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oops, sorry my beans, can't write, my soul has been given willingly to a 3D demon boy

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an extract from Chapter 1 of my new Trumpet Creeper era Kyung fic 👀

just to let y'all know that I AM writing lmao

an extract from WIP Chapter 1 ☆

The trumpet creepers had bloomed early this year. It was impossible to miss them since they sprouted over every archway and rose from every crack in the winding paths of the kingdom.

The one place the flaming orange flowers seemed to avoid was an old temple tucked away between cherry blossom trees, clearly worn by time yet still standing on the hill overlooking the marketplace. The light of the setting sun hit it at the perfect angle, casting a warm glow over the crumbling rocks and tangled vines that curled over them.

The warmth seeped inside through the windows and cracks in the walls, illuminating old stone statues of gods too ancient to name. A young maiden walked the empty hall, gazing upon the statues as if willing them to give her the answers her memory refused to provide.

She had no name, no presence, no story. Not even colour—her hair was the darkest shade of black, her skin as pale as an empty canvas, and her hanbok a lifeless shade of dull grey. Her skirts swept stray leaves and petals about the mossy floor as she moved through the hall. Her eyes, a dull shade of ink, carried an odd sharpness—as if she knew far more than she should.

Which she did.

She wasn't supposed to be here, she knew that much. She was an unfinished text, an abandoned story, filled with basic knowledge yet lacking identity. No lines, no motivations, no tragic past to fuel fight or flight of any kind. She was merely a figure to recommend goods at stalls in the market, sweep leaves from the paths in the autumn, or sometimes to stand among the crowd at the edges of events made for those of significance.

Among the limited spaces she visited, these ruins were her favourite setting by far. A forgotten temple tucked away in a part of the kingdom even the gods refused to look at. She didn't move as if wading through water within these walls, or feel the prick of someone's prying gaze on her at all times. The world felt looser here, the air lighter.

"I did not think this place old enough to warrant a haunting," a cold voice cut through the quiet.

She startled, turning to watch a man step through the arch of broken stone, his silhouette casting long shadows across the cold floor of the temple. His hair was dark as ravens, an ornate golden hairpin keeping half of it away from his face while the rest hung loosely over his shoulders. His black robes fluttered like smoke in the breeze, golden threadwork shaping the flames of a phoenix on his maroon overcoat.

Even without this royal crest glimmering on his chest, she would have recognised him. The Second Prince. The cursed one. She had never seen him before, not in person, but she knew it was him at a glance. Whispers of him filled every corridor and passed by every market stall. They said that he was born under a blood moon. That his mother, the former queen, died howling in his presence. That Belladonna flowers bloomed wherever he set foot, as if death itself walked with him.

His face was sharp in every sense of the word. Eyes like shattered glass, burning with a cold fire—unforgiving, fierce, and rimmed with sleepless fury. Frown lines cut across his brow, his lips comfortably curled in disdain.

She considered him for a moment before answering, "I am not a ghost."

His scowl deepened. "Not a ghost...a fool, then," he said, the coldness of his tone making the air between them freeze. "This temple was abandoned years ago. No one comes here anymore."

"You came here," she pointed out.

The prince's eyes flashed and he stepped forward, boots crunching over stone and gravel, bringing with him the smell of steel and crushed pine leaves. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "This place is forbidden. You are tresspassing."

"I did not see a sign, and there was no lock on the door."

A flash of silver, then the sting of a blade at her throat.

"You dare speak this way to me?" he hissed, staring down his nose at her. "Do you know in whose presence you stand?"

She met his glare with an eerie calmness. "You draw your blade on holy grounds. Do you know in whose presence you stand?"

Prince Kyung shifted his glare to the statues of stone surrounding them from all sides. They were not his gods...but if he were to believe what little he had been told of her, they had been his mother's. Most of their features were barely recognisable, but he felt the weight of their stares press on his armed hand nonetheless.

Sharply sheathing his sword as if denied a pleasure he had looked forward to, he sent her a glare so fierce it was a wonder she didn't turn to ash. "You are not supposed to speak with me," he growled out, "Let alone in the manner which you are daring to do so. People like you avert their eyes. Bow, tremble...hold their tongues."

She tilted her head at him. "Is that what you wish me to do? Cower at your feet like the rest?"

His jaw ticked. Her immunity to the threat of his mere presence was throwing him off balance. She was someone with no title, no past, and most probably no future either. And yet she dared to meet his gaze with a calmness that mocked the chaos rooted in his very bones.

"What I speak of is not something as meagre as a wish or preference, but the etiquette of the kingdom," he replied through gritted teeth. "Should we meet again, by some misfortune, you would do well to remember your place then. I will not be so forgiving the next time you act so brazen."

Her lips stretched into a smile that seemed to tilt the ground he stood on. "I do believe, Your Highness, that the next time we meet will play out just as this encounter has. After all, the margins are a place of time loops for the unaware."

Prince Kyung studied her silently as if she were an irritating mistake on an otherwise perfect parchment, which he could neither erase nor leave be. He didn't know what she had meant by unaware and margins, but he had more important matters to attend to than bickering with a peasant in an abandoned temple.

He swept his robes over the dust and leaves between them as he turned to the exit. "Do not linger here," he warned coldly over his shoulder. "The realm of ghosts is unforgiving to mortals. I would know."

She gave no indication that she had heard him, and he did not wait for a response. His tall figure disappeared through the archway he had entered before, his shadow trickling out after him like spilt ink.

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this fic idea has haunted me for long enough... all I can say is get ready for the Kyung hyperfixation to return 👀

theres not nearly enough EOY content out there, and fics set in the Trumpet Creeper era are really rare. like, that era had so much potential...just look at how cute this grouchy prince is!!

my baby ;^; he's adorable and broken and needs some love and no one is giving him a hug which is upsetting to say at the least.

gosh, I really do have to do everything myself, dont I? *sighs and opens a new word document*

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I wanna reconstruct my wattpad account so bad but I'm scared of my beans noticing me lurking and crying over removed fics 😭

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"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

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someone recently added a fanfic of mine to a reading list called "slow (cough, nonexistent) updates" and I've never felt more called out 💀

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coworker: we should grab a drink sometime

me: oh, for sure

coworker: ...you like me, don't you?

me: I like drinking

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Becoming a writer is great because now you have a hobby that haunts you whenever you don’t have time to do it

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does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

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your honour I'm in love with this man 😩

He remembers every word you've ever said. But he still pretends to be annoyed when you talk too much. Classic.

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they hold a special place in my heart 🥺💕

Ki Yuri & Lee Rang 🥹

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Yesterday somebody went through and left a comment on every single chapter of my WIP fanfic series. And they apologized for not being great with words! Most of the comments were pretty short—just a quick thought or a kudo about something they liked, or sometimes even something they preferred the canon version of but appreciated a new perspective on! And some of them were longer, with a question or comparison or theory.

And let me tell you—waking up to that was one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me as a fic writer. If you're ever reading through something, and you like it, please, please spend thirty seconds telling the author so before you click "next chapter." You have no idea how much joy you're bringing.

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Hyperfixating on your own original work is the worst. Why tf can't I find fanart of my unpublished book on tumblr?? Worst fandom ever smh.

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uh oh I've found a new excuse to use

you’re not procrastinating. you’re 'letting the characters marinate.'

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*sobbing* I MISS HIM SO DAMN MUCH AAAAAAAAAAAA

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I need to sit down.

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the urge to write never leaves but the motivation to do so is a lover lost at war