#'i will complete this specific exercise every single day no excuses'

[copia]

this is weird and overly personal but blogging about it anyway. i started a silly project at the end of may this year to exercise every single day (with small exceptions for exams etc) until the first sleep token show - idk why i chose that (i do, it was 'do it for vessel') but having a finite goal is so much easier to work towards than 'i will continue this habit for the rest of my life'. long story short i've done it and i'll continue on even though the first show has passed (do it for papa v this time?) but just saw myself in the mirror in the hotel i'm staying at for the next ritual and jdbdhjdbdj i've got some defined muscle i didn't have this time six months ago thank u vessel

[nef-ar10us]

Cozy Castle Townhouses

So I'm more of an aspiring builder, but as one step in the pursuit of non-perfectionism I've still decided to share my random and mostly semi-finished stuff around here ^^ (Please excuse the bad screens, I'm still figuring out how to do this.) Today: Three fancy-ish townhouses based on (and including) a renovated version of the Cozy Castle bin lot.

I've made two families who I want to live here and furnished one and a half (like I said, semi-finished) apartments specifically for them, while leaving the third one empty. More pictures below :)

The one on the right is the unfurnished one, I decorated only the porch and little balcony. Thinking maybe a wholesome young couple.

The one on the left is the most fleshed-out, but the inhabitants' story isn't exactly a nice one: Nils had only recently moved into town with his fiancée and her son Ezra, when she suddenly died in a tragic accident. Even if he'd accepted the role of Ezra's father figure as part of his marriage to come, had things been different he honestly would never have wanted any children... And now he's here with this kid who isn't even his, whose mother they both mourn, completely at a loss. Watcher knows none of this is the boy's fault and Nils tries to be a dad, he really does, but it's hard. Every little thing about this place they had planned to call home reminds him of his loss.

Their place is pristine, very bright and clean, for the most part.

Little Ezra has never talked (or cried) a lot or made much noise in general, but give him a crayons, a brush and paint, or a simple pen and you can keep him occupied all day - even if he may take to use the actual house as his canvas. He may not have known Nils for long but has nevertheless developed a fierce, if quiet, loyalty to him: His mother had told him he was family now, so family he is. He doesn't call him 'Dad' as he's not sure he'd appreciate it, but is nevertheless determined to carry him through these dark times. Family always sticks together, right?

Nils is - or used to be - a martial artist by profession, winning sizeable tournament prizes on the regular. He can't stand to be around people as of now but exercising is still about the only thing to keep his mind off of ... everything else.

This ground floor room used to be a temporary nursery for the boy until he was big enough to have his own room; it became a storage space, for lack of a better term, after that. Old, no longer needed furniture, clutter, and memories are catching dust in here, and some nights Nils locks himself in here, smoking away the hours until it's time to wake Ezra up for school. He'll clean this place up, soon ... for sure. Until then, he keeps the door locked at all times. The boy doesn't need to see this.

The middle one (the actual Cozy Castle) is ... something else. Semi-furnished for a very specific household with a very specific taste. The neighbors tend to be wary of this lot, to say the least.

Downstairs: Kitchen/dining and little office area. Sparsely decorated as of yet, but you get the idea. ^^

Upstairs so far. The first lab/darkroom-ish bedroom belongs to Scarlet, the actual tenant, while the second bedroom is currently used by her two more or less welcome but very eccentric "houseguests" (who seemingly have no intention of leaving anytime soon...). Dorian and his son Oscar bicker like a couple of married romance sims, and most fights seem to be related to their mutual vanity: Oscar can't stomach the fact that his father manages to look younger than him, and Dorian misses no opportunity to rub it in his face. Scarlet just houses them because their sire demanded it via handwritten letter from overseas, but she has come to think that he, too, might have lost his mind a little.

Thanks for reading! <3

Credits: I've used an f-ton of different CC from all over the place and am so grateful to all the creators! Please don't be angry that I'm not listing every single person here. If there's a specific item you like, feel free to hit me with a WCIF and I'll see what I can dig up :)

[angryonabus]

2022 Writing Review:

Total number of completed stories:  Six stories across five fandoms, only one of which I had written in prior to this year.

Total word count: Per AO3, I posted 18278 words, although solidly two thirds of that were written pre-pandemic.  Per my writing counter, I wrote just over 45k words overall, which feels…accurate.

Fandom Breakdown:  Our Flag Means Death x 2, Schitt’s Creek, Dragon Age: Absolution, Locked Tomb, & Heart of Gold

Overall Thoughts: Looking back through my writing tracker was an interesting exercise in, “oh, huh, yeah, I actually made a pretty solid start on that, didn���t I?”  There are multiple stories that already have at least 10k written; maybe my goal for 2023 should be to finish one of those? 

…update: well, my last (?) story for 2022 was one that I started in January of 2020; COVID made it tough to write about large groups of people hanging out together, so it’s been languishing for the better part of three years.  I sat down yesterday to work on it, only to discover that it was roughly 300 words away from being finished.   Sitting down and actually fucking writing: WILDLY effective!  Who knew?!

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?  Less than last year, but probably still more than I would have predicted?  2022 was a very weird year for me, writing-wise…I ended the year with a completely different set of active fandoms than I had in January, and I also basically stopped writing when I started a new job in August, so that was a four month hiatus I wasn’t planning on.  And yet I did actually write words!  Go me.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? …all of them, TBH.  Yuletide is always a weird outlier, but neither Our Flag Means Death nor Dragon Age: Absolution were even remotely on my radar in January.  

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?  I think the biggest risk I took was just giving myself permission to NOT WRITE for several months…this fall was exhausting for RL reasons, and I didn’t have the energy or the brain.  I was lowkey  afraid that if I let myself stop, I’d never start again, but clearly that didn’t happen; December actually wound up being the month with the highest wordcount.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year? In 2022 my goal was 200 words a day, which I absolutely did not meet.  For 2023, I think I’m going to excuse myself from numerical goals, but I really would like to finish at least one of the bigger stories that has been languishing in my Google Drive.

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year:  this is probably a tie between tippet-de-witchet and there’s one in every family, child (two in mine)—they both started with a very specific vision, and I think they both did what I intended for them to do.

My most popular story of this year:  definitely tippet-de-witchet!  Fandom likes dumb jokes and cunnilingus; news at 11.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: I feel pretty appreciated, tbh!  Mostly I wrote weird niche shit and that’s fine by me.

Story with the single sexiest moment:  tippet-de-witchet, again.

Most “Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story:  As last year, I don’t think anything I’ve written is particularly wrong OR particularly surprising. 

...maybe the spark before the dark, actually; that one did have a working title of 'bonefucking'.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: little & broken (but still good) was an interesting exercise in figuring out character voices!

Hardest story to write: This one is a tie!  One the one hand, history lesson [THREAD] fought me hard.  First I had to figure out the story I wanted to tell, which wasn’t easy—the canon has aged, uh, not particularly well, and it took me a while to find my angle for the story.  And then I had to figure out how to use work skins in order to make everything look right!  NIGHTMARE FUEL.

…on the other hand, I started writing there’s one in every family, child (two in mine) in two thousand and twenty, so.  

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: that there’s one in every family, child (two in mine) is less “telling” and more “ripped from the headlines of my life”, but, enh, potato, potato.

In conclusion:  Writing: it’s fun, apparently?  And I do in fact still have things to say even if I give myself a few months off.

[just-an-aspiring-polymath]

Hey! I hope you're all doing well. Today I bring you 5 productivity tips, which I think are not the most talked about (though I could be wrong).

Although this is a "top 5", these are in no particular order, it's just the order they came up to my mind. But let's go to the point:

1. Time tracking

This is something I discovered quite recently, and it consists of recording what you do in your day. You can do this either on paper or with an app(there are many, but personally I use Simple Time Tracker, because it also tells you the untracked hours).

Whenever you do a task, write down the time when you started and finished it. At the end of the day/week, you can evaluate how much time did you spend doing what.

However, do not obsess yourself over what you do every single second of your life. Start annotating just a few general things like studying, exercising, social media, etc. And as you feel it necessary, add more things or be more specific.

There are two main reasons why I think this is useful:

Finding out how much time you spend procrastinating might make you more conscious about it, so you'll start doing it less, or at least more mindfully.

You probably heard that you should plan at what time will you do each thing you want to do, but how are you supposed to plan it when you have no idea how long it will take you to finish each task? Of course you can just do it by trial and error, but time tracking might make it easier.

2.Plan at least two days at a time

By now you're probably tired of hearing that you should plan your days in the morning or the night before. I'm not gonna tell you that is bad advice, because it is actually very useful. But I am gonna tell you to take it a step further and plan two days ahead of time. Why?

The idea is that you plan your second day as if you had achieved everything on your first day. That way, you'll feel forced to do those things.

In case something unplanned happens and you can't do everything on your to-do list, you can always make adjustments on your to-do list for the next day, so you shouldn't worry about that.

3.Have a go-to activity

The idea of this is to choose something to do whenever you don't have anything else. Sometimes you're just in "waiting mode" so you don't know what to do to kill time and end up doing nothing. To change this, you can decide to do a simple activity that you enjoy that you consider to be productive anyway. The benefits of this is:

Whenever you are procrastinating a specific task, you can do this go-to activity as a transitioning task. You are more likely to do something if you're already in a productive mode.

As I said, whenever you are stuck with nothing to do, it is a way of making you feel productive.

4. Accountability

Perhaps you already heard this, but you are more likely to do something if you feel the external pressure to do so. It is easy to excuse yourself for not doing stuff, but having to admit that to other people is a completely different thing. That's why if you know that someone is holding you accountable for your actions, you are more likely to do what you said you would do. However, you might find it difficult to find someone to hold yourself accountable, that's why I plan on doing a separate blog about that.

5.Set a minimum/maximum time

This is something I did for myself, and it's mainly meant to be for habits. Basically, for each habit you want to do, set a minimum and maximum time during which you'll perform said activity. The reasons why you should do this are:

It molds to how busy you are. When you have much things to do, you can always fall back on the minimum time and that way not failing your habit.

Same thing for when you're lazy.

Now, the maximum time is aimed at being the most effective. The idea is that you don't spend 5 hours doing one of your habits and then having just 1 hour to do the rest.

Those were all the tips I had for you today. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. Thanks for reading and have an amazing day!

[gukyi]

the coffee shop contract | jjk

summary: apparently, having an instagram profile with a different girl in every picture is reason enough for your friends to strike up a deal where they’ll pay you to have a relationship. well, jeon jungkook’s no good at relationships, but a fake relationship isn’t a real relationship. is it?

{fake dating!au, college!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre: just fluff because i have a one-genre mindset word count: 18k warnings: alcohol consumption but no main character is overly drunk, dumb college antics, i know this is a fic but please don’t do these things in college actually a/n: yes, this story is actually based on a real instagram account my friend showed me in college. oh yeah, college? that’s a thing. i’m sorry for taking so long with this fic, i’m trying my best but college is hard. please wait patiently for me and enjoy this plotless piece of garbage!

Jeon Jungkook thinks that his college experience is overwhelmingly standard. He goes to his classes (most of the time), goes to parties on the weekends (sometimes), goofs off with his friends when he’s supposed to be studying (all of the time), and eats like shit. 

(The plus side to his eating-like-shit habits is that he’s a gym junkie, which means that in theory, every time he exercises he burns off all of the shit and just leaves the energy behind. In theory.)

He operates under the assumption that he leads a very normal college life. He is but a typical student with a very small budget who detests the fact that he has to buy brand new versions of his textbooks just so he can get the online access code. He thinks he’s nothing but average. 

His friends think differently. 

“It’s not that weird, guys,” Jungkook insists in a group study room one day, where neither he nor his friends happen to be studying. In fact, Jungkook’s laptop is dead. He forgot his charger in his bedroom. He has no idea what he thought he would be doing when Taehyung texted and asked if he wanted to come and study with them. 

They are doing anything but studying. 

Taehyung has been on his phone the entire time, and the same topic of conversation that circles their friend group every now and then is at hand. “Yes it is, Jungkook,” he insists. He holds his phone up to both Jungkook and Jimin to prove a point. “Think about it. Okay, I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder—”

“You just swiped right on some random dude,” Jungkook points out monotonously, a single eyebrow raised. Next to him, Jimin bursts into the laughter he was doing a poor job of holding in. “Why do you even have Tinder? You’re dating someone, and he’s sitting right next to you.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters in exclamation, quickly pulling his phone back to try and rectify his carelessness. “Wait, never mind, he’s cute.” Jungkook shakes his head to himself. “Stop trying to distract me! I’m trying to explain something to you!”

Taehyung resumes. 

“Anyway, think about it. I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder and I see this cute guy who goes to my school named Jungkook. His pictures feature some pretty decent selfies, no workout or shirtless pics, and an awful shot of him with two hot dogs shoved into his mouth at once, courtesy of his best friend,” Taehyung explains, beaming. He even makes a point to pull up the aforementioned hot dog picture. It’s not pretty, but it’s a good conversation starter. “His bio is pretty standard, likes adventuring, hates doing required readings for class, lives off of coffee. I like the look of him.”

“Get to the point, Tae,” Jungkook says with a sigh, tossing his head back in exasperation. It’s not as if he’s in any sort of rush to move on from the conversation because he has something better to do, because he doesn’t. He just doesn’t need to be grilled like this. 

“I go to look him up on Instagram, because maybe he’s the kind of guy to have his profile public for the viewing of others.” Taehyung pulls up Jungkook’s Instagram. He had forgotten about how good his aesthetic was. “Lo and behold, his profile is public! Hurrah! I can stalk him happily just to see if he really is my type. But, wait, what’s this?”

Jungkook facepalms. 

Taehyung keeps going, scrolling further and further down Jungkook’s page. “It looks like every single Instagram post is with a different girl. Wait! Maybe they’re the same one—nope, they just did their hair similarly. Huh. That’s strange. Every picture features a different girl, no repeats. Now I really don’t think I want to swipe right anymore. So I go back to Tinder, and I avoid the guy by the name of Jungkook at all costs.”

Jungkook thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have come to the group study room at all. Maybe, if he leaves now under the excuse that he forgot his laptop charger, he just won’t have to come back. Ever. For the rest of his educational career. 

Taehyung puts his phone down on the table with a smack, staring at Jungkook with an extremely unimpressed look on his face. 

“Are you going to do this every time I tell you I went on a date and I don’t think I want to go on another one?” Jungkook frowns. Maybe he needs new friends. Maybe that would be a better solution. 

“Yes, because you’re a stand-up guy who’s funny and smart and got a hot ‘bod and you can’t seem to tie down anybody for more than a couple of months, max,” Taehyung tells him pointedly. He’s always been extremely good at backhanded compliments. “Aside from us, your best friends.”

“I’m rethinking the ‘best friends’ part,” Jungkook says. He can’t believe it, but he thinks he would rather be studying. 

“You wouldn’t do that to the man who paid for new Airpods for you!” Taehyung cries out, loud enough for someone in the main study room to turn around and glare at the three of them. 

“You’re the one who broke them! You dropped them on the street and let some biker ride right over them!” Jungkook reminds him, eyes wide. He remembers the image vividly, Taehyung snatching his earphones out of his hands as they walked towards their favorite Korean place, watching them tumble right out of his slippery fingers and onto the pavement, and a bicyclist with those flashing red lights attached their handles coming speeding down, right over the case. It was the most tragic thing that Jungkook has ever witnessed. 

“And I bought you brand new ones that were engraved with your name like a good, rich best friend would.” He may be an eclectic international student majoring in economics like half of the campus, but at least Taehyung’s self aware. 

“Well, it’s not like Jungkook’s going to redo his entire Instagram feed or anything,” Jimin adds callously. Someone gets it. “He’s got this whole muted, neutral-toned aesthetic going on. He also doesn’t seem to mind the lack of commitment.”

Taehyung tuts, shaking his head. He’s still on page one of his fifty-page reading on Economic Disparities in the Post-Cold War Global Stage. He has not even picked up his highlighter. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweet Jiminie.”

“I know you guys are dating, but please never say the phrase ‘Sweet Jiminie’ in front of me ever again,” Jungkook pleads. 

“I’m willing to wager that with the right incentive, Jungkook will actually make an attempt at maintaining a real, long-term, committed relationship with someone he’s genuinely interested in,” Taehyung says, a devilish glint lacing his dark brown eyes. 

Jungkook hates that look. It’s the same look he had when he suggested they roll their office chairs down the hall of the dorm at three in the morning freshman year. Same look he had when he had Jungkook take sensual nudes of him to send to Jimin pre-relationship because Jungkook apparently had the photography skills of Photous, the photography god (that Taehyung is convinced exists in Greek mythology). Same look he had right before he downed five Monster drinks consecutively, which had the opposite of the intended effect and caused him to pass out in the group study room. 

“No favor you could do for me would make me even consider accepting this wager,” Jungkook tells him immediately. He loves his best friend, but multiple times Taehyung has said he’d do Jungkook’s laundry and ended up turning all of his white belongings pink—his bedsheets, towels, and a couple of his favorite shirts are now all cotton candy-tinged. 

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m not talking about favors, young padawan. I am talking cash, the cold, hard kind that you can feel clenched between your closed fist.”

Taehyung comes from a family with money to burn but never does he spend it so recklessly. Except maybe when he bought five Monster drinks with the intention to drink them all like vodka shots. He shuffles around his backpack (work still forgotten) before pulling out his wallet, slapping two hundred dollars onto the table in front of them. 

Jungkook, the money-starved college student he is, immediately reaches out for the stack of bills, but Taehyung nabs it from him before he can regain any semblance of personal dignity. 

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts condescendingly. Jungkook shrinks back into his wheely chair as he reminds himself that while taking Taehyung’s money may have short-term benefits, he will feel long-term guilt. “Not yet, Jungkookie. First, you need to accept and complete the wager.”

Jungkook huffs. This feels like a drug deal. “Specifications,” he coughs out. 

“If you actually find yourself in a committed, loving, uplifting, and completely real relationship with someone that you are mutually attracted to for longer than three months, with at least three Instagram posts of them on your page, I will give you money,” Taehyung says. This immediately crosses out Jungkook’s plan to coerce his favorite music production major (and other best friend), Min Yoongi, into helping him.

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “How much money?”

Taehyung ponders the question for a moment, checking his wallet one more time just to make sure the same amount that was in there two minutes ago is still there now. “I’ll be generous,” he says with a shrug. “Four hundred.”

Jungkook’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Sure, he’s well aware that his best friend is one-hundred percent loaded, but four hundred dollars could finance his textbooks for the next two semesters, probably. It could buy him a new computer program and matching equipment for his average mixtape-making skills. He could send it home to his parents and they could go on a wholesale store shopping spree. They could buy him all the granola bars and multigrain crackers he could ever dream of. 

“Are you serious?” Jungkook asks, gobsmacked. 

Taehyung nods nonchalantly. “Yeah, why not? If you didn’t use the money, then I’d just buy some dumbass shit like more energy drinks. I’d say it’s a pretty good use of my cash.”

Jimin’s looking at Jungkook like he’d be a fool not to accept the deal. Jungkook wonders what the harm is. He succeeds, and not only does he get four hundred dollars, he also gets to be in a genuinely enjoyable relationship with someone he actually cares about. He’s in college, too, which means that it’s the perfect time to make some possibly-regrettable and extremely stupid decisions. And maybe, for once in his life, Taehyung’s right. Maybe having an Instagram feed with a different girl in each picture gives off fuckboy-let’s hook up and then I’ll never speak to you ever again vibes. Maybe he should really rethink his Instagram aesthetic. 

“Choose quickly, Jungkookie, or I might come to my senses and go buy one hundred Chicken McNuggets with the money instead,” Taehyung advises. 

Taehyung’s hand makes to put the two hundred dollars clenched between his fingers back in his wallet, and that’s when Jungkook impulsively shouts, “Yes! I’ll do it. Fine. Whatever.”

Taehyung cackles like the Wicked Witch of the West. Jungkook wonders if there’s a downside to this. 

But to his clouded, 1AM mind, surrounded by friends that make him lose even more brain cells, it seems like the perfect decision. 

“You do realize that Taehyung is basically paying you to court someone, right?” Yoongi asks over coffee the next day. It’s four in the afternoon, Jungkook’s finished with classes, Yoongi hasn’t started his homework, the both of them have ordered the most caffeinated drinks possible. 

“So?” Jungkook asks as he takes another sip, shivers as he feels it run through his blood. 

“So, any person you actually try and date for the next three months will find out about the deal one way or another and then feel used, and you’ll feel shitty. If you do somehow manage to date someone for the next three months successfully, they’ll find out about the money and dump your dumb ass,” Yoongi explains callously. He downs half of his coffee in a single go. 

Jungkook grins. “I’m really loving the confidence that all of my friends have in me when it comes to maintaining long-term relationships. It makes me feel so great.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You know that I’m right, Jungkook. You can’t just accept this deal and expect the person you end up dating, if you even end up dating someone, not to find out. That’s unrealistic and basically grounds for a terrible breakup rom-com.”

“I already told him that I’d do it. I want the money because I am a broke college student. It seemed like a no-brainer at the time,” Jungkook says, exasperated. He sighs into his coffee and the foam wobbles. “What am I supposed to do? Tell Taehyung that the deal’s off and let him make fun of me for the rest of recorded human history?” Jungkook whines. 

“I don’t think he’ll do that.”

He definitely will. Taehyung’s gravestone will say Don’t Forget to Find Jeon Jungkook’s Grave and Laugh At Him For Me. Jungkook will spend the rest of eternity buried six feet under with random strangers laughing at him until the sun absorbs the Earth and wipes out life on the planet entirely. 

“Yes he will,” says Jungkook, pouting. “What other option do I have?”

A chair screeches on the wooden floor next to him and Yoongi and suddenly, someone speaks. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping even though I definitely was, and I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be in some sort of monetary predicament,” you say, looking at Jungkook with wide eyes. You look familiar, but Jungkook can’t place where from. Maybe one of his classes?

“Can I help you?” Jungkook asks, taken aback by your sudden brazenness. The last time Jungkook came face to face with someone so shameless was the first time he met Seokjin while at a house party in Namjoon’s apartment. Seokjin walked through the front doors blasting Who Let the Dogs Out from his iPhone and immediately declared himself king of the household before Namjoon could even say hello. 

You shrug, shoulders nonchalant and unbothered. “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

Jungkook’s flabbergasted. He turns to Yoongi, who, like he does with most things that don’t directly involve him, seems to have already assumed a hands-off position. Like it’s not his problem that his best friend has just been approached by a random stranger in a coffeeshop who looks to be promising a solution to his problems. Like the Shadow Man from Disney’s Princess and the Frog. Like a mafia boss. 

With a non-comforting pat on Jungkook’s back, Yoongi stands up, finishes the rest of his coffee in a single gulp, and says, “Looks like this one’s on you, ‘Kook.” He doesn’t say anything else and, five seconds later, he’s gone. 

“Jungkook, right?” You ask the moment Yoongi’s out the door. You’ve fully shifted your chair to face Jungkook, and Jungkook doesn’t know where to look when your eyes are staring right at him. 

“How do you know my na—”

“I’m Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me barging in on your conversation like this,” you say, not at all deterred by Jungkook’s very obvious bewilderment. 

“Um—”

“See, I was just drinking my hot chocolate even though it’s still warm outside, and I overheard that you were in quite the dilemma,” you say. Even though you technically aren’t invading any of his actual personal space—you’re not touching the table, accidentally brushing your foot against his leg, leaning in aggressively close—Jungkook feels like you couldn’t be any nearer to him. Like all this overwhelming forwardness and confidence is rendering him speechless and keenly cognizant of his personal bubble. “And I’m here to propose a solution.”

“Do you go here?” Jungkook somehow manages to get out. 

“Me? Yeah, I’m majoring in communications,” you tell him casually. Jungkook wonders why he’s not surprised to hear that. 

“Okay…” Jungkook still doesn’t know what to say. 

“In any case, in the past five minutes I’ve spent listening to you talk about how your friends said they’d pay you if you managed to date someone for more than three months, I’ve devised a foolproof solution that benefits all parties involved,” you tell him like you’re trying to get him to sign onto a business deal. Jungkook swears that there must be fine print somewhere. He just can’t tell where. 

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. He’s interested. “Which is…?”

“Date me.”

If Jungkook’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Taehyung pulled out that fat stack of cash in the group study room, they must jump right out and roll onto the wooden floor at this.

