#I have no idea if tumblr still only takes the first five tags

[delucadarlingwriting]

Wayhaven Regency AU

This is a little fic idea I've been throwing around with @crownleys after we spent ALL WEEKEND binging Bridgerton. We've had an AU for ages where we've thrown our detectives (hers, Kira Kingston, and mine Lucas and Barbara Robertson) together and played with how Wayhaven might go with them all involved, so of course we started to 'what if' with them all in a Regency era AU.

Note: this is history lite, generously speaking. N would be horrified, I'm sure.

(Also doing my best to keep this out of the main tag, but if it ends up there anyway, I apologize)

Word count: 716

Summary: Kira Kingston is making her debut into society this year, no matter what her mother, the Dowager Baroness Rebecca Kingston, has to say about it.

Next

"We've put off my debut for four years now!" Kira exclaims. Barbara sighs and slips a ribbon between the pages of her book, closing it gently so that she may better pay attention to her young friend's words. The strawberry blond brows on her face have drawn nearly to touching and her mouth is set into a ferocious expression.

"Has your mother responded to your letter?" Barbara asks, knowing full well the answer. It stands to reason that Kira needs the reminder though.

Of course, this is when Lucas decides to waltz in from outside, where he had apparently been lingering and listening. His waistcoat is entirely unbuttoned and his shoes are muddy. Barbara frowns as he trods all over the nice rug.

"That should hardly matter at this point," Lucas says, his voice booming in the solarium. Kira's face lights up.

"So you agree?" she demands. Lucas laughs.

"Of course I do." He comes over and slings an arm around Kira's shoulders. Barbara growls.

"If you're going to insist on entering society, you'll have to be used to warding off improper behavior," Barbara says, indicating her brother. Kira shrugs.

"It's just Lucas," she replies. Barbara shakes her head.

"He's not your relative though, and no one else will care that he wouldn't take liberties with you. It's all about the appearance of the matter. It's all about what it could be." Barbara can't help lecturing Kira a bit, even though Kira is only half-listening. She knows all of this already.

Lucas takes his arm away to humor her. "Look, I'm the Earl now, right?"

"Right," Kira says, despite him clearly having been speaking to Barbara.

"And you've been a ward of the Earl-myself and my dear dead father before me-for what, ten years?" Lucas shakes his head. "I think at this point I have enough sway to determine you're ready to join the rest of the ton."

"Yes!" Kira says, throwing her arms around Lucas. Barbara simply looks away, to better pretend they aren't acting abominably. Lucas laughs again.

"So I shall send the two of you to the modiste as soon as we arrive to London," Lucas says. Barbara turns back, her interest gained. She would love to have a few new dresses. Shoes as well.

"You know very well I'll be making my own dresses," Kira says with her arms crossed. Lucas grins.

"Surely so. Will you be telling everyone?" he asks. Kira shrugs.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps," Barbara cuts in, "you should focus on telling your mother. Lady Kingston deserves to know that her daughter plans to debut this year."

Kira scoffs. "Rebecca has no need to know. It's hardly as if she finds the time to return any of my letters as it is. I doubt she even opens them."

Neither Robertson denies the possibility. The dowager baroness has struggled dearly since the death of her husband, known best as Rook. The rest of the ton continues to speak of him (with wildly varying opinions on his behavior), which is something Lady Kingston has never been able to bear. Even Kira knows almost nothing of her father.

"It would be a courtesy," Barbara points out. After a moment, she adds, "A courtesy we may wish to...skip, where our mama is concerned."

With a grunt, Lucas nods. "Certainly. She'll pitch such a fuss I worry we'd never manage to leave the country house at all."

"Perhaps we can leave ahead of her this year?" Barbara suggests. Lucas winks.

"Dear sister, you prove yet again to the be the brains to my beauty."

Rolling her eyes, Barbara rises from her seat. Kira, gearing up to defend Barbara's honor in the face of her brother's insult, calms considerably when Barbara loops an arm through hers. "Let's go and compose your letter, dear, and then we might begin preparations for our leave."

Kira nods. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. She's rarely ever at the family home, and I've yet to see her in London during the season anyhow."

"Exactly," Barbara says, the tension in her shoulders easing. "I doubt we should even see her at all for the entire season."

#darling writing #I have no idea if tumblr still only takes the first five tags #so apologies if this ends up in the main tag #4 #5 #wayhaven #twc #regency au

[gyuswhore]

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (1)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut tags in part 2

(Comments from @toruro): "oh shizzle", "yeah bitch", (on jihyo) "mother", "ME X HAO FIRE EMOJI", "men (derogatory)"

[A/N]: Tumblr is annoying and won't let me post the entire 40k in one go so i have to break it up (part 2 is out tomorrow!!!) i hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for all the love on the teaser, i hope this is able to live up to the hype, thank you so much for being patient with me <33 (ty @toruro for encouraging me when i felt shit ab this gkjnrgvkjrng and beta-ing ofc)

As someone who could vomit at the mere thought of throw-up, you tried not to stare into the toilet bowl as you emptied your guts in this questionable club bathroom. 

It was proving to be easier than you’d anticipated, naturally, when your eyes were blurred with bubbling tears. Were they because of your wretching or the feelings that churned in your heart? You can’t be entirely sure, nor can you find yourself having the mental strength to figure out. There’s a banging on the door behind you, one that sends your already aching head into a hurling spin. 

“Open the door, I have water for you, it’ll help!” You hear Mika blare from the other side, concern lacing her voice. 

You try to blink the tears away but they cascade down your cheek anyway, rubbing at them furiously before preparing to haul yourself off the disgusting bathroom floor. Taking a deep breath was a horrible idea, you realize when an atrocious mixture of scents hit your nostrils, cringing visibly. 

Washing your hands at the sink took you another five minutes, scrubbing furiously at your palms and nails with the dollar store soap the club graciously placed in a fancy dispenser, pumping more than a normal amount to rid yourself of the paranoia of tainted hands. 

Unfortunately for you, your palms were tainted with entities beyond mere soap and water’s powers. 

It was evident with the way you exited the bathroom feeling perhaps worse than you went in. Mika was nowhere to be seen in the hall, moving along to the private room where the rest of the group was to find her springing up as you enter. 

“You weren’t answering, so I left. Here, water, I told you to be careful with what you drink; you haven’t had a bite to eat either.” She reprimands. 

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly, not having a reasonable excuse to give her. 

Joshua peeks over her shoulder, “You feeling any better?” 

The water is slow to go down as you sputter before replying in a hoarse voice, “Yeah. Way.” 

To be fair, the water did help. But it was you who was the problem, blaming the alcohol for the behaviour all your friends knew perfectly well where it was stemming from. Not a word was said though, for your sake or their own. You wrap up quickly after that, Joshua insisting to drop you off home himself, quoting how Seokmin would have his head if he left you in the hands of a taxi driver in this state — age gap be damned. You can only thank him as he pulls up to your destination, hoping you’ll remember this in the morning to return the favour in the future. 

“Before you go, can we talk for a second?” he piques, halting you as you remove your seatbelt. 

“Sure, yeah. What is it?” 

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re doing alright, not when you’re gonna give me the same answer as always. But…please take care of yourself. You’ve been drinking quite a bit lately, and it can’t be helping you at all” 

You listen to him silently, not a thought in your brain. But you nod anyway. 

“Thanks for looking out, Shua. I’m…I’m probably not gonna be going out for a while, you’re right,” you reply, quietly, a small smile on your face that you can only hope is reassuring. 

“I don’t mean lock yourself up, either. You don’t give yourself a break and then try to make up for it by drinking your self faint every week, that’s never gonna help you. You know that.” He speaks in a soft, soothing voice, a hand coming up to pat your hair before landing on your clasped hands on your lap. “You know what, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, we can go the fair just me, you and Seok-” 

“I have class tomorrow.” 

“Like showing up hungover is gonna help you retain any information. Just skip.” 

You sigh a deep exhale, deciding to simply be upfront. “I kinda just wanna stay home for a while, going out’s kinda making it worse. I think rotting in front of my laptop’s what I really need right now” 

Throwing in a tinkle of a laugh, you hope you’ve sold yourself.

“Alright,” he sounds slightly unconvinced but doesn’t push you further, “I’ll drop in to bother you tomorrow though, don’t try stoping me”

“Okay,” you say, smiling a little wider. “I’m gonna go now, goodnight.”

“Wait!” he stops you once again, right before your about to shut the door. “Have you talked to Mingyu at all?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Shua. Night” 

With that you’ve slammed the door of his car shut, missing the ghost of a “goodnight” that leaves Joshua’s lips as he watches you walk inside the building. 

“And stop staying out so late at night! What were you supposed to do if Joshua wasn’t there?” Seokmin rants as he walks back and forth grabbing you water and pills as you finish your forced breakfast.

“Take a taxi?” you suggest sarcastically. 

“What? And get me called to the station to identify your body parts when some dude decides he wants to play cannibalistic butcher?” he screeches, and it has you wincing and grabbing onto your head at his volume. You dramatize it a little, hoping he’d shut it with his nagging if you gained some extra sympathy. He doesn’t stop talking, but he does tone it down. 

“Whatever, I’m not going out anymore.” You push your plate and bowl away as you hop off the stool and stalk off to your room, making as much noise as possible in the process. 

Your brother calls after you, but you don’t stop. Your head was pounding, 

“Are you gonna take your meds? HELLO? Or do you enjoy the feeling of having your head split open?” he slams open the door of your room mid-sentence, going on at your blanket-clad figure on the bed. 

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, you’re taking your fucking meds.” A cup of water is thrust into your hands as you pick up the pills from Seokmin’s open palms, swallowing before he decides to shove it down your throat himself. 

He waits on the edge of the bed, checking to make sure you actually swallowed the pill instead of hiding it under your tongue like you’ve done since you were kids. 

“I’m not stopping you from going out if that’s what you think I mean,” he starts, a lot softer this time, and you’re taken back to your conversation with Joshua last night. “You’ve been going out and coming home wasted a lot more than normal lately. I don’t know if it’s because your college agendas are finally catching up to you or what.”

“I’m just…My friends are always out and I wanna be with them, it’s normal,” you grumble, disappearing deeper into your sheets.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” 

‘Yeah, yeah, now shoo. Your voice is making my head hurt worse, I doubt Advils are immune to your yapping.” 

“Fine, fuck you too” he mumbles, leaving the room only to pop back in a second later. “Mom called last night, told her you were at a study group. Might wanna call her back before she catches a flight herself.” 

You wave two fingers up in a salute from your flat position on the bed, hearing him close the door. You don’t sit up until you hear the TV blare from the living room, knowing he had parked himself on the couch and has his attention diverted. 

The headache wasn’t actually that bad, you just really wanted to be left alone, and your brother had a habit to do the opposite when asked, so it had to be done. 

What on Earth were you supposed to tell him, anyway? That his best friend in the whole world rejected his sister on the spot when she confessed her decades long feelings? That she was ruining her liver and kidneys every weekend over a rejection? By his best friend in the whole world?

Yeah, that’s an easy conversation. 

Snuggling into the covers you try not to think back to the abomination that was your birthday party just a few weeks ago, but your thoughts yank you there anyway, as if to remind you of every wretched detail of the encounter like it was wasn’t already burned into your frontal lobe like a brand. 

You were on a high; too happy, too excited. It’s not like you were expecting anything for your first birthday at uni anyway, you were too old for pink blowout parties and too young for the madness of college level clubbing. You were excited for takeout with your brother, to sit in front of the TV for the rest of the night, maybe even stick a candle in one of your burgers and call it your cake. Plans were changed when you walked into your home, ready to wind down for the night and celebrate in your own way. 

It was a full house, food and drinks everywhere, complete with a loud “SURPRISE” as you walk through the door. You remember hugging both your brother and Mingyu when they tell you they did all of this for you, an overwhelming feeling overcoming you as you grip them tight, hoping it’ll transfer all the gratitude you couldn’t express. 

You’re breathless as the night progresses, trying hard to focus on the conversations at hand, trying to be a good host. Failing miserably, you can’t force your gaze from wandering every few minutes, searching for Mingyu in the crowd, watching him move his mouth as he talked, throw his hair back as he laughed, smile that beautiful, beautiful smile of his, perfect teeth on display. 

It had been bliss these past few weeks, the lingering smiles he would give you, the flirtatious attempts never gone unnoticed. The smoothest of words slipping right off his tongue as he gave you eyes that twinkled and sparkled and blew air directly into the embers in your heart. You would still yourself as they would happen, like the mirage would crack and shatter if you even dared to breathe; it felt unreal. After all these years, you realised soon, Kim Mingyu may have began to like you. 

You’d be lying if you said you were completely sober when it happened, drinks were passed around and as the birthday girl you didn’t seem to have a choice to back down, already a little hot and wide eyed barely halfway through the night. 

And when Mingyu doesn’t interact with you all night, you go to him as the numbers in the house dwindled, cornering him as he collected bottles in the kitchen.

“Hey!”, he sounds enthusiastic, “You having fun yet?”

“Yeah, thanks again for doing this.” your remember fidgeting with your fingers and nails, digging them into each other as you let yourself spew. 

“Are you gonna say thank you at every chance for the next six months? It's your first birthday away from home. Besides it was Seok’s idea, I just helped out.” He had said, beaming.

“Mingyu, can I talk to you about something…?”

You sigh loudly as you replay the memory, face pushed into the covers as you bite back a scream at the blood rushing to your head. 

Stupid. Idiot. Absolutely brainless.

“Oh.” He had breathed out when you had spilled your entire heart out to him standing in that kitchen, visibly taken aback at your abruptness. “I…I’m sorry I’m not quite sure what to say.” 

You still remember that sickening feeling, that big ball of junk and emotions that sank lower and lower in your abdomen, settling a deep hurt in your chest that made it difficult to breathe. 

Laying in your bedroom, weeks after the fact, you can still feel your breathing go slightly erratic at the memory, hot tears springing your eyes, burning before you wipe them away. You were aware how baffling it was, how you were letting it affect you to this degree, but you justified it with the years you had remained quiet, yearning on the sidelines. 

You deserved to wallow in this pit. 

At least that’s what you thought. But after last night you wonder if you had stopped indulging in the sorrow and let it ruin you instead. A sigh escapes you at the thought of ending yet another night in a dirty bathroom, makeup smeared and guts removed, misery becoming the only thing you were allowed to feel in the aftermath. 

You reach for your phone on the bedside table, flicking through your unread messages, barely registering a word as you leave them opened and unanswered. There wasn’t an ounce of willpower in you even after a full night’s sleep, turning your phone off before shoving it in your bedside drawer, forgotten. You take a moment to stare at the ceiling, having no energy to get up to turn your lights off. Until the doorbell sounds. 

Of course you knew who it was the second you heard, but the voice paired with your brother’s conversing outside was enough to have you catapulting out of bed. You slap your hand over the switchboard, turning off all your lights, moving across the room to pull your curtains shut, cascading complete darkness in the room. You fly under the covers as a last effort to convince, covering your face with the sheets just as you hear a knock. 

The door creaks open slightly as Seokmin calls out your name. 

“Are you up? Mingyu’s here, he brought coffee.” He whispers slowly. You don’t respond. 

He calls out your name one more time before you hear the door click shut. You don’t move till you hear his muffled voice on the other end, “She’s knocked out, her head was hurting, better let her rest.” 

Heat pricks the sides of your face as your body finally relaxes, borderline embarrassed at how you were hiding from him like a middle schooler who thinks she’s in love. Which you were at one point; now you're a college kid who thinks she’s in love.

You try not to focus too much on the sounds coming from outside, burying under the covers to attempt at sleep for real this time. Eyes screwed shut, you can’t help but open them at every other intonation. There was no way you could figure out what they were saying if you tried, between the door and the TV, it was all a taunting buzz in your ears. 

You do end up falling asleep. But only after you hear the droning of the TV turn off, and the distinct goodbyes as the front door clicks shut. 

Keeping to your promise, you stay away from late nights for the next couple of weeks. Joshua so far as commends you for declining invitations, offering dinner on him on one particular phone call. 

“You know, I was serious when I said I was proud of you.” Joshua voices solemnly as you attempt to cut a strip of meat onto the grill. You snort as a response. 

“I wasn’t like, an alcoholic, you’re making it sound worse than it was.” 

“It was still bad for it to affect you in that way. Takes a lot to get back up from heartbreak”

“Especially one that’s lasted for nearly a decade.” You sigh as you give up on the meat, handing the scissors and tongs over. 

“Are we still talking about that?” He raises his eyebrows. 

A smile makes its way to your face, nibbling on a radish, “No.”

“Good. Because we need to talk about if we want our noodles hot or cold.”

“Seok! SEOK! Where the fuck did you put my pimple patches?” Your screams echo across the house yet garner no response. Opting to yank open the fridge, you dig through through the box of face masks to find them possibly laying at the bottom, forgotten. Seokmin bounds into the kitchen, towel in hand as he pats at his damp hair.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you huff, shoving the unfruitful box back into the cabinet, "you used up all the patches.”

“Patches? Pimple patches? We’ve been out for a month, just use this tube in the drawer.” Pulling open the drawer, he rummages for a moment before emerging with a sickly yellow tube of what looked like poorly marketed toothpaste.

“You want me to put this on my face?” 

“Yeah, it works, zit on my nose was gone by morning.” He stuffs the tube back in the drawer not before squeezing a small amount on his fingers to dab on your face.

“Ew, get your dirty hands away from my face.” You grip his wrists before he tries to move in further. 

He does nothing but shush you, shaking off your hands as you grumble in silence, letting him finger paint on your face. You move up to fix a roller on your head, undoing it before rolling the bit back in, resulting in another “tsk” emitting form your brothers concentrated face.

“Okay, enough! I don’t have that many zits.” You pull away as Seokmin moves to wash his hands. 

“Are you going to bed right now?” He asks as you move over to the door.

“Yeah. I’m not going to sleep, though.” 

“Gyu’s coming over, you were asleep when he was here last too.” 

It seemed as though every bone in your body rattled against your flesh. 

“When is he coming?” You ask quickly, frozen in your spot. 

The doorbell rings. 

“Right now, I guess.” He snickers to himself.

You can only watch in mild horror as he moves to open the door, words escaping you. You follow behind him, trying to stop him, yet not doing much other than reach the front door yourself, fingers frozen yet mildly trembling. 

“Wait!” You finally whisper-shout, “Don’t open it!” 

Seokmin pauses to give you a look, “Why? He’s seen you look worse, it’s fine”

The door wrenches open before you can protest any further, a cartoonish moment of the hunched figure of you, hands out in a nearly there grip. You’ve failed, and the chorus of ‘hey’’s reach your ears in almost a mocking manner. There’s a conscious effort on your end to not look up too high, keeping to chest eye level for your own sanity. What you find once your vision clears from the white blur, is that there’s not one, but two people at the door. 

Mingyu’s brought a girl. 

Standing behind the door meant there was no immediate attention on you, which should have been a perfectly good opportunity for you to book it to your room, but you don’t. You stand there instead, staring at the back of their heads like a child in wonder.

Once you are noticed by your brother, he winces at your appearance, a silent apology, like he didn’t know about this new guest either. Or he was apologising for what he was about to do next, you wouldn’t know, because you wouldn’t be hearing him out when you throttle him later. 

“This is my sister” 

All three sets of eyes are on you now, a moment of silence as they take in your appearance. The grandma nightgown, in all its blue and collared glory, does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence in front of the very pretty lady, whose hair cascades down her back, whose skin stands as clear as a summer sky. 

“Hi!” She breaks the awkward silence first, “I’m Jia, it’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about the both of you.”

What?

“Mingyu has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, I’m not surprised.” Seokmin tries to joke as he motions for the couch in the centre of the room. You catch him kicking a stray sock out of the way as he urges them to sit. 

With the way your brother is acting, you don’t doubt this is his first time meeting this girl. Mingyu is yet to clarify why he would bring a friend to the house unannounced, but something tells you you already know. You remain on the sidelines, inching away to the hallway slowly, trying your hardest to not bring attention to yourself.

“I haven’t seen you around campus ever, are you new?” Seokmin prods, his voice slightly on edge. 

“Oh, um-” Jia begins but is cut off by Mingyu as he speaks for her. 

“Jia doesn’t go to our uni, we met at Seungcheol’s, we’ve been dating for a couple months.” 

There it is. 

“Oh! Couple months? How come I didn’t know?” You don’t miss the hurt laced in your brother's words, your fists clenching slightly at the oncoming silence. 

“That’s on me, sorry. It’s just…I didn’t want anyone to know ‘cause I thought he was playing around when he said he liked me, I wanted to see if he was being real or not.” She laughs nervously, and you see the back of her head move as she talked. You can’t help but note the arm that’s swung across the back of the couch where she sat. “Please don’t be mad at him! I promise it was me that stopped him.”

You don’t hear too much of what happens afterwards as you slip away into the crevice of your bedroom, standing in the entryway in absolute silence, attempting to absorb what you had just witnessed outside. Approaching the full length mirror on the other end, it takes a lot out of your to bring yourself to look straight into it, regretting it immediately as you acknowledge your appearance. 

Of course, the woman who actually succeeded in winning over the man that rejected you had to witness you in the unappealing yellow paste that your brother graciously dotted all over your face, not leaving the giant rollers in your hair to cut you any slack either. You could cry about it, but you don’t. Instead you lay back in your bed, sniffling in the dark, just as you had the last time Mingyu was over. 

It’s significantly easier to drown out the voices this time round, especially when your mind is preoccupied with a couple months. Your birthday was a couple months ago, does that mean they started dating right after that conversation? Or were they already offical and you had waltzed in with your princess dreams about your brother’s best friend being in love with you. 

It made perfect sense at the time, and no sense at all anymore as you wonder why on Earth he was being so forwardly flirty with you if there was another girl all along. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall how he had quit perceiving you altogether after that night, and you can’t help but mentally commend Jia for testing him by keeping it quiet. Especially when he was going around flirting with his best friend’s sister. 

It didn’t take long for you to guage Mingyu’s reputation when you first dropped into university, the senior having made himself a reputation none less similar than he had in high school. He was popular, but with his outgoing personality and a face like that it was hard not to be liked. Your brother was right there beside him, living it up as carefree college kids, suddenly remembering he now had a little sister to tend to. You were grateful for the both of them for being there to help you take your first baby steps, all the rites of passage and which professors sucked the least, not leaving the leaky water fountain to never drink from. 

That was when Mingyu’s (supposed) advances had begun. 

You’re projected back to first semester, when both of them had dragged you to the same couch outside, talking about an “important thing you should know”. 

“You walk into class one day, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. Your professor drones on as usual, your classmates look bored as usual, you’re tired as usual. But then!” Seokmin breathes in sharply, and you hear Mingyu bound to the other side of your vision, emerging on the opposite end of the room with a backpack swung over his shoulder. 

“The man of your dreams walks by…” Seokmin continues and you snap your head towards him in a panic, suddenly afraid he had found you out. He’s busy though, making ethereal hands in Mingyu’s general direction, while the latter walks in comedic slow motion like he’s in a K-drama b-roll, complete with passes over his hair and a nonchalant yet controlled expression. 

“What is this about?” It comes out snappier than you had intended, but you’ve had one scare already. 

“Just!” your brothers hands turn from graceful to clenched, like it was you he was trying to squish you for interrupting him, “Listen, alright?” 

“The man of your dreams walks by,” he goes back to his narrator voice, “and you wonder where he’s been all your life. You start talking, you’re enamoured. You start thinking about introducing him to your parents, what your wedding’s gonna look like, what your kids are gonna look like!” 

Your face is becoming increasingly warped the more you listen to him speak, not being able to fathom where this was going. 

“But no!” It’s Mingyu that speaks this time, pushing a jolt out of you as he slams the backpack on the floor, pointing directly at you for added effect,  “You’re better than that!”

“What the fuck-” you start, but are shushed by a physical finger on your lips as Mingyu shushes you. Seokmin slaps his hand away. 

“Our point is, that you’re probably gonna come across someone who you think is your next boyfriend.” Your brother continues, “But lucky for you, you have two seasoned professionals here to tell you that it’s nothing but fresher’s fever.” 

“It’s a new place, new people, loads of new experiences; you’re bound to latch on one of the first couple pieces of meat. Our advice is don’t, because it will happen to you. But you also now know that your just in a deluded stage right now. Give it a semester before you start dating people, trust.” Mingyu finishes for Seokmin as he thumps down on the couch next to you. 

“So all of this was just another stay away from boys lecture?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Yes and no. You can date whoever you want,” Seokmin answers coolly before quickly adding, “but not right now.”

It was laughable, the thought of latching onto another person when you’d been trying exactly that for years. To have anyone catch your eye, to have anyone sweep you away from this madness that came in the form of Kim Mingyu. Neither of these seasoned professionals had a thing to worry about though, because you weren’t latching on anything that came out of this institute. You had already done so, in a stage more impressionable than this, years and years before any of them knew of the dangers of young girls and new boys in their vicinity. 

“Okay, I know you’re like on a self inflicted party ban and all that…” Joshua starts the second he places himself at your table, still haggard looking from jogging across campus.

“Don’t even try.” You warn with filled cheeks.

“Girl, let him finish.” Nayeon chides next to you. 

You exhale through your nose heavily, going back to pick at your tray as Joshua continues.

“Cheol’s throwing a little party tonight to celebrate the end of midterms.” He starts, “You should come, it's only gonna be a handful of people.” 

“A handful?” You repeat, unable to bite back the amusement in your voice. 

“Come on, your brother’s going as well! You’ll be fine, I promise we’ll keep you in check.” 

“I don’t need to be kept in check, I’m fine.” You grumble.

