#i am very very excited to write that au i am also trying very very hard to put all of my focus on mallrat/cwyw bc i /gotta/ finish those

[leejeann]

Pls tell me/us about your Cinderella Boy AU úwù

Oh hi Anon, I am SO GLAD YOU ASKED :D. I was literally working on it when I got this ask, very nice timing, friend

(i will, uh, try not to make this an excessive amount of paragraphs but bare with me, I'm a yapper).

So, tl;dr Cinderella Boy College AU babyyyy. Chase is a first year music theater major (he started a year late), and Buddy is a second year creative writing major.

(I don't actually remember if they're canonically the same age, but they are in this)

(also Deacon is here too, he's just over in med school but him and Chase hang out on weekends)

They meet through an Intro to Literature class that Buddy takes for his major and Chase regrets choosing as an elective credit. Eventually Chase has to accept that he Sucks So Bad at literary analysis and really doesn't want to fail a course in his first semester of college, so he reluctantly asks mr writing major to help him. Buddy agrees, with the trade off being that he's writing an anthology of short stories for a future capstone project and Chase has to read them and give feedback.

(Buddy says it's because he's aiming for a younger audience with some of the stories and if an idiot like Chase can understand them so can a kid. Secretly he just....doesn't have anyone else to ask and kind of just really wants someone else to read them so he saw the opportunity and took it. But you didn't hear that from me!).

They agree to those terms and off we go! Shenanigans and angst and rivals-to-lovers nonsense (my beloved) ensues!

Aaaand because i have little self control when I'm excited about an idea but no one irl who knows what the hell a cinderella boy is to talk about it with: a much longer explanation of the exposition is below the cut!

OKAY SO BASICALLY I had this funny idea the other day of a college AU where like the Intro to Lit class is an in-person/online hybrid, i.e., all the lectures and materials are posted online so people can enrolled in it as either an online or in-person class. Chase takes it in-person while Buddy couldn't fit the timeslot into his schedule and takes it online.

And like any basic college course, it has *drumroll* Online Discussion Posts! Objectively one of the most tedious assignments in any college class, and this class does 2-3 a week. This professor decided to try a Fun New thing this year, where all the posts and replies are anonymous to the students (he can still see them so he knows who did the assignment, obvs). Something, something, he wants to promote discussions between classmates instead of people just only ever replying to their friends or something. Chase wants to keep up his Branding™ and sign off his posts with his little tagline, but after the first post his professor says that "defeats the whole purpose" and "looks unprofessional." Chase signs off with a little star instead, which the professor reluctantly lets him do. (A few other students actually start doing it to with their own little symbols or emojis.)

Two weeks into classes and Chase is being DRIVEN INSANE by these discussion posts. No, no, not by the monotony of them. No, not by his lack of skill with literary analysis. Rather, there's one student in particular who just keeps replying to his discussion posts specifically and ALWAYS seems to have something to disagree with. And they're so pretentious about it. Chase knows it's always the same person because no one else in this mostly-just-an-elective-credit class is using words like "insufferable" and "colloquialism" and "alas" in a discussion post.

Something something, Chase does some sleuthing and figures out it must be one of the online students, which is annoying because he has no way to figure out who they are so he can tell them to lay off and chill the hell out. Until! Midterms roll around and some random new guy is just in the class for the test. Oh, it's just an online student who didn't want to deal with one of those stupid virtual proctor websites, and since he lives on campus anyway he asked if he could just take it in-person. Yeah, that's fair. But then the new guy says something (idk what yet) and the phrasing of it makes it click in Chase's head that Oh my god that HAS to be Buddy holy shit

(sidenote, in this story the name "Buddy" comes from Chase ranting to Deacon about the random anon student and sarcastically calling them Buddy as a joke. But then that nickname just sticks because when you're pissed off and ranting "Buddy" is so much faster to say that "that anonymous asshole from my intro to lit class" ya know? So like, save for Chase saying it in an angry reply to the anon student once or twice, he hasn't directly called Buddy, Buddy before until like he confronts him after midterms).

I haven't quite figured out the interim of how they go from "Oh my god that's the annoying anonymous dude" and Buddy not even realizing Chase is the Star-kid (.....ha) in those discussion posts–

((sidenote 2, electric boogaloo, the reason Buddy is so snarky on the discussion posts is because, naturally, he thinks literature is Very Important and that it's annoying how obvious it is that most of this class is just taking it as an elective so they aren't putting in any real effort to learning anything. The discussion posts are all literary analysis on short passages and his classmates do, like, the bare minimum for it. He doesn't just respond to Chase's posts in a snarky tone, but most of the students fully ignore his responses and do not improve and he decides they're a lost cause. Chase is also a lost cause, but sometimes Chase argues back and okay fine Buddy has to admit that's kind of entertaining. So Buddy always makes sure to respond to the one with the stupid little star at the bottom. As a treat))

–and to them being like, civil enough that Chase finally caves and asks Buddy to tutor him, but eventually they get there. And that's how we get to the rest of that tl;dr! Chase asks for help in class, Buddy agrees as long as Chase helps him with his creative writing projects, they start meeting up to work on classwork regularly and once a week or so Buddy brings a print-out of another short story for Chase to take with him after. And Chase does his best to return it with some amount of helpful annotations.

(I totally forgot until after I came up with that idea, but I actually kind of did that once in college. Except I wasn't a creative writing major, one of my good friends was. I was entering a short story in a competition once so I gave him a printed copy of it and he gave it back a few days later covered in annotations lol)

And I DO plan to include Buddy's short stories as their own things! I have a few ideas for them already, basically I'm going to write a few original short stories that I can insert as their own little in-between chapters whenever Buddy gives Chase a new one to read. They'd probably be posted at the same time as either the chapter before or chapter after it, depending on which chapter would make more sense to pair it with narratively.

I think the first will be some parody of Cinderella, because duh. But like less of a "Cinderella, but in a new setting" thing and more like from the pov of a totally different character, where the actual Cinderella plot is lowkey almost just in the background. Idk it seems fun and like something Creative-Writing-Major-Buddy would write. Or maybe I'm projecting because I just think it sounds fun to write. Or maybe both!

One specifically that's a minorly pivotal moment for them is actually just a short-story-ified version of a poem I wrote years ago, and the moment in the story is basically just Buddy felt it was an optimistic story, whereas Chase felt like it was really sad, and both are incredibly thrown off by the dissonance that realization creates.

Which is also kind of from personal experience actually! Small tangent, but that happened with the poem back when I first wrote it too. To me, it was a melancholy but overall optimistic poem about life. I shared it with some people and seemingly all of them thought it felt sad and almost hopeless. I was SO thrown off! Because I really felt like it was hopeful, not hopeless, but it felt like I was the only person who saw it like that. As silly as it sounds, that (plus a couple other personal reasons) made me struggle with writing anything for a long time because I was a little afraid of feeling so isolated by my own work again.

(In hindsight, I can see how it came across like that to them. It still remains one of my favorites that I've written though. I actually completely rewrote it to enter in a contest just a few months ago! The newer version is much better, and I think actually gets across the intended mood a lot more)

*ahem* So, uh, anyway! I amp all that up a bit in the story for the sake of ~drama~ of course, but that's where the general idea for that scene comes from. I've already written the scene actually! I just don't know how far into the story it'll happen yet.

I'm also still on the fence about how to include the keyple we know about in canon. I can't decide if I want to just make them like other students and/or friends who appear in the story, or if I just want to like really allude to them. Leave references in the stories Buddy writes or classwork they do or stuff like that, etc.

And I'm also-also on the fence about if I should give Buddy a fake name for sake of the plot. If I do, I'm definitely going to swap it for his real name once that's properly revealed. On one hand, being in a college setting it would make a lot more sense for Chase to find out his actual name early on, even if he still calls him Buddy to be annoying. But on the other hand, Buddy totally would refuse to tell Chase his name, also to be annoying, if doing that annoys Chase more than the nickname annoys him. But on a secret, third hand, it feels so weird to give Buddy a fake name lol. Like even if I wasn't a fast-passer I think it'd still feel weird.

Then again, depending on how slow I end up writing this, the free episodes might catch up to fast pass before I even need to worry about that and I can just use his actual name from the get-go.

Phew! That sure was fun to talk about! *scrolls back through this post* oh yikes, uh, well you asked for it anon! If you actually read this far down, thank you, bless, I warned you that I yap but I appreciate your fortitude very much lol

I have no idea when I'll start posting the fic bc I worry about like getting through a couple chapters, posting them immediately, then losing steam and just....dropping it or taking forever to update after. So I want to get at least a few chapters written before I start posting any, ya know? But I've been wanting to get back into creative writing for a LONG time so I'm really going to try to stick with it! Just, bare with me if it takes a while lol

[ind1c0lite]

(Basic context is that AU of Duel Desinties where the phantom impersonates Phoenix to get him found guilty of Clay's murder, I talk more under the cut abt it jkhlj)

-Basically meant to be a parallel to turnabout trump, cause if you can have ONE boss get found guilty of murder, why not a second one?