“I’m sorry, w-what?” Jungkook sputters, like he hadn’t heard you correctly even though he definitely had. He was expecting something maybe more in the realm of counselor, like tell your friends you don’t want to do the deal, if they’re really your friends they’ll honor your wishes, or maybe even on the opposite side of the spectrum, like if you run away to Norway now and change your identity they’ll never be able to find you, here I know a guy. Not date me. 

Certainly not Date Me. 

“Date me,” you repeat. It’s the simplest phrase. And yet, it befuddles Jungkook more than his theoretical computer science class does. “Maybe I should rephrase it. Fake date me. How’s that sound?”

Jungkook lets out something between a cough, a chuckle, and the noise a dying Canadian goose would make. 

“Basically, what I’m thinking, what my vision is, is that you and I agree to fake date for two weeks past the designated period—in your case, three months. This prevents your friends from thinking that the whole relationship was all for show and so you can preserve your dignity. I, as your honorable and true girlfriend, will do any and all things necessary to make your friends believe that you are genuinely committed to our relationship. Then, your friends pay you after the three months is up, and because it takes two to tango, I get half. Sound good?” You propose. You seem to have thought of everything. 

The first problem is that Jungkook doesn’t know how he’s going to maintain the facade of a real relationship with someone he 1) barely knows and 2) barely knows. The reason he doesn’t commit to anything isn’t because he’s afraid of commitment (okay, maybe he is) but because all of the dates he ever goes on are Tinder dates or hookups-post-one-night-stand. He doesn’t date people he’s already familiar with, and then it never goes further. Even if he didn’t meet you on Tinder or sleep with you after a shitty frat party, he doesn’t see how this scenario is much different. 

The second problem is that, true to his college student nature, Jungkook is starved for cash. When Taehyung promised him four hundred dollars, he immediately began thinking of ways to spend each and every cent. But the prospect of him losing half of that money to someone he barely knows has him more than hesitant. How will his parents go on their wholesale store shopping spree without four hundred in cash to blow? If Jungkook wants those four hundred dollars so badly, why not put in the effort?

The third problem is that Jungkook is a phenomenally terrible actor. When he was in grade school and everybody had to participate in the class play on why smoking is bad for you, Jungkook’s role was Kid In The Background Sitting On A Chair Reading A Book. He was on stage for a total of two minutes as the main character was peer pressured into smoking, and he never set foot on it again. 

So, if Jungkook were to arrange this into a five-paragraph essay with Times New Roman size twelve font, he’d have a pretty good argument for why your proposal is probably not a good idea. 

But then, Jungkook is reminded of a few key things that keep him from declining right off the bat. 

First, he’s already said yes. Which means that, if he wants those four hundred dollars, he’s going to have to go through with Taehyung’s deal. 

Second, going through with Taehyung’s deal and keeping the four hundred dollars all to himself will require lots of effort on his part. He will have to keep going on dates until he finds someone he clicks with, and then he will have to keep going on dates with that specific person for the next three months and develop a meaningful relationship. 

Third, Yoongi’s right, as he usually is. Even if Jungkook establishes a relationship, the deal will always be in the back of his mind, and the truth will eventually come out. This may lead to Jungkook’s first genuine heartbreak—if he’s committed to the relationship—and Jungkook isn’t mentally prepared for that either. 

And somehow, as Jungkook makes it through the labyrinth that is his mind, he comes to the overarching conclusion that maybe accepting your proposal isn’t such a bad idea after all. If you already know about the money, you’re willing to help him dupe his friends, and you don’t really care about splitting up in three and a half months, then the only thing that Jungkook is losing is two hundred dollars. And while that may be a lot, he’ll still have two hundred of his own to console him. 

Despite the lack of communication between the two of you, surrounded by the white noise of the ambient coffee shop, you don’t appear at all deterred by Jungkook’s radio silence. You’ve put the deal down on the table and are waiting for Jungkook to either pick it up or push it off. 

“You get half?” He asks, just for clarification. It’s difficult to miss the fact that you are, essentially, halving the benefits he’s reaping from accepting Taehyung’s deal. 

You nod. “Yup. But in return, any dates we go on I will pay for my share, so you don’t have to worry about that. I will also be a loving and doting girlfriend you gets you coffee, croissants, and Dunkin’ whenever you ask, and even sometimes when you don’t. So I think that it evens out.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jungkook asks. 

You laugh, cracking a smile that shows off your teeth and fills out your cheeks. Jungkook looks right at you, and maybe he doesn’t feel anything right now, but he thinks he might be able to find a friend in this along the way. “I’m the one who suggested it, aren’t I?”

Jungkook sits resolutely. He just prays that neither Taehyung nor Jimin ever find out about this. If they do, he really will have to escape to Norway and change his identity. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, his eyes staring firmly into yours. “I’m in.”

Seeing as the both of you are college students with the most updated technology at your fingertips, you pull out your laptop and situate it between the both of you. You’ve shifted tables so now that you can face your future fake-boyfriend, and Jungkook feels more and more like he’s signing up for some shady website in the hope that it’ll give him the answers to his problem set. Immediately, you share a Google Doc with him. 

“What should we call it?” You ask, cursor hovering over the Untitled document. 

“The contract?” Jungkook suggests weakly. He was never good at titles. 

“The Coffee Shop Contract,” you add on, typing it dutifully into the bar. “Sounds official.”

“It’s official because there’s money involved,” Jungkook points out. You wouldn’t be writing up this formal contract if you weren’t reaping any financial benefits so long as you both honor it. 

“Maybe it’s just because we don’t know each other yet, but you seem like the type of guy to swindle me out of promised cash,” you observe, albeit somewhat inaccurately. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m untrustworthy?” Jungkook asks, only a little offended. 

You purse your lips into a thin smile. “My friends make fun of you because you’ve got a different girl in every single one of your Instagram posts. Can you blame me?”

Jungkook tosses his head back, exasperated. “It’s not that weird!” He exclaims. 

“It’s kinda weird.”

You type up a brief outline of the requirements. It looks like this: 

The Coffee Shop Contract

Signatories Jungkook and Y/N.

This contract entails a fake relationship between the signatories of Jungkook and Y/N.

This fake relationship shall last no less than three months and one week and no longer than three months and two weeks. 

Both parties involved shall do any and all things possible to ensure that this fake relationship appears as realistic as possible. 

Both parties will pay for their share of any and all outings made together. 

Three Instagram posts on Jungkook’s account must be made throughout the duration of the relationship. 

Should this fake relationship be successful, Jungkook shall give half of his payment to Y/N as compensation for her efforts. 

No falling in love with each other.

No one can know. 

Signatures: _______________________ and __________________________

“What was the reason you needed to type up a whole contract? I thought we had already discussed all of this,” Jungkook asks when you’re finished, eyeing the document on the screen. It looks much too official for his liking. Jungkook, if he could, would probably write his essays on a series of Post-It Notes—specifically the accordion-style ones, because those bring more joy into Jungkook’s life than he cares to admit. 

“This solidifies it,” you inform him sternly, fingertips moving quickly across your keyboard. “So that way if either of us breaks the rules, the deal’s off.”

Jungkook frowns slightly, tilting his head. “What if we both break the rules?”

“Well then,” you tell him firmly, resolutely, putting your hand on top of his. Jungkook jumps slightly at the touch, but your palm is warm and it wraps around his with determination. “I suppose that we go down together, or we don’t go down at all.”

When Jungkook’s alarm goes off at ten o’clock that Sunday, the first person to say anything is Taehyung. He comes stumbling out of his bedroom in their two-bed one-bath off-campus apartment, hair disheveled and still wrapped up in the hoodie he’s been wearing for the past forty-eight hours. 

“Jungkook?” He asks hazily, voice muffled and thick from sleep and the retainers still in his mouth. “What are you doing up?”

Jungkook looks up from where he was mid-washing his mouth out post-teeth brush, and stares at Taehyung’s reflection in the mirror. The fluorescent light of their bathroom illuminates his undereye bags and the hickey he seems to have acquired in the past 12 hours extremely well. 

“Huh?” He asks, mouth only slightly full. 

“What are you doing up? Didn’t you get back at like, four last night?” Taehyung asks. He must faintly recall the door slamming shut as Jungkook stumbled back, the alcohol from whatever parties he ended up slowly making its way out of his system. Jungkook does not over-drink… but he also doesn’t under-drink. He was with Jimin the whole time, though, who was flat out hammered, and when Jungkook wrapped an arm around his waist and insisted he drop him back off at his apartment across the street from his and Taehyung’s, Jimin told Jungkook that he was very nice and attractive but that he had a boyfriend. 

Jungkook wonders if Jimin’s going to wake up before three this afternoon. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. He splashes his face for good measure before slapping on some of the lotion they have on the edge of the sink that he always mistakes for soap. His mother told him that furiously smacking skincare into your face wakes you up and depuffs your eyes. So he does it. “I’m meeting someone for brunch.”

Taehyung slaps himself in the face. 

“Don’t tell me Jeon Jungkook is awake at ten in the morning to meet someone for brunch,” Taehyung says, even though that’s exactly what Jungkook is telling him. 

“I am,” says Jungkook. 

“Who?” Taehyung demands to know, leaning against the doorframe. While his body may be falling asleep, his mind sure still runs a mile a minute. 

“Uh, some girl,” Jungkook says, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible. Jungkook accepted Taehyung’s deal a week ago, and you had told him to only start mentioning ‘a girl’ after time had passed to keep Taehyung less suspicious. So you had texted him last night while he was four vodka shots into the night, saying that you should meet up for brunch the next day, and Jungkook, the dumbass he is, said yes without realizing the time you had suggested. 

And now he is paying the price in bags. 

Eye bags. 

“A girl?” Taehyung asks, immediately more awake. “Did you meet her last night?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook lies. 

Taehyung scoffs. “Did she give you that?” He points to Jungkook’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook lies again.

“Wow, what a ladies’ man, huh?” Taehyung asks, giving Jungkook a good punch in the shoulder before he pulls his hoodie right over his head, tugs on the drawstrings for the South Park effect, and trots back to bed. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair before his eyes focus back on the hickey on his neck. He can’t remember a damn thing about who gave it to him. For all he knows, it could have been Jimin. Jimin has, for the record, mistaken Jungkook for Taehyung quite a few times when drunk, though clearly he was able to distinguish between the two of them last night. He grabs Taehyung’s concealer (which is two shades darker than his skin tone) from the cabinet behind the mirror, tries his best to hide it, and prays that you won’t make fun of him when you meet up. 

“The fuck is on your neck?” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth when Jungkook appears at the corner table of the brunch place. He was late, as per usual, but only because Jimin came knocking on the door and Jungkook had to direct him to Taehyung’s room before he collapsed face-first on their couch and stayed there for the next two days. 

“Uh,” Jungkook says. 

“Is that a hickey? Are you attempting to conceal a hickey with concealer that is literally two shades darker than you?” You ask, squinting as you lean in. 

“Uh,” Jungkook says again. He sits down, because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I ordered us orange juice already,” you tell him. “But it seems like you had a lot of fun last night. Care to tell me anything about it?”

Jungkook picks up the menu to keep his hands busy and give himself an excuse not to meet your eyes. The french toast looks good, and is less expensive than the avocado toast for some strange reason. Classic brunch problems. “I mean, it’s not really that important—”

“Hey,” you say, leaning over and snapping your fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “I’m your fake girlfriend now. I’m obligated to be interested in what activities you get up to when I’m not with you. So, what did you do last night?”

Jungkook figures that since he walked in here five minutes late with mismatched concealer poorly hiding a hickey, you have a right to know what the hell happened last night. If he even remembers what happened last night. 

“I went out around ten with my roommate’s boyfriend,” Jungkook begins, because that part he knows happened. 

“Wait, your roommate’s boyfriend? Why not your roommate, too?” You interrupt, though it’s a valid question. 

“Well, Taehyung’s not really a partier. I mean, he met his boyfriend, Jimin, at a party, but he doesn’t really like going out and getting drunk that much, and he’s also a damn lightweight so you really can’t take him anywhere unless you want hin clinging to your side the whole night,” Jungkook explains. 

“How did they meet?” You ask, not out of obligation but because you’re genuinely interested. Which is nice, Jungkook realizes, that you actually want to keep listening to him talk instead of disregarding him in favor of the menu. Jungkook can’t really think of many dates where both he and the person he was with weren’t asking questions just for the sake of asking questions. But you seem to have a different approach. “If he’s not a partier.”

“That’s actually a funny story,” Jungkook begins, already laughing. “Taehyung hates parties but that night he was determined to go to one because this cute boy he saw on Tinder was going to be there. And so he dragged me out to this party at eleven at night to try and find this boy, but then gets roped into a game of beer pong with said boy, so, mission accomplished. Except, because Taehyung’s a lightweight and a terrible shot, he misses entirely and bonks the shorter kid next to the cute boy on the head.”

“Let me guess,” you finish. “That was Jimin?”

Jungkook nods. “Only Taehyung would end up falling in love with the best friend of the boy he thirsted over on Tinder.”

“Can I ask who the cute boy is?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Oh, that’s Hoseok. We’re actually all really good friends now,” Jungkook says, because that’s just how the cookie crumbles. “His boyfriend is a really close friend of mine.”

“Wait, are you talking about Jung Hoseok?” You ask, eyes wide. Jungkook nods. “My friend’s in the dance group he leads. He’s dating this guy named Yoongi, right? She says they’re super cute together, and that he drops into practice all the time to say hello, and Hoseok makes him dance with them.”

Jungkook nearly bursts into laughter in the middle of this crowded restaurant at the image of Yoongi trying to hip-hop choreography that Hoseok creates. He loves Yoongi, but he’s got the coordination of a baby giraffe and two left feet. Which is exactly why he sticks to music production, the less physical of two musical evils. “Yeah, he was with me in the coffee place when we first started talking.”

“That was him? No way,” you say, shocked. 

Jungkook has to say that he’s equally as surprised. You seemed familiar, but Jungkook assumed that it was because you had the same class or something. What he wasn’t expecting was this labyrinth of mutual acquaintanceships that draws a path between you and him. 

“I guess we’re closer than you think,” Jungkook says with a shrug. The waiter comes over to ask for their orders, and Jungkook, because he’s reckless and you’re grinning at him with a smile wider than the sun, orders the avocado toast. 

You nod, handing your menu to the waiter before he whizzes off. “Isn’t it funny how that works?”

After the second time you go out to a restaurant—this one a relatively nice but not upscale pizza place—Taehyung wants to meet you. 

It’s not so much wants. 

It’s more like demands. 

“Two dates, Jungkook!” Taehyung screeches at the same time the first kernel in their microwave popcorn bag pops, making Jungkook wince. “You’ve been on two entirely separate dates with the same person, and I haven’t met them yet!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Jungkook says awkwardly, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze so as not to watch him go bug-eyed right in front of Jungkook’s nonexistent salad as he slowly waits for their microwave to implode and burn their entire apartment complex down. “it’s just two dates.”

“Which is two more than you normally go on,” Taehyung insists, holding up two fingers just in case Jungkook was unsure as to what number he’s been saying repeatedly as the popcorn pops. “Perspective, Jungkook! This is a big deal for you!”

“You act like I’ve never been on a date before when I, in fact, have,” Jungkook deadpans with a frown. He tries not to flinch when the popcorn surprises him with the last few kernels. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a white girl in a Netflix original movie, opening up their shoddy microwave to a steaming (and slightly overcooked) bag of dollar store popcorn. “But when was the last time you went on two dates with the same person?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond when he realizes he can’t give an answer without incriminating himself. It’s definitely been a while.

Taehyung picks up on the nanosecond of silence and Jungkook’s fish gape immediately, cackling as he tears open the popcorn and a quarter of the pieces go flying across their tiny counter island, still sticky in some places where Taehyung forgot to wipe up the juice from the watermelon he was cutting (sans cutting board) last night at two in the morning. 

“Perspective! Matters!” Taehyung says, interjecting each word with a piece of popcorn in his mouth. Jungkook reaches over to take some for himself, just happy knowing that the microwave hasn’t caused his tragic demise and he can put off death-by-microwave for another day. 

“You’re an Economics and Fine Arts double major, perspective is all you care about,” Jungkook says, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk preparing for winter. “I think you’re being dramatic.”

“I think that two dates is a record,” Taehyung tells him pointedly. 

“How noncommittal do you think I am?” Jungkook asks, shocked. He’s been in committed, long-term relationships. In high school. And nowadays in college, the definition of long-term has become so distant from what it used to be that three weeks is pretty much long-term at this point. 

“Very,” Taehyung says. He tilts the popcorn bag into his mouth and finishes it, and Jungkook is both horrified and impressed, because the bag was still a quarter-full when Taehyung decided it would be a good time to chug carbohydrates covered in butter. “I gotta meet them, Jungkook. I’m your best friend. I have to!”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “You do not have to meet her. In fact, you shouldn’t even be involved in my existent or nonexistent dating life at all. You have a boyfriend.” 

“Excuse me, I am still your best friend despite already having met the man I’m going to marry and adopt three dogs and a giant iguana with, and therefore I’m allowed to want to meet her. We should do something fun,” Taehyung says, before his eyes light up in the same way they did before Taehyung once suggested they take an extremely pricey Uber out into the suburbs just so they could go to the biggest wholesale store in the area and buy as many sixty-brownie packs as possible. 

The same way they did before Taehyung thought it was a good idea to pay Jungkook money to get himself into a committed relationship, and the same way they did when Jungkook agreed. 

“Oh my God, we should go play laser tag! That’s so much fun!” Taehyung begins to jump up and down in the middle of their apartment like an eight-year-old boy at an amusement park for his birthday, and Jungkook has reason to be worried he’ll fall right through the floorboards and into the apartment below. 

Jungkook couldn’t think of a worse group outing for you to meet his friends. While Taehyung definitely sucks at laser tag (Jungkook always wins), a furiously competitive, glow-in-the-dark, shriek-inducing, friendship-ending activity may very well be the last thing Jungkook wants to do with you while you meet his friends. He wants you to like them. He wants them to like you. Laser tag doesn’t promise either of those things. Laser tag, in fact, actively promotes immediate dislike. 

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m introducing you to her in a laser tag setting,” Jungkook immediately rejects Taehyung’s suggestion. Taehyung frowns, probably trying to think of some other equally as infuriating activity for the four of you to do together. Jungkook racks his brain, trying to think of something else that appeases Taehyung’s desire for physical competition while also minimizing the potential for disaster (which is very high whenever Taehyung is involved). “How about… mini golf?”

Taehyung breaks out into a devilish grin, and Jungkook wonders if mini-golf was an even worse suggestion. 

“Mini-golf?” You ask as you arrive at the mini-golf place, a little outside location far away from the hubbub of the city but close enough to not require an overpriced Uber. 

“It was this or laser tag,” Jungkook says, whipping his head around to see if Taehyung and Jimin have arrived yet. He can’t seem to see Taehyung’s faded teal hair nor Jimin’s pink, which would otherwise be easy to spot because whenever they walk anywhere, Gen Z’ers stop them on the street to remind them that they look like Cosmo and Wanda from The Fairly OddParents. 

“Laser tag!” You exclaim, punching Jungkook in the shoulder for emphasis. “That would have been such a good idea! Mini-golf is so overdone, I would have loved to go to laser tag.”

Jungkook pouts. He can’t believe he already royally fucked up the first meeting between his fake girlfriend and his best friend (and his best friend’s equally-as-chaotic just not-as-loud boyfriend) because you and Taehyung wanted to play laser tag and Jungkook was the dumbass who thought that mini-golf would be a better idea. Maybe Jungkook should just try to get knocked in the head with a mini-golf ball going at one hundred miles an hour like it did in Avril Lavigne’s VMA-deserving music video Girlfriend, fall on the ground and roll into a Porta Potty, and then wake up with no recollection of any of the day’s events. 

You notice Jungkook’s pout immediately as you hand over eight dollars so he isn’t paying for the both of you, and pat him on the back. “But I still like mini-golf. It could be worse. We could be at a Kidz Bop concert right now.”

Jungkook supposes that there’s always a silver lining. 

The silver lining vanishes the moment he hears a preteen boy who’s on hole eight shout, “Oh my God, it’s Cosmo and Wanda!”

“That would be the other half of our party,” Jungkook says with a grimace, staring distantly into the void as Taehyung and Jimin clamber onto the course. Taehyung carelessly gives the poor teenager in the booth a twenty, does not take his change, and picks up a golf club that is nowhere near the right size for his nearly-six-feet-tall figure. Maybe if Jungkook makes eye contact with the supermassive black hole that Taehyung is convinced actually exists at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, he’ll just get sucked right in and lose all the matter in his body so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit for the next two hours. 

“I’m Taehyung,” Taehyung introduces himself aggressively, holding out an enormous hand for you to shake. You do so hesitantly but firmly, trying not to break eye contact with Taehyung, a task you will soon find to be quite difficult, as Taehyung can keep his eyes open for over five minutes straight. “And unfortunately, my charming personality and extreme good looks have already attracted a mate. This is my soon-to-be husband, Jimin.”

Jimin waves respectfully, pink hair bouncing. 

“They’re not engaged,” Jungkook says, feeling the need to elaborate because Jungkook’s known Taehyung since before freshman year of college, and sometimes even he can’t tell when he’s kidding. 

“Real shame, but I actually have my eye on the only natural-hair-colored college-aged super buff guy in the group,” you say, nudging Jungkook’s side with a wink. Jungkook thinks he might vomit at your description of him. 

“Kook’s a real looker, but he flakes on us all the time. I’m impressed you even managed to get him to come with us,” Taehyung jokes, but the comment nonetheless makes Jungkook’s mouth open in indignation. 

“I’m the only mutuality between all of us,” he re-emphasizes, “I’m the one who organized the whole thing!”

Taehyung leans in to whisper into your ear, but Taehyung’s whisper is normal people’s regular outside voice, so Jungkook can hear every word. “Truthfully, I wanted to go play laser tag.”

You nod enthusiastically. “So did I! Jungkook just mentioned it and I wish we had gone there instead. We’ll have to go sometime. Just a warning: I’ll crush you.”

“I accept your challenge,” Taehyung says with a firm nod. 

Jungkook coughs loud enough to interrupt the both of you and even attract the attention of the next family who’s come up to pay. He feels bad for them—they’re going to be stuck behind the four of you for the rest of this hellhole of a mini-golf game. 

“Are we here to play some mini-golf, or what?” Jungkook asks, tiny golf pencil and paper stuffed into his back pocket to record scores, because Jungkook came here to win, and winning is what he will do. 

Jungkook does not win. 

He actually loses by one point. A singular value. A sole divisor. 

He’s pissed, but also impressed. 

Taehyung comes in dead last, as he normally does even when he’s playing mini-golf with a club that’s actually the right size, but the gap between him and Jimin’s third place is significantly larger considering his club is meant for someone who’s about a foot shorter than he is. Even so, he seems to give no shits whatsoever about his abysmal performance, and is instead spending most of his time post-mini-golf game high-fiving the shit out of you. 

“You beat him! I can’t believe it! I don’t think Jungkook’s ever lost a game of anything in his entire life!” Taehyung exclaims, making Jungkook wince. It was down to the wire the entire game with you and Jungkook neck-and-neck, Jimin a fair few points behind the both of you, and Taehyung hardly in the same ballpark. And on the last hole, Jungkook overshot the curve and his ball jumped the hole while yours sailed in, leaving him to wallow in his second-place pity. 

“Just doing my job,” you say with a flip of the nonexistent hair next to your left shoulder. Your hair is nowhere near your hand whatsoever. “He was the one who suggested mini-golf before he knew what a pro I was.”

“It was one point,” Jungkook reminds you, fuming. “If my golf ball hadn’t skipped the hole we’d be tied,” he says, consoling himself more than anyone else. 

“But it did, and now you owe me dinner because you lost and I won,” you tease as you walk out of the mini-golf place, sipping on overpriced sodas from the generic mini-golf diner. 

“That was not part of the deal whatsoever,” Jungkook says with a frown. “I never agreed to that. We never said anything about dinner. What the fuck.”

You laugh, tilting your head back as you chuckle, Sprite fizzing in your hand. Taehyung insisted nobody get straws, and now you all have disposable open (and full) cups of soda in your hands as you make the treacherous journey back to your campus. “Fine. How about we go out to get some bubble tea after this?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. He’s been craving some taro tea recently. 

“Deal,” he says with a nod, and the two of you shake hands to seal it. 

Jungkook finds that he’s actually really looking forward to getting bubble tea with you post-mini-golf game. He’s spent so much time with you and the rest of his friends (however many there are) that you haven’t gone out alone, just the two of you, in a while. Jungkook misses that. 