“Perfect! Nothing stopping you then, I’ll pick you both up at 8.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s back to sprinting out the vicinity, garnering looks from oncoming traffic, off to his next pestering destination 

“I don’t think I’d explicitly agreed.” You voice. 

“He got what he wanted.” Nayeon snorts, “Whatever, we’ll get ready at my place after this.”

“Weren’t you guys worried about me? Now you’re actively dragging me to parties.” You drop your utensils onto the tray.

“Too much of either isn’t a good thing, you went from forgetting what home looks like to exclusively holing yourself up in there.” She stabs a piece of potato with a chopstick and tries to pry it in your mouth. “Besides, Cheol’s parties are always super intimate, they’re all gonna be people you know, don’t worry.”

‘Super intimate’, as Nayeon had put it, had amounted to at least fifty people as you take in the crowd at the floor of the house. Despite not being packed to the brim, it was still coming out to look like a full house, random items already scattered across the floors in true frat party fashion. 

“Do you want a beer?” Nayeon asks, dragging you to the kitchens by the hand as you crane your neck to spot people.

“Uh, no. Is there juice?” 

“Um, there’s a questionable looking fruit punch.” she wrinkles her nose at the blaring red bowl on the counter. 

You sigh, grabbing a cup, “I’ll risk it.”

Joshua was air the second he had walked in with you, whisked away to socialize with his own hoard of acquaintances, leaving both you and Nayeon to fend for yourselves. You’re yet to spot your brother, granted you’d only been here a mere five minutes, his rowdy demeanor making him quite easy to spot in usual circumstances. 

Taking a casual sip of the electric red liquid you’re forced to make a face as you register the flavour, alerting Nayeon, who was too busy fiddling through multiple crystal bottles. 

“What? Is it bad?” 

“What the fuck is that?” You sputter in astonishment, wondering how the bowl was already half empty. “Who’s drinking this stuff?” 

She grabs the cup from you before taking a gulp herself, emerging the same gagging mess you were, eyes watering at the taste. It seemed almost comical when Seokmin shows up behind her, waiting to greet only to find both of you doubled over. His eyes move over to the potion in Nayeon’s hand and passes a knowing look.

“He’s brought The Whole Shabang out of retirement.” He states like it was the obvious answer.

Nayeon spits first, “Are we supposed to know what that means?” 

“Cheol got drunk one time in freshman year and mixed every ounce of alcohol he owned into one big bowl of despair. We retired it last year when the bowl broke and stained his counters. But anyway, beginners are supposed to dilute it before downing it.”

“That’s great and everything but why is it so red?” You ask.

Another voice speaks from behind you, turning around to find Seungcheol himself. “There’s an entire thing of food colouring in there, gives it an edge don’t you think?”

“I’m scared of you.” You deadpan, a sour expression remaining on your face. 

Seunghceol is quick to suggest the backyard for some fresh air to distract from the flavour it’s left in your mouths, commenting on the nice weather. Neither him nor your brother stick around for too long though, dipping at the holler of their names somewhere inside. You’re comfortable though, despite being blocked off by a concrete railing, the stairs make a nice haven for the both of you to lie down and stare into the clearer than usual sky. Cheol was right, it was nice outside. 

“I can’t lay down like this, I need to get a drink.” Nayeon announces not even five minutes later. 

“Why didn’t you get one when we were there?” You groan, but she doesn’t respond as she hops back inside, throwing a promise to be quick in the air behind her. 

The wall supports you as you deflate into it, legs sprawled across the steps in disarray. Nobody could see you anyway, taking full advantage as you practically manspread. The side of the pool that’s in your vision is empty by grace; calm save for the giant flamingo floaty that bobs itself into view from the edge of the wall you lean against. A breathy laugh leaves you at the sight. 

The railing on your other side is mostly concealed, you can still make out the wicker sofa set, complete with an unlit fireplace. It’s unoccupied, for the time being, as you register a conversation floating closer and closer to your ears. Wondering if Nayeon had brought friends, you stand up quickly to look over the railing to check for her face over the sliding door that leads inside. 

There’s no Nayeon in sight. 

But there is Mingyu. 

His mere presence knocks your butt back onto the concrete the second you see him stumbling over the threshold with a hoard of his friends, nothing short of his picturesque party strut. There was little reason for you to hide from him at all, considering the very possible notion that he would look right past you if you happened across his line of sight. Space floating in, he’d ignore you for your sake or his own, perhaps even both. 

For now, he’s seated himself with a few other people on the wicker sofas, leaving you hugging your knees to your chest, head on the concrete wall with the lingering feeling akin to that of a trapped mouse. Closing your eyes, you blow out air in an attempt to relax yourself, take light of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You could get up and leave in this very moment, possibly go unnoticed if you stalked back inside before they began their rattle not meant for your ears. 

And yet, you find yourself unable to move, not even when you hear their topic shift to Mingyu’s new beau. Suddenly you wish you’d moved inside the moment you saw him. 

“Was it you that stopped Jia from coming to parties?” You hear somebody ask.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Mingyu grumbles, he pauses and you assume he’s taking a swing of his drink. “We started going out and suddenly she didn’t wanna come, that’s fine though, it isn’t her vibe anyway.”

There’s a snigger that moves across everybody seated, you hear loud thwack before Mingyu speaks again, “What’s so fucking funny?” 

“This girl’s made you work for it, huh?” 

“Isn’t that like, his brand? Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one yapping about liking a challenge all the time.”

“Yeah, remember Minji?” 

“I still think she was only pretending to not like you, her clique was always smacking at her to straighten up when you’d come over like we couldn’t see everything.” You could almost hear the eye rolling.

“Change the subject, will you?” Mingyu proposes, sounding exhausted at the prodding already.

“I apologise for the ex talk and nothing else.” 

There’s a pause for another choke of laughter across the group, and you wonder what it was that they found so funny. 

“I don’t know if I should say this…” Somebody begins, but is cut off by Mingyu.

“Then don’t say it.” He snaps, but you don’t miss his own jest. 

“I honestly thought you were gonna date Seok’s sister at some point. I mean, common consensus is that bagging your best friend’s sister is… what you’d call a challenge.”

What the fuck. 

You feel your eyes drifting closed at the turn this conversation has taken, wishing to simply fall asleep at what it’s come to. Somebody speaks up. 

“Nah, that’s like, the grand slam prize, that one comes after he’s done hanging with the side quests.” 

The situation is making itself out to be something out of a fever dream. 

Mingyu tsks, and you note a jostle happening through the gaps of the railing. “I’m leaving.” 

You find yourself hugging yourself tighter, eyes shut like he wouldn’t be able to see if you couldn’t see him. Not that it was possible unless he peered directly through the railing in his peripheral. 

“OKAY! Okay! We’re kidding.” There’s a pause. “Okay, but really…”

Another pause, this time longer. You hate how you can picture the ghost of an exasperated smile on Mingyu’s face, a bite of his lip perhaps, dejected at the shoulder with his longing, distant look. You hate how your mind fills the gaps of him the railing won’t allow you to see. 

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

There’s a chorus of hisses and oh’s, a few bounts of laughter in their disbelief. You can feel your stomach twist, heat pooling your figure. 

It would’ve been better if his words had hit you like a gong, maybe the aftermath wouldn’t have felt as horrid. But the connotations crept up on you like a million spiders making their trek up to your brain, waiting to stick their crawlers in the bits that would allow those words to hold meaning for you. You can feel the electric red of Seungcheol’s god awful concoction begin to rise up in your throat like bile; burning, imprinting. 

Mingyu had said what he had said. And everything was in it’s place, in finality. 

Despite the nearly four year age gap, you and Seokmin had co-existed without the semblance of an older-younger duo. It was mostly owed to Seokmin's shy nature, and his difficulty making solid friends. That, however, didn’t last long as your brother progressed through middle school. 

You had met Mingyu for the first time when Seokmin brought his first ever friend from school home for dinner. 

Despite being barely nine years old and half spoon fed by your mother at the same table, the prospect of Seokmin’s new friend was equal to you having a new friend – which caused enough excitement as you brought your favourite cartoon books into your brother’s room to show this new person after dinner. 

As the following year progressed, you saw less and less of your brother, and more and more of newer faces of ‘friends’ that you weren’t allowed to play with. It was distressing enough to be told by your mother that something of your brother’s was not yours, but even more so when you were kicked out of the room by Seokmin himself for the very first time.

It wasn’t as trauamtising as it felt in the moment, because you grew to find your own group of friends, doing the same as you’d kick your brother out for being annoying – except unlike you, he was doing it on purpose. 

Mingyu was a recurring face, one that was nicer to you on the days your brother was meaner, more forgiving on the days your relatively new middle school was relentless. He fit himself in your life easier than you had realised, more comfortable than you soon found you were comfortable with.

“Did you take my guitar picks?” Your brother bursts into your room just as your about to fall into your after school nap, grip loosening on the book in hand. 

Jolting awake at the sound of loud voice, you don’t respond as you attempt to orient yourself. 

“Well? Did you?” He demands again.

“What? No, I don’t know where your stupid guitar pick is.” You grumble. “Get out.”

“It’s not in my room that has to mean you took it, where is it?” 

Mingyu emerges from behind him, hand on his arm as he tries to pull his iron grip off of your doorway. “It’s probably just in your bag, you haven’t even looked!” 

Kicking the covers off, you sit up in a disarray, progressively annoyed at your brother for ruining your perfect descent into dreamland. 

“I don’t have shit, you just suck at keeping tabs on your stuff!” You grit. 

There’s a stagnant pause as he stares at you from the doorway. You can sense it coming. And it does. 

“MOM! SHE JUST SWORE!” He yells into the hallway, bounding to where your mother was, leaving an unsure Mingyu in your doorway.

Surprisingly, you were just glad he was gone, wanting to melt back into the covers. You make eye contact with Mingyu. “I really don’t have it.” 

“It’s probably in there somewhere, he’s just not looking.” He mumbles, standing a little awkward. “Um, go back to whatever it was, I’ll close your door.”

He does so, allowing you to finally slump back into your pillows to go back to your nap.

You find out quickly that you couldn't sleep after that.

The controller is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to hold. It doesn’t help that you’re brother is chewing on his four additional pieces of gum behind you on the couch, making obnoxious comments about your gaming form. 

You’re also sitting a foot away from Kim Mingyu on the floor, with whom you’re forced to battle out on Mario Kart. 

“Why’re you clicking the buttons so hard, chill out.” You heat Seokmin say, continued by his wet chomping right by your ear. 

“How hard is it to chew with your mouth closed?” Mingyu grits.

“What? Like this?” Seokmin leans over to Mingyu, chewing even louder, mouth wrenched open and closed right into his ear. Mingyu makes a sound before falling to his side, covering his ears at the ghastly sound, pushing him back with his free hand to shut him up.

You barely crack a smile at the unfolding, watching them continue to wrestle half on the floor. It’s noisy when you set your controller down, chest heavy, unfolding your legs to walk into the hallway to your room. Unnoticed. 

You only reemerge to feed yourself, inspecting the fridge for possible leftovers. Settling on an apple, you’re closing the fridge when you see Mingyu walk in, seemingly taken aback to see you there. You freeze with your mouth still attached to the apple to take a bite. 

“Oh! Where’d you go when we were playing? Didn't notice you gone till I got him to spit that wad of gum out his mouth.”

“Uh, just tired. Took a nap.” 

He hums in response and you're just about to leave when he starts talking again. 

“Hey, did you move the popcorn somewhere else? Could’ve sworn it was in here last week,” he mumbles as he rummages through a cabinet. 

“Oh. Um. It’s in the pantry.” You move before you can think, grabbing the box and slamming it on the counter, pausing briefly before reaching for the popcorn bowl and setting it on the counter next to it. “Here.”

You don’t wait for a reply before grabbing your apple and moving out the kitchen, only to bump into your brother at the door. 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Napping,” you say, moving around him to go your own way but are stopped yet again as he calls for you. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie! You can lie on the couch.” 

Turning around, you catch sight of your brother still in the doorway, and more intriguing, Mingyu also expecting an answer from inside the kitchen behind him. You gulp as you attempt to remain casual.

“Nah, I’m good. You guys have fun.” 

You’re nearly at your door when you hear your brother speak. “She didn’t even ask what we were watching.”

Nayeon catches up with you before you notice, pulling your headphones away from your ears to announce her presence, not slowing down as you walked to campus. 

“Are you still upset about that Mingyu thing?” She asks when noting your silent demeanor. “We talked about this, come on.”

“Yeah and we concluded that it’s not an easy thing for me to just get over.” You huffed.

“You know what he’s like…” 

“Which is why I should’ve seen this all coming.” You turn around the corner with her.

“That’s not what I meant either.”

“I don’t know what came over me that day. I was doing so well for so long and I had to go ruin it because I’m – I deluded myself into thinking I had a chance.” You’re breathing heavily when you find a table in the air conditioned common room, yanking your bag off and slumping into the sofa. “None of this would’ve happened if I just shut the fuck up.” 

“What wouldn’t have happened?” Seungcheol plops down next to Nayeon, butting into the conversation. 

“Aren’t you intrigued.” Nayeon muses. 

“Especially when it’s none of my business.” 

“Charming.” 

“Anywho,” he sighs, throwing himself back against the couch. “I’ve been tasked with rounding people up for an assignment.”

“Are you gonna experiment on us?” you ask, referring to his chemistry major. 

“Nah, this is for an elective. Faculty needs volunteers for a photography class.” 

“So they need models?” You ask.

“I mean, anyone who signs up is automatically a model, so yeah they need models.” 

“Are we getting paid?” 

“You get to say you modeled for me.” 

“How convincing.” Nayeon deadpans. 

You’re stifling a snicker as you see Joshua walking up to where you were sat, planting himself next to you. 

“What’re we talking about?” He asks, pulling his laptop out almost immediately.

“Nothing, just how Seungcheol needs a reality check,” you sigh. 

He barely acknowledges the comment, going straight to business typing away. “Hey, you're staying for the summer right?” 

“Ew,” Seungcheol voices. 

“I am,” You confirm. 

“For what?” He sputters. 

“Is this you offering to pay for a round trip?” 

He silences quickly after that, giving room for Joshua to ask his next question. 

“Are your parents coming for your brother’s grad?” 

“Mhm, only for the night, though.”

“Oh, did you hear back from the bookstore too?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna apply right before break, I’m swamped right now.” 

“Let me know when you do, the restaurant might need another hire, you could work there if you want.” 

You make a face. “Appreciate the sentiment but I don’t think I’m in the right state of mind to be working in customer service.” 

Joshua’s hands freeze over his keyboard as he breathes out a delayed laugh. Nayeon mimics him.

“Right state of mind?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Wait, what were you talking about before I sat down again-” 

He’s cut off by a voice bellowing your name from across the common room. All four of you perk up at the sound, locking in on Mika aggressively pointing her wrist at you from yards away. You sit up with a jerk, checking the time. You were nearly thirty minutes late for your lecture.

“Josh, move.” You basically climb over him to get out of your seat, waving a hasty goodbye as you sprint to an exasperated Mika. 

“I’ve been waiting outside the hall for ages, you said we’d go in together!” she chides as you both speedwalk. 

“Sorry, I lost track of time…” You huff out a breath. “I just started talking about…whatever.” 

“Why’d you have that face on in there?” she asks.

“Huh? Oh, I was-”

“Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.” She picks up the pace and reaches the door before you do, rendering it impossible for you to speak to her after that. 

You’ve forgotten about it by the time you come home to an empty house, both Mika and Nayeon in your arms. It doesn’t take long for them to make themselves comfortable on the couch, looking at you expectantly like children waiting to be fed. You do that, courtesy of the half eaten pizza that sits on the coffee table. 

“I think you need to get drunk,” Nayeon voices from her end of the couch. 

Mika is immediate with her response, “Don’t encourage her.” 

“Hey!” You pout, “I haven’t gotten drunk in a while.”

“Keep it that way,” she shudders, “don’t need another Mingyu fiasco.” 

Your chewing slows at the sound of his name, a strange feeling settling in your stomach at the thought of him. Setting down your half eaten slice, you brush off your fingers. 

“I mean…” Nayeon starts after a long pause. 

“We don’t. Need another Mingyu fiasco, I mean.” You cut in. 

“If only he’d learn to shut up.” Nayeon grumbles, a sour expression on her face. 

Mika’s been shifting looks between the both of you, seemingly confused. “Am I missing something?”  

Despite not having the intention, you find yourself telling her what you heard while enclosed in the staircase. You attempt to keep it concise, for the sake of your own sanity, but Nayeon’s grumbling is only pushing you deeper into a rant. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t let a couple frustrated tears make their way down your face. 

Mika’s response as brisk as your explanation was passionate, brushing over the topic quickly before you got too heated. You appreciated it. 

“Have you considered signing up for the photography thing?” Mika asks.

“You know, I was thinking about that too.” Nayeon pulls a finger up in signed patience to wait till she finished the remaining pizza in her mouth. “You should do it. It’ll put your mind off…him. You’ll be busier too.”

“I have a million things to do, I’m busy enough.” You retort. 

“You’re busy studying at home. Where he could drop in at any point of day.” She points. 

Your open your mouth to rebut again, only to close it as you fail to find a reason to deny her point. “Okay, still!” 

“Just – think about it, okay. It’ll put more on your plate but maybe it’ll help.”

That was the last of your Mingyu talk, not that you could carry on when your brother comes slumping into the house after his class, stealing a slice of pizza as he makes his way to his room. He’s slumped at the shoulders, and you egg him to take a nap before he collapsed on the living room floor. 

Both Nayeon and Mika are quick to leave after that, leaving you with leftover pizza and your thoughts.

You sprawl your things out on the coffee table, taking advantage of the silent house to get some work done. Nayeon was right, as you think of the prospect of Mingyu entering at any given moment to bother your brother as a constant threat. 

It’s not until your prepping dinner with Seokmin that the project is brought up again.

“There’s leftover Chow Mein Mingyu made yesterday, shove that in too.” He yawns as he pushes the box over. 

You can only stare at the box in mild agitation, contemplating if you should simply chuck it into the garbage chute. Unfortunately, by experience, you knew Mingyu made really good Chow Mein, so you begrudgingly slide the opened box into the microwave to heat up, deciding you’d push Seok to eat it before you have a chance to take a bite. 

It’s silent while you eat, Seokmin still in a daze from his earlier nap, shoving spoonfuls of noodles in between bites of pizza. It’s not until your halfway through eating before he jolts up slightly like he’d just remembered something.

“Did you hear about that volunteering thing from the photography department? They want models for some project.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You pause, thinking back to what Nayeon had proposed. “Are you gonna sign up?” 

“No, but you should.”

“I don’t know, I still have a lot of prep for finals.”

“You get extra credit if it helps,” he notes. 

That was news to you. There’s a frown on your face as you deny, “No, you don’t.” 

“They’re doing it ‘cause they weren’t getting the response they wanted. I found out just now too, they’re gonna put it up on the bulletin tomorrow. Might wanna decide before then.” 

There were no questions asked after the realization, blue light of the laptop casting your face aglow in the darkened room as you hit the big blue Confirm button on the website. Skimming through the subsequent email, you find you won’t be needed till next week, the date and time making it’s way to your calendar. 

Now, if you had known what the next week truly held for you, there was no doubt you’d be sending in a cancellation email at first chance. 

But you didn’t know. So you simply went to bed, falling asleep to the vague idea of searching for modeling tips on youtube during the coming weekend, entertaining the mild possibility that this might be the thing that puts you at peace at last. 

The photography classes are held in regular lecture rooms, as you find out as you file into the sparingly filled hall at the date your calendar has graciously alerted you for. There was an image of a larger, more spacious area for a discipline pertaining to the arts, yet to be fair, the idea of having to create this form of art within a four walled containment did seem a little counter productive. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself seated in a spare chair, waiting for the clock to hit nine on a Saturday morning for the shuffling professor at the front of the room to begin. Your eyes make passovers across the gradually filling room, searching for a semblance of Seuncheol’s bright blond hair to wave him over. There’s no sign of him five minutes before the minute hit twelve, and you’re thinking about slipping to the restroom before it can to kill the remaining time. 

There’s another person filing into the room as you rise from your chair, and you pause in attempt to recognize Cheol in the grey zip up.

Except you don’t find Seungcheol, not at all. 

Mingyu is walking into the classroom, gaze sweeping across the hall as he seats himself in the front bottom row, head thrown back as he sifts through his perfect hair with his fingers. 

You aren't sure why your brows furrowed like they did, or why you planted your butt back onto the chair with the force that you did; especially when all you wanted to do was book it out of the room in full velocity. 

He was taking this class. Of course you knew that, especially when it was all he would yap about at any point he graced your presence. 

You can feel your purpose in the room fade to nothing as you register him as a unit. You want to blame someone, but you know it’s all you fault. You knew he’d be here; if your mind had only thought fit to remind you at any point in the past week. 

In regular Mingyu fashion, if he’d seen you, he does nothing to show it as you find him unraveling a loose thread off of his jacket. You keep your eyes on him, remaining mortified at your blatant disregard to the information that Mingyu was also in this class. Come to think of it, it was probably Mingyu who told Seokmin about the added credit in the first place. You want to kick yourself for not questioning your brother’s apparent magical source of information. 

There’s nothing that can be done as you feel Seungcheol finally slip into the seat next to you just as the professor in the front of the room begins to speak. You’re not in the right headspace to make conversation, so you're grateful for the small acknowledgment as the professor begins to drone. 

“Each student has been given a theme to work with, they’re all different and given to the people whom I saw fit for the job. You’ll be receiving your packets with your theme today, so remember to pick them up from the front desk before you leave,” she begins. 

“As for your models,” she switches to the next slide over to reveal a spreadsheet full of names. “Their names will be right next to yours, the photography students.” 

The entire room lurches forward as a unit, eyes squinted and whispers exchanged as they search for their partners in the sea of names. Seungcheol is zooming in on the picture he took with his phone, eyes zooming over to find his name. 

“Hey, I found yours!” he announces, moving the phone over to you. 

He’s zoomed into your full name on the screen, and your moving the picture aside to see the name across from it. Except, you find you wish you hadn’t. 

—Kim, Mingyu. 

If you needed more confirmation that the universe was simply against you, you’d gotten the message as you prayed the letters would morph into something else before your very eyes. 

You seem to have been staring at the name for too long, because Seungcheol snatches his phone back from your grip to see for himself after you refused to answer his questions of what the name next to yours was. 

“Oh, it’s Mingyu! That’s easy, you're basically related.”

You wanted to slap him. 

Before you can stop him, he’s yelling the boy’s name across the room amidst the growing chatter, the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. “Mingyu! I found your model, she’s right here! 

You wanted to squeeze Seungcheol’s neck till his head popped off. 

Mingyu turns around at the call, registering his friend’s words despite the growing noise. He registers you and you watch as he turns his head back at the projection, like he was confirming it was true. 

Of course he’s as petrified as you are, if not more. But the embarrassment of his apparent disbelief made its hot way into your stomach and chest nonetheless, your breakfast threatening to make its way back up. 

By the time the professor’s done with her bit and the room has begun to file out, you’ve found yourself standing outside the lecture hall in uncomfortable movement, shifting your weight between both feet and fiddling with the straps of your bag. Every passing face sends a jolt though your stomach as you calculate how jarring it would be if you left right this second without seeing him. 

You're counting his steps inside your head, how he’d shuffle for his name on the packet he’s meant to receive, counting in any conversation he’d start with a friend or with the professor. A thought occurs to you, and you wonder if he was searching for you inside. You’re weighing between walking inside and leaving altogether when he makes the decision for you, walking out of the room, booklet in hand. 

There goes the toast blaring its way back up your esophagus. 

“Hey,” he says unceremoniously. 

You respond with an unreasonably meek “Hi.” 

“Seok didn’t tell me you signed up for this.” He points casually. 

Well, Seok doesn’t need to tell you everything. 

“Oh, I told him while he was like half asleep, pretty sure he thought he dreamt it.”

Mingyu snorts a little at that, a slight smile appearing on his face as he pictures a sleepy Seokmin. 

“I can imagine,” he says, before he’s brought back to the matter at hand by you. 

You clear your throat before you begin to talk, expression remaining neutral. “Do we need to get started right away?” 

“Oh.” He seems a little taken aback at your forwardness. Like he didn’t know why you didn’t want to make small talk with him. “Uh, I don’t even know what theme I have yet. I’ll read over the packet and plan a couple things out before you have to come in.”

“That’s great.” You hold on the straps of your tote. “Text me when you need me.”

With that, you had spun on your heel and stalked away, not leaving room for him to retort with anything at all. You don’t look back. 

Nayeon can do nothing but gape as she watches you hold back frustrated tears, picking apart the grass under you as you curse the heavens for your horrible fate. She’s absorbing the situation as you wallow, finding the words to say.

“Fuck, this is my fault,” she breathes out.

“No!” You gasp out, furiously wiping away the irritating tears. “It’s not. I just forgot, it’s my own fault. You were right for trying to get me to do it, it just…”

“You can’t ask to change partners?” she asks.

“I can’t!” You wail, “I’m supposed to not care, how is this me not caring?” 

It was ridiculous. Truly. You were sobbing like a child over this, screaming about wanting to not care. But you did care. Too much. Nayeon can do little but hold you as you sniffle into her lap, feeling sick to your stomach at your own childish behaviour. 

“Why am I crying about this, this is stupid.”

“You’re stressed, hon, that’s it. You’ve got a lot going on and this just multiplied it.” She’s running a soothing hand over your back. “Just let it out, you need it.”

You emerge from your hunched position to sit up straight, sniffling a little less as you calm down. “Should I withdraw from the project?” 

“I mean, if you really want to,” she says softly. 

“But?” You sense her apprehension.

“But, maybe you should give it a go.” 

