#i’m only fifty pages in but i actually am so sick of it already

[theteaisaddictive]

if the fair botanists was waterstones’s scottish book of the year then 2022 must’ve been a pretty shite year for scottish books ngl

[seasonsofeverlark]

Beautiful Dreams

Author: @ameliaodair​

Prompt:  Katniss and the children are down with a cold. Peeta takes care of them. Brings them Lamb Stew and favourite baked goods. He draws colouring pages for the kids but all are colouring. He puts in a fall realted movie. As all who are sick are snuggled together in the master bedroom. Katniss says shes cold Peeta goes and gets more blankets walks out of the room to get more comes back and looks at his wife and children all cuddling together watching the movie and thinks how did he deserve this. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125​]

Rating: G

Author’s Notes: Thank you @eiramrelyat​ for betaing :)

Word Count: 1977

___________

“Thanks, dad. Katniss caught the kids’ cold and woke up feeling pretty miserable this morning,”  I tell my father, explaining the care package I am picking up after placing the order at the butt crack of dawn.  It is filled with all of her favorite foods; two pints of lamb stew, a dozen cheese buns, and half a dozen mini rolls of Mallorca sweet bread for the kids.

“The kids are feeling better, though?”

“They’re on the uphill slope,”  I tell my dad as I climb into the driver’s seat of my car.  “I better hurry up and get back before the kids destroy the house. I love you, dad!”  I yell out to him before shutting the door behind me, and wave through the window as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Daddy, Daddy!”  Stella yells excitedly as soon as I open the door. She runs up to me and wraps her tiny arms around my legs⎯ nearly knocking me down in her all too adorable Winnie the Pooh pajamas. 

It utterly blows my mind at how easily children bounce back after being sick.  I remember around a year ago when Stella had the flu. It only took her two days before she was running around, bouncing off the walls and full of energy. Yet, when Katniss and I were run down with fevers, it had been almost a week before we could muster the energy to simply lift our heads from the pillow.  Thank goodness for our wonderful parents who live less than five minutes away, or I do not know what we would have done.

“Hey sweetheart, where is your brother?”  I ask her, making my way into the kitchen to place the care package down on the island.

“In his cwib, daddy,”  she tells me matter-of-factly, giving me a slight roll of her eyes as if I should already be aware of this information.  Scooping Stella up, I raise her in the air and blow a raspberry on her belly.

“Why don’t we go check on him?”  I ask her once her giggles subside, then I carry her into her and her brother’s room and set her down.

Lucas is sitting up in the corner of his crib, hugging one of his favorite stuffed animal teddy bears.  At the sight of me, he erupts into the most adorable toothless grin, seeming to emanate an almost iridescent light in the process.

“Come on big guy, how are you feeling today?”

“Da-da.  Ma-mee!”  He chirps, grabbing onto the rail of his crib to steady himself while holding his stuffed teddy bear out to me.  I reach in the crib to scoop him up, and the three of us make our way into the kitchen.  We stop at mine and Katniss’s bedroom first, and I crack the door open, poking my head in to peek in on her.  But no matter how sick she is, her hunter’s instincts are always as keen as ever, and she lifts her head groggily from her pillow.

“Peeta, are you okay, the kids—” She croaks, her froggy voice sounding no worse for the wear.

“We’re okay, I was just going to heat up some lamb stew.  You want some?”

“That sounds amazing.  Will you guys  keep me company?”  She whines in her sick throaty voice.

“Of course, just give us a few minutes and we’ll be in here.”

“Okay.”  She moans and her head collapses to the pillow, gravity getting the best of her.

Once we are in the kitchen, I strap Lucas into his highchair while I heat the lamb stew.

“Daddy, forgot to get dressed!”  Stella squeals, already trying to peel off her nightgown.

I pour the lamb stew into a pot and set it on the stove to simmer for a few minutes. “Honey, remember, we’re having a sick day, pajama’s only,”  I playfully scold her, twirling around like one of her ballerinas to show off my own pajama pants.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie with me and mommy in our bed?”  I ask Stella, raising my voice an octave near the end to make it sound more enticing than it actually is. 

