're the one in pain, unable to quieten her suffering, because... because...

Because the girl is you.

The girl is you and they had found out somehow and they had come, they had held you down and taken the knife between your wings and starting slicing through muscle and sinew and it fucking hurts, it hurts so much—

A ragged gasp rips from your throat at the slice down your back.

You wake you with a violent twitch.

Your dagger is in your hand in an instant, stored beneath your pillow, always within reach. The cool leather beneath it is a comfort as your senses search blindly for any threat. The rabbiting sound of your heart looms in your ears and you keenly strain your ears to try listen over it.

A threat? An intruder? You're looking for anything hidden in the darkness, while your senses are still swamped by your nightmare. The effects of it are melting away too slowly. Your breath comes too fast.

Shadows loom. You're not sure what is fear is still lingering from the dream and what is real instinct, kicking in to protect yourself.

Worse is, your suspicions are not at all unwarranted.

Around you, the space is still. Dead air trapped within your shelter.

Outside, the howl of the Mother's Kiss sounds again, the rattling wind against the windows somehow grounding you into your home. You're in your home. You're not out in the middle of camp, not held onto that horrid stained piece of earth where all the clippings take place.

You're tucked away in your space, hidden beneath your secret still.

Your chest heaves rapidly, dregs of panic still running through your system. You force yourself to inhale slowly, blinking slowly and letting your eyes adjust to the night. It's still dark.

It's nighttime and you've had a night terror and you're still safe, still just like any other male in the camp.

Behind you, you give your wings a little shiver, just to check.

Still there, still working in every capacity. The relief that pours through you soothes like a balm, heady and overwhelming. You release a shaky breath and curl your knees up to your chest, wings cocooning around yourself.

The nightmares, this nightmare, has been unrelenting for as many years as you can remember. Well, since...

Since twenty six years ago, when you had made a very difficult choice.

Perhaps the only time you'll ever be thankful for being a bastard in this camps is when it had granted you the privacy to make such a choice. Nobody cares if a bastard child dies, male or otherwise.

It had made you dispensable and therefore, unnoticeable.

Nobody noticed when one more begging child, one more hungry face, went missing. And certainly nobody paid any mind when one more turned up again — hair cut down to the scalp, bleeding in places from the shoddy cut, and a gritty determination in their eyes.

No, in fact, the only time people started noticing you was when you started tasting the mixture of blood and dirt, knocked down in a fight you knew you had no chance of winning.

You had started it. Pushed your way into the group of boys and shoved one, hard. Fought back as best you could with half formed fists that quickly got pushed into the mud and held there as the boy you shoved wailed on you, hit after hit after hit.

By the time he had been pulled off you, your mouth was a river of blood and your face ached in a way you had never felt before.

The very bone of your skull felt bruised. Your nose was definitely broken. You wanted to cry but even scrunching your face up hurt too much. It was impossible to think anything beyond pure pain.

The group of boys were sneering as they left you in a crumpled heap on the ground, kicking mud in your direction and hissing the word bastard.

But not one mention of you being anything other than that.

Just a bastard. No slighted comment at being a female, at not being worthy of a fight for that reason.

In the Illyrian Mountains, being a bastard gave you very little in the manner of food, things, and choices. If you managed to survive past childhood, that is.

If you could scrape around for food to fill a belly that never seemed to stop growling and manage not succumb to icy embrace of the winter in the mountains, there was very little waiting for you. Even less so, if you weren't a male.

Males, at the very least, could fight for a sliver of something better.

And wasn't that just the Illyrian way? If you can fight, if you can beat and claw your way to the top, it's worth something. It's the only way to gain respect. To earn it, even when you came from nothing.

For you? Living past childhood would mean getting your greatest love torn from you.

You had seen half a dozen clippings before the age of eight. It was said that other camps littered throughout Illyria tended to be more gracious. Did it in private. Healers on hand. No excessive force.

But you'd believe that when you saw it — clippings were brutal.

Females having experienced their first blood were dragged out into the middle of camp, some kicking and screaming, others a ghostly quiet. Everybody watched and nobody stepped in, no matter the pleas.

You, no older than eight years old, had stared at the bloody patch left on the ground til your vision had blurred. It was crimson, mixing with the dirt of the earth. Beneath it was this horrid scorched brown colour.

Old blood.

The final straw for you had been Adesi— Lord Mylind's own daughter. You're not sure when or why some part of your had become convinced that she might be spared. That because her father held rank and could bend certain rules, that she might escape the fate you so feared for yourself.

She hadn't. Lord Mylind had done the clipping himself.

And she hadn't cried or fussed. There hadn't been a struggle, just this soft weeping as she kept her eyes on the ground, every pained sound that passed her lips lined with a bitter resignation of knowing this was always coming.

It had stoked a simmering ember within you — a furiously upset flame that burned hotter and hotter, til you were trembling with the force of it. Forced to watch yet another girl stripped of her freedom. Polished up for breeding stock.

If Adesi wouldn't be spared, neither would you. The future, you could see, was growing impossibly bleaker and would continue down that path if nothing radical appeared to change its course.

You had cut your hair that same very night.

It was a shit job. Trying to get it as short as you could manage without a mirror or proper tools to do so proved incredibly difficult. The lack of proper shelter didn't help either.

Bandages you were stock-piling for Mother knows what were used to bind your chest. Then you spent the rest of the night time scouring the mountain-side for those bitter herbs on the mere hope that the rumour that they would keep you from bleeding held an inkling of truth.

The next day had been the day you got into your very first fight.

The first of many. Lord Mylind didn't take kindly to bastards, especially when you paled in comparison to the size of the other novices. You had been refused to be allowed to join training the first time you had tried, his cold eyes narrowed with a cruel curl of his upper lip.

But you had, perhaps, what no one else did.

No other way forward. No other choice.

Every part of you that yearned to keep your beautiful wings, to keep your freedom, your autonomy, was channeled into your intense drive. You would not be so easily dissuaded.

You trained day and night, working up weak muscles til they hardened beneath your skin. Without proper training, it was nowhere near as efficient as it could've been. There was no-one there to soothe the aches of your growing pains, nor the sores that came with hitting the ground time and time again as you honed the balance and fluidity of your body.

A season passed. Your drive did not falter— not when half a dozen more females got clipped in that same period. A wedge drove itself between your ribs, attempting to crack open your chest; a heavy guilt at what they experienced... what you could not yet prevent.

It pushed you to train harder than before.

It took seven whole months of solitary training before Lord Mylind reluctantly allowed you to join the ranks— forced to when you disarmed and wiped the floor with Brudam in the ring to prove yourself.

By that time, the list of clipped females had climbed to nearly fifty. You kept track of every single one, forty-eight notches carved into your soul for every person you failed to protect from a terrible fate.

It killed you having to bide your time.

To train alongside the males of the camp who detested you as they did any such bastard. To hear their uncaring jeers of the clippings as they flaunted their own wings proudly. There was no shortage of things to stoke the fire within you, fury burning through every cell in your body. There was no distraction from the ultimate goal.

But between Lord Mylind's abysmal training, geared specifically at you, the purposeful way other warriors wouldn't hesitate to kick you while you were down, and having nobody else in your corner, you had no other choice.

Routines formed. Train. Eat. Train. Scrounge for ingredients, for knowledge, anything on healing tonics. Fail miserably at making anything. Chew the bitter herbs. Train. Sleep. Wake. Train.

Loneliness became a familiar companion.

Every creak in the dark was a potential threat that came looking to see if they could knock the unwelcome bastard out of the ranks. You learned to not just how to duel, but how to brawl and win. To fight dirty. To come out as unscathed as possible.

Your first bleed did eventually come, bitter leaves be damned.

They had done a decent job. They had given you a few crucial years to establish yourself as a worthy fighter, not to be messed with, and enough time to build the shelter you now called home.

It had been a saving grace. If you had been out and exposed, if any of the males in town came sniffing for a fight and felt entitled enough to challenge you, the lie that kept you safe would've come tumbling down like a house of cards.

All those years turned to ash. Wasted. For nothing.

And the only thing that terrified you more than that was... what you were certain they would inflict upon you if they ever found out.

In some of your worst nightmares, they do much worse than just clip you. They take them from you— saw them from your back, splintering bone and tearing muscle, not caring if you cry or scream — not caring if you die.

Around you, your wings give a shiver as if they could feel the ghost of pain that still lurked from your nightmare. You curl them up tighter around you. A blanket of softness, of warmth, finally breaks the chill on your skin.

Routine was easy. Your terror was manageable based on the familiarity of your life. The fact that you had nobody to lean on meant everything, every pillar of comfort, of tough love, of the extra push when you needed it, came from within.

Slipping away from training to deal with the excruciating agony of your cycle was a necessity, even if it pained you to do so. Avoidance of the Blood Rite was born from that too. It was too great a risk— too much time spent that you couldn't ever be sure wouldn't overlap with your cycle.

Besides, you already had the biggest target on your back — the label of bastard giving you more than your fair share of enemies.

They would hunt you down on the first night. That you had no doubt about. The killing would be slow and merciless. To you, the Blood Rite was just another brand of nightmares.

All this dread had become second-nature, stitched into the fabric of your angry and miserable life which seemed to exist against all odds. You were cursed with an ambition that would not let you rest. A compassion that drove you to keep training, to help others more than just yourself.

You were singular. A lone ranger who relied on nothing but your own instincts to keep getting you through the day.

You were solitary. You were lonely.

And yet, within the last month, something else had barrelling into your life and altered its course.

A Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger with hazel eyes that dance with mirth and a rueful smile that comes out far too easily for the battle-hardened soldier you know him to be. He's a conundrum. A mentor and a damn hard-ass when it came to training but also someone you could trust.

Calling him a friend felt too close.

A tenative ally, perhaps. A companion, even.

And the fact you can trust him — the fact that you do trust him — is perhaps the biggest change of them all.

All of your routines have been suddenly altered.

Because now, unlike ever before, there's someone there in the morning. Someone to notice your absences. To come looking when it takes longer to drag yourself out of fitful sleep. To comment on the circles under your eyes and roll back the punches accordingly.

He brings the things you need, a sudden plentiful stash of ingredients you wouldn't have dreamed of affording. The good stuff that makes a difference in the potency of a healing tonic. In turn, your feeble attempts at concocting have begun to produce far more useful results.

He brings food too.

No point in all this training if you look like your bones will snap. He had said, almost dismissively as he summoned the abundance of food from within that pocket in the shadow realm. You had been too startled by that alone to question how much he had brought with him.

A fucking feast. Enough food to last you at least half the year, if you stretched it.

Some withered, bitter part of you had shriveled up when you saw it. Your mouth watered and your stomach ached and yet still, you couldn't help how you snapped at him.

I don't want your pity.

Azriel had leveled you with a stare, his shadows roaming about his shoulders like wisps of smoke. He tilted his head to the side an inch, as if trying to pick apart the reasoning for you being so standoffish.

It's not a handout. It's part of our deal. Like I said, there's no point training you if you're starving all the while.

You bristled as his tone, even if there wasn't a hint of condescension to it. It was strong and sure.

When you still hadn't moved, Azriel had spoken once more. It's okay. To eat. I understand that generosity is not something you are familiar with but not eating will not help any of them. Getting stronger will.

He had spoken as if he knew that exact reservation on your mind — the sheer unfairness of having a platter served up to gorge yourself sick on, when so many others... So many others had nothing.

Eat. Azriel had murmured, turning for the door. He had paused just like he had on that first ever night, one scarred hand on the door. Please.

A particularly loud whirl of the Mother's Kiss outside shakes you from the memory.

You blink hard. Your wings twitch and curl in even closer as you realise you've been looking at the door. Looking at where he had stood all those nights ago.