You can only blink at her with wet lashes.

“Think of it this way. You need to… build resistance, keep yourself around him regardless. There’s bound to come a point where you start to feel…nothing.” 

“Are you trying to work exposure therapy on me?” 

“Maybe? If that’s what it means. If you take yourself out of the project, it shows that you care. You need to pretend to not care before you can stop feeling the real thing.” 

There’s a pause as you attempt to find reason in her words.

“Listen, I may be talking out of my ass, and if you do end up doing it, it’s gonna be hard – like a lot, but–”

“No. You’re making sense.” 

“I am?” She blinks, taken aback at the realisation that you may be listening to her. You nod quietly, “You’re right, I can’t keep running away.” 

“So, you’re gonna do it?” She confirms with wide eyes.

Once again, you find it within yourself to nod. 

Yeah. You were gonna do it.

Being in Mingyu’s presence and feeling nothing may be the goal, but you realise quickly it’s going to take you a while to restrain the trailing eyes that follow him wherever he goes. Nayeon had warned you, but you realise you may be slightly ill-prepared. 

The theme is light. Vague to you but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He isn’t looking at you as he talks, eyes darting between the laptop screen and the plethora of papers he’s scattered on the coffee table. “I don’t really have a colour preference for this one but a a deeper blue or a purple would fit pretty well with the sunlight on here.”

You can only nod along in mild understanding, most of your effort exerted on trying to keep your eyes on the screen where he’s pulling up a color wheel. “I probably have something.” 

“Do you still have that button up Seok bought you? The one with the stripes?”

You recall the deep blue shirt your brother had gotten you for your first in class presentation, picturing it hung still in your closet. “Uh, yeah I do. I’ll wear it.”

“Bring options, whatever fits the colours. No turtlenecks or crewnecks though…” Mingyu continues to talk, taking notes for you in the process. Your mind, however, is somewhere else.

You hate how your mind takes you to a murkier place, one where the thought of him retaining memory of your closet pieces unprovoked has your neck tingling and your cheeks lifting. Trying to snap out of it before he notices your dazed expression, you pretend to flip through the couple papers in front of you, noting nothing. 

“Other than that–” he’s cut off by his phone ringing on the table. Both your gazes dart to the caller ID, and you immediately wish you hadn’t as you register the pink heart on the end. Jia was calling. 

He barely spares you a glance as he excuses himself in a mumble, something about being back in a second. You watch him leave through the cafe altogether, emerging on the other end of the glass walls in your direct vision. For the nth time that day, you find it impossible to tear your eyes away from his positively elated face, teeth out on display as talks to his girlfriend. You wonder what they’re talking about, if her face is beaming like his own, wherever she is. 

You zone out as you wonder what it’d be like to be the receiving end of an expression like that. To have something within you to be worth his smile, his mumbled pardons and his uninterrupted space. There’s a part of you that wonders if its greed – you’ve gotten to see him nearly everyday for the past decade, perhaps you’ve run your tickets dry. 

You realise quickly that Mingyu is no longer in your line of sight as you feel a ruffle on the chair as he sits back on his seat. 

“I think we can wrap up here, let me take the first couple shots before I can see where to go with it afterwards.”

You sense his eager want to leave, and you cannot help but beat him to it for your own sake. 

“Alright. I’ll see you friday then.” SLiding out of your seat, you make a halfhearted attempt at shuffling his papers in a neater pile, throwing him a half smile before grabbing your bag.

He isn’t watching you leave, you know that. Yet you find yourself refusing to slow down or look back till you round the corner, letting your shoulders finally slump and your pace to come to a temporary halt. It takes you another beat before you begin walking again, breathing in slowly as you navigate your way through the moderately crowded sidewalk. Nearly ramming into a fire hydrant, you shake off the seize that remains in your body, picking up the pace hoping it’d promote less thoughts.

It works, as you unlock your front door, finally shaking off the autopilot. Shifting to the kitchen is easy, rummaging the cabinets for your hidden stash of moonpies with the intention to devour the family box whole. You’re contemplating texting Seokmin to bring you actual food as you make your way to your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to let your covers absorb all the feelings that make you human. 

You find it unfortunate as you catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror and the outfit you’d put together before you had left. Your mind goes back to pandemonium as you take in the details, wondering why on earth you’d put in so much effort for a conversation that lasted less than an hour. You tear your eyes away before you begin to truly hate yourself, ripping your jewelry off as you make a beeline to wash your face clean of the makeup you’d put on. 

It becomes increasingly difficult to look at yourself even in the bathroom mirror, moisturizer going on more aggressively than what’s good for you. You feel a sting in the back of your eyes and owe it to the face wash. 

It’s easier once you’re in bed, your laptop at the ready, and a text on its way as you bug your brother to bring you your favorite burger and milkshake combo. You put your immediate faith in your moonpies for now as you rip the first one open, letting the sweetness bring you a deluded happiness. 

“His name hurts.” Your voice comes out echoey, the sound reverberating in the cavern of your chest. The shot on the table is inviting, but you can’t help but feel nauseous at the thought of downing it. Your fizzled out sprite is being good to you, so you let it.

“Hearing you talk about him hurts,” Mika slurs, slumping down onto the beanbag she’s dragged onto the scene, joining you and Nayeon next to the couch. 

Letting out a loud sigh that you doubt she can hear over the bass booming across the house, you settle to rest your head back on the couch backrest, staring into the ceiling. “Imagine what it’s doing to me then.”

“I don’t need to.” You can hear the exasperation in her voice. 

“Oh, hey, Hao!” Nayeon drags next to you and you lift your head up to see Mika’s boyfriend join her on the already tiny beanbag. He huffs out a hey between a slight smile, slumping almost entirely on his girlfriend. She pats his hair in silent regard. 

“I read this research paper about how they can delete the memories out of your brain squiggles,” Nayeon pops in.

“Since when do you read academic material for interest?” Minghao mumbles, fingers busy playing with Mika’s hair.

The pair continue to bicker as your eyes trail across the moderately packed house, the party looking more lowbeat than any other Seungcheol extravaganzas. Not that you were complaining, but when you spot a certain someone, it’s hard not to. 

Mingyu files into the kitchen with your brother in tow, beaming face evident over the island as he pours himself what looks like orange juice. Your mood is instantly soured.

“What study was that again?” You poke at Nayeon, the image of the man you wished for gone burned into your forebrain. She glances over to the open kitchen and realises what you’re talking about, coming around with a face of her own.

“That one’s gonna be a hard one to scrub out. But it’s okay, even the toughest stains succumb to bleach that’s strong enough,” she sighs. You’re barely listening to her analogy, not when he’s standing right there rendering it impossible for you to look anywhere else. 

“You sound like a commercial.” You can almost hear the crinkle in Mika’s nose as she comments, and you can’t help but breathe out a laugh. 

The rest continue with their conversation as you remain quiet for most of the exchange, eyes filling your heart heavy with the way they remain glued to the figure far out into the kitchen. It was less about the fact that you just wanted to look at him and more of how it was forcing you to think about your predicament; something that was weighing you down yet something you couldn’t help. 

You can’t be entirely sure how long you managed to stare without getting caught, but when Mika calls your name out harsher than expected, you snap around to divert your attention. 

“Huh?”

“Sixth time’s the charm, huh? Get it together, he’s not gonna look at you,” she huffs as she slumps back onto the beanbag, alone this time as you note that Minghao is gone.

It takes you a moment to gather what she had said, mouth gaping open and close as you try to conspire a proper response. “I wasn’t trying–”

“No. Save it. It was my fault for thinking I could sit here without having to sit through more of your Mingyu bullshit.” She’s shuffling out of her bean bag with mediocre difficulty, exasperation on her face as she trudges away to sit with her boyfriend and his friends on the seats on the middle of the floor. 

The air seems to have knocked out of your chest as you find the capacity to process what just happened. Seemingly forgotten Nayeon was also here, you note the hand she places on your elbow as a sober attempt to get you to look at her. 

The rest of the night passes in a nauseous blur, none that you could really make sense of. You bid Nayeon goodbye as you assured her you’d go home with your brother, waving goodbye to blurred taxi lights as she leaves you alone in front of a dwindling house. 

The breath you let out is shaky as your feet remain planted on the concrete, the remnants of tonight passing over you as they came. Deciding you owed it to yourself, you let the tears well up in your eyes. As tired as you were of crying over what was essentially the same thing over and over again, you let yourself tire yourself out once more. 

The party was over, and you knew that because you were walking home alone, hoping Nayeon would forgive you for lying to her. But you couldn’t possibly explain the tear stains on your cheeks to your brother, not when he knew nothing. It was better that way; you refuse to be the person that potentially ruins a friendship that’s lasted longer than any other.  

You try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you trudge slowly in the dark, not bothering to wipe your tears. Your stomping grows louder the more you grow frustrated with your thoughts, and it proves not too well for you. There’s a pair of headlights throwing light onto the oncoming street, illuminating you in the process. You want to kick yourself as the realisation settles in, praying the car would simply pass you. Considering the late hour and the fact that you were alone is hitting you at the worst time, wondering if you could pretend to make a call as you walked. 

It’s a black sedan that rolls up next to you, slower than what’s considered a normal speed on an empty street. It honks and you nearly halt, owing to the shake that passes through your knees. It honks again, and you can’t help but look to the side to find a window rolled down. 

Mingyu sits on the driver’s seat, leaning over to the empty passenger side to grab your attention. 

“The Uber’s free! So is the driver,” he yells out the window. “Hop in.”

“I’m alright. I kinda wanna walk.” You shift your weight between your feet, the distance adding an awkward feel. 

“Wasn’t asking. It’s the middle of the night, I’m not letting you walk alone.” As he speaks, another car passes from behind him, slowing down. You note the look the other driver is giving you through the window, and it’s enough to convince you to step into Mingyu’s car. 

“I think we’re way past the point of formalities, don’t know why you hesitated.” He chuckles as he motions for you to click on your seatbelt. You fumble with it for a moment, his own fingers coming to the rescue to latch it on. You retract your fingers before they can brush with his own any further. 

Settling into your seat, you choose to look forward as he picks up speed. “Uhm, just wanted to walk, it was nice outside.”

“Take someone with you next time, it’s nearly midnight,” he warns. 

There’s a twinge of annoyance that emerges in the back of your mind for some reason, despite knowing full well that he was right. You just didn’t want to hear it from him.

It’s silent for a bit as the radio plays an uncharacteristically upbeat tune, prompting you to wonder if it was just you who felt the atmosphere pressing in on your chest.

“Did you not bring your car today?” he asks out of the blue, eyes remaining on the road as you glance up at him. One look at his side profile and you’re turning your gaze away.

“No, it’s at the workshop. I came with Nayeon.” 

“Why didn’t you leave with her?”

“I…” You pause. “I told her I was gonna go with Seok.”

“Hm. That didn’t happen.”

“It’s like I said,” you mumble.

He hums again in response, dropping the subject.

“Listen, are you…are you okay?” he starts again and it has you looking back up at him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You try to hide the bitterness in your tone but it proves difficult.

“I couldn’t help but overhear but I was sitting right there. Hao was talking to Mika about something she’d said to you, about…” He trails off. “I mean, you looked a little upset, I just wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You bit your tongue. Hard. 

He knew you were staring at him, he knew you weren’t over him. He knew you were still standing on the same square confinement from months ago. Never changed. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, snappier than you had intended. 

“Are you sure? I felt like I should’ve said something but Nayeon was right there so I thought…” He sounds unsure and when you see him look at you, with eyes filled with an emotion that makes you nearly gag, you almost lose it. You did not want him to pity you. Nor care for you; especially when it came from a place that nullifies your feelings. You didn’t want him to care for you for the sole reason that you were his best friend’s sister. 

“Mingyu, I think it’s best if you drop it.”

“Of course. But it might help if you wanna, you know, feel your feelings.” 

Fuck no, you weren’t crying in front of him. Not when you're sure he’s noticed the tear stains on your makeup.

“Mingyu, I said drop it. I don’t need your help, I don’t need to feel anything, I need you stop feeling like you’re obligated to care about me because you’re not.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them, irritation laced in every snap and dent.

He says your name in an attempt to smooth you over. It only lands him in more trouble.

“No, listen, I get it. You’re uncomfortable about everything but you feel like you need to check up on me at the same time, and I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to worry about that. What happened, happened, and it’s my job to pick up the pieces because it’s my fault. You don’t need to meddle.” You’re breathing hard as you finish, finally settling back in your seat. 

He’s already pulling up to your building, heat still penetrating the silence. You unbuckle your seatbelt, mumbling a thanks for the ride. 

“Seok’s staying at Cheol’s tonight,” he calls out as you shuffle out the door. “Remember to lock the door.” 

You stand sheepishly holding the open door as you nod quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the shoot.”

Middle school was harder than you thought. 

Not that you expected it to be easy, but you remained hopeful nonetheless. Fifth grade came plowing for you with an unexpected vigor, which you were feeling especially as you gripped your red marked paper with a vice grip. 

It was Mingyu who had found you on the kitchen island sniffling, waiting for your mother to come home and ask you for your dreaded test results. 

You drop your head in shame (even more so) when he asks you the inevitable question of “what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out as a mumble. “I failed my first test.” 

He blinks as he stops in front of the fridge, opening it to emerge with a carton of chocolate milk and two monsters. He slides the carton over to you as he takes a seat on the other chair. 

“Well, what did you get?” he asks as he pops his can open, ears studded black from the piercings he’d gotten done. 

You mumble out the number in incoherence that has him hunching down to hear you. 

“What?” 

“A fifteen!” you finally huff out in exasperation. 

“Hm. Better than me I think I got a two at some point. Don’t worry about it, it's not the end of the world.” He says. “D’you want me to turn that into a seventy five?” 

You look up confused. “How?”

“You’ll see. Get me your test. And a red marker.” 

On that day, Mingyu aided you in your first con, pulling lines to turn the one into a seven right before your eyes. 

“There. Now don’t let her look at it too hard or check your answers. And only give it to her if she asks for it.” 

He had left back to your brother’s room with the spare can of monster, leaving you to stash your test into your bag and move to seat yourself in a more natural position. You’d gotten away with it as your mother pats you on the back for your first attempt at a fifth grade paper, leaving you with a lesson to work harder, and a memory that stayed with you for years. 

The following day is met with a pit of guilt sitting in your stomach before you could even recall the events of last night. 

There’s little that you can do to prep as you’re supposed to change at the studio anyway, pushing the remnants of your makeup products into a pouch as a second thought. Your hair seemed fine, deciding you’d see to it if it needed changing when you got there. 

You push your departure as far as you could, finding more things to do and more chores to finish before you were due to leave. It takes you a final look at the time before you finally decide to trudge to the door with your things. You cross paths with Seokmin who’s only just coming home, looking worse for wear. He barely acknowledges you as he makes a beeline for his bedroom, disappearing. 

He’s probably fine. 

By the time you get to the studio Mingyu is already in the middle of setting up, immersed in the switches behind giant studio lights. It’s dark, save for the one studio light thats already on, casting a light on the white backdrop, a single stool sits at the front. Looking around, the place casts an eerie atmosphere, the unattended stations and dark back rooms casting a shiver down your spine despite the Afternoon light outside. Perhaps you were acclimated to the hustle and bustle in behind the scene videos of photoshoots, yet here it was just you and Mingyu. 

He doesn’t notice you come in right away, and you’re thankful for the opportunity to recast your words in your head, waiting to be uttered as soon as you say your hellos. 

“Oh, hey,” he says normally. 

“Hope I’m not too late.”

“No, you’re fine, I’m nearly done setting up,” he says, as he switches the second studio light on, doubling the glow in the room. 

“Oh, okay.” Your voice comes out as an uncharacteristic whisper. “Uh, listen, Mingyu, I just wanted to apologize about last night. You were only asking and I was being too harsh.”

He picks up his back from his bent position to look at you, hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “Oh, no, don’t say that, It’s me who should be apologising. I shouldn’t have pried when you said you didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, really.” 

You're opening your mouth to rebut, nails clashing onto each other as your fidgeting gets worse, but you decide to end it. “We’re both sorry, let’s just end this here.” 

Both of you have slightly uncomfortable smiles on your faces as Mingyu continues to fidget with his cables and equipment. It went smoother than you’d thought, silently thanking him for keeping it from getting awkward – more awkward than necessary anyway. 

“These ones are gonna be basic studies, establishing the usual studio lights in the beginning before we move to the more experimental shots.” He drags his own stool forward to sit directly across from you in front of the plain white backdrop. “Did you bring another black top?”

“I did, do you want me to change?”

“Not yet.” He positions the camera higher, looking like he’s ready. “Okay, relax your body. Shoulders back, chin down. Okay, now a smile, really small, barely there.” 

He snaps his first photo and you nearly knock yourself backwards on the stool, lights going off at the shot damn near blinding you. 

“You good?”

“I thought the flash was just gonna be your camera.” You frown, coming round. 

“Nah, you’ll get used to it. Okay, back in position.”

He takes a couple more pictures, urging you to make miniscule changes to your poses, whatever feels good. You find yourself loosening up, your posture aiding you instead of working against you. “Try putting your hands on the stool, yeah like that, lean forward. Chin up a little more.”

The directions continue from behind the camera as he continues to flash away, and you do your utmost to not let the lights disorient you too much. He lets you take a break when you make a comment about the pure thermal energy in the room, your face no doubt shiny and red from the lights. You’re done after you take a couple more pictures after an outfit change, rendering you free to leave within the hour. 

“I think you’re done,” he announces, stretching as he leaves his own stool. “I’ll send you deets for tomorrow, we’ll probably get a lot more done.”

“Oh, cool.” 

Gathering your stuff doesn’t take you as you go up to tell him you’re about to leave. You find him fiddling with cables, packing everything up before leaving himself. You make a split second decision, dropping your bag before announcing yourself. 

“Let me help.”

“Huh? Oh no, it’s fine. I just need to shove them in storage.” 

“That’s alright, I’ll help. What d’you want me to do?” 

“Uh, Maybe unplug all the ports, and um, turn the lights on too, I guess. It’s gonna get dark if you don’t.”

Cleaning up was easier when those god awful studio lights weren’t overheating the entire hall, collecting cables and putting equipment back into their places. It was over before you knew it. 

“Is your car back from the workshop?” Mingyu yells from inside one of the side rooms collecting his stuff. 

“Not yet, I’m getting it back on the 15th. Ordered a cab.” 

“You’re going home from here, right?” He emerges from the room, arms in the middle of slipping into his jacket. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, it’s fine I have to meet Nayeon at uni and–”

“Even better, I was going there too. Come on, I just need to kill the lights.” 

You’re out of saviours, evident as you slide into his car, yet again with no choice. It’s meant to be a short drive, considering the studio is barely ten minutes away from where you need to be, yet it feels like an impromptu road trip with the way the roads seem to stretch. 

It’s significantly less awkward than last night, perhaps owed to him not being as inclined to make conversation, unlike last night. 

By the time he’s pulling up, you already have your bag in hand, a thank you frozen on your tongue as you register who it is that’s standing outside the library. You groan internally as you see Nayeon waiting for you, immersed in something on her phone. Praying she stays occupied, you rush your, “thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” as you hope she doesn’t see you slip out of the familiar car. 

She does notice. Looking up at the sound of yout door opening, she catches clear sight of you stepping out of the car, Mingyu in the driver’s seat. You can tell she’s subdued her reaction, but the eyebrows gives her away as they shoot up at the sight. Trudging up to her is a nightmare and a half, dreading the questions she’s going to ask as you hear Mingyu rev away.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” she breathes out, eyes wide, mouth open in jest. 

“Quit it, I have work to get done.” You choose to lead her straight into the library where you know she won’t be able to ask you any more probing questions.

That doesn’t seem to sedate her though as she continues to whisper a million questions, watching you pull your stuff out.

“I had a shoot with him today, he offered to drop me off and I couldn’t say no!”

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims a little too loud, owing a couple nasty surrounding looks her way, including yours. She continues quieter, pulling your laptop away from you so you’d pay more attention to her. “How’d it go? Did you pose all sexy for him, did he look nervous?”

“I did not pose sexy, I posed normally, because I have a conscience,” you snap, yanking your laptop back from her grip. 

She’s smiling like an idiot, unaffected by your annoyance. “Is he gonna drop you off after every shoot? Oh my god! Don’t you dare get your car from the garage, give it to Seokmin, or, or, tell them to keep it!” 

“Nayeon, shush!” It’s your turn to whisper shout at her gradually increasing volume, pushing her to quit leaning over the desks. 

“Okay, okay.” She sobers up.

“I’m supposed to be getting over him, why are you so happy about this? Indifference, remember? It was you who brought it up.”

“Yes, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t look, I don’t know, like, you know!”

Once she’s a little less giddy, you finally tell her about last night – leaving out the bit where he droppped you home for the sake of the library and its inhabitants. 

“I mean, I know we aplogised and everything, but I felt a little less… on fire around him. Other than those stupid studio lights, those were turning the place into a sauna. But I could meet his eyes without hyperventilating,” you explain, eyes downcast as you speak. 

“I imagine his eyes were covered with that camera anyway, but progress, I guess,” Nayeon comments.

“Maybe I needed to get mad at him to feel better, I don’t know. But it feels like I’m making progress for the first time.” 

“I told you this would be good for you, give it a couple more weeks and it’ll be like Mingyu never happened.” 

It takes a conscious attempt to not scoff. Like Mingyu never happened to your heart. That’s a heart you can’t recognise. 

The first time Seokmin had brought girls over was a day you couldn’t forget, no matter how hard you tried. 

You were padding down to the kitchen, still bleary eyed and pyjama clad from your nap, making a beeline for the fridge to get a glass of water. Your trip is cut short, however, when you realised the living room was not as empty as you expected. It’s a crowd (to your eleven year old self, anyway) of people your brother’s age. You catch a couple familiar faces, friends of your brother who visited often, Mingyu is part of the lumps on the couch with them. 

What stumped you, however, were the girls that were seated in between, eyes equally trained on you as everyone else in the room. 

“Oh, who’s this Seok?” one of the girls asked. 

“My little sister. D’you wanna say hi?” he asked you, neck craned to look at you. 

“Uh. Hi,” you whisper, gulping. 

There’s a chorus of hi’s that came bounding at you. You could feel the embarrassment creep up your entire body, feeling conscious for the first time in your life. They were staring at you. They were smiling, but you hated it. 

You weren’t thinking as you turned around to sprint back upstairs, not missing the tinkle of laughs coming from the living room. 

“Oh, she’s cute,” you had heard. That had you nearly starting to cry. 

You’d be lying if you said your little crush on Mingyu hadn’t started blossoming for a while at that point. Being younger meant you were constantly fighting to be seen, even more so when you’d do anything for Mingyu to look at you. Hogging your brother’s bean bag until you were kicked out, putting sparkly clips in your hair before you went to the kitchen, laughing especially loud when you knew he could hear.

And yet, despite everything, for the very first time, you hated that Mingyu was looking at you, watching you idle and awkward while he sat next to a bunch of prettier, older girls. 

That night was of many firsts, including the first time you had ever cried over Mingyu.

Mingyu claimed this was the last shoot, that he’d be done after this final set of shots. 

You’re having a hard time though, because he’s decided his studio for the day was gonna be at the top of a mountain at the asscrack of dawn. 

“We have fifteen minutes,” he announces. 

“To live?” You heave, crouching on the gravel to give your body a break. 

“Till sunrise,” he interjects, reversing to get to your crouched figure. You feel him grab hold of the straps of your bag, swinging it over his own shoulder. “Come on, just a little more.”

“You’ve been saying that for an hour.” You groan, picking yourself up off the path to resume your trudging. Mingyu stays next to you this time. 

“Did you pack your entire house in here, the fuck is this so heavy for,” he grunts. 

“You're the one asking for a bajillion outfit changes, I’m just doing what you asked.” 

“One change of clothes and a compact doesn’t weigh this much, are you disposing a body up here?” 

“Might be yours if I don't see that damn railing in a minute.” 

“I think you're hungry,” he huffs out. 

“I think I need to never agree to do this again.” 

“Salavation!” he yelps as he sees a vending machine in the distance, quite literally glowing (with its fluorescent lights). 

“I don’t need a water bottle, Mingyu, I need to lie down.” Your voice grows more gruff by the minute, legs nearly giving away. 

“No, the vending machine means…” He bounds up the last couple leaps to the glowing box with a burst of motivation. The slope turns flat at the horizon. “We’re here.” 

Nearly falling to your knees at the sight of the long awaited arrival point, you drop to a nearby bench and lay flat on the stiff wood. 

“How long till I need to look presentable? Because if it’s anything under thirty minutes, I’m tapping out.” You declare. 

“I can give you five minutes, take it or leave it.” He barely sits down as he speaks while already unzipping his camera bag. The thought of lifting your arms is excruciating, so you rest your tongue and bite back a whine. 

By the time you do find it within yourself to swing your legs back over the bench, the sky is shifting to a smoky navy, urging you to hurry up as you dry your sweat. You’re cringing as you press powder on your unclean face, but power through the final touches as you stretch while standing up straight.  

The first rays of sunlight are just coming through as Mingyu calibrates his lenses, trying to figure out the best shots in the limited time frame you have. You listen to him as he directs you where he wants you, contorting your face into something akin to faux serene. It’s near impossible when the frown has molded itself into your face after what you’ve put your body through today. 

“Think happy thoughts.” Mingyu calls out from behind his camera. 

“Oh, I’m thinking real happy thoughts. Like the ice cold shower I’m about to take when I get home. My clean bed that’s gonna be nice to me when I lay in it. The leftover pasta in the fridge. My moonpies.”

He has to bring his face away from the camera to throw his head back in a breathy laugh, smile as wide as it could go. It does things to you, but you ignore it. 