“Wif lots of bwankets and piwwow’s?”  Stella beams, her eyes lighting up as if it’s Christmas morning.

“No—” I begin, frowning and pretending it’s a bad idea and my heart sinks when I see her eyes sadden a bit, so I quickly brighten my face with a radiant smile, “—with lots and LOTS of pillows and blankets!”  I finish quickly and watch as her eyes return to their previous state of sheer excitement.

“And coworing, daddy?”  she asks, already running into the playroom to collect her crayons.

Lucas is squirming in his seat, already bored of sitting there with nothing to do, so I hand him a wooden spoon to bang against the tray of his highchair.  Stella returns with her container of assorted crayons, and I frown at her, wondering why she didn’t bring her coloring books.

I stir the lamb stew and test it out on my tongue, making sure it’s hot enough, and then give my attention to Stella.

“You forgot your coloring books, sweetie.”  I point out.

“Siwwy daddy, you draw the coworings.” She grins, shaking her head and pointing to me.

“Oh, okay,”  I concede, shrugging my shoulders.  

One rainy day a few months ago, Stella was flipping through a coloring book, and noticing her frustration after the third time, I asked her what was wrong.  With a disappointed face, she informed me that the coloring book didn’t have the specific image she had in mind, so I offered to draw it for her.  Ever since then, Stella refuses to color in the pre-drawn coloring books⎯ preferring  my sketches instead, which I suppose I should be proud of.  My daughter does have exquisite tastes.

“I think it’s done, are you guys ready?”  I ask the kids after scooping the stew into two bowls and placing them on the food tray.  I remove the tray from Lucas’s highchair and pick him up to set him down on the floor.

“I’ll carry our food and drinks. Stella, will you help your brother?  We’ll come back for the rest after we eat.”

I carefully pick up the food tray which contains two bowls of lamb stew, a plateful of cheese buns, and the sweet bread, then motion for Stella to follow me into mine and Katniss’s bedroom.  When I look behind me to make sure they are not far behind, my heart swells with an inordinate amount of pride as I see Stella crawling on the floor next to Lucas.  She’s making a game of having him chase her into our room, and I cannot help the ear-splitting grin that overcomes my face⎯ nor do I want to.

Katniss is already sitting up in our massive bed and has made room for the three of us to climb in with her.  I hand her the soup and she takes it greedily⎯ lamb stew being her favorite.  Stella climbs in first and scoots up to Katniss, then I pick Lucas up from the floor and swing him in the air and plop him onto the bed. He bursts into a contagious round of giggles that Stella catches for a moment.

Once the kids have calmed down, I climb in next to the kids and we all situate ourselves under the covers, getting ready to have breakfast in bed as a family.  Stella grabs her own piece of bread and takes a bite into it.

“Peeta, will you hand Stella a napkin?  I don’t want crumbs—”  Before Katniss is able to finish, I already have a towel wrapped around Stella’s waist, ensuring that it will catch any pieces that do not make it into her mouth. 

Katniss turns her head to meet my eyes and mouths the words ‘I love you.’  I can’t help but lean over the kids and plant a kiss on her forehead.  “I love you too.”  I tell her, meeting her eyes.

“Daddy, you fowgot me!”  Stella mumbles with a mouthful of bread, glaring at me with those beautiful bright blue eyes that resemble my own. 

“One for you—” I tell her, kissing her cheek, and then move to Lucas, “And one for you.”

I begin pinching off pieces of the sweet bread dipped in lamb stew and feed it to Lucas in between bites of my own.

“You guys want to watch a movie?”  Katniss asks after turning her bowl up and slurping the last remnants of her stew.

“I want Winnie-Pooh!”  Stella squeals, scrunching her shoulders up excitedly.

