#good bois in the end holy trinity

[fantasma-de-la-cueva]

Translation: “Thank you for doing the correct thing even if they called you villains. You two go fuck yourselfs”

Why this meme? Because I like Pokemon, I like Harry Potter, I like Inazuma Eleven and I like Kingdom Hearts, so I wanted to show my holy trinity of “good guys doing bad things for the greater good” in contrapisition to the two kh characters that the plot will force us to think are the good guys despite doing bad things.

Grovyle had bad luck combined with poor communication kills, but knew that if he put the time gears in their place nobody was going to be hurt, he also said sorry to the lake spiritual trio and the protagonists, showing that despite his determination and stubborness he cared. Also, the way he and the proganost bond is rebuild in game is beautiful, as well as that ending of that special chapter :”)

Severus Snape had character growth despite his many, MANY faults. He’s the definition of a grey-moral character and an example that you can be a very unpleasant person and it doesn’t mean you have to be a bad guy. Also thaught us that your past doesn’t justify your present and that change of heart is possible. He was the best HP character to me because at the end he was the most loyal, but bravest man ever, so much he could fool Voldemort for all those years :”)

Gouenji Shuuya, like Snape, was loyal and brave (but unlike greassy boi he was kind of more soft with people around him xD). During Go1 played the villain and risked his life to keep the real villain away from the sport he loved. He hurted a lot of people, but behind the scenes he did everything he could to help those he could and instigate a revolution even if it meant to destroy himself in the process (either getting killed or be send to jail + having his reputation utterly destroyed), just because soccer saved him and he wanted to return the favor :”)

And while this three had a big influence in the plot of their respective stories their “big plan” didn’t involved every aspect for the other characters’ development and they react to certain things because they didn’t expected them, making them easy to empathise with once you know their intentions.

-

And then we have Luxu and the MoM. Luxu who cared at first, but with a psychothic attitude that makes me doubt he will be the traitor the MoM is expecting from him. Also, he didn’t made anything in the currently that would make me think “Oh, this guy is really doing bad things for the greater good”. Overall, I like some fanarts, but canonically seems so bland to me that I see him as an extention of the MoM and any attempt of the plot to change my mind will be see as forced and I’m not a fan of that.

The MoM is a hypocrit, lunatic, racist, genocidal, psychotic maniac that in for me ruined the saga by turning every special and meaningful moment there in a “its part of my plan” moment. I hate him due to this and I hate his extremist view and I know he’s written like that, but I have the feeling that, like with Xehanort, Nomura and the plot will force us as players to feel bad for him and to understand and forgive his actions despite the suffering he had caused, therefore getting redeemed without consequences. And I’m not a fan of psycho characters getting away with their crap. And if you justify him, remember that in the original kh trilogy was stated that darkness was a force that could be used for good and show us this with Riku, but now they will make darkness bad again (corrupting Terra, Xehanort “plot twist” motivated by darkness being evil in kh 3 when in BBS it was stated that he wanted balance and the fucking primal darknesses in khux)

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Jeff x Alan & Kenta x Pete Colors Ep. 11

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

Disclaimer: I've been listening to Drake's "You Broke My Heart (Fuck My Ex)" on repeat for over two hours, so I'm *in* my feels, and all of them are salty.

Jeffrey, the red? Really?! Is it because you are looking at Barbie suffering and know the truth?! YOU KNOW, MOTHERF*CKER!

Love that Pete's side starts with the blue-est drink because he is a GOOD MAN, while Waymond's side begins with the non-blue side since he cannot pick a side in this color war!

Peter, I know you were a red, but I also notice you in that blue blazer, and the way you look at Waymond. I wish Waymond could see that no matter how much the red may linger, he NEEDS to make a choice. Be blue. Commit to it, Way Way.

Babe is back in black, Alan is blue, and Jeffrey is a LIAR!

"You broke my heart. I had my doubts about you from the start! I swear you're dead to me. Does Mercedes make a hearse? FUCK MY EX!"

All I'm getting out of this is Jeffrey and Charles have a dad and Decanus was the fall guy for this very-dumb-plan. I am not a Dean apologist, but I am very much on his side, without a doubt, no hesitation.

Alan Scale - 12/10. Why?! WHY?! It's not even the damn outfits. IT'S THE RED TUBE OF PRODUCT PLACEMENT Y'ALL ARE SHARING! Are y'all secret agents?! Do y'all have superpowers? What in the hell is y'alls deal?!

KIMBERLY! Not wearing red. I wouldn't either. Fuck them hoes. You're a free man now. I love you and I like you.

Alan, you have never done anything wrong (expect apologize to lying Jeffrey), and you using the blue tube of product placement is healing my soul. I love you. I like you. I respect you.

Pete in the blue shirt too! My holy trinity is coming through. Kimberly, Alan, and Peter, you are good men, and I have never doubted you. You three will save the day like the PowerPuff Girls. Sugar, Spice, and Chemical-X. Beat the hell out of Mojo Jojo Big Red. And in case it's not clear: Alan = Buttercup, Kim = Blossom, Pete = Bubbles

Kentana, why do you have spies at Bubbles' place?! You were spying on him in the woods, and y'all had that moment. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Jeffrey, in the blue. Better be telling Buttercup you're sorry for LYING and that you love him. You will never find a better man. NEVER!

Oh, are you telling him that?!

I think you are! There is pink!

Buttercup, these was cheesy af, and I'm disgusted at myself for smiling when the hearts connected.

POP OFF, SIR! Sex on the blue bed!

Sex in the blue shower!

Cuddles in the blue bathroom! Jeffrey is gonna be blue one way or another, even if Alan has to -redacted- it into him.

Big Red did wear red once?! Color me shocked, but who are these kids in the past? A blue kid and red kid? Which one are you, Kentana?

I love that the blue is *right* there next to Kentana, yet he stays in the black. He is a Black Brooder, but he is blue-adjacent, and I just do not understand why he can't be loyal to the blue instead of the red.

Oh, wait! Was that them as kids?! Pete, in his red pants, emerged from the blue (because he has always been a GOOD MAN!), but . . . that means Kentana was the little blue kid? Kentana, what made you go black? The abuse? The manipulation? You and Barbara are the same text, but different font, and I just need you to be better. Kiss Peter and let him heal you because this is the second time you have pushed him against a wall, and I think you want any excuse to be on him.

Waymond, I'm stressed over your ass. Color-coded boys in love get happy endings, and unlike Kentana who is color coded black and Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog who are just pure color chaos, you refuse to pick a damn color. And do you know what that means? No happy endings. You are paired with Peter, and he is trying with you, but it's episode 11 and you haven't solidified your color. Are you black? Are you blue? Are you red? Are you gonna kiss Peter because if not, Kentana sure looks like he will? ARE YOU GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING?!

Peter, always in the blue! ALWAYS! Give that blue to Waymond. Give that blue to Kentana. And kiss them! I cannot support Waymond and Kentana's wrongs if they don't kiss a boy (with consent, Waymond!)

KENTANA! In the dark, again. Pete is always coming from the blue, and you are always in the dark. SEE THE LIGHT, KENTANA!

Oh my god! The dark versus light. Y'all were best buddies since childhood. Quit your shit, Kentana. You are a good guy in there. I saw it in the beginning when you looked sad that Barbie was being hit, but I need you to act! I need you to do something, and I'm hoping it won't be sacrificing yourself. Kiss a man! Kiss Kimberly already! You and Waymond are scaring me!

OH SHIT!

Pete. Liked. It.

Waymond. Waymundo. Way. I thought you were supposed to be with Peter and Kimberly and Kentana would be the new Kardashians, but . . . are you going to be the sacrifice? You cannot settle on a color. You haven't kissed a man (with consent). You are drinking all the time. You were taking pills to cope with life. Kiss any man so I can know you are safe.

FUCK!

Way, please touch Whiny Winifred and convince him not to do shoot. Way, please do not take a bullet for Barbara to atone for your sins. Barbie can fix himself if he is shot. Way, please do not do this to me. Please. I'm begging you.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

[howaboutcastiel]

Two Steps Forward (Moon Boys)

[18+ content minors leave please]

Summary: A fun night with Jake ends up backfiring as Marc is triggered to front mid-coitus.

Content: Smut-ish, Angst, Fluff (the holy trinity). Handcuffs, impact play, getting triggered during sex, yelling and sad times. Reader is in an established relationship with moon boys.

Word count: 1.9k (aka the closest to a drabble you’ll ever see from me)

A/N: honestly this shouldn’t exist but now it does. Read it and weep. Also google cleared all of the formatting so UGH may be some mistakes.

“You’re going to stay still for me, right, baby?” You ran your knuckles along Jake’s bare chest, causing his breath to shudder.

“Yes.” He nodded, breathless. You could see him resisting the urge to pull against the cuffs, which were looped in each corner of the headboard.

“Yes…what?” You were straddling his waist, his boxers still on though he was painfully hard underneath. Jake had begged you to overpower him like this. He was so goddamn tired of having to use force to get what he wanted. That didn’t mean, though, that he was going to give into you without causing some trouble.

He knew what you wanted him to say, but he simply smiled at you, his mouth shut in a thin, cheeky line. You ground your hips into him, putting indirect friction on his poor, desperate cock. Jake let out a choked moan.

“I’m not touching you if you don’t cooperate.” You removed your hands from his chest, placing them on your thighs clearly in his line of sight. You were wearing a matching set of lacy lingerie, and you had no intention of taking anything off until you’d done at least a half-decent job of pulling him apart. “Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am.” He said through gritted teeth. This dynamic wasn’t entirely new to you, but Jake just kept insisting that you get rougher and rougher. He got off on being knocked down a peg, enjoying the pain and even pushing you to involve some danger. You struggled to keep up sometimes, but it was exhilarating to see him fall apart beneath you, so you obliged his requests.

“You gonna beg for me, baby? Gonna tell me what you want?” You ran a teasing finger along the fabric of his boxers, causing his cock to twitch underneath. On particularly energetic nights, Jake really liked to be a brat, forcing you to be more aggressive and truly humble him with everything you had. You could tell that tonight was one of those nights, by the familiar unhinged look in his eyes if nothing else.

“No, ma’am.” The self-assured smile wasn’t leaving his face. Jake had had a rough couple of days and he was desperate to use his violent, erratic compulsions for something that would be beneficial to him—like blowing off some steam with his devoted girlfriend. This was ironically enough the healthiest outlet that he could find.

“That doesn’t work too well, does it, baby? You know that’s not what I want to hear.” You grabbed his face in your hand, pinching his cheeks so that his lips pouted out, effectively getting rid of that cheeky grin. Fire flashed in his eyes at the intensity of your grip; if it was up to him, you’d be holding tight enough to leave a bruise.

“Here’s what you’re going to do for me. You’re going to be a good boy and tell me everything you want me to do to you, okay? I want you to be very specific, don’t leave anything out, and don’t forget to use your manners.” In your own head, you didn’t feel that you were that domineering, but the movement underneath Jake’s boxers was evidence enough that you’d gotten your point across.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his laugh was hoarse and patronizing despite his bondage and lack of leverage. He really wanted you to be as riled up as he was, and he wanted to push you into feeling all the meanness that he was asking you to unleash on him. “You know I don’t beg.”

It took a second for you to think of the right way to respond.

“Sweetheart, huh?” His eyes were brimming with satisfaction. As much as he wanted you to have control of him, he also wanted to make you take it. That’s what you were going to do.

“Someone needs a lesson in respect.” Your hand collided with his face with enough force to leave a red mark, but not much else. You knew that was what he wanted you to do—Jake had been very thorough in communicating his limits with you—but the contact shocked him nonetheless. You expected him to twitch again between your legs, but the response you got was far from your assumption.

The shock on his face was replaced by a distant stare. You thought for a split second that Jake might be on the verge of sub-space, but the tension in his body disproved that theory. He shut his eyes for a moment and you dove off of his waist, ready for him to utter his safeword. When they opened again, his eyes were filled with confusion and, to your surprise, fear.

“What the hell?” Marc mumbled as he tried to process where he was. He pulled harshly against the cuffs, hissing when he realized he was restrained by the metal.

“Marc—” You reached to cup his face in your hand, a sign that everything was okay. He cowered from your touch, panicked.

“Get away from me!” He planted his feet against the mattress, pushing himself against the headboard. There were tears in his eyes and he pulled against the cuffs again, though he knew the struggle was no use.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You tried to make your voice as calm as possible as your hand made contact with his skin. It was meant to be a comforting touch, but he jerked his head away to the best of his range of movement, a tear running down his cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He was trying to make his voice firm, but it wavered around a sob that ripped up from his chest. His whole face and neck flushed red, and he tried to curl up as much into a ball as was possible in his position.

Your mind was racing and you didn’t know what to do. A switch had never happened during sex before—or during foreplay, technically. The boys were pretty good at keeping that part separate, there wasn’t overlap that would bring another of them to the front. Though you were in a relationship with all three of them, sex was distinct with each one and there wasn’t usually a grey area for things like this to occur.

“I’m going to take the cuffs off, okay?” You spoke slowly. He didn’t meet your gaze or even acknowledge that he had heard your words. You tried not to move too suddenly as you leaned to grab the key from the side table. Careful not to touch his skin, you unlocked the pair of cuffs closest to you.

He didn’t say anything as he brought his hand to his chest. When the other pair was unlocked as well, he rubbed the angry skin absentmindedly. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks, though he wasn’t sobbing. His eyes were unfocused, staring right through the wall.

“Honey, I’m sorry.” You started shyly. You didn’t know what to do or what to say. Hell, you didn’t even know what had happened. Marc must have known about Jake’s more untraditional likes and dislikes in the bedroom, but he himself was much more vanilla. It must have been overwhelming to him.

“I didn’t realize you were close to the front. Do you need me to get you something, honey? Some water, or some lotion for your wrists?” He didn’t say anything. After an entire minute, he finally met your gaze. He wore a pathetic, confused, and dreadful look. He looked so small.

“Did you hit me?” His voice was tiny. It was dripping with betrayal as well as bewilderment. You couldn’t find your own voice to respond, and you had to swallow hard before your breath would even leave your chest.

“I, umm…” How would you explain this? You’d figured Jake had touched base with the boys, what with all the bruises you’d left on him previously after a night of fun. “Jake was back-talking me. It was part of our scene. I—I slapped him.”

Marc put his head in his hands, sucking in a deep and shaky breath. His wrists were raw from his fighting of the cuffs, as if he genuinely thought he was captive for the first moments after he came to the front. You felt guilt running through you, though you couldn’t have known this would happen.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered into his palms. You moved closer to him, though you respected his earlier request not to touch him. His hands curled into fists and he tugged at his hair frustratedly. “I ruined your night.”

“Hey, no! You didn’t ruin anything.” You leaned to pull a throw blanket from the foot of your bed, offering it to him as he tried to steady his breath. “Is there something I can do to help? I must have given you a pretty good scare.”

He looked pained as another sob washed over him. It was unusual for you to see Marc so torn apart—especially when you didn’t exactly know what was wrong with him. His hands covered his face again as he curled into himself even tighter. He mumbled something you couldn’t understand.

“What’s that honey?”

He looked up at you, shame and dread mixed together on his face. Marc was embarrassed and, despite his understanding of the situation now, he was still scared. He swallowed a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, pondering if he should repeat himself. Finally he opened his mouth while avoiding your gaze.

“I thought you were my mom.”

An ice cold feeling shot up your spine, replaced quickly by nausea. Now you felt really guilty, and you abandoned your promise to keep your hands off of him. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling him shake as another sob ripped through him.

“No, baby. You’re safe. You’re here with me.” The words fell from your mouth intuitively. Marc didn’t request a lot of nurturing, but you would be stupid to think that he didn’t require it. He tried to put on a brave face in his day-to-day life, but situations like this revealed to you just how much he was in need. “No one’s here but me and you. You’re safe.”

“It’s pathetic.” He sounded resigned, letting the sobs take over but not feeding into them. “I feel like a little kid.”

“It’s okay to feel like that. What’s important is that that little kid is safe. There’s no one here that wants to hurt him.” Marc didn’t like to talk about his past, but it tended to bring itself to the forefront of conversation at the most inopportune of times. He needed someone to do the talking for him.

