#He went from muting himself when he coughed. Sneezed. Or even LAUGHED for years to not caring like thank you

[mrfoox]

Fabian has been buying new clothes and I am just an supportive cheerleader for him.

Then he said he bought an tanktop and I immediately went "tanktop? 👀" and he starts to laugh. So ofc I milked that our entire conversation. Each time he laughed. Yeah you like that baby girl? Me showing interest in your tanktop? Show it to me

He did and ofc I did intense praise and dude approval speeches. My man is doing so well and feeling good, I'm so happy for him

[liamloveslarry]

so the lovely holly @nympholouis kindly gave me a prompt idea to write in that harry and louis meet at a modern day art exhibition where there is no talking allowed, but there is a lot of eyebrow wiggling and finger pointing going on. 

i tried my best to come up with something so if you want to read it, it’s just under the cut! :)

Harry sighed quietly through his nose as he tapped his foot a little brokenly against the hard polished floor. 

Liam had planned for them to attend him the local art museum that had been advertising a new exhibition for weeks, something about wanting to be more cultured and ‘take it all in’; to be honest Harry thinks it’s just a ploy for Liam to chat up the receptionist that he met on a night out a few weeks ago.

He checked his watch one more time and saw it was nearing 1 o’clock, nearly time for the exhibition to start. He’d had it explained to him that it was one of those shows where you couldn’t talk, and instead you were led around the exhibition as the guide spoke about which piece of art you’d stopped in front of. 

A soft buzzing ejected him from his thoughts and he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, seeing there was a new message from Liam.

Liam: Sorry mate!!!! WON’T be able to come, sumfin just happened last minute so gonna have to cancel! Lol enjoy anyway! Maybe you’ll meet someone there ;)

He rolled his eyes and placed his phone back into his pocket. Great, he thought, so not only could he not he speak, he was now on his own.

It’s not that he didn’t particularly enjoy art, or attending galleries and museums, it’s just that he was planning on having a lazy Saturday to himself, chomping on cheesy snacks and catching up on his shows. So the fact that the person who originally wanted to come here, now wasn’t even turning up, annoyed him a tad, but he knows Liam wouldn’t cancel for the sake of it, so it must be something important.

It’s not like he can leave either, the tickets had cost them thirty quid each, thirty quid he could’ve spent on shitty snacks and wine, he thought, so he’s not going to waste it now by leaving.

He could see people starting to gather out the corner of his eye, murmuring quietly amongst themselves before the guide had told them to politely shut up. 

Harry’s eyes bugged a little as she shuffled over, joining the small group but straying to the back.

It was about ten minutes into the exhibition when the guide had stopped them in front of one of the pieces, Harry had looked up from where he was staring at the man in front’s shoe, which had a piece of tissue stuck underneath and snorted. 

The guide’s sharp eyebrows twitched as she glared through her pointy glasses and huffed under her breath, before carrying on with her sentence.

Harry pulled his lips in and tried not to laugh as he stared at what one could only assume as two people fucking. It wasn’t that it was necessarily sex, it was the fact that the artist had tried to depict the beautiful imagery of two people so passionate about one another, and whether intentional or not, had made the man’s penis entirely too big and the woman’s breasts nipple-less. He was confused as to whether there was a deeper meaning, and he’d probably get his answer if he listened to the snooty guide, but instead a sharp cough made his eyes flick over to where a man was standing, pulling the same face Harry was.

He was dressed in a soft grey sweatshirt and light wash jeans that tapered off just above his ankles, stark white trainers gleaming against the mahogany floor. 

Harry flushed a little as his eyes met his, and the man smirked, nodding his head towards the art piece and wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry tried to hold in a laugh but a tiny chuckle squeaked through his lips, so he placed his hand over his mouth and looked at the floor. 

When he looked back up the man wasn’t watching him anymore, but there was a small smile gracing his lips.

As the group wandered through the museum, and the guide’s voice droned over them like an incessant buzzing that wouldn’t stop, the only part that made this whole thing bearable was that Harry and the nameless man had begun to communicate with their hands and certain facial expressions. 

Throughout the tour, Harry would pretend to fall asleep, eyes rolling back into his head and mouth opening just a little as if to imitate a snore, making the other man laugh quietly, fist closing over his mouth. The man would often in return, slyly point at their guide discreetly and copy what she was doing, pinching his lips as if he’d sucked on a lemon and use his fingers as a mouth, opening and closing them as she spoke, making Harry grin something manic.

Muted giggles and soundless laughter accompanied by scrunched eyes and red cheeks filled the hours, making it seem like it was just the two of them alone together in the room, until a rather rotund woman standing next to Harry sneezed so loud it made him jump. All of a sudden, the colours and lights and pictures flooded Harry’s vision, snapping him back to reality and making him realise, that no, it wasn’t just the two of them, and now there was substance staining Harry’s jacket while the woman profusely apologised and dabbed him with a tissue. Harry had glared and let himself be somewhat manhandled as the man who’d been making Harry giggle under his breath for the past hour shielded his mouth with his palm and pretended not to laugh.

The shake in his shoulders was a dead giveaway though.

