#is my privileged background showing? absolutely

[foxyatlas]

Currently reading The Raven Cycle series (on book 4) and Adam is so so against taking money from his friends that it makes me want to read a sugar daddy au with him. No sex needed, I just want to see Adam take some goddamn help and have to shut up about it.

[incorrectbatfam]

I need Damian roasting the fam like that John Mulaney quote about middle schoolers insulting you in an accurate way

Damian: The American Hackney is a critically endangered horse breed with only about 200 remaining in the world. I consider myself privileged to be in the company of one right now.

Stephanie, to herself: I can't hit a kid, I can't hit a kid, I can't—

———————

Damian: Your glasses look like the headlights of Superman's pickup truck.

Barbara: Get back to patrol.

———————

Damian: You astound me.

Tim: How so?

Damian: You have far exceeded your life expectancy given your absolutely atrocious self-care habits.

———————

Damian: Father, you cook like someone who's never seen food in his life.

———————

Damian: Grayson, I need your help with a history project.

Dick: Sure, what's it on?

Damian: The Paleolithic Era. Tell me everything you remember about your childhood.

———————

Duke: You say a lotta out-of-pocket things.

Damian: What, like the fact that the Signal-cycle sounds like a washing machine setting?

———————

Damian: Todd, I didn't know you were a Hollywood background character.

Jason: Really? Where?

Damian: *plays The Walking Dead*

———————

Damian: Cain—

Cassandra: Nope.

Damian: But—

Cassandra: I said no.

Damian: Fine.

Cassandra:

Damian:

Cassandra:

Damian: Your ballet shoes look like beans.

———————

Damian: Kyle, may I see your engagement ring?

Selina: Sure.

Selina: *shows him a big diamond*

Damian: *squints*

———————

Damian: *opens his mouth*

Alfred: Don't even try.

Damian: Understood, have a nice day.

———————

Damian, to his reflection: I never realized my hair looks like a shower brush.

[crispywaffles2]

Can you please give me your general romance headcannons for Present Wukong?

Any gender is fine

Of course!!!! Thank you so much for asking! I'm so excited to be writing this!!!!

Wukong Romance Headcanons!

First things first, let me just say that this monkey is pretty dense when it comes to romance

That's dorky mortal stuff!! The Great Sage doesn't have time for snuggles or.. whatever humans do.

That is, until he meets you!

He is absolutely head over heels, and you best believe he's determined on winning your affections

Whether it's purposefully flaunting his powers even when it's unnecessary by using his staff to fling something over to him, or going shirtless to show off his muscles because "Hey, even immortals overheat!"

He's going all out

Once he realizes that you won't drop to your knees and confess your undying love for him after a bit of showboating, he actually starts taking things seriously

He takes the time to get to know you, commiting every interest and small detail to memory

(He isn't known for remembering important details, so he always tells his monkeys afterwards so that they can remind him should he forget!)

If he is able to overcome his pride and confess to you (which would take way longer than you just confessing first), then he would try to play it off casually

"I mean, I guess you could say I've had a thing for you for a little while. I never really told you cause I thought you'd freak out, but I figured I should just get it off my chest."

"You set up a picnic in front of the sunset with a romantic song in the background just to 'get it off your chest'?"

He threw his staff into the boom box that was blasting slow Bruno Mars songs out of pure embarrassment

Now, finally, once you two actually start dating!

Wukong treats it as basically still being friends with you, but with the privilege of being able to be affectionate

He takes full advantage of it don't worry

You'll get kisses from head to toe if he's feeling particularly smitten

Bear hugs if he's happy (sometimes he doesn't know his own strength and tends to affectionately manhandle things when he's not thinking, but he never hurts you)

Cuddles if he's feeling down

Nicknames are everything for this guy

He'd probably just call you bud to be completely honest, but sometimes he'll tease you and switch it up!

Uses old-timey/corny names like 'sweet stuff' or 'cutie'

Wukong is far from the best at comforting people, but he'll try his very best if you're upset

His first tactic is making jokes or teasing you until he can see a smile begin to spread across your beautiful face, at which he'll tackle you into a hug

If that doesn't work, then he'll try to be gentle and affectionate and talk things out with you. When you don't laugh at his first few jokes, he'll slowly sit behind you and wrap his arms around your slouched frame and bury his face in your hair

"I'm sorry that happened bud.. wanna talk it out?"

And if all else fails, then he'll just sit beside you. Quietly. He'd never leave you alone when you're in your feelings. No one deserves that.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Gavi Fluff Alphabet