You coaxed him into laying down, effectively making him the little spoon as you kept yourself pressed against his back. You could feel his body starting to calm down, the tension slowly being replaced with a desperate receptiveness to your touch.

“I’m sorry.” He said again through a more resigned sob. Marc felt guilty for making a scene in front of you. He hated to burden you with his brokenness.

“Please don’t apologize, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You held him for a long while, whispering affirmations of “you’re okay” and “you’re safe” for the first few minutes until the panic subsided. After that, the two of you laid in near-silence until his breathing returned to something near a normal rhythm.

[ugh-yoongi]

riding fakie | ksj

(or, the one where you think you’re getting a fake boyfriend, but you end up with a whole lot more.)

→ pairing: seokjin x f. reader → genre(s): enemies to lovers (lite), fake dating | humor, fluff, angst → rating: mature → warnings: based entirely on this edit i saw ages ago so good luck, swearing, reader is a trust fund kid with awful parents so classism and screwy family dynamics, a very brief but referenced two-night-stand with taehyung who has a foot fetish (canon) and is ultimately plot irrelevant, this is lite enemies to lovers so sometimes they are not very nice to each other, kissing. i think that’s it? this is mostly tame, all things considered, but i will revise if needed. → word count: 14.2k → written for: the catch of the century collab. thank you to @raplinesmoon​ / @joheunsaram​ / & @kithtaehyung​ for hosting and allowing me to participate! ♡ → thank yous: my holy trinity for keeping me inspired and accountable and letting me know when i don’t word good. @the-boy-meets-evil​ / @hot-soop​ / @effortandmore​. also my husband who actually skateboards and helped me to sound knowledgeable but will also never, ever see this. → a/n: [looking a whole lot like the dehydrated spongebob meme] hey, long time no see. this fic absolutely kicked my ass like nothing has ever kicked my ass before, but it’s finally done and here. i don’t think i’m super happy with how it turned out and i think it’s probably rushed, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! now, if you need me i will be sobbing on the floor holding a locket with seokjin’s picture inside.

[THE THREAT]

The thing about privilege is—

Well, nothing. It’s just there, propped up in the corner, looming over every aspect of your life. And usually it’s fine. You want for nothing. People just hand things to you. But, just like the apple tree and Isaac Newton and the Law of Gravity—everything that goes up must come down. Nothing gold can stay. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You might have your name and your money and your status, but you also have your parents and your brother.

Your brother, who has somehow found someone to marry him and is planning a wedding.

Your parents, who are threatening to revoke your trust fund if you don’t attend. And bring a date.

“I don’t want to hear it,” your mother says, preemptively cutting off your protests. She’s always had a knack for dictatorship, and another one for doing so as she barks orders to the hired help in the background. “This wedding is very important for us as a family. Do you know how bad it’d look if you not only didn’t show up, but showed up alone? It won’t do.”

On your end of the line, sitting at some bougie outdoor café with an overpriced latte in hand, you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t it look worse to cut off your only daughter and leave her destitute? God forbid, what if I have to get a job?”

An aggravated click of her tongue. “I don’t know where you got that smart mouth of yours, but it’s unbecoming. I’ve at least managed to talk your brother’s fiancee out of including you in the bridal party, so you could show a bit of gratitude instead of being a brat.”

(Impossible, you think. Your brother had taken all the suck-up genes and left nothing for you. Alternatively, you’d taken all the backbone, so it’s almost even.)

“Why don’t you ask the youngest Jeon boy? They’re coming anyway, and it would look good for your father if the two of you were seen together.”

You grimace. “Jeongguk? Absolutely not.”

Another click. “Fine, but don’t you dare even think about showing up with some—”

“Piece of shit loser,” you finish for her. Usually she’d scold you for swearing, but it’s apparently allowed in the name of shitting on the middle-class. “Yes, Mother, I get it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare sully our good family name by associating with the poor.”

She doesn’t trust you, you can tell by the way she huffs and starts mumbling under her breath, but it’s clear she’s just as done with this conversation as you. “You have three months to figure it out.”

Privilege can go to hell.

[THE SEARCH]

Park Jimin is a lot of things.

He’s got money. He’s got hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers for no reason other than he’s hot. He’s got a closet full of in-season designer clothes, so he’d look stunning hanging off your arm in a tailored suit. He’s got charisma and charm and that innate ability to talk to anyone about all that boring shit you can’t stand.

Most importantly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, too. He’s on your level.

Park Jimin is telling you no. “Sorry, I’ll be out of the country that weekend,” he says. He doesn’t look sorry. “One of those things I can’t skip. You know how it is.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re full of shit.”

Park Jimin’s got a laugh that rings like Tiffany crystal. “Maybe.”

Still, you’re not above begging. The list of acceptable arm candy candidates (which you’ve taken to calling The Armcandidates, because you also got all the humor genes) is rapidly dwindling, and although Jimin’s not bottom of the barrel, he’s close. “Jimin, please. Whatever you want, I just need this one favor.”

“Don’t barter with things you’re not willing to give up,” he chides, nothing but heat. Would you fuck Jimin to keep your trust fund? Pillowy lips, slutty little waist, thighs that could crush your head like a grape—you could definitely do worse, all things considered.

“Who says I’m not?”

Jimin would come dead last in a poker tournament, the way surprise flashes across his face. “Well, in that case, I’m actually sorry I’ll be out of the country that weekend.”

You groan, head dropping onto your folded arms. “Can’t believe I outed myself like that and you’re still turning me down.”

Laughter trails behind him as he disappears into his massive closet. “Have you asked Taehyungie? He loves weddings.”

“The last time I talked to Kim Taehyung, he jerked off on my feet and cried. I don’t think I could look him in the eye, let alone invite him to my brother’s wedding.”

Jimin snorts. “He’s actually quite lovely once you get past the foot stuff. Think about it.”

Regretfully, not only do you think about asking Taehyung, you actually go through with it.

One day you’re talking to Jimin and the next thing you know, you’re once again on your back in Kim Taehyung’s bed. No weird feet shit this time, you’d told him, and, well, here you are. Skin tacky from sweat, entire room stinking of sex. Kim Taehyung is weird as hell but he’s unreasonably hot, and you’d made it all of ten minutes in his presence before folding.

(The last time it’d been five, so you’re making progress. Surely that’s something to be proud of.)

“I actually came here for a reason,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. Beside you, Taehyung hums an acknowledgement. You try not to wonder if he’s staring at your toes and that’s why he’s breathing so hard. “I need to bring a date to my brother’s wedding or my parents are gonna cut me off.”

He whistles. “Damn, that’s cold. Fully?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And you’ve decided to ask me? I’m honored, angel.”

“I asked Jimin first, to be fair.”

Taehyung’s face falls comically. “I’m no longer honored,” he jokes. “Jiminie’s great at weddings. He said no?”

You shrug. Something about his rejection still stings. You’re trying not to take it personally. Or think about it too much. “Said he’s going to be out of the country that weekend. Told me to ask you because you quote-unquote ‘love weddings’.”

“He said that?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched higher, dopey look overtaking his features. “Wow, we’re so in sync.” Wistful, like he’s lovesick. “We really must be soulmates.”

You choke. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no. Is the wedding the weekend he’s going to Milan?”

That ‘no’ seems to be carrying a lot of weight. You eye him suspiciously. “Apparently.”

“Ah, I’ll be in Paris. I asked him to come with me and he told me no, too. Guess you know how it feels.”

You sit up, sheets clutched to your chest. “Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How much time do you have?”

You roll your eyes. “About three minutes.”

“Next time, then. Sorry I can’t help with the wedding. You’ll find someone, though.”

Another day, another rejection. You tell Taehyung not to look at your feet as you get dressed to leave.

Jung Hoseok isn’t generationally wealthy, but he’s got enough money to be deemed respectable in the eyes of your parents.

He’s also got a 24 karat smile and a meticulously highlighted and underlined study guide for your upcoming exam, so he’s currently ranked number one on your Armcandidates list.

“Hobi, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”

He eyes you over the lid of his coffee cup. “A few times, yeah.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you singsong, “actual sunshine, number one human, best thing since sliced bre—”

“If you finish that sentence with some fire of my loins Lolita bullshit I’m leaving.”

You pout. “I need a favor.”

He tosses the study guide in your direction. “Just take it. I have another copy in my bag.”

“Not that,” you say, but you take it anyway. Hoseok’s study guides are a thing of legend: even if you don’t use it, you’ll be able to sell it to some idiot underclassman for a week’s worth of coffee. The bougie kind with whipped cream on top. “I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”

Now it’s his turn to choke. “And you’re asking me?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with asking you?”

He shrugs, suddenly antsy, like he’s too big for his skin. “I don’t know. Don’t you have, like, actual prospects? Every dude in our cohort wants to date you.”

“Because I’m hot and I have a shitload of money,” you retort, and Hoseok makes a face that says yeah, fair. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ask any of them. We’re friends, and I trust you. Additionally, your family’s rich enough to get my parents off my back and we’d look good together.”

“Ah, yes, that last point is very important.”

You scoff. “Of course it is, it’s my brother’s wedding. Do you know how many pictures I’m gonna be forced to take? Hundreds. Possibly thousands.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It will be, which is why I need a brother-in-arms. A confidante. A comrade.”

“Have you asked Jimin? He’s great at weddings.”

You nearly start shrieking. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“...Is that a yes?”

“Of course I asked Jimin. I asked Taehyung, too. They’re both going to be out of the country and are probably fucking, and that’s not particularly something I want to get in the middle of.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “It could be serious,” you argue. “Like, Actual Feelings kind of stuff, and that shit gets messy.”

“Yeah, fair,” Hoseok concedes, out loud this time. “Plus Tae has that weird foot thing.”

“Exactly! So you get it.” Finally, a lead! “Will you come, then?” You flutter your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Hobi.”

“When is it?” As you rattle off the date, Hoseok digs through his bag for his phone. Then he pulls up his calendar and frowns. “Shit, no can do, either. My elective rotation starts that prior Monday.”

“Ew. What elective are you taking?”

Hoseok nearly blinds you as he smiles. “Reproductive endo and infertility.”

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that one you applied to ages ago? You got it?” He nods. “Oh my god, Hobi, that’s amazing!” You launch across the table to hug him. “I still hate you for bailing, but think of all the tiny raisins you’re gonna help bring into the world!” You wipe away a fake tear. “You’re a god amongst men, Jung Hoseok.”

He takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Speaking of which, how’s the volunteer gig in the ER treating you?”

“It’s fine.” You groan, put-upon, and sometimes Hoseok is so smiley and endearing that you feel guilty unloading all of your burdens on him, so you aren’t going to. Not unless he asks. Because he’s prone to dramatics and neuroticism but not like you are, and you know it can be a lot for someone not expecting it.

However—

“That’s good. Is that annoying guy you told me about still bothering you?”

Wrong question.

You cock an eyebrow. “This is the third time this week.”

In front of you, Kim Seokjin just grins, dried blood cracking on his plush lower lip. “Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you deadpan. The grin grows wider, warping the purple-black bruise beneath his eye.

Because he’s arguably the most annoying person on earth, Seokjin just hums an acknowledgement, leaning further against the reception desk. “Well,” he says, voice interlaced with honey, “you’d have to take that up with the Babylonians, since they invented the modern calendar. Not much I can do about that.”

A pause. Then, “You’re really fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“It's a bit rude to insult someone seeking out your services, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, pushing your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Not really. Not if it’s you.”

Surprisingly—or maybe not, considering everything seems to roll off his back—a laugh comes tumbling out of him. “Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelming to be blessed with the sight of this face not once, but three times in a week. I can understand and excuse your insensitivity, so I won’t report you this time, but—”

Ignoring him, you slam a clipboard onto the space between you. “You know the drill.”

“What if I’ve forgotten it?”

“Name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment.”

“You know my name, you know where I live, insurance hasn’t changed, and I’m just here to soak in your sparkling personality.”

With as murderous a stare as you can muster, you push the clipboard further in his direction. It hits something solid. Probably a rib, judging by Seokjin’s pained wheeze, but you don’t get paid enough to care. “Do you need a pen?”

“Why, so you can stab me with it?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He rolls his eyes. Thumbs through the intake forms and pretends to read them, even though the last time he had to sign one he’d just drawn a stick figure giving you the finger. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your sociopathic tendencies? Might do you some good.”

With prolonged eye contact, you toss a pen in his direction. Hits him square between the eyes. “A million times,” you deadpan. This is where you’d blow a bubble and pop it if you were allowed to chew gum on the clock. “I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable case of bitchitis. It’s a very tragic burden to bear. Fill out the form.”

Seokjin huffs. Stays standing right in front of you as he does as you say, ignoring the line of people behind him that’s rapidly stacking up. Someone towards the back yells at him to get out of the way, but the protest dies immediately once he turns around and smiles. You think an elderly woman faints. She definitely bobbles, at the very least.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Seokjin says, handing the forms back with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. They’re free of doodled middle fingers, so you wave him off. “Have a great day,” he lobs over his shoulder. When you look down, he’s giving you the finger at waist-height.

“Have the day you deserve,” you fire back.

Your skin needles with anxiety for the rest of the day.

Seokjin comes into the emergency room again on Friday.

He’s got a large gash just above his eyebrow that’s gonna need stitches. You tell him as much as he fills out the same forms as the day before, and he tells you to tell him something he doesn’t know as he rolls his eyes and winces immediately.

“Here’s something you don’t seem to know: karma is real, and she also thinks you’re an asshole.”

You get the finger again for that one. Honestly, you can’t say you don’t deserve it.

“Kiss my ass.”

You pretend to pout. “Health hazard. Against hospital policy.”

Seokjin pauses. Seems to study you for a while, and then he’s cocking an eyebrow and asking, “What do you actually do here, anyway? Besides be a giant bitch.”

Wordlessly, you point at your name tag. There, right beneath your first and last name, lies the answer to Seokjin’s question. He squints. Winces again. “You’re a med student?”

Again, you point at your name tag.

“That means I can write a complaint.”

“Go ahead,” you retort. “My mother’s on the board of directors, and luckily for you she already knows I’m a giant bitch.”

Seokjin snorts, jaw dropping slightly. Just enough to draw attention to his mouth, which you’ve seen a hundred times for a hundred different injuries, but it looks especially sinful today. Maybe it’s just because he’s being mean to you, which is something you might need to explore with Taehyung in exchange for pictures of your feet.

“Ah, I should’ve known. You’ve got overwhelming nepo kid energy. Probably never had to work for anything a day in your life, huh? Probably a legacy to whatever shit-tier medical school was bribed into accepting you, too.”

Until now, you’d thought your banter with Seokjin was relatively harmless. Barbed, sure, and definitely effective. You’d throttle Seokjin if given the chance, and you know he’d do the same. But it’s never been outright cruel.

You try to look unfazed. Try to look like you don’t care about Seokjin and his words at all, because they’re nothing you haven’t heard before. Not like you’d asked to be born to your parents, so shit like this usually rolled off your back.

Now, though—

Your face must fall, just a little, because Seokjin immediately looks remorseful. Moves to say something, but you’re retrieving his clipboard and intake paperwork before he can stutter out an apology. “Thanks. They’ll call you back shortly.”

“Hey, I—“

“You can take a seat over there,” you interject, eyes locked on your computer screen. If you tear up, you can just blame it on eye strain.

You don’t see Seokjin for another two weeks.

And that’s… fine. His absence has given you some time to digest, some time to mull things over, decide if you’re actually upset or if you’d gone temporarily insane. It’d taken ten days, but you came to the conclusion that it’d just been a fleeting moment of sensitivity. People are mean to you all the time in the ER; if you took each insult or attack on your character to heart, you’d be in for a world of hurt.

So, yeah. You’d had a rough day and Seokjin saying you were a good-for-nothing nepot stung a little. That’s it.

Because you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. You’ve managed to piss away an entire month without securing a date to the wedding, and now you’ve got time breathing down your neck. Two months, your mother’s shrill voice shrieks in your head, and it devolves into weeks and days and hours the longer you let yourself spiral. It’d seemed like so long before: you’d been so certain you’d have a date by the end of day one, and then the universe had to go and humble you. Cruel.