-

After stumbling across a particularly phallic shaped object that stood proudly in the centre of the room, coated in white, its florescent shine twinkling underneath the soft spotlights, the man captured Harry’s eyes as he lifted one of his eyebrows and raised a fist to his right cheek, pumping his tongue to the side of the other, imitating a rather sexual gesture. 

Harry blushed and tried to contain a laugh by biting his lip, his fingers squeezing around nothing inside his jacket pocket as he stared at the man’s working jaw, willing himself to calm down, as it was probably strongly frowned upon to get hard in an art museum. 

The man had lowered his fist then, probably remembering where he was for a second, knowing he could get caught at any moment and winked at Harry, before turning back to face the object.

Pinpricks prickled and sprung across Harry’s entire body, and there was a certain warmth to his face that seemed to be growing the more he thought about the man standing just ten feet away. 

He was clearly cheeky, but he had kind eyes and an even brighter smile. His cap also hid most of his hair but a soft, artfully feathered fringe swooped across his forehead and across his brow bone.

The guide cut through his thoughts with a nasally announcement that this would be their last stop, and something heavy settled in Harry’s stomach. He frowned slightly when he thought about not being able to see the man again, and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity when he knew he probably didn’t feel the same.

So he’d imitated a perfectly platonic blowie and waggled his eyebrows a few times at Harry, it didn’t mean anything, just a way to pass the time, right? 

As the tour wrapped up and some gatherers dispersed while others stopped to chat to one another, Harry felt a small tug on his arm as he was leaving, and felt a drop of something in his pocket.

As he looked up, he caught the eyes of the man from before, leaving with one last smirk and a quirk in his brow, before jogging down the steps and racing towards the metro.

He felt something crumpled when he went to reach inside his pocket and pulled out a scrap piece of paper, black ink had transpired into hastily written words as he read:

‘I’m no artist, but I’ll gladly check you out’

Followed by a number and a name.

Louis.

-

And if Liam takes the credit in his best man speech years later, well, Harry thinks, he supposes he’s not wrong.

[toosicktoocare]

Prompt:  A tma prompt! JonMarTim where they pass along a cold between each other and they all react to it differently. (And some possible bonus Sasha because I Love her and miss her 😭)

Sorry this took so long! I tend to shy away from more than one person sick in a fic because I get overwhelmed, but season 2 is hurting my feelings, so I want to drown my self in soft season 1 dynamics.

Tim shuffles into the building, sniffling loudly, hand curled around the crumpled tissue shoved far into his coat pocket.

He should have heeded the whispered warnings that he should “run” for his life when he slipped into the police station a few days ago to flirt his way into additional information regarding a case Jon’s covering. However, he priortized his work and ignored the numerous sick officers coughing and sneezing, claiming he’s fortunate to have an immune system of steel and hasn’t been sick in years.

If regret looks like flushed cheeks, tossled hair, and a red-rimmed nose, well, then, he’s the spitting image. He feels relatively awful- the kind of awful that’s not quite awful enough to stay home curled up in a blanket cocoon on his couch, which, he thinks, sucks quite a bit because that’s very much what he’d rather be doing.

He stops before his desk when the tell-tale tickle hits his nose, and he jerks his face into the crook of his arm to sneeze sharply, chasing it with a deep, drawn out groan.

“What’s wrong with you?”

There’s disgust dripping from Sasha’s tone, and if Tim’s head were a little clearer, he would take a jab at the underlining color of concern, but, his head somehow hurts worse than it did when he walked into the building two minutes ago. Forgoing sass, he sinks into his chair with another louder, longer groan, wincing as it pulls at his rough throat.

“I’m dying.”

Sasha takes a step backwards until her back hits a wall. She braces her hands against the wall behind her, fingers tapping anxiously. “Doubtful; however, you look like you could die, and that means I cannot work in the same vicinity as you because I value my health.”

“I value my health!” Tim argues, doubling over into a coughing fit. He clumsily presses his fist to his mouth, breifly noting how the coughing is a rather new, unfortuante development. Must be a chest cold, he thinks.

Sasha slides against the wall until she reaches the doorway. “Right, well, you’re clearly contagious, and I’m going to ask Jon if I can work on last week’s statement developments from home until I can come to work and breathe in less,” she pauses, waving one hand about, “sickly air.”

“Hang on,” Tim starts after her, interest piqued, “there’s development?” He stumbles down the hall, trying hard to ignore the heat prickling at the back of his neck. “Since when?”

Ignoring him, Sasha offers two courtsey knocks on the archive door before opening it, stepping far to the side when Tim staggers in after her, tugging at his shirt collar.

“Jon, can I work from home for the next few days?”

The annoyance painted across Jon’s face ins’t unfamilar, yet Sasha’s unfazed by his sour mood. She opens her mouth to defend her question, closing it quickly when Tim doubles over into another coughing fit that has her wincing but gesturing toward him.

“I see,” Jon mutters slowly, one brow arched, when Tim catches his breath. “Tim, shouldn’t you be the one-”

“-what’s the development?” Tim interrupts as he unconciosuly pops a few buttons of his shirt collar loose.

