#im watching classics w my mother

[cooliostarstache]

update! characters that have my whole entire heart:

all the tf2 mercs! them! theres also just crazy amts of content between sfms, other fanworks, and the 15 years its been out :0

im watching aai2 and!! theyre great :0 just met ray shields and hes so cool!! Kind of suspicious though I hope hes not a murderer

perry mason! I love them so much actually! these criminals are so stupid though lol why are you confessing hes got nothing on you

lt. columbo!!! the people he goes up against are smart BUT HES SMARTER >:OO god I love him so much

[hoshifighting]

Hello! I love your work 🥹 I hope you are well

Just wanna ask your thoughts on how the seventeen members would react to see you driving speed / you being fast on connected apps like ‘Find My’ heheheeheh

Thank you ❤️

a/n: thank u sweetie, i loved it!! im doing well!! <33 i hope i understood well.. like a gearhead girlfriend?... made w/ luv ❤️

WARNINGS: mentions of breakig the speed limit

seungcheol: “yo yo yo, slow the fuck down, we ain’t tryna die today!!” he’s literally shouting through the app, and you could almost see him gripping the imaginary 'oh shit' handle in the backseat. he loves you, but he’s lowkey shitting bricks rn, “bruh, this ain't fast & furious... i swear if we crash, it’s on you.”

jeonghan: sigh “baby, why you gotta be like this?” he’s too cool to actually panic, but you can feel him judging the fuck outta you. he’ll make you feel like the most irresponsible person alive while also making it clear he’s kinda impressed. “next time, let me drive so we don’t both end up with speeding tickets… but like… you kinda look hot doing it though, not gonna lie.” he’s smirking on the other side of the screen.

joshua: “ok but like… are we trying to break a record or what?” he’s nervous but trying to stay calm, but you can tell he’s clutching his pearls behind that smooth tone. “maybe, uh, we could slow down just a tiny bit? just a suggestion...” definitely trying not to freak out completely, but he’s one bad swerve from straight-up praying.

jun’s all for it, honestly. he’s got his phone up to show the speedometer on his end, clearly thriving. “you wanna hit 120? bet, i’m down, let’s fucking go!” jun’s just living it, probably snapping selfies like it’s no big deal while the car’s shaking at 90 mph.

hoshi: “wait—WAIT! y/n, no no NO, what the hell?? slow down before i shit my pants.” he close his eyes, dramatic as fuck, genuinely convinced y’all are about to fly off the highway. nearly crying as he clutches his phone. “i got shit to do tomorrow!! i can’t die today, not like this!”

wonwoo’s just... chillin’. he doesn’t really say much at first. just sends a simple, “you good?” text. he’s the only one calm in this whole situation. when you don’t respond right away, he hits you with, “bet you won’t keep up with the guy in the ferrari tho...” and you’re like, oh shit. he’s egging you on. he's vibing with the chaos, but lowkey wants to see how far you'll take it.

woozi: “y/n, you better chill the fuck out.” straight-up scolding you. no fluff, just pure frustration. jihoon’s too rational for this speed demon shit, and he’s already calculating how much the damn fine’s gonna be if you get caught. “if you crash, you better hope i’m not in the car, ‘cause i ain’t helping your ass.” classic jihoon—pissed, but still kinda impressed at your audacity.

seokmin: “YO, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” pure panic in his voice,like he’s watching a horror movie. “do you wanna give me a heart attack? holy shit!!” he’s basically pleading with you at this point, full-on hands shaking, worried sick like a damn mother hen. “i’m way too pretty to die like this, please, for the love of god, just slow down.”

mingyu: WELL THIS MAN HAVE LICENSE FOR IT, no fear at all. “you drive like a fucking beast, lemme hop in the car next time.” he’s fully living for the thrill, no reservations whatsoever. he’s gassing you up like no one would. adrenaline junkie.

minghao’s already over it. deadpan as fuck. “why you gotta stress me like this? i’m way too zen for this shit.”

seungkwan: “OKAY STOP! STOP! i didn’t sign up for this kinda trauma. you tryna die young, huh?!” yelling in the app for you to pull over before he passes out from sheer anxiety. “i’m never getting in a car with you ever again, swear on my life.”

vernon: “i mean, if we crash, we crash. kinda sick though, right?” no panic, no complaints, just lowkey impressed. “but like… how fast can you actually go?”

chan: “y/n, this isn’t a fucking video game!” poor baby is stressed out, clenching his fists like his life’s on the line. “i can’t do this. my heart can’t handle this. you tryna give me a heart attack?!” genuinely scared shitless. “you really gotta slow down before i fucking pass out in the toilet bro”

[nevernonline]

✧.* he's all that; lsm mini series

✧.*synopsis: every year the kappa sorority hosted a 'hot or not' greek life pageant show. you've luckily escaped having to bring your own "nottie" to give a makeover to and train in hopes of winning a big prize for the rest of your crew. but, just when you thought your lucky streak was going strong your name get's chosen as a representative and your sisters had just the guy for you to make over.

part of my seventeen movie series. 

paring: seokmin x reader (y/n uses she/her pronouns.) 

genre/s: fluff, strangers2lvrs, neighbors2lvrs or whatever.  

warning/s: alcohol mentions, swearing, cigarette mentions, swearing, some pg-13 jokes. no funny business iykyk. lots of mean girls (rip)

word count: 4.2k

note: im notorious atp for not editing, pls. this edition of nmm is inspired by a true classic she's all that (w/ a bit of greek the tv show/sydney white energy if any of u have ever seen ALSO classics, this was supposed to be one part, BUT! I feel myself getting so carried away so … three parts.) i was going to post my gwag update today but im gonna wait till either tomorrow or Tuesday <3.

beginning ▸ middle ▸ end.

Y/n was dreading the meeting she walked through the front doors of the sorority for this afternoon, the pageant. Kappa and all the other sororities on Greek row participated in what they call ‘Hot or Not’ every year since supposedly the 1980’s something her now head sister Heather claims was started by the legacy that was her mother. Which maybe was true, but y/n could never figure out why it mattered? And while it was fun it was a little bit old school.

“Hey, girls. Everyone settled in? We have a very exciting tradition here at Kappa as you may know.”

The cheers rang through the sitting room, with its white walls, pale pink carpets, and sherpa couches, the cheers and claps of girls hoping Heather draws their name from the glass bowl with her perfectly manicured finger tips.

“Yes. It’s so exciting, we have a few new faces so since you haven’t been a part of this week in past years we left you out of the bowl, but we will have many things for you to participate in this week. Like dine and dash, our famous Good as Gold party, and of course judging the competition at the end of the week. Before we get to the drawing, I wanted to congratulate our last year's winner, Suni. Give it up for her.”

Smiling, y/n clapped along with the other girls, giving Suni her flowers. About to step out behind the two french doors to grab a water or something to drink, when you hear Heather call your name loudly. All of your other sisters and friends spinning around watching her looking like she was attempting to escape the reality of her name being the one chosen after three years of getting out of it.

“y/n! Finally, Come back here, girly.”

Walking through the clapping crown y/n took her place next to the blonde and pretended to smile with excitement as her gut was telling her it was absolutely the worst day of her life.

The only reason y/n was in this sorority was to get extra college credits, that and Heather and her mother met here and have been friends since that very day. Heather was obsessed with being a legacy and clawing her way to the top of the food chain at the university. Y/n was just there for the ride.

“Everyone, you all obviously know my very good friend and our smartest sister, y/n. I personally have been waiting for the day she got chosen out of this bowl. It’s something our moms, co-vp’s of their 1980’s class of Kappas have been talking about for years. So I’m just as excited as I’m sure y/n is to be our guiding light to another victory this year. Anything to say, y/n?”

“Uh, not really, you said it all.”

Another big fake smile appeared on her face. Laughing and giggling at all the congratulations coming her way.

“Girls, before we enjoy our lunch. Don’t forget tonight is dine and dash, please find your dates and bring them to Carol’s Diner at 8pm. See you there.”

Checking the time on your phone you had roughly 45 minutes before your lecture and enough time to take off the gaudy Kappa logo’d sweater you had to put on for what Heather calls “official business.”

“Y/n what are you checking the time for? We have a lot to do today.”

“I have a class in 40 minutes, I have to go back and change.”

“I don’t get why you won't just move back in here with us?”

“I told you, Heather. I can't. I have to focus on getting into Med School and no offense to you or the other girls, but this isn’t exactly the best place for me to focus when I have to study.”

“Med School can wait just one day right? We have to set up the table at Carol’s and set up for the party later. Would you mind going with the new girl Sam to grab the alcohol? And then you can meet me back here and we will go to the diner together. I’m going to have the girls go out and look for some Nottie’s for you today before that whale from Delta picks them all up. “

“No, but-”

“Thank you! Love you!”

“Also her name is not Sam, It’s Soyeon.”

“Okay got it, toodleoo.”

Searching the house for the person and so called new girl, Sam you stumbled upon her sitting out on the back patio writing in her journal.

“Soyeon?”

“Oh, hey y/n.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’m just so used to everyone calling me Sam I forget people know that it’s actually not.”

“Yeah, it took Heather a whole year to not call Suni, Sunny and everyone just kind of follows her suit.”

“I thought you had class? I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I do. It’s just a lecture on the importance of mammograms and breast cancer research so, I guess it’s okay. I can just find it somewhere online.”

“Ready to head out?”

“Would you hate me if we stopped at my dorm? I cannot wear this fucking sweater for more than an hour or I may spontaneously combust.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be seen with you in public while you’re wearing that.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“You should.”

Y/n and Soyeon escaped the general excitement of the rest of the girls by escaping out the outdoor gate and walked viciously together to change the heinous sweater on y/n’s back.

Turning the corner to finally reach the hall her single dorm room lived at the end of, she ran into a tall boy who’s books scattered all across the floor, a boy she had never once run into literally and physically.

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, no I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“You’re y/n right?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I live across the hall from you. I see your name tag on your door all the time and all the photos of you from all your friends. Which now that I’m talking makes me sound like even more of a weirdo? I’m sorry. I’m Seokmin, my friends call me DK or Dokyeom , whatever. And now I’m rambling, please stop me.”