But the universe is also fair, because one day it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Seokjin, and the next it’s a painfully slow Thursday afternoon and he strolls in with splinted fingers and a sheepish, weary expression.

“Uh, hi.”

You look up from your computer, taking in all the bruises and scars that dot his face but take nothing away from the beauty of it. “Sorry, exorcism hours ended at noon.”

Seokjin swallows, nostrils flaring. He looks like he wants to argue, just because he’s him and you’re you, but he acquiesces with a little nod. “Fair. I deserved that.”

“Here for the usual?” you ask, tone dry and neutral. When Seokjin doesn’t answer, you grab a clipboard and start your usual spiel—name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment—and then there’s a choked-off sound, not unlike a cat dying.

He looks pained when you dare a glance. Face contorted into a grimace, just like all the parents who bring in their constipated babies. “No, no,” he says. Sucks in a deep breath, and you nearly roll your eyes in exasperation. This guy’s acting like he’s about to give a speech at the goddamn United Nations. “I’m here to… apologize?”

You blink. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” A pause. “Yeah, definitely telling you.”

“Okay.” Another pause. Seokjin fidgets, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, wipes probably-sweaty palms on his jeans, picks up every pen in the cup and drops it back in. “Well, the floor is yours.” More silence. His face seems to shift into reluctant acceptance. “Any day now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay.”

“I still think you’re really mean—”

“Sure, that’s fair.”

“—but I’d like to make it up to you. I think.”

“You sure are thinking a lot. Wanna give those brain cells a break?”

“Fuck you,” he replies automatically. “Here I am, trying to be nice—”

An idea strikes you then. Parts the hazy recesses of your mind like the Red Sea, and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. “How were you planning on making it up to me?”

Because he’s not wholly an idiot, Seokjin sends you a pointed look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re sure your smile looks straight out of a Creepypasta, but there’s an opportunity here, and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers. “Because I just so happen to need a favor, and here you are, ready to dish one out.”

“I never said it was a favor.”

You pout. “But Seokjin,” you whine, “you were so mean.”

One of his eyes twitches. “Why does this feel like a crossroads deal?”

“I think the Grinch felt similar. Right before his heart grew three sizes and he saved Christmas.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you can almost see the scales tipping in his brain, weighing whether or not it’s a good idea to entertain you at all. Which is impressive, all things considered, because he doesn’t even know what you’ll ask for yet. He could be expecting something humiliating at his expense, or a monetary bribe—you’re pretty certain asking for a date will catch him fully off-guard.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing big,” you reply easily. Twirl your hair around your finger. Bat your eyelashes. “Just a little date.”

Seokjin sputters. “A what.”

“A date,” you repeat. “I just so happen to need a date to my brother’s wedding, and you just so happen to be overcome with guilt. It’s a win-win.”

“We don’t even like each other!”

You click your tongue. “Even better, because I don’t like my brother, either!”

“So this is… what? A game? Some kind of petty revenge? Bring the guy who looks like me to your brother’s wedding to rebel against your parents?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you answer, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. Seokjin doesn’t seem convinced. You sigh. “Look, you can say no. Or I can throw in something extra if it feels unfair—”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to prepare a fucking offer sheet, Seokjin. What do you want?”

“Depends. What’s this all entail? Is it a one-time thing or do I have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

You choke. “My boyf—” But then it hits you: your brother will hate this. Your parents will hate it even more. Without even needing to ask, it’s clear Seokjin isn’t from your world, and if they’re ready to disinherit you for showing up to your brother’s wedding alone, might as well commit to the bit. So you clear your throat and smile again. “And if I say yes?”

“It’ll cost more,” Seokjin deadpans.

You nod, feeling a little like you’re swindling this poor man. “Add it to my tab, boyfriend.”

[THE MEETING]

Finding a date was supposed to be the hard part. Turns out, it’s only the beginning.

Your parents are thrilled and a little stunned when you tell them you’ve secured a plus-one. (So is your brother, but you have better luck with him listening when you tell him to fuck off. It’s a little hard to say the same to your mother and father when they’re dangling a trust fund in front of you like a carrot.) And, in true upper echelon form, they grill you. For hours. Family name, family business, how you met, what their intentions are, blah blah blah. You feel a migraine coming on somewhere around question two.

Eventually, your mother says, “I don’t know about this,” and your father grunts in agreement. You don’t think he’s used full words in years. Not with you.

“What’s there to know?” you whine, nearly rolling your eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a date.”

Your mother flutters around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at you. It’s weird seeing her like this: almost like a real mother, almost like she’s going to say something comforting and serve you a plate of freshly-baked cookies instead of huffing and puffing at everything you say and treating you like a pariah. “Do you even know this young man?”

“Of course I know him.”

“Do I need to remind you that it’s bad etiquette to bring a first date to a wedding?”

There’s a pang of annoyance that you have to tamper down. “It’s not a first date.”

“Oh? You’ve been seeing him regularly?”

This time you do roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” your father says, not bothering to lower the newspaper in front of him.

“How did you—”

“Is this young man your boyfriend?”

You think about what Seokjin had said: It’ll cost more. Not, you couldn’t pay me eight billion dollars to pretend to date you. Not, no thanks I’d rather die. Just, it’ll cost more. So, as you sit in this opulent kitchen with your parents and some ungodly amount of Italian marble, you think there’s nothing you wouldn’t pay to make these people miserable. These people, who never saw you beyond a status symbol. That traditional nuclear family tucked behind the white picket fence. Two kids. Golden retriever. Pool boy. Family vacations to five-star resorts, only your parents smiling in the pictures before they abandoned you and your brother with the nanny.

So, no, Seokjin isn’t your boyfriend. Not really. But he’s willing to play the part and that’s good enough. “Yeah,” you answer, and one simple word stops your mother in her tracks and gets your father to finally abandon his stupid newspaper, and just this little bit of power feels nice.

“Oh,” comes your mother’s reply. She shares a look with your father.

Because the patriarchy is alive and well and he loves to play the arbiter, he says, “I think we should meet him.”

And, because you’re not an idiot, you say, “Don’t forget the rule was that I had to find a date, not that you had to approve them.”

With a huff, your father disappears again behind his newspaper.

You: i need another favor

Rapid Onset Migraine: how much

You: shouldn’t my boyfriend want to do nice things for me out of the kindness of his own heart

Rapid Onset Migraine: no

(“Shouldn’t you have him saved under his actual name? Maybe a little heart emoji?” Hoseok asks, looking over your shoulder. “Unless he has a degradation kink, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that someone named Rapid Onset Migraine is actually your boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Hobi. It’s one of those things that are violently affectionate and ironically cute.” A pause. Then—“Do you think Thunderclap Headache is better?”

“No. No, I definitely do not.”)

You: you don’t even know what the favor is

Rapid Onset Migraine: don’t care

You: fine

You: i would like to formally demand your presence at dinner with my parents this thursday at 7

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m busy

You: i will literally venmo you rn to cancel your plans

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m suddenly free. @jin-k92

Rapid Onset Migraine: five hundred dollars please

You: fuck off

You: $50. final offer. take it or leave it

Rapid Onset Migraine: leave it

You: sent. see you thursday!

  It’s Tuesday night and you’re fresh off your shift, headed to your car, looking forward to doing nothing but absorbing into your couch and maybe using that new bath bomb, when someone on a skateboard crashes into you.

You’re on your ass before you can process, stunned, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. A familiar face enters your line of sight, not looking all that apologetic. “Whoops.”

You groan. “Worst boyfriend ever,” you retort, sticking your hand in the air. “At least help me up.”

There’s absolutely no grace in the way Seokjin hauls you to your feet. Doesn’t bother to steady you when you bobble, either, and you have half a mind to give him the finger. Instead, you say, “Are you stalking me?” and delight in the split-second of panic that overtakes his features.

“No,” he eventually says, expression right back to neutral. “You’ve already agreed to date me. Why would I need to stalk you?”

“There’s at least seventeen different problems with that statement and I’m not going to touch any of them.” You take a second to look him over: no obvious injuries, still obnoxiously attractive. Hair a little longer than usual, rogue strands hanging loose and framing his face. No one should be allowed to look like this. He really, really gets on your nerves. “Why are you here, though? You look fine.”

“I am fine—”

“Uninjured,” you clarify, which earns you a scoff.

“I’m that, too,” he snarks, “but I came to find you to figure out the game plan.”

“Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I was already in the area,” he lies.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I thought I could con you into buying me dinner.”

“What’d you do with the fifty bucks I sent you the other day?”

Seokjin looks at you like you’re dumb. You’re really starting to wonder if you are. “I spent it.”

“On what?”

“Are you my accountant now?” he huffs.

“No, but you’re not my sugar baby, either. Buy your own dinner.”

He bats his lashes at you. “But honey…”

“Fuck off, Seokjin,” you say, stomping towards your car. Unsurprisingly, he’s right behind you, the wheels of his skateboard noisy as they glide along the concrete. “This is why you’re always needing stitches?” you ask, knowing he’s close enough to hear.

“Yep.” A louder noise; probably some kind of trick. You’re not going to dignify him by watching and being impressed.

During your second semester of college, Hoseok had gotten you into this horrible habit of parking far away. So you get your steps in, had been his reasoning, and it’s hard to say whether you’d given in to the 10,000 steps per day hysteria or just Hoseok’s convincing, evil little smile, but you still do it. And you’re really regretting it now, when you have to traipse through a half-mile of parking lot with the world’s most annoying person on your heels.

“Are you gonna take me to dinner, though?”

That’s how you wind up sitting across from him at a diner.

His cheeseburger is demolished in record time. Fries are halfway gone, too, by the time he asks what the plan is and seems genuinely shocked when you say there isn’t one.

“What do you mean there’s no plan?”

“There’s no plan,” you repeat, dipping your own fry into his ketchup just so he has to swat your hand away. “I mean, dinner is at seven, but that’s it.”

Seokjin looks confused, like you’ve tilted his world on its axis. “There’s gotta be a plan,” he argues. “There’s always a plan with you trust fund kids.”

Another dig, and you can tell by the way he avoids your gaze once he makes it. “There’s really no plan,” you say, ignoring the quip. There’s a reason you’ve got a fake boyfriend, and it’s not because your parents are benevolent and easy-going. “I don’t care what you tell my parents.”

“Now I know for sure you’re setting me up.”

You shrug. “Believe whatever you want.”

Seokjin studies you, clearly still unconvinced. “You’re telling me,” he begins, sticking the straw of his root beer float in his mouth, “that I can just walk in there and sabotage you? That I have carte blanche? That I can tell them you literally paid me to be there?” You shrug. There’s a disgusting slurping sound. You grimace.

“Well, I’m hoping you won’t, but I certainly can’t stop you.”

“You’re terrible at fake dating.”

A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want to delve into twenty-plus years of parental trauma, especially not with this guy, but sometimes it can’t be helped. “Look, I don’t want to go to my brother’s wedding. I don’t like him, and I don’t like my parents. No one else wanted to fake date me”—you hold up your hand to kill the obvious comment before he makes it—“and, honestly, my parents are gonna hate you and that’s the entire reason I asked for your help. So, no, I don’t care what you tell them, because I don’t care if they approve. I’m sick of them making me jump through hoops just to be their kid.”

Unfazed, Seokjin breezily replies, “You obviously care enough to keep taking their money.”

“I consider my trust fund to be reparations.”

“That why you were so touchy about that nepotism comment?”

Nodding, you fidget with the hem of your scrub top, hands suddenly sweaty. “Well, it doesn’t feel great to have my accomplishments credited to my last name or whatever, but it’s not something I can stop anyone from assuming.”

“Are they?”

“It’d be naive to think they aren’t.”

“You got into med school, though,” Seokjin says, and you tamper down the flush that’s creeping in. You are not going to care about any man’s acknowledgement. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Can you tell my parents that?”

A laugh bellows out of him, and you’re horrified to learn it’s a terrible sound. Everyone in the diner turns to stare, and you’re flushed crimson and trying to duck under the table.

Still, you can’t help but smile. Your parents really are going to have a stroke.

To your delight, Seokjin is good at getting people to hate him. Like, really good—almost scarily so.

He’d shown up twenty minutes late, having ignored the dress code entirely, clad in a pair of ripped black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arm tattoos and innumerable scars proudly on display. He hadn’t bothered to shake your father’s hand or introduce himself to your mother, just fell into the seat next to you, stage-whispered a, this place is a shithole huh, and stuck his nose in a menu. When the waiter came by, he ordered a bottle of wine older than the two of you combined and the most expensive entree on the menu.

Now, an hour in, your parents are teetering on the edge of a major cardiac event.

“So, Seokjin,” your father says, voice gritty and forced, “what do you do?”

Seokjin shoves a large piece of meat in his mouth, making sure to smack his lips. “What d’you mean?” he asks, the question garbled around the food.

“For a living.”

Scarily good, you think. Seokjin pretends to choke, pretends to look shocked and appalled. “I don’t work,” he answers, tone bang-on to the one your parents use when they’re being condescending. “My parents give me money, and I figured I’d date this one”—he flicks you in the temple—“until she becomes a doctor and can support me. Then we’ll get married.”

Your mother gasps. Your smile is involuntary.

Your father, on the other hand, knocks over his wine glass. Spills it all over the table, goes red in the face, and it’s the most distressed you’ve ever seen him, usually composed to a fault, immovable. “You’ll do no such thi—”

Seokjin fakes a yawn. “You ready, babe?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just stands, tosses his napkin on the table, and grabs your hand. The two of you are out of the restaurant before either of your parents can utter a word.

Feels like one of those movie moments, you think: the cool breeze in your hair, against your flushed cheeks, your hand in Seokjin’s, both of you not daring to breathe or make a sound until you’re safe outside, away from your parents and their gobsmacked expressions. And then you crack, just enough for laughter to spill out, and Seokjin snorts, another horrible sound, and before you know it, the two of you are collapsed against the side of the restaurant, tears in your eyes as the brick scrapes against your skin.

Maybe something shifts. Maybe the smile Seokjin sends you is genuine.

[THE RELATIONSHIP]

Much to your horror, fake relationships aren’t all that different from normal, authentic ones.

Which means two things: one, that your brother and his wife-to-be both received an earful from your parents about Seokjin and The Dinner, and two, you still have to compromise.

The first one wasn’t so bad. Your brother had called you and issued a vague threat, of course, because he’s never had a sense of humor about anything, but you hadn’t answered so it’d been easy to delete the voicemail and forget about it. And, luckily for him, your future sister-in-law was far more lax. Bring him, she’d texted. He sounds like a good time.

You’re not sure you’d describe Kim Seokjin as a good time, but you replied with a thumbs-up emoji regardless.

All of that had been fine. You’re well-versed in dealing with your family by now, so it’s easy to let their bullshit wash over you and down the drain like rainwater.

No, it’s the fake but has to look at least semi-real relationship that’s proving to be difficult.

Because you don’t like to compromise. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and you don’t want to hear about it from anyone. But here you are, doing a quasi-photoshoot with Seokjin so he can “soft launch” you on his Instagram—which, honestly, is a little daunting. He has a lot of followers. Not surprising, considering the way he looks, but the thought of being perceived by hundreds of thousands of strangers makes you feel like you’re wearing your skin inside-out.

“Can you try looking less constipated?” he asks, tone dry as toast as he scrolls through the series of selfies the two of you just took.

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t look constipated.” Really, you don’t. “Second of all, why do you even need to do this? We only have to convince my parents, and you pissed them off so bad I’m not sure they’ll ever ask me to bring a date to anything ever again.”

“Because I have a competition next weekend that you’ll have to go to, and I don’t want anyone asking any questions.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not,” Seokjin retorts, all conviction. “If I had to clear my schedule for that dinner, you’re free for this.”

“What if I have a school thing?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him through his phone camera. It’s really not fair, the way his face is. “Do you?”

“No, but what if?”

He takes another picture and cackles, gleefully showing it to you. “See? You definitely look constipated.”

With a glare, you wrestle the phone out of his hand and aim it the way you want—the way you know looks good. And maybe you do a little pout, too; do that thing with your eyes that looks seductive and a little dirty. Not because you care about what Seokjin’s followers think, because you’re hot and you know it, but because you want him to suffer. Just a little bit. It’s illogical, the way you want him to look at this picture and feel… something. Half pride, half longing.