Jon mutters through information, finger still poised tightly atop the pause button on his recorder, and Tim nods along with his words, mind already jumping from past articles that have come up during his follow-up research.

“Right, yeah, I remember that! Let me print some news articles, and I’ll be back!” He spins on his heel, blinking through the haze that flicks across his vision, and slips out of the doorway, eager to revist the articles as this statement’s just been bugging him ever since Jon assigned it to him.

“If you think you can effectively do your work from home, I’ll allow it. The last thing we need is the entire staff sick.”

Smiling, Sasha claps her hands together and bows her head. “Thank you!”

***

Begrudgingly, Jon calls it after watching Tim detoriate for the last four hours. He’d been inclined to ignore Tim’s coughing and sneezing as they’ve fallen down a rather complicated hole regarding last week’s statement, one both thought was put to rest after hitting walls from every angle, but, when Tim, who’s already shed his coat and sweater and has his sleeves rolled up despite the unforgiving chill of the archive, mutters an absent complaint about how oddly warm it is, he slips his glasses from his eyes with a sigh.

“I think it’s time you go, Tim.”

“Sorry, what?” Tim asks, absently fanning his face, eyes glued to his laptop. He doesn’t hear Jon slip from his chair, but he does feel the almost icy brush of knuckles against his cheek. He freezes, eyes darting from the low glow of the screen to Jon, who’s frowning deeper than usual.

“Jon, what-”

“-You’ve got quite a temperature.”

Tim presses his palm to his forehead, grimacing at the damp heat. “I guess that would explain why I’m sweltering.” Taking a mental account to how he’s currently feeling falls just short of like absolute shit. He nods when Jon reclaims his seat.

“I’ll leave at lunch.”

Jon spares a glance at his watch before extending his arm out to show Tim the late afternoon time. “I believe it’s well past the time you typically leave for lunch.”

“You know what time I leave for lunch?” Tim teases around a few grating coughs. He heaves himself to his feet, feeling every inch of every muscle protest through cracks and pops.

“You aren’t exactly quiet about it,” Jon points out flatly, and Tim laughs even though he knows as the bubble of amusement swells in his chest that laughing will be a mistake. He grips the back of the chair he had pulled up to Jon’s desk as a coughing fit rips through him, tugging at his lungs. He can feel Jon’s hand find his back, a tad awkward, flat palm against trembling muscles, and when he catches his breath, he waves away the oddly unreadable look Jon’s shooting him.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving. No need to fret, boss.” He closes his laptop and tucks it under one arm.

“I’m not fretting,” Jon says a little too quickly, and Tim smirks as he shuffles to the door, coat dragging on the floor at his side for he can’t find the strength to lift his arms.

“Course not,” Tim nods over his shoulder. “I’ll be back-”

“-when you’re well.”

“When I’m well,” Tim parrots back, unable to keep the smile from his lips.

“Completely well, Tim.”

“100%,” Tim agrees, offering a final nod before he exits down the hall, and Jon begins moving papers away from his desk to clear space for his next statement, unfazed by the few sneezes that slip through.

***

Martin tries to pass his concern off as mere curiosity; however, the words still slip too quick from frowning lips, something he just can’t seem to help, especially when Jon sneezes for the eighth time while making tea.

“Alright, Jon?”

Jon hums in muted acknowledgement and offers a curt nod as he slowly turns around, fingers wrapped tightly around his steaming mug of tea.

“It’s just that,” Martin presses, aware that he’s approaching a potentially dangerous territory, “you don’t normally take tea after 3 p.m.”

Sighing, Jon moves the mug up to his mouth and sucks in the steam. “I don’t have a tea schedule, Martin.”

Martin winces. “Well, there’s also that...”

Irritation pulls at Jon’s brows, furrowing them, and his eyes mirror as such. “There’s what, Martin?”

“Your voice,” Martin tries, huffing slightly. “You sound very congested, and you’ve been sneezing non-stop since you walked in here.” To further push his point, Jon carefully sets his mug down on the counter behind him to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm, three, harsh times that have Martin standing from his chair.

He holds a hand out toward Jon, just short of landing on Jon’s arm. The urge to provide any semblance of comfort is overwhelming, but he lets his hand drop to his side when Jon brings his face forward with a soft sniffle and blindly reaches behind him for his mug.

“I am fine, Martin. There’s no need to dote.”

“I heard Tim went home ill,” Martin crosses his arms, carefully watching as Jon all but hugs the hot mug to his chest as if pleading with the warmth to cover his entire body, which, Martin’s quick to note, is trembling ever-so slightly.

“I’m sure everyone heard his rather dramatic exit.”

“Do you think, perhaps, you’ve caught his cold?” Martin tries for a gentle tone, but Jon scoffs anyway.

“Of course not. It’s just chilly in the archives.” Jon shivers slightly at this, and Martin frowns, eyes wide and colored in conflcted worry, and he slips his cardigan off.

“Here.”