“No, you’re okay. Can we at least just get off the floor now?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin or Dokyeom whatever his real name actually is, crawled off the floor and stuck his hand out to you for assistance pulling your pink colored body off the floor.

“This is my friend, Soyeon.”

“Sorority sisters?”

“Wait. How’d you know? Oh, fuck the sweater. Don’t tell anyone you saw me wearing this, I know where you live.”

“Don’t worry, I never will. But, sorry to uh, cut this meeting short I have to get to class. I’ll see you again, I’m sure. Bye, nice meeting you y/n. And you too, Soyeon.”

“Bye.”

In unison you and Soyeon watched the tall boy walk towards the elevators. Both of you have differing expressions of looks on your face, one of pure enjoyment watching the awkward interaction and one of pure dumbfoundedness.

“He’s cute.”

Soyeon brought you out of staring at the boy walking away and stepping into the elevator, throwing his fingers up waving goodbye while clutching his mounds of books in his hands.

“What?”

“I said he’s cute and he’s your neighbor. Lucky girl.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can’t believe I’ve never met him before.”

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

“We just met. Plus, I’m busy with school and now this stupid pageant. I don’t have time for cute boys.”

“I’m sure you can make it work.”

Unlocking your door and letting Soyeon in before you so you can sneak a peek at his front door in front of yours. Plain, just a few funny messages and cute stickers of tangerines and tigers pasted on his whiteboard. Maybe he already has a girlfriend? But a boy like that with that many books is probably much like you and had no time for dating.

“Wait. Y/N your room is so nice? Maybe I should move out of the house. It’s loud as fuck anyway.”

“Why are you in the sorority? I’m not judging because I was basically dragged into it too. I’m just curious?”

“My mom always wanted me to join. She said it’s a good way to find friends, I always had a hard time making them. So I figured why not?”

“Got it. Makes sense.”

“What about you? You also don’t serve sorority girl to me.”

“Because my mom also got me to join, that’s actually how I know Heather. Our moms were co-captains of the sorority at some point in the 80’s.”

“Oh, so you’ve known her your whole life?”

“Mhm.”

“No offense or anything, but she’s… kind of a bitch.”

“Kind of? It’s only gotten worse since she’s been in charge. She was okay when we were younger, but you know.”

Slipping out of your jeans and sweater, you threw on a black pair of pleated pants and a loose white button down.

“Also you have tattoos and a sick body, stop dressing like an old woman.”

“I could never pull off what you wear? You’re so cool and confident.”

“Promise me. One party this year you’ll let me pick out something to wear?”

“Okay.”

“You’re very trusting.”

“What? You’re going to make me wear a hot pink dress and try to dye my hair blonde too?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.”

Hours passed on as you were getting to know Soyeon more, a part of you realized what you had been missing meeting girls outside of your own circle at school.

People who share your interests and enjoy talking about things other than clothes, shoes, and boys.

It was actually the least stressed you’ve been around someone at the sorority in a long time. Almost like a breath of fresh air.

Getting out of the Uber you took filled to the brim with alcohol and snacks, you were back at the big White House at the end of the street. Not a flaw in sight. Almost like it wasn’t a real reality.

“Should we ditch the diner? We could always go see my friend play at the bar across campus instead?”

“I would love nothing more, but Heather will have my head shaved or something.”

“Okay, well when we ditch later we can head there.”

“It’s a date.”

“Ew, you’re so corny. Save it for your new lover boy across the hall.”

“Shut up.”

Soyeon and you laughed, dragging the last box up the stairs into the foyer of the house. Met with the blonde at the bottom of the stairs.

“There you guys are! I was going to send a search and rescue team to come for you if you didn’t show up soon.”

“We got a little distracted. Sorry.”

“No problem. You’re here now, Sam go up and get ready, I’ll help y/n from here.”

“Okay.”

Soyeon or Sam, picked her poison and shoved down Heather still calling her by the wrong name and walked up to her room to change and get ready for the rest of her night. While you were stuck unpacking the boxes.

“Y/n. Don’t forget to look out for the boys everyone brings tonight. We can pick one from the litter for your Nottie.”

“Look, Heather-“

“I know what you’re going to say and don’t even think about asking me if you can drop out of the pageant, okay?”

“I just don’t think it’s worth it or fair anymore, why don’t we just get the other frat guys to do it? Like Mingyu or Wonwoo, Johnny? I don’t know. I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

“You raise a good point. And it gives me an idea.”

“Which is?”

“We have the other frats competing too, we’ll get more payout and the three uglies will be more profitable than ever for us. You’re so smart.”

“That’s not wha-“

“Ah! I’m so lucky to have you. I’ll let everyone know.”

Heather bounced off into the other room, texting rapidly with her manicured hands on her cell phone, making the fire bigger.

With your head spinning around and around you don’t even remember walking your way to the diner waiting for the freshman girls to bring their guys along to the large table set for someone’s embarrassment.

Taking a seat near the end of the table next to Soyeon and Heather on your other side, you sat and sipped at the Diet Coke in front of you, feeling your mix of anxiety and angel swirling in your stomach and begging for something a little stronger.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Soyeon leaned over and whispered into your ear, seeing the look on your face and noticing your obvious quietness.

“I’ll tell you after.”

“Okay, if you want to go early, let me know.”

“I will”

Heather had her vulture eyes on, waiting to see which she would inevitably have embarrassed by the groups around you with no remorse.

She looked into your eyes and signaled to a cute shy boy across the table, sitting and picking at his nails, making it clear she had made her mark.

“Let me use the bathroom first okay?”

“Yeah, of course. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Right.”

Walking briskly into the old blue stalls in the bathroom, which you didn't even really have to use, but just needed an excuse to go somewhere and release your anxiety.

“Y/n? Hey. Y/n?”

Seeing Soyeon’s platform heels under the bottom of the stall door you jumped up and swung your head out of the blue metal.

“What?”

“Remember that guy you met today?”

“Yes, of course why?”

“He’s here.”

“Someone brought him?”

“No. He’s here with his two friends and Heather invited them to the table. One of them is that dude that’s friends with Mingyu with the that acts like a tiger, the hot nerdy one, and the other one is just some hot short buff guy, never seen him before. Anyway, We either have to get out of here right now or stay and hide in here until they're gone.” L

“Why don’t we just go-“

“No. I don’t want him to think you’re a bitch? Are you crazy? You can’t go dunking on nerds in front of three hot dudes?”

“Okay let’s go.”

As the two of you tried to make your exit from the ladies room you heard commotion outside in the dining room, so you both slipped back quickly into the bathroom, locking the door for some reason as you head the chairs scooting and the bell ringing meaning people were slipping out on one of the boys at the table.

“You think they're gone?”

“Yeah. I hear the sink running in the men’s room, come on.”

As you walked out of the bathroom in front of you Seokmin was sitting at the table covered in a turkey club sandwich looking at the long tab Heather left for him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Your ‘sisters’ dumped a sandwich on me and left the tab? Do you guys do this a lot?”

“It’s just some stupid shit Heather came up with when she became president. Me and y/n were hiding in the bathroom so we could come and pay the tab. But, you got to it first.”

“Right.”

Not saying anything and standing in your tracks cold, you watched as Soyeon took the check from his hands and waved you on to help him as she went up to pay.

“She dumped her food on you?”

“Yeah, my friends and I were just coming for takeout. I saw Soyeon so I went to say hi and she wanted to come get you. But the blonde girl,”

“Heather.”

“Yeah, Heather. She told me to sit down for a second and my friends went back to their dorm so they could keep studying and deliver food to some other guys. She was okay at first, but once Soyeon left she dumped her soda and sandwich on me and when I came back they were all gone.”

“I’m so sorry? Let me get you dry cleaning money or something.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I can handle it. I’m glad you two were here though, I don’t have my wallet on me. Are you okay though? Have you been crying?”

“I’m fine, just had a moment.”

The small black haired girl popped back over, tucking her card back into her wallet and smiling at the two of you sitting and talking with Seokmin covered in an orange beverage, a little bit of lettuce stuck in his hair.

“Want to come to a party?”

“If it’s at the sorority then sorry, no thanks.”

“No. It’s just some of my friends from the music department. They’re playing a show at O’Malley’s.”

“I don’t think orange soda is really a good look for a party.”

“That’s okay, y/n has to go change too. You guys just meet me there? I’m going to head out and get us a table.”

“Well I do owe you guys both a drink. So, sure.”

“Oh, and Seokmin?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure y/n actually comes back out, she’s hard to get her hands on.”

“Of course.”

Walking back to your somewhat shared dorm, you and Seokmin walked in silence past greek row, watching all the girls running around to get ready for a greeting ceremony to the frat houses as escorts to their party.

The boy looked at you up and down, imagining you inside one of those grand houses gossiping and dishing on sister life just trying to figure out why you joined in the first place, your friend included.

Reaching your destination with only smiles and small giggles shared between the two of you on the walk over, you both slid into your dorm rooms and found clothes that were far more suitable for a night out.

You noticed the black tank top Soyeon had pointed out before and slid it on, matching it with a pair of dark ripped jeans and your go-to loafers, sliding back into the hallway, finding Seokmin on the other side of the door waiting for you.

He was somehow on your wavelength wearing an oversized black t-shirt and jeans.

“I figured I should try to match Soyeon's aesthetic somehow.”

“Me too. You look nice, I like your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes. I definitely need a drink.”

“So, y/n what is your drink of choice.”

“Anything strong and not sweet.”

“Oh, so not me then.”

“Shut up.”

Seokmin made you laugh, there was no way a boy like him was not taken or at least could be interested in you.

“Have you and Soyeon been friends for long? You guys seem close.”

“Actually, not really. We hung out for the first time today. I mean, I’ve seen her at parties and stuff, but she’s sort of been like a breath of fresh air for me.”

“Really? I’m surprised by that. Why are you in the sorority anyway? You don’t exactly have the same.. Vibe? Or whatever as the other girls. Especially the ones I met today.”

“My mom. The girl. Heather. Soda spiller, her mom and mine were friends when we were kids, they're legacy members. So I just thought it would be fun, but now.. I don’t feel that way.”

“Can’t you just quit?”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“I guess I just want to be someone who sees things through. I also can’t offer Heather the satisfaction of knowing I left.”