So, you angle and pout. Delight in the caught-out expression on Seokjin’s face this time, like it’s the first time he’s learning that you’re hot and that it troubles him a little. “Is that better?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

Seokjin doesn’t respond, just posts the picture to his Instagram story.

Skateboarding has never been your thing.

Your brother had gone through a phase, once. Spent all his allowance on the video games and collected CCS catalogs, spending imaginary money as he’d thumb through the pages and circle everything he wanted. Never bought a real board, though—just developed a superiority complex because he listened to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 soundtrack one too many times and thought it was a legitimate substitute for actual pre-teen rebellion.

However, fake-dating Seokjin means you’re getting a crash course.

“What do these do?” you ask, holding up a set of wheels. There’s an alien holding a bong on them. They make you laugh.

Seokjin eyes you from across the shop and pointedly ignores your question. Instead, the disgruntled guy behind the register answers. “They’re wheels,” he says, tone clipped, which you answer with a surprised noise, like you’ve discovered something new.

“Wow, wheels,” you intone. “Cool.”

Done picking out new grip tape, or whatever the hell he’d said, Seokjin plucks the wheels from your hand and puts them back where you’d gotten them. “Fascinating invention, huh?”

The man behind the register smells like weed. Reeks of it, actually, and the stench is almost overbearing as you sidle up next to Seokjin at the counter. Yoongi, his name tag reads. You don’t think he looks like a Yoongi, because it kind of lends itself to a stoner character, but it also sounds kind of sweet, and the man in front of you looks like he could snap you like a twig and enjoy it.

Then—“Oh, you’re Instagram girl.”

You scowl. “I’m who.”

First, you’re reduced to nepotism and your family name; now it’s Instagram. There’s a huff halfway out of your mouth when Seokjin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. You think he’d press a kiss to your temple if this was real. “My beautiful girlfriend,” he says, playfully hip-checking you. 

Yoongi looks between the two of you, then pushes the tape back in Seokjin’s direction. “You know you don’t have to pay for this shit, man.”

“Sure, but I can. I have a rich girlfriend now.”

He yelps when you step on his foot with the heel of your boot. “Aren’t you so lucky,” you grit out.

You don’t see the way his gaze softens, but Yoongi sure does.

Anticipation crackles in the air.

Feels like the day you’d sat for the MCAT—that brand of nervous, determined focus, bordering on excitement. Something that will really only go one of two ways with a million variables, and it’s a small relief to not be the one in the hot seat.

Hoseok had been there last time. Now, a man that’s seemingly all limbs plops down beside you, ungraceful and awkward.

“You’re Instagram girl,” he says, before sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.”

Seems like Seokjin’s idea of a soft launch is anything but. Briefly, you wonder how many more people are going to forego your identity entirely in the name of Instagram, but it’s kind of nice, too—nice to be someone other than your parents’ daughter, your brother’s sister, your family name. There’s a long way to go before the patriarchy is smashed entirely, because it’s not so nice to be newly reduced to Seokjin’s girlfriend, but baby steps.

For now, it’s all right.

For now, there are far worse things you could be.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you finally reply, because he seems out of place and nice enough—nicer than Yoongi, at least. Definitely far less gruff and abrasive.

He chokes a little, like he’s surprised you responded to him. Not for the first time, it’s just sort of par for the course when you are who you are. “Oh, sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing under the guise of the relentless afternoon sun. “I just—recognized you? And couldn’t help myself? Which probably sounds really creepy, which was not my intent, it’s just—Jin doesn’t bring anyone to these things. Like, ever. So it was a little shocking! Kind of like meeting a celebrity? Even though I’ve never really done that, either. Oh! I met Greta Thunberg once. That was cool. It was, like, on accident, though? So…”

On and on he goes, bless him, because he just talks endlessly without expecting a response. You look around: the bleachers are starting to fill up, awestruck kids with humored parents, and you wonder what that’s like. To have an interest in something and have it nurtured, instead of having to live up to expectations you never wanted. Maybe you would’ve been a skateboarder, too. Maybe you would’ve shucked all those societal norms and did something you wanted, even though it doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey,” you say, stopping Namjoon’s latest spiel in its tracks, “do you come to these things often?”

Namjoon lights up like Christmas. People must not ask him about himself much. “Yeah! Well, sometimes? I’m in grad school, so I come when I have time. I thought it’d be a good idea to get two master’s degrees, so I finished my first one—in philosophy, before you ask, which was pretty stupid, because what am I gonna do with that, you know? But I guess it worked, because I had a full-blown existential crisis and decided to get a second one to put off the inevitable second existential crisis over what I was going to do with my life—”

“What was that one in?”

Namjoon startles again, and it’s almost hopelessly endearing. “Huh? Oh, Botany and Plant Pathology.”

You blink. “Plant pathology?”

“Yeah! It’s really interesting, because everything’s connected, right? Like, you can’t really fight climate change and food insecurity if you have all these diseased crops and forests, and I leaned pretty heavily into biological philosophy for my first degree, especially environmental ethics and conservation—”

“...And you come to skateboarding competitions for fun?”

His ears turn red; his cheeks and neck follow shortly thereafter. “I like physics, and skateboarding has a lot of physics.”

Just your luck. “Can you explain to me what’s going on, then?”

Namjoon does as you ask, and takes his job very seriously. He explains the rules and the implications, the rankings and what they mean for the future, who’s who and the major players. He explains tricks as they happen—how they got their names, who did them first, notable events. You remember your brother screaming at the TV the night Tony Hawk landed the 900 at the X Games, and Namjoon’s smile is so bright when you tell him about it.

“Yeah, that’s—that was so fucking cool, man. You know he was 31 when he did that? I think about that sometimes. There’s all this emphasis on aging, this juvenile notion that life peaks in your twenties, that you need to have it all figured out before you’re thirty: the job, the marriage, the house with the white picket fence, and it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything at my age, and I just think: Tony Hawk landed the first 900 when he was 31 years old, and now 10 year olds are doing it. That’s fucking dope.”

He’s off on another tangent almost immediately, telling you about how he’d met Seokjin and how they became friends. You hear none of it. Seokjin comes in second place. You don’t remember much of the celebration, either.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. Feels a bit like drowning.

You’re good at compartmentalizing.

You have to be, growing up in the family you did. Because Namjoon’s words had rattled you, sure, but you can’t linger on them. Lectures still need to be attended, hospital shifts still need to be worked, and it’d really hurt Hoseok’s feelings if you bailed on your study sessions, so you have to tuck away all those wayward thoughts for later.

Not until you’re alone, tucked into bed far too early for someone in their mid-20s, do you think about it.

Well, it’s less ‘thinking’ and more ‘ah, these are the existential crises Namjoon was talking about.’ Certainly not your first crisis, and it won’t be your last, but it’s still… unnerving. Being a doctor was something you’d always been rock-solid about. You hadn’t wanted to go into business like your father and brother, had no interest in kissing ass in the political sphere and wielding influence like your mother, but you’d been told all your life you had to do something. Something important, something impressive, something worth bragging about—because what were you worth if your parents couldn’t talk endlessly at fundraisers about how much better you were than everyone else?

You glance at the clock: almost two a.m. There’s only one person that’ll be awake at this hour, even though you shouldn’t. Seokjin has one job, and it isn’t talking you off the proverbial ledge in the middle of the night. Still—

You: you up?

Rapid Onset Migraine: this is happening a little fast don’t you think?

You: ??? huh

You: wait no

You: that’s NOT what i meant

Rapid Onset Migraine: yeah sure

Rapid Onset Migraine: well obviously i’m awake

Rapid Onset Migraine: you ok?

You: yeah, i’m sorry to bother you about this

You: i think i’m just having a bad time?

That’s that, you think, because minutes pass without a response. But then your phone’s vibrating, lighting up in your hand. Rapid Onset Migraine flashes across the screen, his contact photo set to a meme of Handsome Squidward just because you’d thought it was funny.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I needed to make a pot of coffee before I had this conversation.”

You hum. The comment doesn’t sting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee.”

“I don’t,” Seokjin answers. “Well, not usually. Only if I have an early flight or something.”

“Or need to talk through your fake girlfriend’s two a.m. existential crisis?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin laughs, and it’s almost enough of a balm. “But I’m friends with Namjoon, so I’m an expert in those by now. I keep weird hours, anyway, you know? I’m either skating or gaming, so he used to call me at, like, four in the morning because he’d read too much Kierkegaard or Beauvoir and was spiraling.” You hear him take a sip of coffee. He starts sputtering immediately. “Shit, that’s hot. Fuck, I think I burnt my tongue off.”

“Luckily you know a doctor.”

“I do,” he says, and his tone is warm. Almost proud? “Anyway, what’s going on? You read Being and Nothingness, too, or what?”

For a moment, you’re just quiet, trying to think of the words to say. You’re well aware of your privilege, make a conscious effort to not throw it around the way others might, so there’s a lot of guilt that comes with something like this. You know what people probably think: poor little rich girl, with her family money and their connections, it must be so hard to be her. It’s not, and you’re fine, but—

“Did you always want to skate professionally?” you ask, because you figure it’s safe. Doesn’t give it all away, even though Seokjin’s smart enough to read between the lines.

And, to your surprise, he plays along. Doesn’t call you out or press on the bruise, just says, “Hm, no, not really.”

“No?” you repeat, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms. “This is really embarrassing, but I wanted to get into software engineering or coding. Whatever would let me make video games.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”

“Because it’s me?” Seokjin forces a laugh, pure self-deprecation. “That’s the kind of stuff people like Namjoon do. And that’s—it’s fine. I’m good at skateboarding and I get paid to do it. That’s the kind of thing kids dream about, right? Getting paid to travel around and skateboard all day?” He sighs, and it’s broken in a way that’s unsettling and familiar. A sound that could be coming from your own lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it and I’m thankful I get to do this as a job, it’s just not what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”

A brief silence, and then Seokjin’s talking again before you can reply, which you’re glad for. Everything feels off-center. “Is that what’s going on? School stress?”

“Maybe,” you admit, still a little breathless. “I’m just… struggling? I think? With knowing what’s actual desire and what’s just expectation.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think I can really help with that beyond empathizing, but I’m sorry you’re going through it.” Then, like he’s telling you a secret, “If it helps at all, I think it takes a lot of courage to do this kind of introspection. It’s not easy, especially when you’re likely to find things you don’t want to.”

You can’t help but snort, but it’s gentle. Quiet, though still loud in the stillness of your bedroom. “Thanks,” you eventually reply. “Surprisingly comforting.”

“Yah, I’ll have you know I’m a very comforting person!”

“Of course you are.”

“Besides,” he says, and his tone takes on such conviction you’re sure you’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth next with no hesitation, “it’s fine if you decide this isn’t what you wanna do. It’s never too late, or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great doctor.”

“Or whatever,” you echo, smile creeping up on you. “That makes it sound so easy.”

“I guess it is.”

What’s it like to live like that, you wonder. Completely devoid of expectations, just going with the flow, doing what you want without crippling fear of the consequences. Must be nice, is your conclusion. Life doesn’t work like that for you, and you’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with that, so it’s fine. You’re on a path and maybe it’s not what you would’ve chosen had you had time to look at all the possibilities, but you’re on a path and it’s yours.

You want to say this to Seokjin. You want to thank him, both for the pep talk and the unfounded confidence, but your eyelids feel heavy and he’s just babbling now, something about the first time he landed a tre flip, and it’s soothing. Comforting.

Sleep takes you before you can think about it too hard—think about how Seokjin used to be nothing but a menace, the worst part of your day, and now he’s not.

You’re on another night shift, third in a row, and you’re the kind of exhausted that has you smelling colors.

Nothing makes sense. Your bones hurt. When you think about going home and finally going to bed it feels like when you’re starving and wait too long to eat and don’t feel hungry anymore. Then you finally do and it’s not satisfying, kind of makes your stomach hurt, and the cycle repeats.

Seokjin texts you to check in. After your two a.m. convo, you’re hyperaware of how much time you spend venting, so you assure him you’re fine. He drops off a coffee and some snacks, anyway. Just because he’s already up.

—

There are other hangouts. You don’t call them dates, because that word has implications and meaning and this is fake, but you have them nonetheless.

Overindulgent takeaway, equally expensive alcohol that has sat unopened in your apartment for far too long, shitty movies playing in the background, and Seokjin’s inability to stop talking. He sneakily lobs popcorn at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. This prompts an all-out war, and you both have tears streaming down your faces by the time Seokjin calls a truce.

Just days later, you spread out a gingham blanket in the park. Seokjin makes up bullshit constellations, gives them horrific names and backstories, and revels in the sound of your infectious laughter. When your head feels too heavy to hold up, you lay back in the grass and try to keep your heart in your chest when Seokjin does the same, slender fingers searching out yours in the dark.

You want so badly to kiss him. Want to crash your mouths together and kiss him breathless, but you don’t.

On your third hangout, you cover each other in silly temporary tattoos and take too many selfies. Seokjin snorts at how dumb he looks in the filters and asks you to send him some, immediately setting a particularly couple-y shot as your contact photo.

And if you get butterflies when he posts one to his Instagram story? Well, that’s your business.

—

Seokjin gets the dumb idea that he’s going to teach you to skate.

Which is not only dumb because it’s impossible, but because you’re sure your skeletal system is probably insured for millions of dollars, knowing your parents. You can’t do any of your clinical rotations with broken bones—instant dismissal—and Seokjin knows this, but he’s annoyingly persistent and assures you you’ll be fine, so you relent because you trust him, despite all odds.

Physically, you are fine. Seokjin holds onto your waist and doesn’t let you fall, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to unwanted skateboarding lessons. Emotionally, though? Not so much. You’ve been close to Seokjin before. Enough to feel his body heat; enough to get goosebumps; enough to nearly become delirious with your want to taste him.

Normally that’s fine. But now, as he uses one hand to hold your waist and the other to hold your own hand, you can’t think of a single logical explanation for depriving yourself of more of this. Because he’s steady and warm, and sometimes you teeter and he grips tighter, causing your mind to wander and think about things it shouldn’t. You’re only human, and Seokjin is an otherworldly brand of handsome, so you don’t beat yourself up over it.

Still. It ignites something, that’s for sure, and if it’s anything like Seokjin himself, it won’t be easy to extinguish.

—

It’s by complete accident that you meet Jeongguk.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You’ve met him before, at some bougie function your parents dragged you to, but it was brief and forced and awkward. Jeongguk was weird back then. Still is, probably, judging from his entire… presence, now.

He’s dangling upside down from a tree branch when you meet him for the second time.

“Oh. Jeongguk. Hi?”

“Hi!” he says, smile brighter than the sun, and before you can ask him why he’s upside down in a tree there’s a massive camera in front of his face. “Are you here to see Jin?”

Here is a public sidewalk, but you don’t say that. Instead, you say, “I’m on my way home. Why are you in a tree?”

His response is nonverbal, just a finger point dead ahead of you. Some Brutalist architecture leftover from the ‘50s—a large set of stairs, public fountain, weird art sculpture, a small crowd. Doesn’t take long to learn what they’re there for: Seokjin grinds down the rail, lands perfectly, nearly skates into the street and gets whacked by a car. Everyone cheers.

Ah, that explains the camera, too. You vaguely recall your mother telling you the youngest Jeon went to school for filmmaking. She hadn’t sounded impressed. You wonder what she’d think if she knew he was your delinquent, skateboarder, fake boyfriend’s videographer. Probably something aneurysm-inducing.

“He’s so cool,” Jeongguk says, whimsical and dreamy in a way that sounds like he has framed photos of Seokjin on his walls. Maybe his picture in a heart frame, like that one meme. “You’re so lucky.” There’s definitely some jealousy there.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wanna date him instead?”

Jeongguk seems to mull it over. Doesn’t move from his spot in the tree, either, and you reckon he’s got another sixty seconds before you forcefully turn him right side up. “Nah. He seems really happy with you.”

“We’re not—” Together, your brain finishes, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. So you cough, hope Jeongguk hasn’t caught it, and say, “Yeah, we’re not doing too bad,” instead.