The long awaited and highly requested. I can't bring myself to write smut rn tbh. Like my head is pounding and I'm about to vom. So sexy. Please keep expectations in the dirt so I can exceed them with my sleepy writing.

~~~

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

I don't think Pablo is the type to show much affection in public

He's still quite young and shy, not eager to be teased in person or online about PDA

I think affection in public would be limited to hand-holding, maybe a side hug

Even the gentlemen stuff would escape him in an effort not to come across too sappy.

Like he'll hold your bags, but you're getting your own doors

In private though? Man is a teddy bear

Attached to you

Always wants to be touching you in some way - sitting too close, laying on your lap, anything

Will actually pout if he's not given kisses and affection hourly

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend?)

Scary dog privileges but as a person

Would always be FaceTiming you just to have your presence there in the background

Sends you at least 20 tiktoks a day because they remind him of you

Always pays when y'all are out

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

Absolutely necessary

Actually so touch starved that he might die without some quality time from you

Started out with you wrapping yourself around his shoulders to get his attention (since he's confirmed always on his phone)

Now you'll be minding your business and feel him wrap his arms around you

Like to be the baby, laying on top of you, getting his hair played with

Prefers when neither of you have a proper shirt on so the two of you can share body heat

Must be a separate activity from sleeping - Gavi get's too hot and restless in his sleep to cuddle

Age regression - literally a little puppy when he’s in your arms, responding in nods and whimpers

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they around the house?)

Pablo cannot imagine settling down right now

He loves his youth and his job and his freedom

But looking at you in his house, laying on his couch or waking up next to him, he thinks he could get used to this

Quite lazy around the house tbh

Regular teenage boy; does the bare minimum to not be living in filth

Very good about one thing: dishes.

Fun fact: gavi seems like the type to be afraid of cockroaches and other critters, so he’s amazing at doing everything to prevent them from entering his house

Baby steps towards domesticity: letting you stay over, then buying you a toothbrush, then a drawer, then a key to the front door

e = ending (if they had to break up with their s/o, how would they do it?)

Pablo is not good at feelings or confrontation

So if he ever needed to break up with a girl, he would do it indirectly

Probably over text or through a phone call, because he doesn’t know how to handle heartbreak

If it was in person, he would do it in public, buying you a meal or coffee before breaking the news

He would always repeat how it’s a problem with him, how he needed to figure himself out, and how there was no blame on you

Getaway car waiting outside

f = fiancé (how would they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

Rather terrifying prospect for pablito

Wants to have his own accomplishments in his career before he looks to lock you down

Type to give you a promise ring on a necklace

“Princesa, im going to be the best someday, and you deserve nothing but the best. So wait for me until I get there?”

Not the type to do long engagements - as long as it takes to plan the wedding and that’s all

Once he proposes, he wants you to be his as soon as possible - Mrs. Gavira can’t come soon enough

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically? Not so gentle

Forgets that he’s gone through a bulk period and he now has a lot of muscle

Still play fights like he’s a scrawny 14 year old, occasionally being too harsh

Everything is a little too intense but that’s what makes it Gavi

His hugs are a little tight on your ribs, his grip restricting the blood flow to your hand slightly

But you love it all the same because it’s him

Emotionally tho? My man is a marshmallow over an open flame

Still young and rather volatile - emotions are right on the surface

His happiness is immediate and overflowing, radiating even

But when he’s sad or anxious? His whole being changes

Sad eyes, dropped shoulders, crossed arms - be was a different person

Tries to be as gentle as possible with your feelings because he didn’t want to lose you or compromise what y’all have

Also wants to establish a dynamic where you two are gentle with each other

Because otherwise he’ll break down and close off from you entirely

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

Any Gavi girl knows what I’m about to say

Man loves hugs

Adores them

Occur every time he sees you

What type of hug?? Girl

You know the one

One arm around the waist, securing you to his chest

The other around your head, bringing you in gently to rest beneath his chin

And of course it’s couple with that little smooth on the side of the head

For hello, good bye, good luck, and I L*** Y**, this was his delivery message of choice

Sometimes Pablo will pull you in for long hugs where he can just breathe you in, enjoying the feeling of you in his arms

Always ended with a sweet kiss on the top of your forehead, eyes meeting yours to describe what you should call your situation

i = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Okay so someone please educate me - is saying I love you like a big moment in other cultures?

Like I’m Arab, and saying بحبك for the first time is not a huge thing

So I think that would influence when he says it out loud

But I think Pablo would take a while to realize that he’s in love

He’s young and doesn’t really understand the feeling of being in love with someone else

I think it would take a good 6-8 months before he would be able to look at you and think “wow. So this is what being in love feels like.”

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they're jealous?)

Controversial opinion: I don’t think Gavi would be the type to get jealous quickly

I know I know but before you get the pitchforks lemme explain

Everyone talks about how Gavi doesn’t get nervous or really doubt himself

He knows he’s hot shit okay?

Both on the field and off, he’s confident in what he brings to the table

So when he gets a girl, he’s gonna be confident in that as well, knowing that he was able to pull her

He gets a kick watching guys flirt with you, because he knows that you’ll never give them the time of day

The only time he might get jealous is when you fawn over another man in front of him

Especially if it’s another footballer

He’s the type to pout and get quiet, scowling at the thought of you all giddy about someone else

Would pull you onto his lap and ask you in a soft voice

“You’re happy with me right?”

Just needs a little bit of reassurance that he’s doing everything in his power to be the best for you

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss their partner? where do they like to be kissed?)

Not to be predictable, but I think he would love kissing you on the neck and the forehead

Like he seems like the type to give you affectionate kisses on the cheek and stuff rather than kissing on the lips all the time

The type to kiss the back of your hand, the top of your head, your bare shoulder

Just a thousand little pecks everywhere

Will grab your face with both hands and give you a fat kiss when he’s feeling excited

otherwise, he’s quite gentle in the way he kisses you

Soft lips moving against yours slowly, takes a while to warm up to intense making out (in the session not overall - hes 18 )

Likes to be kissed on cheek and on the neck

Loves when you sit on his lap and kiss him deeply

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

You’d think he’d not be great with kids because he’s young and kind of aggressive

But you and me both have seen the videos of him in the hospital

So sweet and gentle with the young ones

Loves to pick them up and put them on his shoulders

Very patient with little kid nonsense

Can’t help but think about having his own kids one day

Tells you off handedly that’s he’s excited to be a father one day

“You think our kids will be good at football?”

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Hectic

Very energetic in the morning on account of having training so early

Always practically jumping out of bed ready to go

Wakes you up by squeezing you tightly and kissing all over your face

Makes sure you eat in the morning no matter how much you object

n = nights (how are nights spent with them?)

On weekdays, Pablo is fucking tired

Comes home ready to pass the fuck out from training

Lots of eating dinner on the couch and lazy nights

Ready to go to bed by like 10pm

Gets very childish and cranky when he’s tired - lots of pouting and whining to go to sleep

On weekends, he’s a little more enthused

Ready to go out to a restaurant or club with you and have fun

Still keeps things within limits - no blacking out or throwing up

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves?)

A while y’all

Pablo is a great listener - loves to hear about you and your interests

But about himself? He’s not a fan

Gets too shy and nervous - thinks he’s boring or bothering you with details about his life

Stuff will slip here and there when he’s stressed, and he starts blushing immediately upon realizing he’s over shared

Starts warming up to you 3-4 months in, just with little tid bits about his family and early life

More likely to speak to you when you were cuddled up, playing with his hair, running your fingers up and down his arm

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

Be for real y’all

My man has little to no patience

Very short fuse

Was a major point of tension early in the relationship

Quick to anger, but also quick to calm down

Doesn’t dwell on things and it’s always ready to move on

Learning to be more calm and patient with you

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about their partner?)

Takes learning about you very seriously

Always super interested when you speak, completely taken by you

Makes notes in his phone about everything: your favorite flowers, dream vacation spots, and more

Interestingly enough, forgets super simple things about you, like your favorite color

r = remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

There were so many little domestic moments that Gavi loved experiencing with you

But the one moment he treasured the most with you was the first time you went to Sevilla with him

Your laughter, your energy, just lit up his hometown

He loved watching your interactions with his family and friends

You both were laying in bed in his parents’ house, just laying with you and being silly when you talked about how much you missed the beach

“The beach is only like an hour away. We can go tomorrow morning if you want.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, smiling from ear to ear

The following morning, you woke up to Gavi running around

He already had everything packed in the car

His newly licensed ass drove you to the beach, and you just played around like kids

You sat on the sand, laying on Pablo’s shoulder

“Pablo, this is the best day ever.”

He pushed your hair behind your ear and kissed you deeply

His heart physically swelled whenever he thought about that moment

s = security (how protective are they? would they like to be protected?)

Super protective of you when he feels like you could be hurt

Whenever you two were out at somewhere rowdy, he always had a hand on you

Ready to fight anybody that touched you

Honestly felt a little emasculated whenever you tried to protect him

Got irritated whenever you fussed over him and his injuries

Started to warm up to it after he got a cut on his face, liking you babying him and being so close to his face

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Initially, he wasn’t trying very hard

Just being a teenager really - simple dates and texting a lot

“Pablo, when are we going to go on a real date?”

The question threw him off immensely, causing him to consult his teammates about what classifies as a date

He realized he had been severely lacking in the effort department

Started trying harder - restaurants, cute picnics, thoughtful gifts