“She really is that bad huh?”

“Worse. It’s a long story. Can we table it?”

“Of course.”

Reaching the door of the bar, you caught a glimpse of Soyeon’s shoulder tattoo near the stage, through the large crowd of people mingling.

“Go. I’ll order us drinks and meet you there?”

“You sure?”

“You said you needed it right?”

“What about your wallet?”

“Apple pay, y/n. Duh.”

“Your ID?”

“My friend is the bartender, just go.”

“So sassy.”

Walking your way through the crowd by pushing yourself through other bodies you finally reach the girl on the other side and wrap your arm around her waist as a hello.

“What the- Oh my god, you actually came? You look so hot. I’m proud.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. Where’s the puppy?”

“At the bar grabbing drinks.”

“On the leash already? You’re good.”

“No. He’s just nice.”

“True. But, he also likes you.”

“I don’t think it’s like that, but maybe someday you’ll tell me I told you so.”

“I look forward to it. I saved you guys a table.”

“My girl.”

Soyeon gestured her long manicured fingers behind you, noticing the boy making his way with two glasses in his hands and another tall figure following behind him holding a tray with various things on top.

“Hi, Soyeon.”

“Hi, Keom. Thank you for joining us. Who’s the glasses?”

“My friend Wonwoo, he works here, well he just got off. Is it cool if he joins us?”

“Of course.”

“Nice to meet you, Wonwoo. I’m y/n.”

“Hey.”

“So. Since I didn’t get to ask Soyeon what she wanted and I wasn’t entirely sure what you liked. We brought over options. But, we have to finish them all because Wonwoo was nice enough to gift them to us and it’s unfair to not accept gifts.”

“Very charming.”

You made your second flirty comment of the night to Seokmin, even though your sober self normally isn’t entirely as bold as you find yourself being with him now. But, in all fairness you were just trying to catch his vibe. He didn’t respond verbally, but just scrunched his nose in your direction almost as if he was letting you know that he’s interested.

“First, a simple vodka soda, little lemon, then just a couple of beer options, this is a sour, this is just a simple light beer, and an ipa, which ew, but I think Wonwoo likes, some tequila shots and some lemon drop shots, also a whiskey soda and a jack and coke, and then a uh, gin and tonic i think? Right, Woo?”

“Yeah, maybe you should be the bartender, Seokmin.”

“I have other talents.”

All eight of your hands reach every which way around the table and end up with different drinks sat in front of them, you beelined for the vodka and the sour beer, Soyeon went for the whiskey soda and the tequila, Seokmin for the gin and tonic and light beer, and Wonwoo for the jack and coke and the ipa.

“Who wants what shot?”

Soyeon dipped her arm back to the middle of the table covering her eyes with her opposite hand, grabbing a hold of the small glasses very carefully and placing them around the small group.

“There. Decided for you, me and Wonwoo get tequila and you and Seokmin get lemon.”

Smiling widely at your friend next to you, you grabbed a hold of the shot glass and held it up signaling everyone to cheers. Which they all happily obliged.

Soon after the alcohol was going through your bloodstream the band started playing their music that hit you right in the chest, songs about living your life to the fullest and choosing your own path, much to your surprise Soyeon was the one who wrote the music that spoke to your soul.

After the set ended, Wonwoo and Soyeon wanted to stay back and have a few more drinks to congratulate their friends, and enjoy their night, but you were beat thinking about all the work you still had to do over the weekend and dreading the choice of man Heather would embarrass. So you decided to leave with Seokmin walking you back safely to your dorm.

“What are you studying again?”

“Me? Oh, I’m studying to be a veterinarian.”

“Wow really? That’s cool, I didn’t know. You must be busy as hell.”

“I’m sure you’re just as busy, being a doctor for actual humans is way more complicated considering a lot of them are assholes.”

“That’s unfortunately true. But, I love it to be honest. I can understand why people are afraid of the hospital and surgery I guess.”

“That’s good, maybe we should study together sometime? I know it’s not the same exact thing or whatever, but it’s nice to have company?”

“I would love that, tomorrow? I mean if you’re free. We can go to the coffee shop or library or anything really?”

“Yeah, just knock around 10?”

“Okay. Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow??”

“Yes, absolutely. Have a good night, y/n”

“You too, Seok.”

Trying to get comfortable in your bed, some pesky person kept lighting up your phone screen, reaching over to turn on do not disturb you and realized it was Heather. She was asking a bunch of interrogating questions about your new friend Seokmin, begging you to bring him over tomorrow.

Unfortunately for you, you knew her interest in him was about to make your new relationship a very complicated one.

[wlwinry]

could i know more of your thistlecaster thoughts/any hc’s??

YES sorry ive become insufferable about them im gonna list off everything off the top of my head

classic example of fell first/fell harder. after the breakup w zelda gorgug sorta gradually spirals into being in love w fabian but he's very much like "im not gonna put my crush on him, i'll tell him at some point but i don't wanna mess things up" and he's very...not casual but not constantly freaking out about it. meanwhile fabian gets hit by the metaphorical "in love with gorgug" bus and proceeds to be so uncool about it to the point where everyone BUT gorgug notices his crush. it's the "leans against a vending machine and breaks it" scene w mazey but 10x worse

they spar A Lot, because they're the two main melee fighters/the ones who don't rely heavily on spellcasting in combat, which means they work together on the field A Lot. as such they're very good at reading each other's body language

PDA couple alert. not to trackerbees levels there is no 69ing on the battlefield but fabian is constantly holding gorgug's hand or leaning against his side and gorgug is constantly hugging fabian from behind or resting his chin on his head. fabian is touch-starved (hallariel isn't exactly the cuddling type and bill's physical affection tends to come in random bone-cracking bursts) and just sort of melts into gorgug

he also melts into gorgug bc gorgug is very earnest and sweet and fabian "expressing genuine vulnerability is dangerous" does not know how to process this other than by becoming a ball of deeply enamored mush

you've never seen someone give as many gifts as fabian does. even if it's just smth like a coffee or tea when they meet up before classes bc fabian knows that he needs the extra energy. there's big gifts too, like the giant workshop and lab he converts one of the multiple training rooms in seacaster manor into for gorgug to artifice (state of the art, ofc), but also things like a special holster for drumsticks, pillows enchanted to maximize restful sleep, etc.

gorgug retaliates by making fabian Many Things. often accessories. several with tin flowers on them (he also makes the engagement and wedding rings, when it eventually comes to that. and it does. to me.)

fabian gets a little emotional whenever he's offered another flower

fabian is also big on terms of endearment and pet names but "darling" is very specifically never one of them. gorgug's favorite of the bunch is "flower"

gorgug loves watching fabian dance. fabian also loves watching gorgug artifice. there tends to be an admiring onlooker in their various workspaces

the hangman fully offered to throw itself into a ditch so gorgug would come fix it again if that would help fabian flirt w gorgug. fabian refused. the hangman kept asking and was only effectively stopped when reminded that gorgug owns the hangvan

speaking of the hangvan. good makeout spot.

idk i just think they're so in love and they match up so well i think about them always. fabian also goes to so many cig figs concerts with big ol glittery signs covered in hearts and gorgug is always flustered when he sees him in the crowd, much to fig's delight. when gorgug mentions wanting to write fabian a song she is immediately on board and insists he has to do it

fig needs to know details immediately and gorgug is. so bashful about giving them. meanwhile fabian WANTS to gush and riz is like ily im so happy for you i dont need to know all the details. this does eventually mean fig bugs fabian for details and fabian eagerly gives them

unlike his mother fabian knows loving someone with a human lifespan when you're going to live well beyond one means you have to treasure every single moment with them. so he does. and gorgug knows he will love him no matter what plane he's on, living or dead

i have more this is just. what i've got off the top of my head rn. thanks for letting me be completely insufferable

[saltymothball]

my unpopular takes on beetlejuice beetlejuice SPOILERS!! (long post)

(i am a fan of the original pls do not come for me) these are just my thoughts on the sequel :D please feel free to add yours too

context! im writing these notes as i watch so theyre a little disorganized

for reference i also rewatched the original immediately prior to the sequel

not opening with the classic beetlejuice muisic ?? even the stage show opens with that music where is it (EDIT- restarted it and it actually does open w the music, but it is much less fun/campy an and more of a spooky remix so i forgot)

its not plot necessary but i do wish we learned how BJ fixed his shrunken head and death by sandworm

where are the maitlands ???? 0 mention of adam and barbra at the beginning ?

BJ's ex wife intro was a very creative concept but i wish they did it with more sfx props and less cgi/green screen

Astrid is like very boring, theyve done nothing to get the audience (me) invested in her?? disney wish vibes like who is she

call it a headcanon i feel like lydia wouldnt be this fucking awkward of a parent ?? she had good role models ie adam and barbra (even if her own parents werent as active, by the end of the original movie it implied they were now living in a healthy family dynamic

the mother daughter drama feels really forced, reminds me of the out-of-place tension between wednesday and morticia in the 2023 show

all angles are super close up and feel like horror angles. the scene where astrid befriends that boy ?? felt like someone was gonna come up and kill them the ENTIRE interaction (edit i guess that makes sense but it nerfed the scene)

IMMEDIATELY knew his parents are dead btw. not showing their faces is so clearly they are dead. not an ounce of mystery. theory the boy might be a ghost too?

theory astrids dad isnt dead bc Lydia cant see him

the witching hour wrong ?? last i knew it was 3am not 12am. weird thing to get wrong

its like not a silly campy vibe ?? its like uncomfortable.

dont like lydias new man hes pushy and gross

i miss adam and barbra

it doesnt make sense that no one taking lydia seriously ? delia knows she can see ghosts and has also experienced beetlejuice

lydias fiance is a horrid excuse for a partner (how tf did she meet him like did he just walk in bc the plot needed another person to hate lydia

not the dead protester joke :(

the spill-your-guts/pregnancy felt really idk,,, icky??? dont know how to explain it but it uncomfortably long

follow up- a lot of the visual ghost gags felt very gross/gorey ? like in the original movie the gags were inbetween silly/sexual/spooky-but this one feels more like blood and guts instead of spiders and snakes. exhibit A) otho casually shoving corpse barbra out of the way when looking at the closet with delia / exhibit b) the guy with the cigarettes at the end of the original

theory that astrid is going to end up seeing ghosts by the end of the movie

love the "eeee!" noise BJ makes when people say his name

ok BJ with the guitar after lydia tells him off was legitimately funny

i know astrid is an angsty teen but my god she is so hostile towards lydia

calling it at 56mins the boys parents are SO dead bc they deliberately didnt have lydia meet them

listen i have nothing against jenna ortega but it feels like she is type-casted to play exactly one character now, like let the girl play something other than a monotone gothy teen

"they found a loophole and moved on" okay whatever that means

astrids awkwardness w this ghost boy is pretty cute. he is so definitely a ghost though

yup called it hes a ghost

"my mom was telling the truth... shit" lmao

this boy feels very sus bc why are you trying to bribe her w her father

still no info on how lydia and rory met ??