That conversation had been in the first week of knowing Azriel. Back when you were still so wary it was impossible to not raise your hackles when he came knocking at your door, no matter how friendly he had seemed. Friendly, but not harmless you knew.

It took time to stop being constantly on guard around him. But if your lack of trust and general frostiness bothered Azriel, he never let you know.

And now... now you've known him for nearly a month.

A month of routine with him in it. With sparring in the morning, tiring yet rewarding drills beneath the winter sun, and quiet conversations in the evenings, his hazel eyes competing with the crackling fire with how they set your heart ablaze. A month of companionship.

A month, the first month in years, not spent entirely alone.

In the cool night air, knees pulled to your chest, something tugs at your throat at the knowledge he won't be back in the morning.

Last night, after an evening spent in comfortable company where you finally heard him laugh for the first time ever and nearly melted at the sound, he had told you he would be returning to Velaris.

Temporarily, he added on hastily at the flash of surprise in your eyes.

Business with the High Lord. Reports and assessments to deliver. I's to dot and t's to cross.

He assured you he would be back in a day or two, certainly no more than three. He had left ample food and generous tonic ingredients, with all the assurances to continue practicing during the evening.

With no Azriel, you had no reason to avoid training with the rest of camp.

Maybe that was why this particular nightmare had plagued you tonight. Something curdled up in your gut at the thought of returning to your old routine— another part relishes in how you will get to stand your ground as a better, hardier warrior now. To prove yourself worthy of the specialty training you were receiving.

You huff out a small sigh in the dark.

There's no telling what time it is. You force yourself to sit back, easing back into your bed gently til you're lying back under the makeshift duvet you have. It's moth-eaten and seen better days. You snuggle beneath it anyway.

It's been a long time since you've missed anyone, you think forlornly.

The thought surprises you. Staring at the ceiling, your brows furrow and you close your eyes but the truth of it rings clear throughout your very being. Undeniable.

The Shadowsinger has somehow wiggled into your life, burrowed into your routine and has begun to mean something to you. And when he's gone, you... miss him.

Your eyes flash back open, glaring up at the ceiling, and you huff as if that will change that fact.

Rolling over, you pull the duvet in closer, your arms tucking into your chest snugly. Your bed is a bit too small for someone with wings and they ache because of it. Sleep trickles back into your system, dragging your lids down.

As you fall into sleep, some part of you realises, faintly, that you haven't had anyone to miss in a long, long, time.

This time when you dream, it’s of hazel eyes.

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS]

—

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

[redrobin-detective]

I am DOWN for fem!kaito messing with people. Seriously I love fics like that. I am also really, really interested in that hakukai fake dating au. The "kaito lives with his godparents for a bit" one sounds pretty entertaining as well! You know what, all of them. you could do literally any of them and I would read it. The only one I'm not that interested in is the BO one & thats just because I don't like BO aus much, but even that one I'd be willing to try.

I love genderbend AUs that explore the way girls would act/be treated compared to their male counterparts (see my rather extensive Wayne Girls AU for reference). Kuroba Kaiya is a chaotic, feckless, seemingly carefree girl who loves to tease and flirt and do magic. She unnerves people both with her constant tricks and as Nakamori’s unofficial second daughter. But when she pins up her hair and put on the white suit she becomes the Kaitou Kid, an undeniable, in control man. Kaiya delights that her skill is so good, no one even entertains the thought of a female Kid. Still the toll of completely masking herself in costume takes a mental toll and affects how she views herself.

Reactions when people find out would be chef’s kiss beautiful. Shinichi both treats her as normal and is constantly thrown off by her behavior not lining up with expectations. Heiji would get flustery and awkward but they’re also jock buddies, suprisingly the best at ease with her after a while. Hakuba can’t decide if he’s in love with her or if she’s giving him a stress ulcer, maybe both.

(I totally did not mean to just word vomit every where I apologize, thats what happens when you bring previously unsung ideas into the open.)

[vanaera]

Of Cliches and Romcom Tropes

Synopsis | You find yourself literally living a classic Romcom trope by being the nerdy introvert in love with her unexpected friend, Kim Taehyung, your university’s golden theater boy and campus heartthrob. It only turns more disgustingly cliché when you learn he part-times as a prince actor in the same carnival where you work as a ticket booth attendant. Trusting on the clichés you’ve watched in numerous Romcom films, you embark on a plan to get your crush to like you back this Halloween. Pairing | prince actor!taehyung x ticket booth attendant!oc Genre | So much fluff, slight angst, humor that’s close to being crack Wordcount | 10,184 AU | Carnival Prompt | “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” – “I bet you tell everyone that.” Warnings | None A/N | This is for @foreverpark​’s Halloween Writing Challenge! It’s my first time joining a challenge like this so thank you so much Sarah for giving me an opportunity to experience this! For my hons out there, here’s my Halloween fic for you! Please also check out Sarah’s fics and the other fics for this challenge, they’re all great! Happy reading!

               At every start of success story speeches, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” How Mark managed to chance upon an idea of an app, How Sarah snagged the director position she dreamed of, how introverted Kim developed progressive networks–it is an imperative that saying will pop out in every single one of these stories. Well, except yours, because it’s the other way around in your life. At times “Fake it ‘til you make it’ does makes a cut, but in most of your major life events where you desperately wished for it to work, it doesn’t really work. You know because you’ve long tried to fake you’re so invested in your part-time job, only for you to cry out at night that you didn’t want to do it anymore.

               Sitting on an uncomfortable stool with a small fan on your right as reprieve from the heat, you spend most of your day with cramped legs inputting number of tickets sold, handing over ticket stubs, becoming an instant customer service attendant, and smiling through clenched teeth at the people that stop by your booth. Working the most boring job in the carnival is not something you can fake to enjoy until you make enough savings for your college tuition. That is, until Kim Taehyung came.

               “Wonder boy” is an extreme understatement to describe that guy. Kim Taehyung is cute and has a model-esque body and his voice sounds so nice when he’s in his prince costume entertaining the kids who enter the Fairytale Land booth. Okay, maybe you’ve been staring at him too long than you’re supposed to when you’re at work. But in your defense, you’ve known Kim Taehyung long before you discovered he also part-times at the Enchanted Carnival–long enough for you to harbor a massive, embarrassing crush on the boy.

               Kim Taehyung studies in the same university as you and you first saw him the day you didn’t attend your history class just so you can prepare for your midterms in the said subject–the irony of college students’ philosophy. That day, you just entered a classroom you frequent for study purposes, knowing it will be empty during your history period. Except for that day because the moment you pushed open the door, a stable vibrato echoing within the rooms’ walls halts in an awkward coughing fit.

               Your anxiety-driven nerves immediately take over you. “Uhh, I’m sorry I just barged in I didn’t mean to interrupt you–”

               “No, it’s o-okay,” the boy coughs, hitting his chest repeatedly. “I was just su-surprised.”

               “I’m really sorry for interrupting you,” you take a step back, your hand grasping for the knob. “Continue on, I’ll just find another room–”

               “No, it’s okay, you can share the room with me.”

               “A-are you sure?” you squint, still rooted at the door. “You don’t have like, a class in here or something? You have a projector set up on the teacher’s desk.”

               “Nah, it’s just my prop when I do my final runs.” He walks to the projector and flips down its lens cover. A picture of a wooden fort set in what looks like cobble-stoned streets of 18th century France flashes on the white board. “See?” The boy turns to you, grinning. “I’m cutting just like you. No pressure, mate. Stay.”

               “B-but you’re practicing, I may distract you.”

               “It’s okay, I don’t mind some audience–unless, you get distracted from studying by music, then I’ll go and find–”

               “No, it’s okay,” you chuckle. “I don’t get distracted by music. I love music. Actually, I like listening to songs while I study so yeah, go on.” You set your papers on the nearest seat and plop down.

               “You do?” The boy asks and you find yourself smiling at his beaming face. You’ve never seen someone who smiles so bright like him on a constant-interaction basis.

               “Yeah, I do. By the way, what are you singing for?”

               “Oh yeah,” the boy scratches his nape, reds forming on the tips of his ears. “uh, this is for my Drama club. I’m still in the application process and we have this task to play and perform as a theater character tomorrow Friday. I wanted to do Jean Valjean from Les Miserables.”

               “Wow, that’s great,” you smile, “actually I’m studying for my History midterms, so yeah, your practice is very timely. You can be my background music,” you chuckle, “to give me the better feel of what I will be crying over later back at my home.”

               Taehyung laughs and you chuckle before going back on your own devices. An hour and a half passes with you flipping furiously through your reviewer in time with the instrumentals behind Taehyung’s velvet voice. When the bell rings and the afternoon class scheduled in the room starts to form a mini clique outside, you scramble out the door with a mess of papers pressed to your chest and a new name to mull over during your breaks: Kim Taehyung.

               Unlike what you predicted, that encounter was not the last you will have with the theater boy. You had a couple of classes with him in the next semester and he sat next to you in each lectures. You also became partners for a pair project in your Communication Theories class. Kim Taehyung became a regular presence in your college life that at the end of your sophomore year, you knew his dream of becoming a theater actor, all his likes, dislikes and insecurities, and even his secrets he said his friends knew none of like “Y/N, do you know I used to dream of becoming a Disney prince? Not used to, actually I still low-key dream of playing Shang from Mulan just so I can sing ‘Make a Man Out of You.’”                You never imagined you would hit up such a friendship with someone who’s the total polar opposite of you. Taehyung’s a social butterfly while you hate going out of your house. He knows almost three-fourth of the total population in the university with him getting to manage nine clubs while still maintaining his academics. In total contrast to you who never got to join any organizations, too afraid of making commitments you neither can fulfill nor prioritize over staying at home and reading your fiction books. Not to say Taehyung’s on the top of the strata with his handsome looks, blessed physique, impressive talent, and wide range of friends. While you’re someone who easily blends with the crowd’s background noise, with nothing too much to offer but a small group of friends and a fascination for critiquing movies–especially those that are really bad.

               You guess that people say, “Opposites attract” for a reason because when you and Taehyung move on to sophomore year, you find yourself crushing hard on the boy. However for you, the attraction is definitely going to be one-sided. You’re sure of it because how can Taehyung ever like you back? You’re the epitome of average-ness that you even became the stepping stone for the girls who want to snag a date with Taehyung. Of course you wouldn’t let Taehyung miss out on cute girls he can probably date when he can have any girl he wish to be with. And, you’re too chicken to act out even a hint of your feelings for him. Clammy hands, jumpy heart, and equipped with an instinct to run to the opposite hall when you so much as glance at Taehyung’s approaching figure, you are sure he will be the death of you. Everything turns worse when you learn he part-times this summer break in the same carnival you work pathetically.

               “Yo, Y/N, you work here, too?” Taehyung nears you, clad in a white polo dangerously unbuttoned down his chest, navy trousers that cinches his narrow hips, and brown combat boots. He is also wearing an unbuttoned red military jacket, its shoulder pads making his shoulders look broader than they’d ever been.  A rich red cape embellished with golden details flows behind him, complementing the gold tassels on his jacket and his golden crown that makes him look impossibly more ethereal. He fucking looks like a brunet Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle.

               You consciously glance down at your outfit: sweat-stained purple polo shirt with Enchanted Carnival’s logo embroidered on its breast pocket, tucked in generic black slacks that doesn’t fit you well. When you  reach up to tuck the stray strand of hair that escapes your ponytail, you’re reminded you’re still wearing the silly mandatory headband with pink bunny ears. Your face feels oily, your hair’s unwashed, and you just remembered you’re not wearing any makeup on. Great, you fucking look like all college students’ worst job nightmare.

               “Hey, you’re still there?”