You get along so well together. 

Jimin grabs your attention with a question about Hoseok, since the two of you happen to be connected through his dance group, giving Taehyung just enough time to swoop in and wrap an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, Dr. Pepper spilling onto the asphalt beneath them. 

“Damn, she really knows how to keep up with you,” Taehyung says, quieter than he’s ever spoken before. 

“Are you implying that I’m difficult to keep up with?” Jungkook immediately retorts. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “No, you dumbass. I’m saying that you’ve never been on a date with someone who meshes so well with your own personality. No wonder you guys have been on two dates.”

“I can’t believe you think I’m this one-date-wonder kind of guy.”

“You guys go really well with each other,” Taehyung says, and that sort of out-of-the-blue, genuinely complimentary statement makes Jungkook narrow his eyes in suspicion. “Seriously, I’m not just saying that. I think you guys make a cute couple.”

Jimin says something funny and you laugh again, giggles breaking out into the air as you slowly make your way towards campus. You’re not looking at Jungkook, but Jungkook is looking at you, and he thinks that maybe even if this is all just one big ploy, he might still get a really, really wonderful friend out of this. 

Taehyung pinches Jungkook’s cheek before turning his chin to face you. “I think that she’s someone you might want to hold onto.”

For once in his life, Jungkook has to agree. 

Jungkook is running late. 

This is no rare occurrence by any means, as Jungkook frequently shows up five minutes late to class with nothing but his half-charged laptop and an eraser-less mechanical pencil, which leaves fantastic impressions on both his classmates and his professors. 

But Jungkook hit snooze on his phone four times, and now he’s got ten minutes to get his shit together and get to his Metropolitan Nature class before he gets chewed out by his professor for being late three times already this month. 

He makes a few quick sacrifices. First, he’s not getting changed out of his pajamas, so this is what his Metropolitan Nature professor is getting, whether she likes it or not. Second, he doesn’t have time to use the bathroom so he’s just going to wipe his face with one of Taehyung’s makeup-removing wipes and pee after class. Third, there is no way in hell he’s making himself any sort of breakfast, not even grabbing a granola bar or anything, so he’ll just suffer until later, when he isn’t a debilitating mess of a human being and has time to stuff an apple into his mouth. 

And then, as he’s scrambling to get his backpack and make it to class on time (five minutes to go!), there’s a knock on his door. 

Jungkook almost doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs the nearest object to him—which happens to be their television remote—and holds it out in front of him like a weapon, waiting for the burglar on the other side to bust the door down, realize that Jungkook and Taehyung’s shared apartment has absolutely nothing valuable inside of it, and turn around to rob someone else. 

There’s another knock on his door. Jungkook decides that it’s probably not a burglar, but he keeps the remote in his hand just in case and opens the door.

On the other side is, much to his surprise, you, with a steaming cup of what he assumes is coffee and a little paper bag in your hand. 

“Oh, geez, what’s up?” Jungkook says, quickly trying to fix the mop on his head known as hair, to little avail. 

“Why are you holding the TV remote?” You ask instead of greeting him back like a normal person. 

“Oh, uh, just making sure you aren’t a robber or murderer or anything,” Jungkook says. There’s too long of an awkward silence that falls between the two of you, and in that time frame, Jungkook tosses the TV remote behind him and listens as it lands with a thud on the rug by the couch. 

“O…kay…,” you say nervously. “I got you breakfast.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open and he’s too sleep-deprived to shut it again. “Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I told you that I would,” you remind him. “It’s a croissant and hot chocolate, because I wasn’t sure what your coffee order was. Here.” You don’t give him the chance to respond, instead shoving the cup and paper bag into his hands very ungracefully. 

“Oh, wow, I—I don’t know what to say,” Jungkook says, very obviously floored at your random generosity. He knows that this was what you discussed but he didn’t realize that it would actually be put into practice. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would probably suffice!” Taehyung calls from his bedroom, clearly having overheard your entire conversation thus far. 

“Fuck off!” Jungkook shouts back, and he hears Taehyung cackle. 

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward slightly. 

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” Jungkook says, still flabbergasted. “Seriously, I—I really can’t thank you enough. This was super nice of you.” God, who still uses the word super? Jungkook has to go before he embarrasses himself further. 

“No problem,” you tell him with a shrug. “Just doing the girlfriend thing.” It’s a good thing Taehyung’s in the other room, because he can’t see you wink. 

“I really appreciate it, Y/N. This was so thoughtful of you.” Jungkook doesn’t know how else to express his immense gratitude for this simple act, mostly because no one’s ever spontaneously brought him food at such an opportune time before. He missed you, is what it is. He didn’t realize it until you showed up at his door, and now he’s speechless and looks like an absolute fool, all because he missed you. 

Weird. 

“It was no big deal, really,” you tell him. “You headed to class? Let’s walk together.”

Jungkook’s already late but he decides that he would much rather walk than sprint, because that means he gets to savor the taste of blazing hot chocolate and a warm croissant, all while spending more time with you. 

When Jungkook was thirteen, a brand new go-kart arena opened up in their town. It had flashing neon lights and a giant sign and an arcade with actual prizes to be won in exchange for tickets. There was no sight more glorious to Jungkook’s freshly-teenaged self. 

His best friend at the time invited him out the day after it opened, and Jungkook was so excited that he said yes before thinking about anything else. He had never been go-karting. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to an arcade. He wanted to win ten thousand tickets to get a remote-control car. 

But he had no money because he realized that he was only getting paid for mowing his neighbor’s lawns at the end of the week, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to pay for anything. 

In desperation, Jungkook begged his older brother for some cash, promising that he would pay him back as soon as possible. Jeonghyun agreed (albeit begrudgingly) and Jungkook went on his merry way, having a grand old time at the brand new go-kart place with an arcade and winning one thousand tickets, which was enough to get him five of his favorite candy bars. 

Jungkook fully intended on giving some of them to his older brother as a thank you, but he ended up eating all of them on the way home, and then Jeonghyun doubled the amount that Jungkook owed him, and it took Jungkook a month to repay him. 

Jungkook discovered then that owing people is the worst feeling in the entire world, a sentiment he’s maintained ever since. It makes him an extremely reliable person whenever he borrows anything, which is already rare to begin with. 

Jungkook owes you more than just some hot chocolate and a croissant. You’ve saved his ass on numerous occasions, getting along well with Taehyung and Jimin and suggesting that you’re interested in him, striking up a deal that will save him from the wrath of Taehyung, giving him breakfast (free of charge!) on a day where he definitely wasn’t planning on eating anything. He feels like hot chocolate and a croissant just doesn’t cut it. 

In the end, Jungkook knocks on your door at seven in the evening with a paper bag filled with various Chinese takeout dishes. He never knows what to get whenever he gets Chinese food, so he gets a little bit of everything and, inevitably, eats all of it. He’s hoping that this is sufficient enough repayment, because you certainly deserve it. 

You open the door drowsily, mumbling something that sounds like “Who is it?” under your breath, when you see Jungkook and your eyes light up. 

“I brought Chinese food,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, holding up the bag as if the scent that’s wafting through the air isn’t proof enough. 

Your mouth drops open, just like his did. “Oh my God, you’re my hero. I was just about to make myself some shitty instant ramen for dinner, but this is so much better.”

“Just returning the favor, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “It was really nice of you to drop by this morning.”

“It was really nice of you to bring Chinese food tonight,” you respond as Jungkook hands over the paper bag. You let it sit on your palms, too heavy to be held by the top of it. “You just saved me from my fourth instant ramen dinner of the week.”

Jungkook laughs. He and Taehyung were like that during their freshman year, boiling water in their kettle at four in the morning to burn the insides of their mouths out with the fire noodles. Fond memories. You grin at him, Chinese takeout resting securely in your palms, and gaze at each other for a few more seconds before Jungkook coughs to end the silence. 

“Aren’t you coming inside?” You ask, stepping away from the door to usher him in. 

“Oh, no, the takeout was just a thank you for this morning,” Jungkook says, shaking his head and his hand as he takes a step away from the door. His stomach grumbles. 

Exposed. 

“Don’t think I can’t hear the whale coming from your belly,” you say, eyes narrowing as you point at his torso. “Come on, you paid for this thing, you might as well get your fair share. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat all of this myself.”

“No, it’s alright, seriously—” His stomach growls at him, like it’s personally offended that Jungkook’s rejecting the Chinese food. 

You frown at him, raising a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Come on, you dumbass. It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook relents, though it probably wouldn’t have taken much more to wear him down anyway, and walks inside your apartment. He slips off his sneakers and joins you as you set the food down on the coffee table in front of your couch, fabric worn and pillows sunken in. It looks delightfully comfortable. 

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess in here,” you say as you grab plates from your kitchenette. “You caught me off guard—I just got out of the shower, too.”

Your apartment is cleaner than his and Taehyung’s looks on days where they actually try to tidy up. Jungkook wishes he had those capabilities, but when he’s presented with the options of cleaning up or taking a nap, he will invariably choose the latter. And the clothes you’re wearing, even if you insist that they’re your nasty lounge clothes from high school, Jungkook couldn’t care less about. You look nice. 

You always look nice. 

Once you’re all settled, you tear open the stapled paper bag to reveal the glory hidden inside. Jungkook gets one whiff of the scent and nearly passes out, huffing it in like an Expo marker. He was a little worried that he hadn’t gotten enough, but as you begin to take each box of rice and biodegradable container of noodles and vegetables and soup and everything in between, he realizes he had nothing to stress over.

“Oh my God, we’re gonna have so many leftovers,” you say excitedly, eyeing all of the dishes as you break apart your wooden chopsticks. Every smell imaginable fills your apartment, and it makes Jungkook’s mouth water and his stomach rumble. “This cost way more than the hot chocolate and croissant, definitely. Let me Venmo you back half.”

Jungkook shakes his head defiantly, taking the rice out of your reach as punishment. “Absolutely not. I won’t let you pay me back a single cent.”

“What? That’s not in the contract,” you say with a frown, making to pull it up on your phone just as proof. 

“Who cares about the contract?” Jungkook says, snatching your phone right from your slippery fingers and placing it on the end table next to him. “I’m just doing the boyfriend thing.” 

You attack the mountain of food in front of you like an all-you-can-eat buffet, taking a handful of noodles here and a couple pieces of broccoli there, a few dumplings and a bit of soy sauce, a spoonful of rice, some of the wonton soup. Your plates are filled to the brim with helpings from every single container, too excited to save any one dish for another day. 

“God, this is just what I needed,” you say with a pleased sigh, tossing your head back. 

“Long day?” Jungkook asks before he puts a chopstick-ful of rice in his mouth. 

“The longest. I don’t know if I told you this, but my Communications 316 professor is absolutely incompetent. He has no idea what he’s talking about, confuses himself half the time, and doesn’t listen to the TA. It’s ridiculous. I might as well teach the damn class,” you say, clearly exasperated. 

“Sounds awful,” Jungkook comments with a wince. If he ever had a professor like that he would just drop the class and change majors, but you don’t seem to be taking as dramatic an approach. Maybe Jungkook’s just a chronic over-reactor.

“It is. Never take Comm 316, you’ll actually want to jump into a black hole. What are you majoring in, again?”

“Physics,” Jungkook tells you over a mouthful of food. 

“Wow, that’s amazing,” you say, and for once in his lifetime, Jungkook knows that there’s someone out there genuinely impressed by his choice of study. Normally he gets much more sarcastic comments, or the person he’s chatting with will just say “Flex” before changing the topic. “Do you wanna do engineering, astrophysics, or theoretical stuff?”

“Not sure yet,” he tells you, “but I’m thinking more astrophysics. I think space is really cool.”

“Astrophysics, holy shit! That’s like, the coolest thing you could probably ever major in. Meanwhile, I’m probably gonna end up being the personal assistant to some Instagram-famous fifteen-year-old.”

Jungkook refuses to let you put down your major. He’s a shitty conversationalist and an even worse public speaker. Jungkook thinks anybody who pursues an avenue like Communication could probably debate his ass into next month. “Hey, those fifteen-year-olds make bank, so I see no issue with that.” 

You laugh, nodding. Jungkook leans over the table to help himself to another couple of dumplings, looking back at you as you smile at him, a single grain of rice stuck on the corner of your lips. In the warm evening light of your apartment, the soothing noises of ambulances and honking cars below you, Jungkook decides to remember this moment. Save it forever. 

“Let’s take a photo,” Jungkook suggests, even though he’s already taking his phone out of his back pocket. “This is too good not to remember.”

“Right now?” You ask, caught off-guard. “I just stuffed my face with Chinese food, I’m wearing a t-shirt I got when I was in tenth grade, and we’re in my grody apartment. Are you sure?”

Jungkook’s already setting up the phone stand, stacking empty biodegradable Chinese takeout boxes to create the optimal angle. “I gotta get three Instagram posts in, remember?” He says. Because that’s obviously the only reason he wants to take a photo of the two of you, right here, right now. 

Obviously. 

You’re still hesitant, but Jungkook sets up the self-timer on his phone and leans back into the couch, pulling you in next to him. “Just relax,” he tells you. “You look wonderful.”

The first few pictures are classics—back straight, head up, chin down, hair fixed. Jungkook lets his phone click like a photobooth, making sure the camera gets every one of his angles. Then, the two of you start to get a bit more playful, coming up with creative (or uncreative) poses—peace signs, finger guns, winking faces. You drape your body over his legs and get a few of you looking like perpendicular line segments, a couple of you cuddling, one of you squishing his cheeks. 

“Okay, last one,” Jungkook says, setting his phone up. He expects it to just be a relatively normal one, your bodies close to each other but not aggressively so, but a second before the camera shutter clicks you plant your lips on his cheek, making him smile as he gasps. His phone snaps the last photo, and it takes everything in Jungkook’s power not to immediately look at the final shot.

“What was that for?” Jungkook asks, fingers tracing over where your lips pressed against his cheek. 

“Just ‘cause,” you say nonchalantly, beginning to gather up your leftovers. “I didn’t know you had a scar on your cheek.”

“I got it when I was little,” Jungkook says, finger lingering on top of it. 

“It’s cute,” you tell him, standing up to pack away the leftovers in your fridge and toss out anything you completely devoured. “You’re cute sometimes, you know that, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s speechless. He stands in the middle of your apartment like a fish out of water, eyes wide as they watch you flitter around your kitchenette. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there is anything to say. 

“This was a lot of fun,” you tell him when you bid your goodbyes, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Thanks for bringing me Chinese.”

“Thanks for inviting me in to eat it with you,” Jungkook says back. “We should do this again sometime.”

“You mean like a date?” You ask, eyebrows raised. “What do you think we are, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Jungkook laughs. “My mistake. We can have a friend dinner, if you want.”

You grin. “Hmm, I think I like boyfriend and girlfriend better, don’t you think?” You ask. 

Jungkook pretends to ponder the question, like he doesn’t already know the answer. “Me too.”

The entire way home, Jungkook’s cheek tingles. 

Jungkook (10:18AM): hey what r u doing rn??

You (10:18AM): i’m about to go to this volunteering thing at the animal shelter !!!

Jungkook (10:18AM): wow really?? that sounds like fun

You (10:18AM): yeah i’m really excited !!  You (10:19AM): are you an animal person jungkook

Jungkook stares at his phone distantly. He was secretly hoping you’d be free, because it’s a Saturday and he’s got nothing planned the entire day. He could do work, sure, but that’s a Sunday problem. And he just wanted to do something with you. Sue him. 

Jungkook (10:19AM): yeah i love animals Jungkook (10:19AM): except iguanas fuck those guys

You: (10:20AM): do i wanna know????

Jungkook (10:20AM): in high school my brother got an iguana and it ate my school id so i couldn’t buy lunch for the whole year

You (10:20AM): i’ll ask later You (10:20AM): but my volunteering thing isn’t until 10:30 do you wanna come?

It’s not that Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, but it skips half of one.

Jungkook (10:21AM): are you sure?? i don’t want to be a bother

You (10:21AM): no come !!! it’ll be so much fun !!! we’re just holding an outdoor adoption fair for the day so we get to spend time with animals and encourage people to adopt them it’ll be lots of fun!! You (10:22AM): please come i’ll be so lonely without you :(

You don’t need to say another word. In fact, you pretty much had Jungkook sold the moment you told him what you were doing. He’s already halfway out the door of his apartment by the time he texts you back. 

Jungkook (10:23AM): i’m on my way!!

He gets to your apartment in record time, too excited to spend time with you to be ashamed of the desperation that’s radiating off of him. Jungkook’s not socially starved, nor does he not have other friends he could pass the time with. But he’s been friends with Taehyung, Jimin, and Yoongi ever since he set foot on campus for the first time, which means that he’s spent more time with them the past few years than he has in the past couple of months with you, because that is how math works. And Jungkook hates math, but he knows that he would much rather spend the day with you than anybody else. 

He knocks on your door, only slightly out of breath, to find that you haven’t even put on your shoes yet. 

“You got here quick,” you comment. “Did you run?”

“I didn’t work out this morning,” Jungkook lies like a liar. It’s by no means a good excuse, he just didn’t want you to think he ran all the way just to be with you. He wants to retain some shred of dignity, especially after losing most of it when he agreed to a deal where he would date someone for three months in exchange for money. 

“Sure thing, Batman,” you say. “I’m almost ready, just give me a second.”

Jungkook waits patiently in your doorway, catching his breath and trying to wipe away the sweat that’s slowly beginning to collect on his forehead in a futile attempt to make him seem as cool and natural and not-at-all-excited as possible. It doesn’t seem to be working very well. 

Whatever. Jungkook supposes that there are much worse things than having you think he just wants to spend time with you this afternoon. After all, he really does. 

On the way there, you tell Jungkook all about the cat that your family had when you were growing up. His name was Pickle and he frequently brought your family stolen flowers from neighbors’ gardens, which was both extremely endearing and also rage-inducing. He also exclusively ate cat food that was the combination of meat and vegetables, which made you believe for a solid three years that all mammals were omnivores. They were, in fact, not. 

“I haven’t had a cat since he died when I was thirteen, holy shit I want one so bad,” you say as you arrive at the park right by the shelter, where the adoption fair is being held. “Thanks for coming, by the way. You didn’t have to. You probably have lots of Physics work to do.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says instantly, refusing to let you believe otherwise. “I did. That’s why I texted you.”

“To come to the adoption fair?” You ask, waving hello to another one of the volunteers. You must be here often. 

“No,” Jungkook says, faltering slightly. “To, uh, well—to hang out with you, actually.” God, he sounds like he’s twelve. Hang out? To hang out with you? The same way that preteens do because they’re too old for the word playdate? For God’s sake. You’re college students, friends (hopefully, because if not then Jungkook has completely misread this situation), and fake lovers. And Jungkook chooses the phrase hang out to describe time spent with you. 

“Oh,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Your brows furrow slightly, like you’re pondering something too insignificant to say aloud. Jungkook knows that feeling. “Well, I’m glad you texted me, then.”

Jungkook’s glad, too. 

The animal shelter staff, despite his unannounced arrival, are absolutely thrilled that Jungkook’s volunteered to help alongside you. They tell him that he’s got an extremely friendly and marketable face, and will be good for talking to prospective adopters because he’s, by default, extremely charming. 

“I can vouch for that,” you mutter into his ear before another worker asks you to help out with some of the dogs. Jungkook stands there, your words ringing in his ears, as the instructions the shelter coordinator tells him fly right over his ear. Charming, huh?

Realistically, there are plenty of ways that Jungkook could be spending his free Saturday that would be appealing to most, if not all, college students. He could be lazing around in bed, sleeping in until two in the afternoon, and never getting out from under the covers. He could be marathoning his favorite TV show or a new K-drama that Taehyung’s obsessed with, finishing the whole series in a single day. He could go out for brunch like any good college student would, go to an overpriced café and take aesthetically pleasing photos to post online, spend the whole day online shopping. 

But instead, he’s standing in the sun surrounded by prospective owners and a whole bunch of pets, watching as you play with a few of the puppies in the pen as people ask you questions, and Jungkook decides that there’s really nothing else that he would rather be doing than this. 

Here’s the thing: animals are cute, but you with animals is cuter. 

Jungkook comes to this conclusion relatively early in the day, after staring at you unabashedly as you play with the puppies, pick up cats for people to hold, and encourage prospective owners to consider older animals in the shelter because they give just as much love and joy as the babies. He is, admittedly, not doing the thing he came here to do (volunteer), but hardly anyone is paying attention to him and he is, in turn, paying attention to you. And you’re doing your work, so does it really matter if he’s not doing his?

In the end, Jungkook actually does begin to contribute something of substance to the event, but only because the coordinator assigned him to the animal registration table for people adopting pets, which means he doesn’t get a free pass to watch you play with puppies for the rest of the day. 

Jungkook volunteers, he swears, but he doesn’t do it that often, which makes participating in this even feel that much better. He can’t help but smile and congratulate the brand new owners on their new best friend(s), happily filling in the official papers and watching as each animal goes to their forever home. It’s humbling, and it makes him happy, and Jungkook doesn’t think he could get that sort of feeling if he just stayed at home watching Netflix. 

The day ends up being a success. At least, that’s what the coordinator tells him, because over half of the pets available got adopted in that single afternoon, which seems to be quite the accomplishment. The good news is that even though Jungkook was objectively less than helpful, the coordinator isn’t shouting at him because everything turned out well anyway. So that’s always a plus. 

“We’re gonna start packing up, folks,” the coordinator says into her megaphone as the day winds down. “Animals first, equipment second!”

“Jungkook, come over here! Quick!” 

For a second, Jungkook thinks you’re in pain, but it’s enough of a second for him to turn to the sound of your voice and dash over, responsibilities (as per usual) forgotten. 

And then it turns out that you’re nowhere near injured, or hurt, or anything even resembling endangerment of your wellbeing. 

Instead, what he sees is this:

You, waiting in the middle of the park, grass tickling your ankles. You, grinning as you meet his eyes from where he stands a few feet away from you. You, with your t-shirt from the rescue center and plain jeans on. 

You, with a kitten in your arms, mewling softly as you stroke its back. 

“Are we allowed to adopt now that the fair is over?” Jungkook jokes as he comes over to you. It’s when he’s right by your side that he notices something different about the cat, at the exact same time you point it out—

“She’s only got three-legs!” You say, overwhelmed with affection and completely endeared. “Look at her! She’s only got three legs,” you say, motioning for Jungkook to come closer. 

“Do you know what happened?” Jungkook asks, leaning down to hold his fingers out for the kitten to sniff. She does so dutifully, pressing her little pink nose up against Jungkook’s fingertips before deeming him a satisfactory human being. Instinctively, Jungkook begins to rub at her cheek.

“No, only that they found her with something on her leg and it had to be amputated when they brought her to the shelter,” you say, bottom lip coming out in a pout as you look down at her. 

Jungkook grins. “What’s her name?”

“Miracle,” you tell him. 

Fitting name. 

“Isn’t she adorable?” You ask, holding Miracle close to you as she clings to your chest. It’s clear that the both of you have already latched on to each other. 

Jungkook nods, because how could he ever disagree? You’re standing in the middle of the local park as the afternoon draws to a close and the evening light sets in. It’s a little chillier now that the sun is going down, but it casts a hazy glow over your surroundings. And you’re just waiting there, a kitten in your hands and a smile on your face, and Jungkook can’t resist. 

He can’t resist the way you look, how you could possibly look like this. He can’t resist as he pulls out his phone, not-so-subtly pulling up the camera so he can snap a few quick shots. Because pictures like this deserve to be remembered forever. 

You don’t notice until the fifth picture in, when Miracle begins to meow, drawing your attention away from her and up to Jungkook. 

“Oh my God, hey!” You shout softly, trying not to frighten Miracle or attract the attention of any of the other volunteers who are very obviously doing more work than you two at the current moment. “How could you snipe me like that? I’ve got cat fur and dog slobber all over me, I probably look like trash.”

“You don’t,” Jungkook insists, but he pulls his phone out of your reach anyway. Just in case. “You look fine.”

“Fine does not equate to picture-worthy,” you hiss, but you’re laughing. 

“I’m a photographer, Y/N,” Jungkook says, patting himself on the back. “If I need a work a little magic, then I will.”

You scoff. “Sorry that my sweaty ass isn’t up to par with your Instagram standards,” you joke, making Jungkook chuckle. You put Miracle back into the pen she was waiting in throughout the fair, beginning to wrap up. “But at least you finally have two pictures of the same girl on your Instagram page.”

Jungkook chuckles again, but this one isn’t as real.

He had forgotten about Instagram entirely. 