MURDER HOUSE ?? TH BOY IS A MURDERER ??? okay thats a good twist ill give them that

astrid going into the afterlife to see her dad feels very "lydia going to the afterlife to see her mom" plot from the stage show ?

astrid honey you have too much faith in this ghost boy

oh my fucking god delia did you really get poisonous snakes....so on brand for her

Beetlegeuse literally carrying the whole movie

every scene he's in is absolutely giving

william dafoe is pretty good too but adding him just feels like he is william dafoe and not the character hes playing (who is also an actor)

delia correcting herself from saying fuck is really funny like girl was that scripted

okay ok astrd seeing her dad working in immigration was pretty neat

i had actually forgotten abt BJs ex wife until now ? doesnt seem like she actually adds much to the story beyond giving BJ a new reason to pursue lydia... which he was already doing...?

are they all going to end up in the afterlfe wtf

the afterlife desert takes place on the fucking moon of saturn ?? okay

is it just me or is the sandworm not claymation... like maybe its just the way it looks but i swear it looks like they cgi'd it but then cut down the frame rate

damn lydias husband really got eaten by piranhas.. what a way to die oh my god

there was no real stakes to astrid switching her soul? they resolved that so fast like lydia just grabbed her and they ran

oh their husband/dad is back now everything is fixed...? like all that hate towards her mom is now gone bc her mom was telling the truth about seeing ghosts? dad just resolved the only conflict

beetlejuice didnt even help get astrid back he went on a pee break and the plot progressed

love bad cop william defoe

"are you filled with fear and trembling?" "yes im shitting my pants" absolutely gold

BJ on fetchquests this whole movie fr

the soul sucking lady please she ate bobs nametag :(

ok wtf they really solved ghost boy dilemma in 5 seconds, BJ ex machina... like he rlly just got him like that ??? anticlimactic

ok good astrid apologized for being a shitty kid

rory please stop kissing lydias neck

i kind of hate the modern nods like the self securing seatbelt in the priests car, or the influencers at the wedding, really weird unnecessary detail

BJ and Delia wedding crashers my fav

how did Beetlejuice get into the church ? if he is a demon like previously established, shouldnt he NOT be able to step on holy ground

enjoyed the slapstick moment of lydia punching rory, good moment

her red dress omg !! pretty

BJ himself is just too funny, making the priest sing top tier

i still miss adam and barbra :( if they can cgi that dead guy in star wars i think we couldve brought alec baldwin and geena davis who are in fact still very alive and look great

they really didnt make me interested in BJs ex wife other than she is pretty and looks like morticia addams ?

BJ making everybody partake in singing is very silly

everybody dancing at the wedding scene must have been fun to film, everybody looks like theyre jamming

lmao whos dog was that in the hallucinations ?? is that the dog who killed the maitlands

"ghoul squad" ok monster high

oh finally his ex is here

lydia so casually pushed out of the way lmao

why does BJ have more etherial powers than every other ghost?

offering rory to the soul sucking lady is so good

theyre really just gonna sandworm for the plot resolution again ???

his ex wife was a threat for all of 4 seconds

lol the legal marriage loophole was kinda funny

is delia like forever dead ? is she a ghost now? is beetlejuice dead?

i still love delia. "i will find charles and we will haunt you both" good for her

are the influencer wedding guests dead

everything got wrapped up very quickly

good on delia for still loving her husband even though that shark absolutely annihilated him

what ?? astrid is married now???

WHAT ??? SHES GIVING BIRTH ?????

oh ok its a dream

having a second pregnancy bit felt really weird

they alluded to another sequel :(

please remember i am actually a huge fan of beetlejuice !! no hate to the franchise these are just my personal opinions on the sequel. i would love to hear your thoughts as well !!

[angelwump]

dilf Suguru x fem reader pt. 2 !

an: hii, tyy for the support it means a lot to me! I'm working on chapter 3 rn, but idk if I'll finish today! Im trying to post daily but I might go skating w/ my friend tomorrow so I'll see if I could maybe fit it in 🥲 I'll also try to get some smut incorporated in the story, perhaps next chapter!

Chapter 2

Answering the door was Geto’s wife, her dress a deep red and lacy, sticking out with confidence. Her classical updo bun made her face look absolutely beautiful but arrogant as she let you two in.

Walking in, you were hit with the scent of something woody and muscular, definitely Mr. Getos scent.

The house looked the same as any other house on the block from the outside, but inside was like a different world. Dark wood accents with cream colored walls, and thick carpet under your feet.

Nothing in here compared to your house, with its comfy and warm vibe makes you thick just how much money does this man have?

Most likely a lot of they can afford heavy house renovations and still afford all the luxury bags his wife brings him everyday.

Yeah, you've seen her every few hours of the day away from her home just to go shopping. It makes you wonder, what type of job does Mr. Geto have?

Taking off your shoes, you two were seated in the dining room left from the hall. You and your mother were seated on one side, with the two twin girls across from you.

And Mr. Geto and his wife were seated at the ends. With him right next to you.

The meal wasn't bad at all, it was so much better than the frozen meals that all tasted like mush you've been having for so long. And what's even better?

Mr. Geto cooked it all himself.

So he's caring, has a stable job, and a male wife?

Oh my god. This man has time for everything.Maybe it was just your imagination, but you couldn't count how many times he was looking at you, just like yesterday.

Caring smile, but his eyes told a different story as he was practically undressing you with his gaze.

It made you flustered, but also nervous. What was worse was, whenever he looked away, noticing you practically squirming in your seat, his wife would instantly notice, and instead of being civil about it or talk about it when you and your mom left, she would give you the haunting gaze.

It's not like you were forcing him to look at you, maybe it's just her. She looks like the type of person to ask girls what they were wearing when they said they get unwanted attention. What a bitch.

Mr. Geto later that night, hand in hand with his daughters went up the stairs to put them to sleep.

Around 9 pm-ish, everyone moved to the front room after dinner.

The dark red, plush sofa was a nice touch to the dark walls, the warm yellow light dimmed, creating an even peaceful scene. The fireplace was even nicer when it was absolutely freezing outside.

All of the adults were talking, but as you sinker into the soft cushions, all you could think about was the man.

Why, all the sudden, were you hot and bothered for him?

Excusing yourself, you walked outside to the front, leaving against the porch's frame. It was bitter cold, but it did nothing to help the warmth growing between your legs, the light pink flushed cheeks.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder spins you around, revealing the older man towering over you. Him leaning in, a soft smile on your lips almost made you moan.

Was he gonna kiss you? Or maybe even more, and fuck you here outside for everyone to watch?

Geez, your self control really vanished whenever he was around, huh?

But, he just slipped his fuzzy sweater over you, revealing his bare, muscular chest.

You didn't know what was worse, dying from the coldness or dying from how absolutely wet you became staring at his upper half.

Noticing your behavior, he let out a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Why are you always so nervous around me, hmm?” He lightly grazed your cheek, his smirk only growling larger.

“It's not like I bite, princess.”

All you could do was shrug, avoiding his gaze. You didn't dare speak, not trusting your voice knowing it would betray your thoughts if it opened up.

“Look, me and your mom have been talking, and she thinks that it would be good if you got a look in town tomorrow.”

Your head peaked up at him, clutching the sweater harder under your grasp.

“Uh.. like what, just walk around?” Your gaze on Mr. Geto only intensifies as he stares at you back.

“Yeah, or I've been thinking about taking you shopping. You start college soon, right? Might be nice to get new clothes, or whatever you want, my treat of course.”

The nonchalance in his voice only serves to sour your intimate thoughts on, hoping the dark night covered your blushing cheeks.

You nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the thought of tomorrow spent with him.

After a moment of wishful thinking, your mother steps out with Geto’s wife with a smile on her face.

She thanks his wife and Mr. Geto for dinner and you do the same, only a bit more meekly than before.

As you walked away, you turned back at Mr. Geto, seeing how his wife's face contorted into a look of anger, and his face a knowing smirk back at you.

A look that says ‘ she's just jealous ‘ when she pulls him away from gazing at you.

Saying goodnight to your mom and slipping into your cozy bed, you couldn't sleep, knowing he was right next door.

The window above your head illuminated his bedroom. The soft yellow light was so antagonizing to take a peek behind the curtains, like a moth to a flame.

Sitting up on your knees in bed, you decided to pull back the curtain just a bit, revealing the bedroom, curtains open.

Okay, maybe it was kind of stalker vibes, but you couldn't look away when you saw his faint form in front of the window.

Maybe you should have listened to the tiny voice in the back of your head to look away before you saw him and his wife..undressing.

You didn't have to look anymore knowing that they were sleeping together.

Weird, why did your heart feel shattered, when it's literally his wife and they sleep together?

Slipping under the covers again, you couldn't help but feel stupid crushing on him so hard before, of course he wouldn't be with you.

He couldn't, he has a life already built, happily it seems too.

an: if ur new here, WE hate his wife jsyk 🤭

An2: I think u might have an idea where he's taking u 👿

[uriekukistan]

light or misa for the character ask?

imma do both 😎

light

My first impression: the first watch of the show i may have been a light apologist. i was 12 okay.