               “Ye-yeah, uh, hi, Tae,” you smile awkwardly, snatching your headband off and hiding it behind your back. You tried to make yourself look less embarrassing but it backfired when all short strands of your hair messily spill down to your cheeks. You smile wider. Okay, this is the worst day ever.

               “I didn’t know you’re also working here,” Taehyung says.

               “Umm, yeah. I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry–”

               “No, no, no, it’s okay!” Taehyung waves his hands, laughing. “In fact this is great!”

               “Great?” You want to jump off from a cliff right on.

               Taehyung remains oblivious in your self-pity and just grins. “Yeah, it means I get to see you everyday even when we’re outside uni!”

               “We do see each other outside uni. I tutored you for six months straight in the library.”

               “Yeah, but I mean, it’s nice we get to be co-workers. It’s good to have a familiar face around so work wouldn’t be so boring. Say, Y/N, why don’t we have lunch at the cafeteria later? I have so many to tell you and–”

               “Yah, Kim Taehyung! You’re up next, what are you doing outside?” you glance behind your friend and see Jimin, dressed in the same uniform as you minus the silly headband, wildly waving for the boy in front of you. When Jimin notices you, he breaks into a smile, “Oh, hi, Y/N,” and then he returns to his agenda. “Taehyung come here quickly! The batch of kids is nearing the Princess’ Castle, boss is gonna chew us out if you didn’t get back to the booth in three!”

               Taehyung sighs and looks at you with shoulders drooped. “I have to go back now. Guess, I’ll see you later?”

               “Okay, later, then. Have fun, Tae,” you wave at him with a smile.

               When you head back for your booth, you cross your fingers and hope you don’t see him later. How can the universe do you this dirty by placing him so near you right when you are at your worst?

               At the end of the day, you learn the universe just does you dirty for the hell of it. Taehyung bounds your way for lunch break in his prince costume, grinning stupidly just when you’re about to sneak off to the comfort rooms. Nevertheless, you accept the lemons life is giving you and decide to relish in your crush’s presence as you joke over lunch. You just didn’t expect that day will start an unannounced routine with Taehyung eating lunch with you and him walking you home after your shifts for the rest of your summer break.  The seemingly grey area in your friendship with Taehyung turns more mind-boggling when the man keeps up with the routine even after the summer break has ended, with you two continuing your part-time jobs at the carnival every weekend.

               Truth be told, your set-up with Taehyung is a blessing in disguise. He may see you greasy-faced, constantly suffering at work, and daily pissed at your cramped station with poor ventilation but at least you get to see the man you fell in love with everyday. Not just the Taehyung who’s the campus crush and the talented actor every kid in the carnival loves. But the Taehyung who stays up with you until three in the morning talking about what you want for yourselves, who genuinely laughs at your puns and memes everyone else finds corny, and who tells you he’s enjoying himself in his job because finally, he gets to act like a Disney prince.

               So when you find yourself only falling for Taehyung deeper, getting over him becomes the last resort in your to-do list. You start to let yourself get ahead of you and assume that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance Taehyung likes you back. Or else he wouldn’t do all those things with you with his stare lingering on your face, and his hand brushing against your own on multiple occasions you swear are not conjured up by your lovesick heart. Right?

               With the Halloween season closing in and your part-time contracts at the carnival nearing its end, you are compelled to finally make a move on Taehyung. The carnival is the only place where your social and visual gap matters the least.  You’re going to get an answer from him before this perfect chance expires. All you have to do now is have courage for the things you’re about to do and you pray that this time, the universe lets you successfully fake it ‘til you make it.

***

 Plan 1: The Makeover Montage

               You’ve watched enough Romcom films to know that a good makeover montage creates an obvious statement that a woman is about to claim her man. And so, you started making your wallet cry and your fingers ache by splurging on cosmetic brands and watching YouTube makeup tutorials. You’re proud of yourself when by the time Monday rolls in, you are confident you can pull off the cat wing and coral peach color scheme you learnt in exchange of sleep-deprived nights.

               You wait by your locker and glance at your watch. 7:48 A.M. Great, just in time. You look down on your outfit: a white ruffled blouse tucked in a pink and yellow plaid skirt. Spending three hours planning today’s outfit was totally worth it, you mentally pat yourself.

               Three minutes pass and then the bell chimes. You stand up straight and crane your neck to look for your target. Amy from History, Dave from Economics, Amanda from the College Secretary’s Office, Jimin from Arts and the Enchanted Carnival–There! Kim Taehyung.

               Taehyung catches your eye and waves at you. He whispers something to Jimin before he bounds toward you. “Hi, Y/N. Didn’t know you’re an early bird now. I thought your first class today is later at eleven thirty?”

               “U-um, I have so-something to pass to Ms. Terry at the Department of Arts and Communication,” you laugh awkwardly.

               “Oh is that so? Wait,” Taehyung looks at you, eyes wide. “Is it a homework I may have forgotten to do at home?”

               “N-no! There’s no homework! It’s just uh–a follow-up on a project!”

               “A project? Did Ms. Terry announce any project? I’m sorry, I’m just confused because we take her class together and–”

               “It’s a personal project!” you interject with a grin. “I…uh, I’ve been working on it since last month. I forgot to tell you about it, but it’s not much, just a collection of…news clippings.”

               “News clippings, hmm, that sounds interesting. Tell me about it at lunch, I will go ahead now to my first period,” Taehyung steps back and makes a salute, his alternative of a goodbye wave to you. “Good luck with your project!”

               “Wa-wait, Tae!”

               Taehyung halts in his steps and looks at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”

               “I–uh, did you notice anything new today?”

               “New?” Tehyung tilts his head. “Is it a new promo for the diner we frequent?”

               “Uhh, no.”

               “Umm,” Taehyung bites his lip, “is it a new movie you sent to me in our Discord?”

               “Uh, also no. And, I will gush about a movie first to you in person before I send it to our Discord.”            

               “Oh, right,” Taehyung chuckles. “Is it a new book then?”

               “No.”

               “New supplies in the bookstore you love?”

               “No.”

               “A new flavor of coffee in the vending machine?”

               “No.

               “A new–”

               “Goddamn it, Taehyung, you know what, just go to your class,” you purse your lips and Taehyung gawks at you.

               “W-why? Did I say something wrong, Y/N?”

               “No, it’s just, you’re so obliviou–UGH!”

               “‘Obliviou-ugh?’” Taehyung looks more confused than ever he’s been in his life.

               You take in deep breath and take it as a signal for you to retreat. “Don’t mind me it’s just my mood swing!” you holler as you turn your back and walk fast to the exit. Following-up with a faint “See you later!” to the bewildered boy by the time you step out the hallway.

               After what happened today, you guess Taehyung won’t easily notice your makeover with just one encounter. You decided to keep it consistent for the rest of the week, waking up earlier to curl your hair and apply makeup before going to your classes. And every day you kept trying something new – a change of shade in the lip gloss, a swipe of a bolder eye shadow, a shift from preppy to sophisticated clothing styles–Taehyung still fails to notice anything. Even when you turn up for your shift in the carnival with full-on makeup for the very first time, Taehyung just passes you by with his usual demeanor.

               “Hi, Y/N!”

               “Hi Tae!” You cringe at how chirpy you sound. “Umm, you look exceptionally good today!”

               “Yeah?” Taehyung looks at his clothes, the same Howl costume he always wears in his shift. “Well, I look like this everytime in my shift so thanks?”

               “But, have you noticed anything new today?” you bat your mascara-laden lashes for emphasis.

               “New?” Taehyung leans closer to you and this time you feel your heart pounding in suspense. Of course he’ll notice it now, you never wear this much makeup at work–

               “Oh, your ID lace!” Taehyung snaps his fingers, grinning. “Right, you changed your ID lace, how can I miss out on it? You always complain about the neon orange you used to have and now it’s black just like how you always want.”

               You balk at him. “Uhh, it’s still the ones provided by the staff. They just changed the color.”

               “Yeah, isn’t that great? You’ve always wanted a black ID lace! Remember when you used to tell me you’re gonna file a petition to change the neon orange lace to black? It’s finally black!” Taehyung claps you on the back and then makes his signature salute. “See ya later at lunch Y/N. And congrats to the ID lace!”

               You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance. You’ve done such a good job perfecting your makeup and all he notices is just your ID lace?! What the motherfucking–

               Okay, maybe Taehyung doesn’t get makeover montages. You cross Plan 1 out and step up to Plan 2.

Plan 2: The Assertive Approach

               If Taehyung can’t notice physical changes, maybe this time, he can notice behavioral changes.  In the films you have watched, you’ve seen countless protagonists be successful in catching the eye of their love interests by changing their flirting style. You’ve always dreamt of becoming like Julia Roberts in her hit romance films: confident, bold, and unafraid to make the first move. So this time, you get to finally be the woman of your dreams and you hope she can also entice the man inside your heart.

               You started your metamorphosis by sitting closer to Taehyung during lectures, leaning closely to him whenever he’s talking with you, closing the space between your faces with a mere inch of breath. You also let your hands do the speaking for you whenever you walk home from work, masking the frequent brushing of your fingers against his, an obvious open invitation for him to hold your hand, seemingly accidental. But whatever you do, Taehyung still can’t get any hint. He’ll just smile at you and proceed to what he’s doing without even a waver in his tone.

               Fueled with desperation, you decide to cross the boundary from subtle to blatant assertion in your lunch break with Taehyung.

               “Today’s a pretty beat day,” Taehyung remarks, taking off his sweaty cape. “Some teens decided to not go with the usual flow of the booth and visit the stops in reverse. I felt sorry for Jimin. He looked so stressed manhandling each teen out of the booth and giving them a stricter run-over of the booth’s rules.”

               “Yeah?” You slide closer next to his seat and cross your legs. “Then what about you, did the teens made fun of you? I heard from Seokjin that Lisa almost broke down when they poked around her unicorn costume.”

               “I’m glad I’m the last stop. Jimin already entered the booth when the kids made the ruckus at Lisa’s stop.” Taehyung sighs, running his hand through his damp fringes. “I couldn’t imagine myself dealing with such troublesome people. If I were in Lisa’s place, I would have already been screaming at them for being bastards at such a young age. It’s a relief, it didn’t happen. I would have lost this job.”

               “I’m glad, too, you didn’t get hurt.” You lean towards him, resting your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen in his seat and you smile. “I would have been so worried, you know. I don’t know what I will do,” you grab his hand, intertwine it with yours, and look up at him, “if I don’t see you around here anymore.”

               “Really?” Taehyung turns to you and you nod. He smiles. “Thanks, Y/N, for your concern. I would feel the same if you were to experience that. Oh, we should probably eat now, our food’s getting cold.” Taehyung immediately detaches his fingers from yours, leaving you gaping in your seat.

               Your lunch proceeds like usual and the awkward hand-holding you pulled off was never brought up again. Like Plan 1, you kept Plan 2 consistent for the week. However, Taehyung still remains painfully oblivious.

               Plan 2 is unsuccessful so you cross it out and decide it’s time to take your game to the full notch.

 Plan 3: The Vixen’s Touch

               If Taehyung can’t recognize physical and behavioral changes, he cannot miss out on a temptation handed over on a silver platter. Plan 3 is the ultimate overkill. ��No one can resist the seductive vixen. You already braved through doing a Julia-Roberts-character. Going for the longest mile with Megan Fox shouldn’t be a problem. This is probably just your ego talking but you’re not gonna let the smallest bit of shame creep in to you now. Not now, when you’re putting all your cards on the table for Taehyung’s heart. This is all or nothing.

               You see, the Vixen’s Touch is the epitome of all Romcoms’ super power move. Just one scene is enough to turn the tables around and let the heroine achieve whatever outcome she desires. However, such great power comes numerous setbacks. One can only do a vixen move once and never more because if it’s overdone, it will lose it’s mystery, charm, and power–everything that makes it an effective Romcom move. So, you planned your Vixen Touch meticulously.