The summit isn’t entirely empty, noting a few people leaning against the railings, rendering it mostly quiet. All the more jarring becomes Mingyu’s phone as it blares into the silence, causing the both of you to jump at the sudden sound. 

He checks the caller ID only to silence it and slip it back into his pocket. 

You don’t get to ask who it was calling him so early in the morning, but get your answer when he immediately announces he’s done with his shots. The sun is higher up at this point, casting a more even orange glow across all the eye could see. 

You suppose he’s in a hurry to get home, seeing as he has someone waiting on him. “Should we leave then?” 

He swings the camera strap around his neck, forearms on the railing as he admires the view. “Give it a couple more minutes, I need to mentally prepare myself for the next hour.” 

It’s hard for you to deny that, so you let yourself place your head into your crossed arms over the railing, staring into the glow. It’s silent for a while as the rays hit your face, warming you more than you’d like. You don’t make any effort to move though, deciding to appreciate the view while it was here, doubting you’d ever make the trek up here again. Not willingly, at least. 

There’s a camera shutter that goes off next to you and you find Mingyu fidgeting with his camera as he tries to begin packing it up. You would help, but you��ve found yourself refraining from touching anything when it comes to his actual camera setup, opting to watch as he disassembles his lenses and pushes buttons to power off. 

By the time you're trudging down the path you’d come up from, it’s bright and sunny, rendering it warmer than before. Going down, however, is proving easier as you appreciate the reduced strain in your calves, letting the recent conversation take you to a smoother route. 

“When d’you think your gonna be done editing?” You ask at some point, the thought occurring to you that you’d only seen a couple pictures that he’d taken so far, oweing to his disapproval showing you all the raws before editing. 

“Kinda have to get them edited and annotated by the due date, so probably by the end of the month.” 

“D’you think I could get the ones you edit?” 

“Why? D’you wanna kickstart a portfolio?” he muses.

“I think it’s normal to ask for my pictures you took of me,” you grunt.

He laughs it off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll send them over.” 

Mingyu doesn’t drop you off home this time, both of you slipping into your own cars at the base of the hiking trail, bidding your goodbyes. You’d gotten an earful from Nayeon for getting your car back from the garage so quickly, and while sitting in a car with him wasn’t so bad anymore, you choose to retain that distance regardless. This was work, You’re doing this because you have to, and the stupid extra credit that roped you into this in the first place.

Alas, as you start your engine, eyes cast towards Mingyu’s number plate right up front, you can’t help but feel…sad… remembering this was your last shoot. As emotionally vexing the experience was, you had grown to look forward to his discreet location pins and outfit plans, growing more comfortable with him by the meeting. 

It almost felt like you and Mingyu were friends. 

Your brother’s graduation was an ordeal to say the least. Your parents flying in was a plus, getting to see them at least once for the summer, even if it was just for the day. 

The night is wrapped up fairly quickly, a big dinner with yours and Mingyu’s family to congratulate the freed graduates from their academic shackles. It dials back when Mingyu announces he’s gonna take a summer course for now to keep himself busy, wanting to wait a little before job hunting. Seokmin seems to express the same, wanting some time off for himself before entering the corporate world.

It’s when you get home and your brother is sending you all the pictures of today that you note one that stands out. It was of you and Mingyu, an inevitable one as your parents took turns to make sure everybody got solo shots with everyone.

You’d applaud the enthusiasm, but it was particularly unfortunate for you when the camera was thrust into your hands as Mingyu and Jia posed for nearly fifty pictures. You wouldn’t mind usually, but it just felt like a little too much in the moment.

Despite everything, you find yourself clicking on the Save button on the picture where you’re smiling a little too wide right next to him, for the sake of yourself.

Summer break rolls around with no more hiccups, if you’d count finals as anything other than strenuous. You were happy, with a new job to keep you company for the next three months as you lament not being able to go home. 

Getting the job at the bookstore was easy, your shifts were reasonable and it didn’t pay half bad. You would’ve guessed they were desperate for a hire, but you appreciate the activity regardless. It’s not really hard work, you find out quickly. Manning the desk, shelving deposits and restocking supplies. Monotonous tasks yet ones that you find yourself slipping into quite easily.

After the last shoot at the mountain, it was basically radio silence from Mingyu. Not being able to catch him the rare chance he stopped by the house, both of you swamped with the end of semester throw up. You doubt he’d noticed, and you despair at the fact that you did, even if it was just a little. 

“Oh, great, you’re here!” The owner greets you as you walk into the store, all smiles. She was a sweet lady, nicer than any other boss you’d ever had. “Was just waiting for you so I could leave, my daughter has a play she’s putting on today!” 

“Oh, sorry to keep you!” You rush to set your bag down as she picks up her own things, coming around from the table to take her leave. “Hope the recital goes well, tell her I said good luck.”

“Will do.” She smiles before adding, “Oh and, somebody called an hour ago asking about our book bundles, he said he’d come in to check but he hasn’t yet. Thought I’d let you know in case he asks about the phone call.”

“Got it,” you confirm, waving as she walks out the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Breathing out a sigh, you find yourself relatively free this afternoon, a slow weekday as you pick your current read out of your bag to get comfortable for the long shift. You’re nearly through the halfway point when you hear the first jingle of the day, the bells attached to the door making their familiar chime

“Good afternoon!” You look up to greet the customer, dog earring your book before standing up from your seat.

The person who’d walked in wasn’t just any customer, you soon realise as you recognise the familiar shag of hair. Mingyu was here. 

“Oh.” You can’t help but let it out when you register him, his own eyebrows shooting up at the sight of you behind the counter. Your next greeting comes out a little dumbly. “Hi.”

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. 

“Um,” you glance at your obvious name tag. “I work here.” 

“Oh, right, Seok mentioned you started working at a bookstore.” He throws his head back at the memory. “Hey, was it you over the phone earlier today? Didn’t sound like it.”

“Oh no, that was my boss, my shift started like an hour ago.” You confirm. 

“Ah, I see.” 

The silence is awkward for about five seconds before you jump into action. “You asked about a bundle over the phone?” 

“Right, um,” he pauses to fish his phone out his pocket, scrolling for something. “It’s Jia’s birthday coming up, and there’s this book series she’s been wanting. Here.”

You need to remind yourself to pat yourself on the back for not shaking as you received his phone, mind remaining in the moment. “Oh yeah, we have those. Let me grab ‘em for you.” 

He follows you through the columns of shelves as you navigate to find what he was looking for, stopping in front of the shelves. “There’s three of these, I can put them in a sleeve for you. Probably put a bow on it too if you want.” 

“Okay, perfect. Do you guys have LP’s too?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Hold on, let me put these up front.” 

You lead him to the back of the store. “The selection’s pretty small, the first shipment only came in like a month ago. I’m not sure if you’ll find what you want here.” 

“She’s been talking about getting more LP’s after she got a new record player. Hasn’t mentioned anything she wants though,” he voices, thumbing through the selection. 

“What does she listen to normally?” You ask before quickly adding, “So I can, maybe, help pick something she’d like.”

“Uh, older stuff? I should’ve snooped before coming, fuck.” He mumbles, thinking hard. “She barely plays it when I’m around but most of her LP’s are like Frank Sinatra and…Duran Duran was it?”  

“Hm…” You hum as you flick through the dated section of the stockpile, “How’s this?’

He’s taking a look at the record you’ve handed him, scanning the tracklists on the back. “I’ll get this, I guess. I can always bring her around to get more that she likes.” 

“D’you want a bow on this?” You ask, referring to the books you’re putting into the set sleeve, “You can pick your colour.”

He’s quick to pick the lilac ribbon, watching you as you tape it prettily on the box. You’re trying to curl the ribbon at the ends when he tries to make conversation. 

“When does your shift end?” 

If the man wasn’t quite literally buying a birthday present for his girlfriend (or if you had any memory of your own birthday), you’d think he was trying to hit on you. But he’s not. You know that. 

“Ten-ish. Closing’s on me so I could technically leave an hour early and no one would know.” You snort.

“Everyday?” he asks incredulously. 

“Minus weekends, the family takes care of that. They just need someone for afternoons and evenings on the weekdays. It’s not like I’m taking summer classes or anything, and it’s easy work.” 

“Well, you’ll be pleased to find out you’ll most likely be available on the 27th of August, then.” He sing songs as he fishes his phone out to pay, a cheeky air in his expression.

You blink at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. “Was I supposed to get that?”

He pushes his shoulders back, content expression on his face as he continues. “There’s a cultural art exhibition in two months, and I, have just found out I’ve been shortlisted for a spot.” 

“A spot? Like to display your photos?!” You drop the card machine with a thud.

“Your photos. Prof liked the project so much she submitted some of ‘em as entries. It was super short notice, but they liked them, I guess.” His grin is wide, one that you find impossible to not reciprocate. “I just need you to sign a consent form and I’ll be all set to start prepping.” 

“That’s insane, Mingyu, congratulations!” You exclaim, genuinely excited. “Are you gonna be using the same pictures?”

“Yup, I just need to fix the editing with my prof before they go up. You’re the first to find out, I just got out of the meeting.” 

There’s a mix of hesitation before you utter your next proposal, a split second of bewilderment at what you were about to suggest. “Come over tonight, we can celebrate with Seok. Bring Jia along too, we can celebrate an early birthday.” 

“I’ll see, she might be taking a bus home tonight for the weekend, might have to bother you by myself.”

The ache in your cheeks didn’t stop until well after Mingyu had left with his cargo, the elated feeling remaining for even longer after the fact. There was a point where it took you convincing to rid yourself of another intrusive, uneasy feeling, like you were taking a step back by being happy at his announcement. 

It was, however, safe to call Mingyu a friend. Safe to be happy for him. Safe to have your heart swell at his achievement, having watched him work hard for it.

It was safe to feel.

This was horrible. 

Truly. 

You were trying to ignore it, the strange thumping noises coming from under your car, like it would go away if you pretended to not hear. There was a sliver of hope for you, barely five minutes away from home that you’d make it before your tire decided it had enough of trying to grab your attention. 

But then it started screeching, and you had to stop before you caused a road fire.

“Tire? Didn’t you get them changed like last month?” Seokmin asks over the phone.

“Didn’t know new tires were immune to industrial blades, too. Are you gonna tell me I got ripped off?” 

“Mingyu has a scissor jack, I’ll tell him to come to you.”

“Wait! You have a scissor jack, too! Why can’t you come?” You sputter at the sound, glancing at the 21:42 on the dial. 

“He has my scissor jack, he’ll change it for you.” He grits back. “Besides, I’m not letting this face pack go to waste I just put it on.” 

“Seok!” 

“Stay in the car, lock the doors till he gets there.” He grounds.

“Seokmin!” 

Beep. 

The bastard hung up. 

“Ugh!” you break from a tightened jaw, slamming the car door shut with passion as you huff into your seat, waiting for Mingyu. 

Was Mingyu busy at 10:30 PM on a weekday? He was, actually.

He’d scrambled to finish up the last of his meeting with his professor, wrapped up in planning for the exhibition despite the two month time frame he’d been given. Exhibitions were a lot of paperwork, as he was finding out as he sweet talks Jia over the phone, promising to be with her within the next five minutes. Well, ten maybe, he has to grab butter from the store.

She sits on the kitchen counter as Mingyu makes her favourite. A strenuous task, but he’s willing to go through the double frying to make up for the time he’s lost. It’s not until he’s doing the post dinner dishes while Jia’s picking a movie in the living room that he’s met with another dilemma to handle. 

He’s deflating as he stands, phone to ear as he listens to Seokmin about your situation. Glancing at the near 10:30 PM hand on the clock, he finds it difficult to refuse, especially when he’s told you’re alone and stranded on a highway. He thinks to Jia in the living room as he tells Seokmin he’s leaving the house to get to you.

He’d only be gone for barely 20 minutes. He’s changed plenty of tires, this should be quick and easy. 

Slipping into the living room is easy, wrapping his arms around Jia from behind is even easier. It’s when he has to open his mouth that he begins to falter. Twenty minutes, he reminds himself.

“I have two I’ve heard are really good, you can pick which one we watch first,” she voices as she fluffs the pillows on the couch, ready to tuck in for the rest of the night. 

“Babe?” 

She spins around in his arms, coming up to fluff his flat hair too. “Hm?” 

“Seok just called…”

Her face falls as he talks despite his best attempts to assure her he won’t be long. 

“Twenty minutes?” she parrots, wanting his word. 

“Fifteen.” 

Whether Mingyu would keep his word is something he’d find out, but you had kept your word to Seokmin, staying in the car, doors locked till you saw Mingyu’s car pull up behind you in the rearview. The wretched scissor jack that’s caused all of this sits in his own boot as he yanks it out to bring it over to your car, where you stand arms crossed, face dejected. 

“Were you waiting long?” He asks as he immediately crouches to fit the jack where he wants it. 

“No, not really,” you reply. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, if only Seok remembered to take the stupid scissor jack–”

“No, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything.” Lies. But you already sounded apologetic and he didn’t wanna hear you apologize any further.  

“No, it’s not okay. The idiot’s relaxing with a stupid face mask on while you have to come out here and change a fucking tire, God, you have class tomorrow too, don’t you?” 

“Not until the afternoon, I’m in the clear.” He springs up from his crouched position, pulling the jack with him. “Open the boot.” 

Placing the scissor jack in your boot, he continues, a little breathless. “There, I’ll tell Seokmin I left it in your car. Or, you could do that.” 

“Thanks, Mingyu. Really.” 

He does nothing but flash a smile, doing his best to convince you you weren’t an inconvenience before having to see your apologetic face again. “Alright, I wanna see you drive off before I leave, go on.” 

By the time Mingyu’s slamming the door of the house shut, it’s eighteen minutes on the dot. Jia doesn’t say much, excited to have him back in her arms. 

“Wait!” he suddenly yelps, once he’s tucked in with her. 

“What now?” she groans. 

Mingyu’s bounding back to his bedroom, emerging a few moments later with a dark paper bag. He goes back to sit next to her on the couch, sliding the bag and its contents towards her.

“Here. We’re not gonna be together for your birthday, might as well give you your present the night before you leave.” His eyes are glinting, hopeful.

Jia expresses her thank you’s commenting on the ribbon and his LP choice, grinning widely.

Your name comes tumbling out of Mingyu’s mouth before he can stop himself. “She helped me pick it out!” 

“You…took her with you?” She asks after a moment.

“She worked at the store! I didn’t know till I went there either.” Mingyu’s voice grows increasingly enthusiastic, seemingly unaware that his girlfriend was growing slightly irritated. “I’ll take you there when you get back, the selection’s small but she’ll probably help you pick out something you’d like. I only had to give her like two names before she figured it out.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she comments, tight smile on her lips as she collects the book sleeve and the LP, placing them back into the bag and leaving them on the floor next to her.

Mingyu is blissfully unaware of the fuel he’s added to growing embers, munching away on his popcorn, eyes trained on the TV and its stimulating colours. 

“I was talking to Jihyo the other day, super random but it came up while we were talking about you,” Jia starts experimentally. 

“Huh?” He has her attention. And when she mentions your name, the part of him that’s always wondered when she’d bring it up comes out of dormancy. 

“She said she…I don’t know, she said she liked you at some point, Like a lot, and for a while.” Jia sounds unsure, like she didn’t know if it was a good idea to bring you up. 

Mingyu sighs as he rears himself for the inevitable conversation. “It’s—well, it was—just puppy love. I was around all the time and I guess she latched, I don’t know.”

Jia pauses, eyes remanging trained on the movie. “Does it make you uncomfy? That she liked you? Maybe she still does.” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m around Seok which means I’m sometimes around her by default. Can’t help it. I mean, the photography thing kinda just happened but, I don’t really care. And she seems over it.” 

Mingyu is rambling. He can feel it. Which is why he tries to end the conversation right there, tone nonchalant as he hopes the topic breezes past. 

It doesn’t. 

“You seemed pretty adamant in leaving, though.”

“Huh?”

“When she called just now.”

“Seok called, I had his scissor jack!”

“Why couldn’t he have grabbed it for you and helped his sister himself? He has a car too.”  Jia’s paused the movie at this point, moving away from his arm she was leaning on, shifting to look at him fully. 

“It would’ve taken him forever, she was alone in the middle of a highway at nearly eleven, you wanted me to leave her there?” Mingyu finds the conversation ridiculous, and it shows in the irritation that rises in his own voice. 

“Mingyu, you can’t be upset with me right now,” she breathes out exasperated. 

“I’m not? I get that you’re upset, I haven’t been around as much but you also know what this exhibition means to me. I need to put everything I have into this and it’s only for a couple months–”

“Mingyu, it’s not just the exhibition!” 

“Jia, I can’t know if you don’t tell me what’s really bothering you, talk to me.” Mingyu’s begging at this point, wondering how it’s come to this in the first place. 

“You can’t expect me to be okay with you going around wherever, whenever, when I know what kind of lifestyle you’ve come out of not even six months ago!” 

Mingyu had come a long way from his galvanizing tendencies, doing absolutely everything he could to convince Jia he was serious about her. Unfortunately, this was not the first time his past had been brought up; in an argument or in a light hearted setting, and he wasn’t particularly fond of it. 

“Are we in six months ago? Are you saying I’ve done nothing substantial for you to think I’m still fucking around? Either give me an instance or figure out what the real issue is!” 

There’s a plaster of suffocation in the room, neither soul speaking a word. Until Jia finally speaks. “I wanna go home.”

It didn’t matter to Mingyu if she was expecting him to grovel, to ask her to stay and talk about this further. It was clear she wasn’t about to talk about anything pertinent at all, and definitely not tonight. He was tired, and frankly wanted to be alone right now.

“Fine.” 

Silence penetrates all of his air for the entire car ride up until he’s entering his apartment for the third time that day. Not bothering to clean up the living room, he thinks he does himself a service so as to not be reminded of the past couple hours. He’s casting the place in complete darkness before moving to his room. Might as well get some work done. 

There’s a conscious effort to not start slamming things, he succeeds mostly, his graphic tablet receiving the short end of the stick. Turning on his monitor, he’s met with his ongoing project still brought up on the screen.

It’s a picture of you. One he took in a greenhouse off the outskirts of the city, something you complained about extensively as the heat ruined both your mood and your hair. You were smiling regardless; a wide, happy smile as you looked into the camera, petunia’s and dahlia’s framing an illusion around your figure.

Mingyu feels the tension in his muscles begin to relax, his breathing evening out after what felt like hours. He becomes almost excited to pick up his stylus and work on the photo, the set up allowing him to dive right in. There was barely any work left, moving on as he finishes the photo and saves it. 

It isn’t until he happens to click on the the last folder, the one where you both caught the sunrise after a strenuous hike. He can’t help but break into a hint of a smile at the memory of your broken figure at the pathway, cursing him for bringing you here so early in the morning. The pictures had come out good, especially when Mingyu opens a particular photo at the bottom of the folder, an extra from his initial round of editing for his actual project. 

It’s of you (of course) with your chin tucked into your arms as you gaze at the scene from up above, beyond the railing. The sun is up higher at that point, but the cast remains as the top half of your face that wasn’t tucked in your arms is lit in an orange glow, eyes glistening like stars during the day, wide and beautiful. 

Mingyu remembers the shot. It was an accident.

In an attempt to fiddle with the settings to turn off the camera, he ended up snapping a picture instead. The distinct click was noticed, never bothering to check what came out of it when he stuffed his camera back into his bag, nor when he sifted through his SD card. 

It was like he was seeing the picture in a new light, and the potential it had to become something worth ogling at. He wonders what had come over him when he had placed the photo as a secondary option without another thought, lamenting at what could’ve been his actual final piece. 

He stares and stares, attempting to draw maps of color rendering in his mind, yet all that comes up is his eyes zeroing in on your own. How they glisten. How they sparkle.

Part 2

#mingyu #mingyu fluff #mingyu smut #mingyu fic #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu angst #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #svt #svt fluff #svt angst #svt smut

[xoxoemynn]

For OFMD Tumblr friends who want a S3 and are scared of Twitter

First, no judgment from me. I very much get it. I resisted Twitter for a long time, and even though I'm now a bit more comfortable on it, it's still not my Fandom Home. There are a TON of valid reasons not to be on Twitter, but if you REALLY want to keep OFMD visible right now and help its chances of returning for a third season, Twitter is the best place to do it. Like it or not, Twitter is still the best social media platform for raising awareness and for instant news updates.

Tumblr posts don't make headlines. Topics that have been trending on Twitter do. And if we want this show to come back, we need to make OFMD impossible to ignore.

By now you've probably seen just how close we came to a S3, and if you're like me, you are RAGING and donning your battle jacket. But I get it can be intimidating to get on Twitter for the first time, so I thought I'd address some common anxieties I see. I'll put below a cut because this got a bit long, but I promise it's a quick read.

I don't know what to say! Where do I even start? That's okay! You don't have to create your own tweets (although it's great if you do). Amplifying other people's posts is also important. Go ahead and like/retweet/reply to other people's posts. This may also help you get an idea of what you may like to say in your own tweets.

Hashtags...yes? Yes! Although don't use too many or you may get flagged as a bot. The biggest one that seems to be emerging is #SaveOFMD. Other popular ones are #RenewAsACrew, #RenewOurFlagMeansDeath, and of course, #OFMD and #OurFlagMeansDeath.

Should I just be tagging all the streaming services? Per @renewasacrew, no. It's counterproductive. You'll want to tag one streamer at a time and be specific. Below is an example of a tweet I made the other day -- use specific reasons why that that particular streamer may benefit from picking up OFMD.

I'm scared. People are mean. Yeah, people are mean. But I will say the vibes over at OFMD Twitter are currently the best I've ever seen them. People seem to have united for the greater good and are being overwhelmingly positive and just trying to do whatever we can to save the show. (That said, again, I already had a pretty curated feed, and was very liberal with blocking users/terms I didn't want to see, but I've been able to spend so much more time in the For You tab than I ever have without being jump scared by something.)

But I don't know anyone there! Wouldn't I just be shouting into the void? Not if you use the hashtags! Fans are being really good about following those and engaging with the tweets. Plus, [Stede voice], I'm your friend. I'm xoxoemynn over there as well, I'll follow you back and engage with any of your posts that I see. Plus, what's been REALLY lovely to see is that SO many lurkers have come out of lurkerdom to support the efforts, and they are being welcomed with open arms, so you will not be alone. Again, I am telling you, vibes? Best I've ever seen them.

I can't get sucked into another social media platform, I don't have the time. The beauty here is you don't need to spend a lot of time. I've been on Twitter more in the past week than I have in the entire year I've had an account, and I'm still only on for maybe an hour total the entire day? I open the app, I check a couple accounts, I engage with a handful of posts, and I close the app. It takes all of five minutes. It's an extremely small lift that can have a very big impact.

My bet is on Zaslav expecting us to be upset, and that there may be a day or two of outrage, but then we'd move on. I'm sure right now he's trying to convince everyone that this is a fluke, and that it'll blow over soon. Don't let him win. Keep OFMD in the news. Be loud (but polite) and make Max and other streamers take note of what a passionate, loyal fan base this show has. Make their stocks continue to drop. Make it clear this is NOT just a fluke, it is NOT business as usual. It's a BIG fuck up with lasting consequences.

Twitter, for all its sins, is the best place to do this.

Now let's get our damned show back.

#ofmd #our flag means death #renew as a crew #truly BELIEVE ME I get wanting to stay away!! #and if after we get picked up again you want to delete your account please go ahead and do that! #but this is a really easy and tangible way to show Max/other streamers #just how beloved the show is and how it would benefit them to save it #I love tumblr but it's not going to give us the kind of impact we want #it's for fans - not for external folks/key decision makers #ANYWAY I am by NO MEANS a twitter expert but I'm getting better #and I've seen some people be nervous about getting on the platform so I thought I'd try to help <3

[hunnylagoon]

Birthday Girl

A/N This is my first tumblr fic. I’m a retired Wattpad warrior, I only wrote this bc the Ellie tag is over diluted by smut, we need some angst and fluff to balance it out. My credentials are that I used to write Game of Thrones fanfic and I was blocked by Noah Beck on Twitter. Apologies in advance for any spelling errors or confusing sentences, bc I was high off my ass when I wrote this.

Summary

Jackson’s resident Baker works herself tirelessly to take care of everyone on their birthday and ensure they get something nice to brighten their special day but who is there to take care of her?

Birthdays are like brilliant gems in the kaleidoscope of time; they are the times when life's symphony crescendos into a celebration of its children. As the sun circles the earth once a year, we are given a day to celebrate our own journey, a day that whispers stories of victories, laughter, and the sweet notes of resiliency. You had always loved birthdays, who didn't? The look of joy on someone's face when they open a  gift you spent weeks looking for, the uncontrollable smile and pure serotonin that took over even the grumpiest of people. Everyone had a special day designated to them, of course, it was a cause to celebrate. 

You worked in the town bakery with very few other people, from five am to twelve pm on Monday to Friday every single week you were hustling around in a humid bakery, hell, you ran it like the navy.  Every morning, walking into the bakery is like stepping into a fragrant paradise where time seems to slow down to the sound of ovens buzzing to life. The first two hours were just for you before you let anyone in, The comforting routine of donning a flour-dusted apron and tying back unruly hair precedes the artistry of crafting pastries and breads. The almost therapeutic rhythm of kneading, rolling, and shaping becomes second nature: the soft crack of eggs, the calculated pour of sugar, and the clouds of flour hovering in midair. 