-OK basically: everything in DD happens normally until like- a day before clays murder, Phoenix gets yoinked by the phantom somehow (he is still alive, just being held captive), Phantom is still Fulbright, but they've decided to be silly goofy (target Phoenix and get him found guilty of murder, escape police custody and then murder phoenix and make it seem like Phoenix accidentally died while on the run, thats why they didn't kill phoenix right away unlike the real Fulbright) there is an imposter amo-

-I dont have the logistics as to how this affects solving Metis's murder, and how it effects what evidence is used n whatnot and turnabout for tomorrow as a whole, so im just going nuts HGJKHLJ

-Originally I was actually imagining this taking place during turnabout for tomorrow and I wanted that case to be apollo v klavier instead of phoenix and edgeworth and thats why klav is in here instead of Simon (I decided that Simon got badly injured and couldn't stand in court for the retrial, so klavier was asked to step in)

-The courtroom bombing still happens the same way it does normally, but Apollo decides to take up the case again instead of taking a leave, instead of like, you know, healing from the traumatic event that just happened, turnabout countdown still happens as well

-Apollo and Athena do not find out about the phantom's existence until well after this trial, so they have no idea that Phoenix could've possibly been replaced, though simon, after hearing about the trial, might be suspicious about whether or not that was the real Phoenix

-The Phantom had been not only keeping an eye on Simon for a while, but was also stalking Phoenix and Edgeworth after they both started looking into UR-1, so they were able to impersonate phoenix so well that not even his own daughter thought that anything was up (though while Trucy did find him a *little* bit off, but she figured that it might've been the bombing that caused him to act ever so slightly weird, so she didn't pay much mind to it until she heard about his confession in court and realized it might've been because he possibly, ya know, killed someone)

-it's pretty much just switching Athena being framed for murder with Phoenix, and instead of the trial ending on a cliffhanger, it continues on (probably with Klavier insisting on it) ending with soloman being found innocent and Phoenix being declared guilty

-There's a couple days inbetween the end of the cosmic turnabout and the start of turnabout for tomorrow, so Athena, Apollo and Trucy all get a little bit to process the fact that "oh god my boss/my dad killed someone" (simons execution date is pushed back a bit in this au) and they probably get to talk with Klavier and eventually a lil bit with Simon after he gets out

-Im not sure how it all winds down in turnabout for tomorrow (Phoenix escaping and being at large is basically the perfect cover for the phantom to resume being fulbright for that trial) but they do eventually realize that the phoenix who confessed wasn't the real one and now there's a search on going to find out where the real one is being held captive, hes fineeee just ready to take a week long nap and a good vacation (along with every other waa member)

-I dont have anything else to add on rn but if you want to add something or just throw in a scenario feel free to!! this idea has been bouncing around my head for like a month now and Im very happy to finally show yall it

[chatxkilluaxnoir]

I have Gravity Falls and Etc. fic(s) idea(s)

Which, I am going to write now while I am having this fic idea (probably going to be a short one, but in the future I might make a revised expanded version or something. Who knows).

I actually have multiple Gravity Falls and GF TAU and Reverse Falls and etc. stuff that stems from this specific The Book of Bill thing.

Specifically stuff exploring Dipper's nightmares.

(I have some other ideas for the other dreams and/or nightmares too. Sometimes even in relation to Dipper's in some way).

I love my boy, and his nightmares hurt my heart.

But also because I love him, I want to explore even more of issues/trauma/suffering and/or to do Dipper angst. And etc.

Because I want both happiness and/or suffering for my faves/the characters I love very much.

Like Dipper.

So he is going to be getting even more of that from me, probably.

Because he is great and I love him.

[kingxgarm]

Who wants to read my Wof x Tsams au prophecy!?

I told you I would write it eventually

BTW, the story's name is Talons of Stars

Let me know if you wanna read it when I get the prologue done

Prophecy

Four dragons have a story unlike any other. Four dragons, the story of brothers.

One born of Ice, the Sea, and Night, forced to run and hide, chased before the smite.

The next born of Night, Sky, and Sand, left alone to never understand.

The third born of Sand, Sky, and Rain, cursed forever to cause and feel pain.

The youngest born of the Sea, Ice, and Silk, shall always run, but never bilk.

The fight for the stars will never be done.

The story of familial betrayal has begun…

These dragons will hold the stars in their talons, but the question is… which one?

[lostyesterday]

Writing fanfiction for the first time in several years of exclusively writing original fiction feels weird. I’m not used to worrying about being consistent with canon world-building and making the characters’ voices sound close to canon.

[sexynetra]

i tried to rb your grandekofi snippet earlier and i don’t think it worked so i’m here to scream it directly at you :) i love you i love it so far and i am obsessed with the thought of smitten dame. and the whole bit you posted actually (it’s very good)

if you are so inclined i would like to devour another sentence (if you have another you’d care to share) (woah. rhyming on accident how fun) <3

Hi my darling I am so glad you enjoyed it 🥺 dame is SO smitten she is a mess 🥰 I’m gonna work on it more this week for sure I’m excited about this premise! (Also I love you toooooo)

Have a little mini segment as a treat <3:

She couldn’t be blamed, is the thing. Anyone with half a brain would fall in love with Tia. How could they not? Tia was sweet and funny and so, so beautiful.

[wildberryjams]

Hello ♡ It's been a while!

It's been over a year I think? I haven't kept track tbqh

I'm not really back, because I want to be noncommittal as possible (since I have a tendency to disappear when my motivation to write does)

But this is me saying that I'm finally working on under the rose again! ♡

I'd all but abandoned it months ago, but yesterday I had a burst of energy and managed to write a couple hundred words. Tonight, the total is 1300. It's not much, but it's a start!

I don't talk about my personal life for many reasons, but this year has been one of the most difficult I've ever experienced. The last thing on my mind has been Will and Azul, as much as I wish they'd kept occupying every inch of it like they used to.

That spark is coming back, I think! ♡ (More in the tags since this is getting long)

[chitsangenthusiast]

7, 9, and 11 for the ask game!!

hehehe more late responses to old ask games <3

7. What is your favorite scene you’ve written so far? ok i know this is going to make this answer a long one but i've gotta include the intro scene to my zukka novel's fic 'in time's arrow' <333 i enjoyed imagining and writing it so much that it's actually one of the reasons why i'm choosing to blend this fic with my mortician/marine bio au <3333

Fiddling with the frayed strings on his raincoat, Sokka frowned as he peered into the water. Salmon-eels don’t usually stray this far out into the bay. They’re river fish, shoals of glistening silver better suited for the rocky streams back home. For one to hobble out into open water alone, misshapen and streaked the color of wood grain, meant it had to be sick. If it got caught in his dad’s net then it could infect the other fish, and Sokka couldn’t let something like that happen, not on his very first fishing trip. He watched it like a penguin-hawk; in one moment he was tracking the salmon-eel from one end of the boat to the other, in the next— The ocean swallowed him like it was welcoming him home. Later, after he was pulled out by frantic hands that soothed his shuddering chest and layered him in thick blankets, Sokka sat curled up in the warmth of his Gran-Gran’s arms. She rocked him, gentle like the bay before its waters grew greedy, and as she petted at his drying hair she hummed to him of many things. There are animals that can live both on land and in the water, she’d said, and she listed all the ones she knew. There are accounts of more fantastical things that dwelled far deeper, and she described them. Ordinary people have also journeyed into those waters, she murmured. In her stories, sometimes they were even transformed anew. Sokka listened to them all, and though he stayed quiet and his eyelids grew heavy, his teeth still dug into the meat of his bottom lip and chewed until it stung. Because no matter how long he waited, none of those stories held what he had seen as he sank, a beast with squirming, midnight bright skin that stole away the blue of the water, a mouth full of raging colors, and mighty tusks that nicked his palm and made him bleed a drop of shimmering blue.

9. What is your favorite dialogue you’ve written so far? lmfao i'm trying to be fresh with these answers to not say things i've likely talked abt in the past, so i just reread the beginning half of mallrat chpt 4 and can i just use all of that as my answer. bc boy howdy do i love writing silly 'everyone pick on sokka' convos <3

but if not, then i do enjoy this bit from gold in the air of summer:

“I’m about to make it a rule that no one’s allowed to describe anything as just a shiny version of a regular color,” Toph complains lightly. As expected, Zuko radiates pure frustration, and it makes her grin at how easy it is to do that. “Don’t give me that! It does!” “Do better,” is all she says in response. Zuko makes a loud sound of irritation and barrels forward. “Gold looks warm, and a lot of people in my nation think gold is an honor to the sun because they’re the same color. Although you can’t actually look at the sun the same way you can at gold—uhm,” Zuko stumbles in his explanation, and any stubborn tenacity he had gathered disappears completely. He lets out an explosive sigh, and Toph hears him move to dart up from his spot in the sand. “Whatever, I’m not going to sit here and explain it when I can just show you. I’ll just get something from inside, there’s plenty to bend in there.” “Zuko’s eyes are gold,” Sokka says, simply and clearly enough to cut through all of Zuko’s aggravation and shock him into stunned silence.

11. What scene are you most hyped for this chapter/fic? lmaoo an answer special just for you: the 'come when you want' 5+1 nsfw has some good ol' war paint, glove, and mask play bc again, indulging yourself is the key to life <33

[lit-in-thy-heart]

what's your favourite fic that you've written? (Or, I suppose a scene from a fic that you're particularly proud of?) (although saying that so much of your fic is top tier 🩵🩵🩵)

hello anon!! this ask made me 🥺🥺, thank you so much for dropping it in my inbox <3

my favourite fic that i've written... this is actually more difficult than i thought, as there are some that were hell to write but i'm really pleased with how it turned out, and some that are not absolute masterpieces but i had so much fun writing them. and the one that's a mix of all of the above (as contradictory as it may seem) hasn't even been finished and posted yet lmao. i think, overall, my favourite that i've posted is we left the book of love signed in blood on every page, which looks at the breakdown of gwaine and merlin following lancelot's death. i enjoy writing angst like that and i also had fun with the sustained imagery

but in terms of a scene that i'm particularly proud of, the moment in bitter is the antidote where gwaine begins to relax around lancelot and both of them are pressed close to each other and reaching out to merlin is one that i'm quite proud of. the full scene is below the cut and i enjoyed trying to depict the hesitancy on both gwaine's and lancelot's parts. also i really like the line 'so he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb' but i couldn't tell you exactly why

thanks for the ask anon, hope you have a wonderful day! 💜

Lancelot had one hand buried in Merlin’s hair again, twisting the short strands between his fingers, knees pressed against the bed. Hesitantly, Gwaine hovered on Lancelot’s left side before sinking down to the floor, one leg strewn out beneath the bed. His hand reached for the one Merlin had draped over the edge of the bed, taking it between his fingers and, upon receiving murmured permission, gingerly leaned against Lancelot’s leg. He was aware of the bone pressing into his shoulder, just as he was aware of Merlin’s grip tightening around him, but it didn’t scare him half as much as it should have done.