                You can’t do a Megan-Fox-move at school because you’ll attract too much attention, especially with Taehyung who’s already at the spotlight of social interactions. Instead, you will pull it off in the carnival, where you can have your crush all to yourself without worrying about ambitious bitches intruding your scenario. You’ll enter the Fairy Tale booth during your break time and sneak to the backstage from the “Authorized Personnel Only” door on the left of the second stop. From there, you will do Lisa’s advice to take a right turn and then a left.  It will lead to a connecting hallway that ends with the red curtains behind the Princess’ Castle. There, you’ll surprise Taehyung, who’s waiting for the princess’ cue, with a tingling touch against his spine and a sexy and breathy, “Hi, Tae.” Taehyung will be shocked and you’ll close the gap between the two of you. With the dark setting and the seemingly scandalous set-up, the thrilling mood will compel you to lean towards him and he will close his eyes and interlock his lips with  yours in a passionate kiss. If you make it fast to the connecting hallway, you will have enough alone time with Taehyung before the batch of people even reaches the third stop from the princess’ castle. You grin to yourself. Your plan has never been this perfect.

                Weekdays pass with you continuing your Assertive Approach. Taehyung’s still clueless, making the transition to Plan 3 much more thrilling. When Saturday finally rolls in, you set your game-est face on.

                It’s a week before Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party, which means the management is lenient on the part-timers’ work uniforms. After all, you only have one week left before you end your contracts. And so, you pull out your fanciest casual outfit–a little red dress with off-shoulder sleeves, partnered with fishnet stockings that go well with your black combat boots. You also perfected your makeup: eyebrows on-fleek, cat wings on-point, deep brown smoky eyes, and blood-red lips. To top off your look, you put on a thin, black choker. You smile at yourself. You did a good job making yourself look hot. You know it’s not just your ego talking because when you arrive at the ticket booth, Jimin compliments your look.

                “Yo, Y/N, I never knew you could look this pretty,” Jimin grins at you.

               "You also look good today,“ you return, taking note of how well his striped buttondown fits his frame. “I didn’t know today is leg day,” you add, admiring how his ripped jeans accentuate his legs you never knew were this muscular.

                Jimin smiles, “Say it for yourself, Y/N. You look a solid twelve.” He rocks on the balls of his feet back and forth. “I guess the management did a good job letting us wear our casual clothes. You don’t know how bad I wanted to take off our horrendous uniform whenever we work.”

                “That’s…highly inappropriate but I guess you do you,” you point finger guns at him. Jimin chuckles and waves goodbye to you, heading for the Fairy Tale booth. You seat yourself in your work station. Today’s a good start. You hope your luck continues until break time.

                Lunch passes by and so far everything’s a breeze. You haven’t seen Taehyung today, probably caught up with the kids who frequent his booth in large batches as Halloween approaches close. Nevertheless, it’s good news. Your surprise will totally knock him off his feet.

                The clock chimes two. Seokjin comes over and takes over the ticket booth as you take your break. It’s show time.

                Just like your plan, you head for the Fairy Tale booth in quick strides. Lisa manages the entrance to their booth today and she lets you in without any ado, already used to you and Taehyung crossing to and fro your respective booths. Greeting Val, the Elfen soldier of the first stop and Yeji, the mermaid from the second stop, you head for the “Authorized Personnel Only” door and push it open. It leads to a darkly-lit  hallway with a heavily carpeted flooring. You follow Lisa’s tips, taking a right turn and a left. True to her word, the connecting hallway ends with the thick red curtains. And there in the corner, is your dream man facing the curtains and waiting for his signal. You don’t hear any clamor of people nearing the Princess’ Castle, even the faintest of chatter inaudible. You thank the universe for this luck. You made it in time.

               The seconds seem to slow down into minutes as you stepped closer to Taehyung. Your heart pounds loud and fast against your ears. This is it. You’ll finally make Taehyung realize you have your heart laid out for him.  And if you’re lucky, he will also give his to you today.

                With a mere foot left between you two, you reach out for him.

                “Hey, Taehyung–”

                “What the fuck–”

                 Everything happens too fast.  Instead of Taehyung’s surprised face, a hard punch straight to your nose is what greets you. Intense pain spreads over your senses and you reel over, feeling your entire face on fire.

                 "Oh my fucking, God, I’m sorry!  Oh my God, Y/N, I didn’t see you–are you alright?!“ Taehyung catches your arms as you stagger backwards, pulling you to your feet to prevent you from falling.

                 You nod and waved dismiss-ally to his panicked state.

                 Just right then, you feel something wet trickle down your lips.

                 "Oh my God, Y/N, you’re bleeding!” Taehyung screams and he immediately leads you to a chair propped on the corner. He frantically pulls out tissues on the table nearby and dabs the wetness that seeps on your skin. “Shit, what are you even doing here?! I thought you were a ghost, I’m so sorry I punched you!”

                 You’re too dazed to register everything that has happened and your lack of response causes Taehyung to panic more.

                 "Fuck, Y/N, I’m so, so, sorry! Oh my God, this is all my fault. Just sit right there, I’ll call for help!“ Taehyung rushes to the end of the hallway and you hear him scream for Jimin. Pounding footsteps follow and then it’s not just Taehyung fussing over you, but also Jimin.

                 "Do you think it’s broken?” Taehyung asks Jimin, voice trembling.

                 "I don’t think so. She’s not bleeding that much. Taehyung, relax, I already called for first aid–”

                 "How can I relax when Y/N’s in pain?! Which I inflicted on her! You know what, let’s call the ambulance!–”

                 This is not what you planned for. This is not how you imagined you will spend your last shift at the carnival with Taehyung.

                 Wetness trickles down your cheeks and before Taehyung can rush over and wipe your tears away, the Carnival’s first aid team has already barged in and crowded over you.

                 You were led to the small clinic of the carnival where you were given a tissue to stick in your nose. The physician told you your nose was luckily not broken and your body has just undergone shock. Once the bleeding has stopped, you’re good to go. Seokjin also called you he already informed your boss about what happened, telling you he’ll take over your shift and you’re now free to go home. The next few minutes pass in silence and you sink further onto the foldable bed. However, the universe decides it’s not yet done fucking up your day when the door opens with a loud bang and there stands Taehyung, huffing and drenched in sweat.

                 "I’m sorry I only got here now. Boss scolded me for what I did to you,“ Taehyung sighs deeply as he sits on the chair next to you, leaning his elbows on your bed. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. All of this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t overreact.”

                 "I-it’s okay, Tae. You didn’t know I was there.“

                 "What are you even doing at our booth? Much more creeping in the dark?”

                 You bit your lip and look away. “It’s my break, it’s just,” you sigh, “I thought of surprising you today and well, it didn’t go as well as I planned it.”

                 "Plan? For what? Is there something we’re supposed to celebrate today?“

                 You turn back to Taehyung and meet his eyes. His eyes are focused on your face, waiting for your answer.

                 Well, maybe not all Romcom cliches work just like how they appear to be in movies. Maybe not all romantic gestures need to be grand in order to convey the sincerity of one’s feelings. Maybe it could be as simple like this– two people staring at each other in a clinic, uncaring of the world happening beyond your little bubble.

                 And as you stare at Taehyung’s face and see the reflection of yourself through his eyes, confused and tired, you decide it’s time for you to finally say it. No more orchestrated pretenses. No more intricate plans.

                 "Today is our last day in our work and I wanted to surprise you by finally being true to my feelings. I no longer look at you as a friend, Taehyung. I’m in love with you.”

                 Taehyung doesn’t reply. He just stares at you. You slowly feel the air getting squeezed out of your lungs, and it’s not just because of your stuffed nostril. Another beat of silence passes and then Taehyung’s face falls as he gapes at you, confused, shocked, and for a moment you see disappointment flash across his face. “W-what? Y/N, when did you-I, I don’t know what to say, I-why now?”

                 You bite your lip, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “Why not now, Taehyung?”

                 "Because–” Taehyung sighs and he purses his lips, dragging a hand over his face. “Y/N, you’re my friend, but I–”

                 "You know what, Taehyung,  I get it,�� you turn your back on him, tasting blood on your lips from biting too hard to keep the tears at bay. You won’t cry because of him and in front of him at the same time. He doesn���t get to see you this weak. “You can leave me now.”

                 "But, Y/N, I–”

                 "Does punching me in the face not enough for you?! Just leave!“

                You hear Taehyung sigh. The mattress of the bed puffs up again as the weight leaves. A faint “I’m sorry” resounds in the stifling silence. When the door closes with a soft click, the tears finally fall.

You stifle your broken sobs on your pillow.

***

You’re back in your old cycle: Eat, sleep, study, and lie low at the background. You steered clear from Taehyung in your classes, seating far away from your usual seat. You neither stopped by his locker in the mornings, nor waited for him in front of your own locker for lunch. You even went as far as avoiding your common friends, the thought of people asking about what happened between you and Taehyung makes you reel back to the embarrassment and disappointment of that day.

As much as you wanted to hate Taehyung, you find it hard to admit that every single thing that has gone wrong points back to you. You assuming anything more than what you already have with him, you doing outrageously unnecessary things for him, you bending yourself backwards in your desperation for him – it has always been yourself.

You tried to stay as identical to the background as you can be, away from Taehyung and anything that is associated with him. Because as much as you feel like an empty vessel for every single day, you cannot find it in yourself to erase Taehyung from your mind. Even when his last words with you kept on re-opening the wounds you’ve been trying hard to stitch back together. And, you can’t have that. You can’t run back to him and let him kick you back to the curb. It’s time for you to learn your lesson.

But no matter how successful you were the past days in running from Taehyung, you know you cannot avoid him forever. Especially when Enchanted Carnival has required the part-timers to attend their annual Halloween Party tomorrow, arranged by their permanent staff. After all, it’s the day you’ll terminate your contract and receive your last salary for your job.

You have never sorely regretted your past decisions like this before. You’re love-fool state of mind back then has induced you to buy an expensive costume. A fancy dress that has a carnation pink rayon bodice and full skirt, layered with delicate purple cotton voilewhich looks like soft rose petals that perfectly cinch the waist. It has long, glittered see-through sleeves that ruffle at the end of your arm, and it is adorned with golden intricate curvilinear details that go around the bust area and matches the golden flower belt on the waist. It even came with a faux golden crown with a short pink veil attached to the back.  Yes, you fucking bought a princess bride costume just to match with Taehyung’s usual work attire because of course, Taehyung will come looking like a Disney prince. And now that everything you planned has gone downhill, the excitement is over and the only thing you feel is bitterness and a desperate wish to get things done and over with.

You reached the carnival at seven and by that time, the party is in full swing. Enchanted Carnival looks like a cirque-esque other-world. Small Jack o’ Lanterns replaced the usual light bulbs to light the carnival in an alluring tangerine glow. Signboards of “Happy Halloweens” range from small cutouts that hung from the poles, to gigantic illustrations pasted right on the walls of the some stalls. Pumpkin and ghost-shaped candies were sold at almost every corner and the people that pass by, carnival staff or not, embody the fantasy and surrealism of the carnival. You’ve seen pirates, sirens, faeries, and even witty realistic horror such as Jung Hoseok, the roller coaster attendant, wearing casual jeans and shirt with electric bills pasted on his chest and back.

“Hey, Y/N! I thought you weren’t coming.” You look to your left and see Lisa in a No Face costume. Seokjin follows close behind, dressed like Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

“Uh, yeah–I mean,” you clear your throat “how can I not come when I get to be paid at the end of the night?”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit,” Seokjin chuckles. “The salary is my only motivation when I lost a bet to Yeji and agreed to dress like…this.”