“Jungkook, your fucking phone alarm keeps going off!” 

Jungkook’s in the bathroom, halfway through the latest John Mulaney Netflix comedy special, doing his goddamn business. 

“It’s for my laundry!” He shouts back. He needs to go and pick it up at the laundromat around the corner before someone steals one sock from every pair and leaves him, hypothetically, sock-less. “Can you just turn it off?”

“Fine!”

Jungkook thinks that’s the end of the conversation, so he unpauses the comedy special and laughs as John Mulaney tells anecdotes about his youth. And then, two seconds later, there’s banging on the bathroom door. 

“Jeon Jungkook!” Taehyung shrieks, accompanying every syllable with an equally as impactful thump on the door. “Open this door!”

“I’m on the goddamn toilet!” Jungkook shouts back. What does a locked bathroom door mean to Taehyung? Doesn’t he know what the hell Jungkook’s doing in here? “Give me a second!”

“We have to talk, right now!” Taehyung yells. Their neighbors are probably calling down noise complaints at this very moment. 

“What the fuck,” Jungkook mutters, closing out of the Netflix app on his phone and hurrying himself up. He finishes up his goddamn business, laments the cutting short of the comedy special, washes his hands, and opens the door. 

The moment it cracks open even a sliver, Taehyung is crashing into the bathroom, holding up Jungkook’s phone like it just murdered his entire nuclear and extended family. Jungkook nearly stumbles back into the shower at the force of everything, before Taehyung dangles his own goddamn phone right in front of his face. 

“What the fuck is this?”

“Uh…” Jungkook says, a little frightened and a lot confused, “the time?”

“Not that, you dumbass!” Taehyung says. “Your lockscreen!”

“What about it?” Jungkook asks, desperately trying to scramble for his phone back. And while Taehyung may have the upper hand and the element of surprise, Jungkook is swole and swift, and he manages to rip it out of Taehyung’s grasp before long. 

“It’s of Y/N! Are you serious!” In hindsight, maybe Jungkook shouldn’t have taken his phone out of Taehyung’s hands, because now both of them are smacking Jungkook’s shoulders repeatedly like the worst cuckoo clock ever. 

Jungkook pushes Taehyung off of him and gains his bearings. “So? We’re dating.”

Fake dating. Minor detail. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a popular white girl in a teenage movie. “But you’ve never set a photo of someone as your lockscreen before! Or ever!”

“She’s cute, what do you mean?” Jungkook says defensively. Taehyung is reading way too into this. 

Taehyung frowns. “I’ve known you since before we started college, and in that time not once have I ever seen your phone background be of a picture of a girl, or anybody, you were romantically interested in. Ever. I’m pretty sure you’d set your lockscreen as Hyuna before you’d set it to a picture of a girl you like. Let alone one with a three-legged kitten!”

“First of all, I love Hyuna, so fuck you,” Jungkook says pointedly. He’d die for her, full stop. If Hyuna told Jungkook to abandon his twenty-first century life and live as a hermit for the rest of his life, he’d do it without question. “Second of all, is it really that big of a deal? We’re just dating. It seemed like a natural segue.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, taking another step back from Jungkook. He looks him up and down like a doctor inspecting the body for wounds, hands on his hips. Then he says, “I can’t believe you’re actually starting to fall for somebody.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to tell Taehyung he’s being overdramatic and ridiculous (as he usually is), but something stops him. There’s no way he could be falling for you. Absolutely not. You’re just friends, and after these three months are over you’re just going to go back to being friends. Friends who are, collectively, four hundred dollars wealthier. It seems like a good deal. It’s also fake in every sense of the word. 

There’s no way that the feeling are real. 

How could they be?

Min Yoongi does not want to make a big deal out of his and Hoseok’s first anniversary. Jung Hoseok wants to hire a plane to write JHS ♡ MYG in the sky. 

Naturally, they have a house party. 

It’s half an excuse to celebrate the first of what Jungkook is probably correct to assume is many, many more anniversaries, and half an excuse to throw a party that involves alcohol but does not involve frat boys. Which are two criteria that Jungkook heavily considers when figuring out plans for the night. 

Because it goes without saying, Jungkook invites you as his plus one. If he didn’t, Taehyung would probably accuse Jungkook of trying to fake date for money (which he obviously isn’t already doing), and then steal his manga collection and sell it on the streets, in that order. These are things that Jungkook definitely does not want. Also, you know Hoseok, which means that by the transitive property in Jungkook’s eighth grade geometry class, you know Yoongi. And that basically rounds out Jungkook’s friend group. 

By the time you and Jungkook arrive at Hoseok’s apartment just a couple of blocks off of campus, he can already hear the bass thumping through the floorboards outside. Hoseok and Yoongi have good music taste, for sure, but there is no way either of them would willingly set the volume that high. Which means that—

“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouts, already buzzed, as the two of you step inside Hoseok’s apartment. He wraps an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, nursing a nearly-empty glass of red wine. Jungkook is right to assume this is definitely not his first glass. Taehyung waves hello to you as well, doing his rounds as per usual, before fluttering off to cling onto someone else. 

Hoseok’s house party looks less like a party and more like a house. The lights are dim (courtesy of Yoongi), hors d'oeuvres are set out on the counter island (courtesy of Seokjin), and only their closest friends (plus guests) are here (courtesy of Hoseok). The only thing that might elicit any sort of party vibe is the booming bass that rings throughout the room as music plays from their television (courtesy of, you guessed it, Taehyung). 

“Hey, Jungkook!” Hoseok shouts from where he’s lingering around the kitchen island, popping an olive into his mouth. He waves the both of you over to where he and Yoongi are standing, drinking their tasteful wine and eating their tasteful tapas. “You’re the girlfriend, right?” Hoseok asks, pointing to you with a smile. 

“That’s me,” you say, nodding. “Hoseok and Yoongi, right? I recognize you from—” 

“From the pictures,” Jungkook interjects. You look to Jungkook with a puzzled expression, and he raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes unhelpfully. “I showed some to you, remember?” He says, trying to be natural. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say, catching on. Changing the topic, you turn to Hoseok and say, “You direct a dance group, right Hoseok?” 

“Yeah! You’ve heard of it?” Hoseok says, eyes lighting up. He’s always happy to talk about the things he loves (dance, chemistry, and Yoongi). 

“My friend is in it,” you tell him. “Do you know Chungha?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Hoseok exclaims excitedly. “I think that when I graduate, I’m gonna make her the leader. She’s so talented.”

“Learned from the best,” Yoongi adds in softly, blushing. Hoseok responds by pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek, grabbing another olive to go as he heads off to greet other guests. 

With Hoseok out of the picture, Yoongi’s disposition morphs almost instantly. In the blink of an eye, he goes from humbled, in-love boyfriend, to jaded, suspicious college student. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to explain to Yoongi before his friend reads him like a board book, but Yoongi beats him to it. 

“Let me guess,” Yoongi says, eyes narrowed as he stares the both of you down. Unlike Jungkook, who’s already caving into himself under the weight of Yoongi’s gaze, you’re holding onto his arm firmly, looking at Yoongi with a stern glare. “You asked her to pose as your girlfriend so you can get the cash?”

“Well,” Jungkook says, because technically Yoongi’s wrong. He didn’t ask. You did. And you’re splitting the cash, so that solves that issue. “Not really,” he says, like a kid trying to get out of punishment for something he very clearly did. 

Yoongi frowns. He turns to you. “Please tell me that you’re getting compensated for hanging out with my dumbass friend.”

“Hey!” Jungkook cries indignantly. 

“Yes,” you assure Yoongi. “I am. But thanks for the concern.” Just then, Hoseok calls you over to introduce you to a couple of his friends from his dance group, and you wave goodbye to Jungkook and Yoongi before scurrying off. 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook, and Jungkook feels fucking transparent under his sharp gaze. He grimaces. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

“Yes,” Jungkook insists, taking some offense to what Yoongi’s insinuating. He’s got everything under control, thank you very much. The guidelines to your arrangement were laid out very clearly in a Google Doc, electronically signed by the both of you. You’re getting along well. Jungkook hopes that you’ll be still friends after all of this is over, because he likes spending time with you. Go figure. “I’m fine, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry.”

Yoongi looks skeptical, but he drops the subject anyway. “If you say so,” he says. “I just don’t want you to expect something you aren’t getting.”

“What do you mean?”

Jimin finds Jungkook, in that instant, and drags him to participate in karaoke with you, him, and Taehyung. As he’s getting pulled away from the conversation. Jungkook looks at Yoongi desperately for a response. Yoongi doesn’t answer. 

Two rounds of early 2000’s karaoke and several voice cracks later, you end up next to Jungkook’s side as the party rages around you. Well, not necessarily rages. More like continues. 

“What did Yoongi say to you?” You ask, leaning in to whisper into Jungkook’s ear. 

“Oh, he was just making sure that I knew what I was doing,” Jungkook says. It’s not not the truth. 

“And do you?” You ask, eyebrows raised as you look up at him. 

Jungkook falters. 

He thinks he does. 

“Taehyung, did you drink this whole bottle—god damnit,” Seokjin’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as Taehyung happily bounces out of the kitchen, even more tipsy than he was when he slung his arm around Jungkook as he and you walked into Hoseok’s apartment. He’s not flat out intoxicated yet, but he’s certainly getting there. Hopefully, Jimin has the sense to keep more alcohol out of his hands. 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung coos happily as he peppers platonic kisses all over Jungkook’s cheek. This is natural. “Don’t forget about the deal, alright? I still have the four hundred dollars if you manage to date for that long.” He singsongs his words. In Taehyung’s stupor, he seems to have forgotten that you are still standing right next to Jungkook, watching as his best friend plops wet smooches on the side of Jungkook’s face 1) like it’s nobody’s business and 2) like he doesn’t already have a boyfriend he does this regularly with anyway. 

Jungkook turns to you, eyes wide, but you pat his shoulder and calm him down. 

It’s fine, you mouth to him. I already know. 

Obviously, Jungkook’s mind supplies unhelpfully. That’s why you’re here. Because you already know about the deal. And the money. Obviously. 

“You know what,” Taehyung says, finger pointed. “I’ve never seen you kiss Y/N,” he continues, and Jungkook already doesn’t like the direction Taehyung’s headed in. “You guys should do it.”

“Should we, though?” Jungkook say, looking hesitant.

“I know you, Jungkook,” Taehyung says accusingly, “I know that you would start fake dating something just so you could get the cash. Prove that you aren’t.”

Jungkook frowns. “You know you actually have no power or right to make us kiss, so—”

Before Jungkook can continue, you flip him around to face you and pull him in close, hands on his neck as you plant your lips on his. Jungkook nearly stumbles back from the shock of it all, but you keep your grip tight and slowly, his hands find his way to to your waist. Distantly, he can register Taehyung (and probably everyone else in the room) shouting, but all he feels is your lips on his and his heart on fire. It’s by no means a super majestic, romantic, movie-worthy kiss, but Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he instantly relaxes at your touch, and that’s never happened to him before. 

When you part, it feels like Jungkook’s heart is about to beat right out of his chest. 

Taehyung seems perfectly satisfied, and has already moved on to pressing up against Jimin in an effort to upstage the both of you. He will definitely succeed in his endeavors, mostly because Taehyung and Jimin are a thing, and Jungkook and you, well. 

You turn to Jungkook, cheeks warm from both the rush and the embarrassment, and you grin. Jungkook takes one look at you, and his heart starts to race. He maybe wants to do that again. Actually, he knows that he wants to do that again. 

Fuck.

You (3:23PM): hey are you busy rn?

Jungkook (3:23PM): no Jungkook (3:23PM): what’s up?

You (3:23PM): do you wanna go out and get acai bowls? You (3:23PM): i feel like we gotta talk about some stuff

Jungkook (3:24PM): yeah Jungkook (3:24PM): right now?

You (3:24PM): sure You (3:24PM): meet in 15?

Jungkook (3:25PM): okay!

Jungkook is nervous. 

Granted, Jungkook gets nervous when he’s spontaneously offered a baby to be held and he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t frequently hold babies, but still. He’s nervous. 

He’s sitting in the acai bowl place with his hands in his pockets, palms sweating. Logically, he should take his hands out of his pockets to remedy this, but if he does that then he’s just going to rub his sweaty hands through his obnoxiously long hair until you get there, and he doesn’t want to pour his heart out to you with sweaty hair. 

So he sits on the high stools by the counters against the windows with sweaty hands and a nervous blink, watching to see when you’ll walk in. 

It occurs to him then that if all goes well, you might actually end up holding hands after all of this is over, and for God’s sake he cannot have sweaty hands, so he gets up and grabs about fifteen napkins from the dispenser to the suspicious glare of the underpaid teenage worker behind the cash register, rubbing his palms profusely on them. 

It is then, as Jungkook stands looking simultaneously like a fish in water and like he just walked out of middle school PE, that the bell above the door rings and you walk in, hands in the pockets of your hoodie and your backpack resting on your shoulders. 

“Hey,” you say softly, standing next to him as you stare up at the menu board. Jungkook’s come here before with you, and he’s already memorized your order. 

“Hey,” Jungkook replies, weirdly out of breath. 

“What are you getting?” You ask. Jungkook hates how neither of you know how to start the conversation. 

“Oh, just, uh, my usual, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. He has been here a total of one other time (with you), and he didn’t really like what he got last time, but now it’s been established as his ‘usual’ and he’s in too deep to change it now. 

You end up back where Jungkook was sitting before, next to the giant glass window that overlooks the busy street. Jungkook sets his acai bowl down on the counter, turns to face you, and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. 

“I—”

“I think I like you,” you blurt out first, words tumbling out of your mouth like an avalanche. You’re staring at Jungkook, biting down on your lip nervously, and Jungkook sputters. “I’m just gonna tell you up front. I think I have a crush on you. No, I know that I do.”

“I—” Jungkook says again, floundering. “I don’t—” 

“I’m really sorry,” you say, turning back to look at the strawberries in your bowl. “I think it’s been building up slowly for a while, but ever since that night at Hoseok’s house I just… I realized, you know?”

Jungkook’s silent. 

“And I knew that I had to tell you because we’ve been really clear about all of the terms of this… agreement and I wasn’t going to hide this from you either,” you’re rambling now, words practically bouncing on top of each other. “I’m really sorry, Jungkook. It’s okay if you’re angry or something, I know that this wasn’t part of the contract because you kind of have to find a new partner since we both made it clear that this relationship wasn’t inherently romantic even though I made it into one anyway. Just say the word and we can call this thing off. I’m sorry.”

You stare down into your acai bowl like it just set the curve for your least favorite class. Jungkook sits there, acai bowl untouched, words processing. 

“Do you… want to say anything?” You ask, nervous again. 

“Don’t apologize,” Jungkook says. His hands are all sweaty again, but he barely pays them any attention. “I don’t care. Fuck the contract, honestly. It’s a Google Docs.” You’re gazing at him with wide-eyes, shocked that he’s even opened his mouth. “I’m really glad that you and I are doing this together. I probably would have never even met you if it weren’t for you interrupting me and Yoongi at the coffee place.”

You grin. 

Jungkook realizes, then, that he’s been waiting too long to do this. 

“Honestly, I—” He says before chuckling, sweaty hand scratching at the nape of his neck, “I was gonna tell you something too. But you beat me to it.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking at him. 

“I think I like you, too,” Jungkook says, and his heart seems to finally settle. “No, I know I do. You’re right—it’s been a long time coming, but the party at Hoseok’s just… I realized. I needed you to know that, too. You deserved to know that this is reciprocated.” Jungkook gets a burst of confidence (probably from the cool air that rushes through the room whenever someone opens the door), and takes your hands in his own. They’re sweaty, and Jungkook feels like he just ran a marathon, but it feels almost like they belong. Like this moment was meant to be. 

“We may have started this thing because of my dumbass friends, but I want to continue it with you,” Jungkook says. He’s six lectures behind in his differential equations class, he hasn’t done the readings for his Korean-American history course since the beginning of the semester, his diet has mostly consisted of midnight ramen and chocolate chip granola bars, but he has never felt lighter. “I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank God,” you say dramatically, heaving a sigh. “Because I like you a lot, too.”

Naturally, it’s smooth sailing from there. At least one aspect of Jungkook’s life is working out for him. His differential equations lectures, history readings, and diet are still works in progress. 

“So, can I delete the Google Drive document?” You ask, pulling out your phone. “I don’t think we need it anymore, do we?”

“Unless you still want to reference it for instructions on how to be a good significant other,” Jungkook jokes. He still hasn’t touched his acai bowl. He definitely needs to come clean and order something else next time. “My standards are pretty high.”

“Hey! I exceed all of those standards on a regular basis, don’t I? I bought you hot chocolate and a croissant that one day. And I’m good with your friends. Isn’t that, like, what all guys want in a relationship?”

Jungkook pouts. It kind of is, but truth be told you exceed his standards just by existing. “No,” he insists. “Sometimes they just want to be little spoon but everybody makes fun of them.”

“Aw, do you want to be little spoon?” You ask, totally endeared. You press a kiss to his cheek and it makes his skin turn cherry red. “You can be little spoon. I think that I’m a great cuddler.”

“We’ll have to test that theory,” Jungkook says with an eyebrow raise. 

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” you say, leaning into him. Jungkook lets his body be enveloped by your warmth, basking in it, before you jump up, something else popping into your head. “Oh! We should probably tell your friends to call off the deal, don’t you think?” You say. “This isn’t really about the money anymore, is it. I’d feel bad.”

Jungkook has half a mind to tell you that Taehyung would probably bathe in one hundred dollar bills if their apartment had a bath, so four hundred dollars is practically pocket change in his eyes, but you’re right. As usual, you’re right. Curse you and your good-hearted nature. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jungkook concedes easily. You could probably tell him to change his major to English and he would listen to you. “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“Oh God, they’re gonna roast us so hard for making a deal,” you say, face-palming. This is true, but Jungkook’s friends will get over it. Jimin’s a hopeless romantic and Taehyung will just be overwhelmingly thrilled that Jungkook actually managed to hold down a relationship. 

“They’ll get over it,” Jungkook says. He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets his heart flutter. 

“You think anything’s gonna change?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Jungkook pauses for a second. Wonders if there’s something to fear. And he decides that he couldn’t care less about that. “Even if it does, I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

“We’ve been summoned,” Taehyung says as he and Jimin arrive at the group study room Jungkook booked specifically for this occasion. 

“By who?” Jungkook asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“No, you’re right,” Taehyung says, collapsing on the chair across from Jungkook. “It was this angry gremlin with hair that looks like a wet mop. Let’s see… what what his name again?”

If there wasn’t a massive table separating them, Jungkook would throw hands at this very instant. 

“The fact that you called both of us here frightens me greatly,” Jimin says as he takes a seat next to Taehyung, their hands interlacing almost instantly. “Either you’re about to tell us you’re dropping out or that Taehyung’s cheating on me with you.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why the fuck would I ever date Taehyung?”

Taehyung gasps. “What do you mean? I’m a catch. Admit it, Jungkookie, you’d date me in a heartbeat.”

“I would literally rather have Jimin vomit into my own mouth,” Jungkook deadpans. Jimin nearly actually pukes at the mention of such an action, and Jungkook decides that even the pure thought of that makes him want to cannonball into a volcano. “But I’m not cheating on either one of you with the other one, and I’m not about to drop out.”

“Oh, thank God,” Taehyung says dramatically, like he says everything else. “I thought that we would lose our resident Buff Boy who eats all of my leftovers at meals. I was worried there for a second.”

“I hate you,” Jungkook tells Taehyung genuinely. 

“If you’re not dropping out, then why did you call us here?” Jimin asks curiously. “To study? Taehyung doesn’t even know where his backpack is.”

“You lost your backpack?” Jungkook says, in awe. He knew Taehyung was careless, but he didn’t think he was that careless. Maybe he really has lost all fucks. Which does not bode well for him, considering he has to write a thesis in order to graduate. 

“I just don’t know where it is right now, alright?” Taehyung says, ashamed. He very well should be. What kind of college student loses their backpack? “Why did you ask us here?” He changes the topic so as not to be subject to any more shaming. 

“Uh, to talk about the whole deal thing,” Jungkook says awkwardly. He has no idea how he’s going to go about this. He walked into this group study room about as prepared as Taehyung is when he walks into his first round of midterms. 

“Ah, yes,” Taehyung nods sneakily. “Honestly, Jungkook, I’m impressed that you and Y/N have even been going on for this long. Does she know about it?”

Jimin smacks Taehyung in the side. “Obviously not, otherwise they wouldn’t still be dating. Have some faith in our Jungkookie for not betraying this deal to her.”

“Actually—”

“Oh, yeah,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “If she knew about this, she’d absolutely break up with you.”

“I’m. Aware.” Jungkook says stiffly. 

“You’ve exceeded all expectations, Jungkook,” Taehyung says happily. “You got a girlfriend and you managed to maintain a relationship for nearly three months all without mentioning the deal to her.”

“Your faith in me is overwhelming.” Jungkook frowns. 

“We’re very impressed with you, you know? She seems really nice, too. I thought you’d, like, resort to Tinder dates just so you could get the money,” Jimin adds on. 

“Oh, speaking of money, since Jungkook’s doing such a good job, how about we…” Taehyung pauses for dramatic effect, which is something he does so frequently that it just makes every one of his sentences overdramatic, “raise the stakes?” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows just as an add-on to the proposition. 

“Seriously, Tae? Don’t waste your money on something like this—”

“But you’re doing so well! Why wouldn’t you want more money?”

The nagging college student part of his brain tells him to just cave and accept the money, because a higher payment means more money for the both of you, which is… tempting. Jungkook is, still at heart, a desperate and money-starved college student.

But he knows he can’t. Not because it would be a waste of Taehyung’s resources, but because neither of you need the money anymore. What for? You’re already dating. 

“Because—”

“Even I would accept it, and I’m an international student,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “Y/N doesn’t even need to know!”

Something in Jungkook snaps. 

“You know what, you guys?” Jungkook says, standing up from his seat angrily, hands slamming onto the table. “No. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you guys to raise the stakes or whatever. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be paid to date someone.”

“But what does it matter if she doesn’t know?” Taehyung asks, a single eyebrow raised in confusion. 

“It matters because I care about her! For fuck’s sake, that’s why it matters,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair out of exasperation. “It matters because it’s about the principle. I care about her, and I don’t need any sort of incentive to date her. I just want to.”

“But—” Taehyung says again. 

“She knows, you dumbass!” Jungkook shouts. “She’s well aware that there was money on the line. We started dating because we came up with this—this agreement to split the money once the three months were over. But then we both realized we actually wanted to date each other for, you know, an actual relationship, and we decided to get rid of the deal. Which is why I called you guys over here. To tell you that I don’t wanna do it anymore. I’m out.”

“Seriously, Jungkook?” Jimin says. “You started fake-dating someone for money and then you fell for her?”

“She is really nice,” Jungkook insists. “You said it yourself, Jimin. I care about her.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, speechless, for once in his life. “I never knew you actually went through with all of this. I didn’t even think you’d manage to do it at all. You had me fooled.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “Me too. The fact that you guys even thought this deal was a good idea at the time is just… it’s ridiculous. I was dumb, too, for accepting it. But I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says with a simple nod. He’s holding Jimin’s hand, which means all this talk about romance and dating is making him sappy. “We don’t have to do it anymore. I’m sorry for being so obnoxious about it. We’ll call it off.”

Jimin raises his hand, almost like he’s scared to say something. “I know we’re calling this off, but since Y/N knows about this whole deal in the first place, I feel like we should do something to make it up to her. You know, because she got roped into this thing.”

“I think that’ll be nice. Something meaningful, too. Not just money,” Taehyung adds. 

Jungkook grins. He knows exactly what to get.

When Jungkook knocks on your door the next afternoon, he can barely hold his grin in.

“Jungkook?” You say when you open the door to see him, holding a nicely-wrapped but suspicious-looking box in both of his hands. 

“Hi, Y/N,” Jungkook says happily. 

“I don’t like that look on your face,” you immediately say as you usher him inside. “You’re scaring me. You text me are you at your place rn? and when I say yes, I receive no further information.”

Jungkook just smiles. “I have a present for you.”

“I can see that. Can I ask why?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.”

You squint your eyes. “Is that a good enough reason?”

“I think so. It’s also from Taehyung and Jimin, but don’t give them most of the credit. It’s mine. I got this for you. Because you are my girlfriend and I am your boyfriend.”