My impression now: i love him in a different way, i think he's super well written and really fascinating to watch but also i think he's a piece of shit i hope you see the vision

Favorite thing about that character: i love when they're insane what can i say

Least favorite thing: he hates women and i truly think that is a reflection of ohba because there is not a single well developed woman in the whole of death note

Favorite line/scene: he has so many iconic moments idk where to start

Favorite interaction that character has with another: those last moments w L...i don't know how to describe it

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: MELLO im just saying that because i want more mello in the series...but yk it would be interesting because they're both very hotheaded

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: if i had to pick a character from tg i would say tsukiyama because they're both very extra (affectionate)

A headcanon about that character: i think he's one of those weird people who genuinely doesn't like music and never has (if you don't like music sorry but i do think ur a bit strange sorry)

A song that reminds of that character: i was convinced to think of oh ana by mother mother for him in 2020 so...but i did see a cool edit of him to shadows by pastel ghost and it was sooo cool

An unpopular opinion about that character: i don't think he's that smart. he's a top student in japan but that just shows he can memorize things well to take exams. a lot of the times he is cooking up plans he is using his emotions rather than intellect and he is just digging a deeper hole for himself.

Favorite picture:

a classic

Misa

My first impression: i did not like her...i was 12 okay

My impression now: MY WIFE I LOVE HER SHE DID NOTHING WRONG

Favorite thing about that character: her character design, she's my fashion role model

Least favorite thing: how underdeveloped she was, see my ohba hates women comment in my light discussion

Favorite line/scene: when she tricked higuchi into confessing that he was kira and recorded it. she isn't given enough credit for how clever she is.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: literally any interaction with L, i think they are so funny together

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: as per last question, L.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: if i had to pick, i don't know why but i kinda categorize her with saiko? classic woman who is underestimated because she's bubbly and cute

A headcanon about that character: i don't really have any idk

A song that reminds of that character: linger by the cranberries

An unpopular opinion about that character: i genuinely fr fr 100% think she did nothing wrong, she was a victim of two violent crimes who fell into the grasp of someone who mass murders criminals and is very good at manipulation, so everything she did was very understandable to me

Favorite picture:

fashion icon tbh

[cinnabonn12]

୨୧ Intro:

Disclaimer: I post way too much very regularly. This is because I currently have no life and enjoy escapism!! How exciting. Welcome other chronically online citizens :)

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[Im copying my friends format for this bc she’s seems like she knows what she’s doing lol. I mean if ur interested you can read further, but like, it’s up to you lmao]

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• So I’m in a lot of fandoms—sadly Im not an artist, but and I will gladly talk to anyone abt any of these in these if u would like :)

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Fandoms:

୨୧┇A ton of anime I watched in 2020-22

Hunter X Hunter • Death Note • Yuri On Ice • Sk8 the Infinity • My Hero Academia • Attack on Titan • Demon Slayer • Saiki K • Ouran High School Host Club • Given • Jujutsu Kaisen • Black Butler • Banana Fish • Violet Evergarden • Haikyuu • and a few more random obscure ones :)

୨୧┇MCU (Loki)

୨୧┇SuperWhoLock (lol)

୨୧┇Hannibal

୨୧┇Good Omens (Crowley)

୨୧┇Our Flag Means Death

୨୧┇The Arcana

୨୧┇Gravity Falls (Bill Cipher)

୨୧┇The Owl House

୨୧┇MXTX (TGCF, MDZS, & SVSSS)

୨୧┇GHOST :333

୨୧┇WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE (Cecil 💜)

୨୧┇Marauders

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*I’m too lazy to put gifs in here like most ppl do so pretend there r pretty little gifs throughout that align w whatever my aesthetic is (idk)

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Music:

*Also smt I post abt way too much

My main playlist if u like :)

୨୧┇Artists (in no particular order)

Ghost • The Sukis • Incubus • Interpol • The Smiths • The Cure • Depeche Mode • Mother Mother • Devin Townsend • Cigarettes After Sex • Linkin Park • Green Day • Smashing Pumpkins • Radiohead • Bo Burnham • Jack Stauber •The Beatles • The Police • America • Bring Me The Horizon • Atreyu • Drab Majesty • Beach House • and more I probably forgot

୨୧┇ Genres

I mean I’ll listen to whatever but I have my preferences—aka indie rock • dream pop • shoegaze • dark wave • new wave • gothic techno • prog/alt/folk/classic rock • symphonic/alt/prog metal • and theatre/broadway

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Imaginary pretty gif here ~

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Broadway Stuff:

• Les Miserables • Hamilton • Wicked • Phantom of The Opera • Hairspray • Cabaret • Harry Potter and The Cursed Child • Dear Evan Hansen • Come From Away • The Play That Goes Wrong • Beetlejuice • Six • My Fair Lady • Legally Blonde • Mean Girls • Hadestown • Little Shop of Horrors • Mamma Mia • The Great Comet of 1812 • Sweeney Todd • Back to the Future • The Notebook • The Great Gatsby, and more bc it would take too long to list them all

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make-believe pretty gif ~

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Closing:

• Im also into photography, writing (fanfic), and a sport I don’t want to talk about unless I do lol. So yeah!! Well that’s a hell of a lot of info.

• Omg I love oversharing!! If you read it, I’m concerned for you bc that was not attention grabbing at all and ur probably stalking me which as an internet stalker like myself yk what? Go for it bro.

(PS: sometimes I loose my grip on my sanity and it shows…so uh keep that in mind? Idk I feel like that needed a mention considering how I am)

[ispyspookymansion]

hiiiii im having my 18th birthdaysoon! 20th of next month! im a little unnerved tbh. but anyways i was wondering if u had any like. anything with that kind of theme. it doesnt have to be literal or even a direct metaphor just. whatever movies you can think of that deal with sort of like. the last step of coming of age. adulthood. aging. anything that remotely parallels that. preferably w no SA. if you got nothing for that maybe a few horror movies that you really like that i can watch on my Special Day im really feeling like just binging horror movies all day recently. youre like the horror movie expert that i follow lol so id be happy to check out your suggestions

omg exciting…..turning 18 felt weird yes but i hope its a good birthday and a good age for you!! i’ll try to think of some good horror recs for the occasion lets see!

- raw 2016, one of my very favorite horror movies and definitely one of my favorite coming of age horror films! its a cannibalism flick with a great score and themes on sisterhood and family and fate and becoming the adult you are, whether you want to or not. kind of intense and gross but its really good. oh its also french sorry but its worth it

- pyewacket 2017, about a girl with a tense relationship with her mother who dabbles with some occult stuff that she shouldnt and has to try to handle whether she really woke something up with it, or if its in her head. a lot about growing up + mother child relationships, i think this is an underrated gem

- we’re all going to the worlds fair 2021, its a bit younger than 18 but its a gorgeous and strange reflection on coming of age that i think will resonate a lot especially for people who grew up online and/or are queer/trans. it’s a very odd and stylistic piece so its a bit hit or miss for people but i like it a lot. the MC is younger than you but i think its a really striking story! its kind of moody and left me a little sad (its not a tragedy tho) so maybe not a happy birthday film

- carrie 1976, obviously this is a classic coming of age film if you havent seen it i cant recommend it enough! its just really good. score is great, acting is great, visually its stunning and colorful and awesome. a classic for a reason

- excision 2012, this one is again very weird and also heavy on psychosexual themes but theres not any assault that i remember. does the dog die says there may be one kiss that is unwanted but it doesnt stand out in my mind fwiw. this is a visually bizarre movie about trying to be who you want to be, who you think you ought to be, and who your family wants you to be. very much coming of age, very very weird

- hatching 2022, again this one is about a character younger than 18 but i think the practical effects work is stunning and the themes about growing up, family, expectations, and loneliness are applicable even though the mc is young. its really gross visually and i love that!

wow these have all been girls uh theres a lot of weirdgirl horror about coming of age i guess. those are also all pretty serious, emotionally heavy films too so lemme think of some more that are a little different

- the lost boys 1987, this is a lot lighter than some of the others! its a very fun california coast set vampire coming of age movie, very 80s, very homoerotic

- the final girls 2015, its a meta horror comedy about getting sucked into a friday the 13th esque slasher film starting the protags recently deceased mom. again, lots of mother child relationship work, surprisingly touching story about growing up and grief and handling that

i’ll also rapidfire toss some out that are related to birthdays, if thats more your speed on this: child’s play 1988 (andy barclay gets chucky for his 6th birthday, kind of self explanatory i assume you know who chucky is), happy death day 2017 (a girl gets stuck reliving her birthday over and over and dying each time, she has to figure out who’s killing her and handle some nice coming of age/family themes, its a horror comedy), bloody birthday 1981 (very very cusp of 70s 80s horror about three evil kids with the same birthday who are evil due to the planet’s alignment at the time, they like to kill people, it is what it is. no sexual assault iirc but they do peep on a girl changing), madhouse 1981 (a woman is chased down by her insane twin in the days leading up to their birthday, this one is kind of mid but the ending is pretty strong and iconic to me)….that might be it off the top of my head :-)

hopefully some of those sound fun to you!! if not come back and i can rec some more, theres heaps of coming of age horror out there these are just some that came to mind

[achilleslyre]

2, 23, 24 for naruto and sasuke bc im predictable and for konan if u want :33

this ask game

thank u always from sending in asks for these hehe

naruto:

2. favourite canon thing about this character?

his canonical brown eyes <3 im jk lol ok uhmmm hm okay why is this so hard…. i keep wanting to just list scenes but that’s not quite what this is asking for. i think i’m gonna have to go with my favourite being his struggle with the pain and anger inside him. not kurama, but him… his anger and his pain. it’s very personal and his struggle is very relatable…. i think it’s nice to watch an mc struggle with their own hatred and grappling with the trauma they’ve endured even though he didn’t really get to admit he was traumatized or come to terms with that but whatever. alternatively does the bijū counting song count? LOL im jk im jk

23. favourite picture of this character?

this is very impossible take them all

24. what other character from another fandom of yours reminds you of this character?

denji from csm :p

sasuke:

2. favourite canon thing about this character?

gwah……………… trying to pick one thing is so tricky…. ok i think i will say his little blushies in classic…….. i know it’s such a small thing but it’s so important to me (ok and sasukes love, and sasukes revolution, and how sasuke looks just like his mother, and sasukes relationship with itachi, and sasuke pure transgender swag (it IS canon), and sasukes kindness towards others, and sasukes epic fits, and sasukes bangs, and sasukes small giggles, and sasukes hmphs and tchs’, and sasukes silence and—)

23. favourite picture of this character?

my photo gallery is but a sasuke landscape…… there are so many images i want to add………..