Jon makes to protest, but Martin’s already draping the cardigan over his shoulders. He steps in front of Jon to tug and pull at the cardigan until it’s covering enough to satisfy him, and Jon’s nose twitches before he can step away. He snags the mug from Jon’s hand while Jon falls into another sneezing fit that truly sounds painful and leaves Jon lightly gasping once he’s recovered.

“Am I understanding correctly that Tim’s infected my entire staff?”

Elias’s voice is both surprising and unwelcome, and both jump and whip around to the break room doorway to see Elias frowning at the two of them, arms crossed, lips taut. 

“It’s handled,” Jon grumbles at the same time Martin blurts out, “Jon’s sick.” 

Martin can physically feel Jon tense up at his side, and he doesn’t need to spare a glance to know that Jon’s gritting his teeth hard behind neutral eyes. 

“I can see that.” Elias is slow to study the two, dragging his eyes deliberately from one face to the other, stopping on Martin, and for a moment, Martin kind of wishes the floor will open up and swallow him whole. 

“Martin, you’ll see Jon out and make sure that he and Tim recover quickly. There is work to be done.”

“Elias, that’s not-”

“-I wasn’t speaking to you, Jon.” 

They watch Elias leave, and the tension coating the air is almost suffocating. Martin’s almost considering that perhaps he should have just kept quiet as he watches Jon start out of the break room. He makes to move, to call after him, to apologize, but then Jon wiggles rather ungracefully until he has both arms slipped into the oversized cardigan, and he hugs it tightly to himself. 

He’ll take it, Martin thinks, as he follows after Jon to gather his things. 

***

“Er, Martin. Jon.” Tim’s leaning against the doorframe in only a pair of boxers, his hair a tossled mess after being rudely pulled from sleep by the doorbell. “What’s-” he starts, mouth forming a round ‘oh’ when Jon falls into a sneezing fit at Martin’s side. 

“Elias said I should make sure you both recover quickly, and I figured it might be easier if we’re all in once place,” Martin starts quickly, hand tightening around the store bags in his hand. “I know I should have called first, but-”

“-This is ridiculous,” Jon mutters, sniffling loudly. “Sorry to bother you, Tim. We’ll be leaving now, Martin.” He makes to turn, to stalk back to Martin’s car, but then Tim calls out to him, and he pauses, one brow arched, and turns back around. 

“Hang on. You can stay, boss. I owe you that much, at least, since this is my fault.” 

“That’s really not necessary, Tim.” 

“No offense, Jon, but you look about as bad as I feel, so just come on in here so I can crawl back to bed and be miserable.” Tim turns to cough harshly into the crook of his arm, his fingers tightening around his doorframe, and then he’s being ushered into the house with Martin’s blessedly cold hand on the small of his back. 

“Wow, Tim, have you taken anything for this fever? You’re burning up!”

Jon watches the two, eyes tired, annoyed, and then an icy breeze whips around him, slipping through his coat and Martin’s cardigan, and he shudders, quickly shuffling inside and kicking the door shut. He drags his eyes around Tim’s house, eyes zeroing in on a couch that looks infinitely more comfortable than the cot at work he’s taken to on and off the last few weeks. 

He sheds his coat, dropping it clumisly on the back of a chair, but opts to keep the cardigan on because... His mind supplies soft, comfortable, warm, but he shoves all aside, supplying practical instead. He’s sick, so it only makes sense to keep warm, at least, that’s what he tells himself as he sinks down onto the couch. 

He’s nodding off beofre he means to. He can briefly hear Martin calling out to him, warning him not to go to sleep until he’s taken some medicine, but the exhaustion he’s been shoving aside is encompassing him, surrounding him in a cold wave. He sudders, pulling the cardigan tighter around him, and drifts off. 

***

Tim slips into the kitchen, smiling fondly when he spots Martin sleeping at his table, his head pillowed atop his folded arms. Though, his smile falters when he hears Martin cough lightly, and he inches closer to see Martin shivering ever-so slightly. 

Guilt coloring his eyes, he places a hand to Martin’s shoulder, giving it a light shake. “Martin-”

Martin jerks awake, and Tim pulls his hand back with a sharp gasp that gves away to a few, harsh coughs. 

“Oh, Tim, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Are you alright?” 

“Are you?” Tim cocks a brow, leaning forward to brush the back of his hand to Martin’s cheek. “You feel a little warm.” 

“I am feeling a little under the weather,” Martin admits, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips as he gets to his feet. “But, it’s fine. You and Jon need me.”

“Martin, you can rest. Actually, it’s my house, so I insist you do so.” 

“Tim,” Martin presses, moving to the tea kettle, “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t-”

“-Martin.” 

Jumping, Martin whips around to see Jon shuffling toward him, hair a mess of long, loose curls, and skin far paler than Martin’s comfortable with. “Jon! What are you-”

He stops when Jon’s cold hand smooths across his forehead, and he can’t help the shudder that shoots up his spine, one he’ll peg on the low-grade fever he’s running and not on his fluttering heart. 

“You are warm,” Jon mutters, sniffling quiety. “You should rest. It’s late.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

“-Despite what Tim says, we aren’t actually dying, Martin.”

“Still here,” Tim mutters, staring flatly at Jon. “But,” he adds, pulling a softer gaze toward Martin, “Jon’s right. I’ll grab some spare blankets for the couch.” 

