sᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ᴊᴀᴍ ↝ sᴏᴘᴇ ✔︎

ⅈᠻ 𝕥ꫝꫀ ડꫝꪮꫀ ᠻⅈ𝕥ડ 𝟝:𝟙

Among the many villages and streets of France, there lived a family of five.

Although, as many of you may know already, it wasn't like any normal family.

And far from it.

"Hey rat!" Taehyung screamed, running down the steps at the speed of lightning with the wooden stairs creaking underneath his ridiculously large high heel shoes, "Can you resew my dress? My ass is too fat for it," he sighed, placing a hand on hip before carelessly tossing the dress in Hoseok's direction — catching him off guard completely as he was in the middle of sweeping their attic floor.

"Why can't you do it yourself?" Hoseok mumbled, taking the dress in hand before sending his step brother an eye-piercing glare, one that Taehyung returned even more scarily — or if not more intimidatingly.

"Because mother said so!" He retaliated, sticking his tongue out in a childish manner before skipping back down the stairs and making sure to kick some stray sawdust while doing so — and successfully getting a small amount of it in Hoseok's eyes as well.

Just great.

Nothing to make his afternoon better than for his bratty step brother to implode yet another chore on him, as if his schedule wasn't already booked enough as it was to last him the next five years of his life.

But thankfully, ever since his birth mother sadly passed away ever since he was ten years old, growing up in this rather chaotic and unarguably brutal household taught him how to toughen up his barriers and not give in to the snobby and rich people — something that easily provoked him before being unwillingly dragged into this mess.

So, here he was, standing in front of the fireplace covered with head to toe in soot and cinder — contemplating his entire life existence.

While also mumbling incoherent curse words at Taehyung, one of his three step brothers.

That's right, three.

He still wondered how he hasn't been buried alive yet or have his lungs give out by all the ash and fire emissions he's inhaled over the past seven years of being forced into practical labor.

And as if his tragic past wasn't enough to weigh him down already, just think of how overwhelming and mentally exhausting it was to have to deal with lunatic bitches every five minutes.

Who apparently couldn't even pour themselves a bowl of cereal or kill a spider without screaming bloody murder or running to Hoseok's side immediately to make him do it for them instead.

But that, ladies and gents, is the story of Hoseokerella.

Or, Hoseok for short.

Because I am not writing that long ass name one hundred times a chapter.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"La la la la laaaaaa ~ birdies heheheh ding dOINGGGGHHH LAAAAAAA AHHHHHH," Hoseok sang, pouring his heart and soul into belting the lyrics from the core of his abdomen and chest — practically abusing his lungs in the process.

As well as abusing his poor animal friends' ears.

"Shut the fuck up walmart version of Snow White," one of the mice squeaked, running up the length of Hoseok's skirt making him stumble and fall to the ground with a hard crash, immediately having all the other mice run to see what all the noise was about as well.

Pouting, Hoseok sighed and stood up, sweeping off all the dust that had gotten onto his apron in the process of falling down, "That wasn't very cash money of you Jaq," he grumbled, carefully setting the mouse down in the crook of his neck before picking up the broom again to carry on with his strenuous work load.