Never, never had Gwaine thought that he would be so close to two others when all three of them were conscious. Never had he thought he would be confronted with the knowledge of his best friend having magic, either, and Gwaine couldn’t help but wonder what other unexpected things fate had in store for him. He didn’t dare move, in case it all proved to be an illusion and the slightest twitch dispelled it. So he let his tea go cold and his shoulder grow numb, let his abdominal muscles ache with the effort of not allowing all of his weight to fall on Lancelot’s leg and his hand be manipulated by Merlin’s touch.

Merlin, assured by their physical presence, had closed his eyes and Gwaine took the opportunity to use his gaze to sketch out the angles of Merlin’s body in his mind, safe in the knowledge that Lancelot couldn’t see his face. Before, he’d been convinced that he’d successfully memorised each dip in Merlin’s form in the same way that he’d memorised the placement of his own gaping traps in woods over the years. He’d thought that he’d be able to sculpt Merlin flawlessly from ribbons of clouds and wind. But, as Merlin shifted and the tip of what looked like an old scar peered over the neck of his shirt, Gwaine realised just how wrong he’d been. It was a blessing that the hand not holding Merlin’s was engaged with a cold cup of tea because Gwaine could feel temptation running its fingers along his arm, leaving a trail that ended at Merlin’s chest.

The skin looked leathery, much like Merlin’s burned leg, and, if it had been fire… Just how many times had Merlin narrowly escaped the flames? How much of himself had he kept protected from Gwaine with a clumsy cut of material tied around his throat? Dropping his gaze to his right hand, Gwaine pushed one side of it into the bed, careful not to squash Merlin’s hand. He was one to talk.

Faintly aware of a subtle movement behind him, Gwaine rotated his head by several degrees, glancing over his shoulder and through his hair. Lancelot was no longer holding the cup in one hand – if Gwaine shifted his hip, he’d knock against it on the ground – and the hand was now hovering above Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine began to phrase a silent question but cut himself off as he reached an answer; it seemed that Lancelot was reluctant to place his hand in his own lap for fear of elbowing Gwaine in the head.

Returning to look straight ahead, Gwaine raised his left hand and took his little finger away from the cup, hooking it around the tip of Lancelot’s middle finger. Careful not to spill his drink, Gwaine slowly lowered his hand, taking Lancelot’s with him, until Lancelot’s palm met his shoulder. As Gwaine rested his own hand on his thigh, Lancelot made port with his thumb at the muscle between Gwaine’s shoulder and neck. It was then that Gwaine registered that, in leaning against Lancelot, his jacket had slipped a little off his shoulders and had dragged the neck of his shirt down with it.

Most of Lancelot’s hand was planted firmly over Gwaine’s shirt, his wrist grazing the collar of the jacket, but his thumb was on that muscle – a muscle bearing layers of tension that Gwaine hadn’t even been aware of – and his index finger was dangling over Gwaine’s collarbone. And then Lancelot began to sweep his thumb back and forth along that single muscle, collecting the tension in Gwaine’s shoulder like a bee picking up pollen, and Gwaine couldn’t hold himself up any longer.

[longing4yesterday]

i've been such a mess lately but thank you guys for the abundance of support lately <3 i really appreciate it

[malkaviian]

i hate the weird spot i have been when it comes about writing for the past months

[p-taryn-dactyl]

masked hearts

part i

a/n: hi! this is my first time writing for ambessa so please be kind lmao. i also know very little about LoL lore :) this is kinda an AU where the Medarda family is together word count: 2.5k warning(s): none (yet); well no real warnings, reader has a crush and is not very smooth; very awkward; you're a lesbian; unedited 😭

prompt: ambessa holds a ball to find a partner for her son but what happens when you're the one to catch her eye?

Your kingdom was one of splendor and beauty, the hills ripe with settlements, the trees fruitful and the air crisp. It wasn't a mystery why the Medarda clan claimed this small portion of the world for themselves, as your kingdom sat on a pivital route for trade. The mystery however, was why the head of the Medarda's, Ambessa, chose this place to be the homeland of her son's future spouse. The flyers went up around the center of the capitol first, the paper of expensive quality and the ink shimmering with gold.

It was an invitation to a ball. One of masks and hidden identities.

The Medarda's, while they've never been accused of not caring about physical appearance, put wit above all. It was fitting that the son of a warlord would first fall for the mind before the body. However, as the whispers got around the kingdom, people realized there wasn't a class specified to attend. Everyone, rich and poor, was invited to attempt to become a Medarda-by-law.

You, however, weren't as excited as your sisters and cousins. You watched as they danced around your shop, holding up different fabrics and colors, trying to see which one would make their dress stand out to Kino. Laughing, you wiped down the counter, your eyes trained on your register, imagining it bursting with gold after your town had finished sending in their requests for their gowns and masks.

"Y/N, have you decided what you're going to wear?" One of your cousins, Laina, appeared behind the counter, her young hands stabilizing her as she stood on her toes, "Mama says I can go if I finish my chores the week before!"

You gave her a soft smile, flicking your slightly damp rag at her and laughing when she recoiled with an unamused glare.

"I don't think I am going to attend, but I can personally make your dress!"

Laina's face fell but her eyes still had a sparkle from your request.

"Why not?" She pouted, crossing her arms once she managed to pull herself up to sit on your freshly cleaned counter, "And would you make me a mask too?"

Sighing, you threw your rag into the bucket of water at your feet, ignoring the splash against your boots. You could always finish cleaning later. Leaning with your back agaisnt the counter, you mimicked her pose, crossing your arms and pouting out your lower lip.

"Masks are for potential suitors of Kino, maybe if he's still looking for a partner in a decade I'll make you one," Laina opened her mouth as if to interupt, to say she wasn't too young even though her tenth birthday had only just passed two days before. You held up a finger, stopping her words before they left her mouth, "And...I'm not one for the company of men, you know that. A large party, loud and boisterous, sounds fun but with my luck I would be the one to catch the wandering eye of Kino Medarda."

Laina nodded, albeit a little dissapointed. She played with a strand of hair falling in front of her eyes.

"Would you think about coming? With me? Mom and Dad aren't going, they want to have a quiet night in and Alana will be too busy trying to become a princess."

You laughed loudly, causing the customers of the shop and your family members to look at you. You covered your mouth with a hand, nodding at the customers apologetically. Pursing your lips, you scoffed humorously as Laina gave you one of her sad eyes expressions, one she knew you couldn't say no to. Rolling your eyes, you ruffled Laina's hair with a defeated smile.

"Alright fine, but you'll have to convince your mother to send me a basket full of honey buns afterward," Laina clapped in excitement, nodding in agreement. She fixed her eyes on you, taking a scrap of dark red fabric from her pocket and holding it up against your face.

"This should be for your dress."

Taking the fabric from Laina, you felt it between your fingers and sighed. What did you get yourself into.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a few measley hours you would find yourself within the walls of the Medarda castle, built from stone from the most coveted quarry in your kingdom. At the right time of day, you swore you could see it shining brighter than a star upon the hill which it sat. Laina was a bundle of energy and was currently bouncing around the apartment above your family's shop. She was talking so fast, excitement blurring her words together so much so you couldn't even distinguish what she was saying, so you only nodded along to her words as you examined your dress one last time. Laina had long been dressed and now all her movement made you worried she would wrinkle or tear the precious fabric.

Your dress, one that matched the dark red Laina had chosen for your mask, layed across your lap, subject to your wandering eyes as you looked for any imperfections. While you didn't exactly want to catch anyone important eyes, you didn't want to be seen in a less than perfect gown.

"Put it on! We have to leave soon if we want to make it for the opening of the gates!" Laina excalimed, clapping her hands together as she twirled, her light green dress floating around her like petals in the wind. You smiled, gesturing towards the door with your head.

"Well, I'll need someone to guard the door while I change. I don't want anyone bursting in here while I'm in my unspeakables." You held your head up haughtily like your grandmother, mimicking her accent and pretending to clutch your pearls at the mention of your underwear. Laina covered her mouth as she giggled, nodding as she ran out to stand by your door, only pausing right before she shut it.

"If you need help, you'll ask right?"

You saw in her eyes the desperation of being a helper, a feeling you knew too well. You nodded at her then waved your hand, beckoning her to shut the door. At the click, you sighed, looking back at your gown, starting to feel the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety roaring in your stomach and up your throat. Damn Laina's puppy dog eyes. Now, instead of sitting in bed with a book and a hot cup of tea, you were going to dance in front of one of the most powerful family's in Runeterra. With your luck you would face plant right in front of Kino, or worse, his mother. At the thought of Ambessa, your mind grew conflicted. Sure, you had a healthy fear of the woman who was shrouded in tales of blood, but you remembered the first time you saw the matriarch after the Medarda's had claimed your kingdom for themselves. It was like a schoolgirl's crush on a teacher, you knew it would never go anywhere but yet, even after all the years, you still dreamed of the strong hands and scarred face which had been burned into your mind the second you swore her eyes landed on you in the crowd.