“Hey, Sokka’s not bad!” Lisa frowns. “Avatar: The Last Airbender is the best show ever and Sokka’s like a perfect ten.”

“Yeah, but it would have been better if you know,” Seokjin huffs, “I get to be Toph. So I can finally un-see Hoseok’s stupid’s antics, especially his dumb electric-bill costume tonight. It doesn’t get to be low-cost, witty, and funny all at the same time. It’s unfair.”

You laugh, feeling your jaw hurt a little from smiling so wide. It’s been a while since you smiled, with the past days spent crying and moping around in your room. You’re grateful for Lisa and Seokjin who tried to cheer you up throughout the night, distracting you from thoughts that revolve around Taehyung by pulling you into ride after ride, playing games in stall after stall, and stuffing your mouths with delicious treats.

You were having the best night of your life, until you find your group stopping in front of a booth – The 13th House.

You turn to Lisa. “Hey, you didn’t tell me a horror booth is included in our itinerary.”

“Because I don’t need to,” Lisa grins. “Horror booths are a classic! How can Halloween be Halloween without some spook?”

“Right, and relax Y/N,” Seokjin says, “It’s not like we’re gonna leave you. And trust me, it’s not that scary. I already visited this booth to prank Jungkook. Too bad I was unsuccessful that time with Jungkook already immune to jumpscares from manning the effects and all.”

Except it is scary. The 13th House is the only booth you didn’t dare to visit during your entire work period. Your remember how your legs turned to jelly the first time you saw its front: An old gothic mansion with dilapidated walls and broken windows, its wooden main door covered in bloody handprints, and its gray, dry lawn surrounded by amputated body parts. You know all of it were just manmade but it doesn’t lessen the creeps you get when every detail and props are fashioned too realistically.

Nevertheless, you went along with Lisa and Seokjin and get your ticket-bracelets scanned by the booth marshal. Even if you feel like running away the moment you hear the loud, sinister creak of the main door when you start for the first stop, you stood your ground and wear your big girl game face on. It’s your last night in the carnival, might as well do everything you were never able to do before.

The first half of your trip in the booth were somehow a smooth ride. Although you almost jumped at the scream of the bloody Victorian bride from the first stop, almost backed out on the second stop because of the swinging headless knight, and almost cried on the spot because of the wailing man with its guts ripped apart from the third stop, you’re still far from getting scared out of your wits.

That is, until you reach the middle stop.

The fourth stop required you to do an easy escape-room task with a ghost kid guiding you through a fake Ouija board session. You quickly finished the activity and the wooden walls shifted to reveal a small passageway with thick hanging cobwebs. Lisa leads the way and you find yourself gripping her hand and Seokjin’s tighter as you enter a dark hallway lit only by torches fastened to gray, blood-splattered walls.

And then, out of nowhere, foreign hands cover your eyes. You scream and thrash around but your suffering is only momentary when you find yourself back in the hallway with no looming figures behind your back. Okay, maybe it’s just part of the booth experience–Wait. Where’s Lisa and Seokjin?

“Lisa! Seokjin!” You call for your friends’s names.  They were just with you earlier. You were holding their hands for Christ’s sake! “Where are you, guys?! This is NOT funny!” You bite your lip and wring your hands in anxiety. “Guys, I swear to God, this is not fun–”

               The lights of the torches flicker. The background music starts to grow louder, and eerier as it now plays with Latin incantations. And then there’s a loud bang.

               The lights were blown out.  The blood-splattered designs on the walls turn neon. And, the rest of the hallway goes complete dark-out.

               “Holy shit!” You run, straight ahead. Heart pounding loud on your ears, you don’t think anymore and just run. Surely, there will be some end to this hallway, right?

               Except there’s none, because a forked path greets you just right when you thought the hallway is getting too long. The two paths stare at you, the neon designs on their walls starts to get disturbing with child-like drawings of disfigured people and morbid beasts.

               You slump on the ground. This is a complete nightmare. You wish you didn’t go with Lisa and Seokjin. You wish you didn’t let your loneliness get to you and spent the whole week crying about your crush who doesn’t like you. Because now you’re trapped in this hellish booth and you’re gonna die alone and pathetic. You didn’t even get to experience at least the “moving on” happy ending alternative of Romcom films. You didn’t –

               Just right then, there’s a flash of light from the end of the left path. A second later, a voice  echoes loud. You didn’t understand a word from the echo. Hell, you’re not even sure if it’s from a human. But at least it seems to have a light that is nothing part of 13th House’s props. Before thinking twice, you’re already running toward the direction of the light. You run and run and never dared to stop. The light’s getting near, you’re gonna get help soon! You won’t have to die alone because you’re gonna get out of here and–

               Light blinds you.

               "Ahh!“

               "What the fuck-! I’m sorry!”

               You feel the light on your face dim down. And the moment you bring down your raised hands, you can’t seem to speak.

               "YN?“

               Taehyung stands in front of you, flashlight in hand, and looking handsome as always. But, it’s not his presence that makes your heart still. Enchanted Carnival’s purple polo shirt, generic black slacks, and the silly headband with blue rabbit ears atop his head–Taehyung’s wearing the carnival’s ticket booth uniform.

               And Taehyung’s jaw is ajar seemingly for all the same reason. Pink princess gown and glittering princess crown–you were an open book to him now.

               "You…you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

               All of a sudden, everything that has happened in the last weeks comes back to you and you feel your eyes stinging with tears as the dam of bitterness floods your chest. “I bet you tell everyone that,” you scoff, “since you’re such a disgusting flirt.”

               Taehyung’s mouth hangs in shock, “Di-disgusting flirt? You’re the only one I told you that!”

               You stand back to your feet and meet his eyes with a steely glare. “I find it hard to believe that, Kim.  Especially your type of guys.”

               Your eyes seem to do tricks to you when you see Taehyung wince at your tone, but that wasn’t for long because Taehyung now sounds defensive.  "What are my type of guys?“

               You scowled. "The type who leads on girls and cruelly rejects them after they’re done playing with them.”

               "What rejection are you talking about? I did not reject you! How could you-“

               "What else could your reaction mean when I told you I love you?!”

               "I was trying to move on from you, okay!“ Taehyung screams. "And that day, you just–dropped the bomb like that. How do you expect me to react huh? Especially, when I fucking spent one year trying to make you realize I see you more than as a friend and you just ignore me as if my feelings don’t matter to you.  And then, when I finally decide to move on from you, you act weird for a couple of weeks. And out of nowhere you’re telling me you love me. How can I even react properly? You didn’t even wait for me to process things,” Taehyung’s voice breaks, “You just up and go and shut me out!”

               "W-what?“

               "I liked you, Y/N. For so long. And you never turned my way–you wave off my advances as if they mean nothing to you, you keep on setting me up with other girls, and you run away from me whenever I so much glance at you. You don’t even let me see you properly when we’re at school. You hide from me and run away as if you’re gonna die just by being with me. And last week, you’re suddenly telling me you love me? So, how can I be a disgusting flirt when you’re the one who’s sending me mixed signals?!”

               "Mixed signals?“ you frown. "For the past year I’ve been your friend Tae, I tried to love you in my own way. I stayed up late with you as you told me all your problems. I’ve been there with you in whatever shenanigans you thought of. I spent almost every break I fucking have with you talking about whatever we want. They are blatant signals, Taehyung! So I’m sorry if I have to hide or run away sometimes, because if you didn’t fucking know, we don’t belong in the same world.”

               “What do you mean we don’t belong in the same world? Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re not an alien–”

               “In your world, I am! In your world, you are the star, the life of the party. People who belong in your world live their fucking fantastic lives as the star of their own stories. They achieve their dreams, they get whatever they want, people look up at them for being so great. But, people like me? We spend our fucking lives looking into your world from the outside. Pathetic side characters of their own pathetic lives. People just pass us by, some even run over us. No one even remembers our fucking name. So, even if these don’t matter when I look at you, I can only love you from afar because people will look at us and all these shits will come back for me.”

               “Jesus Christ,” Taehyung huffs, carding a hand through his hair in frustration. “There are no worlds separating you from me because people are just different!  And these differences cannot dictate who should belong with who because guess what? We’re the only ones who can let other people in or out of their lives.  So can you just stop for a second and see that there’s nothing that actually separates you from me? I thought you would already know this by now since we’ve been friends for so long.”

               You feel tears blurring your eyes and you look away from him. “But still, that’s not enough to explain all the shits that’s happened this past week. Okay, we may be different and I tried to express my feelings in my own way. But I tried to change it up, Tae. I worked so hard to pattern my advances to every Romcom clichés and of course they all went wrong when it came to you.”

               “W-wrong? Y/N, what Romcom cliches–”

               “The cheesiest Romcom clichés!”  You snap. “You know, the makeover montage, the Julia Roberts’ Assertive Approach, the Megan Fox Vixen Touch. You were telling me how oblivious I were to your advances but you never fucking noticed how  I changed up my advances just for you. You ignored how I dressed up pretty-to-the-tip for you. Even after I came to you and blatantly asked you if you noticed something new. You don’t take the cue when I freaking hand over my feelings for you in a silver platter. Hell, you even punched me in the face when I tried to be sexy!”

               “God, can you let it go? I already said I’m sorry!” Taehyung huffs and you look down on your feet. Taehyung sighs, “I was trying to move on from you during those weeks you’ve acted really, really weird. So obviously, I will be very confused. Secondly, Y/N,” Taehyung sighs, “Romcom clichés are called like that because they only happen and work the way they are portrayed to work, in Romcoms. Romcom is a film genre. Sure, they may reflect some aspects of reality, but Y/N, they are planned out, manipulated in a controlled environment. They’re not your life. Life doesn’t work that way.”

               “I’m sorry, I just–” you bite your lip but it’s not enough to prevent a tear slip from your eyes. “This is my first time feeling like this and I don’t know what to do. I absolutely have no fucking idea what I should do next and I–I’m just so sorry for dragging these shits up and made our lives messier than it should be. I’m sorry for probably making you feel guilty about yourself for this past week I ignored you like the plague. I’m sorry for being so stupid, I just–I’m so sorry, Tae!” your voice breaks at the end and before you know it, your tears have already consumed you to the ground.

               "Oh shit Y/N, don’t cry.” Taehyung panics as he kneels next to you. You shield your face from him with your hands, but Taehyung pries them away and cups your face in his large, warm hands. You feel the pads of his fingers wipe away your tears and when you look up at him, Taehyung’s face is too close to yours. Too close that you can practically see the deep, dark circles under his eyes despite the darkness. The thought that you caused him this made you tear up more.

               Taehyung goes frantic. “Y/N, do-don’t cry. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry–”

                 “C-can you just h-hug me?”

               “O-okay,” Taehyung hesitantly loops his arms around your shaking frame. “Thi-this is fine with me.”

               You close your eyes and lean on your friend’s chest. You don’t care if Taehyung’s shirt get wet with your tears. He’s partly at fault for making you cry. But still, you squeak out a muffled.  “Thank you, Tae.”

               Taehyung hums. “It’s okay.”

               Amid this night’s horror and breakdown, silence, for the first time in a while, envelops you in comfort. Even with no words, Taehyung easily dries away the tears. He just pats your back and rubs soothing circles on your tensed muscles, leaning closer to you when you hug him tighter.

               “I hate fighting with you, Tae.”

               Taehyung turns his head closer to yours. “Are we already fighting?”

               “W-well yeah,” you hiccup. “Somehow.”

               “Okay…Next time we’ll understand each other better so we don’t need to have unnecessary fights like this, okay?”

               “Okay,” you mutter. You sink deeper into Taehyung’s arms and he holds you tighter in his embrace.