There wasn't much creative freedom while working in the Jackson bakery, it really just consisted of making dozens of bread loaves daily and then carting them over to the 'Barbecue Place' Which was once a restaurant though it had been refashioned into Jackson's mess hall.  However, you were able to dabble in some fun and were able to make cupcakes daily and a large batch of miscellaneous pastries every Friday. The cupcakes were very dear to you, you had to beg Maria when you were thirteen to approve the idea and eventually, you were green-lit.

As you step into the bakery you are greeted by the creek of wooden planks which are a testament to decades of busy activity; the dance of innumerable bakers has worn away at their shiny surfaces. The aroma of baked goods still hovers in the air from the previous day and all the days that came before, taking you to a more peaceful time. Sunlight streams through old lace curtains, illuminating worn, mismatched tables and chairs that have served eager clients for centuries though they no longer serve guests in the bakery. Deeply patinated wooden shelves support a variety of ceramic jars, each containing a treasure trove of hidden ingredients. Fading photos and yellowed newspaper clippings decorate the walls, telling the story of the bakery's illustrious past. There are copper pots and pans strung like time capsules on strong hooks, and an old-fashioned cash register sits on the end of the counter past the empty glass displays, it no longer serves a purpose but you have fought bravely to keep it around as it makes you think of what life had been like before the world fell apart. 

You look at a beat-up calendar on the walls, sitting in the place of an old picture frame that had been knocked down and shattered by none other than yourself when you were fourteen and had the bright idea of having you and your friend toss a bag of flour at each other to see who was strong enough to last longer in the odd game of catch. Surely, Ellie threw the five-pound bag a little too hard, you ducked to save yourself but it smashed into the framed photo of the family who ran the bakery before the apocalypse. It not only was smashed into little fragments but the bag of flour exploded and covered the dining room of the bakery as well as yourself in white powder, it looked like it had snowed inside. The calendar you were checking held the birthday of every person in Jackson, it was messy and hard to read as you usually had to cram several birthdays into a single day which was only a small square, it was hardly legible, there was almost no one else who could read it. Every day when you walked into the bakery, the first thing you did was check the calendar to find out whose birthday it was, then you began your bread dough or carried on with the sourdough started the day before, while the dough rose, you made cake batter, adjusting the recipe according to how many you had to make. After finishing work for the day or sometimes when you were midway through it, you would give each person a cupcake to celebrate their special day.

Even if no one else remembered their birthday, you were always there to make it a little bit better.

Today there were two birthdays on the calendar, Sean Casey, a man who was turning sixty. The second birthday marked down in the little square was yours. 

That's what made that day so special, you were ecstatic to see what your friends had planned for you later. Last year Ellie promised that she would go above and beyond for your next birthday and you were going to hold her to that. There was already a nice start to your morning by having your dad wake you up with breakfast in bed which you found truly impressive as he usually slept in till at least ten, on top of that he had scavenged a stand mixer for the home. You grabbed your apron off of the hook putting it over your neck and tying it tight around your waist. Everyone had a couple of designated aprons to rotate through throughout the week, yours consisted of two plain white ones, a red gingham pattern, one of forest green, and another made of a fabric covered in hyacinth flowers, their colours diluted like paint. Today you wore the apron your father gave you last year on your birthday, it was your favourite colour and the neckline was embroidered to say '(y/n)s kitchen'. You could tell your dad did the embroidery himself, the stitches were loose and uneven in some areas while being extremely tight in others, that's why you loved it so much, it was the thought and care behind it.

With a gentle hand, you pulled each of your necessary ingredients along with equipment out to begin your day. You preheat the ovens and in the quiet pre-dawn hours, the bakery comes alive with the hushed sounds of industrial mixers. The heady scent of freshly milled flour dances in the air as you measure the precise alchemy of ingredients, your hands moving with practiced grace. Kneading the dough becomes repetitive, muscles working in harmony to transform a mound of humble ingredients into a soft elastic texture. As the dough rests and rises, the anticipation builds—the promise of crusty loaves and soft, pillowy interiors. You slipped the pans of dough into the industrial ovens, the heat attacking you the second you opened the door; making sure to place the pumpernickel, rye, sourdough, brioche and wheat loaves all sorted on different racks in the respective ovens.

By the time you put the loaves in ovens it had been two hours from when you began, even with preparation the day before and dough starters, it was a process. You quickly washed your hands before unlocking the door for Juno as well as anyone who wanted to come in to visit. 

The clock read '7:09', because of the passthrough you were still able to look outside via the glass storefront, you could see people walking along the streets heading to whatever job they worked to contribute to the community, no one got paid, it was a commune after all, you couldn't imagine a world where everyone was so dependent on money and so obsessed with over-consumption. Part of you was waiting for one of those people to come in and wish you a happy birthday, but you shook the thoughts from your head.

You began to make the small portion for two of cupcake batter, remembering distinctly how four years ago you sat next to Sean at the Fourth of July party and he went on and on about how much he hated vanilla, it seemed like one of those crazy old man rants but you found delight in it. Never had you seen a man so passionate about cake flavouring. He said vanilla was nothing special, flavourless; you had come to learn that he was a chocolate man, every holiday event filling his pot belly with chocolate, when you had brought assorted sweets for a Christmas party he dove straight for the brownies. So it was easy for you to make up your mind on what flavour of cupcake to make.

After years of this cupcake tradition you had memorized each ratio to make, a double serving of chocolate batter consisting of 1/4 cup of flour, 2 1/2 tablespoons of white sugar, 1 tablespoon of unsweetened cocoa powder, 1/4 tablespoon of baking soda, a dash of salt, 2 tablespoons milk, two tablespoons canola oil, 1/4 tablespoon vanilla extract. You treated baking like it was a science and recipes were your formulas.

As for the frosting, you had a stockpile of plain buttercream that you took small servings from and flavoured according to said person's preference. All you had to do was whip it up and add some cocoa powder to make it fluffy and creamy again.

The bell above the doorway rang, signalling the arrival of someone, you looked up to see Maria. "Hey, there," You smiled, turning off the stand mixer so you could hear her.

"Hi, (y/n)," She greeted and you quickly wiped whatever was on your hands onto your apron before coming around to the service counter to speak with her. "I have something to ask of you."

"Yes?"

"I know you already do your little cupcake thing but we are throwing a surprise party tonight for Sean and I was hoping you could make a cake for him?"

You nod with a smile "Anything for the town chief."

"Great, then how about a simple vanilla cake?"

"Sean doesn't like vanilla," You answered quickly.

"Okay, well I trust you with it, his party starts at eight tonight in the town square and he's turning sixty so it's a big one, I'll see you there around then?" 

"Definitely," You grinned at Maria, waiting for her to wish you a happy birthday and reveal that she was only pretending to forget but she didn't. She thanked you and walked out, leaving you in a flour-covered apron with a tinge of hurt in your heart. It wasn't like you weren't close with Maria, you had Thanksgiving at her house every year.

Nonetheless, it was only a blip in your soon-to-be perfect day. Just as you had frosted the two cupcakes, putting chocolate chips on Sean's and breaking half of a double fudge cookie and sticking it into the thick icing. Rainbow sprinkles cascade like confetti, adding a whimsical touch to the miniature confection. The bell rang again calling for your attention, this time you didn't leave the kitchen instead just moved to look at whoever it was by the passthrough.

"Hey, kiddo!" Tommy greeted, clad in a red flannel tucked into blue jeans. He walked into the bakery as comfortably as he would his home.

"Howdy, Tommy," You said, moving out of his sight for a quick moment to put the two cupcakes in the fridge to prevent the buttercream from prematurely melting. 

"So, it's Sean's birthday today and I was wondering if you could bake a cake for his party-

"Maria was already in," You answered "Don't worry, I'm on it."

He smiled "Of course, you're always so on top of it," He leaned over the counter slightly, trying to get a look inside the kitchen via the passthrough "Say, have you got anything back there for me?" You opened the box of double fudge cookies you made the day before and scooted around the passthrough to hand him one, boots clattering on the ground. Tommy loved to visit the bakery as you always had a sweet treat for him and he would never get sick of the aromatic embrace of fresh bread. "Thanks, kiddo, I'll see you around." 

This was the moment you were almost convinced that they were planning a surprise party for you, sure Maria could forget about your birthday, she was a busy lady but there was no way Tommy would. He was good buddies with your dad and was over at your place for beers a minimum of once a week. You always baked for him when he came over and he constantly joked about you trying to fatten him up. 

The bell sounded again though you didn't bother to look up, you knew who it was by the time of the clock, Juno was starting her shift. As usual, she tied her mousy brown hair into a sleek ponytail then grabbed her apron and stuck a baseball cap on over her head so there was no chance of her hair coming loose. "Good morning," She walked into the kitchen, heading over to the sink to wash her hands.

"Mornin'," You answer.

She looks you up and down with a slight smile "You're wearing your favourite apron, must be a special day."

“Sure doesn't feel like it."

♡

Your birthday wasn’t panning out great but you didn't want to lose hope.

You had walked over to the greenhouses after your shift to find Sean, he loved the cupcake, he even hugged you which was nice albeit a little odd. You walked through town a bit after you had stopped and talked to everyone on the street for not a single one to say the words you've been pleading to hear all day. Taking it as defeat, you grabbed a sandwich for lunch from the mess hall and began the desolate walk home.

Nestled at the end of a peaceful, tree-lined street, the charming but battered house had a certain charm that cut through its worn yellow exterior. Tentacles of ivy wrapped about the crumbling outside walls, their green tones infusing the dilapidated building with a hint of the natural world's tenacity. The worn-out yet friendly doormat and weathered rocking chair on the porch told of years spent taking in the changing of the seasons. The wooden frames of the windows, adorned with faded drapes that seen innumerable sunsets, spoke tales of laughter and time passed.

The house's coziness unfolded inside like a time capsule, with worn-out rugs covering creaky floorboards and a fireplace in the living room that was adorned with vintage tiles that were mismatched and provided warmth in more ways than one. The rooms had a lived-in comfort despite the peeling wallpaper and chipped paint, and each mismatched piece of furniture seemed to tell a story of its own. Despite being tatty and ragged around the edges, the house exuded a calmness that invited guests to enjoy the beauty concealed in the flaws of a place that had aged gracefully and with character like most homes in Jackson. The living room was always your favourite, there was a spruce bookshelf pushed behind the gray, L-shaped couch, and the rug was once a maroon colour though it's clear that it's been well-loved over the years. Pillows and throw blankets were carelessly scattered over the couch from when you and your dad had watched '21 Jumpstreet' the night before, he kept saying it was a shame the outbreak happened before they got to make a second one, though many of the jokes didn't land with you, you loved to see your dad laugh so hard he snorted. The room was illuminated by a warm glow from the fairy lights overhead that your dad scavenged years prior, a small stack of books piled up on the coffee table which had been hand-crafted by Joel.

You popped 'Mean Girls' into the DVD player, just to have some background noise and went to the kitchen and started on Sean's cake. As much as you loved the bakery, you wanted to be somewhere a little more close to comfort. 

As you measured each ingredient with care, you couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that lingered in the air. Sifting the ingredients into the bowl, you had wished your father was home from patrol duty, all you really wanted was a hug but instead, you slaved away at a black forest complete with layers of moist sponge, decadent frosting, and a profusion of vibrant decorations.

As you delicately frosted the cake, your mind flitted between thoughts of the celebration and the poignant fact that everyone seemed to have overlooked your own special day. The kitchen, usually a sanctuary for you to escape to, now harboured the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart, though excited for Sean to get a nice surprise on his Birthday, held an unnoticed longing for acknowledgment.

The aroma of the baking cake filled the kitchen, mingling with the scent of disappointment that you couldn't quite shake.

As the cake took shape, you couldn't help but think back to the calendar at the bakery, where the date circled in red seemed to mock you. Your own birthday, usually a day filled with surprises and the warmth of laughter, had slipped through the cracks of everyone's awareness. Though the night was still young and Ellie had said that she was planning something incredible.

Finally, nine was about to roll around, you changed into some clean clothes that hadn't yet carried the memories of your disappointing day, just a white top and some jeans. The sun had set, and your dad wouldn't be home for a good while so you walked over to the town square alone. 

There was a table full of food and a long banner that read 'Happy Birthday Sean!' strung between two street lamps. There were twinkling fairy lights illuminating what would have otherwise been a dark night. 

"There she is!" Tommy smiled, doing that awkward little dad jog over you. "Wow, that cake looks incredible, mind if I take it off your hands?"

"Go ahead," You held out the cakeboard. Tommy gingerly took it away from your grasp, his forearm underneath to support and his other hand held the side of the board for balance.

"I owe ya' kiddo," He winked before taking the cake away to show a group of adults.

You stood around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do with yourself.  You turned your attention to the moon, wanting to believe that it shined so very bright just for you, because the moon, unlike everyone else recalled how important this day was to you-

"SURPRISE!" Everyone erupted in cheers as Sean walked up to his party, his daughter had her arm linked with his. He had the biggest smile on his face it almost made you forgive everyone for forgetting because at least Sean got something thoughtful.

"Lord, I was thinking everyone forgot my birthday!" Sean laughed, pulling Tommy in for a hug.

"(y/n)!" Dina yelled, you turned your head to follow her voice. She was sitting at a long picnic table beneath an awning with some friends "Over here," She motioned for you to sit down and you obliged, taking a spot between Ellie and Laila. "What have you been up to? I feel like I haven't seen you all day."

"That's because you haven't," You said with an awkward smile. "I've just been baking, like always."

"You're always working so hard, I swear you live in that bakery and when you aren't in there your busy busting your ass around town to make sure everyone gets something on their birthday," Dina sat across from you and put a hand onto yours "You look out for everyone, but who's looking out for you?"

"My dad?" You glance at Ellie who isn't tuned into the conversation in the slightest, she has her arms crossed in front of her on the table and her head resting on them. 

"Aw, that's sweet-" Kayla moves to look at you but in doing so, she spills a glass of juice onto you. "I'm so sorry," She slaps one hand over her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing. Kayla stood up from the table, her ginger curls rustling with the breeze "I'll get a cloth or something-

"Don't worry about it," I wave her off "It's just clothes, I'll grab some napkins." You push yourself away from the table, walking over to the table adorned with food, you see a small stack of Christmas themed napkins (it must've been hard for them to come by regular ones) and grab a handful, bunching them up in your hand in an attempt to soak up some of the juice that had already indefinitely stained your clothes. 

You feel some eyes on you from the other side of the table, to look up and see Joel, he doesn't say anything though his lips are pressed together tight.

"You're back," You say, a spark of happiness rekindling inside of you "So my dad's back from patrol too?"

Joel nods "Too tuckered to come out, said he was just heading home," He uses tongs to put a couple cuts of chicken onto his plate "Oh and happy birthday, you've probably heard that a whole bunch already, lord, it's all your old man would talk about on our last couple of patrols."

"What did you say?" You look at him with furrowed eyebrows, unsure if he said what you really thought.

"I said happy birthday, shame you've stained your clothes on your birthday," He absentmindedly added some mashed potatoes onto his plate. The words hung in the air, a moment that transcended the boundaries of their usual exchanges. You, momentarily taken aback, met Joel's gaze. It was a simple, earnest wish, uttered with the spontaneity of someone who had remembered a small yet significant detail in the whirlwind of festivity.

"Thank you, Joel," You replied, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and gratitude. In that fleeting instant, the isolation that had surrounded her seemed to dissipate. A connection, however tenuous, had been forged in the acknowledgment of her existence amidst the collective celebration.

"No problem, kid, I'll see you around," He left with his plate leaving you to stand alone at the table. You continued to dab at the juice on your white top, and though you knew it wouldn't come out you proceeded to rub it; the best exchange of your day, no more than eight sentences suddenly turned from joy to frustration. The only two people who remembered your birthday were your dad and a fiftey-eight-year-old man who practically raised the girl you had spent years crushing on, not the girl herself, but her father figure. However, you thought, maybe if Joel remembered, Ellie had aswell and she actually did have something planned.

Amidst the lively chatter and laughter that reverberated through the night, you stood in the midst of flickering candles and colourful decorations, your eyes cast down to the ground. The atmosphere of celebration enveloped her, but a palpable sense of solitude hung in the air like a heavy mist settling upon your shoulders. It was a birthday party, yes, but not your own. Forgotten and overlooked, your heart echoed with a quiet ache, the irony of your situation casting a shadow over the festive scene.

The square was adorned with streamers and balloons, a tapestry of colours that seemed to dance in rhythm with the joyful voices around her. The community gathered, their faces lit by the warm glow of the fairy lights and street lamps, each one caught up in the merriment of the moment. Yet, for you, the celebration felt like a distant spectacle, a scene from which you were detached.

It was your birthday too—a fact that no one cared enough to recall. As Darla (Sean's daughter)  calls guests toward a decadent cake adorned with candles, which you had made, you couldn't escape the bitter irony of the situation. You watched as the room erupted into a chorus of "Happy Birthday," the song meant for another soul, another moment of joy. You joined in, lips forming the familiar words, your voice harmonizing with the collective melody. But within the depths of your being, the celebration rang hollow, a stark contrast to the cheer that echoed around you.

Throughout the evening, you navigated the party with a forced smile, concealing the invisible weight of your emotions. Conversations buzzed like bees in your ears, no- it grated like a fork in a blender, but you found yourself on the outskirts—a silent observer amidst the numerous connections. The laughter that erupted like fireworks, the clinking of glasses, the embraces of old friends—it all seemed distant, an echo from another realm where she once belonged.

The party unfolded as a series of snapshots: a group photo with smiling faces, a toast to Sean, and the opening of gifts that weren't meant for you. Each moment, though vibrant and filled with the warmth of shared camaraderie, magnified the silence that enveloped your own celebration, forgotten and left to dissolve into the shadows.

As the night carried out, seeming like the celebration would never cease, you cut yourself a slice of cake, grabbing one of the half-melted candles that Sean had already blown out, they sat in a frosting-covered pile next to the cake. You took your favourite colour out of the rainbow assortment of candles and stuck it into the piece of black forest cake.

With your cake you sat back down by Ellie at the picnic table where she still returned to after conversing, everyone else had gotten up to dance. You reached for the lighter in your pocket and struck it to ignite, sparks flickered around the end of it, you struck it again and a flame arose, you carefully brought it to the wick of the partially melted candle.

The flickering flame cast a subtle glow as you made a silent wish for understanding, for the beauty found in selflessness, and for the recognition that sometimes the most meaningful celebrations are the ones we craft for others, even in the quiet echoes of our own unacknowledged birthdays. Ellie turned to look at you as the candle's flame danced in the darkness, before you could blow out the candle to solidify your wish a little girl climbed up onto the bench and blew it out, you looked at her and all she did was smile up at you, the gap in her teeth prominent, her deep chocolate hair braided so intricately you had to believe that it must've taken her mother hours.

As much as you wanted to deck that little girl in the face for ruining your moment, you didn't because it would be wildly inappropriate. "Do you want this?" You sighed, holding out the plate to the girl, she smiled and nodded enthusiastically, taking the cake and scattering away "Hey, Ellie," You pushed back tears in your eyes, forcing a smile on your face "Got any plans later?"

“Yeah," She said, short

"Oh, what are they?"

"Not to sound like a cunt but I'm not really in the mood to talk, I had a shit patrol and all I want to do is go home, smoke a joint, watch a movie, maybe read a comic, and pass out on my couch, the only reason I'm here is that Dina dragged me out and Joel said I need to be more involved in the community."

Your smile dropped, you couldn't hold it in anymore, realizing that this wasn't the elaborate setup of a surprise party but Ellie genuinely forgot it was your birthday. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what's happening today?"

"It's Sean's birthday," She gestured to the party around her.

"You're fucking serious," Any amusement that had been in your tone was gone, replaced by a subtle anger boiling up inside of you

"Are you going to cry?" Ellie gave you a weird look "What are you so mad about?"

"I can't believe you," You laugh bitterly "Actually I can, this is so like you, I need to stop building it up in my head that you're going to surprise me with something great. But hey, at least you never fail to let me down."

"Jesus," She scoffed "There's always something going on with you, can you go one day without finding some irrational reason to be upset?"

"Irrational?"

"Yeah, irrational," She reiterated "You always come to me when something sets you off in the slightest then your problem becomes everyone else's. You're so fucking draining and I'm sick of it."

"Fuck you, I hope your comic catches fire from your joint and you burn your place down." You stand up from the bench, wiping tears away from your eyes. Your boots clattered against the cobblestone. You stormed past the dancers, some stopping to look at one another with concern. Dina leaves Jesse to ask Ellie what happened.

The walk home might've been the loneliest you had felt in your life, the harsh wind of the night bit at your nose. The feeling of the sticky juice soaking through your clothing was borderline unbearable, were just about ready to scream. There wasn't a single person out and about as everyone was either at the party or cozied up in their own homes.

Arriving at your doorstep, you fumbled with the handle, the metallic clink resonating in the quietude that enveloped the house. The door swung open, revealing the dimly lit foyer, still no surprise. Why do you still think there is going to be a party? No one is coming.

You wandered into the living room, the TV was lit with the options screen for 'Mean Girls' that you had put on hours earlier.

Sinking into the worn-out couch, You let the weight of the day wash over you. A single tear welled in your eye, and as it escaped, a floodgate of unshed sorrow burst open. The first teardrop traced a silent path down your cheek, leaving a glistening trail of heartache in its wake.

The tears you cried weren't silent and dainty but violent sobs that burned your throat each time you cried out. As you wept, it felt like someone had stabbed your gut with a thousand needles, you cried and cried, to no one in particular, maybe the moon glistening outside the window though the moon seemed to absorb your tears, offering no solace in return.

The soft tick of the clock on the wall echoed in the quiet room, marking the strike of midnight, your birthday had ended. There was no secret party or a prank where everyone was only playing an act, only the emptiness of the house echoed the howls soaked in your tears.

The oak staircase creaked, and your dad turned the corner, peering into the living room. "What's wrong, honey,?" He shook the sleep from his mind, focusing on what was important, he sat next to you on the sofa. "I thought you said you were going to be out all night with your friends?"

You shook your head, breathing shaky breaths alone, hardly able to get a word out "They forgot," You felt the harsh sting of desolation hit you all over again "Everyone forgot," You grabbed his grey t-shirt burying your face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling you gently like you were a child who had just scraped her knee not someone who had just turned nineteen, "Except for Joel, so be nice to him, please."

"I'm sorry, baby, it was probably just a mix-up," He rubbed one hand on your back to comfort you. "I should've been there with you, I'm so sorry."

You couldn't get the words out of your mouth, all you could manage was to shake in your father's arms with sobs until you cried yourself to sleep.

♡

"Happy birthday, Jasmine!" You smile brightly, presenting a lemon-raspberry cupcake to the woman. She was serving breakfast in the mess hall, the early morning light streaming through the many windows, blinding those trying to enjoy their meals.

"Aw, thank you, love" She took the cupcake "That's real sweet," She wore a hairnet, despite having short cropped hair. "I just realized I don't even know when your birthday is."

"It was yesterday, actually."

"Aww, how was it?" Jasmine smiled, her white teeth contrasting with her dark skin.

"It was nice, it was quiet too, I just spent it by myself."

A frown replaced Jasmine's smile and she lowered her tone "Did your friends drop the ball?"

You wave off her question "Oh no, loads of people remembered, I just wanted some time to myself, it was nice."

You could tell Jasmine didn't wholeheartedly believe you, she was at Sean's party last night and saw you rush out with tears building in your eyes "If you say so," She shrugged, taking a bite of her cupcake "This is really good."

"Thanks," A small smile plays on your lips.

"God bless you, sweetheart, you deserve the best." She said, every bit of truth behind her words. She took another bite of the cupcake, savouring the sweet and sour taste "And I mean that."

You were too caught up in conversation to notice Jesse ahead of you in the service line right away, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the dispenser, trying to play cool and not have your attention drawn to him. With a shaky hand, he put the glass on his tray and hurried over to the table where Ellie was eating with Dina. "Guys, something not that great just happened."

Ellie furrowed her eyebrows looking from Dina to Jesse "What?" She asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, she swallowed them down and spoke back up "Please tell us what terrible thing has happened in the time it took you to walk to the service line, get your food and come back?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

"We forgot (y/n)'s birthday," He said quickly, Ellie and Dina looked at each other with wide eyes, thinking back to the night before and the way they had both behaved. Dina was extremely ignorant and Ellie got into an argument with you, though Jesse didn't speak to you at all.

"We're awful friends," Dina says quietly, scraping her mind for any way they could salvage the situation and play it off like they hadn't forgotten. "We could change all of the calendars in town and make it seem like her birthday is actually today."

"Be serious, Dina," Jesse said, though he was considering her idea. "I think the only way we can fix this is by making it up to her."

"How would we do that? We can't make it up to her, she remembers every single person's birthday in this town and gives them a cupcake, even people she doesn't like, do you remember how she planned all of our birthday parties for the last four years and has never let us down?" Dina and Jesse nodded "And how we always scramble something together last minute? Like last year, we only remembered two days before and we threw her a subpar movie night, we watched Star Wars and she doesn't even like Star Wars."

Dina sucked air through her teeth "Yeah, not our best moment."

"You think?" Jesse asked, sarcastically. "And Ellie didn't make it any better by yelling at her yesterday!"

"You yelled at her? You told me you didn't yell at her,"  Dina whipped her head to look at Ellie, the smallest glimpse of judgment in her eyes. "Shh, she's coming!"

You were making your way to the exit lugging the cart that had held loaves of bread on it before you dropped them off to the kitchen, still in your flour-covered apron, hair pinned up messy, baby hairs flying away. Clad in jeans, a green T-shirt and beaten-up boots, clacking against the hardwood floor, you still looked beautiful to Ellie with red eyes and a puffy face from crying all night. "Watch this," Jesse murmured to the group before turning around and flagging you down. "Hey (y/n)!" He smiled brightly, his words catching your attention "Did you enjoy your birthday, yesterday?"