—

“I think you’re too far gone, personally.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. What does Hoseok know? Okay, he’s probably the smartest person you know, but that’s medicine. He hasn’t had a long-term partner in years, so yeah, what does Hoseok know.

“I am not,” you insist, because the majority of your time in this library has been spent defending the validity of your love life, not studying. “Hobi, look.” You sigh, snapping shut your notebook. A migraine is forming just thinking about the amount of reviewing you’re gonna have to do at home to make up for this. “Does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things? Life is fleeting and we’re all inconsequential, so I understand why you’re grilling me on this and not the MLE review book we paid for—”

He pulls a face. “It was fifty bucks! You’re acting like I’m out thousa—”

“Not the point!”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Presses his fingers deep into his frontal sinus points. “I think it not being the point is the point, though? None of this was necessary. You could’ve just brought him to the wedding without having to pretend he’s your boyfriend.” You move to protest. He waves you off. “I know you wanted to get back at your parents. Your parents suck, so I get it, but don’t you think this is a little much?”

“How?”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to sigh. Put-upon, like he’s a beleaguered parent talking to a very idiotic child. “Uh, how about the fact that the two of you are going on actual dates, for one? And they’re definitely dates, so I don’t want to hear it. You took him to a Michelin star restaurant, quote-unquote, just because.”

“I was hungry!”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say.” He throws his hands up, clearly defeated, and it settles all wrong in your gut. Hoseok gets mad, sure, but never at you. Not even annoyed. “Have you given any thought at all, even considered just a teeny-tiny bit, that this might not be as fake as you think?”

“No,” you retort, petulant, because it is fake and you don’t need Hoseok to tell you that.

But Hoseok is smart, you know, so you were never going to get off easy. “I think you actually like him.”

“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred and one, if I have to. Fuck, your head must be made of concrete.”

“Could be,” comes your breezy response. “Maybe that’s why my mother hates me.”

Hoseok chokes. Knocks his tea over and onto the MLE guide, which prompts a distressed shriek from him and a harsh shushing from the rest of the library.

So much for it only being fifty dollars.

—

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi does leave his skate shop, which comes as a shock for a man who has severe cavedweller vibes.

“Hey, Instagram,” he says, smelling like actual cologne and laundry detergent instead of a dispensary as he stands behind you in line.

Yoongi is clearly talking to you. You know he’s talking to you, but you still pause, fragile like a deer caught in headlights, and look over your shoulder as if he could be talking to anyone else. “Uh. Hi?”

He squints. “You are Instagram girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I thought so, but you looked at me like I was the one who’s stupid so I wasn’t sure.”

Did he just call you stupid? “Did you just call me stupid?”

Yoongi shrugs. “What’s good here?” he asks, changing the subject. He definitely called you stupid.

“I—most things? I don’t know, I always just get a cold brew with oat milk.”

He grimaces. “Ew, gross. I’m gonna go grab a table. Grab me a medium iced americano.”

You order him a small, purely out of spite, and Yoongi doesn’t come to this coffee shop often enough to know the difference so he doesn’t even notice when you set it down in front of him. Takes all the satisfaction out of being petty. He must know. “Thanks,” he says, not looking up from his phone as he unwraps a straw and stabs his drink perfectly in the center.

“Sure. I’ll send you a Venmo request.”

“Oh, I don’t have Venmo.” He finally looks up. “Are you going to Jin’s thing?” All he receives in response is a blank stare. “The skate comp. Second qualifying round for the big championship event? Surely he’s told you about this.”

Let no man ever say you’re a bad liar. “Ah, yeah, of course! Med student brain. It’s all memorizing neural pathways and… stuff… and forgetting skate competitions.”

“Hm,” comes Yoongi’s response, and he quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t question you further.

(You bring it up to Seokjin later, expecting him to laugh it off, extend an invitation out of obligation. Instead, he laughs in a way that sounds fond. Says, “Yoongi beat me to it,” in a way that brings his scarlet red neck and ears to the forefront of your brain, and follows it up with, “I’d really love it if you came, but I understand how busy you must be right now,” that has your skin flushing all the same.

You’re loath to make promises, but sometimes they’re easy.)

Time is not on your side.

You barely make it to Seokjin’s second competition. Barely have your ass in the bleachers, hairline dotted with sweat and anxiety coursing through you, before he’s dropping into the bowl for his first run.

He’d mentioned it offhand. Told you it wasn’t a big deal if you couldn’t make it, because he knew how busy you were with school and that you needed to study because exam season was relentless, but he’d looked so relieved when you joked that it wasn’t so easy to get rid of you, that you’d be cheering him on from the first row. That being anywhere else just wasn’t an option.

And that had… taken you aback. Watching him skate is a good enough distraction for all those thoughts. You don’t have to dwell on the whys: why the thought of sitting in your apartment, nose stuck in a book instead of being here, had been so unconscionable. Instead, you’re able to focus on him, which is almost worse. Because the way he looks—wind pushing his hair back off his forehead as he skates around, calf muscles flexing every time he kicks, shirt fabric darkening under a light sheen of sweat, smiling at kids and the countless people he knows—is a little overwhelming. You’re winded for two reasons.

It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone do something they’re passionate about. Seokjin especially, but you’re biased. You want only good things for him.

His first run finishes. He chews on his bottom lip as the judges huddle together. Numbers flash on the scoreboard. Good—great, even. You know what the stakes are: score high enough and he’ll advance to the championship. More sponsors will fall in line. Someone will present him with one of those comically large checks that he’ll probably spend on god-knows-what at Yoongi’s shop.

More skaters follow. Highs and lows. Seokjin watches them all, enraptured, just as happy for their successes as his own. Someone bails out right next to him, arms out to break their fall, making a sound an arm should never make, and Seokjin’s there right away. He’s good.

Except the universe doesn’t always reward goodness. His second run starts off well: smooth as butter, impressively technical. Seokjin is fluid when he skates. Makes it look easy, like you could hop on a board and do it just as well. You watch him, but you almost like watching everyone else watch him more: the wide eyes, the whistles under their breath, the nods of approval. Seokjin’s got all of it, truly thrives on the admiration. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good.

You know it’s coming. That trick he’d told you about—the one he’s never been able to land during a competition. The one that’s gnawing away at him. He’s going to try it, and you’re holding your breath as he kickflips, grinds his board along the rail, does some kind of dismount that looks absurd and impossible to your untrained eye.

Then he’s on the ground.

He’s still for a second. Huffs in frustration. Back on his board before you can blink.

Seokjin’s not a child, but you know it stings. You’re overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, the way he’s done for you countless times, but you shouldn’t so you don’t. The two of you don’t talk until after, and by then it might not matter.

It isn’t until he’s about to drop in for his final run that he scans the crowd. You want to believe the look on his face when he spots you is relief, but it’s painted over in a nanosecond. He smiles, smug but content, and then he’s shoving his helmet back on his head, clapping someone on the back, and he’s off.

Maybe the universe does reward goodness, because everything goes right this time.

Seokjin lines up to attempt the trick again, because if he’s going to go out it’s going to be on his terms. Completely unshakeable, the kind of attitude that gets plastered on those bullshit inspirational posters about falling down nine times and getting up ten, and you wonder, briefly, if it’s stupid. A good score would be enough to get him through, but he wants to do this.

And he does.

Everyone around you erupts as soon as the trick is landed. Seokjin calls the run early—just a handful of seconds left, anyway—and his fellow competitors are on him immediately. Someone picks him up in a bear hug and spins him around, and the joy on his face is so pure, so unbridled, that you almost cry.

But the wait is torturous. His second run had gone so poorly and those in the top spots had done so well that it’ll be close, even with a gazelle flip under his belt. Nothing is certain, and the way you can barely bring yourself to look at the scoreboard is proof enough. Seokjin is good, and you want only good things for him, and you can barely look at the scoreboard but you can’t look away, either—

The roar of the crowd is deafening.

A freeze-frame moment. All around you, there are fists in the air, shrill yells of Seokjin’s name, maybe a chant, nothing but chaos. You can hardly hear yourself think, but you can see just fine, and what you see is Seokjin’s gaze locked on yours. The corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. A flicker of hesitation before he’s gracefully shrugging everyone off of him and making his way over to you, and then it’s just reflex. Here, you know what to do.

You barely flinch when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.

Everything is soft. Feels a bit like floating.

Seokjinnie: do you wanna come over later?

Seokjinnie: i can either cook or get takeout, your choice

The apartment is small and you love it because he kisses you at the door. Seokjin has lips you want to memorize, so you kiss him again as he pulls away. The two of you kiss for a long time: throughout the “tour,” which is just the large studio space and the bathroom, all over the kitchen as he finishes cooking, until he exaggeratedly pulls out your chair, until you have to shove food in your face to keep your mouth off of him.

Seokjin has the kind of lips that leave you questioning if it’s really this easy.

Because Hoseok had been right: this isn’t fake for you anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, if you’re being honest, and maybe before this would’ve been a realization that scared you, but this doesn’t. Not when it’s Seokjin. So, yeah, maybe it is easy.

“Wait,” he says, chest heaving, gently pulling away from you. “Before I—wait, I have to talk to you about something.”

You just smile, hands still grazing over warm skin. “I think I already know.”

He stills. Takes a few seconds to reboot his brain before he’s smiling, laughing in a way that almost sounds unhinged. “God, yeah. Yeah, me too. But it’s—not that.”

“What, then?”

Immediately it’s clear this is not going to go well. Seokjin sighs, tilts his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck is gorgeous, littered with marks from you, but you gear up for a fight nonetheless. “The competition,” he says, as if that’s enough explanation. “The final round got pushed up.”

Your stomach drops. You know what’s coming, but you still ask, “To when?” because you’re a little bit masochistic. Because maybe you’re itching for the fight. Itching to say see, I told you so, I knew this was never going to work, because it’s always been fake. Itching to hurt, because you want what’s familiar when you hurt.

“Saturday.”

The day of your brother’s wedding. “Of course.” You snort; the universe loves a good dose of irony.

He sighs again. Looks so genuinely distressed that you find it hard to truly be upset. “I’m sorry. I just found out today.”

“It’s fine,” comes your instantly reply, auto-generated. Some silly, naive part of you refuses to spiral, stubbornly convinced you can salvage this. You’d found a date. That was the rule. You’ve done exactly what your parents asked of you, and you think with a rueful smile that they’ll probably be relieved when you show up alone.

But Seokjin’s not convinced. There’s still turmoil painted across his face—some silly, naive part of him clinging to something stubborn, too. “I’m going to ask you to be there.”

Yet another freeze-frame moment. The part in video games where it’s clear you have a very important choice to make, neon signs practically blinding, saying you better choose right, better not fuck it up. But you’re going to. You’re going to say no, and it’s going to hurt Seokjin, and you have about ten seconds to come to peace with that.

“I can’t.”

To his credit, Seokjin doesn’t look surprised, and you think that might be more painful. He’d expected nothing from you and you still let him down, so his snort is sardonic and derisive when he says, “Of course you can’t.”

And your tone is defensive and disbelieving when you retort, “What’s that supposed to mean? What exactly do you expect me to do here?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to do anything, I’d foolishly hoped you’d say yes.”

Your jaw drops. Snaps shut when you swallow around the lump in your throat, because you’re not going to cry at not living up to another set of invisible expectations. “It’s my brother’s wedding, Seokjin. It’s not some small thing I can blow off.”

“Is that it?” he challenges, eyebrow quirked, expression bemused. “Or do you not want to lose your precious little trust fund?”

“Are you serious? Of course I don’t want to lose it, but I—”

“You don’t even like your brother,” he continues, giving you absolutely no reprieve. No chance to catch up, catch your breath. “You don’t even like your family, but I guess you like their money. Nothing was ever gonna be more important than that, huh?”

“That’s not fair, Seokjin.”

He hums; knows you’re right. Doesn’t try to get in anymore jabs, but he looks broken. “I don’t think this has been fake for either of us for a long time. It was stupid to think you’d go against your family on this, but I thought maybe, for me—”

“Again, that’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t fair,” he shoots back. “I know that. I just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t skip this, and you’re not willing to skip yours, so I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“I can just go alone,” you say, because it seems simple. “I already did what they asked, so I can just go alone. It’s fine.”

“It’s not like that for me.”

You’re stunned into silence. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s irrational, but it’s… the principle. For me. I’m never going to match up, you know? I’m never going to be from your world. I can make all the money in the world doing what I do and I’ll still never come close. So I had this stupid thought in my head, like, if she comes then it’s real for her, too. It means something. If she’s there, we can figure it out.”

“And that’s the only way? It’s only real if I do this one thing? Doesn’t matter how we feel?” You laugh, exasperated, and you’re up and halfway to the door. “That’s bullshit, Seokjin. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations you’ve got of me if you never tell me what the fuck they are? You know, that’s—this is exactly what my family does, and you—you know that, what the fuck.”

“Hey, no—”

“I can’t belie—” Things go all glassy. Crystalline. You need to get out of here. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—”

You press harshly into your eyes. You’re not going to cry over this. “Good luck, Seokjin.”

[THE CHOICE]

Things come full circle during another two a.m. crisis.

You’d stared at the ceiling. Scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Ignored Seokjin’s texts and thought about texting Hobi but decided it wouldn’t be fair and instead went cross-eyed watching some questionable late night paid program. Tried to disregard the crippling weight on your chest. Couldn’t. Thought about what Namjoon might do, because he seems well-versed in these sorts of crises, and looked up Sartre quotes on the internet. Got as far as one and quit, both because it hit too close to home and because all you can think about is your last two a.m. crisis.

Seokjin’s voice had been so soft. It wouldn’t have that same tenderness if you called him now and that stings, knowing you had a good thing, something velvet, and you let it go.

And still you think about Namjoon, about the ethics of conservation: when to preserve and when to let die. Does preservation ensure survival, or does it stave off the inevitable? It all gives you a headache, because nothing is guaranteed but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.

Jimin goes to Milan. Taehyung posts a selfie looking sad and beautiful on some balcony in Paris. You don’t want to be like them, doing some perpetual song and dance. Resisting an obvious thing.

Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” Groggy and confused. A voice you’ve heard a million times that still feels indistinguishable from a stranger’s.

“I can’t come to your wedding.”

A moment of silence, both literally and for your trust fund. “Uh, okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, because it feels important to say even if you don’t necessarily feel sorry. “I, uh—I am sorry, because I like your fiancée and I know this is probably a huge inconvenience considering your wedding is in a few hours, but I can’t—”

There’s some rustling. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to your brother in the middle of the night before. “It’s really fine.” He yawns. “This couldn’t wait ‘til the morning, though?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Why do you sound like you’re about to have a panic attack?”

A lightbulb moment: he doesn’t know. “I am. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That Mom and Dad threatened to cut me off if I didn’t show up at your wedding with a date.”

More silence. Then, slowly, the trickle of laughter. Just a quiet snort at first, and you’re a little confused, wonder if you should be laughing too, if he’s laughing at you, and then it compounds until he’s nearly in hysterics. “Oh my god.” He’s almost shrieking. “Holy shit. That’s why you brought that guy to dinner, isn’t it? The one they hated?” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound like this.

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking hilarious. Fair play.” You wonder why you’ve spent two-plus decades hating this man on the other end of the line. “Okay, then. Why can’t you make it?”

You talk until you’re hoarse: about the competition, the fake relationship that hasn’t been all that fake for weeks, about the trust fund and growing up under the weight of your family’s money and expectations and always coming in third behind societal ass-kissing and your brother. You’re not looking for an apology but you get one anyway. A heart-to-heart in a moment that’s not entirely built for one, because the sun is coming up and your brother is still getting married in a few hours even if you won’t be there to witness it.

“All right, I really gotta go, but listen: I’ll talk to them, okay? And I’m rooting for you. Maybe in a few weeks you and Seokjin can come over for dinner, if it all works out.”

“Yeah, sure.” You agree readily, and it’s nice to have someone that shares your name in your corner. “I’ll make sure he behaves.” Your smile drops, chest cracked in half. “If it works out.”

Your brother says goodnight and wishes you well. Hangs up, and the silence is deafening and consolatory. You think about the Sartre quote again: Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

Whatever happens, you think you’ll do just fine when it’s on your own terms.