               Even if you can’t see his face, you know Taehyung’s smiling.

               It doesn’t take long for your sobs to die down that you’re now slowly disentangling yourself from him.

               “Are you okay now?”

               “Y-yeah. Thank you.” You lean your back against the wall and Taehyung sits next to you. You look at him and he smiles at you. For a moment you stay like that, staring into his eyes, falling deep in the little world you’re sharing with him. And then, it hits you. Taehyung’s still here. Even after you blurt out every insecurity and self-doubt you have that others may find petty and invaluable, Taehyung’s still here. Even after he voiced out his disappointment of you and things you’ve done him wrong, Taehyung hasn’t walked out. He didn’t run away, he didn’t leave you. Taehyung stayed.

               And so, you take the cue the universe is giving you and put all your cards on the table again. You cross your fingers as you ask the question that has plagued your mind ever since Taehyung confessed he has long liked you. "Tae, Ha-have you already moved on from me?”

               Taehyung sighs and for a second, you don’t breathe. But, you don’t have to hold it for long because when Taehyung looks at you again, a soft smile is on his face. “Unfortunately, no. Because even after all the shits you put me through, you still occupy my heart–and mind.”

               “S-so, can I kiss you?”

               “I’m the one who’s supposed to say that, but, ye-yeah you can kiss me. Anything for you, Y/N.”

               You close your eyes and lean forward. Your lips meet his in a soft peck and everything suddenly stops. You don’t feel the perspiration on your back from all the running in the booth. You don’t think about the dust and dirt soiling your dress. All you could feel was Taehyung’s soft lips. All you could taste is the sweetness from the crumbs of cherry tart left on his lips. All that fills you nose is Taehyung’s smell that’s so naturally his and his ocean mist spray you gifted him on his birthday. All you could hear is the loud pounding of your heart, and even with your eyes closed, Taehyung’s face is all you could see.  And, you can’t think of anything but Taehyung–him and him alone.

               The world suddenly moves again when Taehyung leans deeper and interlocks his lips with yours. You immediately let your heart take over. You mold yourself closer to him, kissing him with every ardor you’ve kept locked in yourself for so long. You fist his shirt and Taehyung caresses your cheeks and puts his hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you deeper. You loop your arms around his neck and return the vigor of his kiss. Teeth bumping, fingers reaching and clutching onto anything, sloppy interlocking of lips–you don’t care. Even if you have your first kiss in a gloomy, creepy horror booth, nothing else mattered but the boy in front of you. Taehyung’s here and he’s finally in your arms. You don’t have to long for him from afar anymore because now he’s here with you and he’s not leaving you. He’s finally yours.

               The same thought probably runs into Taehyung as you feel him grin into your lips before kissing you again. And even when the creepy background music of the booth starts again, you can only focus on the gentle way Taehyung’s thumbs coursed over your cheeks while tenderly pecks your lips as your kiss comes into a close.

                As you draw back a little to look at your friend, your crush, and now your lover, Kim Taehyung, in the hideous purple uniform you used to wear in the ticket booth with silly rabbit ears perched atop his hazel locks, you can’t help but smile. Taehyung may be the center of the world while you watch him from the side, but at the end of the day, he’s right. You’re just two people who are happy being with each other. There’s no boundaries, no walls separating him from you and you from him. You just have to see him for what he is and take the leap. You don’t need to re-enact Romcom clichés just to bring him towards you because he’s never been away from you from the start.

               Taehyung leans his forehead on yours and smiles. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve waited for so long for this.”

               “Me too,” you grin, “And, I love you too, Tae.”

               Taehyung chuckles and presses another peck on your lips.

               Just right then, you can feel a vibrant white light on your face.

               “Yo, lovebirds, are you finally together?”

               You turn to the direction of the voice and it’s Jimin. Behind him are Lisa and Seokjin, walking from the right pathway while making kissy faces at you.

               It all clicks in: Lisa and Seokjin hanging out with you, leading you to the 13th House, and disappearing like smoke the moment you reached the longest hallway of the booth. It’s to get you alone with Taehyung and finally talk everything out before you leave your part-time jobs.

               You frown at your friends. But, before you can voice out how can they just up and leave you like that, Taehyung beats you to it.

               “Jimin, you bastard! You pushed me towards the backstage passageway, shoved a flashlight into my hand, and just left me in the middle of this fucking scary booth. Is this how you treat your best bud?!”

               Jimin laughs. “But at least you got the girl!”

               “Yeah,” Lisa says. “Watching you two stupidly tiptoe around each other for so long started to make me sick.”

               “And we know you two can’t sort out your stupidity alone, so we decided to give you a little push.” Seokjin looks at Taehyung. “Quite literally in your case.”

               Taehyung scowls and opens his mouth but Jimin cuts him to it.

               “Thank me later, lover boy. It’s time we get out of this booth. Jungkook’s gonna piss me out for practically renting the 4th stop without paying.” Jimin heads to the right path where he came from. “So let’s take our exit now so you two can finally ride together into the sunset.” He turns to you and Taehyung and smirks, “Well, literally and figuratively.”

               Taehung attempts to hit him but Jimin scampers away and hollers, “You’re welcome, bro. And you too, Y/N!” Lisa and Seokjin laugh as they follow Jimin, leaving you and Taehyung walking at the back.

               Taehyung turns to you. “So…are you free tomorrow? I realized I haven’t taken you to a date yet. Like, a date date”

               “Yeah, I’m free. But, where will we go?”

               Taehyung rubs his nape. “Well, I don’t know yet…I’m sorry I asked you when I don’t have any plans yet, I just want to be with you tomorrow–”

               “It’s okay,” you smile. “We can meet at the carnival, then.”

               “The carnival?”

               “Yeah. Not as the prince and the ticketbooth attendant or vice versa. Just Taehyung and Y/N.”

               Taehyung smiles. “I would like that. Pick you up at your house on five?”

               “That’s alright with me,” you lean into his arm and look up at him, “boyfriend.”

               Taehyung blushes and you giggle. You let him hold your hand as you make your way out of the horror booth to spend the rest of Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party with a salary waiting for you, happy and giddy, and most importantly, in love.

               In every success story, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” Sometimes, it worked out for you, but most of the time, it didn’t.  Like how you tried to use this tactic to get your crush to like you, your plans don’t usually go the way you expect them. But it’s okay, because life doesn’t work that way. It took you stressful planning days, frustrating reactions, and tearful nights for you to realize that life is not always a stage where people can just “fake” everything ‘til the script is fulfilled. Roles can be changed and mistakes can happen. What’s important is: You may have not “fake it ‘til you make it,” but at least you worked for it ‘til you made it.

A/N pt. 2 | I wrote this fic after having a massive eureka moment and I haven’t edited this out yet because it’s 2 A.M. and we die like brave men here. Anyway, planning this story was really a challenge! This is the first time I tried this AU so I researched stuff and had to like, fix and re-fix some of my plot points as I write through. Second, I wanted to incorporate the adorable prompt in a completely unexpected way so I hope it did what I intended for it to do. Also, I enjoyed making up the names of the Romcom clichés OC used. They are literal Romcom clichés but I can’t find what they’re officially called (aside from Makeover Montage) so I just made the rest up AHHAHAH. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission

[twentysixdegrees]

maaaaan, this girl is non-stop!

*pushes my index fingers together* i wrote all the starters i owe, though i have replies that i still owe (i didn’t forget)! i’ll get to those either later today after i meet some deadlines or tomorrow!! that being said, welcome to the new members of werelit, and i still have a lot of brain babies and random ass ideas...so uh, if you want to do something you can take a look down below!

if we’re mutuals, if you find this in the tags and it piques your interest, or we already got something going on but something in this catches your eye....like, call dibs, message me first, or breathe in my general direction--anything works!

tumblr im is the best way to reach me! pls don’t leave me hanging!!! (also please excuse the typos that are sure to pop up, i’m running out of steam omg)

random ideas

some kind of superhero au: im gonna be real i typed all the shit under this and lost my steam BUT i saw black panther the other day and was endlessly inspired. obviously it doesn’t have to be in that setting but maybe in the mcu with more poc heroes? 

mythology/percy jackson-esque au: i loved the percy jackson books! camp half blood or not, we could have them living in the outside world trying to integrate successfully, or recognizing each other as half-bloods and being all !!!.  ANYTHING!

existing muses that i have that i would love to make a plot for!

hacker (affiliated with some sort of underground organization): some typa mob au, park kyungri fc though it’s flexible! she was part of a closed rp at some point and i loved her even after i left the rp so i kept her bio close...intellectually gifted as a youth, while en route to a job in cyber security, in uni an event forced her to change careers drastically. w/ technology and her own set of learned skills, she’s off the grid, new identity, and working for the enemy of her enemy (so they’re now her friend). if you’re interested, lmk!!! i’ll give you her full bio or summarize it for you!

clairaudient psychic: kim taehyung fc, though it’s flexible! a psychic who has particularly clear hearing, aka he is especially sensitive to voices from beyond the grave. he usually uses his gift to help souls pass on by reaching out to relatives or vice versa, his brother’s death was a heightening event that only made him more sensitive. he has some spirit guides that *spoiler* guide him and assist him in distinguishing lost souls from malicious ones. makes a living as a psychic with a dedicated client base, though he does get the rando skeptic every now and then (that usually ends up leaving a little shaken). has the potential to lean slice of life or supernatural, depending on what kind of character plays opposite him!

nighttime radio dj w/ supernatural elements: more of a brain child than anything, i don’t have a fc for him yet! but kind of inspired by that whole ‘welcome to nightvale’-ish vibe? i’ll admit i never fully got into the podcasts, but i like the idea of them being completely human but unknowingly or uncaringly kind of blending into other dimensions because of a mix of location (perhaps near a bridge in the city that they’re in, since bridges have been known to have connotations of ‘leading to other realms’) and time (probably from 3am to 4am since it’s commonly associated with the ‘witching hour’). maybe their broadcast reaches out further than simply their plane of existence and kind of interferes into other dimensions? idk! it would be interesting and i am so up for discussion/tossing ideas back and forth!

time travelling cyborg: was a jb from got7 fc, but i want to change his fc...he’s from the future, was in a fire so the majority of his left side is enhanced prosthetic ergo cyborg. i have a lot of hcs though i lost his bio but i can tell you many many things about him. basically he’s studying the past in order to better the future (his present), etc etc etc, and for his thesis he gets to time travel back to observe...told not to make too many important relationships etc because butterfly effect but...inevitability!

a polyamorous dynamic: obviously this requires 2 other beautiful writers that kind of know each other (or don’t mind getting to know each other)! but i think it be really interesting to explore a dynamic that so often misrepresented? the r/s isn’t perfect ofc, and there’s still jealousy and misunderstandings involved but the three of them, at the center of it all, make each other better. it’s a balancing act but it’s worth it? so many potential dynamics between the three of them!

muses inspired by fcs/photos (very basic ideas!)

rena from pristin in a modern royal au: a princess. she is a princess. i fell in love on my timeline when i saw this photoset. something to do with this photoset? idk!!! if u have an idea lay it on me!!!

yongguk from bap looking like a snack: i just want to write for a yongguk. that’s all. hit me with any ideas if you want. let’s do it.

nayoung from gugudan in a pirate au: pirates! just PIRATES! there are so many ways to go about this? but all i know is that i want nayoung to be a pirate. whether you want to play a fellow pirate or a crew members or a naval officer captured or or or...there’s a lot of options............

jinyoung (got7) as a kind of kiki’s delivery service au: look how sweet and unassuming he looks! maybe a magical being who moves out of their little community to try and make it in the city...doing odd jobs and trying to make friends!!!

a plot where i can use liu yifei as a fc: yes, i know she is the casting for hua mulan but it doesn’t have to be mulan-esque (unless you’re down with that!)...i see this as a potential historical-esque, wushu inspired, fantastical plot?