“Oh, but that’s where Jon’s resting. I can take the recliner-”

“-Martin,” Jon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The couch is large enough. It’s fine.” He reasons, once more, that it’s practical, that the couch is better than hearing Martin whine about a sore back, but underneath practiced practically, he’s looking forward to having Martin’s natural warmth so close to him. Only because of the fever, he tells himself. 

“If you’re sure...” Martin mutters, hugging himself, and he follows Jon back into the living room, where Tim’s spreading out a comforter over the couch. 

“Right, so that should do it,” Tim says, hand smoothing over the blanket. “I’ll be in the bedroom if either of you need anything, but do try and wait until morning. I think we could all use the sleep.” Tim slips out of the room, a small smile creeping at his lips when he hears Jon and Martin’s muffled arguing on who sleeps where. 

“Jon, really, I’ll just take the recliner-” 

“-Martin, just...” Jon sighs, rubbing at his temples, “lie down here.” He points, and Martin mutters a polite “excuse me” as he slips past Jon and slowly drops onto the couch where Jon is pointing, his back pressed against the back of the couch. 

“Jon, where will you-” Martin’s words sputter to a stop when Jon slips onto the couch beside him, his back flush against Martin’s chest, lean bones molding perfectly in place. 

“Jon!” 

“Oh, don’t yell, Martin,” Jon drags out, eyes already slipping closed. “It makes the most sense, so do try and rest. Quietly.” 

“Alright,” Martin mutters, swallowing thickly around a lump in his throat, and though it takes time, the consistent tick of the clock seeminly mocking him, he begins to relax when Jon’s breathing evens out against him. 

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 2]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 1.8k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: so here come’s the second part! ALSO- ateez won in The Show today! so good job atiny! WE DID GOOD! Let’s get them more wins! <3 <3 Also forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or anything- this isn’t proofread :’)) 

again please feel free to message me if you wanna be put into a taglist! <3

↞previous  ♛  next↠

You were about to throw another playful jab at your brother when the sounds of brass trumpets echoed throughout the village. The people around you grew confused as it continued. There were horns in your village, yes, but this was different. It sounded more regal and official compared to the somewhat brash sound of the village horns.

You threw a rather quizzical look to your brother who shrugged in response. Many of the townsfolk around your area left their place and started moving towards the source of the sound, causing you to do the same. You went over to your father, handing him his cane as you three walked towards the exit of your smithy.

“Oi!! Chris! ____!” A voice called out.

You turn your head to see your friend Siyeon come running towards you. Her steps slowed down to a jog beside you, greeting your father as she did. “What do you think is happening?” She asks you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“I have no idea.”

The sudden sound of the trumpets caused quite a commotion in your village.

People peeked their heads out of their windows, children climbed trees to look over the tall heads of the adults, even the quarry workers were spotted in the distance as they peered from their place of work and down at the village below them. The people all around you were murmuring to each other, speculating about what was happening. 

“Maybe it’s the city-folk?” Someone on your left said. 

“Traders maybe?” Another replied.

“No- traders aren’t grand enough to do this.”

“Maybe they’re city traders. You know how they are- so full of themselves.”

The folks all around you had different points of view on what was happening right now. Many were curious. Others didn't seem to really care and were just dragged along by their friends. But most of the townsfolk were confused. 

Why was there fanfare coming from an entourage from the city? 

The village was a rather small and quaint place; it was small enough that everyone practically knew everyone around here. There wasn't that much to see or do. The most eventful thing that had ever happened in the village was when a wedding took place during the annual First Moon Festival. And that had happened years ago.

“I think it’s from the palace,” Siyeon whispered over to you, gently nudging your side. “It sounds too fancy to be from the city.”

“Isn’t Capitol a city?” You ask her with a small smile, referring to the area the palace was built. 

Your friend blushed in embarrassment, laughing it off and brushing her black hair to the side. Your eyes followed the movement- rather- the grey streak in her hair for that matter. You remember asking her why she had that in her hair to which she responded that she was just born with it. 

“Well yeah,” Siyeon cleared up with a shrug. “But this just sounds different. Trust me- I know what I’m saying.” She concludes with a wave of her hand.

As the trumpet sounds grew nearer, you could see about four to five flagpoles standing tall. Each golden plated flagpole glinted under the sun, bearing either a red or blue velvet flag. On each flag, golden tassels hung off the edge while an elegant crest was embroidered into the center of it. And wasn’t just any crest- but the royal Crest. 

Siyeon smirked when she realized this and nudged you. “See? I was right. I told you so; didn’t I tell her so, papa?” She asks your father. 

Your father, amused by the banter between you two, decided to humor your friend. “Yes indeed, Siyeon. You should’ve listened to her flower.” 

“Papa..!” You retorted and feigned hurt - quite dramatically. 

“You’re such a drama queen, Yellow.” She laughs, calling you by your nickname. 

You nudge at her with your shoulder, careful not to accidentally push your father in the process. “You started it, Wolfie.” 