Perhaps naively, you expected the day of your brother’s wedding—and subsequently Seokjin’s competition—to be gloomy. Of course, the weather is perfect. Mid-70s, light breeze, cloudless blue sky. When you’re wounded everything feels like an attack, so maybe before it would’ve felt like the universe was mocking you, saying look how beautiful and intact the world is when you’re falling apart, but you see something else.

You’d done a lot of thinking. Soul-searching and introspection and all those uncomfortable, vulnerable things you and Seokjin had talked about before, and you’ve made it to the other side, so a cloudless blue sky on a beautiful afternoon doesn’t feel like an attack. What you see is clarity being reflected back at you.

But it still takes a lot of courage. Instead of putting on a stunning, designer dress and painting on a smile to pacify your family and anyone else important enough to be granted entry, you’re pulling on normal clothes and normal shoes. It doesn’t matter if your hair and makeup are done. Everything feels wrong for a moment, like you’re forgetting something important, and you suppose that’s normal. This is arguably the biggest and most consequential decision you’ve made thus far in your life. No wonder you’re out of sorts.

Normally, this is where you’d compartmentalize. Tuck all that discomfort away for later: a problem for Future You. But that had been your go-to for years, and it did nothing but turn you into an emotionally constipated mess, so you’re done with that—trying to be done with that. Which is fine, because you don’t have a plan, not really, but sometimes it’s enough to simply show up, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Rejection is likely. You’re smart enough to know that, and you’re mature enough to accept it, if it comes down to it. But you don’t want Seokjin to feel rejected. Not again. That’s more important. So you’re going to show up, heart on your sleeve, and if he rejects you, fine, but you’re going to be there. And you’re going to cheer when he wins, even if your voice is drowned out.

Another packed event. It helps to feel anonymous when your sympathetic nervous system is working overtime like this. You’re trembling by the time you find a spot—a little out of the way, no room left on the bleachers. Seokjin probably won’t see you here, wouldn’t think to look, and it’s okay. You’re here for him but you’re here for yourself, too. Just to prove you can. Just to prove that you’re still human.

It all goes by in a blur. The skaters you don’t recognize, some you do. Scores that are both meaningful and meaningless until they aren’t. Seokjin’s name gets called and your stomach drops, but it’s okay. You see Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jeongguk, all nervous energy and bit fingernails and cautious smiles. They don’t see you, but it’s okay.

Two runs happen in a nanosecond. Seokjin holds steady in third. The guy sitting in first falls on his final run, and it’s best of three so you’re not breathing easy yet but your fingers start tingling with anticipation. The guy in second does well but nothing good enough to improve his score. Your phone’s blowing up in your pocket. Presumably your brother’s told your parents by now, and you can wait just a little longer to get cut off. What’s in front of you is more important, it is, and you know it when—

Call it divine intervention, but Seokjin looks up just as he’s about to drop into the bowl. Looks right at you, and the tingle spreads from your fingers all over. Another freeze-frame moment; the two of you are getting good at this.

He smiles. He wins.

Feels a bit like falling in love.

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[mega-punani]

For your Pirate AU, what are all the boys favourite food/dishes/treats/fruits/veggies and drinks(alcoholic and non alcoholic)? I don’t think anyone has asked this, but I was curious, for all of them? Sans, Papyrus, Blue, Stretch, Red, Edge, Razz, Cash, Bear and Cinnamon?

Also are people allowed to use your vers of AUs or even your AUs in stories with different twists?? Like say pirate AU(since I already mentioned them), and like doing the dragged from they’re universe of one piece to a total new that’s kinda modern time? Dealing with an MC that’s trying to keep them outta trouble as well as hide they’re secret but also it’s where a true pacifist route happened??

And of course give you credit but can they use your make, vers, variant, au, whatever you wish to call it in this case, in stories and other works?

Yaw! People can use the pirate stuff for whatever honestly. The au is kinda my idea but not really cause I'm just smashin 2 things together lol. I don't mind. Of course, designs are made by @the-skeleton-in-ur-closet so if you end up drawing or using the designs you GOTS to credit them (or I will hunt you down /hj) Also, the dragging the pirate au to a modern Y/N would be so FUCKING FUN. I loooove those tropes saur much.

FAVORITE FOOD AND DRINKS:

Sans: Anything greasy and bready. Bro loves his carbs. Is a big fan of Ketchup too! Favorite drink is a hot mug of cocoa.

Papyrus: SPAGHETTI! And a wide range of pastas. He is also a huge fan of anything tomato. Looooves drinking iced teas, refreshing and sweet!

Blue: Huge fan of sugary and carbonated sodas but hates sparkling water. Blue is also a great enjoyer of greasy foods loaded with meat (like tacos). Likes fruits that are sweet and tropical.

Stretch: A refreshing jug of beer and potato based foods. He also has a deep love for spicy foods, even if he can't handle them well.

Red: MEAT. Bro loves him some bbq, steaks, and grilled goodies. He doesn't really have a favorite drink, but he'll enjoy a cup of coffee in the morning. 2 cubes of sugar and a dash of cream.

Edge: The stronger Edge's morning coffee, the less he will yell at the crew. This man needs his caffeine NEOW. Pasta is his guilty pleasure but he tries to suppress the fact that he wants to eat it constantly. He must set a good example by eating healthy...

Razz: Tea, wine, and cheese. Razz's holy trinity. Will nibble on a block of cheese in the middle of the night (scaring tf out of Bear)

Cash: A lover of alcohol. Every to all, especially the strong ones. He's a little embarrassed about this, but chocolate. Just cause he didn't get much as a kid,,,

Bear: Spicy foods and dairy. Spicy foods cause he can feel a strong kick from the food and it makes him all warm on the inside. He likes his dairy because it is still pretty new to him. (unfortunately, he is mildly lactose intolerant-)

Cinnamon: Desserts of all varieties. He loves him some sweet pastries, and he loves him some fudgy brownies. Cupcakes, muffins, cakes, donuts. Cinnamon got quite the sweet tooth. All of it can be paired with a hot cup of coffee that is 4 times more cream than coffee.

[doofus-and-dragons]

This will more than likely be the last one of these I have. So, for the last time, here is my live reaction to the final season of TMA. These will be in no particular order because ice been listening to it over the span of a couple of weeks. I only listen to it at work.

TMA S5 Spoilers ahead

The cabin episode made me so sad. The eyepocolypse had even taken away their domestic bliss

I really don't remember the trenches that well. It's not a fear of mine, so it didn't shake me or stick well enough. Still good tho

The sickness episode sent me right back to senior year of highschool. I had to take a minute KXNSKXN

REVOLUTIONS WAS AMAZING I LOVED THE POETRY AND THE ACENGING OF SASHA BY KILLING NOT!SASHA. I love it.

At first I thought the worms was about Jane again but I was very wrong. It was a very interesting take!

Curiosity made me incredibly sad. I feel bad for Eric, Micheal, and Sarah(? Trinity? I don't remember. She was set on fire by a desolation avatar I think)

Also: Gertrude x Agnes perhaps???? Or at least solemn pinning? Maybe I just think it's slightly tragic to make it so and sometimes angst is good yknow?

Roots was ok, but the only part that stuck out to me was the jealous Martin scene. I listened to it like 3 times. I kept rewinding it just to list to it.

Fire Escape was SO good! It gave me a kind of manic energy as I listened to the descriptions of the fire.

Martin in the Lonely again made me cry. That's it.

"Who's this? Your boyfriend?" "Yes actually." "Oh...so is there anyway this doesn't end in me dead?"

The Basira and Daisy stuff actually did make me feel bad for Basira. Like, it's the apocalypse and she's having a whole ass crisis.

SALESA WAS INCREADIBLE

I wonder how he faked his death... man is talented and smart, I'll give him that

Skipping ahead to Martin's domain. Loved that. My boy isn't strictly human and I love that he can't deny that fact anymore.

Martin: Something something "one of you"

Jon, being a smug theater kid bastard boy: "One of us."

Like I heard that and I imagined him smirking ominously and gesturing with both his hands

He sounded so pleased that his boyfriend, as miniscule a role it had or that martin had, was like him, and I love that for him

I'm so glad Melanie and Georgie are happy. Though, the cult does weird me out (cults give me the heebie jeebies. It was a very nice touch!)

They deserve nice things.

Also, my favorite of the Cult members was Anil's character. I can't remember his name right off the top of my head, but he was wonderful. Anil did amazing with that little cameo/role

The scene where's he's arguing with Martin reminds me of that Jojo meme with jotoro and dio, but instead of stands they have their poetry clutched tight in their fists

"I dont need a poet." No, Jon, because you already have one. His name is Martin

Of course Jon gets trapped in the ocean when he doesn't have big string martin to row him out of it XD

SOMEWHERE ELSE SOMEWHERE ELSE SOMEWHERE ELSE

Annabelle Cane is wonderful, I'm so glad Jon didn't kill her. She's so chummy with Martin up until she has to be a dramatic villain and I love that for her!

The ladder episode made me grin like a maniac manly because I would be the Martin in that situation. I love the feeling of falling/floating, but I hate actually getting myself to fall. I physically can't do it. I can barely dive into the lake from my papaw's boat

Martin, there are thousands of fanfics that dive into you two getting together without the trauma. Don't even.

NO JON THE PLAN

Hey, real elias! That's where him being a stoner comes from! Because he is one! Nice.

I love og Elias, and I would protect him with my life I don't care.

Oh wait it was just Magnus dreaming

JON NO THE PLAN FUCKING HELL

I almost cried when Martin was yelling at Jon. The boys are fighting

THE KISS HOLY SHIT ALEX SAKD THEY WOULDNT KISS THEY KISSED AH

They're somewhere else being happy and domestic now you can't change my mind

[sgiandubh]

Do you have any secret tips for restaurants or cafés for a trip to Paris?

Dear Paris Anon,

I am happy and amused you ask me this question. Happy, because I have been calling Paris home for six years: that means there are places where I was madly kissing a beautiful (and cruel) boy from Bastia, places where I walked at night drunk as a boiled owl with people who are still in my life, places where I regularly went shopping or having an endless coffee with friends and places I was entrusted with, like precious jewels. Amused, because to be honest, Paris is probably the last French destination I could think of for an enjoyable week-end en amoureux (I suppose you want to go as a couple?), right now: it is overpriced as hell (the Olympics are round the corner), dirty and seedy (I was shocked, last time I visited and Manu Macron, my old acquaintance of yore, spoke about parking all the homeless outside of town during the Games 'for aesthetic reasons' - the boy never had a sense of humor, trust me on this one).

I shall give you 5 restaurants and 5 cafés (oh God, why didn't you ask me about Bangkok, instead?). Many of them are on the Left Bank (all of my addresses were there, simply because the closer to the university, the better).

Five restaurants: as it happens in Rome (where the gap is truly tragic), I will try and recommend places where locals go. You will find a menu in English everywhere, but at least try the holy trinity of bonjour, l'addition (the check) et merci. All the Parisian waiters are sourer than the Politburo and insolent as highway robbers, but do not be deterred by their manners. Order away.

Le Relais de Venise - son entrecôte (271 Bd Pereire, 75017). It is not in the center. They do not take reservations. You will be met with a long line of people patiently waiting (Seinfeld style) to get in. They have a minimal set menu (which is always a very good sign: https://relaisdevenise.com/menus/set-menu.php). The waitresses are kind and dressed like 1920's maids. It will be the damn best entrecôte-frites you've ever had (their sauce is a secret). Nothing changed there since 1959. Double check opening times and plan accordingly: you will need a taxi and plenty of time ahead. Almost a bargain for its stellar performance. The London one is a sad spin off.

Le Soufflé (36 rue du Mont Thabor, 75001). An original choice, but oh so good! They only cook soufflés (not exactly a pudding, but a pudding angels must have on a daily basis). Very reasonably priced for Paris (set menus at 40 and 55 euros - https://www.lesouffle.fr/bienvenue/home/menu/). If you want to eat à la carte, I recommend le soufflé Henri IV (cheese soufflé with chicken & mushrooms sauce) : it is heaven.

La Jacobine (59-61 Rue Saint-André des Arts, 75006). You will find tourists in this one, it is always full. Service is impeccable. Do not bother with Le Procope round the corner: it used to be one of my haunts, but this is over. The best soupe à l'oignon (onion soup, notoriously hard to cook) I ever had (yes, they still add white wine!). I would also recommend the magret de canard sauce aux cèpes (duck breast with a porcini mushrooms sauce). I could not find a decent menu, but that should give you an idea - they don't have a website (https://eater.space/la-jacobine). Very reasonably priced, too - and very, very good.

Chez Julien (1, rue du Pont Louis-Philippe, 75004 Paris). This is one of my mum's favorites. It is open only in the evenings, but it is an excellent choice if you want to call it a night, because it has service continu (all night long, wow!). It is more expensive - this is, after all, the Right Bank, so expect prices to go drastically up. This is the only option serving wonderful breakfasts, so I beg you: have breakfast in town at least once, Paris hotels tend to do it on the sad and sorry side (https://www.chezjulien.paris/en/home#menu-en). Pair anything you pick with a glass of Pouilly fumé white wine (it goes with anything, it is that magically good).

Money is no object? Entice the guy to take you at (I am torn, here, to be honest) La Tour d'Argent (19 Quai de la Tournelle, 75005). It is very expensive (like VERY), but it is worth every penny (https://tourdargent.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/LTDA-SEPTEMBRE-EN.pdf). You must (it's an order!) order the canard au sang (you will find it on the menu under the entry Duckling Frédéric Delair and it is outrageously priced). But you will never have a chance to see the table show anywhere else (it is served in two times: first the fillet and then the legs and it uses a sort of Medieval contraption, to get the blood out for the sauce) - just a specialty from Normandy, you will not find in Rouen anymore. It is divine. They have been there since 1583. What are you waiting for? (for a less break the bank option, try Le Grand Véfour, near the Louvre - google it, it will take forever to explain why).

Four cafés and a salon de thé (tea parlor) : all are haunts of mine. In every single one of them something very personal happened to me. Consider yourself lucky. On a more practical side, all of them double as excellent lunch options, for a fraction of what you would spend in a restaurant. :)

Chez Carette (4 Pl. du Trocadéro, 75016, but also Place des Vosges, with a nod to C). You will have an exceptional choice of anything you could think of and the same Roaring Twenties atmosphere as in the Relais de Venise restaurant. The chocolat chaud (hot chocolate) is almost perfection (do NOT go to Angelina, on the rue de Rivoli, that is another favorite which went south and not in a good way). The best macarons you will find North of Saint Jean de Luz's Maison Adam (where the story of macarons began in earnest). This is Someone's favorite, but then he always was a Right Bank purist. Service is old school, which means supremely kind, if only a bit on the slow side: you are in France, soak it in!

Les Deux Magots (6 Pl. Saint-Germain des Prés, 75006). On the Left Bank in the publishing houses district. This is my second favorite (there is a first favorite) and you will likely find me on the heated terrace with a cigarette and a newspaper, if I were there. Service is appalling, but you should not mind, I have warned you. Reasonably priced for what and where it is. Breakfasts are mediocre, but still enjoyable and lunch/dinner menus are typical brasserie fare - you are not there for the food, you are there to cosplay Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir and act intellectual and sophisticated and have endless talks about the world's destiny (https://lesdeuxmagots.fr/en/breakfast-menu/). If nature calls, head downstairs with an air of intrinsic superiority and don't forget to pay the grumpy dame pipi (toilet lady), who will give you what you need and look at you like you are the scum of the Earth. Always makes me laugh.

Le Café de l'Epoque (2 Rue du Bouloi, 75001). On the Right Bank, at the end of one of the most beautiful passages couverts (glass-roofed passageways) of Paris. Again, you are there for the supremely dreamy atmosphere, I can only fail to describe. Look on the map for all of these passageways and then get lost in the maze of stamp shops, bookstores, taxidermists and God only knows what else you could think of (or at least add to this passageway the Galerie Vivienne). Usual brasserie/bistro fare, reasonable prices (https://cafedelepoque.fr/en/services). The lemon meringue pies are to die for.