[itsswansecrets]

Howling Wolf, Ouat, Ruby/Mulan

Title:  Howling Wolf

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Pairing: Ruby/Mulan

Rating: PG-13

Word Count:  1463

Note: The was written for the Ruby Lucas Femslash Week 2017 Prompts “Mulan Rouge” and “First Encounters”

Summary: Burlesque Club AU, while Ruby tends bar a new performer takes to the stage

Ruby hadn’t had the chance to meet the new girl yet, she hadn’t even seen a picture. She imagined though that she’d be nervous. Having her debut on a Friday night was certainly a trial by fire. The crowd were usually friendly enough but they knew what they liked and they didn’t take well to performers that didn’t meet the standards they were accustomed to.

Ruby Lucas generally enjoyed her work as a bartender at the Howling Wolf club. The club was styled like a 1920’s jazz club but with a more modern edge to its décor. There were various areas for lounging and eating. The main area of the club was a large stage with circular tables of various sizes arranged in the space front of it.

Almost every table was full. The MC, David Nolan, was warming up the crowd with a few jokes and a rundown of the upcoming entertainment. A few of the regular acts got cheers when they were mentioned, the loudest was, as usual, for the headline act Regina Mills.

The bar got busier, people wanted to get their drinks before the show started. Most patrons took advantage of the table service so while Ruby did deal with some customers most of her interactions were with smartly dressed waiters and waitresses.

David introduced the first act: Belle. The crowd applauded, getting louder as Belle came onto the stage. She was wearing a magnificent yellow ballgown. The band played soft music, soaring strings and tinkling piano. Music that seemed to speak about tales as old as time.

Ruby was busy making drinks and missed most of Belle’s performance, but she had seen it many times before. Belle was the stage name of Lacey French. Her act was a very classy, very elegant strip tease. She took off her white gloves first. Then her dress to reveal beautiful blue lingerie. Ruby looked over at the stage while Belle was dancing in her underwear.

Ruby and Lacey had, for a while, had a friends-with-benefits arrangement. A few weeks ago however Lacey had started dating the owner of the club, Adam Gold. Watching Lacey dance made her hope that the relationship wouldn’t last too long. She was missing their nights of fun. Though if it lasted much longer Ruby was going to need to find a new playmate. There was only so long she could go with pleasure coming only by her own hand.

One of the waiters interrupted her reminiscing with a drinks order. A few more orders came in quick succession and by the time Ruby had a moment to look at the stage again Belle was bowing to the appreciative audience. The Howling Wolf wasn’t a full on nude strip club. The emphasis was very much on the tease part of strip tease. Belle took her leave from the stage still wearing her panties and pasties that mostly covered her breasts.

At one of the tables at the front Ruby saw Mr Gold. With Belle’s performance done he turned to his companions, no doubt the three gentlemen at his table were business associates of some kind. Mr Gold was a man with a great many business interests and, if the rumours were true, not all of them were 100% legal. Ruby definitely got the vibe the men he was with tonight were shady.

The second act, introduced again by David, was a tap dancing trio. They were good, but Ruby wasn’t a fan, tap wasn’t really her thing.

Once they’d clickity-clacked their hearts out they took their applause and left the stage.

David returned to center stage and spoke into his microphone while a couple of stage hands set up for the next act in the background. “Weren’t they swell?” he let the clapping die down. “Now next we have quite the treat for you. A brand new act, making her grand debut in the Howling Wolf club on this very stage. She’s entertained crowds from London to Rome to New York City and tonight she is here to entertain you. Please give a proper Howling Wolf welcome to...Ping!”

The crowd gave an enthusiastic cheer, a few gave wolf howls that were common for some of the regulars to make.

The music started: A slightly off-key piano being played as if to accompany an old silent movie. The audience quietened down a bit. The stage was set with a simple wooden bench and an art deco style lamppost.

Ruby finished mixing a cocktail and set it on the bar, Kasey, one of the waitresses, set the drink on a tray and headed over to the table that had ordered it. Ruby looked to the stage. Just as she was wondering if the new girl had gotten stage fright a figure strode out.

It was a man. He was Asian and wearing a kind of Charlie Chaplin-esque suit. The dark trousers were loose. The black shoes were polished to a shine but oversized, to the point where they were not far off being clownish. His dark jacket was fitted and buttoned over a slim frame. He wore a bowler hat, had thick eyebrows and a moustache. He had a black umbrella hooked over one elbow and a confident swagger to his steps.

Ruby frowned. It was meant to be the new girl, David had announced her. Maybe there’d been a mix up backstage, but there wasn’t a new guy and...

The penny dropped. The guy was the new girl. She watched her. Her look and her movements were decidedly masculine.

‘Ping’ jaunted to the bench, every step seemed casual but was timed with the music. Ping sat on the bench and took out a newspaper that had been tucked under it.

Ruby watched as Ping went through a really fun slapstick routine. The crowd quickly warmed to the newcomer, laughing and cheering. ‘Ping’ was utterly convincing as a man, from look to body language.

Ruby’s enjoyment was interrupted by a big drinks order.

By the time she could focus on the stage again the music had shifted. It was still jaunty, but with a little more bite to it. Ping had taken off her suit jacket and laid it neatly on the bench. She was wearing a pristine white shirt and a lilac tie.

She danced, twirling the umbrella, and soon the hat came off and she shook free dark shoulder length dark hair. Ruby realised that as she removed her masculine dress she was also changing the way she moved, becoming more graceful.

The performance went on until she was left wearing only white pasties over her nipples and a pair of black boxer shorts. Aside from a bulge in the front of her boxers she was now all female in appearance and mannerisms. She’d even peeled off the moustache and thick eyebrows, and in Ruby's opinion she was pretty cute.

She left the stage to a standing ovation, a great reaction for a first timer.

Ruby joined the applause. She was looking forward to meeting the new girl properly.

Ruby had a break about forty-five minutes after Ping’s performance. She headed though the staff corridor backstage and along to the dressing rooms.

Only Regina had her own private dressing room. Ruby knew she was scheduled to perform one of her more famous routines, The Evil Queen, so was no doubt in the process of squeezing into a dress that made a stupendous display of her cleavage.

The main dressing room was an open plan space. One wall was lined with mirrors and dressing tables. There were partitioned areas for a bit of privacy when changing but everyone was pretty comfortable with nudity. This was a burlesque show after all. Through a door at the back there was shower room with individual cubicles.

When Ruby walked into the dressing room it took her a few moments to spot the new girl.

She was talking with one of the backing dancers that would be going on stage with Regina later. She was wearing blue jeans and a tight white t-shirt that, contrasting with her stage outfit, showed her womanly curves.

Ruby hesitated.

The new girl wasn’t just cute. She was smokin' hot.

Ruby went over and introduced herself.

“I’m Mulan,” the new girl smiled and offered her hand.

Ruby shook it, their eyes met and Ruby couldn’t help thinking about the fact she needed a new friend-with-benefits.

“I loved your show,” Ruby said, their eyes still locked.

“Thanks,” Mulan didn’t look away and she still had a smile on her lips. She looked Ruby down and up. "Are you performing tonight?"

"Oh, no, I work at the bar."

Mulan looked her over again. "That’s a shame."

Their eyes locked again.

Ruby was glad the attraction seemed to be mutual.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: chapter twoooo i hope you guys enjoy!! and i take this as pure reason to knuckle down and finish chapter three tehe <3 let me know what u think!! a million mwahs to @strangerstilinski for being my beta too, even tho i yelled at u sorry :/

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

— CHAPTER TWO :: ALLIES

The storm had calmed come morning. The Mother's Kiss slowed, quietened to only a whisper between the trees.

With it, the ache in your forearm too. The torn skin knitted up in the night, the heat from the fire like a balm on the wound.

But right now, the ache was threatening to make a reappearance.

You glare across the clearing at Azriel from your place in the mud, where he's just knocked you down. Your lungs burn. Your chest heaves as you try to catch you breath. The last hour has been spent on the same infuriating exercise.

The sludgy dirt, still sloppy from the melted snow of last night, drips off your arms as you scramble to get to your feet. Your wings shudder, flicking off the cold dirt with a shake.

"Try again." Azriel says, his voice calm.

He has no weapons on him today with the exception of one knife, strapped high on his thigh. Its obsidian hilt glimmers under the winter sun, rays catching the decorative jewel on the end. The rest of his weapons won't be far you're willing to bet. No Illyrian warrior lets themself be so unprepared.

Or perhaps he truly only needs one blade to hold his own in a fight.

A flicker of envy. You suppose you should feel little more gratuitous of his offer to train, especially considering he's such a mighty warrior.

But between the built-in wariness that comes with having a secret such as yours and the way he keeps throwing you in the mud... it's hard to dredge up some gratitude. You must have been at this for hours now.

Besides, a little part of you can't help but be skeptical of his offer. What exactly did he stand to gain from helping you?

"Why are you helping me again?"

You're panting lightly, bent over with your hands on your knees. Your bound chest twinges in pain. You weren't out of shape by any means — you were an Illyrian warrior after all. But getting knocked down endlessly was beginning to wear you down.

"And," You huff, waving a hand behind at the mud pile he keeps dumping you in. "How does this help?"

Azriel crosses his arms across his broad chest. In the daylight, his shadows shimmer and wisp about. You had been unsurprised to find he's even more devastatingly handsome in the light of daytime.

After his final words the evening before, Azriel had disappeared out into the storm without further explanation, his shadows swirling around him like falling snow.

Come morning, you rose before the sun and stepped outside, prepared to head to training—and there he was. Posed up against a tree, the obsidian-hilt blade his hands, sharpening it in long, precise strokes.

"Lord Mylind has been spoken to regarding your training." Azriel had said, in place of a greeting. "He knows of your expected absence whilst you train under me."

You hadn't said anything; half convinced there had been something coated on Brudam's knife that made you hallucinate the whole thing.

"Though," The male before you continued, finally sheathing his dagger away into the holster on his thigh with casual precision. "He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected."

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"Why do you think they hate me so much?" You asked, a bitter edge to your voice. It's a non-answer.

"Because you neglect your duties as a warrior?"

"Ha. Did Lord Mylind use that word?"

"It's true, one is not considered a warrior until one passes The Blood Rite." Azriel commented, his head tilting to the side just an inch. "You're a warrior-in-training. Provided you go to training, that is."

The combined mention of The Blood Rite and your missing time during training had you tensing up. Azriel had noticed, his eyes shifting to your stiff posture. He hadn’t commented — just stalked off into the snow, wings held high and proud, not checking to see if you bothered to follow.

Now, muscles aching and skin coated in mud-slick, you briefly wonder if you were regretting following him.

"You're smaller than usual Illyrians.” Azriel says. “They rely on brute strength but someone your size is better to rely on your agility— a skill they've been neglecting. No doubt to try to discourage you."

A flush of nervousness rushes through your system at his comment on your size. There's a good reason you don't size up against Illyrian males—being that you aren't one at all.

For good measure, you wipe your face haphazardly with a muddy hand. Any pesky scents that might give you away get smothered beneath it.

"And I believe in what you're doing," Azriel continues, his hazel eyes watching you closely. "It's honourable, no matter what Brudam and his brood say."

Something akin to pride blooms deep in your chest at his approval, at his belief in your mission. Having fought on your own for so many years had taken its toll— one you weren't aware of until it eased. Just a touch.

"Could've sworn you just enjoyed knocking me on my ass."

That glimmer of amusement is back in his hazel eyes. You swear his lips twitch as if holding back a smile.

"Try again." He says, in lieu of an answer. Not a denial.