You don’t remember how both of you ended up with those nicknames but you do remember that it was on the day both of you got drunk on the day the two of you reached the age of legality. 

Going back, people seemed to grow excited when they realized that the palace had made an effort to travel from the Capitol to the outskirt-mountain village of Trelark with a rather small but handsome entourage. 

"I think a Selection would take place.." Your father murmurs to himself but loud enough for you to hear.

You frown at the unfamiliar term. "What's that?" 

"Its when many young women are elected to be trained by a noblewoman so that one day the prince can pick one of them to marry," Your father explains. "Though I don't know why they picked Trelark out of all places…"

You took note of the worried look in his eyes and the way his shoulders hunched with uncertainty. Your arm came up to gently wrap around his side, giving him a small squeeze. "..so why are you, worried papa? Do you think I'd be elected?"

Your father turned to look at you and shook his head, a sigh escaping him. "You're just like your mother; I can't hide everything from you." He says with a sad chuckle. 

"Don't worry papa, ____ is too in love with the place to leave." Chris steps in after a while of being silent. "And she loves you too much to leave you too."

You only nod at your brother's words. If you were to be selected, they'd have to drag you away. Because there was no way in hell would you ever allow yourself to be separated from your family.

"Oh okay good. I'll just take her place then." Siyeon jokes while flashing a wink at you. 

"Oh please do. You'll make a better princess than me." 

By this time- it seems as if the whole village came out to see what was happening. 

The entourage's flag bearers wore crisp red uniforms, lapels hanging off of their shoulders. They marched alongside the knights who held themselves high. The glare from their spotless armor was practically blinding. 

Many young women gushed over the knights as they passed by, holding onto each other as they tried to catch their attention. 

You could hear your brother chuckle in dry amusement at the girls' reactions. Although deep down you knew that maybe he was a teensy weensy bit jealous of those men in armor. You gave him a gentle nudge- some form of encouragement to cheer him up.

At the end of the short entourage was a small carriage driven by two strong horses, manes well-groomed and tied as a tapestry bearing the royal family's crest hung off their sides. 

The carriage comes to a halt as soon as the fanfare ends. And almost as if in on cue- everyone grew silent. Only the occasional cough or sneeze could be heard. They stared at the carriage and waited for someone to step out. You could practically feel the tension in the air, weighing heavily on all of your shoulders. 

You wince when you feel your father’s grip on your arm tighten. You settle your own calloused hands over his, thumb running over his fingers to help him calm down. You smile at him reassuringly. It’s alright. You tell him with your eyes although your conscience wanted to argue things won’t be okay after this. 

A sudden muted thud from inside the carriage startled you and a few folks around you. The poor scrawny carriage driver scrambled off the driver’s bench and down to the carriage door. He opened the door to reveal a brightly dressed man with a silver beard, trimmed and curled on his chin. You heard someone snicker in annoyance from behind you, something about the old man being a pompous asshole. 

The nobleman stepped out of the carriage and cringed when his polished boots sunk in the mud, causing a few giggles to erupt around you. They quieted down though when his head snapped up, the purple feather on his hat swaying with the motion. 

“Ahem, commonfolk of Trelark,” He starts. For a man his age, his voice was quite clear and crisp. The only problem was the condescending tone he used. “I come to you to deliver a message on behalf of the king!”

Another bout of murmurs erupted from the people around them. The nobleman didn’t seem to like this as he had exaggeratedly cleared his throat again, brows furrowed and sharp nose upturned. Christopher couldn’t help but scoff at the man’s attitude.

“It looks like he has a stick up his butt.” He whispers to you to which you stifle a laugh from. 

You shut up immediately when the man’s eyes shifted over to you, making you purse your lips in embarrassment. The man cleared his throat for the umpteenth time and continued with his speech. 

“As you all know, there had recently been an attempt to assassinate our beloved prince Park Seonghwa. Fortunately, the assassin has been caught and dealt with but our prince is left vulnerable to the future danger that may unfold.” He adjusted the stance that he had on the ground and slipped a little. He grabs the handle of the carriage door to stabilize himself, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

A few young boys laughed at the nobleman earning a glare from him but they didn't seem to mind. He cleared his throat and spoke up again. “As I was saying, the prince is susceptible to any impending danger in the future. To remedy this- the king has requested that a special selection take place.”

You frowned. Special selection?

The man produces a scroll from his satchel and unrolls it to read what this "special selection" entailed. “All able-bodied people from ages eighteen to twenty-four are ordered to be brought to the palace,” he scrunches his nose in displeasure at this. It was evident that the thought of bringing commoners to the palace disgusted him. “And trained under the captain guard to be picked as a suitable protector for the prince. 

“People who fail to pass the standard are immediately sent home. However, only the selected protector shall live in the palace along with their direct family to compensate for their time in training and as a gift of gratitude for their service to the royal family.”

The nobleman closes the scroll and opens his mouth to speak again. “On the morrow, all delegates shall gather here in the morning. The king shall send carriages to fetch you and bring you to the palace. Do not pack anything unnecessary, only the essentials and a few clothes as you will be provided with wear when you arrive.” 