You had started thinking he had done something wrong and was trying to compensate

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Homie is a S L O B

Like does not pick up after himself at all

Not a problem until you start staying over at his place

He has to remove piles of clothes from the bed just for you two to sleep

He’s also always on his phone

Can’t put it down

Can get really annoying when you’re trying to talk to him and he’s staring at his screen

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

In the face, Gavi is not supper confident in his looks

He’s a little insecure that he still looks so young

Wants to look more mature

His body tho????

Yeah, homie knows he’s fine

FOINE

He’s worked hard on his physique, and so he’s confident in the fruits of his efforts

Loves sitting shirtless around the house

You catch him staring at himself in reflective surfaces

Would never say it out loud, but knows he’s got a body to drool over, and uses it to his advantage

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

I don’t think so

Gavi needs to play football to be complete

That’s the only thing I think he could lose that would make it feel like a piece of his soul was missing

You didn’t complete his world - you were a different world entirely

When you weren’t around, it just felt like he was stuck in a routine

x - xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

Pablo loves seeing you in Barça merch

He just thinks it’s the culmination of all his life coming together when he sees you in the blaugrana

You have a pair of Barça sweats that be especially loves

Literally so careless with all your clothes except your merch

Washes it per label instructions, never rips it off you - the whole nine

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

Hates people who are stuck up

Needs a girl to be down to earth - he’s not making that much money

Can’t deal with anyone uptight either - needs someone willing to just go with the flow

z = zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?)

As mentioned previously, gets very hot in his sleep

Can’t cuddle or be too close because man will sweat and stay up all night

Has had a habit of kicking the blankets off since he was a kid

Had to adjust when you started staying over because you would be freezing and curled into a ball in the morning

Has the room super cold and sleeps basically naked when you’re there so he doesn’t get the urge to kick the sheets to the floor

~~

Guys I’m so sleeeeeepyyyyyyyyyy so hope your expectations were low. Also just realized that people schedule things to be posted. Like not everyone posts their fics the second they finish at crackhead hours like me. Oh well.

[druidshollow]

*punches a hole through ur door and opens it*hiii~ Tell me about your ancients I've seen some of your art of them but I do not know the deets if there's any public.

hello. i've decided to go absolutely off the wall with this one instead of answering like a normal person! :D

separating this into categories, i've made a masterpost of ancient headcanons. sorry this took so long to answer but i think you will come to understand as most of this only existed in my brain until you hit my inbox

Government/the Council Pillars

A local group is consisted of atleast three cities, and always has atleast one Council Pillar, typically on the oldest structure but not always. The Council Pillar houses the governing body consisting of the High Councillors, the Esteemed, and the local Low Council.

HIGH COUNCILLORS High Councillors are the highest government of their society and are responsible for many things, including punishment of criminals, judgment regarding severe crimes, assigning people to governing positions, and overseeing their Lower Councils and the Iterator Project. They are only chosen by eachother, and live in the highest rooms of Council Pillars. They typically come from backgrounds of privilege, scholars, rich folk and people of influence. They are the only people who aren't required to always have an ID drone on hand.

ESTEEMED MEMBERS OF THE ITERATOR PROJECT A position gifted to Iterator Project scientists who show special talent with and understanding of the iterators and/or organism purposing. Esteemed Members are directly responsible for an iterator in some way. They are administrators, project leads, bio-engineers and analysts, to name a few. They must be endorsed by another Esteemed or a High Councillor, and then be approved by the rest of their High Council. They are either chosen from the pre-existing team on an iterator, or from scientists and new scholars. Typically, the top student of the graduate class from the School of Solutions is endorsed and sent to a structure in need of scientists.

ADMINISTRATORS Iterator Admins are always Esteemed and are considered of more influence than their peers. They can access everything an iterator can about themselves as well as more. They are responsible for the continued functionality of their charges, as well as the quality of their workload. They are often approached by their local High Council for their opinions on issues and are typically held at very high esteem (haha) by society. Their rooms in the Council Pillars are always above the rest of their local Esteemed, and contains a large motherboard of sorts for their iterator. Here they can access their statistics, health, work, current processes, memories, overseers, and probably most other things you can think of. Iterators must run some things by their admins before they do them, for example purposing life.

LOW COUNCILLORS If a city loses a Low Councillor to death or ascension, candidates are chosen by their Council and an election is held after multiple sessions of debate. Low Councillors are responsible for less severe crime, city construction/welfare, management of emergency resources, overseeing festivals/celebrations, and governing law enforcement, as well as other municipal work.

Punishment for crime is usually things like public service, but severe crimes and sometimes breaches of sensitive information can involve more harsh punishment. Violent criminals or enemies of the High Councils are sometimes responded to with a... mandatory visit to the religious acid bath! (void fluid tub time babyyyy)

There is visible class divide. People still live below the clouds, away from the Iterator cities. These lower industrial settlements are often quite slumlike, and the high class are scorned and often disdained by them. These settlements tend to be quite close-knit and casual, very opposite to the professional and flamboyant nature of the higher class. They have eachothers' backs because the government doesn't seem to have theirs. Life extending treatment and easy access to void fluid are not available to these people. They must fight very hard to reach scholar positions and achieve "success" in high society's eyes.

Everyone outside the High Councillors MUST have an ID Drone so they can be kept track of. Ways around this are common among the lower class. Some even just smash them as act of rebellion.

Anatomy/The Ancient Race/Customs

Ancients share a common ancestor with Scavengers and are bipedal mammals. They have frills and barbells like scavengers do, and their "hair" is not really hair and is closer to large frills in a sense? to be fully honest I'm not fully sure how it works. The Ancients have large hands, long limbs, and three digits on their feet. They have flat teeth, except for four sharp shark-like back teeth evolved for breaking insect exoskeletons and shellfish shells. Ancients now typically live off of nectar and plant matter.

Sexual dimorphism is incredibly limited and is only really visible in the sin bits. Trans and queer people are widely accepted and pretty common. Having children is rarely a priority. There are medical advancements available mostly to the rich that allow for lifespans to be stretched much longer than natural, and many consider introducing new lives to the Great Cycle immoral.

Although their spiritual beliefs revolve around enlightenment beyond the self, they are an indulgent people. Celebrations and festivals take place throughout the major cycles, and body mods and fancy clothes are commonplace in iterator cities. There are alcohol and drug equivalents, i sketched a comic once (that I've never posted) in which Flowers gets absolutely wasted. I'll probably post the full thing sometime but it in general covers some pretty sensitive themes haha

Its a drunk evil man wow

I haven't chosen any specific festivals but I imagine there are some based on the seasons, and there is probably large celebrations when people of importance go to the void.

The Ancients are called that for their innate understanding of the Great Cycle, and for the old belief that their kind all have old souls. They've been around the cycle so many times that they themselves Are Ancient. Extended lifespans has resulted in the same people remaining in positions of power for very extended periods of time, and the desperation for a solution to the Great Problem to be found increasing. I have some confusing headcanons on how the cycle of life and death works- I'll spare you all that garbage for now mostly because I've already been writing for so long. All you really need to know is that if you die of any way that isn't old age or disease like the rot, you cycle back to the beginning of that day. If you DO die of age or destructive illness, you begin a new cycle and reincarnate. Extending their lives was intended to help continue scientific revolution but it just meant entrapping themselves longer. Their increasing desperation eventually lead to The Mass Ascension.

The Mass Ascension

(the following text is copy-pasted from the above picture so you don't read it twice lol)

A member of the High Council of one of the first iterator cities one day decided that they could tolerate the imprisoning nature of the cycle no longer. They developed a weapon of mass destruction, a device that would release a soundwave powerful enough to tear along the entire world. This soundwave was not the real weapon; rather it was the trillions of single cell lifeforms it ferried across the planet. These organisms were comprised of almost pure void fluid, were invisible to the eye, and were programmed to specifically consume Ancient matter and break it away in the same manner that void fluid does. Once they run out of matter to consume they die. This process happened much too quickly for the Ancients to have time to feel much pain, or even comprehend what happened.

Basically, it released a gaseous wave of void fluid across the entire world. This attack was horrifically efficient. Almost the entirety of Ancientkind were destroyed 30 hours after the attack, and those who were fortunate enough to somehow evade the blast were spread too far apart and were unable to carry society on their own. The Ancients went extinct.

This behaved like normal ascension. If you had reached enlightenment or were well-enough attuned, you properly ascended. If not, you became an echo. This most likely resulted in a lot of echoes.

It was the nuclear warfare rapture, basically.

(copy-paste text end)

One day I might give a name to the guy who ended the world but for now I got nothing, lol. I think I'll name the iterator they lived on Deafening Secret or something like that. I imagine the blast caused Secret considerable damage.

I'm sure I'm going to think of 500 things to add once I post this but for the sake of actually answering one of these asks I'm gonna post it, lmao. hope this sates your curiousity a bit!! thanks for the opportunity to infodump

[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! ❤

[neuroticbookworm]

Social Class Commentary in I Feel You Linger In The Air, episode 5

I Feel You Linger In The Air continues to blow my mind week after week (I love you, Yai and his pink pants), but today's episode was especially brilliant with its commentary on oppression across social class, and how people react and adapt to it.

Prik has been a potential problem lurking in the plot's background, as she seemed to enjoy the privilege of being a senior servant in the household. Combined with her old school opinions, she could've posed a serious threat to Yai and Jom's romance in the future. But this episode gave her a wake up call and showed her exactly where her place is and how much power she actually has -- absolutely none. She had to rely on the kindness of a man who was willing to stick his neck out for her so she can visit her dying mother, the same man on whom she had placed zero trust in the past.