“Winnie-The-Pooh it is!”  Katniss says excitedly, but I see her rolling her eyes behind Stella’s back.  Stella is obsessed with Winnie the Pooh, and we have probably watched ‘Winnie The Pooh’s Season of Giving’ at least fifty times since the beginning of October.  And since Lucas is too small to voice his opinion yet, Winnie The Pooh it is.

Once everyone has finished eating and are moaning over their full bellies, I clear the food from our bedroom and sit the food tray on the counter in the kitchen. I save the dishes for later, eager to return to my amazing family.  Stella disappears for a moment, returning with her container of crayons and my sketch pad.

“Dwaw Pooh, daddy?”  she asks me, her eyes so wide and blue⎯ how can I say no?  I scoop her into my arms, hugging her tightly, and place another kiss on her cheek.

“Of course, baby girl.”  I release her and she snuggles up to Katniss while I sketch her an image of the famous Pooh Bear.  She accepts the picture and secures it on her clipboard and begins coloring away. 

“No, Lucas, we don’t eat crayons, we color with them,”  I tell Lucas, giving him his own piece of paper and showing him how to utilize the crayons.  Fascinated with the array of colors, he begins fashioning his own masterpiece while we watch Winnie the Pooh.

Stella is exhausted by the time she has colored in every bit of white on her paper, as is Lucas.  Tired baby that he is, he nestles himself onto Katniss’s chest, while her chin rests on the top of his baby-soft hair.  She leans up to kiss the top of his head, inhaling his signature baby scent.

“Are you cold?”  I ask Katniss, but I already know the answer as I feel her shivering next to me.

“I’m okay.”  ‘Liar.’ I think to myself.

“I’ll be right back,”  I tell her, popping out of bed before she has time to object and run into the playroom to search for her favorite blanket.  The kids were making a fort a few nights ago, so it must be in here somewhere.  It takes me a little longer than I expected, but I finally find it.

Scooping it up, I make my way back to our bedroom but stop myself in the doorway⎯ my heart fills with so much joy I think it may explode on sight.

Sitting before me on our bed is my beautiful, amazing wife, fast asleep and lightly snoring, with Lucas curled up on her chest just the way he did as 0a newborn.  Stella is scrunched up on her side with Katniss’ arm securely around her back.  And all three of them are fast asleep.

Standing in the doorway, witnessing this perfect family we have created, I grin from ear to ear, intoxicated with so much love, wondering how I got so lucky for these amazing creatures to be mine.  I slip into bed next to them and kiss each of their heads before spreading the blanket out to cover all of us.  And although reality can’t get much better than this, I fall asleep, awaiting beautiful dreams.

[the32ndbeat]

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣.𝐲𝐧 - [ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 ]

pairing: stalker!jaehyun x fem!reader ( ft haechan and loona’s haseul )

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of BDSM and mature themes

a/n: this is kinda short but I hope you guys like the first part of the ‘only you’ series!

masterlist

You were like a breath of fresh air and something like an alluring enigma amongst the common folk the moment you stepped through those doors. Your hair is swept up into a loose bun with stray locks falling around your face, framing it in the most beautiful way possible. The white cotton shirt you’re wearing is sheer and I can almost see the outline of your bra if only you weren’t wearing a cardigan over it but it’s ok. It looks flattering on you and does nothing to detract you from your beauty.

There is a hint of a smile on your lips, the sunshine illuminating the side of your face and bringing out the liveliness in your eyes that I rarely see among people these days. As you mutter your apologies and slide past an old man who has been staring at the same hammer for the last ten minutes, you exude grace even just by the way you walk and hold yourself.

“Hi, do you work here?”

It takes me a moment to register the fact that you are actually in front of me, looking me in the eye and talking to me. Your voice is as angelic and beautiful as you are, almost like music to my ears. I can already imagine how it would sound when I take you to bed and thinking about it makes me all tingly in the inside. I tap on the brass name tag pinned to my shirt and gesture towards the tool belt I have hanging loosely on my waist. Realisation dawns upon you, followed closely by mortification.