“O...kay,” you say hesitantly, hands held out as Jungkook places the box in your palms. You sink under its weight, clearly surprised at how heavy it is for a simple box. “If this is a prank, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Please don’t break up with me. I think I might love you,” Jungkook says, smile so wide it’s beginning to hurt his cheeks. 

You pause, hand on the top of the box about to open it, and look up at him. Your face is impossibly soft, and Jungkook wishes that you could stay like that for longer, just so he can etch it into his memory. Remember it when he’s sad. “You think you might love me?”

“I think so,” Jungkook says honestly, because it’s true. He’s not sure yet, but he knows he’s on his way. “I think I do.”

“I—” You say, soft grin lacing your features. “I think so, too.”

“Open it!” Jungkook insists, giving your wrist a squeeze as encouragement. “I promise it’s not a prank. But even if it was, please don’t break up with me.”

“You are never this happy, which makes me exceedingly stressed,” you say, hands tentatively beginning to take the lid off of the box. “Why are there holes in the side of this thing? Is something about to squirt out at me?”

“No,” Jungkook says. “It’s nice, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“You’re my girlfriend,” Jungkook says. “You deserve it. You wanted it, too. I got exactly what you wanted.”

Before you even have the lid off of the box, you hear a sound.

Meow.  

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POV Case Study – Have Some Writing Meta

Point of View (POV) is an integral piece of the storytelling puzzle for Opus, my main body of fic, so I thought I’d do a meta post that walks through how I use it as a narrative tool. The intention is not to tell anyone how they should or shouldn’t use POV, but rather to demonstrate one way I used it very deliberately to create narrative tension, weave in characterization, and develop an overarching theme.    

Your POV character is an enormous tool in your writing toolbox, whether you are using a single POV or multiple. How you use it depends on a lot of things: what person you’re writing in (first, second, third), the type POV you’re going with (omniscient, meaning the POV narrator can see into everyone’s heads, or limited, meaning you only have access into the head of a specific POV character).

My preferred writing style is 3rd person “in-your-face” limited POV, that puts the reader so solidly in the POV character’s head it’s almost like 1st person in a 3rd person trench coat. That coupled with present tense gives me some extra intensity that I love taking advantage of in emotional or climactic scenes. Again, this isn’t to state a right or a wrong way to use tense or POV – there are lots of great ways to use these tools – but for the purpose of this exercise, this is my chosen loadout.

I made the conscious decision early in Sonata that I did not want to use Sam Shepard’s POV, ever. Every story in his series would be told through the eyes of the people around him. Why? Because one of the key character traits of Sam is that he makes himself whatever someone needs him to be. He sees himself as a tool, so to be a useful tool, he has to have the right shape for the job. This raises the question: who is Sam, when he is free to just be himself? I’m not sure even Sam knows the answer to that question, so to reinforce it through storytelling, I never wanted to reader to see what goes on in his head. Everything you learn about Sam comes through the perceptions of others, and to show the reader how differently he is perceived by others, I write with multiple POVs rather than just Kaidan’s.

Below the cut, I’m going to walk you through a specific example where POV was an essential part of crafting the story I wanted to tell. The chapter in question comes from Fugue, a story I’m writing that explores the aftermath of Alchera. You don’t need to have read Fugue to follow the logic, but if you care to read the chapter, it functions well on its own separate from the rest of the story.

Fugue – This Hole You Left.

This was a very complicated chapter that lived and died by POV choices, and it was extremely difficult to put together. The approach I took was a gamble that (thankfully) worked after much fretting, gnashing of teeth, and help from @pigeontheoneandonly.

This Hole You Left takes place after Sam dies over Alchera. I wanted to paint a ‘kaleidoscope’ of grief, and explore how Sam’s death impacted the people around him in very different ways. Therefore, I needed a plethora of POVs to work with, each one giving me something different. The goals were this:

Find differing POVs that would offer demonstrably different perceptions of Sam and/or illustrate different stages of grief and shock.        

Allow each of those POVs to mold to that character’s specific goals and motivations. i.e., I did not want the grief of other characters to be tied to the romantic relationship that had been lost – because that’s not the lens those characters would look through.

Each POV had to move the chronology along in a way that made sense and felt natural.

Kaidan’s POV was off limits. In the absence of Sam’s physical presence, I wanted to treat Kaidan like Sam – the character people could see, but not explore the headspace of. Everything the reader learns about Kaidan in the immediate aftermath of Alchera comes from other people.

That last piece was important. Arguably, Kaidan’s POV was the most valuable one of all, but I was going to have lots of time to explore it in meaningful ways elsewhere. I thought it might be more powerful to express his grief through the eyes of others, and use him as a central theme to weave in and out of the chapter. More about that later.

This constituted one hell of a puzzle to put together, especially when it came to the chronology. For instance, an early mistake I made was putting the most powerful POV (Anderson) too early in the sequence, which diminished what came after it. Moving that POV around meant re-framing other POVs to keep the chronology moving forward (for example, Garrus’ POV initially came after Anderson’s, by moving it before his, I had to change the context so that Anderson’s POV wasn’t a step backwards in time).

Each POV scene was also intended to essentially be its own self-contained short, creating a microcosm of grief, that when put together, would create a much larger and significant whole.

I could write forever about all the trial and error that went into finding the right formula, but it’s probably more valuable to look at where I wound up, and why:

1st POV: Lora Alenko (Kaidan’s mother)

Why: She gave me a window to set the clock in motion and make the loss of the Normandy feel real, because she had the advantage of having no idea anything was wrong. Plus, her perspective felt like a unique one I hadn’t seen in fic when it came to Alchera. I’d set her character up in Sonata, so readers of that fic would be familiar with her and understand what that phone call meant to her in a more meaningful way.

How I used it: I put her in the middle of a mundane, normal, event – lunch with a friend – and then shattered that normalcy with a phone call telling her the ship her son was on had been destroyed. That shift from normal to a state of dread gave me the tension I wanted to use for the rest of the chapter.

Excerpt:

But before she can answer, her omnitool flashes. She frowns and looks down at her arm. It’s a message from Marc. SOS. Call now.

A chill runs down her spine. SOS isn’t something Marc throws around lightly. She’d gotten an SOS from him when he’d found Apollo, the warmblood she’d ridden for years, with a leg stuck through the paddock fence, and the day they’d learned about Vyrnnus.

Kaidan.

“Melia,” she murmurs. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

2nd POV: Admiral Hackett  

Why: Hackett gave me the chance to explore Shepard through the eyes of the Alliance. To them, and to Hackett, he’s a weapon rather than a person. He also gave me a chance to weave in a sense of anger, one of the stages of grief.

How I used it: This POV came about late in the revision process, but I’m thrilled it did, because I was missing that cold, calculated look at Shepard’s importance. Shepard dying fucks up Hackett’s plans and political machinations, and his immediate response is not to mourn someone who died, but to move on to plan B. This also gave me a shot to work in Shepard’s mother. By seeing her in Hackett’s POV, I could reinforce the ongoing theme that Captain Shepard sees her son as a legacy, rather than a person.

Excerpt:

There isn’t a list of people who can replace Shepard. Time to make one. Hackett exhales, gaze falling to the datapad on his desk, Shepard, Sam still displayed at the top of the casualty list.

He picks it up and hurls it at the wall. It cracks, screen flickering to black as it clatters to the floor.

What a goddamned waste.

3rd POV: Joker

Why: Joker was an easy one. I’d set up some rather terrible foreshadowing in Sonata with a scene in which he makes the comment “I’d go down with that ship,” and Sam replies, grinning, “Not while I’m around.” I wanted to spike the ball over the net in Fugue, so parking in Joker’s POV in the immediate aftermath was a no-brainer.

How I used it: Through Joker I could explore guilt and shock, so I went back to that memory from Sonata and used repetition to make Joker feel stuck in that moment. It was also my first chance to weave Kaidan in to reinforce the notion of guilt and lay some neat groundwork for narrative tension that would come to a head later.

Excerpt:

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

He should have abandoned ship. The escape pod was right there. He could have given up the Normandy at any time. All he had to do was step over the bodies of Pressly. Chase. All he had to do was leave them all behind.

Instead he’d stayed, and Shepard had made good on his word.

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

4th POV: Dr. Chakwas

Why: Through her, I could look at the adrenaline and denial that comes with managing trauma. To her, Shepard was a patient. Because she is overwhelmed with patients in the form of the Normandy’s wounded, she cannot stop to think about the one she cannot help: she has a job to do, and she has to do it. There will be time to grieve later.

How I used it: Again, I used Kaidan to emphasize her role as a caretaker. Kaidan, who is in command of the survivors, has a moment of weakness that she cannot afford to have, and he can only afford to have in front of her, because she overrides his authority in a medical emergency. Because we are in her POV, we see her outwardly refuse to crack, when internally she’s hanging by a thread. It made for a nice contrast.  

Excerpt:

“There was no transponder signal,” she tells him, saying out loud everything she’s been repeating to herself. “We were in hostile territory, with over twenty injured crew. He was gone, Kaidan.”

His fingers curl, eyes still trained on the window.

She puts a hand to her forehead. Between Virmire, triage on the Citadel and this it’s too much. Before today she’s never felt old. Tears sting the corner of her eyes and she swears under her breath. Not here. Not today. Tears are something for tomorrow. Right now, she has a job to do.

5th POV: Garrus

Why: Garrus was a member of the crew who wasn’t on the ship, which is a completely unique perspective. But the question that took me forever to answer, was, how does he react to Sam’s death? What was Shepard to Garrus? I hadn’t written about them during ME1 yet, he was not part of Sonata, and ME1 Garrus is always a little tricky for me. I knew there was something important to gain from his POV, but I couldn’t figure out what it was to the point of tearing my hair out. Eventually, I settled on Garrus seeing Shepard as a mentor he couldn’t live up to, and made his POV about failure and regret.  

How I used it: Shepard was everything Garrus aspired to be, but could never quite achieve. He left the Normandy because Shepard made him feel like he could make a difference, only he didn’t. And then, his friends needed him, and he wasn’t there, and now Shepard is dead. I wove a lot of doubt, regret and self-deprecation into his POV to drive that home.

Excerpt:

Dammit, why hadn’t he stayed on that ship?

He grabs another report from the top of the pile on his desk, which is getting tall enough to sway in the breeze.

This is why. Because Saren had obliterated the Citadel, and Shepard, damn him, had made him believe he could make a difference. He thought he could make it here. Crazy thing, having to fill out a form every time you find a corpse. He’s got three more to add to the list after today.

6th POV: Anderson

Why: Anderson was both a father figure and commanding officer to Sam. Because he’s known him for most of his life, he has a perspective no other POV character has. To him, Sam was more like a son he’d been tasked to protect, and in the end failed to protect him. He and Kaidan are the only people who know Shepard well enough to mourn Sam, and not just Commander Shepard. Anderson would really let me start to explore grief.

How I used it: This was my heavy hitter. Through Anderson’s POV, I could trace Sam the person as he grew into Commander Shepard, and explore the echoes of the kid that still lived in the adult. I was also able to use Kaidan in a really fascinating way. In Opus, Kaidan and Sam served together for four years before the Normandy. Therefore, Anderson is pretty familiar with him, but doesn’t know him the way he does Sam. He keeps looking at Kaidan expecting Sam. In a sense, trying to plug a puzzle piece into the wrong hole. It was a neat way to show Anderson’s grief.

Additionally, this was a great opportunity to demonstrate Kaidan’s sense of loss without being in his head. Anderson does not know there was a relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but the reader does. Thus, I could have my cake and eat it, too: The POV character wasn’t examining the relationship that had been lost between Sam and Kaidan because he didn’t know it existed, but the reader got to.  

Excerpt:

He exhales through his nostrils. “The Normandy was attacked by an unknown vessel. Whoever they were, Joker says they came out of nowhere. Shepard got him into the escape pod, but the ship lost gravity. He…well.”

Alenko stares straight ahead, silent. Anderson looks for a tell, but he only knows Shepard’s.

Alenko isn’t Shepard.

7th POV: Tali

Why: Tali presented a similar problem to me that Garrus did. What was Shepard specifically to her, and what did his loss mean to her? As my closing POV, not only did she need to hit a home run, but she also needed to close out the chapter in a way that tied all the other POVs together and examined Shepard’s death through a much wider lens, without feeling like I was pulling the camera back from her POV to get there. That’s a lot to ask. Lucky for me, Tali never lets me down.

The answer I came to also called back to Sonata, in which exploring what home meant to each of the characters was an important theme. So I went back to this idea for Tali, as she and Sam had a very important thing in common that set them apart from everyone else: they were both born in space, and did not have the traditional fixed point of home that everyone around them had. Home was different to them than it was to everyone else.

How I used it: Tali was the only one left who understood how truly unique and special the home she’d found on the Normandy was. Therefore, when the crew starts to fragment and fall apart around her, she is forced to mourn the loss not only of Shepard, who gave her that home, but the home itself. I was able to use that grief to circle back to how much Shepard changed the people around him, and how deeply his loss will be felt in ways people haven’t even realized yet.

That conclusion was the magic final puzzle piece that made the whole thing work, and it was literally the last idea to take shape.

Excerpt:

Aliens don’t carry their ship names with them the way quarians do. Perhaps when you’re born with dirt under your feet you don’t need to. For them, home isn’t a vessel among the stars – it’s a fixed place in the universe, a way back no matter how far from it you venture.

But Shepard had been different. Like the quarians, he had no fixed point. Home was what – or who – he carried with him. He’d understood the power of a ship name, even if he hadn’t used one out loud. People who served with Shepard felt like they belonged, in ways they couldn’t anywhere else, because he said to hell with that fixed point in the galaxy and brought home to anyone who needed it. For Shepard, there wasn’t a way back. Just a way forward.

Shepard changed people.

They’ve lost so much more than a ship.

The primary objective of Opus is to examine the relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but to really understand the magnitude of Sam’s death, it was critical to explore it outside the confines of that relationship. Part of the struggle Sam and Kaidan have is that Sam doesn’t truly belong to himself or to Kaidan – he belongs to everyone else. That means his death doesn’t belong to either him or Kaidan. It’s shared with all the people he touched and shaped.

That’s what made this carousel of POVs a challenge I really wanted to make work. It required an absurd amount of juggling, but the diversity and uniqueness of each made Shepard’s loss feel real and devastating. But not only did each of those POVs tell us something about Sam, they provided some meaningful character development for the POV character. How they react to Sam’s death and what it means to them tells us a lot about that character, which in turn lends the entire story more depth.  

If you read this far, I’m pretty sure you deserve a cookie. 

I don’t know if any of that is helpful or meaningful other than to show an example of how POVs can be a really awesome tool to tell a story. There can be a lot of depths and layers to why you use a particular character to tell a story through, and those choices can greatly impact the story you end up telling.

[sadoeuphemist]

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment 

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2)  to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order. 

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

[chemicallady]

Dr and Dr Reid

Part I

A/N: Hi everyone! First of all , thank you for reading this! That's my first time writing this kind of FF and I am pretty nervous!! For me is a good exercise because I am not an English native speaker, so I hope that you will enjoy even if is not perfect! I want to start a mini series on the topic academic! Reader x Spencer Reid because the world deserves it (and because I am an academic so lol let me dream a bit with you and let me also entroduce you in this 'magic' world). Thank you again and enjoy,! I appreciate comments or corrections! ♡

Couple: Spencer Reid/Female!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warning: //

Summary:  (y/n) is a PhD candidate in forensic anthropology at the University of Las Vegas and she is at her first convention as a speaker. Dr. Spencer Reid is in Vegas after a rough case in Carson City and he couldn't help himself but participate to the annual forensic conference when he heard about it. Little does he know that this decision is going to change is life forever.

*****

Las Vegas, November 5th 2006

You are so nervous in this moment. Your hands are shaking while you are grabbing the papers with your speech. God only knows how many times you have read it in the last few days, but it seems that there are an interference between your brain and your mounth.

Your supervisor is here and she is completely sure that you can handle it. You are at your second PhD  year and your results are good. Not amazing, but good. You already made a publication about your job and it went really good, so you can make it.

Take a breath, close your eyes and BOOM,  you are in the stage inside the Bellagio's conference room, with a lot of academics looking at you.

You need a second and a silly laugh escapes from your lips, but in the end, you are able to start talking.

《Good morning everyone. My name is (y/n) (y/s/n) and I am a PhD candidate at UNLV. I am here today to introduce you to my project, in collaboration with university of Buenos Aires. Mainly, I work on the recognition of the skeletal remains of war's victims and I have structured a new way to make it possible...》

***

In the end, it was so good. After a couple of minutes you grow more secure and you caught the audience attention.

You were also able to  answer all the questions except one. The last one, from a young doctor who sits in the first line since the very beginning of the conference.

You have noticed him only because he asked at least a question on every single speaker, today.

You are really surprised when you meet his eyes during the coffee break. You are talking with your supervisor and another researcher when your glazes meet. He looks good for sure, but the poor figure you made because of his very specific question doesn't allow you to find him attractive.

You immediatly keep your eyes away and take a sip of your tea.

The coffee break only last ten minutes but they are enough to let this guy to move slowly near to you. At this point, it is inevitable.

You ask your supervision to excuse you and walk the three or four steps which still divides you two. When you try a smile is a failure, but you are a polite person, so after touching your (y/h/c) hair nervously, you decide that is time to speak openly.

《Your question caught me by surprise》, you reveal 《I am not a biologist, so genetic is not my field.》 That you take a little pause. 《I work with tooth marks》

《Yes I-I saw that》, he replies immediatly, blushing. 《I went to far, I am sorry, but I found fascinating the possibile correlation between the tooth marks and the dna present in the dentine.》

《Dna is too expensive. Especially if you are working on a mass grave》, you answer gently. He looks so shy now! Before he was this leon who speaks about genetic, mitocondrial dna and stuffs and now he is barely looking at you. 《But it was a smart question...》

A strange silence lays between the two of you so you try again. He is more than shy, he looks terrified. He doesnt look confident in speaking with you. Maybe because you are a girl? Who knows.

《So, Smart Guy, what's your name again? Are you an university researcher?》

《I am dr Spencer Reid》, he says quickly, before apparently  change his mind. 《You don't have to call me dr. Spencer is fine. I am Spencer.  Hi.》

He looks adorable while he rises his hand to greeting you. You can't help yourself but smile again, brightly. 《 I am (y/n). No honorific yet.》

《Not yet》 he replies with a tiny smile.

Coffee break is over, so you decide to make your move. There is a good possibility that you will never meet him again and that will be a pity.

《Can we share ours email? I'd like to talk to you again.》

He blushes. 《I don't own an email.》

Sounds like an excuse, probably he is not interested.  So you smile again, less confident.《don't worry is fine!》

He didn't answer your question before, so you don't know in which university he is working. This is probably the last time you are speaking with him, so.

《Then, have a good time and-》

《I can give you an address so we can share some letters if you want.》

《Letters?》

You are incredulous. Who sends letters in 2006? He, apparently.

《Well, let's write some letters》, you reply ironically. But he takes you serious. You look at him while he keeps a business card from his cardigan pocket. He also takes a pen and writes something on the back front. In the moment you have that small piece of paper in your hand, he blushes again and excuses himself.

You watch him go back to the conference room, before get a look on the card. He wrote an address in Virginia.

In quantico.

Then you turn the card and with surprised eyes discover that he isn't a researcher.  He is a Fed. With a small smile painting you face you come back  next to your supervisor sits.

Who will believe you when you will tell this story to your friends?

[aliaslua]

Ok about those "living with bodyguard turtles" hc, how would the boys react if the human they're protecting (now their best friend, mind you) had feelings for them? Like the human doesnt tell them but it's kind of obvious, theyre pretty bad at hiding it?

omg this is my first request

I received this ask at the exact moment that I submitted my last assignment, so I'd just officially started my college break ... The perfect way to start my rest *chef's kiss*. Thank you so much for the suggestion! <3 I was craving some angst. I hope you enjoy! it’s also kinda long LOL I was trully excited

you can read the first part here

Leonardo

It happened one day while he was helping you in training. The whole family was already used to your presence, you and Leo trained together every day and he loved it. He thought it was really cool to keep up with your performance and he was so proud of your increasing dedication and persistence, even on the days when the training was hard.

On that specific day he had decided to give you a break, since the training the day before had been heavy. Everything seemed absolutely normal until the moment when he needed to help you with a yoga posture and although you barely started the exercises, he realized that your heart was beating fast, very fast. Strange, he thought, but when he looked at your face and realized that you blushed, he also became overly aware of his own hands on your waist and how close your faces were. Suddenly, you broke contact with his eyes and walked away abruptly. "I'm not feeling well" you said "Maybe tomorrow."

Leonardo stood in the training room with a huge question mark in his face. Were you… nervous? During training? Why? You had been training together for months and it wasn't the first time that you needed support for a posture and…

The next few days are like a nightmare. Suddenly you decide that you prefer to train alone. Then you make up an absurd excuse for not watching the movie on wednesday. You don't talk to him, you don't train together, it's almost like you disappeared from his life. It's too much. One day during breakfast he asks you a direct question, but you simply decline the invitation while still avoiding looking at him. A horrible silence is in the air when you leave the kitchen without even finishing your breakfast.

"What did I do?" Leo asks, clearly hurt. His brothers look at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" Donnie asks. "What?" That's all the oldest brother can answer. "She's into you, moron." Raph responds, clearly irritated.

The realization runs through him like an electric current. Is that why you are avoiding him? What it means "you are into him"? Like… Are you in love? You? No way. You were his pupil! The first student he had, more like a life partner, a housemate. He never thought that someone like you could ... Him? It's too much for him. He needed to sit down.

"It looks like your intuition isn't that good huh, your stallion!" Mikey jokes.

The next are sleepless nights. Suddenly everything makes sense. How you smiled when he brushed your hair off your face, how you asked him to stay by your side when you couldn't sleep, how you insisted that the training should be longer, he always had interpreted all that as a sign of friendship, but now he felt completely naive. And to think that you could feel like that for someone like him ... It changed everything. What did that mean? He missed you. Missed you a lot. Seeing you so distant made him suffer in a way that only seemed logical now that he realized that perhaps his own feelings were the same. His head is spinning. Perhaps…. Maybe you could...

No. Absolutely not. The mission was clear. He had a single duty, to protect you. And he was going to complete the mission even if you spent the rest of your time together without looking at him again, no matter how much it hurt. Nothing was going to stop him from keeping you safe, not even his own feelings.

Raphael

It happened that morning while he was working out. You had just read “Emma” and it was the last book by Jane Austen that was missing for you to complete the bibliography. You sighed at the romantic ending but he hit the punching bag with an overly aggressive stance.

"We have to stop reading that shit." He said, suddenly. "Why?" You asked, surprised "I thought you liked it." "I like it. It's just ... it's kind of depressing for me." "What do you mean?" He stopped punching. Still with his back to you, you could see him adjusting his hand-bands. "Ah, come on, Shorty ... You know that none of this will ever happen to me." He threw a punch that made you jump "It hurts ... to know what it could be." "What do you mean, it's never gonna happen to you?" You asked honestly. He could hear in your voice that you were incredulous. "Cut the crap, Y / N." He turned, annoyed. "Look at me!" "I AM looking." you said, standing up "All I see is a caring, kind, gentle man and the day you fall in love with someone I know that you will be the most loving and dedicated partner and that person will be the luckiest in the world." You closed your mouth as if you had just said cursed words. Across the room, Raphael was stiff and speechless. Suddenly, the Lair' alarm went off. He went to join the brothers in silence, an emergency demanded his attention.

That night, Raph didn't come back home. He spent the night sitting on the edge of a building looking out over the city, mesmerized by your words.

It may be hard to believe, but Raphael is always very aware of his own emotions. That's why he is always so angry, that's why he cannot contain the urge to fight. He feels everything deeply. You didn't have to say anything else. It was as clear as day for him. He knew that was an unplanned declaration of love, he knew you were trying to hide it and you couldn't, and he knew it was too late now. He also knew he felt the same way. And he knew you could never be what his heart desired.

In his deepest fantasies, Raph would return home, lift you up around the waist and swear eternal love, just like in the books. And he would be yours, from then on and forever and you would never be alone, afraid or sad again. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything to make you the happiest person in the world.

But he also knew that it would never be possible with a man like him. He, who couldn't give you a decent home, the wedding you deserved, couldn't give you a family... - Fuck - He couldn't even meet your family. You would be forever unhappy, stuck with a monstrous and impetuous man and for that reason, he needed to work out the kindest way to reject your affection, knowing that it would be the most difficult thing he would have to do in life.