And on the other end of this social class spectrum, we have FongKaew and her place in the house, and how she chose to remedy that. When I saw her dyeing the dress blood red and decking it with black lace, I was sure that she was in her Black Widow era and that Robert is gonna meet the Reaper in his bed tonight. But no, she is, at least for the time being, choosing to work with the situation she's currently in, and seduces Robert in the hopes that it'll lift her place in the hierarchy of the household. And it does.

But the absolutely stunning revelation in all this was the implication that Eueng Phueng and Maey were actively involved in making FongKaew Robert's second wife, so that Eueng Pheung can be free of his sadist ways. What an absolutely brilliant way to highlight how even the most seemingly well meaning upperclass folks are only capable of seeing their servants as a means to their ends, people whose lives can be played with, to make their own lives easier. And no, the cruelty doesn't stop there. They then have the audacity to judge the methods people like Fongkaew have to use to survive the wretched situations that were forced on them.

It is also noteworthy that these themes of power and obedience were explored exclusively with the women in the show, who, irrespective of the social class they're in, will always be placed beneath the men of their group. These women can claim faux superiority, try to climb social ranks, and scheme against each other, but in the end, they would all be considered lesser, inferior and submissive to the men of the time. I only hope that they soon realise this truth and stand with each other, instead of playing short lived games that every women would eventually lose.

In clown collaboration with @lurkingshan

[ideas-on-paper]

A hypothetical look at the childhoods of Carlo and Romeo

Despite Carlo and Romeo being two of the most central characters of Lies of P, what we know about their backstory is next to marginal. We know that the two of them went to school together and were best friends (perhaps even more than that), but their time in Monad Charity House is only presented in snippets and fragmented memories, and despite being highly significant, their characters remain elusive - like shadows cast over the entirety of the story, always present, never tangible.

Thus, many have filled the gaps left in their characterization with their own imagination. As for myself, I was curious what their early lives might have been like, before they met at Monad Charity House - and since it was the closest thing to the game's setting I could find, I did some research on Victorian children and their upbringing.

What I found out, however, left me absolutely shocked and made me keenly aware of just how awful Carlo and Romeo's childhood must have been, going by historic standards. As pretty much everything during the Victorian Era, a child's upbringing was very dependent on social class - however, no matter if you grew up in a rich or poor family, each came with its own kind of suffering, and regarding the question of "What were Carlo and Romeo's lives like before Monad Charity House?", the brief answer would be: "Probably not great."

As for the long answer... I should mention this is my own interpretation of Carlo and Romeo's backgrounds, and none of this is officially confirmed. However, given what we know about the two's origins, I consider it quite plausible, and what we can conclude from it might not only give us better insight into their personalities, but also some of the real-life background behind the original fairy tale of Pinocchio.

Just as a fair warning, though: This is about to get a little depressing.

[Spoilers for Lies of P!]

[CW: mentions of very questionable parenting methods, depression, suicidal ideation, poverty, parent death, child labor, abuse and exploitation of children]

Carlo

For this analysis, I'm going to assume that Carlo was born into a fairly well-off household. (The description of Carlo's portrait calls him "an aristocratic boy", and since Geppetto is the mastermind behind Krat's puppet technology, I assume he'd have his fair share of the profits.)

By the standard of their time, upper-class children were quite spoiled: Unlike their working-class peers, they never had to worry about who was going to provide food for them, and the horrors of child labor were never of any concern to them. You would think that being born into a rich family doesn't leave you a single thing to wish for - you'd have nice toys, fine clothes... and well, everything, except for parental affection.

For the most part of the day, upper-class children wouldn't even see their parents - they were only summoned to appear before them at a set hour of the day, and during these occasions, they had to address their fathers as "sir". Essentially, meeting your parents was more like an audience with a stranger, a rare privilege strictly regulated by formality. Children were expected to act prim and proper, only allowed to speak when spoken to, and thus unable to express their true feelings, thoughts, or opinions. Any show of affection was extremely rare - Winston Churchill (1874 - 1945) once remarked that he could "count the times he had been hugged by his mother" as a child.

The parents were more or less completely absent from their children's lives, and when there actually was interaction between them, the children were expected to unconditionally obey their parents. Osbert Sitwell (1892 - 1969) once commented: "Parents were aware that the child would be a nuisance and a whole bevy of servants, in addition to the complex guardianship of nursery and school rooms was necessary not so much to aid the infant as to screen him from his father or mother, except on some occasions as he could be used by them as adjuncts, toys or decorations." (Can you imagine? Geppetto taking Carlo to some big social event to show off his "perfect little son", and Carlo just standing there and silently enduring the ordeal, looking at his father all the while and wondering "Did he ever realize I'm not one of his puppets?")

So, by the standard of the time period Lies of P is set in, Geppetto neglecting his son isn't even anything terribly unusual - in fact, that's perfectly normal Victorian upper-class parent behavior.

Since they didn't take care of their children themselves, upper-class parents would hire a nanny to raise them. Nannies would be instructed what kind of behavior and morals the parents wanted instilled into their child, and they would be responsible for their education as well as teaching them manners, propriety, how to dress and so on. As such, the nanny effectively acted as a substitute for the parents - and given that maid puppets exist and Geppetto probably wouldn't let any strangers near Carlo, Carlo's nanny was most likely a puppet as well.

The daily life of upper-class children was based on strict routine - some like to say it operated with "clockwork regularity". Breakfast would be served at 8 o'clock in the morning, dinner at 12 o'clock, and tea at 6 o'clock.* Children would very seldom leave their room, except to take short walks in the park with their nanny. Education would mostly be given at home by a tutor, which included basic lessons like reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also "socially appropriate skills" like dancing and playing the piano. (Since we see a puppet giving piano lessons to a child in the intro, chances are Carlo's tutors were also puppets.)

*Eating times varied throughout the Victorian Era; a "dinner" might also be a meal eaten during midday.

The rest of the time, children would have nothing to do but to play with their toys (except on Sundays, which was forbidden). Rich families had the luxury of being able to afford the most elaborate of toys, such as automated dolls, clockwork trains, and jack-in-the-boxes, which were extremely popular among children. In fact, since clockmakers were also the ones to build toys, I could imagine Geppetto actually made the toys for Carlo himself. (However, I feel like this only would have made Carlo loathe them; in his eyes, it would've been proof that "father pays more attention to the toys he makes for me than actually looking at me".)

In short, the life of Victorian upper-class children was lonely, depressing, and stuffy to the point of suffocating. Given these circumstances, I would actually be surprised if this didn't leave mental scars on Carlo. It has been documented that a lack of parental affection causes psychological issues lasting all the way into adulthood, such as low self-esteem, trust issues, anxiety, difficulty with social relationships, and lack of emotional control. Also, considering Carlo was probably surrounded by puppet servants all day, he wouldn't even have had a single human being to interact with most of the time - something which most likely had a detrimental effect on his psyche.

Given this dreary existence, it would make absolute sense for Carlo to look nothing short of depressed in every depiction we see of him. The feeling of emptiness when being pressed into the corset of others' expectations is actually something I'm well acquainted with - it feels like walking beside yourself, like your body moving while actually feeling dead inside. A bit like a puppet on strings, if you will. With his life being a monotonous routine controlled by someone else, it wouldn't be surprising if Carlo had difficulty still seeing a purpose in it. (There have been some theories going around that Carlo committed suicide; at the very least, I think it's highly likely he had suicidal ideations during his youth.)

Perhaps this is where Pinocchio - the character from the fairy tale - might have become something like an identification figure for Carlo. Pinocchio was a puppet, but instead of doing what his creator intended - what his father expected - he did whatever he wanted. I'm sure Geppetto gave him the book as a measure to educate him, but it ended up having the opposite effect. In fact, it might have been what first taught him the concept of freedom: Geppetto's puppets only ever did what he told them to, executing the exact actions he had programmed them with, over and over again - but Pinocchio showed Carlo that it didn't have to be this way. (I've seen a lot of interpretations of Carlo disliking puppets, and while I can see where this is coming from, I don't think this is because Carlo disliked puppets in general. Rather, I think he saw them as "extended arms" of his father and a symbol of his need to control everything around him; otherwise, it would be a little strange for Carlo to be attached to the story of Pinocchio so much.)

However, I think beneath all the pent-up frustration and hatred, there was also the wish for his father to love and appreciate him. At the end of the book, Pinocchio returns to his father after all the hardships he had to go through, and the two reconcile and live happily ever after. Since Pinocchio's father goes looking for him when he disappears, perhaps Carlo believed that if he rebelled against him and put himself in danger, Geppetto would realize that he actually cared for him.

So, if Carlo was very prone to temper tantrums and acting defiantly towards his father, it might have been on one hand to show that he didn't want to be part of Geppetto's perfect stage play anymore, and on the other because he was vying for his attention. Due to his upbringing, however, Carlo wasn't really able to communicate his feelings in a proper way. (I like to imagine Carlo as a very emotional person, but having difficulty to actually express his feelings.)

Geppetto, however, wouldn't have the sensitivity to understand this - he most likely would've tried to rectify his son's "mischievous behavior" by disciplining, as was typical for the time period (in general, it was believed that you had to "beat the evil out of children" for them to become a good person). Of course, that wouldn't have made things better - in fact, I wonder if part of the reason Geppetto sent Carlo to Monad Charity House was that he was just at a loss what to do with the boy. Since all of his educational measures were fruitless, perhaps he thought that sending him to the boarding school would finally put Carlo on the right track - although the result of that probably was also quite different from what Geppetto expected.