24. what other character from another fandom of yours reminds you of this character?

i think i will say ash lynx from bfish….. they have too many things in common :(

konan

2. favourite canon thing about this character?

600 billion paper bombs……………………………………………… is anyone fucking listening is this mic even on SIX HUNDRED. BILLION. PAPER BOMBS. not only is that the coolest thing in the world but also she reveals in that scene that thru the whole time she was in the akatsuki she was studying obito to come up with a way to take him down and preparing to……….. i love her. 600 BILLION. PAPER BOMBS.

23. favourite picture of this character?

if i had more room i would add a gif of her 600 billion paper bombs and the mini figure i have of her in a doggy pile w the rest of ame trio but since i don’t look at her froggy…………….

24. what other characters from another fandom of yours reminds you of this character?

oh this one’s really hard actually…………… u see the issue is i really haven’t read/watched that many things agjagsjhsjs uhmmm i haven’t seen enough of her to say for sure but maybe nico robin from op? don’t hold me to that tho T.T i rlly don’t know other than that!! gwah other than maybe my oc jobie lol i feel like they have very similar personalities and passions and epicness lol

[mobiues]

why yes,  i do think mcu should stop being a coward and start to properly display loki’s powers even more

[thepringlesofblood]

Casting My Opinions Into The Void: d20′s Neverafter ep 1+2

this is the first d20 campaign im going to be following live and i am excited enough to do a lil post each week or so about it. mostly bc recycling and adapting and retelling and retranslating old stories that “everyone knows” is my whole shit. like i got a degree in the study of ancient greek and roman civilization (classics). my whole thing is reading old myths and plays that “everyone knows” how they go and seeing what each author/translator brings to the table.

anyway i watched episodes 1 n 2 and i am excited and my observations are below

(like if you were really into the Sisters Grimm series as a kid and are similarly excited for this lol the modernized fairytale characters in that series are literally called “Everafters” and its because it’s really good shorthand for the audience. i see you brennan i see you)

normally ppl who do the whole ‘dark/horror/thriller fairytale’ thing fuck it up bc they think it’s about the shock value, or about seeing how nasty you can get with it, so I usually avoid them, but after bingewatching a kadrillion d20 campaigns, I trust brennan to do it right. you have to find the core value/crux of what is horrifying about the story and tease it out, and play with the symbolism and icons of the original story to reflect that. and brennan fuckin delivered.

ep 1

folks, give a hand to the people who put detailed yet non-spoilery content warnings in the description. tbh dropout shows are setting the standard for sensitivity and inclusion in media. it’s so lovely to see a show w content warnings or pronouns put up onscreen and it just not be addressed. i am forever spoiled for any other kind of media tbh

at some point in the past, brennan found out he could make a really good realistic choking/gagging noise, and he has used it in every campaign since.

i appreciate the ‘scare off the meek early’ approach of it all.

th. the briars. the concept. the dead princes - UGH good backstory yall

i very much like the idea of becoming a ranger out of necessity, and because plants obey you on account of that whole feeding-on-your-blood thing

puss in boots using ‘pib’ as a nickname instead. of ‘puss’ or ‘boots’ - inspired

also zac is using his ‘smart little shit’ voice like he did w lapin and i am v excited.

look ill say it - the little red hen did nothing wrong and thats on that. i read that one when i was very little, it was on electric company or sesame st or between the lions, and i’ve always liked it.

so......anyone see how mother goose’s husband has the last name hubbard? like old mother hubbard lol

also there really is a Jack in so many stories, i’m glad we’re addressing this. little shit gets up to so much trouble

it feels like I have seen so many tired rewritings of little red riding hood, even though I can’t think of any off the top of my head. it’s usually a sort of surface-deep ‘girl power!’ situation. i’ve never seen one like this. i LOVE it. it was terrifying. the fact that we all just sort of accept ‘barbarian’ as a normal dnd class is kind of wild tbh, i like exploring that rage and its source.

Ep 2

saying the actual nursery rhyme in the context of being the nursery rhyme is so powerful. i fully didn’t understand what was happening to nat king cole (v powerful) until he was gone.

also, herr drosselmeyer - fantastic get. you have to talk about the sugar plum fairy at some point and they already went in hard on her in acoc so i love that they were like you know what, it’s weird uncle time.

(context: herr drosselmeyer is clara’s eccentric uncle with a bunch of automatons and he gives her the nutcracker)

also every production ive seen has his drip immaculate. 

my gender is this man’s cloak

Murph is the fucking ball again

“Please tell me how you’re a monster too so I don’t feel so alone” - Jesus Christ Emily Axford

Almost getting distracted by a bird instead of picking up v obvious plot hooks: pt 2

cinderella.......dude

Brennan really looked at K’s finale scene from mismag and went “how DID the mice get lithium?”

The POV of the mice - simplifying it makes it sound ridiculous, but if you really dig into the idea of the mice as sentient beings it’s horrifying.

Dude the symbolism…stepmother eating her kids bc they were always either a tool or an obstacle to her, of course they would be a sacrifice to her hunger for power.

i’ve always liked endings that have the stepsisters reconciling w cinderella bc in the end they were also victims of abuse and it wasn’t the same or the same degree of abuse as cinderella but they were still constantly on thin ice

can you tell that i rewatched d20 live recently and sobbed at adaine and aelwyn’s ending?

Cinderella stabbing the fairy godmother with the broken heel of the shoe that symbolizes both the ending she was meant for and the life that she was forced into. Turning that into glass armor. dude.

The pumpkin carriage rotting bc the fairy godmother is trying to make the happily ever after stay exactly how it is forever but nature decays and time passes and she can’t acknowledge that without realizing both that her role is in the story is over and not only does cinderella not need her anymore, cinderella doesn’t want her anymore, and maybe never wanted her in the first place. 

When puss in boots was asked what he wanted in life and he just said ‘to be comfortable’ #relatable like I know all this is gonna end with him realizing the value of love and friendship over material goods and I 100% agree with that but i feel like this goal or some variation of it are v common today and not often addressed in stories like this

Pinocchio swearing - 10/10. Also how the fuck is Lou doing a Pinocchio voice that perfectly straddles the line between hilarious and annoying. It’s ridiculous enough to always be funny, but sustainable and varied enough that it doesn’t grate on you.

i think we’re getting into “all the princesses in all the stories are all sisters” territory and i for one am THRILLED

"mirror, mirror.......leaned up against the wall”

we learn in this adventuring party that the OG concept for lou’s pinocchio is that he snapped off his nose so he would be able to lie, which is AMAZING. i fully did not put that together.

i am v excited for this battle, and v terrified.

[mikkyjay]

MODERN MARAUDERS HEADCANONS by mik

SIRIUS

- makes thirst traps on tiktok

- is lowkey ig famous

- has a classic rock stan twt acc

- septum piercing

- his pinterest is one of the most beautiful things ever

- has a 100hr long spotify playlist

- does tarot readings on instagram live

- ikea is his fav place ever. Him and Remus spend hours in there

- his fav tv show is the umbrella academy (klaus is his fav obvs)

- is a dedicated Duolingo user

- is in love with Damiano David

- his fav film is school of rock

- his fav film is ACTUALLY wild child

- Mother Mother listener

- Adore Delano stan

James

- always losing his phone

- his lockscreen is a picture of him and lily

- bit of a grandad when it comes to tech is often heard saying he “doesn’t really get twitter” and “Pete what the hell is a discord”

- DRAG RACE STAN!! has watch parties w the boys

- absolute beast at cards against humanity

- goes to Big Tesco with Remus all the time. (that’s their bestie time)

- drives a mini cooper

- plays the bass

- cried at Encanto

- Doja Cat stan

- unironically loves the Mamma Mia films

- musical enjoyer

Remus

- the KING of twitter

- has loads of seperate spotify playlists for each month etc

- loves a trip to Big Tesco

- always has headphones on him

- Loves Louis Theroux documentaries

- Nirvana stan

- absolutely obsessed with BBC sherlock

- surprisingly good at Just Dance which massively pisses off Sirius (“i’ve been in dance lessons since i was five FIVE MOONY! how did you beat me at Womanizer?)

- eyebrow piercing

- Scarlet Envy stan

Peter

- TWITCH STREAMER !!!

- plays the sims 4 religiously

- apple music user </3 (“Pads im on a family plan, my mum pays for it”)

- The Office, B99 and Modern Family stan

- Marvel stan

- monster energy drinker

- is learning how to make CC in the sims

- member of Kurtistown

- beats everyone at mario kart much to James’ dismay

- relates too much to Otis from sex ed

- Utica stan

- really good with tech

- the it crowd is his fav show

[meiozis]

teehee its me

reading this again felt like meeting a dear friend after a while of not being able to catch up <33 but im writing this as im reading so lets gooo

Shakira waits for no one.

SO REAL shes the uniting force

y/n being a horse girl is something that can be so personal…

“Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously.”

please 😭😭😭

everything about y/n’s inner monologue is so. like she gets it. also shes mad funny

DEATH BY A THOUSAND PAPERCUTS !! when i first read this line it infiltrated my brain and i have genuinely not been able to stop saying it ever since, like its literally part of my vocabulary now

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He’s got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don’t blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable.

i wish i could add a voice memo of the way i laughed out loud at this

He might be the only person in the world who takes “pea-sized” seriously as a measurement tool.

get his ass

Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice.

and she would be so fucking right to do all that too

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom.

i just feel like y/n gets me and i get her. like you know how sometimes it’s like ‘i would NOT do that’ when you’re reading x reader fics. but this time i feel like im reading my diary from an alternate universe where joshua hong stares at my ass while im putting lipstick on the way the entire family treats her like she’s disposable and just an asset in their life, not their literal child is using my last nerve as a jumping rope but in a way where it makes me wanna read faster and get to the point where she’s finally happy

God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him.

another line thats entering my vocab after this

He’s just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You’re at the club. They’re playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada.

arguably the most romantic song of all time

i would love to imagine that the skimpy black dress that gets mentioned is just Diana’s revenge dress

"The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.”