Café Le Rostand (6 Pl. Edmond Rostand, 75006). Steps away from the Luxembourg Gardens, which I crossed every single day to go to the uni. Steps away also from the secret and sublime Medici fountain in above park (oh, the things I did there!). Surprisingly good French fare, the beef tartare is excellent (a rare thing!) and well priced (https://lerostand.fr/carte/ - use Google translate, they don't care for tourists). Service is cheeky. Round the corner, one of the most charming shops in Paris, Parapluies Simon (56 Boulevard Saint-Michel, 75006) - only umbrellas and dandy walking sticks (you can hide a whisky mini flask in one of them, I am told by Someone on the phone, but I think he is trolling us - we love that shop).

The Tea Caddy (14 Rue Saint-Julien le Pauvre, 75005). It's been there since 1928, when a certain Miss Klinklin opened it and introduced the Devon scones to France. It is my favorite favorite (https://the-tea-caddy.com/en/tea-room/) and it is perfect on a rainy day. Steps away from the Medieval church of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, one of the most authentic and moving experiences of its kind in a very secular town. The Shakespeare & Co. bookstore is just round the corner. A rare gem of a place.

I could go on and on and on. Three more short tips and you will thank me for it, as alternatives to deceiving mainstream options:

The Musée de l'Orangerie instead of The Louvre. Blasphemy? Intense perfumes come in small bottles. It is breathtaking (https://www.musee-orangerie.fr/en).

Château de Rambouillet instead of Versailles (you will not be able to enjoy it AT ALL). Where else could you find Marie Antoinette's private 'milk bar' (La Laiterie de la Reine/ The Queen's Dairy), a supremely elegant affair, with milk-spouting fountains, built to encourage hygienic milk consumption as an alternative to breast-feeding (she was unable to). Trust me and plan a full day for it (https://www.chateau-rambouillet.fr/en/discover).

La Sainte-Chapelle instead of Notre Dame. I always preferred it to anything else, except perhaps Vézelay (far, far away from Paris). It will shock you, but in such a perfect way (https://www.sainte-chapelle.fr/en). Enough said: I will let you discover. Across the Seine, couple this visit with the Musée de Cluny and tell The Lady and the Unicorn I miss them (https://www.musee-moyenage.fr/en/).

I am not sorry for the length of this post. At all. I hope you will enjoy this modest, but very personal selection and perhaps you will come back and tell me if it was worth something. Bon voyage!

Notre Dame on a snowy evening, Paris 1953

[bayouwitches]

4

Chapter 3

Time for some cooking in the kitchen with Mama Marie...if the boys don't blow the house up...

“Now, tie the apron to fit you, cheri.”  Marie smiled over at her newest daughter.  “You too, petit mwen.”  Now her words were directed at Melania.  “Enough laundry comes out of this house without having to try and get stains out from cooking.”  The laugh that followed was rich, deep, and honest.  A smile accompanied it that lit up her face, causing her eyes to sparkle in the mid-morning light.

“Mama, ignore the explosions.  I promise we won’t leave nutria parts all over the yard this time.   Don is going to have the pups come over to clean up any mess.”  Francois stepped into the kitchen and dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek, then one on each of his sisters’ as well.  “And ladies, do not worry, we shall keep your husbands in one piece.  If not, Don knows how to bring back the dead.”  He winked when Mel snapped a towel at his ass. “Hey!”  He took a big step to the door laughing, “okay, fine, we will keep them alive.  The rodents though, no promises.”  With that he disappeared around the door frame, Mel rolling her eyes and shaking her head after him.

“You will clean the gore off of the siding, garcon!!”  Marie yelled after her eldest son, then sighed.  Some day she was going to have her youngest have one of those hounds of his take after that boy!  Maybe a good bite on the ass would set him straight?

Heaven and Melania both were having giggle fits when Marie’s eyes turned towards them.  Both tried to contain their amusement.  Both failed.  Marie just shook her head.  She loved her children, but after over two centuries there were times she wanted to introduce them to some of their less savory ancestors.

Returning to the task at hand, Marie had her daughters stand on each side of her.  She was going to demonstrate what they needed to do then stand back and watch them do it.  First would be to dice the “holy trinity” of onion, bell pepper, and celery.  They’d do the “pope” next, but they’d start with the basics first.  They would be making a huge pot of seafood jambalaya for the evening’s meal.  

The “girls” watched their mother dice, the knife seeming to almost float on its own over the cutting board, slicing the vegetables into small pieces in a fast pace that was almost a blur.  When it was their turn to to show Marie if they had been paying attention, Melania and Heaven looked at one another with raised brows and doubtful looks.  Here went nothing.  

While they didn’t have the fluidity of their mother, they were able to achieve the small dice that was required.  There might also have been a few of those small pieces that went airborne at one another when Marie’s attention was distracted.  One might also have ended up in Marie’s hair.  And while the girls hoped that she wouldn’t know, there was no hiding anything from Marie.  Not then, not ever.

Next came the garlic, and there was a little more trouble with it just due to the size, but it all ended up the way it should.  Once everything was diced, it was time to start the roux.  Now, any chef in Louisiana can tell you there are three types a blonde, a light, and a dark.  The only difference was the length of time you cooked it.  1 part fat to 1 part flour and stir.

“All right girls, now of your workout for the day.  You’re going to keep the roux going until we have a nice chestnut color, and I’m going to clean the seafood.   And Melania, if you let it burn, you’ll get to start it all over on your own.” Marie winked at her daughter who rolled her eyes.  Starting it over was never fun.

“Yes, mamma.” 

The girls took turns adding the bacon grease, lard, and butter to the huge pan Marie had put on the stove.  Then the stirring began.  Slow enough to let the flour toast, fast enough to keep it from burning, and just enough to cause the arms to burn.  It doesn’t sound like long, but forty-five minutes can seem a long time when you’ve got to keep things consistent.

Once that was done, in went the seafood stock…lots of it.  Next went in the vegetables.  Finally the spices before it was set on low and slow for several hours to let the flavors infuse all through the liquid and for it to thicken down.  The seafood would be added more towards the end to keep it from being overcooked.

Now done with their chore, and all the small pieces of vegetables out of their hair, it was time for Mint Juleps and snacks on the back porch of the mansion. While Marie and the girls had been getting the base of the jambalaya started, Marie II had been getting the tea sandwiches and small cakes ready for an old-fashioned tea party on the back porch.  Thankfully she was used to her brothers and her brother-in-law enough that the first explosion did not cause her to drop any of the fine china.  Had she, they no doubt would have paid dearly for it later while they scoured the internet for a replacement piece.  

As the women sat out on the porch, they could hear the sound of small explosions, gunfire, and the occasional verbose cussing coming from the bayou.  At least they could tell they were all alive…for now…they’d have to see how many drug their asses back up for dinner.

All dividers by @cafekitsune

Heaven & Arthur Shelby belong to @call-sign-shark

[animehouse-moe]

The Best of 2023 Anime

First of all, I have to say that this isn't my idea: it's @444lpblue's idea. I'm just stealing it getting to it it before they do.

Anyways, the idea was to pick the best for several categories in relation to anime from 2023, and share why they were chosen. This doesn't necessarily mean I'll be picking my favorites from the year, but what I think is the best of the best, so there'll be a few interesting choices made (but I think that makes it more fun). Enough preamble though, I should just get to sharing my list.

Best Show - Heavenly Delusion

I don't think this one is much of a surprise. Heavenly Delusion, by and large, is an outstanding show (and adaptation) in all meanings of the word.

I think the best way to explain what constitutes a "best show" is by asking the question: how much of the medium does this series make use of?

With Heavenly Delusion? The answer is effectively everything. Visual storytelling, auditory cues, leading the viewer visually, incredible foreshadowing, expressive and detailed character acting, apt humor, incredible visual effects. The list goes on and on. Frieren was a great show, Skip and Loaf was a great show, The Witch From Mercury was a great show. But the best can't fall short in nearly any category, and Heavenly Delusion successfully evades that pitfall at every twist and turn within its twelve episodes.

Personally speaking, it was a show for the ages. Sure, we have Frieren pushing the boundaries in terms of visual quality in a seasonal anime, but I think the difference in terms of experience between Frieren and Heavenly Delusion is night and day- an entirely incomparable experience.

Best Movie - The Boy and The Heron

I mean, is there really another choice? The Black Clover movie was good, the Kaguya movie was good. Suzume, The First Slam Dunk, Blue Giant. There are quite a few good movies out there, but let's be real- you just can't win if you're against Miyazaki.

Best Episode - Heavenly Delusion Episode 10

Yeah yeah, sue me, I picked something a lot of people have also picked. But just know in the deepest parts of my heart that this would always be my pick. Junichi's character arc and its expression through this episode is sublime. Ikarashi's insane Trigger style meshing with Hirotaka's more voyeuristic appeal is sublime. The panic of Kiruko as she runs with the baby, the goofy and excessive humor that opens the episode, all the various examples of symbolism. The art shifting art styles, the different approaches to animation. The list quite honestly does not end. While some might argue for Frieren's dragon episode as the entry for best of the year, I think the frame of reference for that argument is far too narrow. The perspective of animation and visuals above all else completely fails in the face of holy trinity of Masakazu Ishiguro, Mori Hirotaka, and Kai Ikarashi. You just cannot beat it, and you can't argue it in any way.

Best Opening - Magical Destroyers

It was a toss up between this and Heavenly Delusion, but I just can't get rid of this opening in my head. It's like a plague that's taken me over. Incredible visuals, incredible boards and animation work, and just an incredible testament to Jun Inagawa's art. Heavenly Delusion's OP is very good, but in a way can, oddly enough, feel too literal in comparison to the comparatively indecipherable story that the OP of Magical Destroyers tells. Really, just wonderful work all around that I desperately wish could have extended to the anime itself.

Best Ending - Magical Destroyers

This was always a one person race. Would it be Taiki Konno's Magical Destroyers ending, or would it be Taiki Konno's Undead Unluck ending?

Personally, I don't think there was much of a contest between the two purely because of the story told with the Magical Destroyers ending. I think that giving Konno a static ending also helped a great deal as they were able to explore their vision in much greater detail than having to animate directly.

But that's also the beauty of Inagawa's appeal, really. Konno and Inagawa got along like a house on fire with this ending, and adding The 13th Tailor's music overtop just brought it to a totally different level. Still a massive massive favorite of mine.

Best Animation Designs - Trigun Stampede

Now, just hear me out. 3D animation's sore spot has always been expressiveness, and bringing anime original designs to such an intensely beloved and cult classic series is an insane challenge.

Orange, of course, was totally up to the challenge and brought what I'd argue has become a modern icon of Vash the Stampede. The facial expressions, reactions, and interactions were impeccable. The larger movements were incredibly fluid and full of life and feeling. The cloth and other materials were amazing to experience.

The designs feel almost effortless in the context of 3D animation, and I really have to stress that that is a huge challenge. Look at how other characters look in 3D vs how these ones look. Really, really impressive work in my books.

Best Aesthetic - Bleach Thousand Year Blood War: The Separation

Bleach has, and always will be, a very aesthetically pleasing series. There's plenty of moments to pull from, but I think the second cour of TYBW presents the pinnacle of Bleach in anime form.

The lighting, the backgrounds and environments, the insane levels of composition: TYBW The Separation is the highest reaches of style Bleach has mustered to this date.

And really, there's not anything else to it. The iconic red and blue palette, the crazy details in highlights and shadows, the incredible color schemes and storyboards. It's simply Number 1.

And that's as far as the list goes. Pretty simple, but a pretty fun exercise in looking back on the year in terms of more specific aspects. Does highlight the gulf between good and great though, as there's many series that can qualify as "good", but very very few that can really be reasonably considered for accolades such as these.

2024 seems keen on changing that up though, so I'm really looking forward to what all we get for this year!

[mediaconsumernightwriter]

The Rampant Success of boygenius

Finishing a sold out tour dressed as the literal Holy Trinity and now coming up to an SNL performance, it’s safe to say boygenius isn’t the underground indie supergroup that they once were. Due to the status of indie royalty that Phoebe Bridgers has acquired the past few years, the group grew in popularity with her.

I have to be honest, my introduction to them wasn’t successful. I first listened to their first project boygenius when I was doing a deep dive into Phoebe’s discography. I had no idea who the other two were and didn’t care much, since I didn’t love the ep. I have changed my mind on a good portion of these opinions.

Everyone on TikTok freaks out about Phoebe (and Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo, etc.) so obviously when the new songs came out, it was all I was getting on my fyp. It appealed to my curiosity. So when the record came out, I listened to it. I could give you a detailed list of thoughts on each song, since I wrote them down (just let me know if you’d like something like that for a post), but I won’t. What I will tell you is that after 7 months since the album came out, I sit here with a “always an angel, never a god” tattoo on my leg. How did this happen?

First, I fell in love with certain songs in the record, one of them being Not Strong Enough. I usually don’t listen to lyrics on the first listen but the lines I have tattooed resonated with me. Secondly, they’re sung by Lucy Dacus. A year ago, I wouldn’t be able to tell you who she was. But that’s the beauty of boygenius: I discovered a beautiful soul, singer, songwriter, woman, etc. and usually the gateway for boygenius is Phoebe, as I mentioned, but you end up falling in love with Lucy and Julien. I fell harder for Lucy, since she’s my favourite artist at the moment (and I shamefully haven't listened to Julien’s music).

I think the appeal of boygenius to the main public, even if it’s mostly lesbians in love with the singers in the group, is that they each have their own fanbase, sound, unique voice, and they all bring something different to the table. Every boygenius fan has a favourite “boy” (as with everything) but they support the band because they see how much love and respect the boys have for each other. If you’re wondering why I’m calling them “boys”, you’re just not in the fandom and that’s okay.

Also, the music is good. I haven’t talked much about it, but you put three talented songwriters together and you’ll obviously get good music. The instrumentations are also beautiful and so well put together with the lyrics and harmonies. One of my favourite songs is Without You Without Them and that’s an acapella opening to the record, starring stunning vocals and harmonies from the boys. I’d recommend it.

I’m excited about their performance on Saturday Night Live, since Phoebe’s sparked so much controversy last time. There’s also been a request for “real musicians” to perform on SNL again, whatever that means, but if there is such a thing as real musicians, the boys are it.

I will make a separate post on Lucy someday, maybe focusing on my favourite songs and lyrics, and maybe report to you when I listen to Julien’s music. For now, I leave you with another beautiful lyric that makes me hopeful to fall in love, if not in this life, in the next one. “If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?”