Romeo

Meanwhile, poor Victorian children had to live in a completely different, brutal reality - for them, day-to-day life was a literal struggle to stay alive.

We know that Romeo was an orphan, and according to Eugénie, that's not much of a rarity in Krat. Indeed, street children existed in abundance during Victorian times: It wasn't uncommon for working-class children to lose one or both parents - due to unsanitary conditions in Victorian slums, many people died of disease, and given the hazardous working conditions in factories and coal mines, accidents were commonplace. However, the term of a Victorian orphan was actually a little broader than that, also extending to children who ran away from home due to hailing from alcoholic and neglectful families. Often, mothers who were single or had a child out of wedlock would also simply abandon their children. Whatever the reason for their situation, these children were forced to fend for themselves at a very young age.

In the Trinity Sanctum in Krat Central Station, there's a note mentioning a "pickpocket who was overconfident in a gamble" and "had his heart stolen and died". Since Romeo made "a deal with the devil" (the "devil" presumably being Geppetto who turned him into a puppet), people have interpreted this as referring to Romeo. Turing to crime to support themselves was not a rarity among poor Victorian children - in fact, half of the defendants tried at the Central Criminal Court of England and Wales between 1830 and 1860 were aged 20 or younger. There were even organized gangs of child thieves who were trained in pickpocketing by a "captain", similar to those from Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist. (However, the items that were stolen most often were actually not purses or pocket watches, but handkerchiefs; silk handkerchiefs had a pretty high resale value, and the thieves would take them from pockets, rip out the initials, and resell them for a good price.)

We can't be sure whether Romeo teamed up with a few other kids or not, but personally, I'd wager he did - it would be much safer to operate in a group in case one of them gets in trouble, and overall, Romeo's personality seems a bit too caring for a lone wolf. (As the King of Puppets, he was not only determined to save as many humans as possible, but also possessed the unconditional trust and loyalty of the other puppets. To me, this means he most likely cared about them, and they cared about him in return - if it was just programming, the puppets probably wouldn't be lamenting his loss after he dies. Compare this to Geppetto, who has to use force and coercion for others to obey him.)

Also, since the notes in the Trinity Sanctums always seem to have a connection to the place where they're located (factory worker -> factory; cleric -> cathedral; "greatest singer"/Adelina -> opera house), that would mean the train station was most likely Romeo's base of operations.* (Train stations tend to be very popular among thieves, since it's easier to pick pockets in the confusion of people boarding or getting off trains.) This would imply that Romeo didn't grow up in Monad Charity House since he was an infant, but arrived there at a later point during his childhood.

*EDIT: I just had a thought that the note in the Trinity Sanctum could also mean the train station is the place where Romeo died. (All the other notes are connected to murder or some other violent action, and since we can assume they were written by Arlecchino, he was probably more interested in that.) Since Geppetto has his secret workshop wagon in Krat Central Station, maybe the place where he built P is the same where he built Romeo.

Since there were so many orphaned children, the few orphanages that existed couldn't receive all of them. Instead, workhouses were established as institutions for all kinds of destitute people - including orphans - who were unable to support themselves and were given lodging and food in exchange for labor. However, many children actually preferred living on the streets, rather turning to crime than going to the workhouse. At a first glance, this may seem a bit unreasonable - surely, not having to run around in worn-down rags and steal your food just to survive would at least be an improvement?

Well... Turns out, not really. The conditions in Victorian workhouses were notoriously awful - they were overcrowded, unsanitary, and cruel places to live. Daily routine was strictly regimented, consisting of 9–10 hours of repetitive and physically demanding labor and very little free time. What little food there was was of poor quality, privacy was basically nonexistent, and the dozens of inmates sleeping together in dormitories often had to share their beds - children usually had to sleep up to four in a bed. The consequences for refusal of work or any kind of rule violation were beatings, deprivation of food, being locked up in solitary confinement in a dark cell, and other draconian punishments.

If this doesn't sound like a very hospitable atmosphere, that's because that was the exact intention behind it. Workhouses weren't meant to support poor people - they were supposed to scare them into finding work and make a living for themselves. Victorians viewed poverty as a self-imposed misery, and if you were a pauper, that was because you were lazy, retarded, or made bad choices in life. That's why beggars, vagrants, orphans, criminals, and mentally ill people were all indiscriminately housed in workhouses, because from the Victorian point of view, they all belonged to the same category of people: A stain that had to be removed from the public eye, either by forcing them to support themselves or by making use of their work force once they had donned the workhouse uniform. They were a nuisance to society, and their treatment in the workhouse was sure to make them feel that.

One of the worst fates for workhouse children, however, was to be hired out as pauper apprentices: Usually from 10-13 years of age, but sometimes as young as eight or seven, workhouses would send pauper children to factories in the countryside for an "apprenticeship". This "apprenticeship" involved factory owners buying children from orphanages and workhouses and making them sign a contract that lasted until they were 21 years of age, dictating that the apprentices had to be provided with food and accommodation, and in exchange, the factory owner was free to make use of their working power.

So in summary, workhouse orphans were essentially sold into slavery. This was all that much easier to do with children who had no parents and no other means to support themselves, and thus were free to be exploited by their employers. Some of the recollections from these former pauper apprentices are just utterly horrific - and in this case, I think it's appropriate to let the victims speak for themselves.

John Birley, who lost his father when he was two, lived in the Bethnal Green Workhouse for a time after his mother died of illness when he was around six. He was sent to Litton Mill as a pauper apprentice, and he had this to say about his experiences in an interview with The Ashton Chronicle in 1849 (source):

The same year my mother died, I being between six and seven years of age, there came a man looking for a number of parish apprentices. We were all ordered to come into the board room, about forty of us. There were, I dare say, about twenty gentlemen seated at a table, with pens and paper before them. Our names were called out one by one. We were all standing before them in a row. My name was called and I stepped out in the middle of the room. They said, "Well John, you are a fine lad, would you like to go into the country?" I said "Yes sir". We had often talked over amongst ourselves how we should like to be taken into the country, Mr. Nicholls the old master, used to tell us what fine sport we should have amongst the hills, what time we should have for play and pleasure. He said we should have plenty of roast beef and get plenty of money, and come back gentlemen to see our friends. The committee picked out about twenty of us, all boys. In a day or two after this, two coaches came up to the workhouse door. We were got ready. They gave us a shilling piece to take our attention, and we set off. I can remember a crowd of women standing by the coaches, at the workhouse door, crying "shame on them, to send poor little children away from home in that fashion." Some of them were weeping. I heard one say, "I would run away if I was them." They drove us to the Paddington Canal, where there was a boat provided to take us. We got to Buxton at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon. A covered cart was waiting for us there. We all got in, and drove off to the apprentice house at Litton Mill, about six miles from Buxton. The cart stopped, and we marched up to the house, where we saw the master, who came to examine us and gave orders where we were put. [...] Our regular time was from five in the morning till nine or ten at night; and on Saturday, till eleven, and often twelve o'clock at night, and then we were sent to clean the machinery on the Sunday. No time was allowed for breakfast and no sitting for dinner and no time for tea. We went to the mill at five o'clock and worked till about eight or nine when they brought us our breakfast, [...] We then worked till nine or ten at night when the water-wheel stopped. We stopped working, and went to the apprentice house, about three hundred yards from the mill. It was a large stone house, surrounded by a wall, two to three yards high, with one door, which was kept locked. It was capable of lodging about one hundred and fifty apprentices. Supper was the same as breakfast - onion porridge and dry oatcake. We all ate in the same room and all went up a common staircase to our bed-chamber; all the boys slept in one chamber, all the girls in another. We slept three in one bed. [...] Mr. Needham, the master, had five sons: Frank, Charles, Samuel, Robert and John. The sons and a man named Swann, the overlooker, used to go up and down the mill with hazzle sticks. Frank once beat me till he frightened himself. He thought he had killed me. He had struck me on the temples and knocked me dateless. He once knocked me down and threatened me with a stick. To save my head I raised my arm, which he then hit with all his might. My elbow was broken. I bear the marks, and suffer pain from it to this day, and always shall as long as I live. I was determined to let the gentleman of the Bethnal Green parish know the treatment we had, and I wrote a letter with John Oats and put it into the Tydeswell Post Office. It was broken open and given to old Needham. He beat us with a knob-stick till we could scarcely crawl. Sometime after this three gentlemen came down from London. But before we were examined we were washed and cleaned up and ordered to tell them we liked working at the mill and were well treated. Needham and his sons were in the room at the time. They asked us questions about our treatment, which we answered as we had been told, not daring to do any other, knowing what would happen if we told them the truth."

In case there were any surviving family members, the children were sometimes deported without their knowledge. In 1849, Sarah Carpenter related the story of her lost brother who was taken away from Bristol Workhouse to The Ashton Chronicle (source):

When I was eight years old my father died and our family had to go to the Bristol Workhouse. My brother was sent from Bristol workhouse in the same way as many other children were - cart-loads at a time. My mother did not know where he was for two years. He was taken off in the dead of night without her knowledge, and the parish officers would never tell her where he was. It was the mother of Joseph Russell who first found out where the children were, and told my mother. We set off together, my mother and I, we walked the whole way from Bristol to Cressbrook Mill in Derbyshire. We were many days on the road. Mrs. Newton fondled over my mother when we arrived. [...] My brother told me that Mrs. Newton's fondling was all a blind; but I was so young and foolish, and so glad to see him again; that I did not heed what he said, and could not be persuaded to leave him. They would not let me stay unless I would take the shilling binding money. I took the shilling and I was very proud of it. They took me into the counting house and showed me a piece of paper with a red sealed horse on which they told me to touch, and then to make a cross, which I did. This meant I had to stay at Cressbrook Mill till I was twenty one.