STOP i actually screamed vfdkhbgfd

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother.

i desperately need u to know that im in love w the way ur brain works but also… SCREAAMMM the fact that the derby scene actually made it into the fic!!!! im actually getting a little emotional ngl… also obsessed w the way the whole part is executed, i love watching them bumble through the whole thing in an incredibly endearing way

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.”

like come on this is everything to me. when will someone say this about me also Josh rapid firing horse puns is so dear to me

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.”

the only reason no one likes her (in royal circles duh) is because shes always right

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

your comedic timing is so impeccable i wish this was a book so i could scribble all over it and slap it on my knees when im laughing at one of ur jokes and im Serious

OKAY hold on i need to go to part 2 asap i’ll see u there :-)

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment. 

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect. 

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?" 

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard. 

"No, he's on duty." 

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess." 

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure. 

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one. 

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip. 

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway. 

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare. 

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway. 

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all. 

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink. 

--

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters. 

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life. 

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more. 

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter. 

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom." 

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with. 

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject. 

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system. 

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden. 

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up. 

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–" 

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger. 

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?" 

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.” 

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume. 

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play. 

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you. 

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning." 

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied. 

--

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse. 

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse. 

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne. 

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little. 

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to." 

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before. 

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf. 

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago. 

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day." 

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks. 

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—" 

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses. 

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell. 

"I'll be in the foyer." 

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different. 

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him." 

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history. 

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously." 

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you. 

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater. 

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore. 

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these. 

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride. 

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water. 

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine. 

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning. 

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along. 

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate. 

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming. 

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. the blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command. 

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him. 

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy. 

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds. 

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful." 

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you. 

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow." 

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you. 

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that. 

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway. 

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers. 

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures." 

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame. 

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass. 

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?" 

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you." 

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between. 

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?" 

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race. 

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl. 

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot. 

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it." 

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on. 

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know." 

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas. 

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university." 

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway. 

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?" 

Too far. 

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins. 

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one. 

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable." 

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

--

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought." 

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door. 

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person." 

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is." 

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago." 

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him." 

���Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.” 

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company. 

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse." 

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about." 

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either." 

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort. 

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one. 

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.  

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts. 

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?" 

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?" 

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright." 

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable. 

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that." 

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us." 

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time. 

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training." 

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time." 

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening." 

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?” 

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though." 

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare. 

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else. 

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue. 

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this." 

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?" 

You take a hard swallow.  You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time. 

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it. 

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us." 

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101. 

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse). 

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private." 

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal." 

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm. 

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home. 

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back. 

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off." 

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it." 

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking." 

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling." 

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one. 

--

You hate mornings. 

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance. 

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you. 

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool. 

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little. 

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant." 

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready." 

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice. 

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door. 

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—" 

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway." 

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger. 

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom. 

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy. 

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll. 

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick." 

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real. 

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design. 

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" he directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum. 

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style. 

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still." 

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click. 

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car. 

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile. 

"Right, because you're such a peach." 

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink. 

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him. 

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect." 

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?" 

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one. 

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged." 

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you. 

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken. 

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course." 

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it. 

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada. 

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling. 

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you. 

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua. 

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place. 

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut. 

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off. 

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened. 

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again. 

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out. 

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets. 

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home. 

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty. 

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer. 

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk. 

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?" 

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time." 

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't." 

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks." 

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen. 

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident. 

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé. 

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying." 

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s." 

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?" 

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around." 

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita. 

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since. 

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed." 

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit." 

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” 

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.” 

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong. 

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?” 

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.” 

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has. 

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know. 

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle. 

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty. 

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.) 

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall. 

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked. 

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest. 

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his— 

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?” 

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.” 

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.” 

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.” 

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up. 

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry. 

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again. 

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother. 

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman. 

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you. 

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either. 

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you. 

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them. 

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit. 

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport. 

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.” 

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn’t exactly be a good addition to the list. 

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino. 

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.  

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.” 

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him. 

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.” 

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him. 

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races. 

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?" 

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account. 

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory. 

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less. 

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip. 

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.” 

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—" 

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?” 

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb. 

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.” 

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased. 

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.” 

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.” 

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”  

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you. 

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.” 

“Well, did you find anything?” 

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both. 

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.” 

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.” 

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely. 

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon. 

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today. 

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath. 

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.” 

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better. 

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.” 

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest. 

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.” 

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.” 

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air. 

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.” 

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.” 

“Nine is still first, though.” 

���It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.” 

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars. 

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.” 

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so. 

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him. 

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!” 

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race. 

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line. 

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive. 

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.] 

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic. 

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one. 

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite. 

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.” 

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection. 

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling. 

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you. 

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway. 

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.” 

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret. 

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that. 

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.” 

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you. 

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement. 

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong. 

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace. 

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria. 

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books. 

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today. 

I guess. 

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.) 

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box. 

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.” 

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time. 

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble. 

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.” 

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets. 

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all. 

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.  

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?” 

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.” 

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from paw patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84. 

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot. 

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez. 

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.” 

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff i gotta deal with.” 

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help. 

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.” 

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure. 

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store. 

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised. 

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.” 

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.” 

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.” 

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger. 

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”  

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot). 

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique. 

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.” 

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer. 

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.” 

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural. 

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.” 

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty. 

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.” 

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.” 

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.” 

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.” 

“No way.” 

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.” 

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.” 

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.” 

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?” 

“That's a little rich coming from you.” 

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin. 

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.” 

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.” 

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?” 

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?” 

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow. 

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?” 

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list. 

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say. 

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back. 

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence. 

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple. 

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?” 

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.” 

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara. 

“For your party?” 

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.” 

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.” 

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime. 

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.” 

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”  

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.” 

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance. 

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell. 

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him. 

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking. 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water. 

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.” 

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do. 

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you. 

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror. 

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery. 

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale." 

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock. 

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother. 

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad." 

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions. 

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture." 

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning. 

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?" 

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space." 

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you. 

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction." 

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't." 

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts. 

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–" 

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous. 

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples." 

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid. 

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?" 

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem. 

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover. 

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly. 

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark. 

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed. 

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him. 

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips. 

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible. 

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips. 

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest. 

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do. 

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in. 

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there. 

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means. 

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells. 

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him. 

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[marauder-exe]

Self care- p!Tommyinnit x reader

i wish i was bsfriends w tommy :’)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings:themes of depression, nothing too deep

A/N: Taking Tommy and Wilbur requests!! u cant tell me tommy doesn’t do the classic british X’s on txts to his friends

It had been a rough stream, 8 hours sat in the same chair putting on the same happy face, it was unbelievably exhausting some days. You took of your headset and set it down after pressing ‘end stream’, you ruffled your hair and took in a deep breath, throwing a glance at the clock on your computer. 5am. You tried to throw caution to the wind, maybe it was an off day? But no, you could feel it, deep inside, another episode. You looked directly into the webcam, your face scrunching up as you take note of your appearance, your ruffled hair, your dark eye bags. It felt like hours, just staring at yourself, your famous thousand-yard stare painted across the screen. Suddenly, your phone vibrated from its place on the desk. You lethargically picked it up as the bright screen illuminated your otherwise dark room. It was Tommy.

Big T: ‘bedwars stream tmrw? : ) x’  

You really didn't feel up to it in all honesty, but you didn’t want to let Tommy down like that, he loves bedwars. A sad smile made its way to your face as you drafted your text back.

Gremlin: ‘only if were on duos together : ) x’

Big T: ‘5pm? X’ You responded with a simple yeee.

You discarded your phone to the side and stood up for the first time in hours. Your bones ached as you outstretched your limbs. Pain. You walked over to your bed and sat on the edge, eyes scouring the room, even though you weren't sure what you were looking for, an escape maybe? It wasn’t even like you had anything to be upset over, great friends, successful streamer, everything was going great, but alas, depression does not give a shit. You crawled into bed, putting your phone on charge and grabbed all of your covers over your head, a long sigh making its way from your lips.

The next day/  

Tommy loaded up minecraft on his computer, reading to slay game at bedwars with you. He got unusually excited when he played minecraft with you, even more excited than normal. There was something about you man, but he just couldn’t figure it out. Youd met in high school, same town and everything, and since then you were like a drug. Not a day had gone by since year 9 that you didn’t talk. He decided to drop you a message as you hadn't texted first. He asked if you were still up for bedwars. Surprisingly though, he didn’t receive a response. He waited. Just 5 minutes he said. And then 10. And then 20. Then 30. He decided to ring you just to check. Plus, he wanted to hear your voice. It rang thrice and nothing. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. You were almost always online. He tried not to overthink, but this is Tommy were talking about. Maybe you were still asleep? He wanted to believe that, but there was an itch, in his brain, that told him not to. Just to make sure, he decided to ask some of your mutual friends on the server. He clicked onto the group discord and noticed Wilbur, philza and Nikki in a vc.  

“Hello Hoes and Homies alike” He bellowed when he joined the vc. Wilbur drew a confused look.

“I thought you were doing duo bed wars with (Y/N) today?” Tommy scoffed.

“Well yah, Wilburrrrr, if you let me get a word out” He joked light heartedly “No seriously though has anyone heard from her since her stream last night” They all looked confused and shook their heads. This made him even more concerned than he was. He quickly thanked them before disconnecting. His mind was running rampant. He quickly decided to throw his shoes on, you didn’t live that far, only a bus ride away on the otherside of town. He grabbed his keys and his jacket and rushed down the stairs.

“Going over to (Y/N)s for a bit” He shouted to Motherinnit as he slammed the door shut.  

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

You were straing at the roof in a pit of self loathing when you heard your phone ring. Ugh. It seemed so much work to pick it up. Your hand made its way from under the mountain of covers and snatched your phonr from the side. Tommy. You felt a sting in the back of your eyes and tossed your phone on the bed, turning over and curling up in the covers. You stared at the inside of your covers for minutes on end. Your doorbell sent a sharp chime through the house as your mother went to answer it.