The nobleman huffed and spun on his heel, seemingly relieved to be done with his task. As he moved to step back into the carriage, he slipped again from the mud. His knees hit the ground, soiling his expensive leggings and bloomers. The frantic carriage driver rushed to help the nobleman only to make things worse by slipping onto his bum. 

More laughs resounded from the townsfolk but the nasty glare that was thrown didn’t seem to deter them. The nobleman shoves the driver away, grumbling under his breath about how he hated the kingdom outskirts and shut the carriage door. As soon as the driver returns to his seat, he cracks the whip and proceeds to drive back down the mountain. Once more the trumpeters played a fanfare and marched along with the entourage. 

That's where you let everything soak in. 

If you could get yourself to become the prince’s protector- you and your family could live at the palace and you could finally give the good life you always promised to your father. The thought alone excites you. 

A grin makes its way to your face, eyes bright and hopeful. But as you turn to look over to your father- you notice a deep frown on his face.

This wasn’t good. 

[seouledbysisi]

Lovers and Friends

(A Victon/A.C.E mashup story)

  “Hey! I do not act like that!” Dior proceeded to say as she hit Donghun’s arm a bit too hard. Sometimes she’d forget her strength.

He immediately rubbed where his arm was stinging. “Why so violent?” He pouted.

“Well stop impersonating me the wrong way and you won’t have to worry about it.” She winked at him & sent him a finger heart.

Naomi chuckled a bit. “You do sometimes tend to overreact sis.” She sided with Donghun.

“Whose sister are you again?” Dior eyed her carefully holding her broken heart.

“Yours but that’s how you are. Remember when I accidentally burnt the popcorn on movie night, and you freaked out as if I had burned the entire apartment down?”

Dior cleared her throat in embarrassment. “In my defense the microwave could’ve blown up.”

“Our point exactly, you overreact. No microwave is going to blow up because of burned popcorn.” Donghun finished.

The entire table burst into laughter.

Jun rubbed Dior’s back. “You’re our drama queen, but we love you for it.” He gave her an innocent smile.

“I’m starting to think I picked the wrong group of friends when I moved to Korea.” Dior crossed her arms and pouted.

Chan snickered a bit, then his attention drifted. “Is that Chan from Victon?” He spoke aloud to himself.

Everyone’s attention followed his gaze.

Dior stiffened a bit. “My achy Victon heart!” She fangirled for a quick moment.

Donghun raised an eyebrow. “I forgot you’re a Victon fan too.”

“I dare you to go say hello!” Naomi winked.

Dior shook her head quickly. “You know I don’t roll like that. They’re trying to have dinner just like us, I don’t want to be impolite. Unlike those little girls right there who are definitely heading to their table.”

“Didn’t stop you from talking to us at the café when you visited here last year! What’s the difference?” Donghun interceded.

Dior rolled her eyes. “I said sorry for bumping into you and making you spill your coffee a little bit, and that was all. You continued a conversation and proceeded to take a seat at our table. So really you interrupted our coffee date.”

“Burn!” Sehyoon spoke as he looked up from his phone.

“Chan!” Chan yelled a bit across the room.

The other Chan immediately jumped out of his seat and headed over. “I thought it was you, but I wasn’t for sure. What’s up, man?”

“Just chilling. Had an early practice today so we wanted to go out for beer and fried chicken.” Chan replied.

Chan smiled. “Us too. I should be sticking to my diet since we have a comeback soon but you know how hard that is.”

Dior’s unique sneeze stole the attention. She immediately apologized and covered her face in embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry.” Chan told her and pulled her hand down. “Everyone sneezes.” He chuckled.

She blushed a bit. Not because she was into him but more because he was so polite. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

“Do I know you?” He asked her as he stared.

Naomi coughed a bit. “Fansign.” She spoke under her breath.

Chan covered his mouth in amazement. “You were at the busking and then we had an impromptu fan meeting, right? Both of you, right?”

Donghun stared over at Dior. This was news to him. He was in shock.

“That was definitely us.” Naomi answered for her sister who seemed to be either deaf or mute.

Chan smiled at Naomi brightly. “I never forget beautiful faces.”

Jun’s eyes widened. “Wow. You’re strangely straightforward.” He looked from Naomi to Chan.

“Well, we almost had to drag Hanse away from you.” His eyes landed on Dior.

She was in the middle of taking a sip of her cocktail and nearly died from choking.

Donghun immediately patted her back. “You okay?”

She began to cough wildly. “I need to go to the restroom. Come Naomi.”

They removed themselves from the table quickly and was out of sight.

Chan watched them walk away. “Did I say something wrong?”

Donghun just eyed him for a minute. “What did you mean before?”

“Hanse thought she matched him well. No big deal.” Chan chuckled.

“But she’s just a fan, right?” Donghun concluded. “He does that kind of thing all the time, right?”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “No. She’s a woman. He is a man. I guess he liked her, but it is not every day that you find someone that your spirit flows well with, maybe that’s how he felt. I don’t know. I’m not him.”

Donghun laughed a bit. “He met her one time and felt something like that? Sounds like a playboy to me.” He said the last bit under his breath.