So, if the situation in the Lies of P universe in any way resembles that during the real-life 19th century, and if these street children are in any way smart, I think it's very understandable they'd want to stay the hell away from the workhouse or any similar institution. Of course, it would be easy to attribute this to laziness, but honestly, I'd say they just wanted to avoid the abuse. (You could pose the question whether there are even any lowly paid jobs for children to do in the LoP universe, since a lot of those were probably taken over by puppets. However, if you ask me, that might only lead to employers trying to underbid the price that puppet laborers would cost, which would lead to serious wage cuts for any human workers - we know there was a violent protest of the factory labor union, which might have happened for a reason like this. Also, I reckon the puppet industry itself would create new branches of "dirty work", like recycling parts from scrapped puppets, disposing of puppet junk, etc.)

In fact, these harrowing stories happen to have quite a few parallels to the original fairy tale of Pinocchio. Did you notice? The children are taken away in coaches and carts, in a way that conceals their presence (e.g. in a covered cart or in the dead of the night), which is very reminiscent of the Coachman picking up boys at night (in the book, the coach is described as having wrapped wheels, so it doesn't make noise and can't be discovered). At first, the children are told they can make a fortune by working in the textile mills and will have plenty of time for leisure - in A memoir of Robert Blincoe from 1828, it's even mentioned they tried to lure children into working in a cotton mill by telling them that "they would be transformed into ladies and gentlemen" when they arrived there, that "they would be fed on roast beef and plum pudding, be allowed to ride their masters' horses, and have silver watches, and plenty of cash in their pockets". This sounds quite similar to the Coachman promising the boys unlimited play time and freedom if they come with him to the Land of Toys. However, as both the pauper apprentice children and the boys from Pinocchio had to realize, all of this was a fraud to exploit them for what is essentially slave labor.

This also suggests that with his depiction of the Land of Toys, Carlo Collodi was doing more than just telling a horror story to scare kids into behaving. He was commenting on a real-life problem - and this, exactly this, is what Collodi wanted to warn his young readers about. In that sense, the boys turning into donkeys might also be a metaphor for what their employers saw them as: livestock, to be used and abused as they pleased.

Because the living conditions of workhouse children were so appalling, there was clamor for change, specifically among the reformist middle class. It was argued that orphans and destitute children should be housed in an institution meant exclusively for them, rather than together with criminals, cripples, and lunatics. The movement really began to pick up speed in mid-19th century, and many orphanages were founded by private benefactors and philanthropists. One of the most influential was Thomas John Barnardo, the founder of the charity Barnardos, who built homes for waifs, strays, and all kinds of children in need to provide them with a place to live, food, and education.

In general, there was an effort to make education accessible to even the lowest classes. Sunday Schools and Ragged Schools were established, which allowed poor children to take classes without having to pay a fee, giving them more opportunities in later life. However, the parents of working-class children were often against them going to school, since it meant that they couldn't work to earn additional income for the family. This is why attending school was made mandatory for all children between 5 and 10 in 1870, with the leaving age being raised to 11 in 1893. (This is also what Carlo Collodi meant by saying "for the love of God, get yourself some education" - because if you didn't, you would be stuck in a circle of bone-breaking labor forever.)

The Monad Charity House fits quite well into this historical frame: We do know that the Rose Estate was originally a charity organization for poor children, but was turned into a boarding school after Lady Isabelle and the Monad family started sponsoring money. Since charities for poor children are a phenomenon of the mid- to late-19th century, it's possible the situation was a lot worse before in the Lies of P universe as well. Romeo might not have gone there willingly (perhaps he was caught during one of his thefts), and truth be told, Victorian schools weren't the most rosy of affairs (if you'd like to know the details, feel free to check out this page). However, given what could've been his fate, Romeo probably considered himself lucky to be alive and not exploited by someone else for donkey work. (Still, one thing that should be kept in mind is that the Alchemists' patronage of the Rose Estate probably isn't based on purely altruistic motives: Since all of the children are trained as Stalkers, Alchemists, or Workshop Technicians, all of them ultimately become part of Krat's economic apparatus.)

It seems almost miraculous that two boys coming from such different worlds would develop such a strong bond. However, despite this, they had one experience in common: pain. Although the way in which they suffered might have differed, they both knew what it's like to be abandoned. Romeo had to grow up in a society that didn't care whether he lived or died, and since all Carlo ever received from his father was scrutiny or cold ignorance, he probably felt the same about him. Living in a cruel world where the odds were stacked against them, it's easy to see why these kindred souls sought comfort in each other.

In any case, if the untold backstory of these characters was crafted with this in mind, my sincerest compliments go to the people of Neowiz for not only taking such a nuanced approach to child education in a historical context, but also for doing so with respect to the original story by Carlo Collodi. It may be really subtle at times, but you can't deny how much effort the devs put into the themes - themes that are so universal to human psychology that they continue to be relevant today, and undoubtedly made the story resonate with a lot of people.

[controversialhottakes]

Apparently these are unpopular opinions but I don't want Wilmon to be endgame and I don't want Wilhelm to abdicate. (I think the show might be heading down the Wilmon endgame + abdication route but I can't imagine them doing it in a way which would feel satisfying to me personally.)

All I could think about throughout the whole season was how unsuitable for each other these two are. They're so different, and I don't just mean their backgrounds, I mean every single thing about them. Their personalities (this one is huuuuge), their values, apparently even their interests since after 3 seasons I can't really name a single thing they both genuinely enjoy (maybe rowing? or was Simon there for a reason? can't remember), unless we count sex which... fair but a rather shaky framework if a long-term relationship is what you're after.

What do they even talk about? Other than Simon hating the system which Wilhelm is at the very centre of. Or the fact that they don't understand each other because Wilhelm is too privileged and Simon is too big a socialist. And while I hate the phrasing I do agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly because it's actually absolutely 100% true. What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a conflict of interest. Plain and simple.

One thing that was very clear from the very beginning is that Simon doesn't understand what a relationship with a crown prince entails and that he's really not the kind of person who'd want or should be in such a relationship. He cares too much about other people's opinions, which isn't necessarily bad in and of itself, but people are going to have a lot of opinions if you're dating someone in the public eye, especially the future king, and they're going to be nasty af. Because they can. It's just the reality, nothing you can do about it.

I know a lot of people say that he didn't get media training and so on and so forth. And it is very true and valid. However, a lot of this boils down to his personality. You don't need media training to know that reading comments is a bad idea, let alone replying to them. To me, it's just common sense, and I know he's only 16, but even though it's been a while, I do still remember being 16 and my mindset (on this subject) has not changed since then. Especially if you know you're going to take it to heart, you shouldn't even be looking at the bs people post online.

Simon doesn't fit into Wilhelm's world not because he's poor. He doesn't fit into Wilhelm's world because his personality and values simply don't work in this context. How do you even begin to solve a problem like this? You just can't.

Simon has a very strong personality and even stronger beliefs. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it, it's admirable, but this creates so many problems that are virtually unsolvable. If you watch the series (not just the third season, it's been shown consistently), Simon needs Wilhelm to agree with him. And he wants Wilhelm to do it openly and preferably to feel about it as strongly as he does. Which simply isn't going to happen. In order for this to work, Simon would have to change his entire personality and that would be just awful.

Re: Wilhelm abdicating. You don't make a decision like that at the age of 17. Because this is literally life-changing and there's no going back. His brother just died. His mother is having a nervous breakdown. His father is absolutely helpless. You work through all of that first.

Correct me if I'm wrong but it's only been a couple of months since the accident. Oh and now Wilhelm finds out that his brother was human and not some perfect Disney prince. And he gets front row seats to his always-unnaturally-composed mother's descent into literal madness. Just imagine how terrifying it must feel. This boy is going through a lot, this is not the time to be making huge decisions.

I genuinely believe that Wilhelm would make a great king. Keep in mind that for 16 years, it never occured to him that he might have to do this. This was dropped on him like a bag of cement, together with the news that his older brother, whom he worshipped, was dead. All things considered, he's doing great. Come to think of it, Erik's death is the root of 99% of Wilhelm's current problems. Like he said, he never got to grieve and now on top of that he thinks that his brother was an arsehole and would have hated him for dating another boy. But I think Wilhelm finding out about what happened at the initiation is actually going to help him heal.

Wilhelm abidicating just feels too much like giving in, like he was running away from his problems which is a bit OOC. And it would feel like he was doing it for Simon which is such a bad idea on so many levels. I can't put into words how stupid it would be and, as impulsive as he can get at times, Wilhelm doesn't strike me as the kind of person to just completely fail to think of consequences of his actions when it comes to something this big. I can't for the life of me explain why, but he does come across as rather level-headed and sensible, specially for a 16/17-year-old going through what he's been going through. Certain... incidents... aside (the rifle... yeah, the hell were you thinking? you need to chill out and let it go). Season 2 was peak recklessness, he seems a bit more mellow and settled now. Although breaking up with Simon might turn out to be the final straw, yikes...

[the-roo-too]

candy -> miyawaki sakura ver

aka the fluff alphabet

admiration (what does she absolutely adore about you)- actually, i think you as a whole. sakura is just so djebbfjrjd when you… she adores everything you do, every breath you take