Shaking your head, you snapped yourself out of your senseless dreaming. Being attracted to women wasn't an issue, it never had been, but being attracted to that woman could only bring you strife as you compared all future partners to her. Standing up, you shedded your clothing, standing only in your slip and stockings tied up at your knee. Taking a deep breath, you slid the dress on, each part brushing against your skin in soft silk. Once it was on, all that was left was to tighten the corset. You brushed your hands down, smoothing down the fabric before calling for Laina, knowing you could tighten it yourself. Laina burst into the room, her eyes widening as she gasped.

"Y/N, you're so beautiful! I knew that color would be pretty on you!"

You felt your face flush from the compliments, not used to the attention. Laina pulled up a stool to stand on as she started tightening the your dress.

"Ah! Ok, if you want me to dance with you, you're going to have to let me breathe."

Laina chuckled sheepishly, loosing the ribbons slightly.

"Sorry! I think you're done!"

You nodded, moving to hold yourself up against the wall as you slipped on your shoes, dreading a night spent soley wearing heels. You grabbed your mask and held out your hand to Laina, bowing playfully.

"I believe it's time for us to depart, my lady."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night was young yet you already were desperate for the strike of midnight, the time you and Laina had agreed upon leaving. Speaking of Laina, she had made a few friends with the other young children attending the ball, sitting in a corner with them as they played games, their laughter hidden by the music. At the front of the giant room sat Mel Medarda and her consort, Jayce Talis. They were holding hands as they watched the dancers, leaving you to wonder when they would join the party. Kino was already weaving his way through the room, dancing with many but seemingly connecting with none. And Ambessa, your breath caught in your throat as your eyes seemingly met hers, was making her way into the crowd, her mask one of gold and war. You looked away frantically, returning your attention to the table of food in front of you. After a few moments, you felt yourself relax, yet that was short lived. You felt a presence behind you and suddenly, you were very aware that you were the only one at the table and not on the dance floor. Which felt like the universe was just shitting you at this point. You picked up a berry, inspecting it as if that would make the imposing woman standing behind you not be standing behind you.

It didn't work.

Slowly, you turned around, heart beating in your ears drowning out the music. You didn't realize how close she was, causing you to jump slightly and bump into the table. For a second, you just stared at each other before Ambessa moved. You tensed, before you realized she had grabbed a pastry from the platter that had been knocked off center. She took a bite, keeping her eyes trained on you before she spoke. You just kept mentally pinching yourself, trying to force yourself out of this embarassing nightmare.

"Is that all you're going to have, Little One?" Her voice sent shivers down your spine as you processed what she had said, her head nodding to the berry still clutched in between your fingers, it's juices staining your fingertips.

"Oh! Uh, no? I'll have," you didn't want to look away from the tall woman, fearing that would be a sign of disrespect, so you tried to remember what food had been spread out, "bread? Yes, bread, I like bread." Your eyes widened as you spoke, now mentally punching yourself for the dumb response. Bread? Now come on. Part of you was grateful for the mask covering part of your face, hiding what was sure to be a horrendous blush.

Ambessa's mouth quirked into a smirk, taking a slight step towards you before angling her body so she could gesture her arm towards the sea of people.

"This whole night you've stayed by the table, or near that corner of children, never once even attempting to join the festivites," she turned her attention back to you, slightly cocking her head to the side, "Is this party boring you? Is my son?" You registered the humorous tone mixed with the protectiveness of a mother.

Quickly you shook your head, hand clenching the berry in your hand, bursting the fruit. You tried to start explaining yourself but the feeling of juice sticking to your skin made you uncomfortable. You still felt frozen by Ambessa's presence so you did what felt right in the moment, however pausing as you realized you had started licking your hand infront of the matriarch of war. In your embarassment, you didn't notice how Ambessa's eyes followed the actions of your tongue and fingers like a wolf hunting prey. Like a rubber band snapping, you realized you hadn't answered her question.

"I'm not bored! This is a beautiful procession and whoever catches your son's eye will be lucky."

Ambessa nodded slightly, turning her head to watch as Kino twirled a woman in blue. When she looked back to you, her eyes held a question laced with genuine interest and humor.

"And if you catch his eye?"

Your own eyes widened as you wiped your hand on the napkin you had grabbed while her attention was on her son. Ambessa didn't miss the change in your expression, your mask not hiding the nervousness shining in your eyes. Instead of your original adorable fear of her presence, you now seemed to radiate anxiety. She raised an eyebrow, knowing you couldn't see it, waiting for your response.

"I," you started, your eyes darting to Laina, who was now watching you with a teasing look, knowing of your godawful crush on the woman standing in front of you, "I would be very flattered-"

"But?" There was a sense of anticipation in her interuption, her words no longer holding underlying steel.

"But I would have to respectfully decline," you looked down at your hands, starting to speak quickly, desperate to explain yourself as to not give the impression you thought yourself too good for a conqueror's son, "Not out of any thought of doing better of course, I doubt that could even be accomplished, however I believe Kino- I mean, your son, deserves to be with someone who can love him purely and with romantic intent. The best I could give would be a position of friendship." You stopped to take a breath, fully intending to continue your ramble until the gods themselves had to shut you up. But this plan was foiled by Ambessa's strong hand holding your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes analysed you, surveying your face before going lower to look at your dress. You felt heat rise, or more heat, at her intense stare. Something in the stitching on your bodice made recognition flicker in Ambessa's eyes. Her hand moved from your chin down to your waist, encouragaing you to walk with her. She continued to talk as the two of you made your way to the center of the room, the crowd parting as they danced around you.

"Do you already have someone in your heart? A different boy perhaps?"

If you weren't feeling like you were in a dream, you would have realized Ambessa was fishing for something, an answer she needed.

"No, my lady, I do not. I," you cleared your throat, "I won't ever have a man claim my heart."

Ambessa's grip on your waist grew stronger as she pulled you to her chest, positioning you to dance. You gasped as you felt her lips brush against your ear as she swayed you to the rhythm of the music.

"And if I lay a claim?"

a/n: haha sorry for the sudden ending i'm evil at my core. this fic was to test the waters for writing for this absolute goddess of a woman and i do have part 2 ready to go if anyone is interested! i cannot say my thoughts on Ambessa (or Sevika for that matter) for i want to keep this authors note short and PG ;) thank you for reading!! i hope this wasn't shit.

[junkissed]

goodnight n go (teaser)

member — fwb!vernon x reader genre — smut, angst, non-idol au teaser word count — 1.7k full fic word count — 10.2k synopsis — you keep coming back for more, but every night ends the same. maybe this time things will be different. warnings — mentions of alcohol, drunk sex, car sex, guitarist!vernon, rock band!hhu, no physical descriptions of reader, vernon is afraid of commitment. this is a teaser and the final fic will have a happy ending !! notes — before you ask, yes this is based on the ariana song lol but also inspired by black eye because it's been stuck in my head the past few days. as always, thanks to @onlymingyus for reading over this for me <3 i'm still on hiatus and requests are closed but i randomly had inspiration to write something for vernon so i hope you enjoy! i am planning on writing more for this story, but i'm back at uni and my time is already quite limited, so i'll try to write more when i can! reblogs, comments, and asks are super appreciated, it means a lot and helps me keep writing so please lmk if you liked it :)

“hey, you wanna get drinks tonight?”

as usual, that’s how it starts.

you probably should have said no. you’d played this game before. you knew exactly what hansol meant when he offered to hang out after band practice, because it was never just “hanging out”.

you don’t even know why you still go to practices anymore. for a long time you’d avoided them; it wasn’t really your style, and you were never interested in being a groupie for their local gigs. your roommate seungcheol always invited you to every practice, and every time you declined with the excuse of homework or other plans, but cheol finally convinced you to come just one time.

at first, it had been because he wanted you to hear a new song they were working on and he’d wanted to know how you liked it before they played it at an upcoming show. but then he’d introduced you to the rest of his bandmates, and after that there was no going back.

you couldn’t help the way your eyes always gravitated towards hansol, who insisted that you call him his real name instead of his stage name that everyone else called him. from the very first practice, you were captivated by him: the way his long fingers seem to dance along the neck of his guitar so effortlessly, the way his voice rasps when he sings, the way your breath catches in your throat when he grips the microphone stand and rolls his head back, lips parted in ecstasy.

he’s addictive, and it’s exactly the reason why you find yourself in the backseat of his car over and over again.

every time, it was easy to pretend that things would be different. you’d walk into the bar together and sit at the table in the back, order a few drinks, chat for a while about nothing. did you like the new stuff we played tonight? yeah, i know cheol is really excited to perform it saturday. you been doing any writing lately? mmm, a little. i’ve been feeling inspired. we could go back to my place and i could show you. except he never does.

hansol wasn’t a bad guy. he always paid for your drinks no matter how many times you offered to pick up the tab, he was polite, he listened to what you had to say. he just didn’t want more than that, and that’s where it all fell apart. you’d screw around for a while, then you’d part ways and wouldn’t speak to each other until next week. you never went to see them play shows, he never texted, you never called, never went on a real date besides meeting in the same bar down the street every thursday night after practice.

he seemed fine with that. you weren’t. and yet every time, you ended up back in his arms.

he groans into your mouth, pushing his hips into you and pinning you harder against the faded leather seats of his old honda. his lips are sloppy but eager, messily pressing his mouth into yours as his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. you can taste the beer and smoke on his breath, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you. maybe you’re used to it, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. you don’t want to know which reason is the truth.

he kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from the thrill of kissing him once again. it’s a high you’re convinced you’ll never get tired of, although you’re not quite sure yet if it’s one that he will.

hansol always lets you set the pace, but tonight he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. both of your shirts met the floor of his car what seems like hours ago, leaving you in just your pants as he makes out with you as if it’s the first and last time he’ll get that chance. his fingers breeze over your waist the same way they breeze over his guitar strings when he plays: careful yet greedy, each touch intentional yet impulsive as he grips your waist.

he drags his fingers higher and it sends a shiver down your spine, arching your hips up against him and rolling your head back against the seat’s headrest. if there’s only one upside to this relationship, it’s that he’s good at this. really good. if he weren’t, then you wouldn’t have spent so many nights letting him fuck you in the parking lot of your shitty local bar. it does something for your confidence knowing that he must feel the same about you, or else he wouldn’t keep inviting you out. at the very least, this arrangement is mutual, even if you wish it wasn’t.

his hips rock against your crotch again, and even through both of your clothes you can feel how hard he is. your mind is clouded, everything’s a haze, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. the warmth of his skin, the gentle scratch of his nails on the back of your neck, his long eyelashes that flutter against your cheek as he kisses you.

you feel your hands slide haphazardly down his bare chest, fumbling over his hips as you tug on the waistband of his jeans. none of it feels graceful, not like the way he handles his music. it’s sloppy, desperate, clumsy, and it’s everything you need right now.

he manages to lean back from you enough to undo his pants and push them down to his knees, but his mouth is back on yours in an instant. somehow you end up on your back across the seats, gazing up at him with slack lips as his thin silver chain dangles over your face. you might not remember a lot of what happens on these nights when you’re with him, but you’ll always remember this moment. him hovering above you with heavily lidded eyes, biting his lip and cursing as he pushes into you, is etched into your mind in a way you simultaneously love and hate. love because it feels so good, hate because it never lasts.

the rest of those nights never stands out in your memory. you remember feeling good, you remember trembling in his arms and gasping and moaning and crying in pleasure, but the images are too fuzzy to make out. you don’t really need to reflect on them anyway; you know he’ll just bring you out next week and do it all over again.

hansol kisses you once more after you’re both finally spent, but the kisses afterwards are always different. more… hesitant, more uncertain. none of the passion and desperation that you’ve come to crave from him. not what you really want.

“i can drive you home,” he offers once he’s finished cleaning you up. for once you think he might genuinely mean it, but you can never be sure enough to take that chance. you want him to drive you home. god, you want him to so bad. to have him come over with you and stay the night, stay another night and another until your apartment isn’t just yours anymore, that’s what you’ve wanted all this time. and it’s what you’ll never have.

“i’ll call an uber,” you answer.

“i’ll wait with you, then.”

the silence that settles over his car is heavy as you climb back into the front passenger seat. you want to tell him to get in the uber with you, stay more than just a couple hours with you in the furthest back corner of the bar parking lot that’s too far to be illuminated by streetlights. you want to argue that he’s too drunk even to drive himself, that he needs to come home with you and sleep it off together in the comfort of your bed, but you know it’s not true and it won’t work. this is a conversation you’ve had many times before. every night you’ve spent with him blurs into the next, always the same. 

sometimes you want to laugh at how naive you are, for thinking he’d eventually come to his senses and realize there’s more to you than a good lay before a gig. sometimes you want to grab him and shake him by the shoulders and tell him to grow the fuck up, give him an ultimatum and make him tell you what he wants from you or else put an end to it all. sometimes you just want to cry, to mourn your wasted time when you’re fully aware it’s never going to lead to something more, no matter how badly you want it and how hard you try.

no matter how many times you get your hopes up, no matter how many times you pray and beg and plead with god and the universe and every other higher power to get him to realize this can’t keep going on the way it is forever, nothing ever changes. you’re never going to stop running to him when he calls, and he’s never going to stop calling.

finally another car pulls into the lot, and you manage to pull yourself out of his car. you hear your name behind you and you stumble, swaying on your feet as he rolls down his window.

maybe this time will be different.

he says his usual goodbyes and goodnights, flashing you a loose grin and a wave as his engine sputters to life, and he asks if you’re planning on coming to practice next week. 

and you find yourself nodding.

you’re left standing there, your head and your heart pounding, watching his headlights fade as he drives away, until you’ve stood there for so long that your ride starts honking and calling for you to get in the car so you can leave.

maybe next time will be different.

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[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

“…cannot give you your proper rites,” comes a distant voice from down the path before them, and Arthur slows on instinct, drawing his glintstone staff back to his side, waiting for his companion’s description. 

“There’s a man,” he begins, which he had assumed. “A knight, I think. Clad in gold armor and a red cloak that seem to have been taken care of much better than those of the other knights we’ve run into.” (“But at least you did not join those…”) “He’s holding something to his chest with one hand, and the other is on the hilt of a sword that’s nearly as tall as he is. Something is… strange about it, like it’s not one solid piece of metal.” (“…who live in death…”)“He hasn’t noticed us yet. He’s looking down at something…” (“…your soul will return to the Erdtree, in time.”) “…Oh. It’s a body. Someone who’s been cut down by some kind of slashing weapon. Not his sword, the cuts are too shallow. Something smaller, nimbler.” 

Arthur recognizes the words, and the tone, he slips into next. It’s a common prayer, more of a formality than anything. A reflex for the faithful like saying bless you when someone sneezes. “Honeyed rays of gold, deliver this spirit.” 

He’s been very slowly making his way closer, and now he judges it close enough to call out and greet him, now that he seems to be done speaking. “Trouble on the road?” 

The acoustics of his voice shift as he, presumably, looks up at him. “Hail, traveler. If you’re aiming to cross to Caelid, then heed my warning, and find another route. The village here has been touched by death. And, worse yet, it is home to a mariner. If you value your life, then go no further.” 

“We’ve been aiming for the Third Church, actually.” Maybe he can get directions. “I think I may have gotten a bit turned around, though. Don’t suppose you know if I’m going the right way?” 

There’s a thoughtful pause, during which time his companion speaks up again. 

“Arthur, his armor…” there’s a note of fascination to his voice. “I was wrong earlier, it’s not just gold. It’s both gold and silver intertwined, styled as though two completely different sets have been melded together. The thing he’s holding to his chest—I think it’s a head, sculpted into the breastplate, that he’s cradling. There are a set of arms, too, one silver and one gold, to match his gauntlets—like twin figures are embracing. It’s almost more of a work of art than a suit of armor. His sword is the same, that’s why it looked so strange. As if two greatswords have been braided together.��� 

Another moment passes before the knight speaks. “Well, the Third Church is roughly that way,” (“He’s pointing—south, I think”) “but it’s a bit of a climb, and I don’t know that there’s an easy way down from where we are now. There used to be another church through this village, on the Caelid border—the Church of the Maiden, if memory serves—but when the rot took it, the Redmanes tried to burn it out, and, well. It’s been little more than a shelter for vagabonds and Tarnished-hunters ever since.” 

“That’s a shame,” he says, because it seems like the correct response. 

“Aye, it seems like more and more are going the same way, these days. Like what happened to Callu. I don’t suppose you’re coming up from there?” Not entirely sure what he means, he just shakes his head. “Ah. Well, anyway. The Third Church has good people, though. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for there.” 

“I… certainly hope so. Though not anytime soon, I suppose,” he huffs a sigh, resigned, “since it sounds like you just told me I’ll have to turn around.” 

“Unless you want to take your chances with the cliffs. Though… the slope does get much easier on the other side of the village, I think.” 

“The village you just warned me not to go near.” 

“Well, if you’re headed for the church, circling all the way back to the other road is going to be quite a walk. Seems a shame to make you go all that way.” He audibly hesitates for a moment, inhales. “If you go around the tree line to the north, you should be able to avoid drawing too much notice. I can accompany you, just in case one or two of the dead have wandered too far.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to impose–” 

“You’re not, really. I need to observe things inside a bit more before I make my move, anyway. We may as well walk together.” 

He’s instinctively suspicious, but the knight seems… genuinely friendly. And given that his companion hasn’t noted any southward turnoffs from the road anytime recently, he’s likely not kidding about it being quite a walk to take the other route. “Well. If you’re sure, I suppose I’m in no spot to refuse you.” 

His companion speaks up in time with the sound of footsteps in grass. “He’s walking away. He’s lifted his sword up and hefted it onto his shoulder, where it’s ready to swing down at the first sign of a threat. He handles it easily, as if it doesn’t weigh ten pounds. I don’t know about this, Arthur. I don’t think we can trust him.” 

“What? Why not?” 

“I don’t know, but–“ 

A distant voice interrupts. “Changed your mind?” 

“No! Sorry, just—uh, yes, coming.” As he starts to walk in the direction of the footsteps, he continues, more quietly, “Look, it’s not as if we’re letting him lead us to some remote location, or anything. It’ll be short, and then we’ll be parting ways again. Okay?” 

“I still think we should turn around.” 

“Well, you’re not the one who has to walk all that way. I would rather take my chances here than backtrack.” 

He sighs in response, but falls silent as they catch up, recognizing that Arthur can’t chance much conversation this close to another person. 

The quiet is allowed to rest, for a moment, as they walk. If the knight notices the way he allows his glintstone staff to trail just ahead of him, testing the ground, he doesn’t find it odd enough to comment on. Arthur can feel the cool of the trees around them, but the sounds of the forest are few and far between. To the left is the familiar rush of the ocean, identifiable even echoing from a distance. There’s a much nearer and gentler lap of water to his right, in the direction that the road would have taken them, had they followed it. Accompanying it is… a low noise, a single wavering note, as of, perhaps, some sort of horn. 