Donatello

Donnie wasn't prone to false modesty. He knew without a doubt that he had a deductive ability beyond average and he knew that he had enough knowledge to always reach the most likely conclusions. Why, then, could he not get it out of his head that you felt something for him that wasn't limited to a mere friendship?

He was working in the lab and couldn't stop thinking about all the obvious signs. Once again he redid the list of symptoms in his head: You had stopped reading alone in your private room they had built for you and now whenever you could, read by his side while he worked on the computer. Okay, nothing suspicious, a friendly, normal, expected gesture. But then there was that day when he stopped typing for a second and when he looked at you, you were staring at him. Clearly! He even saw it when you turned your face back to your book, in a pathetic attempt to pretend you weren't completely absorbed in watching him. That was strange. Okay, okay. Just one more event, it didn't indicate anything. So there was that night when everyone was watching a horror movie and you hugged his arm after a jumpscare, you guys stared at each other for a few seconds and he thought he saw you... blushing? Not to mention that now during your weekly debate sessions you seemed very giggly, very self-conscious, maybe even shy ... You had started to avoid direct eye contact with him and he realized with disbelief when your body language indicated attraction. Yes, yes ... He had ignored it the first few times but the way you smiled, the way you tilted your neck, how you approached him... Was he going crazy ???

Two hypotheses floated in his mind. The firs: he was going crazy, hallucinating and that was why he was seeing things and all the obvious signs that you were… interested in him were just the crazy dream of an unbalanced man. Or ... Well, or you really had developed a real and palpable romantic desire and you were so caught up in that urge that you couldn't hide it.

He narrowed his eyes again. No, no. Certainly not. You? No way. It didn't make sense from an instinctive and evolutionary point of view (why would you have that urge? You weren't even of the same species) and from a subjective, spiritual point of view, well ... Why would you like someone like him? You were beautiful, intelligent, clearly had an exceptional capacity for conversation and aside from that brief moment in your life, when you would finally have your freedom back, surely you would have no difficulty in finding a partner being such a wonderful, kind person, loving and…

He was no longer paying any attention to the viral sample he had placed under the microscope. He felt his own heart sink. If you really liked him then ... So does that mean ... That he had a chance? That he no longer needed to hide his intentions, his desires? That he could finally confess and that you would say ...

Someone knocked on the door. It was you. Sleepy and in pajamas, you still looked wonderful. "Donnie, can I sleep here?" "Of course, dear."

You smiled slightly, your eyes still half closed with sleep. He saw you lying on the couch, you fell asleep right away. He continued to look at you, so peaceful and impassive... He came to the only possible conclusion: It could never happen. You deserve affection, security, stability. A peaceful life with someone who cared for you, not someone who constantly put you at risk ... Someone who wasn't like him. Donatello looked away from your face, thinking it might lessen the pain. He knew that, in that case, the most rational option was to pretend that he had never deducted anything.

Michelangelo

"So... What are you going to do?" Leonardo asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had been established between the brothers. On the other side of the lair, you were sleeping.

"I do not know!" Mikey almost screamed before he remembered that you couldn't wake up, no way "That's why I'm asking!"

“Well… she clearly likes you. We all agree." Donnie concluded. "Yes" Leonardo shook his head. "Yeah ..." Raphael was staring at the brothers. "... And if you break her heart we'll all beat you up."

They all laughed, except Mikey. That was precisely the problem.

"It's not funny ..." The youngest of the brothers said, sitting on the kitchen table chair. Everyone understood that this was a serious situation when Michelangelo rested his head in his hands and again plunged into meditative silence.

He would never forget the day you sat with him on the couch and asked him to ...Chill a little. Never. Not because he was hurt, no ... You had been kind and caring and he had been very happy to know that you felt comfortable opening up to him that way. And if there was one thing he didn't want to be, it was overwhelming. So he did what you asked, he stopped flirting, stopped talking nonstop, stopped with intrusive questions ... And everything seemed perfect!

You were the best friend he could have. You laughed at his jokes, went out with him to tag abandoned cars, you ate pizza on the roof, played pranks on your brothers. Everything was great! You were everything to him and he knew that he felt much more than brotherly love for you. He always knew. But he had made a promise, he had promised that he would no longer crush you with his feelings ...

But things started to escalate. You started sharing intimate secrets, sharing dreams. During movie nights you laid on his shoulder and every day you cooked something new and brought it to him while he was playing video games. One day - that damn day - Raphael teased you and said “My my, what a beautiful couple” and Michelangelo almost had a heart attack when instead of emphatically replying that you weren't a couple or anything like that you just… Smiled and looked away. WHAT? WHAT KIND OF REACTION IS THAT? Mikey still remembered the unbearable heat he felt on his face that day when you just SMILED when you heard someone suggest you were his.

Since then, he only thought about one thing: "How can I reject her?"

The sadness in everyone's eyes was clear.

"Maybe you guys deserve a chance, Mikey." Leo suggested.

"But how?? Tell me, Leonardo, for God's sake, how am I going to make that woman happy? Huh! I have NOTHING to give. Nothing to add, to offer! I… I am literally a sewer monster… It will be a matter of time before she regrets, and how would I move on afterwards? ... "

"Mikey… ” Raphael started to speak, but was interrupted by his brother:

“You know what… You are right. It's time to grow up. This is a stupid dream. And it will never come true… ”

A gentle reminder that English is not my first language so if you see any grotesque grammatical errors, please let me know! <3 Thank you for reading

[pan-of-light]

Invasion

[Originally posted on AO3]

 Riddle was sure he hated it when Floyd’s attention was on him. Nothing good ever followed, and the worst part was that Floyd was so volatile there’s no way for Riddle to even predict what might happen until he’s as red as a rose and shouting unbecomingly at the other. Actually, no, that wasn’t quite right. There was something even worse than being in Floyd’s line of sight: It was being completely ignored.

 Of course, with someone as moody as him there had always been moments of peace and disinterest, but this had been over a week! After almost two years dealing with that giant shadow behind him, threatening to wrap around him and devour him entirely, to go so long without even a “Goldfishie!” echoing behind him was unthinkable. Riddle didn’t believe Floyd could be planning to do something to him, specifically, but every day that passed when their paths crossed and he didn’t even receive a glance seemed to add to the weight in his chest, to the point it became unbearable.

 He tried not to think about him. The school had been busy enough as it is, from everything like the normal hassles of a new year to Overblot going to “rare condition few had even heard about” to nearly half a dozen cases in as many months. Everyone was busy, and as Azul’s right hand man, Floyd should be, too. Even though Riddle constantly saw him loitering around and doing weird things, well, Azul’s success even after his contracts were destroyed proved the man had a method to his usage of the Leech siblings. He had to, right?

 Shaking his head, Riddle tried to focus on something else. Summer was approaching, and with it, swimming exercises constantly in PE. Last year he'd done… Acceptably enough, but he had to try harder to set a better example this year. Of course, thinking about swimming reminded him of mermen, but Floyd was not going to magically appear before him, and his formal request to access the pool to practice before classes wasn’t going to magically write himself. And Riddle could only force one of those things to happen.

 Floyd would never follow his will, anyway. Same grade, different dorms, Riddle had nothing over him, and even if he did, he doubted any of it would work. Floyd was someone who didn’t go with the flow, seeming instead to be outside of it entirely, reaching in to mess with his head and make his stomach do nervous flips before retreating back into his own little world, where Riddle could never reach.

 Being around Floyd felt a lot like drowning in feelings Riddle wasn’t familiar with and didn’t know if he wanted to be. And he hated not knowing himself.

--------

 Professor Vargas accepted Riddle’s paperwork with ease, praising him for demonstrating the extra initiative to tone his muscles. After paperwork came the key, the empty locker room before morning classes, and finally, the pool.

 It was a large, heated indoor pool, filled with mineral water to minimize chlorine exposure to non-human students, and maintained clean and warm thanks to volunteers in the sports clubs, solar panels, and a small but well applied use of magic every now and then. Despite the best efforts of exterior illumination, Riddle still couldn’t see much when he looked down, staring over the edge into the pool. There was no reason to be scared. He’d been here several times the past year for class. The fact that the early hour left the water looking like a polished black mirror, only giving back his own stare and nothing else was unsettling, but could easily be explained by the time.

 The water was calm, until it wasn’t. Riddle was supposed to be alone. He thought he was alone. But as he’d been distracted by his own contemplation, something cold and strong shot up from the water, grabbing his ankles in a vice grip and dragging him in.

 Riddle barely had time to hold his breath, and it didn’t matter much. The water wasn’t heated at the moment, and the sudden cold knocked what little air he’d managed to hold onto out of him as he was dragged all the way down, until he could feel his feet touch the bottom of the deep end of the pool. And as suddenly as he was grabbed, he was free, kicking himself up to the surface to breathe.

 He turned his head around frantically, searching for whatever had grabbed him, cursing his carelessness. His pen was back in the lockers, and while he could use magic without it, in an unfamiliar environment under attack by an unknown assailant he was at a disadvantage. Especially when he’d been dragged to a part of the pool he couldn’t stand in, having to bob awkwardly to avoid going under. He couldn’t even begin to imagine who it could be. Even after he began making amends, Riddle was under no impression he’d gotten his dorm mates, or the rest of the school, to forgive him. There probably wasn’t a single person in the school he could think of that he hadn’t exploded at or threatened, and generally just driven away. A few Unbirthday Parties didn’t make up for his time as a tyrant. He knew that better than everyone else.

 But without proper footing and lighting, he was little more than a sitting duck in the water. He’d see a ripple here, a bubble there, but whatever caused them was always nowhere near the area by the time his eyes could focus on it. By the time the panic and cold left his brain enough so he could think clearly, so that he could realize how his attacker could stay underwater for so long, it was too late, and the great wave formed by Floyd emerging behind him and leaping onto him pushed him underwater again.

 Bubbles sprang around him as Floyd tried to say something that Riddle couldn’t hear, even though Floyd’s mouth was so dangerously close to his ear, even though he was wrapped tightly in a hug against the merman’s smooth skin. Every fear and worry he’d felt the past few minutes vanished, being replaced by a familiar irritation. He was angry, of course. Angry at how being treated like this was making him smile, like all was right in the world.

 And a bit angry he couldn’t breathe. He tried elbowing Floyd to get let go, and while his attempt was a valiant failure, Floyd got the point and released him, surfacing right next to him with the same dopey grin he always had when it was Time To Bother Riddle And Fill His Stomach With Butterflies. Angry butterflies, Riddle’d insist, if he ever tried admitting it out loud. (He would not).

 “F-Floyd!” Riddle sputtered, ungracefully, “What are you doing here?!”

 (Riddle thought this was a valid question. Considering Floyd’s attendance records, he hadn’t even been totally sure the other could be awake at this hour).

 “Ehh? But I should be asking you that, Goldfishie~ Me and Jade always use the pool since the leg potion gets uncomfortable at times. You’re the intruder here, you know?”

 Shit, Jade. Riddle had been so caught up in Floyd’s unusual behavior that Jade’s usual behavior had slipped his mind entirely, and he started looking around for the less openly evil twin, earning a laugh from Floyd.

 “Jade’s busy helping Azul this week. I was thinking it was going to be totally boring to swim alone, but then you showed up, Goldfishie~! Isn’t this great?”

 This was the worst possible situation. At least warm water would have given Riddle as excuse for his outrageous blushes, but of course someone used to living under the sea would have turned off the heaters. He was tempted to just call Cater to come paint him the proper color for “still in cold water”, honestly.

 “Not great at all,” Riddle tried to maintain his composure, and he didn’t even need to look at Floyd’s smug grin to know he was failing. “I came here to practice swimming, and I won’t have you bother me.”

 Floyd muttered a lame okay as Riddle swam to the edge of the pool, grabbed the corners to stabilize himself and kick off, trying to at least start one lap down the pool. It shouldn’t have surprised him that when he opened his eyes to make sure he wasn’t veering off his lane that Floyd was right below him, matching his pace easily and even giving him a little wave when he realized Riddle was looking, almost making him choke on pool water in frustration.

 It was a small miracle Riddle reached the other end, clutching the pool’s edge as Floyd popped up behind him like the world’s soggiest Jack-in-the-Box and crowded him against the wall. It felt kind of odd. Usually Riddle had to strain his neck to get a proper look at Floyd’s face, even in his dorm uniform, but in the pool like this, he could actually look straight into his mismatched eyes. Far too close for comfort. Or not close enough. He couldn’t tell.

 “You really need to swim more if you already can’t breathe just from that…” Floyd teased, poking Riddle’s cheek. It had nothing to do with swimming! It was just too much. Closeness. Nerves. Something he could never command or push away. No matter how little Riddle wanted, Floyd just gave him more and more.

 So Riddle decided to take more, interrupting whatever was coming out of Floyd’s mouth next with a kiss. He had to move from gabbing onto the pool's edge to Floyd's shoulder to not go under, but it just meant the kiss was even closer. It was even a small victory, the first time he managed to make Floyd stop and stay still, even if for a second before the other responded with more, pushing Riddle against the tiled wall and trapping him there with his larger frame, while his mouth opened just a bit, inviting and dangerous and completely willing. Riddle wasn't discouraged by the sharp teeth, even trying to show off his own with a bite to Floyd's lower lip, which was responded to in kind before the kiss progressed into a more 'proper' thing, with lips and tongue and just the tiniest taste of blood that neither of them really knew who came from and neither of them cared, too invested in taking in more of each other.

As small a thing as it was, Riddle considered it a loss when he had to pull away from the kiss first to breathe. Even if he could see Floyd cheating, keeping his neck underwater and feeling his gils move, it was a loss he didn't like. So he kissed back, again and again, letting Floyd aimlessly drift them around the pool as they slowly tried to explore each other. At one point he even found himself completely submerged, only able to breathe the air Floyd gave him, unable to hear or see anything else as the water muffled and hid away everything but the two of them. He felt a bit sad when that ended, as Floyd had gotten bored and tried to change the positions of their lips again and finally remembered Riddle couldn't breathe underwater unassisted.

 It was only when Riddle surfaced and saw the sun shining in from the skylights at the edge of the pool area that he realized how much time had passed. The wall clock told him he hadn’t missed any classes yet, but that yet was dangerously close to going away entirely. He let out a curse under his breath, trying to untangle himself from Floyd, who’d used his unfairly long tail to wrap around him so  thoroughly   it was a wonder Riddle hadn’t noticed how close they were before. Or maybe he’d just been too intoxicated in finally getting something from Floyd to care.

 Floyd, however, refused to stop squeezing him.

 “Let go, Floyd, we have class!”  

   “Ugh, don’t wanna.”

 Riddle was gonna strike that expression from his vocabulary someday. But first, he needed to find a way to regain use of his legs. And arms. His whole body would be preferable, actually.

 “I’ll cut you a deal, how does that sound? Let me go now, and after classes and club activities are over, you come by Heartslabyul and I’ll entertain you as long as you want.” thankfully, not an empty promise. He had no outstanding prefect duties to work at, he could do his homework while Floyd was at basketball, and if any troubles arised, well, Trey could handle it for a night. Part of him trying to change should include him getting some nights off to himself, after all.

 “Hmm….” Floyd seemed deep in thought for a while, before releasing Riddle entirely (and leaving him a bit disoriented without the giant merman holding him afloat), getting out of the pool with practiced ease as the potion he used to look human took effect again now that he was no longer submerged. Thankfully for Riddle’s heart, it also came with pants. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ended up staring at a stark naked Floyd right now.

 “I’ll hold you to that, Goldfishie~” and with that, Floyd was gone, leaving Riddle alone in the cold pool. The temperature did wonders to rapidly ice his teenage libido as he considered the consequences of the deal he’d proposed Floyd. Idly, he traced the bite marks on his lips with his tongue. Those consequences would surely be worth it.

[stardustryewriting]

A Learning Process (6)

This is the final part

AO3: here

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Combinational Learning

Bakugou hated crying. With a burning passion. His lungs and eyes burned and trying to take a breath seemed impossible. Tears spilling over, out of his eyes and down his cheeks, like a river escaping a dam. It was always, always accompanied by heavy breathing, an inability to draw in breath properly, making it near impossible to talk or even produce sounds resembling words. It always turned into ugly sobbing, him having to clutch something to ground himself.  

Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop. 

Kirishima had walked out on him - thinking Bakugou hated his guts, no less - and there was nothing he could do. He just watched helplessly, frozen in place, unable to do anything. He finally fucked up for good. The worst thing was, he’d seen it coming from the start. He always knew he wouldn’t be able to make it work, eventually he’d destroy even the simplest thing. His friendship with Kirishima. He just wished he could let him know why it was broken now. Not that it mattered anymore.

It shattered easily like glass, and there was a little intrusive thought that had made itself at home in Bakugou’s head, telling him it was always meant that way. As if someone as good as Kirishima really wanted to spend their entire life at Bakugou’s side, friend or otherwise. He knew it was wrong - doomed from the start - the moment he realized what exactly his feelings for Kirishima were. It could have never worked out. 

He wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t even someone you wanted to date, his impulsiveness and general lack at expressing himself more than made sure of that. People usually avoided approaching him unless strictly necessary. Who could possibly want to date him? He wouldn’t have been a boyfriend. He would have been a project. And Kirishima deserved way better than a project. He should have the world. Not a guy with anger issues. 

__________________

The first thing Kirishima had done, after he got safely into his room and locked the door behind him, was block Bakugou on every social media on his device. Which now seemed irrational - surely there were better ways to cope - but back then it was the first thing his mind had provided for him. Create as much distance as possible. Easily said, but they lived next door in the dorms, there was only so much distance to be had. 

The next thing Kirishima did was crawl into his bed, vanish completely under his covers and decide to let his emotions take the reign. He would take whatever his head offered him and then deal with the aftermath later. Unfortunately his head let him have nothing. No crying, no anger, not even the tiny taunting voice telling him that of course, he couldn’t possibly be good enough and he should stop fooling himself. Just emptiness. 

A few stray tears escaped his eyes every now and then and he felt the pressure of more behind his eyes, but for some reason they refused to fall. As if he had been bled empty from all emotions. He just lay there, under his covers staring at his wall - the one he shared with Bakugou, because of course his bed was on that side of the room - and tried to will himself to work through at least something. He came up empty-handed.

He went to Recovery Girl the next day, because despite feeling and thinking nothing, he stayed awake the entire night and he didn’t feel like school. Their resident healer took one look at him and told him to stay ‘home’ and that she would excuse him from school. He took the paper slip to the teacher lounge and handed it to Present Mic, because Aizawa wasn’t there yet, who told him he would hand it over, and wished him a speedy recovery. 

Kirishima felt like scoffing then - as if he had any chance to ever recover from that - but he lacked any and all energy to do more than politely thanking him. Even that sounded toneless and drained to his ears. Judging from Present Mic’s flinch, it sounded even worse for other people. 

He went back to the dorms afterwards, careful to avoid the others, who would start getting ready for their day any minute and collapsed onto his bed again. He stared at his ceiling, distantly wondering, if emptiness was a side-effect of heartbreak. This time he scoffed at his own mind, because naming it heartbreak was a stretch. There was never anything that would warrant this being called a heartbreak. Only his own unjustified hopes, that he should have squashed as soon as they came up for the first time. 

He knew he never stood a chance. 

Because what could Bakugou Katsuki possibly want with him? Bakugou was always in the top three of their class academically and in hero-related exercises. Kirishima was somewhere in the lower half academically and got periodically scolded for rushing into situations without thinking them through. Bakugou had a strong, flashy quirk that would make him the number one eventually. Kirishima would be lucky to not be forgotten, with a quirk as useless as his. Bakugou had the fierce determination to achieve anything he wanted. Kirishima wasn’t even sure he actually belonged in the hero course. 

There was nothing Bakugou could want from him. The realisation should hurt, Kirishima had fully expected it to hurt. He felt nothing instead, like he had the entire day and he wondered if he’d feel nothing forever. 

He wondered if he deserved it, for foolishly getting his hopes up in the first place.

__________________

Bakugou was keenly aware that he hadn’t seen Kirishima all week. When Kaminari had asked - on Monday ten minutes into the homeroom lesson - Aizawa had waved him off, declaring that Kirishima was sick. He left it at that, continuing his lesson on something Bakugou couldn’t remember. Like he couldn’t remember most things that happened that week. 

He did remember Aizawa pulling him out of one of the training exercises, deciding he was too distracted to continue like the others. Despite being wrapped up in his teacher's capture weapon and basically held on display, Bakugou didn’t argue. He could admit when someone was right. He also remembered Jirou giving him the stink eye, and sometimes even the finger, whenever she thought she could get away with it. She got away with it surprisingly often, Iida only lectured her two times the entire week. 

Kaminari, Mina and Sero also kept a careful distance and while normally, being alone didn’t bother him. this time, it made him seriously uneasy. Because it could only mean one thing. They knew what was up. Even worse, he couldn’t be sure how much they knew. Did they talk to Kirishima? Did they figure it out on their own? Was there any way he could get the idiots to spill? Probably not. But while normally, it would make him angry to no end, now he didn’t even have the energy to scream at them. He tried angry glares, but judging from their reactions, they weren’t half as good as he hoped.

This was starting to be a problem. 

It became a real problem on Thursday, when he sat alone on his table, trying to eat his lunch in peace, while avoiding everyone’s stares. He heard more than he saw, the two chairs in front of him being pulled back and someone sitting on them. Usually, he would tell whoever it was to get lost, he wasn’t interested in sharing the table, but he didn’t think he could find the energy for that. So instead, he just gave them a stink eye and hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t. 

In front of him, smiling like he was the embodiment of innocence himself, sat Deku. Next to him, face carefully neutral and his eyes not betraying a single emotion, sat his boyfriend. Bakugou felt like he was in hell already. The two chatted quietly between themselves, throwing glances at him occasionally and Bakugou considered just leaving the table. Or asking where the rest of their bunch was, because surely they would be better company than him. Surprisingly, Todoroki beat him to the punch.

“I told him”, he said, sounding apologetic and Bakugou needed a second to realise what he meant. Their talk. Their fucking talk about fucking feelings that he swore to take to the grave with him and now Deku was in the know. Could his life possibly get any worse than it already was? (The answer was yes, and he wished he never asked the question.)

“Yeah, he did”, Deku confirmed, unnecessarily, because Todoroki may have been a social airhead, but he’d never been a liar. You could trust that much, at least. “You see, Shoto isn’t exactly great with feelings, for reasons”, and Deku managed to say ‘reasons’ in a way that made it clear he would not discuss said ‘reasons’ further, “so I fear he may have accidentally made it worse.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That might have been the most frustrating talk I’ve ever had”, Bakugou spat, familiar anger settling in his chest again. At least that was something. He could deal with anger, he always had. 

“Sorry”, Todoroki said shortly, actually looking a little sheepish.

“Anyways”, Deku interrupted, before either of the two could discuss that any further, “I’m here to offer help. The talk was about Kirishima-kun, wasn’t it?”

That felt like a slap to his face. How did Deku know it was about Kirishima? He never said it, he specifically made sure to never mention a name or even a gender in front of Todoroki. How had Deku figured it out? Was it that obvious? Were the others able to see it as well? Did Kirishima know?

That was a truly frightful thought. What if Kirishima knew, but feigned ignorance as a way of letting him down easy? What if the reason Bakugou hadn’t seen Kirishima in almost a week was not because he hurt Kirishima, but because Kirishima didn’t want to hurt him. Would that be better or worse than their current mess? He honestly didn’t know. He hated it, all the same. 

“How?”, he said, throwing Deku his best angry look, and it really spoke for his current state, that Deku didn’t even flinch. If he couldn’t even intimidate Deku, he must have really lost his stuff. Somehow that didn’t come as a surprise. 

“How do I know?”, Deku asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. I know you like to pretend to hate me, but we’ve been friends once. I know you better than you like to admit. And I see the way you act around him. You don’t act like that with just anyone.”

Bakugou wasn’t even upset, he realised, to his surprise. Because Deku was right, Kirishima had been special from the start. Not intimidated by him during the USJ, offering himself as an unwavering horse during the sports festival, coming to his rescue after he was kidnapped. Kirishima was always there, always so reliable, it made Bakugou wonder when he actually fell in love. Because it’s been way before the mall incident, that was for sure. 

It only made the entire thing worse. 

“So what?”, he grumbled, not giving Deku the satisfaction of telling him he was right. He was sure Deku knew anyway. “Even if that were true, how could you possibly help?”

“Like I said”, Deku continued, with the patience of a saint, while also completely skipping over the part where Bakugou attempted to deny his feelings once more, “I know you. And I know Kirishima-kun. Not as good as you do, I’m sure, but good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”, Bakugou inquired, unsure where Deku was going with this, but Todoroki had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that told Bakugou to be cautious. Too bad caution had never been his strong suit. 