[da-proti-toku-grem]

Heyhey another moodboard delivery 4 one fellow holy trinity loving N wonderful human we call Maca!! :))

*🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁*

(I couldn’t find ANY pictures of Ollie 4 shit so I had 2 use some art from (1) of my favourite moots N blogs ever ✨the one N only Hotcat37✨ :D)

Have U ever heard the story of how Ollie N Igor ended up becoming magical girls by complete accident?! Well this tale begins when Jan was taking Igor on a walk in their favourite forest that was only a couple of minutes from their home except that day Nace N Ollie were coming with them.The longer they ventured into the forest,the more their necklaces started 2 glow until they stopped 4 a little break N that was when both men’s transformation pacts seemingly fell out of their pockets without an explanation.By now both of them knew how this whole magical girl thingy worked,but what they didn’t know was if a living being was touching the person holding the pact,they would transform aswell..which lead 2 yk Ollie N Igor GETTING THEIR OWN TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE TOGETHER! Jan could only blink in absolute disbelief that his beloved kitty was all of sudden wearing something similar 2 his magical girl form,while Nace tried 2 hold back a giggle at seeing not only Igor but Ollie in a black and purple poofy,flowy dress that looked a lot like the one he was wearing in his magical girl state.The guitarist N the bassists pets could sense the villains from miles away as their owners followed their lead,(defeating them offscreen cuz this ask is getting long N we need 2 move the plot on now C’MON BOYS-) tho it took awhile N few cuss words were thrown around,the two bandmates N their companions defeated the bad guys with only a TINY amount of scars left (N yes Nace did kiss them better cuz he totally would if any of the boys asked him 2) now back in their civilian forms,Ollie climbed onto Nace’s lap N started licking him all over,chuckling N trying 2 keep the little dog from falling off as Jan dusted Igor down N gave him lots of pets N cuddles when they got home,still with Nace N Ollie in tow✨✨✨✨✨

I'm LOVING all these omg thanks sm for sending them my way 😭💖

Also I've been searching and I'm not sure if there's more *pics* of Ollie, but I found this one if that's useful :3

We've seen him more times, but they're all videos so idk if you'll be able to take a good screenshot, but in this video you can see Nace walking Ollie and here's another one of them cuddling (they have no right to be this adorable actually :(( <3)

[imperatorrrrr]

the holy trinity: which one is the father, which is the son, and which is the holy spirit.

sid, nico, roman

what does this even mean?!

you come to the one person who knows fuck all about Christianity with the Christianity themed question!

okay like I know abstractly that like "the father" is god and "the son" is Jesus and "the holy spirit" is erm, well I don't know, a ghost?

if anyone comes in my ask box to explain any of this to me I will scream, please I do not want to know.

okay, uh, okay...how do I do this. you're gonna have to follow me on this thought process I don't know what I'm doing here.

the son - I'm doing this one first because I think its the easiest? so if this the Jesus equivalent he needs to like die or whatever right? for the sins or whatever? like he's suffering right. like his whole thing is he ends up getting a cult of people who are like yeah this dude is magic right. but then there's a whole bunch of other people that like what him dead. so uh, yeah thats Nico. charming mother fucker but also everyone wants to beat up on him just a little. he suffers so beautifully our boy.

the father - okay so that's like the dude that sends the son out into the world right, like god or whatever. so lets make that Roman. cause before Nico is the first Swiss first overall pick, there's Roman Josi. and I've always said that Nico models his leadership style from Roman. in his image or whatever right? like there's no Nico without Roman. Nico will (in the Swiss Hockey context) always step aside for Roman and so the only person that would have that power over the son would be the father.

the holy spirit - which leaves this one as Sid. which is fine! he is the representation of like the end all be all of what hockey can be. he transcends hockey. also like to channel our dearest @devilssacrament, I'd love to get that spirit in me. or something to that effect. Sab would word it better and funnier, but you know what I mean. no but seriously, like the holy spirit is like how god like shows himself in the real world and so like Sid is just like the personification of good fucking hockey right? like generational.

[poobletoods]

tsb is on my mind today so im looking through a vid of the concept art and holy shit i forgot how good it is

every version of lafcadio looks so done with my shit. im sorry if ive offended you sir i love you that first one im choosing to accept as what he looked like when he was younger

the owl mask is SO good... full wise old man mode... im not sure what the concept behind that third one is, maybe a piece of glass or a chunk of post-fire rubble? and the middle one is just so fucking angy hes doing the arthur fist

also another instance of concept versions being SO long and spindly. it's a REALLY really fun art style but i am glad they all got a little chunkier, it really helps the readability from afar and the general cartoonishness of the style

concept art reggie is certainly something. his ass can NOT see

this version of clay is killing me who IS this man

oh fuck here he comes

trinity of course serving cunt in any form

her ass also cannot see but for reasons unrelated to outfit choices

godddd we couldve had a willow that kicked ass and took names.... she couldve LOOKED cool in addition to just BEING cool

also sad that she lost the curly hair

i think thats some kind of incense burner shes holding in some of these but for a second i DID think she just had a fucking gun

tequila im so happy with where you ended up you started out as a fucking nerd im sorry

beta grey also Could Not Fucking See and that long skinny version of him haunts me i forgot that existed

also he is in fact labeled "lightfingered locksmith" in this art which made me realize they took off the "ed" because of a character limit. it just wouldn't have fucking fit in the title card.

THERES MY BOY and he is looking BUSTED in that first image holy shit wheres the MEAT wheres the MUSCLE!!!!

that first mask is WILD i kinda love it the second one looks like a silly jack o lantern tho

i like to think lucas gave him a scary spooky mask because hes too nice to actually start shit. gotta max out this sap's intimidation.

love that aurum barely changed aside from mask design. they said first thought best thought and they were right. i love him so damn much

they gave him eye holes out of courtesy, very kind of them

also realizing i'm gonna have to draw this bitch's chair in the near future why did it have to be so intricateeeeee

motherfucker himself. i love the sketches in the corner he's a shitty little bird doing his shitty little jojo poses

glad he got the wing cape back too that is an ESSENTIAL part of the phoenix motif

god ellie is so fucking CUTE

interesting to see how titles changed as well, maybe she and lucas were originally just engaged and not married?

i love how many initial designs were just Long

the portraits are all so gooooood i love all these funny guys :)

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

Adam Warlock :^)

The free space is for :

🌌🌠⭐✨💫 SPAAAACEEEE 💫✨⭐🌠🌌

for him to fly around, wax poetic, philosophize and drown in cosmic existentialism!

(the lost potential and writers dropping the ball-spots are the inherent reality that comes with mainstream superhero comics, some good some bad, some writers and artists whose takes we prefer and some we don't)

Adam... my golden boi, my glamrock space jesus, my spiritual vampire, my ferrero rocher... have some reasons I love him in no particular order:

He's the reason I came to tumblr in the first place so I owe him for all the incredible people I've met on here since *points at you edith* Even my username is based on his vibes.

I love his design (well some of them), the floofy 80's mom hair, the eyeliner, the wizard cape, the lil skull brooch, the red and gold (and sometimes black) colour palette, etc

I love his relationship with the soul gem (he feels naked to me without it) and how it introduced the whole concept of infinity gems into the universe

I love how he's always an outsider, always apart, I love his contradictory nature: how he's the avatar of life but is unable to truly enjoy life; how he craves peace and quiet and yet is constantly being pulled to take part in universe-shattering conflicts; he's the master of the soul gem and thus has insight into other people's souls and yet is unable to truly connect with most beings, he's Thanos' self appointed psychologist and is way worse than him, etc

On that last point I love his constant mental breakdowns and I love that his head is a mess. Adam travels to Thanos' mind and it's regular goth shit with skulls and stuff, but when Thanos travels to Adam's mind he's like "whoa dude! this is fucked up!"

I love that he can't stay alive for more than 5 minutes at a time, shout-out to his tombstone for when he was only 10 years old, actual literal baby boi!

I love his journeys of self discovery that helped at a time where I was going on some introspective journeys of my own

I love that this cosmic being of incomprehensible power is afraid of women and relationships, he can deal with the fabric of the universe breaking, that's easy compared to feelings

I love his soon to be 50 year long incredible slow-burn relationship with Thanos they come in a package do not separate them, I love the similarities between the two and how they understand each other completely in spite of their differences, I love how they'd rather blow up the universe than resolve their issues without making it everybody's problem ;)

On that note, I love them finishing each other's sentences

Also on the similarities point, I love you “It wouldn’t be the first seed to his own destruction I’ve seen Thanos plant. I fear it is a trait I have in common with him.”

I love you "The Talk", “I know you as no other being in the universe does, better than even you do yourself!”  the three pages that probably made me want to know all about them

I love the - largely criminally unexplored - Adam, Thanos and Mistress Death relationship, mostly on Death and Adam's side

I love how when Adam became God™ he thought the wisest thing to do to go about his new responsibilities was saying: fuck gender! , and get rid of them messy feminine and masculine traits of his

On that note I love that two huge marvel summer events were about said masculine (the magus), and feminine (the goddess) traits fucking over the universe (Infinity War and Infinity Crusade consecutively) and Adam eventually accepting them as part of himself instead of shunning them in the end

I love the holy trinity that is Adam, Gamora and Pip, my beloved trio... how they're always there for him no matter what they love his ass so much, look at this art, Adam's cape is for wrapping his loved ones with

I love you Adam and Gamora 💛💚💛💚💛💚 I love you "From Gamora I am discovering that there is more to life than action and adventure, strife and conflict. I never realized that mere words or a touch could prove to be such subtle treasures. Keys to unimagined happiness."

I have a soft spot for you Roy Thomas/Gil Kane Adam, you like many other Adams, had great unrealized potential

I love his sadomasochistic tendencies (lmao get crucified idiot, more than once btw!) and his self-destructive tendencies

I love how 90's!Adam took a new look at Thanos and went "I can fix him, I can make him worse", and it has been that way ever since, just inserting himself in Thanos' life any chance he gets... the way they self-destruct without the other

I love you exchange between Adam and Thanos that goes: “Travel well and safely, my friend.”

“Friend? Yes, I guess that is what we are.”"

I love you ending of Infinity Gauntlet

I love that the first thing Adam does upon arriving at an alien planet is start petting a cat, he's just like me for real

I love you relationship with whiny baby ass Eternity, old divorced couple dynamic my beloved

I love you "Look at yourself, Warlock! You've always been a creature of passion and excess! You either love dearly or hate viciously". Adam's holier-than-thou, self-righteous indignation, my beloved.

I love that Adam and the Infinity Watch tape low budget pornos in order to pay rent to Mole Man, their landlord

I love you "Death holds no terror for me. It's life I fear":

I love you endless cycles of death and rebirth, they're not uncommon in superhero comics but what I love is how being unable to truly die shaped his character and worldview on life (and I love how scared he was of suddenly dying when the prospect of no coming back this time arose, it didn't last though lol some amazing potential there that went unexplored right after it came up):

I love you Princess Bride meme that fits Adam and Thanos so well "- You mock my pain! - Life is pain, anyone who says otherwise is obviously selling something!”

I love you "I have no dreams/You know I've always wished to be longed to be normal", the whole thing really the way Thanos is trying to reach out to him at the end with his hand stretched out shut uuuuuuppppp

[arcstral]

ooc; TOA Anniversary Munday!

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is. Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing! Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: Soji

Pronouns: She/her

Birthday (no year): October 14

Where are you from? What is your time zone? United States. Both my parents are from South Korea. East coast resident (EST)

Roleplay experience: A little over 13 years of roleplay experience

Got any pets? One chinchilla affectionately dubbed Souji Man and a 'Shavanese' dog (short-haired Havanese) named Happy

Favorite time of year: Autumn

Some interests and things you like: The holy trinity of cosplaying, writing, and drawing

Some fun facts & trivia about you:

— I joined TOA during the peak of Covid quarantining in 2020 when there was a huge convention dry spell. The indie roleplay scene for Fire Emblem during this time was uneventful too. Having no productive outlet for cosplaying or writing, it lead me to join my first RP group which was (jazz hands) TOA

— My zodiac animal is a rabbit

— I have hundreds upon hundreds of hours clocked on Super Smash Bros from Brawl to Ultimate. You'll never guess who I main.

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? Final Fantasy XIV, Project Zomboid, Phasmophobia, Touken Ranbu, and Stardew Valley in order of frequency.

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: I like bug types; my favorite Pokemon is Scizor. While not Pokemon my favorite Digimon, Kabuterimon, is also a bug. Honorable mention goes to Greninja.

How did you get into Fire Emblem? Saw Shadow Dragon in my local Gamestop one day and didn't buy it even though it stuck out to me with its somber and less colorful boxart. Next time I saw a Fire Emblem game in the store, i.e., Awakening, I bought and played it. The rest is history.

What Fire Emblem games have you played? If we're talking start-to-end I've played and finished FE1, FE3, FE7, FE9, FE11, FE12, Awakening, SOV, 3H, and Engage. The remaining games in the series I've played to either early or mid game.

First Fire Emblem game: Awakening

Favorite Fire Emblem game: FE11 Shadow Dragon

Any Fire Emblem crushes? FE7 Rath was my first and only concrete FE crush. Marth was initially more of an aesthetic source of admiration though knowing his character better he likely exemplifies the ideal partner. Similar to Marth he's not really a crush, but right now I think a lot about Rafal, ironically less in the realm of looks or perfection and more at his attractive hot-and-cold personality.

If you’ve played the following games, who was your first S support? - Awakening: Chrom - Fates: Kaden was my forecast - Three Houses: Dimitri - Engage: Alfred

Favorite Fire Emblem class: Dracoknight

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class? Archer. My first class in FFXIV was an archer and my FE tastes will reflect that too.

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? Blue Lions

If you were an Engage character, which Emblem would you Engage with? Marth. Need me a princely ghost boyfriend I mean advisor with a good head on his shoulders.

How did you find TOA? Through Fire Emblem roleplay related tags

Current TOA muses: Marth and Rafal

Who was your first TOA muse? If you don’t have them anymore, could you see yourself picking them up again? Marth is my ride or die Fire Emblem character and that extends to him as a muse.

Have you had any other TOA muses? Besides Marth and Rafal I've also written Xane. Though there isn't a lot of data, my second muse slot historically (and presently) being reserved for dragons tickles me a lot.

Do you think you have a type of character you gravitate towards? Not really. My tastes are unexplainably versatile. I can favor the sweet and friendly golden boy type characters, or the less pristine and morally ambiguous "bad boy" types, and everything in-between. This isn't just true for TOA but also for characters from different series. My friends have a lot of trouble forecasting possible favorites for me because of it.

What do you believe you enjoy writing the most? Emotions. Conflict with those emotions. Mwahahahaha

Favorite TOA-related memory: The first few months into my TOA debut when everything was bright, fresh, and new. Meeting new friends and forging bonds with other characters was super fun and I still remember who was around me during that time. Farina (written by Maxie) is the closest muse to Marth in terms of when they joined TOA and who has stayed to this day.

Got any delusions that didn’t see the light of day in TOA that you’d like to share? I tend to be very stable, loyal, and proactive in my delusions. If they're strong enough I pursue them, like Xane and Rafal. Rath would be among them if I ever replayed FE7 and if I determined having three muses wouldn't make my performance suffer over all.

[discocactusblogs]

About Me

Hello, I'm Disco (I also go by Nat), and I am 23 years old. This blog is mainly for personal use but I do sometimes share my fanfics on here and I'll post the link to my AO3 down below.

I don't think I've done an "about me" thing in a good long while, so sorry if everything is out of format.

To get started, I love Classical music. My favorite composers are Tchaikovsky, Bach, Paganini, Chopin, Schubert, Vivaldi, and Handel.

I absolutely love superheroes and their symbolism (do what's right, no matter what). Some of my favorite superheroes include Captain America, Batman, Superman, Green Lantern, Nightwing, Wondergirl, Orphan, Batgirl, and Green Arrow.

I also love true crime and forensic science. My favorite podcasts are Listening To The Dead, Killer Psyche, Morbid, and Casual Criminalist.

Some of my favorite movies include The Lost Boys (1987), Labyrinth (1986), The Indiana Jones franchise (minus the two newest ones), The Lego Movie, Pride And Prejudice (2005), and Batman (1989).

What I Believe As A Christian

I believe in the Holy Trinity (Matt. 28:19; John 14:26) . I believe the Bible is the God inspired Word of God (2 Tim. 3:16; Romans 15:4; Rom. 10:17), and there is only one God (Is. 44:6; 1 Cor. 8:6; James 2:19). I believe in salvation by grace through the blood of Jesus Christ and by Christ alone (Matt. 26:28; Heb. 9:12; 1 John 2:2; John 14:5-7; Col. 1:19-23; Col. 2:13-15; Rom. 5:6-11). I believe in the perseverance of the saints (Rom. 5:3-5; Gal. 6:9; James 1:2-4; 1 Peter 5:8-9; 2 Cor. 4:16-18). I believe there must be a change in our lives when we receive Christ as our Lord and Savior and we must turn away from our sins (Luke 9:23-26; Luke 6:46-49; John 14:23- 24; Josh. 24:14-25; 2 Cor. 6:17-18; 1 John 1:5-10; Romans 6). I believe we are given a new start when we accept Christ (John 3:5-7; 2 Cor. 5:17; Eph. 4:17-32).

My Hobbies

My side hobbies include crocheting, writing, art, cooking, baking, and video gaming. Oh, and reading! I love reading!

My favorite writers are Alexandre Dumas, Victoria Lynn, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Currently Playing...

Stardew Valley, Project Zomboid, Lego DC Super Villains, Gotham Knights.

Other

My fandom list is found here, and my AO3 where my fanfics and oneshots are is here.

I do not take requests at the moment due to my schedule being hectic.

Current WIPs

I am currently working on a Jason Todd x Blue Lantern OC redemptive fic that is primarily focused on growth, forgiveness, and hope, with the end goal being Jason finding a new start in Christ. The title will be There Is Beauty In The Way Of Things.

I'm also working on a manga panel redrawing of Hawks from My Hero Academia.