Chan cleared his throat. “Well I’m sure my members are waiting on me. Good talking to everyone.” He walked back to his table.

  Chan

 Chan immediately took a sip of his beer when he sat back down at the table with the rest of his members.

Seungwoo eyed him for a moment. “That was a long conversation.” He smiled trying to break the ice.

“Yeah, kind of weird too.” Chan admitted but didn’t add anything more.

Hanse eyed the table as the ladies made their way back. He didn’t say a word though.

Chan noticed his gaze and prayed that he wouldn’t ask about that girl or even notice that it’s her.

Hanse looked across the table at Chan. “What made it so weird?”

Chan slurped his noodle into his mouth and held Hanse’s gaze. He took a deep breath before answering. “They’ve come to one of our fansigns before. That’s all.”

Hanse raised an eyebrow. “I know. I was just waiting for you to say it.”

“You remember them?” Seungwoo asked in shock.

“How could I forget her?” Hanse laughed. “She’s different than most fans.”

Chan groaned a bit. “How so?”

“She acted like I was nobody important. Talked to me like I was just an ordinary guy that she just happened to run into.” Hanse’s eyes drifted off into space as if he was reminiscing.

Seungsik snapped his fingers in his face. “Don’t do anything reckless. Just because she’s here and you’re here doesn’t mean that this is some kind of fate, okay?”

Hanse looked over at his leader. “I know. You don’t have to worry. I’m not that careless.” He gulped the rest of his beer and sat the bottle back down loudly.

Seungsik took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just can’t see you getting hurt. She’s a fan and you’re Hanse from Victon. That’s probably all she sees when she looks at you. Unfortunately, that is all our fate. Unfair, right?”

Hanse tucked his bottom lip into his mouth but didn’t respond.

The entire table went silent as they all thought about Seungsik’s words. The revelation was like someone had taken a pin out of a grenade and let it go off in their hearts.

Chan gave Hanse a half smile. “But maybe there is hope, I mean they seem really close to the ACE members. I think they’re all friends.”

Hanse chuckled a bit. “I’m okay Chan, you don’t have to try to find the light at the end of the tunnel for me. Sometimes there is just darkness and I’m okay with that. Thank you though.”

  Donghun

 “Excuse me, can I get another beer?” Donghun asked the server.

The lady nodded and hurried away from the table.

Dior giggled. “So you wanna get lit or LIT?” She asked her best friend.

He chuckled and laid his head over on her shoulder. “I had a long day, don’t you think I deserve another beer?”

“This will be your third though.” She patted his face.

“One more please?” He had turned on the embarrassing aegyo.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve already ordered it now, how can I say no? That would be a waste of the servers time.” She laughed as she nudged him.

Jun turned his chair around to face Naomi. “So about this fansign. I thought you only come to ours?”

Naomi burst into laughter. “Why would you think that?”

“You never mention going to others.” Jun’s eyes were spilling with jealousy.

“I didn’t know I had to tell you everywhere I go.” Naomi winked.

He held his heart. “That hurts. I’m man enough to admit that I’m a bit jealous. I really thought I was your best friend.”

Naomi squeezed his cheeks. “You are. My very best friend. Best friends forever!”

“Well don’t go places I don’t know about, okay?” He eyed her seriously. Now he was the one overreacting. 

“Yessir.” She smiled. She loved how protective he was over her.

Jun tapped her shoulder. “And don’t hang out with other men if I’m not around.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Well how can I date if you’re always around? No one will want me.” She giggled.

“We have a pact anyway, that if neither of us can find someone within the next two years to love us then we’ll just marry each other. We’ll be okay.” He chuckled.

Dior and Donghun burst into laughter.

“Are ya’ll kidding?” Donghun asked.

“No. If I don’t find a girl to really love me then I’m going to force Naomi into being my best friend/wife.” Jun answered quickly.

Naomi didn’t like the sound of being forced into a marriage but it was Jun and he was a great guy so she really didn’t have much to lose, but still not marrying for love was weird either way. “He’s joking.” She smiled.

Jun shook his head quickly. “You think I am.”

Dior just watched them silently as they argued back and forth about this ridiculous arranged marriage ideology.

Victon walked past the table to leave the restaurant.

“See you next time, Chan. We really have to link up one of these days!” Chan (ACE) spoke to the other Chan.

Chan nodded. “For sure. Just say when and I’ll come running.” He smiled.

The other guys acknowledged the table with a small bow.

Dior’s eyes immediately found Hanse’s. Sure, enough his eyes had been glued on her. He gave her a small smirk and nod. That alone had her heart beating like a drum.

She began to fan and took a sip of her iced water.

Donghun placed the back of his hand to her forehead and cheeks. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“What- why would you ask that?” She focused on him curiously. He was so random at times.

Donghun pursed his lips together. “You started fanning and then sipping water as if you were hot. I thought maybe you were coming down with a fe-, never mind.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you for being my little protector. Nothing goes unnoticed with you.” She tapped his chin and giggled.

He patted her leg and watched Victon walk out of the restaurant. Something felt unsettling to him but for now he would keep his cool. “What are best friends for?”

 -Stay tuned-