"Jesse, I know you heard me talking to Jasmine." You said and Ellie couldn't bear the disappointed look on your face. At that moment, the guilt hit her all at once. You had been the first kid her age that she warmed up to when she arrived in Jackson, trying your best to include her in everything. You invited her to hang out with your friends even though she didn't particularly get along with them, she went anyway because she just wanted to see you. On her birthday the previous year, you had scoped out an old comic store hours away just to bring her there for one day.

Jesse's smile fell and you had walked out the door before he had the chance to push a lie through his teeth. Last night's conversation echoed through Ellie's head over and over again, she cringed at the memory, god, why did she even say that?

Dina reached over the table and gave Ellie a harsh smack on the arm "Why did you even say that?!" 

"Ow," She flinched, rubbing the spot that had been assaulted by Dina "What are you talking about?"

Dina looked at Ellie like she was just about ready to scream "What you said to her last night, what was going through your head?"

"Not much, apparently," Jesse answered for her, earning a death glare from the Auburn girl.

"I'll just apologize and it'll be water under the bridge," Ellie said, leaning back.

"That's not going to work," Dina replied quickly.

It, in fact, did not work. Ellie had shown up at the bakery where you promptly ignored her. "(y/n), I'm really sorry I forgot your birthday and said those things to you." Nothing Ellie said could get you to even look at her.

She had later stopped by your house, it was your dad who answered the door and Ellie sheepishly asked if you were home. He called for you to come down, the moment you saw Ellie, you shut the door in her face. There was no way she could defend herself, she couldn't say that she said those things because she had a bad day (even though she did), and that would just make her seem pathetic. She really wanted to say that she was scared of how much she liked you, she didn't want to ruin a good thing, you both had spent years playing the role of each other's best friend until Ellie started to distance herself from you and you ended up enwrapping yourself with work to distract yourself from the fact that she was drifting away.

Ellie didn't know what to do, if she didn't act fast, it would be too late and she was going to lose you.

♡

One week later

The sun was just beginning to set as you were already preparing to settle into bed and read a book, just about to change out of your floor-length sundress and into one of your dad's old shirts. However, your plans were interrupted when you heard your dad screaming downstairs, it was blood-curdling. You dropped everything, pulling your bedroom door open and rushing down the stairs, tripping on a step and stumbling before quickly regaining balance and moving with haste "Dad?" You called out, worry running through your head. 

"SURPRISE!" People practically screeched, the volume so loud that you jolted back in fear. The chatter only grew as you looked around you and realized what was happening, this was your belated birthday party. 

You were pulled in suddenly for a hug, squeezing you so tight you thought your eyes would pop out of your skull was Tommy "I'm so sorry, kiddo, I was being a real shithead on your birthday."

"It's okay," You choked out, nearly gasping for air. Much to your relief, he released you and you took a deep breath.

"Happy belated birthday!" Dina sang, placing a fat box in your arms. Many people followed after her, piling gifts on top of the initial one, you were quickly losing balance, so you stumbled into the living room and put the gifts onto the coffee table. There was so much life in the living room it was almost hard to believe that just a week before you had been crying alone, bathed in moonlight. 

There were streamers strung throughout your house and odd dangly decorations that hung from the ceiling. Some balloons were taped to the walls while others bounced around the ground.

The lively hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the melodic strains of birthday wishes filled the room as the party pulsated with energy. Colourful decorations adorned the walls, and the air was charged with the festive spirit.

 You had the biggest smile on your face while everyone joked and jeered. Shoving their gifts into your face, trying to get you to open them first. It had made you forget about how awful your real birthday was, though you did try to dodge awkward apologies of people fumbling over their own words to make up excuses as to why they missed your real birthday.

"Happy birthday to you-" A voice began singing, and soon enough the entire crowd joined in, harmonizing into an off-key rendition of the birthday song. They made way for the person carrying the cake which had been none other than Ellie herself. The song ended off and Ellie placed the cake in front of you on the coffee table. "Make a wish."

You blew out all of the candles, and no punchable little girl around to steal your thunder, the room erupted into applause. The celebration continued with the living room becoming a dance floor, laughter echoing through the corridors, and conversations flowing freely. The cake itself reminded you of the embroidery your dad had done on your apron, it was sloppy and imperfect but you could tell it was made with love, the icing had been put on prematurely and had partially melted off the cake. It read 'Happy birthday' with 'Sorry for being a dick' written smaller beneath the first bit of text.

"Thank you, Ellie," You smiled softly up at her.

No one else was paying attention to you anymore, aside from those who wanted a slice of cake. Ellie nervously fumbled around with her hands "Do you want to dance?"

Ellie invited you to dance as the opening notes of the song floated through the air and she held out her hand. With a gentle smile, you accepted and you moved into the middle of the living room to form a makeshift dance floor. The soft aroma of fresh flowers blended with the scent of vanilla candles created an ambiance that enhanced the moment's sensory magic.

To the gentle beat of the song, your bodies moved in unison. Your hand settled comfortably on Ellie's shoulder, and her hand wrapped around your waist. Your bond transcended the material in the living room dance, an unspoken language of mutual feelings and unknown depths.

You both danced, recklessly, so much so that you were nearly a hazard for the swaying couples drifting around you, moving faster and not hurriedly as the tempo picked up. With each step, the living room's walls became silent witnesses to a romance that was developing on the plush carpet under their feet. The muted rustle of your clothing and the melodic notes of the music were all that could be heard to your ears.

The two of you took great pleasure in the dance's exuberance, laughing at the imperfect nature of it. In the noise of the living room, your eyes, locked in a dance of their own, spoke volumes. You were embraced by the dim lighting's vulnerability, which freed you from the burdens of the outside world to fully enjoy the moment. 

Ellie guided you in a soft spin as the song went on, your moves were not fluid and elegant but Ellie could've sworn that looking into your eyes made it feel like there was liquid sunlight coursing through your veins

You and Ellie drew closer in the song's last moments, your bodies pressed together in an embrace that went beyond the material. As the last notes of the music faded, they held each other for an extra moment, relishing the warmth that they shared and the unspoken promises that danced between them. You wished that you could've stayed in Ellie's strong embrace for centuries.

You let go of Ellie, taking a step back with a smile, "Why didn't you tell me you were such a good dancer?" You tease, almost out of breath.

"I didn't know I was," She grinned, taking the sight of you in. Your cheeks were flushed and your hair had become messy, she thought you to be beautiful all the same, if not more. Her eyes raked over your body, your floor-length sundress and mismatched socks "And here I was thinking it was too late for sundresses."

"It's never too late, Ellie."

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #slow burn #the last of us ellie #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fluff #Ellie Williams X reader angst #angst #fluff #ellie x fem reader #mean!ellie #tlou #super slow burn

[highhhfiveee]

mint (mike schmidt x reader)

*minor movie spoiler that isn’t a spoiler fr but kind of is*

tags: suggestiveness, swearing, fluff

oi. this is my first official piece of fanfic on tumblr and i'm excited but also super nervous. i never knew what characters i wanted to write for as most of my fandoms are obsolete tbh (teen wolf and maze runner, i'm looking at you 💔) but after watching the fnaf movie and falling in love with j hutch like i'm 14 again, i wanted to try to write for mike!

i'm sorry if this story sucks tbh. i wrote it pretty quickly, did not edit it in any way (watch for grammar and spelling errors!) and i'm still trying to establish characters and plot and do all this silly billy worldbuilding, but i'll get better! i'm also taking requests for both fluff and smut, so if y'all would like to send anything for me to write, i'll def accept! like i said in my last post, i think i'm gonna redo my tumblr layout so i can feel like a true fanfic/misc blog lmao so ignore its under construction phase ((: i hope y'all enjoy this though bc i've been thinking ab mike schmidt all night

i have sooo many ideas, but between last night and this morning, i’ve been thinking of abby’s babysitter!reader (bc fuck max).

you’ve been channel surfing in the living room since you put abby down, working with her to lock down a nightly routine. ideally, she’d bathe, eat dinner (god willingly), brush her teeth, and then you’d be able to get her to lay in bed and doze off. some nights, this required dessert.

“you just brushed your teeth though. it’s gonna taste gross.”

“not if it’s one of those mint chocolate things you always have.” you straighten up, eyes squinted at the child before you; she meant the small, sometimes melted, squares of Andes mint chocolate you always kept. they’d always been your favorite, a guilty pleasure in this fucked up world.

you hadn’t been babysitting abby for long, and you didn’t realize that she'd been watching you crush the chocolates like it was light work. they were easy to eat, and once you had one, you found out how easy it was to eat another one, and then another one, and then another one until there was a mountain of crinkled foil next to your phone and chocolate smeared on your face.

"please, y/n. just one," you didn't exactly know if it was a lie. abby was convincing, able to break you down with her eyes, pleading and puppy-dog like. "please."

you cave, leaning down to brush her hair back from her forehead and place a gentle kiss on the skin. with pursed lips, you whisper, "fine, but tomorrow night. i have to get some more."

abby does nothing but smile, eyes fluttering closed. you stay with her for a bit like you always do--watching the way her chest rises and falls, and how her features twitched with slumber. features scarily similar to mike's.

of course she'd look like mike. they were siblings, no shit, but the resemblance occupied your brain. there was sweet abby, with her colorful clothes and scribbled drawings and persuasive aura, and then there was mike.

you shake your head, giving abby another kiss before exiting her room. you didn't need to think about mike. he wasn't what you were here for. you'd come to abby's school as an aide and after she'd privately confided in you about her home life, you knew you had to help her. you would do anything for her, even if that meant taking care of her while suppressing the overwhelming school girl crush you had on her older brother.

mike was a bit older than you, which didn't scare you at all. guys in their early 20s were rarely mature, doing anything they could just to fuck; but guys in their late 20s, mike specifically, had only ever shown you couth, surprisingly.

for nearly two months, five mornings a week, the sound of the door being unlocked would ring out. you'd turn to see sunshine pouring into the living room, enveloping mike's brooding figure in a radiant golden glow.

he'd hang his coat on the wall hooks, drop his bag down to his feet, and give you a small but warm smile. you'd try to not to embarrass yourself as you two made small talk, packing up your things.

you always left unscathed, but recently it'd been hard. you were always thinking about him, dreaming about him even; how his hair would feel between your fingers, how his hands would feel on your face, how his face would feel between your thighs.

the thought is washed away, drowned out by the sound effects of a loud infomercial when the door opens, and you're turning and squinting against the wash of pale yellow on your face. mike steps forward with a, "hey, y/n" and you meekly raise your hand to wave.

he hangs his hoodie up to reveal his shoulder blades flexing under an uncharacteristically tight navy blue sweater. you can't help but stare.

"just wake up?" his voice is raspy, but he's still facing the wall, rummaging in his bag for something.

"um...yeah. brain's still turning on," you lie, tossing the thick blue blanket off your body. you didn't sleep at all, kept up with your thoughts and the last of your Andes mints (though you loved her, you couldn't give abby your last ones).

"hm," he mutters, finally turning to you but keeping his hands behind his back. something crinkles in them and you raise your eyebrow at the tired yet amused expression he takes with you. it's enough to make your body hot and you awkwardly pull at the collar of your shirt, fanning yourself off.

"hot?" the gravelly tone sends you into a giggling fit, shaking your head as you shoot to your feet. you have to leave before you do or say something you regret.

"uh, yeah, it was s-super hot under that...um...blanket. i shouldn't have worn sweatpants to s-sleep," you stutter, nodding your head along with mike as he steps closer to you. this couldn't be the moment something happens, right? it'd been so casual between you too, very friendly, and he'd never shown any signs of trying to do anything with you before. why would he choose right now, so spontaneously?

he stands before you, the slightest bit taller than you. you're able to see every pore, every freckle, every microscopic detail in his eyes and lips.

you open your mouth, hoping your heart doesn't fall out, to ask what's happening, when he reveals a bag of Andes mints, one bigger than you've ever seen.

your mouth stays open in surprise. "wh-"

"abby's been talking about them. i wondered where she found out about them but--" he nudges his head towards the coffee table, where a small mound of green wrappers lay. you swear under your breath, cursing yourself for not throwing them away like you usually do.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, blushing beyond measure as you begin to frantically pack your things. "i should be more careful with that stuff."

"god, y/n, you're saying it like it's coke," mike chuckles. he sets the bag down on the couch and reaches out to you, placing his hand on yours as you shove things into your tote. "hey."

his voice forces you to stop and look up. you melt under his stare just like you do with abby. the puppy-dog thing must run in the family.

"i feel bad about not being able to pay you yet, and i really appreciate all you're doing. abby told me that you loved those mints, so..."

"thank you, mike," you say over the sound of your pounding heart. you didn't care about the money, you didn't need it. being appreciated by someone who made your heartbeat resonate throughout your body was payment enough. "this is really sweet."

"thank you, y/n. you don't know how much this means to me." You scoff, throwing your tote over your shoulder and looking down at your feet.

"i'm always happy to help." you and mike stand facing each other for what feels like hours, the air as thick as molasses between you. his eyes were squinted, low and dark and intriguing.

you wished you could read his mind. what was he thinking? did his heart do the same thing as yours, wacking against his ribcage with no end in sight? did he stay up thinking about you when he was supposed to be sleeping, imagining how you felt, what you sounded like, how you tasted---

"see you later tonight?" his voice rocks you out of your trance. he's not thinking about you. he's tired, wondering when you'll leave so he can fall into his bed and doze off.

"yeah. tell abby i said i'll see her tonight." your smile is tight as you exit the house, cursing at yourself as you get into your car.

you didn't know how long you could go on like this.

ya, i know this sucks and it isn't really anything but we're gonna work our way through these fics and blurbs to really develop a cute relationship (,: i will still be writing other fics for mike, and possibly using another babysitter!reader in a different universe, but as for now, we're gonna be rocking with these two (: (thinking that we’ll label her as 🌱🍫!reader)

all notes are appreciated (: thanks for reading!

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt fluff #faire is writing stuff #fnaf fic

[fanby-fckry]

A Rose by Any Other Name

Day 3 of Ace Alastor Week: QPR Day

Word Count: 2,533

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: None

Additional Warnings: Implied/Referenced Kink (in the form of a Fade to Black ending), Implied/Referenced Cheating (no actual cheating occurs), Period Typical Attitudes, Outdated Terminology, (see beginning notes for more info)

Relationships: (Queer Platonic) Alastor/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, (Queer Platonic) Alastor/Lilith Magne | Morningstar/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Background Lilith Magne | Morningstar/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar

Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Mentioned Lilith Magne | Morningstar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Established Relationship, queer platonic relationship, Polyamory, Open Marriage, Lilith and Lucifer Magne | Morningstar have an Open Marriage, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), (but he will deny it until the day he double dies), Bisexual Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Bisexual Disaster Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Nonbinary Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, (yup finally getting into Luci’s gender fuckery), Talking, Conversations, Awkward Conversations, Misunderstandings, the ‘what are we?’ conversation except it’s ‘what do we call us?’, what to call your qpp when the term qpp hasn’t been invented yet, Enochian Language (Abrahamic Religions), (taking massive liberties with the Enochian language), Fade to Black, Unreliable Narrator

Series: Part 3 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024 ( <- Prev || Next -> ) || Part 6 of The Unholy Trinity

Summary:

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Alright, my darling, spiteful deer. If not ‘paramour,’ then what should I call you?”

Alastor maneuvered himself into a more upright position.

“Hmm,” he hummed. ‘Paramour’ certainly wasn’t the right word, but he was drawing a blank on what was.

*

Lucifer and Alastor try to come up with a word to describe their relationship to each other. They only get side-tracked once or five times.

Better on AO3

Author’s Notes:

During the gender fuckery portion of their discussion, Alastor uses somewhat outdated language and while he has a vague idea that gender and sex aren’t a static binary, his grasp on the subject isn’t exactly congruent with more modern views.

This fic takes place in 1943. He’s using the language he has access to at the moment, and he’s honestly a bit ahead of his time thanks to Lucifer’s influence.

This is my first time adding notes to a tumblr fic, let’s see how this goes!

It had come up unexpectedly. A word, or rather, the lack of a word.

Lucifer had been telling Alastor about a conversation he’d had with Lilith, and in passing, he’d called Alastor his ‘paramour.’

Alastor cocked his head to the side. “You still call me that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Lucifer hummed absentmindedly. “What, my paramour?”

“Yes, that,” Alastor confirmed. “It makes it sound like I’m your…” Alastor made a conscious effort not to let the corners of his smile drop. “Mistress,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well, you’re not my mistress,” Lucifer said, far too casually. “Last I checked, you’re a man who uses masculine language.”

Lucifer paused. “Last I checked,” he repeated.

Alastor stared at him, unblinking, wondering what the hell he was on about.

“If you ever feel like changing that, let me know. I’d be happy to call you whatever fits best,” the Devil offered. “And Sinner forms are more malleable than you might think when it comes to physicality.”

“I…” Alastor faltered. He could sense Lucifer’s sincerity on the matter, despite it not being at all relevant.

Lucifer was, in his own words, ‘not bound by human concepts of gender,’ with a particular distaste for ‘that strange binary system that’s gotten so popular.’ He actively encouraged demons and humans alike to live as their true selves even if – hell, especially if – that truth was an unconventional one.

And while Alastor legitimately could not care less about his own gender, he didn’t have it in his heart to spurn such genuine kindness from Lucifer. “Thank you for your support on my hypothetical sex change-”

“You’re welcome!” Lucifer interjected, all sunshine and smiles, and Alastor was hit with a swift and jarring reminder that Lucifer was once a creature of Heaven.

“But that is not even remotely the point!” Alastor said, exasperated. “I meant that it implies that we’re sneaking around.”

“We are sneaking around,” Lucifer said. “You don’t want the public to know about our relationship.”

“It implies that you’re cheating on your wife!” Alastor said, finally, his voice laced with static.

“Oh,” Lucifer said in sudden realization. “I didn’t think about it like that. Lilith and I have both used ‘paramour’ to describe our other partners since the fourteenth century,” he explained. “It just doesn’t have that kind of connotation to us.”

“Well it does to me!” Alastor sighed. “It was one thing when I thought I was an affair partner, but now that I know about your arrangement with Lilith, I’d like to stop feeling like some kind of homewrecker.”

“Hold on, did you actually feel guilty about the idea that we were” – Lucifer added largely unnecessary air quotes for dramatic effect – “‘having an affair?’”

Alastor laughed mirthlessly. “Remorse is for children and weak willed men. I outgrew it by the age of ten!”

“You’re not fooling anybody,” Lucifer teased. “Even if it wasn’t guilt, you felt something. And you were happy to know that you didn’t come between Lilith and I.”

Lucifer tapped his index finger against Alastor’s chest. “You’ve got a heart in there after all.”

“Hahaha, on the contrary, my dear friend!” Alastor swiped Lucifer’s hand out of the way and placed his own hand over his heart instead, curling it into a fist as he spoke. “While I may indeed have a heart, you’ll find it’s filled to the brim with more useful things, like bloodlust and spite!”

Alastor offered Lucifer a rather patronizing smile and wrapped his arm around him, taking advantage of the smaller form Lucifer so preferred to manipulate the Devil like a ragdoll.

“There’s no room for any of that emotional nonsense you’re blathering on about,” Alastor said with a dismissive hand wave.

He pulled out all the stops – sound effects, body language, squeezing Lucifer so hard it would’ve broken his ribs if he were human.

“I need every bit of it working towards my passion for performance! My romance with radio! And of course, my one true love…” Alastor performed a mock swoon to really top things off, one that ended with Lucifer scrambling to catch him. He looked up at Lucifer with half-lidded eyes and purred the word, “Murder.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Alright, my darling, spiteful deer. If not ‘paramour,’ then what should I call you?”

Alastor maneuvered himself into a more upright position.

“Hmm,” he hummed. ‘Paramour’ certainly wasn’t the right word, but he was drawing a blank on what was.

“Boyfriend?” Lucifer suggested.

“Too juvenile.” Alastor promptly shut him down. “I’m a grown man and you’re older than humanity itself.”

“Partner?”

Alastor scoffed. “What are we, cowboys? Businessmen? Coppers? Lawyers? No thank you!”

“Lover?”

“Same implications as ‘paramour,’” Alastor told him. “And it adds the assumption that I love you.”

Something constricted in Alastor’s chest. The weight that was the acknowledgement of their mis-mached attraction, the crushing pressure of expectation.

In a moment of precarious vulnerability, Alastor felt the need to explain himself, the words tumbling off his tongue before he could think to stop them. “I know that you love me, and I care for you, I really do, but…”

Lucifer’s voice cut through Alastor’s rambling. “I know,” he said, gentle yet firm. “And I don’t expect anything else from you. I’m perfectly happy with the way things are between us.”

Lucifer held out a hand, palm up, offering Alastor the opportunity to initiate the touch.

Alastor took Lucifer’s hand. The pressure eased.

“What about something more personalized to you?” Lucifer asked. “Are there any French Creole words that might fit?”

Alastor thought it over, searching his memories for words he hadn’t considered applying to himself since he was a much younger man and still under the impression that he might someday fall in love.

‘Amourè’ had roots in love, as well, and wasn’t something he’d want to be called. ‘Kalin’ was more removed, but Alastor had always found the word a bit peculiar. As a noun, it meant ‘boyfriend’ or ‘male lover,’ but as an adjective, it was used to describe someone as lazy.

“No, none that I can think of!” Alastor said, sparing Lucifer his thought process.

Lucifer hummed. “I’ll just have to continue my guessing game, then,” the Devil mused. “Darling?”

“Too generic. You use that one on everyone from your wife to your one night stands.”

“Fair point,” Lucifer conceded. “How about sweetheart?”

“Too sentimental.”

“Significant other?” Lucifer offered. “S.O. for short?”

“Implies monogamy,” Alastor noted. “Which neither of us has any desire for.”

“Admirer?”

Alastor wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That makes it sound like I’m running a Lucifer Morningstar fan club.”

“I mean,” Lucifer said, drawing out the words in a wheedling manner. “I certainly wouldn’t mind that.”

“Lucifer.”

“I’d even start a Radio Demon fan club to reciprocate,” the Devil promised.

Alastor’s smile thinned to a line. “Lucifer, I’m vetoing ‘admirer.’”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” Lucifer pouted.

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea, myself, but every once in a while, we will have to have a serious conversation.”

“But why does this have to be one of them?” Lucifer asked. “We’ll find a word for us eventually, but what’s the rush? What’s with this sense of urgency? You’re putting yourself under so much pressure, and for what?”

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose,

By any other word would smell as sweet.”

Quoting Romeo and Juliet was sickeningly sweet – and so very, very Lucifer that Alastor found it rather endearing in spite of himself. A Shakespearean comedy revered as a romantic tragedy, on the lips of the Devil, himself, as he tried to comfort his not-quite lover.

“Having a name for us might be helpful, but not having one isn’t going to end us.” Lucifer brought his free hand up to Alastor’s cheek, not quite touching it, and allowed Alastor to close the rest of the distance.

“You’re still my Alastor, my darling deer. I’m still your Lucifer, your Devil dearest. We’re still us.” Lucifer squeezed Alastor’s hand and gave him a pleading look. “Try and remember that, please, Al? Maybe it’ll help to take some of the pressure off.”

The realization hit Alastor like a bullet between the eyes. “I was doing it again, wasn’t I?”

Lucifer gave him a lopsided half-smile. “Getting hung up on the details, stressing the fuck out, and getting combative because things were out of your control and that scared you? Yes, yes you were.”

Alastor cursed under his breath. “Alright, how do I…” Struggling to find the right words, Alastor repeated Lucifer’s back to him. “How do I stop getting hung up on the details and stressing the fuck out?”

“Uhh,” Lucifer faltered.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Alastor thought to himself. He doesn’t know either?

“Give me a minute!” Lucifer protested, as if sensing Alastor’s judgment. “It’s not something I have a problem with, myself, and Lilith’s better at giving advice without speaking from experience.”

Alastor watched the Devil flounder for a moment, taking a small amount of sadistic glee in not being the only one struggling with emotional intelligence for once.

“Alright, I got it!” Lucifer said, finally. “You trust me, right, darling?”

“Yes…” Alastor said hesitantly.

“And you choose to trust me,” the Devil continued. “It’s something that you consider to be within your control.”

That wasn’t always the case – trusting Lucifer had been entirely accidental at first; at the time, it felt very much not within Alastor’s control, which had caused Alastor a great deal of distress and nearly led him to sabotaging the relationship on multiple occasions – but now…

“Yes,” Alastor answered honestly. Because trusting Lucifer was now a conscious decision. It was a choice he’d made after waking up in bed with the Devil one October morning, and one he had continued to make every day since then.

“So choose to trust me, now,” Lucifer said. “Trust that I know what I’m talking about, here.”

“Do you know what you’re talking about?” Alastor asked.

Lucifer stuck his forked tongue out. “Rude,” he said. “But fair. I’m asking for your trust and it's well within your right to make me earn it.”

Lucifer paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you know Lilith and I didn’t have a word for what we were for centuries?”

Alastor raised one eyebrow. “I assumed you would’ve called each other husband and wife.”

“Nope,” Lucifer said, popping the ‘p’ sound at the end. “It was a good long while before either of us were ready for that.”

“I mean, Lilith left the Garden so that she could be something more than just some guy’s wife. She wasn’t exactly itching to get married again.” Lucifer ran his free hand through his hair. “And I’d just Fallen so I was still getting used to the whole ‘not dedicating my entire existence to my Father’ thing…”

The Devil got a far off look in his eyes for a moment, and Alastor found himself holding tighter to Lucifer’s hand in an effort to bring him back.

Thankfully, it worked. Lucifer smiled softly and turned his attention back to Alastor.