body (what’s her favourite body part of yours)- sakura kinda strikes me as a person who likes hands. she likes holding hands with you, she likes to play with your hands when she’s stressed, all of that

cuddling (how she likes to cuddle)- hear me out, she loves cuddling you while she plays video games 🔥 gamer girl also needs some cute gf time

dates (what’s her ideal date)- ideally, sakura would like to take you to japan to see her hometown etc :( just so the two of you could enjoy each other and the atmosphere

emotions (how does she express her emotions around you)- open about what she feels hehe there’s no reason to hide anything from you

family (does she want one)- she does! and she doesn’t really care when, whenever you feel like you want it too :( she’ll wait for you with that <3

gifts (what about gift giving)- to me sakura is big on like, christmas gift giving etc ‼️‼️ also she loves when you just give her random stuff (like rocks) just with the ‘it reminded me of you’

holding hands (does she like to hold hands)- LOVES TO‼️‼️ she’ll be so pouty if you don’t hold her hand while walking somewhere omg

injuries (what would she do if you got hurt)- c a l m 🫡 someone sane needs to take care of you, and that will be her

jokes (does she like to joke around)- sakura appreciates a good joke always ‼️‼️

kisses (how does she like to kiss you)- sakura loves to kiss you all together, it doesn’t really matter how or where. she’s in love your honor 🫡

love (what’s her love language)- she’s kinda a mom friend, her love language is taking care of you and reminding you of things, like to drink water <33

memory (what’s her favourite memory together)- i honestly think she was so smitten with you from the start, she most fondly remembers just meeting you :)

nighttime (how does sleeping with her look like)- i kinda feel like sakura has a body pillow of some character… 💀💀💀 that pillow she either cuddles or makes you hug it while she spoons you 🤠

oddity (what’s one quirky thing about her)- …the fortnite dance…..

pet names (what does she like to call you)- i can totally see sakura calling you pretty girl all of the time, thank you for coming to my ted talk

quality time (how does she like to spend time with you)- sakura is a gamer girl ofc, so she’d love it if you wanted to do a game night with her! she’d be happy to teach you to play even

rush (does she rush into things)- yes, but also no. she’s hyper to do many things but poor baby is too hesitant sometimes 😭

secrets (how open is she with you)- you know everything about sakura ‼️ from fortnite dances to yume de kiss me (you’re the only one who can make fun of that)

time (how long did it take her to confess)- a couple days? on the first meeting you gave her your number but she was too nervous to call you, and when she finally did, she just blurred out her confession first thing after you picked up 😭

upset (what’s her reaction when you’re upset)- when she sees you genuinely being upset, she’s gonna offer you some cuddles while a random show plays in the background. the two of you can just do nothing together, enjoy the little calm moment

visibility (is she afraid of the public opinion)- not really. sakura is more afraid her members wouldn’t like you :( dw tho, they adore you!

warrior (how often do you fight)- you don’t fight very often, but it sometimes gets to the level when you call chaewon to scold your girlfriend using her leader privileges

x-ray (is she able to read you)- sakura is a little obvious, don’t hold it against her. you could be a little down, but sakura just wants to show you the cute little villager on her island!

yes (how would she propose to you)- no because she would do something kinda cringey 💀💀 like proposing to you with a pokeball, i’m sorry but it’s true

zen (what makes her feel calm)- sakura games to unwind too, but the most relaxing and calming for her is gaming with you nuzzled comfortably on her lap as she does so <3

part of [the fluff] series

[loremaster]

me: ok i need to use my time wisely and edit some of these scans so i can--

also me: NDA BAND AU HEADCANONS GO

yakou: guitar (chords) + vocals. was used to being just a sad lonely man with a beat-up acoustic guitar, busking at the subway for minimal tips... until he put up a flyer and miraculously got himself a ragtag family of musicians to play along with. usually plays electric guitar for power chords (fills out the sound nicely) but will switch back to acoustic sometimes. he's got a good idea of what kind of sound works in the industry, and doesn't want the band to go down the same path of failure that he did as a solo artist... but his ideas can be a little outdated sometimes. these bright young musicians help open his eyes to the possibilities of what music can be. .....imagine if mr shue from glee wasn't a rapper or a creep no never mind i can't deny it any longer. he WOULD try rapping (and be bad at it)

desuhiko: guitar (lead). wants to do vocals too, but has to earn his mic privileges back after an awkward onstage confession to a certain reporter (and subsequent public rejection). his smaller fingers can't handle the same chord fingerings that yakou can (no matter how much he tells you otherwise) BUT he's real good with those fast licks and bright high-pitched melodies. he's CONSTANTLY practicing and coming up with new song ideas... which would be great if yakou wasn't constantly getting rickrolled at 5am

fubuki: the drummer!!! she keeps the time!!!! completely untrained, can't read sheet music, can't tell a sharp from a flat, but she's got powerful instincts (her internal sense of tempo is unmatched). as such, the language yakou has to use to direct her is a bit different than anyone else. think kronk in the kitchen. if he wants a slow latin 4/4, he'll tell her something like "gimme a smooth elevator ride with lots of clave" and she's got it!!

vivia: bassist. comes from an orchestral background but got fed up with the concert rigamarole. most of his classical music references are lost on the group. he's got an electric bass that he brings with him, but he keeps his concert bass at the studio because it's too heavy to lug around. he can often be found - you guessed it - sleeping inside the case with his arms crossed like a vampire. as the band's bass player he's usually more subdued, content to drone on in the background, but when he pops off, he POPS OFFFFFF

halara: keyboard. absolute fucking wizard who can sightread anything you put in front of them. classical etudes, jazz standards, pop hits, you name it. halara has a big ego and usually does not want to show up to practice, because they know they can nail any performance the night of (and they'd be right... if it wasn't a team effort). if you asked them why they chose to play piano you'd get an answer about something like demonstrating precision and skill, but the real answer is that keyboard cat has been living in their head rent free for... *checks youtube* 16 years

yuma: the roadie!!!! he's yakou's assistant who runs around venues flagging down stage managers, grabbing coffees, printing sheet music, etc. anytime the gang wants him to get on stage, he always denies any claims of musical talent, but one time desuhiko handed him a saxophone and forced him to play Run Away With Me and he did it perfectly the first try. what's up with this kid?

the band is called the Nocturnal Detectives and they get calls from people looking for actual detectives all the time

[honesttoblogjuno]

I absolutely loved your take on a hunger games AU!! I know it is a once shot, so my question is this. What are some headcannons you have about Wednesday and Enid in this particular AU?? ❤️❤️ just any that you think would be accurate?

Thank you so much for reading it, and for the ask and kind words! I spent about an hour thinking about the background before I wrote the little fic, and here is what I came up with!

For this AU, I was thinking 60th Hunger Games, or something in that ballpark. I put Enid in District 2 not just because it seems sort of close to where she is from in canon, but also because I felt like her overall aesthetic and demeanour would put her somewhere a little more proximal to the capitol, and I liked the idea of her being an unorthodox career tribute. I played around with the idea of Wednesday volunteering as well, but I thought she would ultimately be more ethically opposed to the Hunger Games than intrigued by the gore and violence.

I didn’t explicitly mention this in the oneshot, but I pictured her in District 6, with the Addams family being sort of upper-class in the district like how Madge’s family was in the original series, to track with her privileged upbringing from the movies and show’s canon. Fencing lessons felt appropriate for a macabre kid who was a little bit better-resourced than most. I feel like she would have a distain for the capitol but would take the route of using their tools to play her own game rather than outright trying to start a Revolution or something— she always struck me as a bit of a reluctant hero who found her way into saving the world out of her own fixations, (initial/put-on) self-centeredness, and moral code. So, if she won the games, she would make her impact once she was a Victor rather than trying to blow the games apart as a tribute.

They are both 16 in the AU I wrote (hinted at that but didn’t directly say), and Enid’s family sent her off to the academy to train pretty young, whereas Wednesday was always very into school and by nature is entering the arena without formal training but with quite the encyclopaedia of knowledge and without being afraid to get her hands a bit dirty.

No powers in this AU, of course, but Wednesday has good instincts for guessing outcomes based on meticulous analysis and gut instinct, and Enid has modded her canine teeth into fangs á la Enobaria. I think her show-stopper move in the arena would be eviscerating other tributes with her nails but without fanfare or claiming the kills outright. Silent but deadly, and the polish hides the blood underneath her nails. Wednesday grabs a sword at the cornucopia and kills a tribute in the process, but she doesn’t see Enid make any attempt at grabbing a weapon or allying herself with the other careers, which she makes note of.

Wednesday gets a high score for her training test because she was able to demonstrate a exceptional degree of competency in pretty much every area, but especially because she was able to predict other tribute’s scores and the game makers were kind of weirded out and impressed (in my mind, she has a near-photographic knowledge of all the prior games because she is a Weird Kid™️, and uses that as well as her observations during training and readings). Enid got an 11 for dissecting the model dummy with a surgical precision using only her nails.

I’m open to the idea that either one of them dies in my short AU, or that they both do. My MO, which is consistent throughout all my fics, is to show that my core belief is that they are evenly matched. I don’t think Wednesday has the upper hand on Enid, and I think Enid can be a victim of fandom character flattening— I like to call back to the fact that, in canon, she’s not only very popular amongst her peers (a skillset Wednesday lacks), but extracurricularly engaged and being called on by the headmistress to give tours of the campus, which tells me she is probably a high achiever. And, Bianca sees her as a threat to some degree, and she’s the reigning popular AND smart girl. Maybe her grammar and spelling could use some work, but she’s not inherently less smart than Wednesday, and the “this kitty has claws” scene in the pilot deliberately set her up to be Wednesday’s equally balanced foil. So, for this AU, I didn’t want Wednesday to just sweep the games because she’s Wednesday, I wanted Enid to be real competition to her.

The following part of the story would be Enid starting an alliance with Wednesday where their tension and bond continues to grow and eventually they have to decide to kill each other or separate and let other people kill them. I think Wednesday would kill Enid and come out of the games extremely resentful of the Capitol for constructing that situation, or they would separate but she would kill a tribute making a shot at Enid to save her, just further complicating their mutually assured destruction. Enid, however, I see preferring to just separate. Is there room for a situation where they are fighting together and, after they vanquish the final enemy, the camera pans to show that one of them has fatally stabbed the other accidentally? If Enid wins, she gets her scars during the games.