He gestures to his neck again. Tan skin that hides beneath dark, scaly armor. This has been your task for the last hour — get your hand on his throat, through hand-to-hand combat.

Considering how you'd managed to stick him with a fork just yesterday, you had assumed it was easy territory.

You had been sorely, sorely wrong.

Straightening yourself up properly, you roll your shoulders back and flare your wings out a bit. Your boots sink into the mud an inch. You assess the distance between you and Azriel, eyes narrowed, and try to put together each piece of advice he's given you in the last hours.

Plant your feet when you're striking.

Stay on your toes if you're advancing.

Use your environment to your advantage.

Punch through, not just at.

Your height is as much an advantage as it is a disadvantage.

Some of it was nothing more than a reiteration of your training in camp. And yet, when delivered from Azriel, under his focused gaze, it seems easier to absorb. It holds a different meaning.

This time as you survey your approach a thousand other details whisper in your ear.

The rustle of the trees, the whirl of the wind, the stance he sinks into like second nature.

If you can't overpower him, how can you get a hand on his neck?

Your boots sink deeper into the mud and you tense, your wings held taut and high behind you as you ready yourself to pounce.

The wind picks up, a whistle in the air, and you can see, even from afar, how the swirling of his shadows perk up — as if listening for any whispers in it.

Time to strike.

You burst forward and stay low this time, letting your knees take the brunt of your weight. Instead of trying to get past him, you need to bring his neck down to your level. A half-baked plan scrambles together.

Feigning moves against a proficient warrior like him is nearly laughable and his thick forearm moves to parry your punch as quickly as you form it. Good. It's what you're relying on.

You pivot your energy and focus it on kicking out his bent knee— and you catch him enough by surprise that he stumbles back a step. He doesn’t fall though.

You grit your teeth and know you have about half a second before he’s going to have you dodging punches and landing back in the mud. You keep pressing forward.

Skin meets leather as you land a sharp snap against his shoulder, your knuckles stinging deliciously but he deftly blocks your next blow. And the next, and the next.

Then you’re hitting more of his hands than you are anywhere else.

Frustrated, you snarl, increasing your speed and letting him focus on your incoming punches so he doesn’t see it when you send a kick into his groin.

His defense drops razor fast— both his scarred hands wrapping around your calf and capturing it between his legs, stopping it 2 inches from making contact.

Your eyes dart up to his face, nearly grinning at the incredulous look he gives you.

It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for — and something gleeful in you sings when you shoot your hand up faster than both his can move. The palm of your hand connects with the skin of his neck.

“Aha!” You shout, unable to help yourself.

You’re panting, out of breath from the fast combat and yet, still savouring the victory. A foreign glimmer of admiration and approval flashes deep in your chest. It's gone as quick as it appears.

Azriel doesn’t waste a second to sweep your feet out from beneath you.

Unprepared, you crumple and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A groan rumbles in your chest. Mud squishes up against your cheek, sullying it.

For a moment, you just lay there and groan in pain.

You're pretty sure every single muscle in your body aches as you gather your strength and push yourself up from the mud, elbows quivering. If you thought regular training was rigorous, this has been brutal.

True, there's less hitting you while you're down which you were more than accustomed to — only once have you thought Azriel might give you a kick while you were defenseless and too tired to cover your face.

But instead, he had surprised you and offered a hand. You had hesitated before taking it.

And as you're finding out, when you're spending less time worrying about Illyrians unfairly targeting you due to your size, you're a hell of a lot better fighter.

With a much better opponent though.

You win some, you lose some.

"Anyone ever call you a prick before?" You seethe quietly; because you had done the task he wanted you to do and he'd still sent you back on your ass. You spit into the mud and wipe your mouth.

"Definitely." Azriel answers. Again, there's that hint of amusement in his voice.

You huff and push up to rest back on your heels, planting your hands on your knees and glaring up at him. The muck on your wings makes you shiver, sludgy trails of mud sliding off them unpleasantly. You're well used to the cold.

"Good." You huff. "Prick."

Azriel smiles at that, not bothering to hide it. You find yourself smiling back at him, an out-of-breath laugh making your shoulders shake and your head bow. The muscles in your stomach hurt as they move.

When you look back up at him, he's offering his hand again.

You take it, this time without hesitation.

—

The day is for training. Azriel, the mentor. You, the student.

The night is for learning. You're both students here.

The second part of his offer that you clearly hadn't expected, given your wide-eyed look when he turned up at your door on that first evening, bringing all manners of plants needed to make healing tonics. Things you hadn't been able to find or afford on your own.

It had been then, he thinks, that you realised how serious he was about helping you. That his offer extended beyond training you physically.

"Is there really a difference between cutting and slicing?" Azriel asks as he peers down at the table beneath him.

In his marred hands is a root vegetable, something that flowered prettily— nice purple skin with a golden centre. He frowns down at it, his gaze shifting slowly from the vegetable to the knife in his hand.

It’s strange, he thinks. Strange to hold a knife and have it not be for violence.

"There is a difference," Your reply floats across from the other side of the room.

Nearly a week he's been here. Azriel had been pushing you more each day he was here, brutal one-on-one training to hone your skills.

It’s working; already he can see the certainty of your stance, your increased agility, the hunter's glint in your eyes. The clumsiness of the first day of training has already been worn away. Beneath it, the Illyrian warrior emerges.

He's exhausting you, he knows. Working you twice as hard to try to fill every gap in your training that seems to be missed. Finding every weak point left by the Lords of this camp, to disadvantage you no doubt, and training it up.

But if you’re tired from it, you don’t complain.

Azriel lifts his head to look at you properly, his eyes watching your hands as you strip leaves off one of the plants he had brought with him today.

Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males, that work diligently at your task. Your focus remains strong, even as you talk over your shoulder.

"Well, slicing is cutting but a more precise form." You shift your wing back, tucking it in, as you finally turn your head back to look at him.

You're a very peculiar male.

Azriel can't say he's ever met a warrior, or even an Illyrian, like yourself before. You're small. It's the first thing he had noticed when he had slipped into your tiny home those nights ago, a sturdy shelter against the harsh wind of the mountains.

You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you.

The armor you wear looks old. It's been worn down, softened against your body but even still, it sits a little too low on your hips. The shoulders hang out an extra inch.

You're small and you're hardened at every edge.

It's the way anyone who grows up here has to be. And for you to have made the cut to become a warrior, even with the impairment of your height... Azriel knows you're made of tougher stuff than most.

Within that, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you.

Azriel hates the Illyrian mountains. Loathes the culture he comes from that festers here, their swift brutality and preferred cruelty against even their own. Invisible standards that made one Fae better than another.

The lives they taught him to take so easily.

So the last thing he had expected to find coming back here, to a place haunted with wretched memories, was... an ally.

But staring across the space to you, he can't think of any other word to describe the stirring in his chest. The drag on his heart, as if it's lurching forward.

"Look, let me show you."

You drop what's in your hands and take a couple steps to cross the space. The shelter is like you, small, just shy of cramped. The ceiling could stand to gain a few inches and the inside is as bare as Azriel would expect of a home in a war-camp.

One rickety table. A bed tucked into a corner. A fireplace with slanted, mismatched soot-covered bricks. There's the general rustle about the place that indicates someone sleeps here. Things hang off nails, bedded into the wall.

Hovering beside the table, you gesture for the knife in Azriel's hand. There's tenseness in your shoulders. You're still wary of him— or perhaps so used to your own company. He wonders which it is as he hands over the knife wordlessly.

"You just gotta—" The vegetable gets re-positioned on the board and when you bring down the knife, it's with an elegance that Azriel had been severely lacking.

You slice a long strip off, lengths-wise, and then pause, looking up at him to make sure he understands. "Slice?"

Azriel smiles despite himself.

That's the other thing.

You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful Fae he's ever seen in his life— not to mention, by far the most beautiful male he’s ever laid his eyes on.

It had taken him by surprise initially, even his shadows rearing back in shock when you had turned and sprung at him, cutlery in hand. Azriel had fumbled one of his blocks and it led to you sinking the fork into his shoulder— all because his mind had been whispering beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

It's the reason you had managed to land a hit at all— or Azriel tells himself that. Because otherwise, he had a serious reason to brush up on his own training.

He also tells himself it had nothing to do with his offer.

It hadn't swayed his reasoning in the slightest; not the way he can't take his eyes off you for some peculiar, unbidden reason. Training you and learning how to make tonics alongside you was entirely due to his belief in your mission.

Liar, one of his shadows seems to whisper in response.

Azriel was over five hundred years old — tangling with a male was not entirely foreign to him. And yet, Azriel had found it was not as to his taste as females were.

Another glance at you has him, once again, second-guessing that.

As quickly as it enters his mind, he snuffs it, his wings giving a minuscule twitch, right as you offer him back the knife.

He opts for a question instead. "How did you come to live here?"

It's one of the other unusual parts of your intriguing survival out here. Not only did you make the cut to train to become a warrior against the odds, but you also live alone. Azriel lets himself survey the shelter once more.

It's far better than some of the conditions he's been subjected to before and yet... it's not quite homey. As though you've never relaxed here, even when it's just you.

"I built it."

Azriel blinks. Then he turns his head down to look at you, perplexed.

"You...?"

You've walked back to the plant you were handling, starting to strip off the leaves again. You hum in response to his words, sparing a glance up at the ceiling.

That certainly explained why it was on the smaller side, made to your stature. Azriel can't fathom how you managed it in the blizzardly conditions of the mountains, entirely on your own.

"As I'm sure you're familiar, bastards don't get anything in these camps."

Your voice tightens with the pain of an unhealed wound.

Azriel doesn't say anything, just presses his lips together thinly. He nods.

"It was already a ruin, the fireplace and floorboards were about the only thing left." This time as you tug the leaves off the plant in your hand, it's a little meaner. "It took me years to properly finish it because the males in camp kept coming by to see if they could knock it back down."

Something roars in Azriel's ears, a familiar icy fury at the injustice that roamed so freely in these mountains. A plague amongst these people. So many Fae, so eager to kick those who are already down.

Looking up from your hands, your motions slow, and a distant look dawns on your face as though you've been whisked away into an old memory. A cold smile graces your mouth.

"So eventually when one of them came around, I showed them why they shouldn't fuck with my stuff. Or with me."

How you gained your solitary fortress out here.

It had piqued his interest on the very first evening, the sole shelter out from the cluster of cabins in the camp. That even though the drunken warriors were first to point it out when Azriel came asking who was causing trouble, none of them would go near it.

He can guess a multitude of things you did to protect it and yourself. Something akin to admiration blooms in his chest. Something heavier, deeper, lurks beneath it.

As your hands go back to work, Azriel can't help but watch you silently for a moment. His shadows pour over his shoulders, seeping down his arms the longer he looks; as though they, too, want to figure out the enigma in front of them.

You're a very peculiar male, Azriel thinks for the second time that evening.

The runt of the litter and a bastard just as him.

A natural born fighter and an Illyrian warrior against all the odds.

A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Azriel picks up the knife and slices the vegetable as you had, slow and long. He steals one more glance at you — to find you're doing the same, chancing a split-second glimpse to look at him.

Azriel averts his eyes back to the table.

He feels the treacherous glow of his cheeks and is thankful you can't see his face clearly in the dim light. He slices again.

And as he mulls his thoughts, the pair of you working in tandem as the fire crackles loudly in the corner, Azriel makes a point to ignore the thundering feeling that seems to sing right out of his heart.

No matter if he's half-sure he knows just what word it's singing.

(Mate. Mate. Mate).

[NEXT PART: COMPANIONS]

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tags below!

@janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka

(if i tagged u and u would like to opt out, no hard feelings! send me an ask and i’ll leave u off :D)