“This isn’t much of a forest,” his companion begins to narrate. “The cliff edges aren’t far left, and in the other direction, the village is still in view. It’s certainly seen better days. It’s lying in a slight depression in the earth, in a few inches of muddy water, as if rain has pooled around it. The buildings are stone, and all of them seem to be slowly collapsing and sinking into the mire. I can see some movement within. Things that look human, but… aren’t.” He wants to ask what he means by that, or how he can tell, but he’s also aware of the potential eavesdropper walking just ahead of him. “Sometimes, when we pass a break in the trees and buildings just right, I can see… something glowing, at the village center. But never for long enough to make out what it is. It casts an eerie violet light on everything around it.” 

He hums, enough of a noise to tell his companion that he’s absorbed the information. 

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet,” the knight breaks the silence. “I’m known as D. I hunt Those Who Live in Death, and weed their deathroot. There’s an ill omen hanging over this village, and I’ve come to cleanse it.” 

“Hence why you’re… observing it, I take it. I’m, ah, Arthur. Arthur Lester. Not much of anything besides a traveler, at the moment.” He still doesn’t see much point in lying about his name. The likelihood of anyone here knowing him is very low. “How long has it been…” gestures towards the general direction of the village, hoping he makes it look natural. “Like this?” 

“Well, depends what you mean by like this, I suppose. The village has laid abandoned for some time, but only recently did that mariner show up to claim its territory.” 

“That’s the second time he’s said that. Mariner. I don’t think he’s talking about a normal sailor,” his companion muses. 

And Arthur’s also curious at the way he says it, as if it’s some monstrosity that needs no introduction, so he himself speaks up. “The… mariner.” 

“Ancient grave keepers, touched by deathroot. Once upon a time, they would have been the guides and gatekeepers for the dead. Now, they can only spread their sickness and keep others from their rightful return to the roots.” A note of scorn—disgust, maybe—enters his voice. 

“Rightful return,” he repeats, a little derisive, before he can stop himself. “Seems a bit hypocritical, considering the state of us Tarnished.” 

D snorts. “That’s hardly the same. You and I still have our souls—proof of that, we’re standing here talking to each other. Those who live in death are soulless beings, with no minds left to them. Cursed to wander, dragging the living down to share in their fate. Like what nearly happened to the poor bastard back there.” (“He’s gesturing back towards where we came. At the dead body, probably.”) “Mark me. They’re naught but vermin to be exterminated. Their mere existence sullies the sanctity of the Golden Order.” 

“I thought the aim of the Order’s laws was to explain the workings of the world,” he points out dryly. “Seems a bit of a cop-out to just—deem something outside their principles.” 

“Arthur, what are you doing,” his companion hisses behind his eyes, “stop provoking him. He clearly cares about this, and he’s got a huge fucking sword.” Which is a fair point. He really should shut up. 

But instead of getting angry, the knight just chuckles. “You don’t hold your tongue, do you? You sound just like an old friend of mine. Bet you two would get along quite well. Well, you may be right. Truth be told, I’m no scholar. All I know is, when something of yours goes rotten, you’ve got a responsibility to cut it out. And the spread of deathroot is as rotten as they come.” 

“…I’m sorry,” now he’s feeling a little regret for snapping. “I don’t mean to… deny your beliefs, or anything, I simply… spoke without thinking. And I’m hardly in a place to talk; this isn’t even a subject I’m familiar with.” 

“For your own sake, I hope it stays that way. Those who live in death should be left well alone. Unless you mean to hunt them, and that… is not a path to be trod lightly.” His tongue clicks softly. “Though I sense you’re not the type who can simply let things go, eh? My friend was the same way. Had it in his head that there was some deeper plot at work, was determined to get to the bottom of it.” The footsteps in grass slow to a halt, and Arthur slows with them. “You said you were a traveler? If you ever encounter a sorcerer by the name of Rogier, you let him know that D tells him to take care of himself.” 

He recognizes the emotion in D’s voice. Genuine concern under a layer of forced casual calm. The voice of someone worried for his friend, but with very little space to direct that worry. It’s so very familiar, pulls at something in the back of his mind, and he finds his heart aches. So, equally genuine, he says, “I’ll be sure to pass it on, if I get the chance.” 

His companion speaks up. “We’ve broken the tree line, and I think I can see the gentler way down he was referring to. We might be in the clear.” 

Nodding to himself, he adds, “Thank you for taking me this far, really. Best of luck with your, ah… hunt.” 

“Much appreciated. Best of luck with wherever your travels take you, after the church.” 

He’s expecting that to be their parting words, and starts off down the grassy slope himself—but D calls something back to him, over his shoulder, that makes him stop. 

“I’m sorry about your eyes, by the way.” 

“My—eyes?” He turns around. 

“I hope the people at the church can give you some relief. Seems an awful way to go, is all.” 

With that, before Arthur can think of any way to stop him, his footsteps turn away back towards the village, leaving him behind to wonder at his meaning. 

The new mind welcomes them in easily. His memories catch like paper, burning down to golden embers in a matter of moments. Smoke chokes out his thoughts, and it seems for a moment as though he, like all the other despairing souls they have brought to roost over the centuries, would simply become one with the flame. No more to divide or distinguish. May chaos take the—

—hmm? 

There is a memory here that does not come alight at the merest touch. Its paper-thin edges are damp, somehow, and the heat of the flames cannot seem to dry them. Rather, when they reach out, their own edges sizzle and pop, and they are forced to recoil. 

No matter. Some things are difficult to relinquish, they understand; still, they will aid this ailing soul. They gather themselves, reach forward again—and are… stopped. As though snagged by the back of the collective collar. 

The mind is resisting. 

Not this one, comes a low whisper from the darkness beyond the embers of memory. The rest of them, you can have. Burn them all away, do what you will. But I cannot give this one up. 

The embers of frenzy do not understand. Cannot understand. This memory is etched deep, yes, but it is painful. The flame offers simple and beautiful release. Why would he resist? Why will he not let them take this pain away? 

That would be taking the easy way out. 

Of course. Is that not what he wants? To let go? For things to be easy? They know the outlines of this mind, the defeat that consumes it. It is a mind that welcomed the flames to make their home inside. He called to them. On the edge of life and death he sang to them, and they came for him. Now he would turn them away? 

No. No. He called to them; he is theirs now. They will not abide hesitation. They move to gather their strength again. 

The hands that had caught them intensify. Gather them up and pull them back, heedless of the flames. 

I said, he hisses, no. 

They struggle, now, confused and afraid and at war with their own internality. They cannot be conflicted. They are as one. And yet, and yet—

Yes, it hurts! Of course it damn well hurts! If it didn’t, I wouldn’t care what you did with it! Now he is incensed, voice growing hot to meet their measure. You’ve already gone and burned the rest, haven’t you! 

But not this. His voice softens. They know this tone, soaked in sorrow and guilt. Usually it catches quick as oil. But now, once again, their flame is stifled, as if tossing water on the pyre. I’m the only one left who remembers this. I might be the only one left who remembers her at all, at this point. If I let go… no. No. I will carry this with me as long as I live, and I will not let you take it. 

Now. 

Get the fuck out of my head. 

He pushes them down. Things solidify around them. Sights and sounds that they cannot make sense of in the scarce few moments before—his hands break the surface of the water and they are being smothered. 

They are in a basin and the water is all around them and they cannot evaporate it quicker than it eats away at them. They kick and writhe and snap and crackle and still they drown. 

Under the hissing sounds of their dying flames, they think, for a moment, they hear the faint notes of a piano. And then they hear nothing at all. 

—

With the scraping of metal against rock, the body stirs. 

“Ah,” purrs a low voice, “hello, friend. I was starting to get concerned when you—“ 

“What the fuck,” the other man gasps, as if he hadn’t even spoken. He lurches to a sitting position and his hands fly up to his face. The source of the metal scraping becomes immediately clear. “What—the fuck, why is it so fucking hot in here–“  

“Slow down a moment, you—“ 

“Fucking get it off!” His hands scrabble at the edges of the iron mask encasing his head. It was clearly not made to be easily removed. “Too—fucking hot. Fuck. Off.” 

“Stop that!” the other voice snaps, the remainder of the soothing hum draining out of it entirely. “You’re going to break your neck if you keep that up—“ 

“Then stop talking and fucking help me!” He’s gasping for breath, and starting to sway in a concerning manner. "I can't– I–"

“There’s a knife!” Finally, he says something that gets him to actually stop and listen. Slightly calmer, he continues, “There’s a knife next to your left hand. You should be able to use it to pry the mask off. Other left. No—for fuck’s sake be careful, try not to stab yourself—“ 

“You do it, if you’re so concerned,” he mutters, too focused on the task to even think about the retort much. Finally he manages to find the seam that holds the mask together, and gasps again, this time in relief, as it clatters to the ground in two pieces. 

The interior of the mask is warped, as if from extreme heat. The other voice decides not to point this out. 

“Fuck, that’s better. Okay. Give me a second.” He lies back down on the ground, enjoying the chill of the stone. “Wh… hah. Right. Perhaps we ought to… start over? …Friend?” 

“Oh, so you did hear me the first time.” 

“Yes. I was just—a bit preoccupied thinking I was going to suffocate in—whatever the hell that was, on my face. So. Sorry.” 

“It looks like a prisoner’s mask,” he offers. “Why you’re wearing it, I’m not entirely sure, since this doesn’t look like a prison.” 

“Yes, where are we, anyhow?” He blinks at the wall, debating the benefits of trying to get up. “And—who are you? And… how can you see our surroundings when I can’t?” 