You smack yourself on your forehead, an embarrassed giggle escaping from those cute lips that I want on mine.

“I’m so sorry, that was so stupid of me…” You say and you squint to look at the tiny black letters on the name tag. “Jaehyun.”

“It’s completely alright. We all have moments like that,” I laugh and a smile tugs on your lips.

“It happens so much more often for me though.” You sigh and I wonder if anyone has ever made you feel like you’re any less intelligent than the average person. The thought of that makes me annoyed but I don’t dwell on it.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you guys sell ropes and duct tape here?”

Ropes and duct tape? My, my. What could you possibly need them for?

The question is itching at the back of my mind but I push it away as I flash you a bright grin.

“We do. Right this way.” I turn and you follow behind me.

Manoeuvring between shelves and people, we finally reach the rope section and it takes you a moment to get past a burly man blocking the aisle. He checks you out with those leery eyes of his as you walked towards me and internally I feel irritation creeping in. Creeps like that don’t deserve to look at you that way. You should be respected and men like that don’t respect women like you. I try not to think of how many times this must have happened to you without your notice as I gesture towards the spools of rope of all thickness and colours.

“We’ve got a wide selection here and you’re free to choose whichever you want and however long you want it.”

“Wow, you guys have every kind of rope here.” You said, amazement written all over your face as you grazed your fingers over the spools.

“Yeah, kind of essential since we are a hardware store after all.” I reply. How would those fingers feel on me?

You laugh and there it is again, that smile of an angel. You are so unlike other girls as cliche as that sounds and I can’t help but want to know more about you. Just who are you?

“You’re right. I ask some of the weirdest and most obvious questions ever sometimes, don’t mind me.”

I’d never mind if it’s you.

“I won’t, don’t worry.” I smile as I stuff my hands into my pocket and watch you take your pick of which rope to purchase. As you walked up and down the aisle, I can’t help but notice how snug those jeans looked on you. They look gorgeous on you, bringing out the shapeliness of your legs. When you turn your back to me, I try not to let my eyes drift down to your bottom.

“I’ll have about ten metres of this one!” You declare with a satisfied smile after a moment of deliberation, patting a spool of thin, straw rope.

“Alright,” I pull out a pair of scissors and measuring tape from my tool belt and get to cutting the rope.

“If you’re wondering why I’m buying rope and duct tape, I can assure you I’m not a kidnapper. I just realised how my shopping list could give you the wrong idea.” You say suddenly with a nervous chuckle and I raise my eyebrow at you.

You see the curious look on my face and continue, “Neither am I engaging in…BDSM… This isn’t a fifty shades of grey thing.” The flustered expression on your face is so cute, my heart could burst. What a cute and pretty face with such mature thoughts. Nobody said anything about fifty shades but here you are, assuming that was what I thought of. I wonder, just how dirty your brain actually is and realise with a start that you probably want me to know that you harbour such naughty thoughts so that’s why you said what you said.

I couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the back of my throat as I ask, “Then what is it?”

“I’m actually an architecture student at the local college nearby.” You say and I detect a hint of pride in your voice. You want to impress me - I can tell with that overly bright smile of yours when you said that.

“That’s amazing. Architecture must be pretty hardcore to study,” I say as I loop the cut rope over my elbow.

“It is,” you roll your eyes and groan. “I’m only a freshman and I haven’t even been here half a semester and I’m already dying.”

I laugh softly at your words and you smile. You like the attention I’m giving you.

“Well, it’s only going to get worse so I suggest taking it easy…” I trail off.

“Y/n.” You beam at me and I find myself replaying the sound of your name over and over in my head.

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. What a charming name.

I grab some duct tape for you off the shelves and we head to the cash register which was as usual unattended to. Normally, I would have given Haechan a piece of my mind for his negligence again but this time, I couldn’t be more grateful.

“Is that all you’re purchasing for today, y/n?” I ask as I scan your items. I love the way your name rolls off my tongue, I could say it a thousand times and never get sick of it.