“There wasn’t really a word back then for someone who was a lover but not a spouse,” Lucifer said. “There were exactly two languages – well, three if you count Tongues – but not one had a word for what we were to each other.”

“Was it…” There were one thousand and one questions on Alastor’s lips. In an effort to save time, he chose the most open-ended one. “What was it like?”

“New,” Lucifer answered. “And terrifying. Everything was, back then.”

“Hm,” Alastor hummed. The words echoed back to him from inside his mind. First in Lucifer’s voice – ‘New. And terrifying. Everything was’ – and then in a voice that sounded like his own – ‘New. Terrifying. Everything is.’

“And despite it all, we survived.” Lucifer’s voice caught Alastor’s ear. “We spent almost five-hundred years hopping between various endearments with nothing ‘official’ to call ourselves because the words to describe our love just hadn’t been invented yet.”

“Almost five-hundred years,” Lucifer repeated. “So, I think you and I can manage a little longer than five minutes if you just calm the fuck down.”

Alastor laughed in spite of himself. “Alright,” he said. “As you seem to be speaking from experience, Devil dearest, I suppose I can place my trust in your time tested hands.”

“Whoo!” Lucifer cheered, face alight with the goofiest grin imaginable.

Creature of Heaven, Alastor reminded himself with a sigh. And what an odd creature he was. Alastor wondered if all angels were like this – when they weren’t coming down in droves to commit mass murder in the name of population control – or if Lucifer was an oddity amongst even his angelic kin.

Lucifer cleared his throat and schooled his features in a rather amusing attempt at seriousness. “Better?” he asked.

Alastor thought about it for a moment before answering. “Yes, actually!”

It was surprising the difference it made to hand over control of a situation rather than feel it slipping through his fingers.

The seemingly impossible task of finding a single word to describe his and Lucifer’s connection to each other was now firmly Lucifer’s responsibility – as were any potential consequences of not finding one.

Alastor didn’t need to think about the what ifs or the what nows; he didn’t need to get wrapped up in the details of linguistic origins or cultural connotations. Lucifer would find something, or he wouldn’t. And either way, they’d be alright.

“I am curious, though,” Alastor said. “About the endearments you mentioned. And how they differ from ‘official’ labels.”

“Oh, that.” Lucifer paused. “If I had to compare… They were more like ‘darling deer’ and ‘Devil dearest’ than ‘paramour’ or ‘partner.’ Words for each other, not for the relationship.”

“Hm,” Alastor hummed, curiosity far from sated. He knew that these ancient endearments were in tongues he couldn’t understand, and yet, he couldn’t help but wonder…

“Tell me one,” Alastor demanded.

Lucifer got a dreamy look in his eyes. “I used to call Lilith” – Lucifer made a sound that Alastor could never hope to replicate, even with the entirety of Hell’s airwaves at his disposal. Perhaps if he had Heaven’s, he might get somewhere close, but it’d never match the reverence with which Lucifer spoke.

It was beautiful, melodic, Heavenly. And for the first time in quite some time, Alastor found himself genuinely awed by Lucifer’s angelic nature.

“It’s the Enochian word for ‘song,’” Lucifer explained.

“Fitting,” Alastor whispered, somewhat breathless. “It sounded like music.”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh the whole language is a bit musical,” he said.

The Devil gasped. “Wait, that’s it!”

“What?” Alastor asked. “What is it?”

“Flame,” Lucifer said, eyes lit up like the sun. “As in, I don’t want to set the world on fire,” he sang.

By the next line, Alastor was singing along with him, the instrumental playing behind them.

“I just want to start

A flame in your heart.”

Alastor kissed Lucifer with rare softness. “It’s perfect,” he whispered against the Devil’s lips.

“Told you we’d last more than five minutes,” Lucifer teased.

Alastor bit him in retaliation. And well, it rather devolved from there.

#fanby’s fuckery #fanby’s fics #acealastorweek2024 #hazbin hotel #alastor #aroace alastor #asexual alastor #aromantic alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #qpr radioapple #radioapple #radioapplesiren #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction

[tennessoui]

“You don’t want me.”

I don’t have any au preference. I just know the potential with this one has me vibrating!!!!!

ahhh ok ok so !!! this is the long-awaited (im telling myself this) regency au snippet where obi-wan and anakin meet!! here is the tag for the au on tumblr to find the other snippets + bonus ao3 christmas tide oneshot, but chronologically this takes place first (with minor tweaks to the existing au: obi-wan always knew anakin was the duke, mace was there their first time meeting each other)

(2.4k) (squick tag: a/b/o)

At the very edge of the dancefloor, Obi-Wan stands with his hands tucked neatly behind his back as he watches the members of high society spin around the ballroom as if it’s some sort of contest.

He supposes it is.

And being unwilling to participate in such pageantry has found him invariably pushed him to the edges of their circus, his tattered, off-season clothing only cementing his place there.

He has stopped caring four seasons ago, taking his cue from his elder brother. The people who could not hold their tongues called Mace spinster to his face, and conceited behind his back. But Obi-Wan was there at his side the first time his brother realized high society had moved forward without him: he had seen the relief that accompanied his slumped shoulders, had seen how much lighter his eyes grew when the last of the alphas at the ball dragged their eyes past him as if he were invisible.

Almost immediately, Obi-Wan, all of ten and seven then, had wanted that freedom for himself. Alphas were exhausting. Society alphas even moreso. When his brother had stepped back to a nominal role in the season—present only in body, only as chaperone to his four younger omega siblings—Obi-Wan had been eager to step into the shadows with him.

“Alas, my ankles hurt,” he told every alpha—of which there were only a handful—who asked him to dance over the past few seasons.

Eventually, they stopped asking, though Obi-Wan still attended every dance of the season, if only to witness Bant trip over herself in front of her flutist, or to watch Aayla dance the night away with a bright smile on her lips.

He’s startled out of his contemplations by the arrival of his brother, who offers him a discreet flask from his coat pocket. “To the beginning of another season,” Obi-Wan tilts the flask towards his brother with a smirk. “May we be fat with children come spring.”

Mace huffs out a snort and takes the liquor back from him, medicating with a hearty swig before he tucks it out of sight once more. “You know, Obi-Wan, you do not have to wear the cloak of the cynic just because you like how it looks on me.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Obi-Wan replies, looking across the ballroom. On the other side of the cavernous space, people are starting to flock towards the doors, each louder and more enthusiastic than the last.

Beside him, his brother lets out a sigh. “I remember a boy who took great pleasure in his dancing lessons once upon a time. What turned him into this man, who I have not seen take to the floor once in five years?”

“His dancing partners,” Obi-Wan quips back, stealing the flask from his brother’s coat. “What do you think that is all about?” He inclines his head to the gaggle of alphas and omegas alike, clamoring at the base of the great staircase.

Mace shoots him an incredulous look. “Brother, surely you must know.”

Obi-Wan scowls. He does not appreciate the tone nor the implication that he is behind on some great piece of societal news.

“The duke Skywalker has arrived,” Mace says quite slowly. “He is spending the season here, as these are his ancestral grounds. The king wants him to settle here apparently. We have been ungoverned for too long, and are thinking of dangerous ideas. ”

“Hah,” Obi-Wan replies. “I suppose it is of no coincidence that he has arrived at the start of the season? Is he in want of an omega?”

“Surely he must be,” Mace dips his head. “Though I believe it wouldn’t matter if he were not,” he raises his eyebrows pointedly in the direction of the crowd.

“Because everyone else is in want of being his omega,” Obi-Wan finishes and shakes his head, a strange surge of pity welling up in his chest for the alpha duke. It is not often he recognizes someone so thoroughly trapped, which is the only thought in his head when the doors finally open and reveal their duke.

The man stands tall in an outfit of daring red, a color that has not been popular for at least a few seasons. Obi-Wan thinks this is probably about to change now that society has seen the way the shade looks on the duke’s well-muscled body,  the way its darkness highlights the tarnished gold of his wild hair.

From his position on the landing, the duke looks over the crowd. Obi-Wan can see the way his eyes widen slightly at the crowd that awaits him at the bottom of the stairs, though he cannot be surprised. He barely resists the urge to snort when he sees the way the alpha’s nostrils flare as he scents the room. In the city, this must be acceptable practice, but here? It is uncouth to the extreme. But of course someone as wealthy, handsome, and eligible as the duke will be able to get away with the action.

The duke’s face darkens suddenly, head still tilted a touch too high to be natural. Ignoring the guards who have announced him and who now are trying to gently urge him down the steps to his doom, he steps forward to lean against the marble banister as his eyes focus on the party below him, as if intent on making eye contact with each of his subjects before deigning to walk amongst them.

“It will be the mating of the century,” Obi-Wan says, taking another sip from Mace’s flask.

“It will be a boon onto our business,” Mace replies. “If the amount of omegas through our doors just for tonight’s dance is any indication.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He’d noticed that the business in their tailorshop had increased rather substantially in the past month. He hadn’t realized the duke’s presence had anything to do with it, though he supposes it makes sense.

“And here I thought our recent fortunes were due to your clever hands.”

Mace snorts and confiscates his flask. “One day, my vexing brother, your clever tongue is going to get you in trouble.”

Obi-Wan is a respectable omega and gentleman, so he does not stick out his tongue in response. Alright. He does not stick his tongue out at his brother for very long.

“Pardon me, I believe I should say hello to Mrs. Dubrey,” Mace nods across the way. “Smooth over Depa’s fourth late-to-return library book.”

“Mrs. Dubrey’s standing by the refreshments table,” Obi-Wan points out. “You’re not fooling anyone. And I would like a honeycake, thank you.” 

Mace rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “Then I’m sure a strong and willful omega such as yourself will find a way to get one.”

He takes his leave to the sound of Obi-Wan’s displeasure, which is apparently music to his brother’s ears.

—----------

Not two songs have passed before Mace is back in front of him, strange, troubled expression on his face. He offers Obi-Wan a honeycake wrapped carefully in a linen napkin.

“Why do you look so perplexed?” Obi-Wan asks, taking the food gleefully from his brother’s hand. “Was Mrs. Dubrey immune to your charms? Do we owe her a horse to pay for Depa's fees? Can we lend her Depa instead? With the stipulation we care just as much about a properly observed return date as Depa has in the past, of course.”

“I…I ran into the duke,” Mace says, ignoring everything else, eyebrows furrowed. Obi-Wan startles. “Or—the duke accosted me may be more accurate.”

“Pardon?”

“I was chatting with Mrs. Dubrey, and then suddenly, he was standing before me. It startled me half to death, mind you, he is...very intense, but—”

His brother breaks off and tilts his head as he looks at Obi-Wan. “Was he untoward?” Obi-Wan asks, preparing to set his honeycake aside to approach the duke and challenge him to a duel for his brother’s honor, should the situation demand it.

“No,” Mace says sounding only slightly unnerved. “No, he—scented me from afar, and asked whose scent I wore over my own.”

Obi-Wan blinks and then stares.

“Obi-Wan,” now Mace’s voice is more hushed as he leans forward, hand grabbing his shoulder. “The only scent I could possibly carry apart from mine is yours.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before a curl of a new scent shocks him into stillness.

Cedar and snow, clinging to the edge of Mace’s coatsleeve, and Obi-Wan is leaning forward before he even realizes it, mind focusing only on the sleeve—the smell—the cedar—the snow.

“What did he—” he starts to say, but before he can finish the question, his attention is captured by cedar&snow growing closer, stronger. 

Overwhelmingly closer. Overwhelmingly stronger.

“Pardon me,” a voice says from behind him, and Obi-Wan is turning around as if someone else is controlling his puppet strings.

Cedar and snow threaten to tear his senses asunder, so crystal clear is the scent. For one moment, he blinks in sudden, unnatural quiet as the duke Skywalker comes before him. He’s taller than him though only by a few measures. He’s older than him too, though only by a few years. Perhaps five seasons more mature, at most. A scar cuts through his brow, giving him the appearance of some sort of devilish rogue, despite the neatness of his outfit. His hair has much more shades up close than it had far away.

And suddenly how close the duke is as he stops to stand directly before him, eyes roaming over his face not unlike a starving man looks at a feast.

And then the duke bows in front of him, to him, and it is so incredibly wrong that Obi-Wan can only gape from his figure down to the upturned hand the alpha holds out. 

Mace nudges him; it’s effective in snapping him into action, though it does little to make this reality sensible again.

He rests his palm in the alpha’s hand, and the duke curls his fingers around it as if he has been given the most precious jewel in the entire kingdom.

The duke’s nostrils flare again at whatever scent Obi-Wan must be leaking into the air around them, and Obi-Wan darts a nervous look towards his brother. He is wildly out of his depth, but Mace does not offer much help.

“May I have this dance?” The alpha asks. His thumb strokes along the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist, so close to one of his scenting glands that the action feels scandalous.

Obi-Wan swallows. “May I have your name?” He asks, clawing at normalcy as his instincts and body begin to revolt. But he would not be Obi-Wan Kenobi if he allowed himself to be so easily overpowered by his sudden urge to show his throat to a rather intense and powerful (and handsome and sweet-smelling) alpha.

The duke blinks, but rather than scowl at what can be nothing but a slight, his face breaks into a smile. “Anakin,” he says eagerly. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan is helpless but to smile back. “Charmed,” he says because it’s true.

“May I have this dance?” The duke asks again, much more insistent now that the newest song has begun.

“You do not want my name?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I will learn it,” Duke Skywalker says so confidently that Obi-Wan would be hard-pressed to doubt him.

He opens his mouth—to tell him his name, to tell him he will dance, to tell him he cannot—but before he can get more than a breath into his lungs, his eyes are dragged away from the duke’s face by movement behind his shoulder.

People.

People staring, whispering, tongues wagging as they observe.

Obi-Wan takes his hand back, cold reality seeping into his field of vision. “You don’t want me,” he tells the duke quietly, leaning his head forward so that the words stay as private as his shame. “I promise.”

The alpha rears back as if Obi-Wan has said something deeply offensive. “I assure you, I do.”

“You do not,” Obi-Wan says firmly, turning slightly away toward the surety and safety of his brother.

“May I have this dance, omega?” The alpha catches his elbow. “Please.”

“You do not even have my name,” he says—the words are supposed to leave his mouth scathing, but instead they fall to the ground between them, heavy and lost. Before the alpha can reply, Obi-Wan shakes his head, so cognizant of the onlookers that he can hardly move his lips. “The song is almost over.”

“Thank the heavens then that the night is still young,” Duke Skywalker says immediately.

“My ankles hurt, I would be a terrible dance partner,” Obi-Wan murmurs. Mace makes a noise next to him, one that is half-disbelief and half exasperation.

“I shall have no other,” Anakin replies, stepping forward and carefully touching the dance card Obi-Wan has strapped to his wrist. “I would take all your remaining dances for myself.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curl up into a small smile. “I think that would lead to a riot, your grace.”

“Ah. So you know who I am. I wasn’t sure.”

“Know who you are? You bowed and gave me your name. I was listening.”

“You are vexing,” Anakin decides with a smile, as if the discovery is one to be worshipped or at the very least treasured.

Obi-Wan does not truly think of his actions or of their consequences. 

The last person who called him vexing had been his brother.

He is acting purely on learned behavior when he raises his chin and sticks his tongue out at Anakin. A second later, of course, he remembers himself and startles back, feeling the blush grow over his face as he blinks at the duke in front of him.

His brother groans. “Obi-Wan,” he swears as if his name is a curse. “For the love of—”

Anakin’s eyes have gone very dark. “Obi-Wan,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

Obi-Wan swallows, and then, perhaps minutes too late, bows to the duke. 

“May I have this dance, Obi-Wan?” the alpha asks, extending his hand between their bodies.

This question, repeated for the third time still just as sweetly as its first iteration, causes the blush to darken across his face.

He allows his hand to rest in Anakin’s.

With his other hand, he deposits his untouched honeycake into his brother’s open palm. After a second’s consideration, he maneuvers his dance card off the circle of his wrist as well, dropping it next to the pastry. 

He has a feeling that he will not be needing it for the rest of the night.

#asks #prompt fill #squick tag: a/b/o #regency au #oh so anakin caught a whiff of obi-wans scent lke as soon as he entered the room #and talked to everyone trying to find it #anyone who had the barest trace of that scent was subjectd to an anakin skywalker on a mission #and then mace is likee soaked in that scent #anakin absolutely follows him back to obi-wan #and is thrilled by obi-wan #and infatuatd #and scent drunk #sort of ached writing this because you know they havee such a good night #and amazing time #and then they won't have another like it for months #because they're idiots

[rollinpinwheel]

Thank you!!

Since a bunch of positivity is being spread around, I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone in this community who have been so welcoming, patient, accepting and understanding.

I'm still kinda new here, and I haven't been active on tumblr like this for quite some time, like we're talking years... and it's so much fun to be back in the rpc whirlwind and have fun with so many of you!!!

Thank you for being understanding when I put my Fizzarolli on hiatus, I know a lot of threads and ideas got buried when it was...

Thank you for being patient with all my art spam and with how hyper I can get what with my ADHD and all

Thank you for giving Pinwheel a chance, despite him being such a minor character in the show... for accepting my portrayal of him and letting me be as obnoxious as I've been with him

Thank you so so much for accepting the other fizzy-bots over at @fizziefactory into the community!! They're basically fan OCs so I really thought it'd be Rough to get them going... but so many of you have followed me over there, you like my posts and you seem to actually be interested in the ideas my wired brain has been spinning... it really makes me so so happy to see my little creechures being accepted...

And thank you for being so welcoming to me in the first place. Joining a new rpc is always a bit scary because you've got no idea who is who and what the vibe is in the fandom until you've been there a while... and I can tell now that the hellaverse fandom is the sweetest place ♡♡♡

Thank you thank you thank you!!

I can only tag a few what with tumblr's system and all... but I wanna toss out some extra love to @holoharbinger @k1zty @jizzlords @micsmasmuses & @five-eyed-peacock ♡♡♡

There are so many more I can tag so I'll just list you here in hopes you see!!! Maybe it'll work- @fizzarollitm @cxncrie @hazbinwisteria @infernal-blaze @unholi @brokendreamscreation

Plus many more!

#off stage [ ooc ]

[trulybetty]

2023 Tumblr Top 10 Posts

This was really interesting to go through as I really try to avoid anything related to stats - but also fun to revisit some posts/fics I’d forgotten about!

This year was such a transformative year in many different ways, that I’m still trying to process with 2024 quickly approaching. I’m looking forward to seeing what the New Year brings. But I hope it brings me more of the same I’ve experienced here - community building and some wonderful people that I get to call friends 💕

So if you’re interested, check out the following! If you do your own Top 10, please tag me in it! 🙌 you can do your own here!

1. 879 notes - Jun 26 2023 - Pre-Outbreak/Non-Outbreak Joel (photo set)

2. 413 notes - Sep 10 2023 - Sequins (Joel)

Still so thankful for @wildemaven posting that gif - because if she hadn’t Sequins!Joel would never have been created! It’s the gift that keeps on giving. This was also my first foray into anything non-TLOU themed for Joel and I’m still shocked it was received so well. 

3. 306 notes - Sep 26 2023 - Happy Birthday (Joel)

Written for Joel’s birthday - this was just straight up smut and birthday sex. But hey, it’s canon Joel likes it gentle, steady, nice and slow… so who was I to not give him nice and slow 🫠

4. 237 notes - Aug 16 2023 - Stood Up (Frankie)

To this day I don’t remember where this idea came from. I was really intimidated to write for Frankie, like I almost didn’t post this! But I’m so glad I did, it’s spurred several other one-shots involving Frankie x Mav and a current (neglected) WIP that I’m excited to get back to in the new year.

5. 227 notes - Aug 31 2023 - Marcus Pike coded Pedro, which inspired this (and number 7).

6. 225 notes - Jul 6 2023 - New (to me) Whiskey promo shoot (photo set)

7. 205 notes - Sep 2 2023 - Sick Day (Marcus)

When I first came back to fanfiction I was so confused by the reader insert format. The last time I wrote fanfic, it was canon characters or OC’s - which is what both Gold Rush and Chiffon (my first) are written in. So in order to try out the format I started with Marcus and what is now the Sweet Jane series. I have plans for those two, I have how they met mapped out in my head, that I hope to explore soon!

8. 175 notes - Aug 4 2023 - Strings (Joel)

This was another nerve wracking foray - reader insert Joel and because it was a challenge to write Joel with someone other than my OC. It started as a one-shot, that then was three parts, then four and finally finished at five. It’s also the only series I’ve managed to complete 😆. I’m so proud of this one, it has a special place in my heart - this is the ending Joel deserves, living on a little farmhouse being taken care of and a reluctant chicken dad.

9. 167 notes - Aug 14 2023 - A Sunday Night Ramble (text post)

This was a late night epiphany - where I realised that I was trying to force writing and make my two OG series’ fit into more palatable moulds for others consumption rather than writing the story I wanted. It’s also a good reminder that it’s okay to take a break from something that isn’t currently serving you. If you come back to it two day later, two weeks later or never - it’s okay. You’re not beholden to anyone. This is all supposed to be fun first and foremost, if you’re not having fun then it may be time to step back and re-evaluate.

10. 166 notes - Aug 24 2023 - Drip (Joel)

I still get sad when I think about this piece. Like real sad. I don’t know if I could write something like this again now - or ever. I was well and truly in my feels with this one. I made the decision to watch a walkthrough of all the cut scenes of TLOU2 and it broke me. I knew what was coming, but knowing and watching were two different things. I do like that I left this one open to interpretation - meaning I can revisit one day if I want, so who knows.

NPT’s: @wildemaven, @gnpwdrnwhiskey, @rhoorl, @morallyinept, @frenchiereading, @maggiemayhemnj, @magpiepills, @goodwithcheese, @secretelephanttattoo, @sin-djarin, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @undercoverpena, @nerdieforpedro, @linzels-blog, @for-a-longlongtime, @avastrasposts​, @musings-of-a-rose, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings​ & anyone else who wants to play - consider this me tagging you in! Please tag me if you do it! I’d love to see! 🙌

#trulybetty 2023 #trulybetty in review #tumblrtop10

[opttagoyeo]

Thank you for @chloelapomme (omg) and @dayseternal-blog (double omg) for tagging me with @secrettastemakerland idea of wip game! 

Pick a bunch of your WIPs and summarize them as badly as possible, then ask your followers to vote on which one they'd be most likely to read. Multiple/all/none options are completely optional.

I'm truly sorry because it took me roughly 3 days (I guess??? idk anymore TT) to even think of badly summaries (that will actually not spoil the whole premise of each of my WIPs) 🥲🥲… I don't know if this is bad enough but please understand I'm not really good at summarizing it bad (even summarizing it good is no-no to me)

Okay I actually put genderbend on the last two because those two are actually my two genderbend naruhina I was supposed to post this month but since they weren't actually still flesh out just yet, it might take some time for them to be posted (probably within this year, lol I do hope so).

The last one is actually a WIP of mine that I wrote last year. I actually love the premise I've built with it in my head (lol) but only ¼ of what should be written is written so I doubt if I would actually post this or not lol! To be honest, when I saw this tag game the first thing that came to my mind was hold up, do I even have WIP?!! But then I remembered about my two genderbend nh! They saved me hehe… honestly I just jump back and forth to some unfinished ideas of mine and then somehow will continue it if some inspiration struck me (I'm truly just a beginner in this so I'm super sorry) or maybe not and they'll never see the light outside my notes.

I just realized you can't edit the poll once it was published 😭🥲, so now I can't even edit the poll because I've summarize them a teeny bit longer than necessary that tumblr had the audacity to cut them off :') so I'll put the five of them here to prevent confusion! ^^

1. the sunset is beautiful isn't it? oh wait, are those tears?

2. the heart wants what it wants but maybe not this time

3. naruko just wants to visit the apartment and meet the poodle goddamnit (genderbend)

4. naruko thinks she's hallucinating, or she hit her head so bad with a rock (genderbend)

5. so it's really weird to call you by that name when we look just the same, you know?

I'm really nervous about who I should tag so I'm sorry in advance to the people I will tag (hehe) I hope I'm not coming off as rude TT! I wanna see all of your WIP!!! @happyocelot @powerful-niya @opal-chan @diyas-diaries-98 @wickermayne @sessakag

#wip game #naruhina #naruto uzumaki #hinata hyuga #naruto x hinata #hinata x naruto #naruto #hinata #hinata hyuga x naruto uzumaki #tag game #wip poll #im really nervous about this #genderbend naruhina #i just wanna see all of your wip cuz i know they'll be interesting #im sorry if i tagged u :')

[ervona]

20 questions for writers! (fanfic themed)

thank you @wispstalk :) I will tag... @waterdhaviancheesecake @hungerofhadarr @aphoticfairy @biichama @wingedtwilight

answers and question list under the cut:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

none! I did repost some of them on squidgeworld

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

not applicable. my tesfest collection clocks in at 10.5k

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Elder Scrolls and Forgotten Realms right now...