“I… don’t know.” 

“Ah. Which… which question are you answering, there?” 

There’s a pause, and then a resigned sigh. “…All of them.” 

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

a story told in multiple parts

vi x reader

Summary: As Caitlyn Kiramman’s younger sister, you already were expected to uphold certain ‘values’ persay. Your big sister definitely left big shoes to fill as one of the best criminology majors Oxford had. Whenever you had to take a couple years off after high school for mental health reasons they were already disappointed. Whenever you said you wanted to major in creative writing and literature with a minor in music they were more disappointed and quite nearly withdrew your college fund. But they have no idea that after the people you’re about to meet this year that just might be the least of their problems.

Contains: college au, dark/light academia, writer reader, singer reader, neurodivergent/autistic reader (i’m autistic so i’m writing from my own experiences), sporty vi, hockey player vi, big sister caitlyn, best friend ellie williams, roommate ellie williams, will contain other familiar characters you know and love as well as some potential ocs. no use of y/n, reader does have a name because it’s just easier for me to write that way 🖤

A/N: EEEEK for some reason I’m beyond nervous to post this. I know I did NOT need another wip but I had such a huge itch to finally get started on this idk what possessed me! First things first I DO want to say that I know the trope of hockey player vi and college aus are popular within the vi fanfic community and just want to make it so abundantly clear that I’m not trying to copy anybody and am going to aim to make this as different as possible.

Secondly, the idea of a tag list seems very overwhelming for me so the best way to keep up with parts will probably be to follow me! Also not giving myself a specific updating schedule since I AM working on so much right now and I want my long form stories on wattpad I currently have to take first priority so- it might take a while for me to post! Just bare with me!

Thirdly, I have never been to Oxford and probably will never go to Oxford (in fact I’m not even from the UK so whoops) so all of what is portrayed on here will be from what I’ve read from other english university media and research. So if there are errors I apologize! 🖤

ANYWAYS, enough rambling. Hopefully this has left you excited or at least morbidly curious and I can get part 1 up soon 🖤

Part Masterlist

Moodboards

Part I: You’re on Your Own, Kid

Part II: The Black Dog

Tag

Can’t believe I didn’t just think of making a tag earlier so you can also follow the tag- #ttpd vi x reader 🖤🥹

Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics 🖤

[yuyusuyu]

the return of the princess treatment chronicles ?!

synopsis. mingi loves that you treat him like a princess, really, he does! hey, he means it! he really likes it! however... he's a tad bit sad that he's the only one getting flustered by such actions while you're basking in pride of your affect on him. which is why he must show you the power of the princess treatment himself! little does he know that you, his sweets, also have a very special list...

pairing. bf! song mingi x fem! reader

genres/au. fluff, romance, comedy, established relationship, non idol au, (implied) college au

warnings. couple stuff (kissing, hugging, etc.), cursing, teasing, mentions of alcohol (and alcohol consumption), a guy being weird 💀, yunho has. a weird goofy and all knowing moment (i will not elaborate on this).

rating. mature (alcohol consumption)

wc. 3.4k

part 1 here !

a/n. my last work of the year ! how exciting~~ i hope you all like the long awaited part two of the princess treatment chronicles !! not proofread... again... lol...

reblogs and comments are appreciated as it helps with not getting shadowbanned !

MINGI looks down at you, eyes narrowed as he tries to gauge your expression, while you happily hum. he wants to ask you if you feel uncomfortable, holding his hand while he has his arm thrown over your shoulder, instead he asks the opposite.

"be honest," he says, his tongue darting out to lick his lips while your gaze flickers up to him, trying to see him through the worn edges of mingi’s hoodie, before going back to what's in front of you. "do you know about the list?"

"what list?" you ask, a brow raised at him. you push the door open to the bar and walk in after he does. "oh!" gasping, you grin at him, entwining your hands. "are you talking about the poems you have in your notes app?"

mingi gapes at you, ears turning bright red and his cheeks matching the color. "what? no!"

"oh," you blink at him. "well, that's the only thing i've read on your phone. which reminds me…" stopping before you reach your usual table, you wiggle your eyebrows at him, lips tugged to form a lopsided smile. "who are you writing those love poems about, hm? are they about me, loverboy?"

scrunching his nose, mingi leans down and bumps his forehead with your own, eyes darting over every feature on your face. you quiet down, the words you wanted to say getting caught in the back of your throat at the intensity of your boyfriend's gaze. with a low hum, a small smile breaks out on his lips. “and what if they are about you, hm?”

your eyes widen in a comedic manner, face feeling unbearably hot as you gently push him away. mingi laughs wholeheartedly at your flustered reaction, following after you as you hurriedly slide into the same booth as yunho's, who stares between you and mingi with an eyebrow cocked. mingi shrugs, taking a seat next to you and effectively sandwiching you between him and the other giant in your trio.

“what's got you looking like that?” yunho asks, blinking as his hand reaches out to grab a fry from the tray he ordered not too long ago.

“mingi,” you mumble, reaching out and grabbing a handful of fries, popping one into your mouth and chewing slowly. “by the way, he’s acting weird.”

“he’s always weird,” yunho replies, deadpanning. mingi leans over to whack the back of the blond’s head, emitting a whine from him.

“am not,” mingi huffs, eyes narrowed down at yunho. naturally, he throws his arm around you, his hand playing with material covering your shoulder. “by the way, did you tell her about the list?”

completely ignoring his question, yunho turns his attention towards you. “you know about the list?”

“what list?” you ask, exasperation laced in your voice. “the only list i know about is the one filled with love poems he dedicates to me.”

“you know about that, too?” yunho looks over at mingi. “dude, you are so bad at hiding stuff from yn.”

“what list are you guys talking about?” you look between both of your best friends, pouting.

“nothing!” mingi says, attempting to distract you from the conversation at hand by peppering your face with kisses.

it works.

when mingi pulls away and you stop giggling, you feel heart pick up its pace with the pretty smile mingi wears, eyes forming crescents as he looks at you. he presses one last kiss on your nose, nuzzling his head into your cheek before standing up, whispering about how he’ll go get you something to drink.

once mingi is gone, you abruptly twist around and pinch yunho’s arm, holding the skin in between your fingers while he whines. in the midst of yunho trying to swat your hand away, you lower your voice, “did you tell him about the list?”

with a successful smack to your hand, your best friend huffs and raises a brow, lips slightly pursed. “and why would i tell him about that?”

“it’s just,” your gaze flickers over to your boyfriend, watching him talk with the bartender, “i… you know…”

yunho hums, “it’s important. i know… i wouldn’t tell him about it, you know that.”

“yeah… yeah,” you nod, “you’re right.”

“what’s he right about this time, sweets?” mingi slides in next to you, handing you a beer bottle. his arm goes to rest around you again, his fingers mindlessly playing with your hair. 

with a scoff, you reply. “that he’s weird.”

“i am not weird,” yunho throws you a dirty glare, emitting a shout of protest as he steals your beer. “and you can’t drink.”

while yunho sticks his tongue out at you, momentarily distracted, mingi reaches out and grabs the beer from him. “i’ll drink my girlfriend’s beer, thank you very much.”

you take the bottle from mingi and take a swig from it, mumbling how you’ll drink it yourself. yunho bites back the grin that wants to appear on his lips, noticing the flustered expression on your face while mingi simply laughs and tells you to give it to him if you don’t want to finish it.

oh, you are so smitten and mingi is so going to complete that list of yours.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE HONEST (BECAUSE I HATE LYING PEOPLE! YOU CAN THANK MY EX BOYFRIEND FOR THIS! AND ME FOR ADVISING HER TO ADD THIS —JEONG YUNHO, HER BEST FRIEND)

yunho’s note at the end of your writing makes your lips curl upwards, a soft chuckle leaving them. with a finger running down the expanse of the worn out page of your old physics notebook, you close it and push it back into your bookshelf just as the door swings open. mingi walks into your room, shoulders sagging as his feet drag against the wooden floor. you huff through your nose, turning around and opening your arms to which he falls into them, groaning in relief as his form hunches over you to dig his nose into the crook of your neck.

“rough day?” you ask, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck before you flatten your palm and thread your fingers through his hair, surprised that his hair is damp. he probably came over as soon as he finished taking a shower and changed into his pjs. “don’t you feel uncomfortable?”

“yes and no,” he mumbles. “yes: rough day at work today. too busy. no: i don’t feel uncomfortable. you’re like, the most comfortable person ever. i like hugging you, you know? oh, and you’re also—”

“baby,” pushing him back by the shoulders, mingi pouts at you, making you giggle. “you’re rambling.”

“i like rambling,” he blurts out, “just with you, though. i don’t like doing that with others.” his fingers absentmindedly rub figures into your hip.

snorting in amusement, you bring him into a hug and feel him let out a content sigh. “you’re awfully honest today, mings. it’s a,” trailing off, you grin, eyes twinkling in mischief, “...stark contrast to your usual boy cries wolf self.”

mingi clicks his tongue tiredly, “yeah, well, i don’t have to be like that with you. i’m just plain ol’ song mingi with you. hey, can i stay the night? i like sleeping with you.”

you hum, rolling your eyes in a playful manner, trying to ignore the fuzziness of your mind. the male grumbles something incoherent, and he grabs your hand afterwards to pull you towards your bed, basically tugging you to fall into it with him. mingi lifts himself up slightly to pull down the duvet, making you do the same before he’s already pushing it back up, snaking his arms around you and pulling you closer to him with a grunt. “you need a new bed.”

“no i don’t,” you laugh.