“Yup! Can’t really afford anything else at the moment either but I’ll probably be back when I need more supplies.” You sigh before adding, “College kid things.”

I’ve never been to college but I nod in an understanding way anyways and you grin.

“It’s just so tough these days, you know? Student loans and all plus the costs of living in the city? Insane.”

“Insane, indeed.” I repeat after you and as you hand me your credit card, our fingers touch briefly. Did you do that on purpose?

I take a good look at your credit card as you were staring out at the streets, seemingly preoccupied with a child who was chasing a flock of pigeons.

Y/n l/n.  

Hm, you could have given me cash but you gave me your credit card instead. You want me to know your name, not just your first name but also your last. I see what you’re doing.

I smile to myself as I proceed with the transaction. Bagging up your purchase, I pass them over to you and you say thank you. As you head out onto the street, you turn back and give me another of your dazzling smiles and I feel my heart stutter. How do you already have this effect on me?

I watch you glide down the streets outside with your hair flowing in the wind and the sunlight bringing out the brightness and liveliness in your eyes. The group of girls walking by can’t even hold a candle to you and as you walk past them, they regard you with envious looks which I can’t blame them for. You look simply beautiful.

Once you are out of sight, I whip out my phone.

Y/n l/n. Architecture student.

First, I open up instagram. A quick search of your name doesn’t yield any results. Huh, figures. I try searching up your college instead and this time, I’m slightly more successful.

I find the architecture faculty’s instagram page instead.

A simple scroll down the page shows me a freshmen group photo and I easily locate you within a heartbeat. How could I not?

In the list of tagged usernames, I find yours and…

Bingo.

I’m at your instagram profile and I’m shocked to find it on public mode. You’re not very cautious online and I’m not sure if your parents ever taught you about staying safe on the internet but even if they did, you clearly didn’t take them very seriously. I understand why you left it on public though. You want to be seen and to be heard. Well, here I am.

Barely a minute into looking through your instagram, I already have to control myself. The pictures you take are extremely flattering and you look exceptional in every single of one of them even though some of your post captions say otherwise.

I see a picture of a room’s interior from the corner of my eye and I click on it.

It’s a picture of you and another girl which I presume must be your roommate in a small room that looked more like a broom closet than an actual room. The captions say ‘Move-in day! Super excited and unfortunate to be in the same dorm as Haseul ugh ( jk love you )’

I smile despite myself. How cute.

You have a goofy smile on your face, your friend has her arms around your waist and the two of you look so happy. Yet, I find myself looking at something else instead.

Your window.

(part 2)

thank you to @ihearttbz​ for helping me to proofread this! ily ><

tagging: @hae-sicheng​ @soothingjae​ 

do send me an ask or pm if you want to be included in the taglist for the next part! 

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Platonic loceit, 26- “Hold on. You’re telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night on a full moon? Really? Really?” I'd really love if you did something fluffy, but do whatever takes your fancy!! And congrats on 500 followers!!

@halfordshysteria dsflaskdf i love this prompt so here, have some urban fantasy and/or high school au

Title: the woods are just trees

Word Count: 2,031

Content Warnings: ment. of not-great parents

(fic masterpost)

Janus is woken by a gentle, persistent tapping on his window.

At first, he tries to ignore it, tries to roll back over and go back to sleep, but the tapping continues undeterred, and finally, he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His phone helpfully informs him that it is 2:16 in the morning, which might not be so terrible if he had stayed awake to get here, but to be woken up at this time is absolutely egregious.

So, he does the only rational thing and stomps across the room, flinging open his curtains, ready to rip into the genius that thought this was a good idea.

And then pauses.

From the other side of the windowpane, the genius that thought this was a good idea gives a little wave, motioning for him to open the window, and Janus glares even as he acquiesces.

“Logan,” he hisses, “what the hell?”