“Hello Tommy, what a surprise" He threw her a quickly greeted her and got straight to the point.

“Is (Y/N) in?”

“Shes upstairs I think, I havent heard from her all day though. Go on up” She stood to the side and let him pass.

You heard the entire conversation through your open window, and let out a heavy sigh, although you were secretly thanking Tommy in uour head for checking up on you. You heard his converse hit the steps as your door was threw open. Tommy immediately regretted his actions, wondering if you were asleep as he took note of the heap of covers on the bed. He let out a quiet whisper.

“(Y/N)?”  

You didn’t really feel like talking, but you let out a quiet ‘yeah’. He rushed over to your side upon hearing your weak response.

“is everything alright? We were meant to be playing bedwars like an hour ago” This prompted you to pull the covers off your head and look at him. He took note of your puffy red eyes, and the dark eye bgs lying underneath. He looked around your room, empty energy drink cand and food containers littered your room. It suddenly clicked to him. You weren't doing okay. He looked back at you deeply, something about that look just caused the floodgates to open. Your eyes were glassy, as Tommy practically melted. He hated seeing you like this. Sure he had the bit of him being a big man with no emotions, but you where his weakness. “Hey, cmon don’t cry” He whispered as he opened his arms, welcoming you into a hug. In an instant you where in his arms, leaving tear stains on his TShirt. He didn’t seem to mind though. After a moment of silence, only broken by your sobs, he piped up. “How about, we forget about the stream for today, and ill go to the corner shop and get us some snacks, and marshmallows and whipped cream, and we can have those killer hot chocolates your mom makes. We can watch a bunch of movies, and ill even let you put one of those stupid facemasks on me, yeah?” This caused a laugh to pierce your sobs, which started to lighten up. You sniffled and pulled back from his hug, a huge smile making its way onto your face, the first genuine smile in a while.

“Thats my girl, that’s what I love to see” He matched your smile. You quickly threw your arms around him and pulled him into a long hug.

“Thank you Tommy” You said sincerely.

“Anything for my favourite girl” He smiled, as he pulled back from the hug. “Maybe while im gone you could try to shower?” He knew how tough some simple things where when you felt like this. You nodded smally and sat up. He leapt from the bed and smiled. “Okay, I wont be long!” And with that, he dashed out of the room.  

You lay back on your bed. You werent okay, but that’s okay, because Tommyinnit is your best friend :)

[myhaikyuuthings]

Soulmates

where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your body w/ Bokuto, Asahi and Tanaka (note the words have to be spoken directly to you)

Bokuto: 

‘Fuck watch out’ your soulmate was either a total dick, or a hero

you weren’t sure which and honestly, that being tattooed on your body forever didn’t make either option okay

it was right above your bathing  suit line so you always wore a shirt/one piece at the beach just so you didn’t have to get stares

which isn’t a big deal but you liked bikinis

today your team was going to the annual training camp and for the first time, you got to tag along 

being a manager for Nekoma was hectic to put it simply but you loved them and loved being around them

when you all arrived Kuroo said he wanted to show your tattoo to his friend, thinking he’d get a kick out of it

you’d always had trouble saying no to the taller male so you reluctantly agreed

he lead you to one of the gyms and you could tell people were already practicing

you noticed a loud boy with two toned hair, who Kuroo helpfully identified as Bokuto, glancing at you

he messed up his spike

you watched as the ball flew at you, too stunned by the speed to react 

“FUCK WATCH OUT” before you could see Who said your words, you caught the ball with your face

you blinked as your vision came back into focus as Kuroo yelled at Bokuto while trying to check on you and Bokuto just sobbed over your body while apologizing

you sat up, doing a quick headcount of how many people were in the gym

“which one of you assholes is my soulmate?” you asked, cradling your nose as it bled

silence

“OH MY GOD I SPIKED A BALL INTO MY SOULMATES FACE IM A HORRIBLE PERSON” 

ah

not a dick. but damn if he can’t hit a ball hard

“i’ve had ‘fuck watch out’ on my body my whole life.. and i hated it.. and i just called my soulmate an asshole.. as my first words” you tried to process through the throbbing

Kuroo lost it, laughing his classic hyena laugh, earning a punch to the arm from you

“i deserved it, I am so sorry,” bokuto said through tears, trying to hold them back

you sighed, opening you free arm for a hug but he only looked confused

‘damn i really do have to do it all myself’ you thought, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a one armed hug

“sorry if i get blood on your shirt,” you mumbled, petting his head with your free hand as he laid his head in the crook of your neck

“it’s okay, it’s just a shirt,” he sniffed, “i hope i didn’t break your nose” 

you removed your hand, trying to twitch your nose

“it seems to move fine, i think it’s gonna bruise though”

aaaaand theres a new round of tears

by the time you had been checked out and he had calmed down, the two of you sat outside to talk

“Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you,”

“Kotaro Bokuto, nice to meet you too, I am  really sorry about your face” 

“stop apologizing, you were so stunned by my beauty you couldn’t focus on the  ball” you teased

“yeah you’re right,” he admitted, causing you to choke on your rice ball

in one day you had met your soulmate, almost broke your nose, and learned your soulmate is indeed a Sweetheart and one of the best in the country (which explains the power behind that hit) now it was just trying to survive the rest of camp

Asahi: 

‘i’m not a threat!’ 

did your soulmate break in?? try to rob you?? what kind of mark is That

your family moved from Tokyo to the Miyagi prefecture during your third year, so now you were spending your last year of highschool surrounded by people you didn’t know

you decided to sit outside for lunch, not wanting to look like the odd one out, plus it is nice outside

before you could even take a bite, you noticed someone looking at you

you turned to fully look at him, your jaw dropping a bit at how tall he was

‘i think that’s the guy someone said was in his 20′s and still a student’ 

while you were trying  to figure out if he was actually 20 or not, you didn’t realize how long you had been staring, or that you had dropped your food

“i’m not  a threat!” he tried to assure you, walking closer with his hands up, “everyone’s kind of scared of me because of the rumors but they’re not true”

he was pouting. cute

“yknow, if you weren’t my soulmate i might not believe that” 

his jaw dropped, his cheeks a bright pink

his friend with silver hair came walking up

“Hi, you must be Asahi heres soulmate, yknow That’s a rather long sentence to have tattooed on your leg forever” he smiled

this seemed to break Asahi out of his stupour

“No it’s okay! You had to walk around with That on your body, this is fair,” he assured, lifting his pants leg to show your words wrapped like an anklet

you smiled up at him, pulling your uniform collar to the side a bit to show your tattoo under your collar bone

“they picked a bad place for yours, wow im sorry” he apologized, sitting down in the grass with you. “Asahi Azumane, it’s great to finally meet you”

“Y/N Y/L/N, the pleasure’s all mine, call me Y/N.”

you sat talking for the rest of the lunch period, not realizing his friend has disappeared sometime during your conversation

“You should come to volleyball practice, I can introduce you to Kiyoko, I think you two share some classes she can help show you around” he offered

“why can’t you help show me around?” you asked, smiling softly as he blushed again

“ i mean like, i am your soulmate but I get it if I make you uncomfortable or scare you or anything, so I don’t want to just assume-”

“Azumane, it’s okay. you don’t scare nor make me uncomfortable. I’ll come, it’d be great to meet her and your team, but I would really like it if you were the one to show me around” 

“yeah okay, I can do that” 

it seems your tattoo was right, he’s definitely not a threat

Tanaka: TW SLIGHT HARASSMENT MENTION

“I’ll beat them up” 

in one way, the placement was easy to hide (upper inner thigh)

but it was concerning nonetheless 

why did your soulmate offer to beat someone up for you? this question had bugged you for years

now you’re in your second year of high school and decided to go to the Miyagi Prefectures volleyball qualifiers

well your friend dragged you along to watch his soulmate play, claiming he’s the best setter in the prefecture and you Have to see him at work

he had left you alone in the hall to go see his soulmate in the locker rooms before the game so you were just standing around minding your own business

you watched the crowd slowly thin out, assuming a game was starting soon

‘nows a good time to get snacks, no line!’ you thought, starting your look for a food stand

you ended up just a little bit lost when two boys approached you

“hi there, what’re you doing out here alone?” one asked, smiling politely at you

“my friend’s soulmate is playing today, he’s just wishing him good luck” you explain, making a move to walk past them

“what’s the rush?” the other asks, placing a hand on the wall beside you effectively blocking your  way

you sigh, turning fully to face him

“neither of those phrases is my soulmate mark, and I’m actively staying single until i meet them okay? so can you just let me move?”

they exchanged a look, irritation obvious on their faces

“well show us your mark then, because I don’t believe you” 

“idiot, you don’t have to see My mark to know those aren’t Your words” you scoff, trying to walk around them the other way

you end up caged against the wall, putting your fists up ready to defend yourself

“hey, i think they said to leave them alone,” a new guy spoke from somewhere behind them, but you were unable to see him due to the two infront of you

“yeah, what he said” you snap, raising your fists a little higher

when the two turn around to face the new boy, you take that chance to dash out from behind them

you stand beside the new guy, glaring sharply 

“didn’t your mother ever teach you what ‘no’ means or did she fail every other human being out there to spare your feelings?” you growl, subconsciously standing behind your saviour 

“you’re lucky i don’t beat you up,” the man growls as well before turning to you, “I’ll beat them up.”

“I’ll help,” you snort, cracking your knuckles before realizing the words he said, “I’m sorry did you say ‘I’ll beat them up’”

He smiles broadly at you, holding his hand out, “Ryuunosuke Tanaka, and who might you be dear soulmate?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, thanks for stepping in soulmate,” you grin back

the two men had tried to step away as you and Tanaka made your introductions but Tanaka threw his arm out, catching their sleeves

“No no you’re not getting off that easy, not only were you Harassing a person, you were harassing my soulmate, lets get you to your coach why don’t we.” 

“Y/N I’ll find you after my match, make sure to cheer for me! Karasuno!! See you soon” he smiled, dragging the two men behind him