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

again not applicable. the ones on tumblr get around the same amount of notes so I can't really rank the handful of them imo

5. Do you respond to comments?

I read and cherish all the tags I've gotten, I respond to comments if I post the work in a server of course and if you message me about it... I'm so happy to talk about writing any time, both mine and your own

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

quite a few but most are unpublished yet so I'll say "thrice-sealed" ends in a pretty pointless and unfulfilled way. most things for this family do, it's really about which moment you end up focusing on

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think I have more of these published... "sever seas" is a hit to me, really encapsulates the emotion I'm chasing when writing a happy ending, which is that it's never too late and it'll all be ok eventually

8. Do you get hate on fics?

nope! I don't think anyone likes hate but I'd love more criticism as uniform positivity is kind of dull. I always love to hear what people liked about my work but I'd also love to hear what they didn't like...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

mixed impressions on this one, I've written sex scenes, but I've also been told it's not quite smut... I don't like IKEA erotica but I like sex scenes for character study so if you get anything from me it'll be it

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

not that I recall, I haven't really had ideas for crossovers

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I'd be genuinely surprised

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope but feel free to!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

no but I'm up for it, and imo I'm good at collaborative work

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don't have one, if I'm attached to a particular dynamic it's for a limited period of time that they inspire me... but I still care them

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

HEADSTONES LMAO... I have a lot of other unfinished ideas but this is one I plotted out, not even that long or complicated and then drove right off the bridge. I want to return to it when I have more inspiration and feel more assured in my Reithwin lore because it's a big old mess

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm taking from comments I've gotten because I can't self-analyze that well: the cadence of it owed in part to being esl, capturing an atmosphere, the psychological profile of characters and dialogue! personally I think I'm good at this too but there's room to improve

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

long form plotting! I couldn't write a novel, and when I write short stories I struggle to not just make it a vibes based thriller. in fanfic this manifests as characters just hanging out. pondering their life. there are many story ideas in my mind with some definite plot but putting it all together is quite a task. I'll just keep on trying to do it!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm already writing in another language, but I'd only want to try a language I'm as familiar with or a conlang where I can make it up unless I have someone to consult about the language being right

19. First fandom you wrote for?

genuinely not sure. maybe Neopets, stories about my pets, which would've been the first and only fanfic I had published in a while...

20. Favorite fic you've written?

not any of my published ones unfortunately, but fortunately I have many contenders. may you all get to read them at some point... so right now one I'm very endeared towards is the one where a young Vedam and Orvas Dren are traveling with their mother, though I've changed their timeline up so much I'm not sure if their ages work... okay from my published ones I'll say the Mavus one is dear to me :)

...

here's a list of the questions:

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

What fandoms do you write for?

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Do you respond to comments?

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Do you get hate on fics?

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Have you ever co-written a fic?

What's your all-time favorite ship?

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

What are your writing strengths?

What are your writing weaknesses?

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

First fandom you wrote for?

Favorite fic you've written?

#answered

[wandixx]

It's first time ever I post something on Tumblr and I probably won't do it ever again, but this idea kinda stuck with me, so here you go, dp x dc prompt.

Danny is on a family trip in some hero adjacent city (preferably not Gotham, as much as I love Batpham fics, let's give others time to shine). It would be a great chance to rest if ghosts knew and respected words "free time." They don't, so he has to constantly fly back and forth between Amity and wherever he is. He doesn't know how to make portals yet, so he spends quite a lot of time on transportation alone, and then he fights and goes back ASAP, because as much as he can always count on Jazz to cover for him and the fact that Fentons aren't most observant, at some point they have to realise if he didn't pop up from time to time.

So now, he is running like a third day without so much as five minutes to sleep, purely on caffeine and spite, just got this okay looking sandwich from petrol station and strongest coffee he could buy and eat/drink in some secluded place (rooftop, abounded building, some really quiet alley, you know), right before he has to return to his family and act like he had nice night sleep and isn't "the Phantom menace" his parents are always threatening to post mortem murder AND THIS RANDOM PIGEON DARES TO TRY TO STEAL HIS FOOD!!!

Yes, he proceeds to yell at the pigeon because ✨️misplaced aggression✨️

He rants about his life right when local hero is near enough to hear him and just is like "You ok kid?"

They're not even too surprised hearing news about ghost (I mean, there is Deadman and also they probably had seen weirder), but still this boy shouldn't be the only one handling it (how old is he anyway, thirteen?). Oh, he isn't alone in it, ok, that's good. He has two friends (without powers or training) and two years older sister and not even his parents are in the know about his hero gig, well that's bad, gotta help him somehow.

From here, there are two ways it can go (at least I thought about these two)

1. Danny let's out one (1) scream of absolute terror and vanishes from the sight (especially if hero is in costume)

2. He proceeds to yell at the hero, because there is so much steam he has to let out and you know ✨️misplaced aggression✨️ once again (probably would work best if chosen hero was in civies, on their way grocery shopping or something)("There is no way this random civilan will belive me I may as well just continue" Danny Fenton, probably)

This is how Justice Legue lears about Amity (maybe because no one in Amity ever called because "Phantom can handle it" and Danny really didn't want to handle possessed heroes, I like this headcannon)

It can also start when Danny screams at someone's pet, but I don't know enough about dc to tell who would fit (I literally know it only from fanfics. This tag fanfics). Like, I know Damian Wayne is supposed to have a thing for animals, there are Klarion with Teekl (though they may not be the ones Danny would like to meet at the moment) and I think Captain Marvel/ Shazam had some connections with a tiger? But like, I don't think Danny would scream at tiger. I don't know, though. I've seen only a few episodes of the show, but he as well could just do it.

Idk, I just really want to see Danny full on screaming at the pigeon. And a hero. Take it from here, I'm really curious how someone who knows more about these fandoms (and English, it's not my mother tongue, I hope my brain hadn't gone "ah yes, it sounds similar, 'day' is how 'they' is supposed to be written" or something like that anywhere in this post) handles it. Who would even fit?

How do I even end post?

Have a great day/night, fellow Tumblr user

#dp x dc #i really don't know what i'm doing #just danny screaming at the pigeon #no other fandom tags to not iritate people in either fandom who aren't into dp x dc stuff #dp x dc prompt #idk how to tag lmao #how did you know

[zucest-week]

Hello motherfuckers, it's time to Zucest.

As many of you know, last year, I, along with a group consisting of myself, me, Kate and @ilikepjo24, organized the first ever Zucest Week. The event was a huge success, a very enjoyable process for me, and everyone else who participated. So naturally, it will be done again.

I have already started working on some background projects and planning that are related to the event, like scheduling the dates, that I will share with you right now.

Last year, I got an anonymous complain, saying that the prompts were announced too close to the date of the Week itself. So this year, I decided to switch it up a bit. The Week will still happen on the same dates as last year, but the process of collecting prompts and voting for the winners will happen earlier that year, to ensure that there will be enough time.

So, with that being said, the Google Sheet where everyone will be able to write down their ideas will be shared with the public at the 28th of February. It will be editable by for a week and a day. Normally, it's supposed to be only a week, but this year is a leap year, which means you'll have an extra day to add your suggestions.

After the predecided deadline, the spreadsheet will no longer be editable, but it will remain online and accessable to however wishes to go over the prompts once again.

Once the prompts have been collected, I will seperate all of them to five categories, depending on their energy. Those categories will be:

Smutty/Kinky Suggestions

Fluffy Suggestions

Humorous Suggestions

Sad/Angsty Suggestions

And there will be a fifth category titled Free-For-All. The suggestions that go there are the prompt that fall into two or more of the other categories. Once the prompts are seperated, I'll create a voting poll for each of the categories and I'll share all the polls with you so that you can select the suggestions you prefer. That will happen in the 7th of March and this process will last one week.

After the voting process is over, I'll collect the seven most voted prompts from each poll and arrange them in each of the seven days of the Week. That way, each day sill have five suggestions, one from each of the five categories, and you pick what you'd like to write for that day. When each of the prompts you have chosen has been arranged to each respective day, I will announce the winner prompts. That announcement will take place in the 14th of March.

The Week itself starts at the 14th of June and ends at the 20th of the same month. So from the moment the prompts will be announced, we will each have 3 months exactly to write/draw their works based on the prompts.

All forms of art are appreciated and welcome. You can write a story or a poem, draw a picture or a comic, you could even compose a song if you wish to do show, or make a post with a headcannon inspired from the suggestions of the day. You might want to do a different project for each day and that's more than okay as well! All I wish for is that, if you use your platform/account on Tumblr to spread your art, tag it as #zucestweek and/or #zucestweek2024 so that it'll be easier to find.

Soon, I'll make another post regarding other Zucest related events that will take place at the same period of time, so stay tuned.

As always, if anyone had any question/idea/suggestion/concern, please feel free to contact mez anonymously or not, any moment of any day, through an ask, a reblog, a comment, or a private message in this account, or in my other account @ilikepjo24, although I would prefer if you contacted this account, so other people that might have something similar to say could also get their answer by following this account here.

And as I mentioned before, I organize this event by myself *side eyes Zucest loving friends that do nothing* so I'd appreciate it if no anti tried to burden me with any hate, cause I honestly don't have time for that.

That is all, have a nice day, wherever you are!

#zucest week #zucest #Zucest week 2024

[tryan-a-bex]

Five Guesses Why Hob is Immortal and One Broken Plate

(The Scooby Gang tries to figure out why Hob is immortal.)

Read it on ao3. Inspired by this Tumblr post by @just-j-really and the continuation by @pumpkinkingsalem.

“Ruh-roh!”

Rattle, rattle, clunk, clunk, wheeze-shudder.

“That doesn’t sound good!” Daphne exclaimed as Fred pulled the Mystery Machine over to the side of the road. Fred shook his head in resignation and looked around at their surroundings.

“Time to grab a late lunch, I think, and then I’ll take a look at the engine!” 

“Oh yeah, man! Food!” Shaggy interjected, piling out of the van and heading straight for The New Inn across the road, Scooby hard on his heels.

“I hope they allow dogs,” Velma commented as she followed at a more sedate pace. 

Inside the Inn, Shaggy and Scooby were contemplating the menu. Fred, Daphne and Velma joined them as the brown-haired man singing under his breath behind the counter looked up and gave them a bright smile. Fred grimly reined Shaggy’s order in to an amount this size establishment could produce in a reasonable amount of time, and Velma asked if it would be a problem for Scooby to stay under their table.

“Oh, no, that’s quite fine, as long as he’s polite!” Hob (according to his name tag) reassured them. Then he turned away to start preparing their order, once again humming the little tune he’d been singing when they entered.

“That’s such a pretty tune he’s humming!” Daphne exclaimed as Fred took their number and turned to find a table for them.

Velma’s forehead wrinkled. “It has the tone progressions you’d expect from a tune from the late Middle Ages, but it’s not one of the ones I’m familiar with.”

“What are you saying?” Fred asked as they all slid into a booth, Scooby getting comfortable under the table where he had the best chance at scraps.

“It just seems weird that he’d casually sing such an old song,” Velma pondered.

“Yeah, and what’s with his weird name?” Shaggy asked.

“It’s a very early variation on Robert,” Velma explained. 

“Ooh, do you think he’s immortal?” Daphne asked. “Because a time traveller wouldn’t just be serving food but an immortal might!”

The crew looked at her and nodded contemplatively.

“Oh, man! Like what if he’s a ghost!” Shaggy exclaimed. They all looked surreptitiously over at the man preparing their food.

“He’s not translucent,” Daphne pointed out. 

“He’s not trying to scare people,” Velma added.

“We’ll put a pin in that one,” Fred decided. “What else do we have?”

“He could be a Chosen One, a valiant hero who spent hundreds of years in another land where time flows differently, like Narnia or something!” Daphne suggested, sighing romantically.

“Hmmm, that’s a good one,” Velma agreed. “I wonder if he still has magic now that he’s back?”

“He’s good-looking enough for it!” Fred pointed out as Shaggy nodded in affirmation. Then they paused in their speculation as Hob brought their drinks over to their table, still smiling as he distributed them and nodding in response to their thanks as he turned back to the counter, humming the same tune once again.

“Any other ideas?” Fred prompted once he was out of ear shot.

“It’s possible he was captured by fae, and only recently returned,” Velma suggested.

“Do you think he would tell us if we asked him?” Daphne wondered.

“Let’s try to figure it out first!” Fred said.

“Like, I’d kidnap him if I was a fae,” Shaggy admitted, stirring the ice cubes in his drink. “I don’t know though, like, what if he’s a vampire? That would be scary!”

“Ooh, yes!” Daphne exclaimed as the whole group shivered deliciously.

“Like, we should order something with lots of garlic, and then we’ll see if he can serve it!” Shaggy suggested enthusiastically.

“No more food, Shaggy!” Fred protested.

“He seems fine in the sunlight coming through the window,” Velma pointed out, as she sipped her smoothie.

“He may just be a very old vampire,” countered Daphne. “I know! We could stake him!”

“No!” shouted Fred, Velma and Shaggy, in tones of command, reason and terror.

“Scooby,” Fred ordered,  ”when he comes over again, you sniff him to see if he smells like blood.”

“Ro rampire!” Scooby protested, shrinking back farther under the table.

“Oh, I’ve got another one!” Fred leaned in, gesturing with his mug. “What if he made a deal with the devil? For immortality in exchange for his soul? Or his first born, or something?”

“Oooh, that’s so evil!” Velma objected. “He had such a sunny smile, it’s hard to believe that of him!”

Daphne repeated a lesson they’d learned well in their time together: “You can’t always trust appearances!” The crew looked at Hob as he came out of the kitchen, trying to surreptitiously scan him for devil’s marks.

Hob approached with their food, once more giving them a bright smile. He put a plated sandwich in front of three of them and a plate with five sandwiches stacked on it in front of Shaggy. 

“Do you need anything for your dog?” he asked, hunkering down to reach a hand out to Scooby.

“Could we have a bowl of water? And any meat scraps you have in the kitchen?” Fred requested.

“Sure thing!” After Scooby sniffed and licked his hand, he gave him a little scratch on the head and turned back to the kitchen. A moment later he was back with a couple bowls, one with water and one with scraps.

Scooby and Shaggy dug into their food as the rest of the gang watched him return to the counter. The door opened as he passed it, and they watched in fascination as he greeted the newcomer with “Hello, love!” and a kiss on the cheek. The tall, thin, milky pale man with wild black hair and a long black trench coat took a seat at the counter, and they could see as he started a conversation with Hob that he was familiar with the space as well as the man.

“If he was captured by fae, that’s the fae that took him!” Velma’s eyes were wide, but not even she was sure if it was curiosity, fear, or the compelling charisma of the stranger. She took a big bite of her sandwich, pretending not to watch the two men at the counter.

“I don’t know,” Daphne said, chasing the olive that rolled off her sandwich and across the table when she took out the toothpick, “he doesn’t seem mind controlled, or resentful of a captor.” It was true, Velma thought. The two just looked very much in love.

Shaggy finally looked up from his meal. “Oh, like, that one’s the vampire, for real!”

“Ro rud!” Scooby argued.

“No blood, eh?” Fred considered. “What if your first idea was right, Shaggy, and he’s a ghost, and this guy is Death???”

“Yeah, that could be! He fits some of the mythological stereotypes for Death characters!” Velma enthused.

“Oh no!” shuddered Shaggy, “Not Death! That’s almost scary enough to turn me off my food! Almost!” he clarified, squishing his remaining three sandwiches together and taking a big bite.

”Or,” Daphne countered, swallowing a mouthful, ”what if he was in Narnia and this is the wizard who brought him back to Earth!?”

“He looks very wizardly, I could buy that,” Fred nodded, picking up the second half of his sandwich. “I can also see why he’d choose to stay here with Hob!”

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed. “Hob’s very good looking, and so is the wizard, for that matter! They look besotted with each other!”

“On the other hand,” contended Velma, toying with her crusts, “if it was a deal with the devil, this could be the devil. Maybe he’s some kind of incubus demon. Or would he be a succubus?” she wondered, squinting at him. Scooby moaned in fear from under the table.

“Ro Reath! Ro revil! Ro remon!”

Fred shook his head in sympathy as he considered his last bite. “There are too many options and not enough ways to narrow them down. He seems like a decent person. Maybe we should circle back to Daphne’s idea and just ask him.”

“No, no, no!” Shaggy shook his head vehemently. ”He could be a ghost! He consorts with a fae, or maybe the devil! If that’s a wizard or Death, I don’t want to offend him by interrogating his boyfriend!”

“Don’t look now,” Fred whispered conspiratorially, “but he’s looking over at us!”

Daphne, of course, looked. When the dark stranger smirked at her, she jumped so hard she knocked her nearly empty plate to the floor. She tried to catch it, succeeding only in falling from the booth as it smashed and Scooby carefully wolfed up the leftovers of her sandwich.

“Jeepers!” she shouted from the floor.

The whole gang froze in terror as the stranger languidly rose from his stool, pacing gracefully towards them while calling over his shoulder, “Hob, bring a broom.”

He stood over Daphne, looking down at her with a slightly bemused expression on his face, and held out a hand to help her up. She blushed a becoming pink and courageously took his hand, getting to her feet as Hob ran up with the broom.

“Ah, no worries, I’ll have this cleaned up in a moment!” Hob got to work with the broom as his dark lover smirked again.

“Hob, they are not worried about the plate.”

“What? They’re not?” Hob looked more closely at the gang, suddenly noticing that their faces were betraying much more fear than could reasonably be attributed to breaking a plate in an eating establishment. He looked curiously at his tall friend.

“They have been telling themselves stories about you, and about me.”

Shaggy was not the only one who thought he might pee his pants at that. The gang was petrified, waiting to hear their punishment. They hadn't considered that he might be able to overhear! Well, thought Velma a bit hysterically, we’ll probably be able to tell which theory was correct by what the punishment is!

“Have you, then?” Hob inquired with another one of his lovely, sunshiny smiles. (It was slightly reassuring.) “You should tell us your stories, then. He’s the Prince of Stories.”

The gang took a collective breath of relief as Hob and the Prince of Stories pulled over chairs.

Velma began, “You see, we noticed the song you were humming. It’s about as old as your name, but neither name nor song are in current use.” 

The Prince of Stories glanced at Hob. “I told you your humming would get you in trouble one day.”

“It’s been over a hundred years since I’ve been caught! These kids are more observant and well-educated than most people, and they’re really good at connecting dots if they got “immortal” out of that!”

“Hmmmmm.”

Fred continued, ”We ruled out time travel because serving food didn’t seem like quite the thing for a time traveller.”

“We thought you were, like, a ghost! And that guy was Death!” Shaggy announced.

The Prince of Stories nodded. “It would not be the first time I was mistaken for my sister.” The gang tensed up again at that, until Hob’s calm countenance reassured them again. Hmmm, thought Velma, we’re in the realm of gods and eldritch beings rather than fae or wizards now.

“So you’re not a fae, then,” she guessed. “That was another theory, that you were a fae who had captured Hob and kept him in Faerie while time flew by in this plane of reality.”

Hob grinned. “Ah, yes! That was one of my initial theories as well, when we first met! I also thought perhaps I’d accidentally made a deal with the  devil!” He laughed and gazed fondly at his lover.

“I am neither fae nor devil.”

“That rules out my theory, then,” Fred said. “You didn’t seem like the type.”

Daphne nodded. “Scooby ruled out vampires earlier, so that leaves my theory. I thought you were a Chosen One, a hero who travelled dimensions and rescued worlds, returning here when your adventures were over, to retire with the wizard who facilitated your travel.”

“Oh, I like that one, Dream!” Hob gazed adoringly at his lover.  “How romantic, a conquering hero, settling down with my magical love!”

“You are that for me, as I am for you.”

“So you did live in Narnia?” Daphne asked breathlessly.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing so fun as that.” Hob glanced at Dream, who nodded minutely. Apparently he had decided these young people had earned the truth with their stories. “I’m just a regular human who decided one day that I wasn’t going to die. And I haven’t.”

The Prince of Stories smirked at him. “It helped that my sister wanted to set me up with you.”

“She has good taste!” Hob protested.

“Oh, I am never complaining!” Dream retorted.

“But who are you?” Fred insisted.

“I am Dream of the Endless, and that is the end of what I will tell you.”

The Endless, thought Velma, and took it as a challenge.

Notes:

Next

The wild conspiracy boarding on the Fuckboi Dream discussion server was the catalyst that finally got this out of my head and onto paper. You, my friends, are unhinged in the very best way. The fic is a WILD RIDE and I highly recommend it! (Be over 18 and mind the tags before you read the fic!) Thank you, @dancinbutterfly for writing the fic and @meadowziplines @hellfridge and @tabrises for conspiring with me that morning. (If I missed anyone lmk and I'll tag you.)

With much appreciation for my excellent beta reader, SadRumiHours!

Also, I feel like I should explain why Daphne blushed becomingly. If I had been in Daphne’s head, she would have blushed nervously. If I had been in Dream’s head, she would have blushed inexplicably. But you see, I was in Velma’s head…

More of my writing is under #tryana find it back.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dreamling #hob gadling #scooby doo #scooby gang #fred jones #daphne blake #velma dinkley #shaggy rogers #tryana find it back #the sandman fanfiction

[potterandpromises]

An Apartment of Our Own

My contribution to the genre of fics exploring the in-universe OMITB fandom, Theobel style. Any similarities to any actual Tumblr blogs or fanfics is purely coincidental, and of course, this is all in good fun. (In order to recreate Mabel's style of speaking and signing at the same time, as in the show, the signed parts of her dialogue are underlined. Because Tumblr doesn't allow for underlining, this fic will continue on AO3 here or below in the place I found it silliest and most fun.)

They never hid their friendship.

Sure, Mabel gave it a good six weeks before she casually let it slip to the guys that her and Theo hang out. Just so she could come up with a few solid rebuttals if they gave her pushback. (‘Charles, you dated a serial killer.’ ‘Theo’s actually pretty fun to be around.’ 'According to greater society, we shouldn't be friends either.' 'I don't let old men tell me what to do.')

(Okay, they were about as solid as Oliver’s dips.)

(When the conversation came, Oliver was weirdly supportive about it. Charles looked exactly how he did when she first mentioned dating Alice.)

And yeah, she gave it an additional few months before she mentioned it to her mom. The distance gave her time and she wanted extra confidence the good feeling she and Theo had around each other wasn't a haze that would soon lift. She wanted the shitty phone call to be worth it. And it was. He was worth it.

But they never hid it. Not really. Not in public. If, last autumn, a fan of the pod posted a blurry five second video of two people who might possibly, maybe, be them using ASL in the winding path of the basement of an antique shop in midtown, well, she didn’t let it concern her.

Superfans aside, as the months dragged on without her involvement in another stabbing incident and/or murder, not many people cared about Bloody Mabel. Equally, she cared less and less about strangers' opinions.

Then Ben Glenroy died twice.

It wasn't like with Bunny; Mabel wasn't so unbearably close to the story. Still, the internet talks, and Theo got a writing credit for that season 3 teaser trailer he wrote. Questions were raised they still hasn't answered.

“Have you seen this?” Theo holds up his phone, shakes it slightly. His lips twitch, amused... or nervous?

Mabel sets her knitting aside, leans forward on the couch, and recognizes the website.

And the blog.

She furrows her brow, and takes his phone.

The Tumblr is onlyarconicsinthebulldogging, and they've reblogged from frogfuckergirl555. She has no idea who frogfuckergirl555 is, or if they're a frequent poster. For the briefest second, she feels almost proud of herself for that.

The post is a simple sentence, followed by a link.

Idk what this is but they’re kinda cute together??? especially if the rumors are true???

There's an emoji sequence in the tags that only grows Mabel's wariness: 😭😭😭👌🏻👌🏻🔥🔥🔥

She gives Theo another long, long look.

He doesn’t blush, exactly. He squirms in his chair like he regrets bringing knowledge of this— what she swiftly imagines with a level of visual accuracy only possible through prolonged proximity— onto himself.

“Open— read it!” he signs quick and jerky, like Mabel wouldn’t understand at all without context. "Please," he adds, and crosses his legs.

The suspense might be killing him. She, however, could live very happily not knowing the details of what people imagine they get up to, what precisely those aforementioned rumors are. If she doesn’t do her research though, if she chooses to live in blissful ignorance, the universe will surely send Marv her way to clear it all up for her.

She clicks the link, opens up Archive of Our Own.

#theobel #only murders in the building #omitb #mabel mora #theo dimas #fanfiction #my fanfic tag #fic: an apartment of our own

[declawedwildcat]

It's kind of funny, actually - I found @thenightpool before the first event, stumbled across a post for the Halloween party while in the tag at random. I didn't think much of it (other than that the stock image for Unleashed Blue was gorgeous, I later came back and stole it for my phone wallpaper lol) since I had never participated in a fandom event beyond just consuming the end results, so I moved on and forgot all about it.

Soon after though I had been working on something on my own that happened to fit into RH week, so I joined up there and ended up making twice what I planned to. It was fun and there were still people who loved this ship as much as I did, so when TNP's recruitment post for Unleashed Blue came around again I decided fuck it, the deadline is long, I can pledge a drawing and the worst that can happen is I don't finish in time.

I thought for sure it would be another Discord server that I join, mute, lurk in once and a while, and then leave like most others I've tried. Instead I found people that were fun to chat with about this thing I loved but haven't had friends mutually invested in it in years. Everyone is so supportive both there and here on Tumblr, everyone works together to make all the creations the best they can be with brainstorming and group sprints and pom-pom emotes when they're too busy to join in lol.

Before I knew it my "one drawing" became like, five plus playlists and screenshots and a story that doubled my published word count. I said I would be too busy for Sakurathon and then got pulled in, said I would be taking a break over Make a Splash! and then joined anyway. I have no solid plans for the 2024 events and yet have no doubt that I will wind up in them anyway with the sheer creativity and love that this group fosters.

Everyone has been so great and I'm glad to meet you all, but especially to our tireless mods: @museaway and @matsuoka-lin, you guys have put so much effort into all of this it's unreal. I have no idea how you guys keep things running alongside all the other projects you manage and personal lives on top of that. The love that you guys have for this fandom and everyone in it shines through every single day, I'm glad I get to see even a portion of that. Thank you for all that you do. Please don't overexert yourselves.

My only regret is that I didn't join when I saw that first post. Happy one year, and here's to as many more as you'll have us for!

#TNP anniversary #pretty sure that's not actually a tag but I feel like I should at least tag it something