“Good enough to know that something went terribly wrong between you two”, Deku answered carefully, gauging Bakugou’s reaction before continuing, “And I wanna help.”

“Bullshit!”, Bakugou yelled, knowing fully well, that he had the attention of the entire cafeteria on him now, “As if I need your damn help!” He stormed off then, not bothering to listen to whatever Deku yelled after him. He wouldn’t even bother with his afternoon classes, he decided, after he made his way halfway over the school grounds. He could deal with missing half a day of classes.

He really needed a break. 

__________________

 Kirishima wasn’t sure how all of them had ended up inside his room. He just knew that Kaminari currently shared his bed with him with half an arm-length of distance between them. While he sat properly with his back to the wall and his legs folded over each other, Kaminari had assumed a position halfway to laying down, seemingly comfortable. Sero sat on the floor, with his back to the bed and his head lying on it, right between Kirishima’s legs and Kaminari’s stomach. Jirou sat on the desk chair, back against one armrest and legs swung over the other. Mina had propped herself up on Kirishima’s desk, arguing with Kaminari over the snacks they brought with them.

It was almost normal. Too normal. It felt like a movie night, like they were just waiting for Bakugou and only the absence of some drama while trying to agree on a movie gave away that it wasn’t actually a movie night and that Bakugou wouldn’t just walk through the door, taking their enthusiasm at being able to start with a disgruntled look and some vague passive-aggressive comment. 

Because Bakugou didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

Even after days, it still stung and while Kirishima had avoided any and all talk about their little ‘falling out’ (Kaminari’s words, not his), he got the feeling that his time was up. The gang was there to talk with him and they wouldn’t go until they were satisfied Kirishima was alright. Somehow, he wasn’t happy about that. 

“So...”, Kaminari drawled, after he finally threw the snacks to Mina and everyone else went rigid, when he started talking. Good thing that wasn’t concerning at all. Kirishima was sure he could feel the irony, if he felt anything but numb. “You and Bakugou had a falling out. Care to share?”

Kirishima was sure that Kaminari would look proud of himself, if the situation was any less serious. He thought he saw a bit of pride glimmer through the carefully maintained serious front, but that might have been his imagination. God knows, it played the worst tricks on him, recently.

But, more importantly, did he care to share, as Kaminari phrased it? Or rather, was there anything he had left to lose? He didn’t think so. At least, no one would treat it like some sort of joke on his expense, in this situation. (Kaminari still might, but Kirishima was strangely okay with that.)

So he took a deep breath, tried to straighten his shoulders as much as possible in his sitting position and mentally prepared himself, to say something out loud, that he swore he would only ever say if he actually got over it. He was anything but over it. 

“I have a crush on Bakugou”, he admitted, feeling unexpectedly light like a weight lifting off his chest, “and I think he found out and is disgusted.”

There. That’s it. That’s what has been bothering him all week, even longer than that. And now it was out in the open, all of his friends knew and at the very least it didn’t loom over him in that sense anymore. It still loomed over him in a worse sense, but that was a hurdle for another day. (Or never, if things went Kirishima’s way. But when did things ever go Kirishima’s way?)

“Shit”, Mina declared, which promptly became the general consensus in their little round. Even Kirishima silently agreed, that this entire situation was just shit. 

“What an asshole thing to do!”, Jirou said, looking seriously pissed off and Kaminari agreed with her immediately. Kirishima would have argued that Bakugou had a right not to like him, but he could feel the conversation getting out of control already. So, he resorted to damage control.

“Well, yeah. But I’m fine or I will be. I got though skin, after all”, he joked and at least Kaminari appreciated it, with a little snort and a thumbs up. Sero also chuckled a little, shoulders shaking lightly and Kirishima considered it a win. He would take what he could get. 

“Still! If a girl were into him, I bet it would give him an ego boost”, Jirou argued lamely, trailing off at the end. Kirishima tried not to think too much about the implication of that. He was sure Jirou wasn’t trying to imply anything and it would be unfair to her to have his thoughts run wild with her words. She was trying to help him, not hurt him further.

"Also, seriously, Bakugou? You have the worst taste in men!", Jirou declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. Kirishima would have liked to argue that Jirou didn’t get to judge his taste in men, because she wasn’t even attracted to their gender, but Sero beat him to the punch.

“Can you really judge that? No offense, but you aren’t attracted to men.”

“I’m not attracted to guitars either, but I know a pretty one when I see it”, Jirou argued, effectively shutting down Sero. Kaminari next to him chuckled like he was watching some good show and Kirishima was sure he would enjoy this talk, if he were to enjoy anything. At least they tried cheering him up.

"Well, at least he's nice to look at", Mina shrugged and Kirishima feared the abyss in which this conversation seemed to drift. That was some dangerous territory they were currently trespassing. He didn’t want to go there, not right now. 

“Okay, guys, stay with us!”, Kaminari snapped his fingers for what Kirishima guessed was supposed to be a dramatic effect. If so, it surely wasn’t working. It did get their attention away from considering Bakugou’s general hotness level - off the charts, Kirishima thought and immediately hated himself for it - and to Kaminari, which was a good thing. “What do we do for heartbreak?”

The silence that followed was deafening. So, he wasn’t the only one absolutely out of his depth, which did little to calm him down. Sero looked at Jirou and then at Mina as if he was expecting them to come up with something. Jirou looked around at all of them, clear panic in her eyes. Mina looked way too deep in thought for anything good to come out of this and Kaminari seemed to deeply regret his question. Kirishima honestly didn’t know what to do. 

“Hide stinky cheese in his room”, Sero suggested first, not entirely serious. At least Kirishima hoped he wasn’t.

“Make a new playlist”, Jirou provided reluctantly and Kirishima could see how that would be a comfort for her.

“Scream into a pillow until everything is better”, Kaminari proposed, seeming unsure, but so far it was the only thing Kirishima was willing to try. 

“Movie night and way more snacks than we could reasonably justify in front of Iida!”, Mina put forth brightly. If he were honest, distraction and food coma sounded like actual heaven to Kirishima in that moment. It was quickly agreed upon and three out of the five of them made their way downstairs to horde anything edible they could find. 

“Don’t tell the others”, Jirou whispered, mockingly serious, after the door closed behind them, “but I’m willing to do the cheese thing with you, if you want.” Kirishima smiled, because he didn’t think he could laugh, even if he tried. For the first time in days, he felt something resembling happiness.

Maybe he could be okay.

__________________

Bakugou was absolutely miserable. He mulled over potential ideas, about how he could approach Kirishima, in his head, for hours now. He needed to talk to him again, he knew. Just one last talk, to clarify everything that went wrong the last time - which was everything really - and at least then he’d have some semblance of peace knowing, that that was the only possible outcome. No matter how Kirishima reacted to his feelings, he would take it. Still, he was miserable. 

Because no matter how he looked at it, Deku was right. He would need help. And no matter how often he thought it over in his head, Deku was the best possible help he could get. So, even if every fibre of his being refused to cooperate, Bakugou made his way to Deku’s room, knocking on his door. 

Deku opened, without hesitation, Todoroki in the background looked curiously at him. Great, just great. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to do something he could never possibly live down. Then, he said the hardest words he ever had to say.

“I need help.”

__________________

Bakugou wasn’t sure what Deku had told Kirishima. Only that Deku promised him he would bring Kirishima outside their dorms, to place out of view for most people. Bakugou knew the place from his morning runs and he was sure Deku knew it from his training with All Might. It was perfect for an undisturbed talk. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it himself. 

Standing under a tree, next to a bench, Bakugou felt himself shiver. It was fairly cold, as spring nights tended to get, but he knew that wasn’t it. He was actually nervous, because he didn’t know how to talk to Kirishima.

He could hear someone chatter, knew they were coming closer by their voices growing steadily louder and recognized Deku word-vomiting like he tended to do, when he was nervous. He took one last deep breath, before Kirishima and Deku came into view. Kirishima froze up when he saw him, and Deku rushed out an apology, before he quickly stormed off. Bakugou took a few experimenting steps closer, gauging Kirishima’s reaction carefully. Don’t make him feel trapped, Deku advice echoed in his ears. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima said tonelessly, awkwardly raising one hand to gesture, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I’m gonna go.” He was turning, slowly, eyes constantly on Bakugou, without ever making eye-contact, as if he was some wild animal, that would jump him. Bakugou repressed the scoff forming in his throat in favor of actually saying something this time. 

“Don’t be stupid”, came out of his mouth, before he could stop himself, and he was sure he flinched worse than Kirishima did. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “I actually wanted to talk.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look Kirishima in the eyes while saying this, so he looked to the bench he gestured to instead, praying Kirishima would understand him. 

He did. Kirishima always had. And Bakugou almost threw it all away.

Kirishima slowly made his way to the bench, still eyeing Bakugou warily. He sat down carefully, like he expected some sort of prank or maybe a joke at his expense and Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully, reminding Kirishima had never looked at him like that before. Never that distrustful. Bakugou took his own seat on the other end of the bench, feeling like he didn’t deserve being too close to Kirishima. Like he never deserved it. 

“Okay”, Kirishima said, stretching out the little word for all his worth and Bakugou realized that Kirishima had about as much clue about this situation as he had. This was doomed to fail. “You being so weird this past week, that was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Bakugou didn’t know how to answer that. No felt as much like a lie as yes did. 

“I’m an idiot”, Bakugou said instead, because he figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it would help filling the silence until he found a way to say what he actually wanted to say. Kirishima didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed heavily, like he had an even bigger weight on his shoulder than Bakugou did. 

“You know”, he breathed, like he had no energy to actually say it out loud, “usually I’d disagree and defend you, when someone said something like that. But recently, I don’t feel like disagreeing.” It was accompanied by a heavy sigh that made something in Bakugou’s chest ache. He wanted to reach out, but he knew he didn’t deserve to. 

“You shouldn’t”, Bakugou said, as a way of trying to take something off of Kirishima’s shoulders but the other just shrugged, facial expression unchanged. “Shit, this is hard”, he cursed under his breath, but Kirishima heard anyway. And now, he was facing him, too.

“You don’t have to apologize, if you don’t want to”, he said, steadily holding Bakugou’s gaze and Bakugou knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Had Kirishima’s eyes always been that breathtaking? That was the worst timing for such thoughts. “I don’t care what the others say, you have a right not to be my friend.”

“I liked being your friend”, he answered, dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Why was Kirishima defending him, if he hurt him that badly? He should be furious, Bakugou knew he’d be furious, if their roles were reversed. He’d be screaming at Kirishima if the other had the audacity to talk to him like that, after everything that happened. Kirishima always had an exceptionally high tolerance for Bakugou’s bullshit. (It made him hope they could work.)

“It sure didn’t seem like it.” Nothing, not a single emotion laced Kirishima’s tone, like he never heard before. That was worse. Bakugou would rather take screaming, would love to have Kirishima scream at him right now. At least that would give him something to work with. It would feel less like Kirishima gave up, already.  

“I suck with words”, he offered, as a way of explanation. 

“You do”, Kirishima agreed easily, “but there is really no other way to possibly understand that.” His tone was still utterly devoid of anything, but Bakugou saw some light reflecting from his cheeks. It took him a while to realize that it was a tear reflecting, that Kirishima had started crying. Kirishima was crying. and he was to blame. 

“There is”, he said, voice heavy with something he couldn’t put his finger on. His hand came up to wipe at his face. It came back wet. He was crying, too, he realized, seconds later. 

“Really”, Kirishima questioned, turning towards him. He was taken aback for a second, Bakugou could only suppose it was the tears. They would have startled him, too. Kirishima composed himself quickly and Bakugou mourned the lost empathy for only a second. He hadn’t deserved it. “What other way is there?”

“I’m -”, Bakugou tried to say, caught off guard by the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but it only seemed to grow bigger. He could feel his breathing growing heavier, felt himself losing the last of his composure. His pride warned him, to end it now, before he completely lost face. He ignored it.

“I’m in love with you. And I had a hard time coming to terms with that.” 

Kirishima didn’t say anything, despite his mouth being opened wide. His eyes were blown wide, too, but he was completely still, like he was frozen. It may have been due to the tears leaking out of Bakugou’s eyes uncontrollably now. Or maybe it was the ragged breathing turning into sobs, that he couldn’t keep in for the life of him. Or the confession was really just that absurd to Kirishima. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima answered eventually, and that was so absurd, that Bakugou was sure he stopped crying for a second to process it. Like his body needed it’s full capacity to work through all the implications the simple statement from Kirishima held. He wasn’t sure what implications it held. 

“What?”, he said, like an idiot. 

__________________

“I’m sorry you’re in love with me”, Kirishima said again, trembling under the weight of emotions he desperately tried to hold back, “I’m sorry it’s me. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.” He wasn’t even sure what Bakugou had meant, originally, when he said it was hard to come to terms with his feelings. But he was sure it was his fault. It must have been. 

“You’re better”, Bakugou breathed eventually, still crying. Kirishima was sure he misheard. Bakugou couldn’t possibly have referred to Kirishima as something good.

“What?”, he said now, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re better”, Bakugou insisted, something like determination making its way into Bakugou’s eyes. Kirishima knew he would melt at the spot, if the situation were any less dire. 

“You just said you had problems coming to terms with your feelings. Why would you have those, if I were any good?”, he insisted, trying not to look at Bakugou, in case he was right. He couldn't handle a second heartbreak in a single week. He had barely handled the first one. 

“No”, Bakugou yelled, sounding exasperated. Not that Kirishima could blame him. He’d rather not deal with himself either, but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice. Bakugou could walk away. Kirishima wouldn’t blame him. 

“No, they weren’t problems related to you. I’m the problem”, Bakugou argued, but it sounded hollow to Kirishima.

“You almost killed Monoma because he called me your boyfriend jokingly”, he argued, because that was an overreaction, no matter how you looked at it. And it still hurt, somewhere deep inside, that wasn’t actually that deep. Kirishima had tough skin and nothing else. Nothing at all. 

“That bastard”, Bakugou grunted, looking angry for just a second, before he went back to looking … defeated? Sad? Kirishima wasn’t sure. “He taunted me, and I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I had feelings for you then. He just made it worse.”

“Still”, Kirishima said, just feeling heavier, “That is fucked.”

“No shit”, Bakugou answered, sounding resigned and leaning his head back against the headrest of the bench, looking up at the sky. At times like these, Kirishima always regretted living in such a big city, where you never saw stars in the night sky. They wouldn’t help, not at all, but he’d still like them. 

“Even worse. When I first realized I had feelings, I went and consulted the internet. Big mistake. Then, I went to Todoroki, which was even worse.” 

“You went to Todoroki for feelings talk?”, Kirishima asked, angling his head so he could see Bakugou nod, “That sounds horrible.”

“It was”, Bakugou snorted and Kirishima registered faintly that both of them stopped crying like they were bled dry, “He thought he was going to get a shovel talk. I also know more about his feelings for Deku than I ever wanted.” Kirishima couldn’t suppress the little laugh bubbling up at that. He just couldn’t stop imaging Bakugou and Todoroki awkwardly talking about butterflies in their stomachs and warm feelings in their chests. He saw Bakugou looking at him from the side, eyes big and full of something Kirishima didn’t dare name. 

“What gave you the clue?”, he asked instead, avoiding looking at Bakugou for fear that what he saw was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He couldn’t make it through that.  

“Aizawa”, Bakugou shrugged. 

“Aizawa?”, Kirishima echoed, propelling himself forward on the bench out of sheer shock. Bakugou also lifted his head again, looking at him, one corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Yeah. He gave pretty good advice too. I came to the conclusion I liked you. I also came to the conclusion it wouldn’t work out. He said a lot of things about what the right person should be like”, Bakugou confessed, swallowing heavily and Kirishima felt the stone on his heart, heavier than ever before. 

“You don’t think I’m the right one”, he concluded, because that was where Bakugou was headed with his speech. That was where it was ultimately stagnating. Bakugou would rise the ranks, rise to heights unknown to Kirishima and he would only drag him down. He knew it. Bakugou knew. Better to end it, before it became a problem. 

“I don’t think I’m the right one”, Bakugou said immediately, voice heavy like he was actually doubting himself. 

“I appreciate you trying to let me down easy. But you don’t need to”, Kirishima told him, voice as gentle as he could possibly muster. He could deal with being let down. There was no need to sugarcoat something he always expected. 

“I’m a project”, Bakugou said, stressing the word ‘project’ in a way that let Kirishima know it was important. He still had no idea what Bakugou meant. Bakugou must have seen the confusion in his face. 

“I’m no good with feelings. I have no idea what a boyfriend even does. I blow up at every opportunity, sometimes literally. I have barely any patience. We are only friends because you didn’t get lost when I told you to”, he explained, sounding more stressed than Kirishima had ever heard him before. He was serious, Kirishima realized, he really thought he was the problem. He could barely fathom it. Bakugou Katsuki thought he was the problem. Truly a wild concept.

“I’d have you anyways. I’m stupid like that”, he said, lowly, knowing Bakugou would catch it. They always understood each other somehow. 

“Really?”, Bakugou argued, sounding defeated, “You want someone like me? How would you even introduce me to your parents?”

“As my boyfriend”, Kirishima answered easily, “who I’ve been in love with since the sports festival.” That gave Bakugou a pause for whatever reason. Kirishima wrung his hands, trying not to look too insecure about what he had just revealed. 

“The sports festival”, Bakugou mumbled, suddenly close and Kirishima wondered, in the back of his mind, when they had gotten that close to each other. He was sure they had started out on opposite sides. “Yeah, it was the sports festival for me too.”

Kirishima had wanted to say something about that revelation, but suddenly there was a hand in his hair, on the back of his head and all thoughts just seemed to vanish out of his head. Bakugou was way closer than he sounded, Kirishima could count his eyelashes if he had any brainpower left. He saw lightly chapped lips and the light crevices on Bakugou’s forehead. He felt Bakugou’s breath on his face, as he inched closer. He was about to lose his patience. 

“Can I?”, Bakugou breathed in the space between them, like a secret and Kirishima could do nothing but nod, unable to find any words in the mess that was his head. Bakugou surged forward, claiming his lips. It wasn’t perfect. Bakugou had gone too fast, their teeth clashing a little and Kirishima retreated for a second, before coming back slower. He placed their lips together more carefully, hand clutching into Bakugou’s shirt and Bakugou held his head in both of his hands. 

They separated only an inch, when they had to breathe and Kirishima would bet there was the stupidest happy expression on his face. Bakugou smiled too, seemingly content, before he went in for another, more passionate kiss. Kirishima gasped, caught off-guard by Bakugou’s sudden boldness and Bakugou took the opportunity to get his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth. Kirishima felt him smirk and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Bakugou let him, joined him even. Then he dove in again, kissing both corners of Kirishima’s mouth before claiming his lips again and Kirishima knew he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for a while. He didn’t think he wanted to. 

“I’m yours”, Bakugou said eventually, after they managed to separate for longer than just a few seconds to gasp for air. “I’m your problem now.” Kirishima giggled, thinking about how dramatic his boyfriend was and then laughed again, when he realized Bakugou really was that now. His boyfriend. He’d never been happier.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way”, he confirmed and then leaned forward again, to steal some more kisses. He’s waited way too long for those.

__________________

Bakugou loved dating Kirishima. He really did. He would have thought cuddling would bother him eventually, but he could never have Kirishima quite close enough. Not even after almost a year. Everyone else complained about their PDA, but Bakugou only gave them a smirk and kissed Kirishima once more, to shut them up. Life was good, most of the time. 

Rarely, there were times when Bakugou wished his boyfriend was just a little different. No drastic changes just being able to tell the idiots - who had renamed the Bakusquad to the Kiribakusquad without anyone’s permission - to get lost and leave them alone. Like when they had date night, and Bakugou had thought about a great plan to get Kirishima out of his sweatpants after the movie was over and then Kaminari stormed in. He’d really love it if they wouldn’t do that.

“I need some advice on my bromance with Shinsou”, Kaminari said, as a way of opening the conversation and Bakugou thought about how much easier his life would have been, if he could speak about things as directly as that.

“How often did you and Shinsou have sex again?”, Kirishima asked, with a smile that told Bakugou he knew the answer already. Kaminari still mulled it over in his head briefly, looking like he was counting. 

“Six times.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that counts as a bromance”, Kirishima concluded, snuggling deeper into Bakugou’s side and Bakugou tightened his arm around his boyfriend instinctively. Kirishima made a low humming sound, like he always did when he was comfortable and Bakugou could admit within the safety of his own mind, that it was his favorite sound. 

“Just man up and confess”, he told Kaminari, while burying his nose in Kirishima’s freshly washed hair, smirking slightly when he heard Kaminari’s gasp. 

“You”, he said, pointing at both of them accusingly, “don’t have any right to say that!”

Kirishima’s laughter was music to Bakugou’s ears, light and happy, the way Kirishima should always be. It made the entire procedure worth it, Bakugou thought, while pressing a kiss to his boyfriends hair. Kirishima raised his head then, to steal another kiss on the lips and Kaminari scoffed in the background. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask Jirou.”

Still, life was mostly great these days.

[mrvelocipede]

Oh hey! In spite of not actually expecting to get that far, I managed to come up with some response to a Botober prompt every single day in October. I’ve decided that means I don’t have to feel guilty about not doing NaNoWriMo. I mean, I wasn’t going to do NaNoWriMo anyway, but now I also won’t vaguely tell myself that I should be doing it.

Some thoughts on fractals, illustrations, and Botober:

In 31 days, I posted

1 photoshop manipulation 1 hastily-staged photograph 29 fractals

Of the fractals,

1 was old stuff completely un-altered (flame alphabet) 3 were re-workings of existing parameter sets (the super hero skull, parts of a cow, dangerous drops) 25 were entirely new 1 used an imported image (mouth mouth mouth), the rest were built entirely out of various coloring algorithms.

This was way more than I had intended to produce, way back when the prompts came out, and I decided to try doing something with a few of the phrases that initially caught my attention. I figured I might end up making half a dozen images or so, scattered over the course of the month. Probably that's how it would have worked out if I'd tried to stick to just one of the four lists of prompts, instead of deciding to pick out my favorite bits from all of them.

The AI prompts were very well suited to fractal illustration, especially the ones where the bot got stuck in some kind of repeating phrase. They’re so delightfully absurd and specific, a good match for my own style, since I’ve never been able to decide if it counts as abstract or representational. It ended up being a very absorbing and self-indulgent exercise, finding just the right fractal structures to use as basic frameworks, then putting together layers of different coloring methods to make the visual effects I wanted. They’re a kind of optical illusion, I suppose, where there are just enough suggestions of shape and color and whatnot that your brain fills in the rest.

The self-indulgent part was that I really got to dig into what I know about different formulas and how they behave, and put all the pieces together in very intentional ways. For instance, the Mandelbrot set is entirely connected, and standard Julia sets are either completely connected or completely disconnected “dust.” But for the prompt about the small rocky islands, I knew I was going to want a formula that was neither of those, but which had discrete islands as part of its basic structure. So I had an excuse to go rummaging around in formulas that I don’t normally use, and it was really fun. 10/10, would Botober again.

Is there something similar to impostor syndrome, except that instead of being convinced you're terrible at what you're doing, you're pretty sure you're good at it, but it's an intrinsically worthless thing to do? Because I've definitely improved my skills at using fractals to illustrate unlikely concepts. If only those skills had any conceivable use whatsoever.

[myhockeyworld87]

Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 28

Word Count: 2,037

POV: Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of but I always say language just in case.

Notes: I put a little Jamie love in here for those that think I’m only focusing on Tyler. Voting is open until 8PM EST Friday!!! Happy Reading

Choices Master

When you woke up the following morning after sneaking around Tyler's you were ready to get answers; no matter what they were. There was obviously something going on between Kathleen and Tara, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it just yet. So, you got up and got ready hoping to catch Kathleen. You weren't sure how you were going to confront her. Did you just walk up to her apartment, knock on the door, and demand to know what's going on? You had a feeling that she wouldn't tell you the truth even if you had evidence in your hand; so that plan was a no go.

 Your only other option was to follow her. Which is how you found yourself sitting in your car across the street from where she lived. It didn't take long for her to emerge, but what you didn't expect was to see Tara with her. However, that wasn't what had you following the two down the road. It was the fact that Tara, in a matter of two weeks looked nine months pregnant. There was no way that she could've hidden something like that in such a short time. Hell, you were having twins and didn't look that big. Besides, she'd flat out told you she met Tyler so he could give her money for an abortion. Which obviously didn't happen, given the way she looked right now.