I also considered an AU where Wednesday was a mentor who freshly won the previous year’s games and Enid was the new tribute she had to train, but thought it might strike a bit close to home since the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes has a mentor/tribute dynamic going on. In that case, though, I see Wednesday winning her games through mostly tactical moves and a fair amount of well-timed and executed (pardon the pun) kills, possibly starting to get a bit creative with them which won her some points with the capitol. I imagine Enid wanting to take a more charismatic approach to win over the sponsors and form alliances, which she butts heads with Wednesday “I work alone” Addams about.

Anyway, that’s sort of what I was thinking for this particular AU! I feel like there must be an awesome collection of fics with the Hunger Games AU prompt out there, and although I haven’t read those, I bet there are tons of cool directions to take the lore.

Thanks so much for the question and for reading the fic!!! 💕

[toomuchracket]

Matty on your Instagram story like ‘hey guys I know I said it’s a new era and I’m not using Instagram, but I just needed to tell you something… which is why my missus is letting me do this’ and then he says something about tour or albums or something.

yeah like could he use the official band account? absolutely. but he doesn't, because since matty deactivated and the boys had a little break from shows it's been you who everyone's been relying on for updates. like, you'll continue to post the same kinda things you did before - couple pics kind of as and when, very chill, and the odd pic of matty in a photodump - and when you do q&a's and people inevitably ask about matty you post a pic from your camera roll of him squishing your face and caption it "matty is absolutely fine but since he quit the shitposting he has been spending his time PESTERING ME and being a PAIN IN THE ARSE" lol. OH and maybe you do like a fun thing on your story every so often where you take like cryptid-style pics of him - his head peeking round a door, his arm in the background of one of your mirror selfies etc - and say "rare trumanblack sighting at 11am today" or some shit. basically, the fans keep up with you to keep up with him, so using your account is the best way for matty to directly address a lot of them at one time. what he doesn't expect, though, is how much they love and stan you (he does find it cute, i mean HE loves and stans you and thinks you're perfect so why shouldn't everyone?) - even though he's announcing something really exciting like another pop-up or a series of self-titled shows or some shit, the replies to the story and all the tweets about it are like "matthew fuck off where is our mother we want to see her not you" and "matty healy silencing women on their own platforms despicable!!" lmaoooo. i do think he wouldn't be able to resist like a tiny baby bit of shitposting - he posts another vid like "christ alive my missus is right here (cut to you waving) and we agreed i would use her account for business purposes once and then i'd give her the phone back". but then matty grins and starts walking out of the room and says "but before i do that i'm going to dm timothée chalamet because she fancies him and i think she should tell him" and he starts running and all you hear is "FUCK OFF NO" and the sound of you running after him and him laughing before the video cuts out. and the next post on the story is a selfie of you peace'n'pouting sitting on top of matty like "phone back safely, healy in time out and his instagram privileges revoked. anyway swipe up to sign up for email notifs about the pop-up/shows" <3

[aflawedfashion]

I could also see Trevor suspecting that her alleged morphine overdose had been a little less accidental than she'd led the rest of them to believe. But given Trevor's background, that's a death that he has a frame of reference for at least. But Trevor, who was an entirely different kind of privileged and sheltered than Hetty after all, doesn't really have a frame of reference for the kind of violent intent and desperation and abandonment that the telephone cord represents. (As far as 'why didn't he notice' goes, Trev's a guy who respects boundaries and if Hetty said "I don't like people touching my neck" I'm sure he'd just move on to the next touchable area.)

My first instinct is to think that Trevor didn't suspect Hetty had died by suicide in any way (morphine or cord), but there's a lot of room for different headcanons at this point. He may have suspected. Especially if he did notice the cord, it's entirely possible he guessed correctly. I could definitely see that. I could see a lot of possibilities being true.

I do hope the show explores their relationship again so that we can get some insight into how they both feel, especially now that the truth is out. They are the only ghost romance that I've gotten invested in, and this revelation would serve as a good path towards Trevor and Hetty having something deeper. She doesn't have to worry about hiding this secret anymore. Her walls are coming down, and that's what they both need to move forward.

And I absolutely agree with you that Trevor would respect boundaries. If she told him to stay away from her neck. He'd listen and stay away. He also likes it when she takes charge, so he'd go with whatever she said, no hesitation.

The fact that he'd respect her boundaries is also why I think that if he did notice, he didn't push her to talk about it. She's clearly been telling everyone a lie about overdosing for a reason - she doesn't want to talk about how she actually died. He'd recognize that and let her keep her secret.

And while I'm personally embracing the theory that he knew more than he's letting on, it still seems most likely that the show wants us to take his explanation largely at face value.

"I don't know, man. These Victorian dresses, there's a lot going on under there. Clasps, corsets, some kind of scaffolding. Did I come across a cord at some point? Maybe, but it didn't register as anything out of place."

Maybe he did notice it. Maybe he didn't.

[stupidsexpotflanders]

Chase not only is a nuanced,complicated character,but many of his "funny" traits come with some sort of issue.

Unpopular opinion:I think his fatphobia is the exception,and Chase is just a jackass who hates fat people. The early seasons of House MD were shot and broadcast in 2004-2006,and those times were infamous for it's vigent beauty standards. Therefore,Chase's shitty opinions weren't out of place. I don't gel with the "eating disorder" headcanon(but each to their own) because Chase is shown to have a healthy relationship with food in canon. Alternatively,his fatphobia might be related to his past as the son of an alcoholic,at least in part - something that was repeatedly shown to affect his emotions,decisions and even some aspects of his personality. Maybe he chalked morbid obesity to people who "can't control themselves,and the family has to deal with the messy results". But I still think is just him being an asshole and that kind of prejudice was well-accepted in the 00's(even if everyone else on the team side eyed him for it). I wonder if 2013-and-beyond Chase is still fatphobic.

However,I absolutely think Chase had "child of immigrant" issues,although they were very subtle(and I'm pretty sure he only got this background because the production team hired the first old white guy that showed up in the set,said old white guy couldn't make an Australian accent for shit and they had to say he's from somewhere in Europe). His dad was from Czechoslovakia,a country that had been through hard times during a big chunk of the twentieth century,and there's a meta somewhere about Rowan being an economic immigrant. On the other hand,Robert was an Australian equivalent to a rich WASP brat and privileged in every way possible(except when it comes to family relationships). I've seen many children of immigrants on social media,and a recurrent mention is resentment from their parents due to "how much better the children had". That being said,I'm almost sure Rowan dealt with said emotions by means of escapism,whether it's physical or emotional(Robert mentioned how distant his dad was many times). On top of all that,Chase's mom was probably Australian(I know this is a quip by House,but he said Chase "had criminals for ancestors" - refering to Australia's history as an exile land for XVIII British criminals),and cultural differences affect marriages,according to people who married foreigners. Besides,there's the chance Victoria(a made up name for Robert's mom) came from a well-off family(that's my headcanon) and that was probably another factor for why their marriage didn't work out,IMO.

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s1 ep12: Cathexis

Another one I didn't remember at all, this one was quite exciting to watch. Voyager's first 'crew getting possesed by aliens' story, it's another one of those episodes that's pretty much a copy of an earlier Next Generation episode, but it was well done, and very creepy and suspenseful. I like the way they played up the crew's paranoia to add to the tension. And it was the first time we get to see Captain Janeway's Victorian governess holonovel, which is one of my favorite things, and not just because I'm tickled that Captain Janeway shares my taste in literature, but because she looks absolutely gorgeous in period costume. Like, let me fangirl for a moment here, because look at this perfect vision of beauty, oh my god:

I want her whole outfit, it's perfect. Major kudos to the costume designer for giving her an historically accurate dress and hairstyle. As someone who used to do a lot of historical costuming, I'm very nitpicky about those things, but this is a good costume on every level- beautiful design, well fitted to the actress, fits the character's personality, absolutely nothing anachronistic about it anywhere. 10/10, no notes! I need to cosplay this so bad!!

Okay, I'm done being a costume nerd, back to the episode itself: I appeciated that they mentioned the EMH being programmed with knowledge of various cultures traditional healing practices instead of just having him dismiss Chakotay's medicine wheel as superstition. While I have issues with the wheel prop itself not looking very realistic, I do like that they made a point to say that Earth's medical establishment will become more open minded and inclusive in the future. (But the artwork on the wheel looked central or south american, and I'd always thought Chakotay was supposed to be from the north american southwest- it says a lot about how much the writers didn't care about him that after 7 years of episodes, I still have no idea what continent he's even from. sigh.)

Also lol at Tom Paris talking about how when he was a kid he had a doctor that made housecalls- who the heck has that even now, let alone in the 24th century?? I think this was probably where I started to get the headcanon that the Paris family is super rich- like I know that Earth is supposed to be a utopia with no poverty, but I feel like rich people with inherited wealth would keep on living in their fancy houses in their gated communities, and Tom Paris strikes me as being a privileged kid who grew up in a big house with a swimming pool and a tennis court, who spent his youth riding around in his expensive car (or would it be a shuttlecraft?? do rich people have their own shuttles on earth??) and being a slacker/prankster king at his fancy prep school like a 24th century Zack Morris. (I know I read Pathways back when I was a teenager, and it may have mentioned something about his childhood, but I don't remember any of it, and novels aren't technically canon in Star Trek universe, so I'm sticking with my rich kid Tom Paris headcanon.)

More of Neellx being possessive of Kes in this episode, ughhhh.

I didn't remember that they gave background crewmember Lieutenant Durst a pretty prominent supporting role in this episode. Obviously it was meant to make his subsequent death more impactful, but it was anyway, since I still remember him for getting killed off. (I probably don't have to give spoiler warnings for a decades old show, but spoiler: he dies in the very next episode.)

Anyway, tl;dr: a solid alien possession episode.