“yes, you do. it’s too tiny for the both of us.”

he’s right—his feet always peek out from the end of the bed.

“you’re awfully honest today.”

“just because i can be myself with you,” he mumbles into your hair, his grip around your waist tightening. “it’s not tiring to talk with you. i don’t have to pretend to be someone else. like with my coworkers! so tiring...”

“is that so…”

you’re met with soft snores coming from your boyfriend and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE YOURSELF! (DON’T PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE YOU’RE NOT! THANK MY EX BOYFRIEND FOR THIS AND ME FOR TELLING HER TO ADD THIS —YUNHO)

mingi grabs your hand and brings them up to his lips, brushing them against the skin of the back and letting your entwined fingers fall back between the two of you, swinging it idly. “why are you nervous, sweets?”

“why wouldn’t i be nervous is the real question here,” you say, glancing up at mingi. with a small sigh, you continue, “i just want your family to like me, mingi.”

he grabs you by the shoulders, twisting you so that you stand in front of him and tugging you into a hug. as he rocks both of you from side-to-side, he laughs quietly, “don’t worry, yn. they’ll like you just as much as i do. my mom is going to love you right off the bat.”

“and how do you know that?” you question, tilting your head up.

mingi scratches his cheek in a sheepish manner, “i, um, talk about you to her a lot.”

the front door of his mom’s place opens, his mom smiling widely at the sight of you and her son staring at her with wide eyes. you can tell she wants to tease the both of you but resists the urge to do so, instead ushering you two inside, apologizing for having you guys stand outside in the cold for so long. and just like that, as soon as you take off your shoes and hand your coat over to mingi, you’re whisked away by his mom and sat next to his aunt where you end up laughing to the point of tears at the stories they tell you of mingi’s childhood.

“one time, i was sick and i don’t really like chicken soup, so mingi tried making me a vegetable soup and even made a dance called ‘the veggie get better soon’ dance.”

you laugh in disbelief, “auntie, you're joking right?”

mingi’s mom shakes her head, laughing along with you. “now why would i lie about that? oh, does he still have that habit of needing to sleep with something?”

“yes. i’m his victim.”

“oh sweetie… good luck.”

his mom and aunt start talking about something else that you should, in theory, pay attention to. however, your favorite person's laugh fills the air and effectively grabs your attention. mingi sits on the couch by the door, playing with his baby cousins while the older one tells him something you can’t quite hear. but you watch as mingi throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut and his smile trembling from how hard he’s laughing, his body shaking.

“oh,” his mom lets out a content sigh, smiling fondly.

you peer over at her. “he hasn’t changed one bit, i see.”

and you think you can agree with her—that mingi hasn't changed one bit since you met him. your heart aches and silently hopes that he never does change.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: TREAT HER RIGHT! (I SWEAR IF I END UP DATING ANOTHER DICKWAD I WILL CRY! AND I WILL PERSONALLY CRY WITH HER! —YUNHO)

yunho talks about something that just happened to him, taking a sip from his red party cup and wincing at the pungent taste of horribly mixed alcohol. he mumbles something to his best pal, but it doesn't quite meet mingi’s ears. you see, he is a little occupied with keeping an eye an you, who had left his side earlier to greet some of your friends at the small party being held by one of his friends. when you were ready to go back to his side, some stinky guy decided to keep you from doing just that. he watches with a stoic expression as the guy continuously shimmies closer to you, a frown soon etched onto his lips when he notices the way your polite smile wavers and your eye twitches just the tiniest bit.

you’re annoyed. and rightfully so! he would be annoyed too if some person were to keep him from going back to you!

so he walks over, jaw tensing when he hears something he should never hear.

“why are you acting like such an ass? i’m just trying to ask you out—”

mingi silently grabs onto the back of the shorter male’s collar, pulling him back just enough for him to glower down at him. “apologize to her.” he’s surprised at how he, oddly, sounds calm when anger is bubbling in his chest right now.

the guy rolls his eyes. “why should i? and who the hell are you?”

“her boyfriend,” he barks out a chuckle, leaning down to be at eye level with him, “and i don’t like the way you just treated her. apologize to her while i’m asking nicely.”

the storm that rages inside him calms down, your touch lulling him back to you. mingi glances back at you, your skin hot against his. he lets go of the guy roughly, barely acknowledging the way he stumbles away as quickly as possible. with his hands cupping your cheeks gently, he tilts your head to the side, eyebrows pinched together in worry. “sweets, are you okay? are you feeling sick? you feel really warm—”

that’s because he’s doing quite the number on your heart right now and you’re not sure what to do with the growing feeling in your chest, the one that you’re so afraid of after the last fiasco that was your previous relationship.

this calls for a guidance meeting with yunho soon!

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE THERE FOR HER! (I WILL PROPOSE TO YOU ON THE SPOT! SHE REALLY WILL! —YUNHO)

“you’re in love with him,” yunho shrugs.

you gawk at how easily he said that. “i—well, i’m not sure if he feels the same way!”

your best friend gives you a pointed look. “are you blind or something?”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

“only a fool wouldn’t be able to see how much mingi loves you… so i guess that makes you a fool, yn!” 

your conversation from earlier replays itself in your mind. you can’t believe yunho just… said that to you and left afterwards to deal with your brain melting down all by yourself. now you lay in your bed, curled into yourself while you hear the clock in your living room tick and tick and tick away, the sound making time feel like it’s on a loop.

with a frustrated sigh, you screw your eyes shut and grab a pillow from behind you, moving it to the front so that you can hug it while you contemplate the meaning of your existence and the heavy weight of yunho’s words in your mind. but then you hear your front door open and close, followed by some shuffling.

“dear robber,” you shout, “i’m a poor, poor student that just graduated. i’m literally so broke right now, so i suggest you make yourself a meal in my kitchen before heading out.” the door to your room creaks open; you squint an eye open, seeing mingi lean against the doorframe. “aren’t you supposed to be on your way to work?”

“yunho told me you were feeling down, so i got someone to cover my shift under the excuse that i have a stupid fever.” he hums, pushing himself towards you. kneeling down in front of you, mingi brushes some of your hair away from your face.

curse yunho for opening his big mouth.

you make a mental note to yourself that you will be having a talk with that man before shaking your head, merely stretching your arms out and making grabby hands at your boyfriend. he chuckles, shedding his glasses off and putting them on your nightstand, sliding in beside you as you scoot over to make more space for him. you let out a content sigh, resting your head on his chest where you can easily hear the steady beating of his heart. you melt in his arms, your worries washed away as soon as he wraps an arm around your waist.

it’s silent for a minute.

or maybe less than that.

“you need a bigger bed. it’s too small for the two of us.”

snorting, you hit his back softly. “no i don’t.”

“...but you do.”

you laugh this time, and mingi triumphantly smiles because he knows that whatever had you down in the dumps is now gone from your mind, the sign of your shoulders relaxed is a tell tale sign that he’s doing a pretty good job at making you feel at ease right now.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: SAY THE L WORD TO HER FIRST (BECAUSE I WILL NEVER AGAIN SAY IT FIRST! YOU CAN THANK MY EX FOR THAT! FUCK THAT GUY, NO ONE LIKES HIM! —YUNHO)

celebrating the day that is gift giving, christmas, on the twentieth with yunho and mingi became a tradition as soon as you three started college. it is a tradition that, a year after graduation, won’t ever change. so you’re sitting on the ground in front of the small tree in yunho’s apartment, a couple of presents littering the ground around it which makes for a pretty funny sight, if you do say so yourself. mingi sits to your left, giggling as he tries grabbing the presents that are tagged as his while yunho gets up with the goal of making hot chocolate for you guys to drink before the clock strikes twelve.

only because his goal is to get you two alone in hopes that mingi says he loves you first… but you don’t have to know that and neither does mingi!

you slap mingi’s hands away as he tries tearing the wrapping paper from one of the smaller gifts in his pile. he whines and pouts, rubbing his hand. “i can’t believe you just hurt me.”

“that’s on you,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him.

it happens out of the blue: mingi leans over and shoves the hood of one of his stolen hoodies over your head. you yelp in surprise and try swatting his hand away while he laughs, only for him to let out a noise, something between a yelp and a high pitched squeal, as he somehow ends up toppling over you. groaning, you manage to remove his hand from the hoodie and pull it back, narrowing your eyes up at mingi. he ignores the look on your face, his hand slowly finding itself touching your nose, your cheek and then your mouth, his thumb running over the expanse of your bottom lip softly. you watch him intently, your chest rising and falling quickly.

“you’re really pretty,” he mumbles, replacing his thumb in favor of brushing his lips against yours in a brief kiss. instead of pulling away, he says something else—something that has you tearing up. “you’re pretty inside, too. you have the most beautiful soul ever… one of the reasons why i love you so much. more than you’ll ever know, i think.”

the corners of his lips tug upwards to a form a pretty grin while he wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. “why are you crying, yn?”

“because i love you and i thought…” you clear your throat, “i thought that you didn’t feel the same way…”

“and i told her that she was a fool,” yunho pipes up, placing the two cups of hot chocolate on the table. “but i told you that mingi loves you and you didn’t want to listen to me.”

scoffing, you take off the antler headband from mingi’s head and throw at it yunho. he raises an unamused brow as it flies past his head and hits the wall. “...really?” he looks into the distance. “hey, author! i think it’s my turn to have—”

“what the hell is he going on about?” mingi whispers to you. you both sit up and watch your crazy best friend talk to the air in front of him, waving his arms every once in a while like a madman.

with a grimace, you reply. “i don’t know… do you want to knock him out and see if that does anything to him?”

“...yeah, i think i’ll do that.”

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