 At the moment you could only come up with one solution to the whole thing, and that was that she was faking being pregnant. If she was doing this to some other guy, then she could totally have faked her pregnancy with Christopher. There were still a million questions in your head and as you followed Kathleen's car.

 The two drove to a ritzier section in town, not far from where Tyler and Jamie lived. The neighborhood was quiet and afforded the owners some privacy, but you could still see them pull into the drive of a home that was just a tad fancier than Tyler's. Both got out then and went inside. It didn't seem as if the owner was home, for you saw them enter the code to get inside. It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes and you saw Kathleen leave, though this time by herself. Part of you wanted to follow her, but instead, you decided to wait out and see what was happening with Tara.

 Shortly after, Kathleen left, a man in a Bentley pulled into the garage. What you wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in that house. It wasn't more than twenty minutes later, Tara came out of the house crying. The man following after her. From your hideout, on the side street, you couldn't quite hear what the were saying. The man was obviously flustered, but there was something about the way Tara was acting that you could tell she wasn't crying real tears. A few minutes later Tara pulled some papers out of her purse and the man signed the forms, before thrusting them back at her. He stood there for several minutes just looking at her until an Uber pulled up and Tara got in; which was now your cue to follow her.

 You ended up at a decent house in a nice neighborhood in Dallas. Kathleen's car was sitting in the driveway and as Tara exited the vehicle; she came out to greet her. That's when all your suspicions were confirmed, for Tara reached around and pulled off some sort of prosthetic baby belly. She was obviously scamming that man out of money. The question was had she been doing the same to Tyler? And if so how could you prove it. You needed to find out if Christopher was real, and maybe finding out who the man was Tara had just scammed could help you with that. You headed home to see if you could discover some more information on the guy before you went any further.

 Your phone rang on the way back. "Hey Jame, what's up?" you answered.

 "Hi, sweetheart. How are you and the twins doing today?"

 "We're doing great."

 "Sounds like you're in the car. Where are you off to this morning?"

 You couldn't very well tell Jamie what you'd been up to. He'd been so insistent that you not put any more stress in your life, but this was something that you couldn't let go since it might potentially affect your children. "Just running a few errands." Which wasn't a total lie. There was just no reason to divulge the specifics.

 "Well, I hope you're taking it easy."

 "I am, Jame. I promise. So, how are things in Tampa?"

 "Good, but I miss you like crazy." You could even hear it in his voice.

 "I miss you too." You really did. When Jamie was home the two of you had fallen into this comfort level with each other. On nights that he didn't have to play, the two of you would cook dinner together, end up watching some game on the television, then finally end up in bed; where sleeping wasn't necessarily a priority. Your second trimester had really upped your hormones to a new level, but thankfully Jamie had been more than willing to satisfy all your hormonal urges. "What time will you be home tomorrow?"

 "Not till late, though we are flying straight back after the game; so, don't wait up."

 "I can always take a nice long nap during the day." He chuckled at your response. The two of you talked for another hour or more, about nothing in particular, but then you'd always been able to do that with Jamie. It was only because the twins were starving that you ended hanging up. "Ok hun, I'm going to go feed these little ones that are growling inside me."

 "Well if I were there, sweetheart, you know I'd make you something."

 "Can't you just fly home and be with me?" you whined to him. "Forget I asked that. I know you and I know you'd do it if it was possible. It's one of the reasons why I love you so much."

 "Just one?" He teased.

 "Oh stop! You know there's a million." And there really were. Jamie seemed to show you every day that he really was the only man you were meant to be with. "Now hang up, before I regret saying anything more."

 "I love you, (Y/N)."

 "I love you more."

 "Couldn't possibly. Now go feed our children." He kissed you through the phone and you returned it, before hanging up and heading straight for the kitchen. You chopped up some leftover chicken and threw it into a salad before heading straight for your laptop to do some digging on the guy you saw with Tara. You tried not to get your hopes up as you did reverse address lookup, though luck seemed to be on your side. The name Philip Brentwood popped up on the screen. After a quick google search, you'd found that he was a wealthy entrepreneur that had made his money in the tech business. He was also older with a wife and a couple adult children. This meant that he'd probably had an affair with Tara and didn't want his wife finding out about it.

 Now that you had all this information, you didn’t know what to do with it. There was no phone number tied to the address and it wasn’t like you could actually call him up; he’d probably think you were a complete loon, telling him that some random woman was lying to him about having his child. You were really stuck between a rock and a hard place at the moment. There was always stalking him as you did with Tara and Kathleen, but what would it really prove. You’d look crazier than Tara actually was. The information that you’d collected was enough for you to question whether or not Christopher was real, and now that you knew where Tara lived; it gave you access to find out the answer. You needed to stage a run-in with her, at her place and figure a way inside.

 Which is how you found yourself parked on a side street, yet still able to see her house the next day. You knew you wouldn’t be able to stay there the whole day long and just wait for her, but you thought if we went in the afternoon you might catch her going for lunch or meeting up with friends. It was about an hour into the stakeout that you saw some movement inside. You got out of your car and made it look as though you were going out to get some exercise, or at least that was going to be your excuse when you ran into her. As she turned around after locking the house, you saw a moment of recognition mixed with fear in her eyes. “Tara is that you? I didn’t know you lived in the neighborhood.” You tried to put on an Oscar-worthy performance when you greeted her.

 “(Y/N)? Um…yeah. I’ve lived here for a while.” She made her way over to you. “How are you doing?” She asked obviously referring to your bump.

 “We’ve been doing ok,” You rubbed your belly to emphasize you were speaking for the babies as well. “Just moved to this area a couple weeks ago, and thought I’d get a little exercise while checking everything out.”

 “Oh! So you’re not with Tyler anymore?” She seemed excited about the prospect that Tyler was single again, but you didn’t know if it was for her or Kathleen.

 “No, after our talk, I felt it best we went our own ways. If he can’t acknowledge his own son; I’m not sure I want him in my child’s life.” Your statement seemed to throw her for a loop, for all she could do was nod her head up a few times. “Speaking of Christopher,” well technically you weren’t but you thought this gave a little lead-in. “Where is your sweet little boy? I'd love to meet him."

 “Umm…a…he’s not here.” She was definitely flustered over your asking about the child. “My mom came by about twenty minutes ago and picked him up for the day." The lie rolled so easily off her tongue and since you'd been sitting there for an hour; you knew no one had come to her house. Now, who was giving the performance?

 “Oh, I’m so sorry I missed him. Maybe now that we’re practically neighbors and all we could get together sometime. I mean I’m going to need all the single mom tips I can get.”

 “Umm…yeah…sure. Some other time I’ve really got to run now.” She said stepping away from you. You couldn’t let her leave, this was the only time you had before Jamie came home to prove that something was going on here.

 “I understand, sorry to…OOHH,” you grabbed your stomach as if something was wrong with the babies. It was so wrong to use them in this way and you hoped that God would forgive you for it. “OH, the pain. It hurts so bad.” You were being way overdramatic but it did get her to stop and come over to you. Maybe the bitch had a heart after all.

 “Are you ok?”

 “I don’t know. Do you have a place I can sit for a moment?” She looked around as if a chair would magically appear on the lawn but didn’t.

 “Of course, come inside.” She helped you in, and you continued to hold the babies and wince out in pain every now and then to keep your charade going. She unlocked the door and led you inside. What you saw you couldn’t believe.

   ***************************************************************************************

Choices time.

 A)    As you make your way through the house, you see pictures of Tyler. Some were of the two of you but she cut you out and put her pic in instead.

B)    There’s not one thing in the house that shows a sign that she has a baby. No toys, bottles, clothes, etc…

C)    The prosthetic baby bump is laying on the floor.

Voting closes at 8PM EST Friday

[delightfulstarlightparadise]

Imagine Stardew Valley. Reader/Sebastian (?) Part 3

-Before we start, I would like to remind you that English is not my first language, but I am doing my best to write everything correctly.

Previous part here:

Getting rid of the weeds took all morning but you got to clean up a nice amount of land. Tiling the soil was a bit harder, you weren’t used to that much physical exercise, but when you finally got to plant the seeds you were feeling very satisfied. The apple sapling took twice as much effort, but it looked so pretty. You probably wouldn't see it giving fruits soon, though. Those took a whole season to grow and you could not remember which season they bare fruits.  

You sat down on the cabin’s porch and noticed how weak you were feeling. You forgot to eat both breakfast AND lunch and it was probably about six. There was nothing to eat there. You forgot the basics during your purchase at Pierre’s.

You then decide to go to town and check out the tavern. It is a pretty long walk and when you get there you are feeling even more tired and hungry. You are all dirty too, but you just noticed that when you were already on your way. If you went back to tidy up you could maybe miss dinner.

You lean in to open the door but it opens in front of you. A clearly drunk man wearing a Joja Mart’s uniform pushes you out of his way mumbling something not nice and staggers away.  

“Hello! Welcome, may I take your... OH MY! THE NEW FARMER!” a blue haired lady yells and every single person in that place turn to you.  

Actually, what about that town and all those different colored haired people? You think to yourself while trying not to panic with that much attention.

“Y/n, come here!” you hear mayor Lewis calling. He is sitting by a table with a beautiful fat woman. “Mernie, this is y/n, the grandchild!”

“Oh my! You are very different from what I thought you would be.” the woman says, smiling at you. “I live in a ranch very close to your farm. I met your grandfather too.”

“Hello.” you reply noticing that both of them seem to be a little high from beer.

“If you need some tips on how to handle your animals, just call me!” she says.

“I don’t have any animals.” you reply, shyly.

“Hey Emily! Bring y/n a beer! And some of that fish casserole! Gus! Come meet the new farmer!” the mayor yells.

You see yourself sitting with them even though your plans were just to take some food home.

“Oh my, you are all dirty. Spent the day working on that farm, right?” Lewis says.

“Actually, I did.” you reply in a low tone of voice. “It was fun.”

The blue haired woman comes to you with the requested dishes from the mayor, a beer and what seemed to be a cake.

“The dessert is on me! Welcome to pelican town, I am Emily.” she says.

“I... I can’t accept this, I mean...” you stutter.

“Don’t be silly!” she giggles and gives you a friendly slap on your shoulder. “It is so nice to have a new face around.”

You dine and it is one of the best food you have ever eaten, and you feel like crying again, but you can’t let it happen in front of so many people. Everyone still seemed to be paying attention to you.

A beautiful braided hair ginger woman and an equally handsome man were sitting by the table near you. She waves at you and he raises his cup in greet. You wave back trying not to look awkward. You felt like a city germling around those friendly people. The man tossing you away from the door earlier were the most familiar interaction you had there.

“Let me tell you about the time your grandpa and I...” Lewis starts telling you a disjointed story about an adventure your grandfather and him had in the Cindersap Forrest, but nothing seemed to make sense. Mernie keeps paying so much attention to him, she is all red and grinning.

You were trying to pay attention but that one beer turned into another and then another one, and you could barely listen to the words in sequence. It was all confusing.

“Hey Lewis! Let y/n be with other young folks.” you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

It is Demetrius, greeting you with a huge smile.

“You are never old if you heart doesn’t age.” Lewis says rising his cup and taking another sip.

“Well said, my dear friend!” you listen to the ginger man cheering on the table beside you.

“Hello y/n, my son and his friends are in the back playing snooker, you should go there too!” Robin shows up, and forces you to stand up from the chair.

She practically pushes you towards the back, although you really try to escape the situation. The last thing you want is to see Sebastian again after the disaster of the day before. But...

There he is, along with the purple haired girl and a blond boy with a stylish haircut.

“Ah, hey you.” Sebastian says, he doesn’t seem very excited to see you.

“Farmer! Nice to see you!” Abigail cheers, waving at you from the couch. “You look... dirty. But fine. Did you find any bats?”

“No bats.” you reply, crossing your arms a little embarrassed. “So... I guess I should be going now.”

“Hey!! I know you!” the blond boy says snapping his finger and pointing at you.

He hits slightly his head with the cue stick, apparently trying to invoke from his memory where he knows you from.

“I don’t think so.” you quickly say, trying to think of a way of going away without seeming as awkward as you were the day before.

“You are that Paradise kid!” he says and a bright smile enlighten his face.

“You remember which specific kid?” Sebastian asks, seeming amused.

“Yeah, the one that almost died because you pushed into the mountain lake!”

You, Abigail and Sebastian choke as Sam claps hands to himself for remembering who you are. And actually, you remember almost drowning in the lake, and you remember being pushed in the water, but you thought it had been one of your cousins.

“I guess I owe you an apology.” Sebastian says in a clumsy way.

“Ow, such a delayed apology.” Abigail giggles and he blushes.

“It’s ok, at least I didn’t die. I guess.” you reply.

“Wanna play snooker?” he asks and you can clearly see that it is out of politeness, and to escape the previous subject.

“No, I am heading home, I am tired.”

“Come on y/n! I am so tired of losing to Sebastian, I could use a partner.” Sam says, extending the cue stick at you.

He is such a cheerful guy you can’t picture how those two are friends.

“What do you think Abby?! Paired game?” Sebastian asks.

“You know I don’t like playing this game.” she says.

“It is ok, I am going no...” you try to excuse yourself.

“But if the farmer stays, I will play.” she completes her thoughts and winks at you.

You blush and this sight makes Sebastian stare at you with a both confused and annoyed face. You are surprised by Sam hugging you by the shoulders and yelling a combination of your names and “go team!”. Actually, how did he KNOW your name? Did he REMEMBER? You barely remember knowing him.

“Us versus team Sabby!” he says.

“Team Abbastian, my name comes first.” Abigail says.

You see yourself forced to play that game.  

Sam sucks.

He is terrible, a complete disaster. He keeps hitting all the wrong balls and making points to the other team, and sometimes he even cheers over that, not knowing that was not his ball. It is kind of funny, but secretly, you are not a very nice loser. But should you really play seriously?

The game is over very quickly and you are beaten good.

“Sorry, I said I was bad.” he smirks at you while scratching the back of his neck.

Sebastian raises his hand to Abigail, and she high fives him.

“Let’s play serious now?” you ask and wonder if you didn’t have one too many beers.

“Excuse me, what?!” Sebastian says rising one of his eyebrows in a resentful way.

“Yeah, I was just warming up.” you reply.

“Sorry, but not even if you were the best player of snooker in the world you could win with Sam as a partner.” he mocks.

“Try me.” you say while putting some chalk on your cue stick.

“OOOOOOOOhhhhh.” Sam says with the hand on top of his lips pointing at Sebastian.

“Ok, how about a one on one?” Sebastian asks.

“Fine.” you reply.

Both Abigail and Sam sit very close to the table to watch you play against Sebastian. The game starts even, each of you scoring in every play, he seems impressed. But your wrist starts aching because of the long hours of labor in the farm, and the shadows of your time at Joja corporation and you start losing some points.

“Are you ok?” Sebastian asks when he notices you pressing your wrist because of the pain.

“I’m fine.” you answer. “Ready to kick your ass.”

You immediately repents on the sentence, but Sebastian smirks at you and gives you space for your next move. Finally, you get back into scoring.  

Game comes to an end, you lose two points short.

“Nice game.” he says and extends the hand to you.

“Yeah...” you grunt and shakes it.

“Sebby! We are going home!” Robin yells from the saloon.

“Right, mom.” he replies, rolling his eyes.

“Wanna come?” she asks gently.

“I will go later.” he says, annoyed.

“Oh right, walking Abby home.” she says and giggles as he facepalms annoyed. “Oh, and Sam too, of course. Make sure to take y/n too! Safely!”

“Good night kids.” Demetrius comes by and waves. “Don’t come home too late, Sebastian.”

Sebastian starts murmuring some curses while Abigail and Sam wave nicely at them. You kind of understand why he is so annoyed, but also don’t think he should stress so much about it.  

Actually, Demetrius and Robin were very opposed to your parents and this made you admire them a lot.

“Let’s play one more?” Sam asks, trying to hand you the cue stick.

“Actually, I should be going.” you say while massaging your aching wrist.

“Ok, I will pay my check and we go.” Sebastian says.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” he replies. “You heard Robin, if I don’t take you home, I am busted.”

Abigail seems a little uncomfortable on the couch.

“No, you stay with your friends, I can take care of myself.” you say.

“I am sure you can, we all can. But when Robin says something, you better abide by it.” Sebastian says while getting his wallet and heading to the balcony.

“No, wait!” you stop in front of him and he bumps into you, almost falling back.

“Damn, you’re strong.” he whispers rubbing his ribs.

“I will stay for a while more, than. I don’t wanna bother.”

“If you want to go, we will go.” he says, very clearly annoyed.

“No, I will stay!”

“Ok!”

Sam and Abigail glance at each other, confused by the awkward dynamic between the two of you.  

You sit next to Abigail on the couch while Sam and Sebastian play. You can’t bring yourself to playing anymore, your wrists are aching too much now.

“So, why did you come to the valley?” Abigail asks you.

“I... kind of... needed a fresh start.” you reply feeling unease about it.

“Funny, people from here go to the city for a fresh start, you came to the countryside.” she says. “Don’t expect much though. It is very boring here.”

“I hope so...” you say and sigh.

She was very wrong.

Next part here:

[jwayspillz]

Is Lizzo Contrary to Body Positivity?

Let’s discuss!!!

Lizzo got into this controversy for sharing her juice cleanse routine on Tik Tok. It led to Lizzo trending all over Twitter with many expressing their disappointment of her dieting and her falling under the pressure of having a smaller frame due to the music industry. This controversy influenced my question-Is Lizzo contrary to body positivity-and is an extended conversation from my YouTube video about Lizzo’s brand. Before I provide my thoughts, here are others thoughts on the situation.

My Take

The controversy was very ridiculous and pointless, because Instragram influencers and models promote flat tummy teas and diet smoothies constantly, yet I don’t see a huge outrage for them “influencing unhealthy eating habits” or “promoting diet culture”. Lizzo just shared her juice cleanse routine and stated that if others were interested, then be advised by their doctors, She’s simply showing her lifestyle, such as dieting and exercising, so it made me wonder: when Lizzo is excercising and dieting, but she says she loves being big and plus-sized, is that contrary or against body positivity?

Anti-Body Positivity??

Earlier last month, Lizzo shared on tik tok that she disliked her body and that she was having negative thoughts about her body. Click link to view:

https://www.tiktok.com/@lizzo/video/6904153428281396486?referer_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cosmopolitan.com%2F&referer_video_id=6904153428281396486&is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1

Before that tik tok was posted, she shared a video and the caption read. 

“Wild to see the body positive movement come so far. Proud of the big girls who gave it wings. My body is changing but I’m gonna keep appreciating it from every angle.”

She’s been hinting at going through a weight loss journey and explains the tik tok of her disliking her body. After posting her daily juice cleanse, she posted the results of drinking the juice cleanse each day, basically to see her weight loss progress and explain that the juice cleanse helped to combat her gastrointestinal issues.

https://www.tiktok.com/@lizzo/video/6904313495207152901?referer_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cosmopolitan.com%2F&referer_video_id=6904153428281396486&is_copy_url=0&is_from_webapp=v2&sender_device=pc&sender_web_id=6912514083120383493

In response to the juice cleanse backlash, Lizzo intended that the juice cleanse was specifically for combating her gastrointestinal issues and to balance her body since she was eating and drinking a lot on Thanksgiving, but it was not for dramatic weight loss. 

Based on prior posts I believe that Lizzo was trying to lose weight and I think she’s on a weight loss journey. It’s ridiculous that Lizzo has to explain herself when she exercises and diets, because other people are insecure of thenselves and projected their insecurities onto her. I don’t understand how its problematic that someone who is plus-sized is exercising or dieting, these are basic things included in our lifestyle and daily activities. Weirdly, she’s put on this pedestal of scrutiny and controversy for innocent things, because she’s plus-sized; yet other people are not held to the same task as her😕

What is Body Positivity?

Via VeryWellMind,

“Body positivity refers to the assertion that all people deserve to have a positive body image, regardless of how society and popular culture view ideal shape, size, and appearance. Some of the goals of the body positivity movement include:

challenging how society views the body

promoting the acceptance of all bodies

helping people build confidence and acceptance of their own bodies

addressing unrealistic body standards

Body positivity also aims to help people understand how popular media messages contribute to the relationship that people have with their bodies, including how they feel about food, exercise, clothing, health, identity, and self-care. By better understanding the effect that such influences have, the hope is that people can develop a healthier and more realistic relationship with their bodies.”

“With the understanding of body positivity and its purpose, then why are people upset and bothered by Lizzo’s juice cleanse” - Jwayspillz

I’ve seen posts from people who are a part of the body positive movement that criticized Lizzo for doing the juice cleanse. Many of them stating that Lizzo was being anti-body positivity, that she’s promoting diet culture and a toxic body standard. However, based on the concept of body positivity, shouldn’t Lizzo’s choice to juice cleanse, diet, exercise, etc be respected, especially since been done safely and been advised by her doctors.

Lizzo did nothing wrong, but people guilted her because they are insecure with their weight and body. Instead of personally dealing with their issues (counseling/talking to close family + friends), they found an excuse and scapegoat for their issues-Lizzo. Lizzo is so idolized and celebrated for being the face of plus-sized women and body positive movement that people started a controversy due to possibly losing their “plus-sized queen”.

For instance, one tweet from the pictures read “I’m going to miss seeing a body that looks like mine living wild and free like I want to”. It was so weird reading that, because Lizzo isn’t the only plus-sized figure in the media; she’s making it seem like Lizzo is the last big girl in the world🙃.

Another tweet reads from the pictures, “I think the disappointment lies in a lot of us (especially fat, black women) seeing ourselves in a woman who was so proud and confident in her body. It made us want to do the same to ours”. Once again, an insecurity, which should personally be worked on. Lizzo have been motivating and encouraging her fans to appreciate and love their bodies on numerous occasions. Lizzo can be an inspiration, but she can’t be the ultimate reason for them to embrace their bodies. It should be something that their comfortable in achieving, not just because Lizzo said so. Also, she never promoted anything negative about her body and that tweet made it seem like Lizzo just completely disregarded body positivity and said fuck body positivity.

How does this relate to my video?

https://youtu.be/nMs4hEv4qkY

As stated previously, this is an extended conversation from my YouTube video about Lizzo brand and I wanted to understand the opposing perspective. In fact, this whole juice cleanse controversy, along with other headlines and trending topics about Lizzo last year, inspired this video. I noticed how her brand, body positivity, have been affecting her brand since she’s came in the music scene with Truth Hurts. I would appreciate it if you watch and comment your thoughts on that video and this discussion (also subscribe and share my content as well😏).

I’ve basically concluded that this “controversy” was taken waaayyy out of proportions and was only “controversial” because Lizzo is plus-sized. I’ve seen many people on social media who celebrate their weight loss journey or completing healthy diets. In addition, I’ve seen people who celebrate and embrace being plus-sized. So the outrage for Lizzo’s juice cleanse was so hypocritical and dumb asf.

Overall, it’s an individual choice on what they want to do to their body. If you’re comfortable with being big, fat, plus-sized, then just do that. If you’re exercising or dieting to reach a certain goal, then do that. I understand the media and entertainment industry in general have always promoted one body type, which isn’t realistic for everyone. We all come in different shapes and sizes, so it should be represented thoroughly in the media, which is the purpose of body positivity.

However, it is unfair for Lizzo to be scrutinize for every little thing, whether exercising or dieting, just because she’s plus-sized. For instance, Lizzo was trending because Saweetie was eating junk food and people were like “but if Lizzo did that”. Literally, this situation had nothing to do with Lizzo, it was so uncalled for and unnecessary. Why not make that conversation about plus-sized individuals overall rather than just singling out one plus-sized person???

Lizzo always promotes self-love, encourages her fans, and advocates for body positivity, but the minute she does a juice cleanse all that gets thrown out the window and people from the body positive movement turns on her. A very weird and dumb situation. Interestingly, Lizzo expressed how she’s tired of being the brunt for all plus-sized women and how fame has amplied her personal struggles (like this stupid ass juice cleanse controversy). Both videos linked below: https://www.tiktok.com/@lizzo/video/6895111799134358790?sender_device=mobile&sender_web_id=6919766778344637958&is_from_webapp=v1&is_copy_url=0

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That’s all for this discussion, let me know you’re thoughts? Do you agree or disagree? Is Lizzo opposing body positivity, when she says she loves being big and plus-sized, yet she exercises and diets, which many perceive as her trying to lose weight?

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