Logan blinks at him owlishly, as if it’s not the darkest hours of the morning, as if this is a regular occurrence, as if Janus’ parents won’t kill him if they find out that he’s speaking to his friend through his window at this time of night. And Janus wants so badly to be angry, and he is, but some part of him is intrigued, wants to know what could possibly be so urgent as to prompt a clandestine meeting of this sort.

“Good morning,” Logan says, infuriatingly casual. “Would you like to come harvesting with me?”

Janus stares, dumbfounded. That… does not sound urgent.

“Logan,” he says, “are you aware that it’s two in the morning?”

“Of course,” Logan says. “Two eighteen, to be precise. I would have been here sooner, but this was the earliest I could slip out.”

He says all of this matter-of-factly, as if this meeting was entirely expected, just delayed. Logan does this sometimes, forgets that the rest of the world doesn’t move on his speed. What is obvious to him is not always obvious to everyone else, and while Janus is sure that Logan believes he has a good reason for being here, he is also sure that Logan has entirely overlooked the fact that he needs to elaborate on just what that reason is, rather than expecting Janus to know.

“It’s two in the morning,” he reiterates, deciding that he can’t possibly put too fine a point on this fact, “which is typically when people like to be asleep, Logan. Just what do you want to go harvest that can’t wait until a more reasonable hour, or for that matter, that you can’t do with someone who doesn’t mind being sleep deprived?”

Logan completely ignores his acerbic tone, which is typical of him. He unslings his bag from his shoulder and goes digging inside of it, coming up with a weathered brown notebook. Janus recognizes it easily, and recognizes the contents as Logan flips through it, the meticulously drawn diagrams, the notes written in cramped, slanting handwriting. Logan takes his studies more seriously than most of the practicing alchemists Janus has met, and this notebook contains years’ worth of research. He guards it zealously, and the fact that he trusts Janus enough to allow him to see it never fails to astound him.

“Here,” he says, and holds the page out for Janus’ inspection. Janus takes the book gingerly, eyes flicking over the entry that Logan indicated. The illustration is a delicate depiction of a tangle of vines, thin and curling and glowing pale blue. Infused Moon Ivy, it says, and Janus frowns as he reads the description.

“Grows only on fall nights with the wind blowing from the east and a blue moon in the sky,” he says doubtfully, and looks up to meet Logan’s eyes. “These conditions are met?”

Logan smirks at him, pointing upward. Janus follows the direction of his finger, and sees the moon hanging in the air above them, shining bright and full.

“There is a strong easterly wind tonight,” Logan informs him. “And though midnight is the most traditional hour for gathering components such as this, three o’clock should serve nearly as well. If I can find some, its properties should successfully balance out the sunflower essence in my memory enhancement project.” His voice rises with his excitement, and Janus nervously casts a glance behind him, as if the additional noise will summon his parents. It’s unlikely, but still, he would really rather not have to try to explain this to them.

“Your notes also say that it only grows in dark, damp places,” he points out, letting his weariness bleed into his voice. “We’d have to go out into the woods.”

Logan nods. “Well, yes, it would be a bit of a walk, but if we left now, we would arrive in plenty of time to begin a search.”

“That’s not my point,” he replies, and resists the urge to sigh. “Just, hold on. You’re telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night during a full moon? Really? Really? You don’t know what kinds of things might be out there. What if we run into a werewolf?” He pauses. “Gods below, I sound like Virgil. But you get my point, right?”

Logan frowns at him, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, yes,” he says. “However, I believe the chances of running into a werewolf at all to be slim, much less one that would wish us harm. And in the case of other creature, magical or otherwise, I have brought precautions.” He shakes his bag, as if to make his point. “The usual preparations, silver and iron and salt and the like. But I hardly believe that the fae will be waiting to ambush us in the local park. In fact, I’m not sure that your standards of ‘creepiness’ match mine at all, if you believe that the woods there are unsettling.”

Janus breathes out through his nose. Logan has a point, as usual, and truly, he doesn’t believe they’ll be at much risk. It’s only that this is very much not how he wants to spend the rest of his night. Especially not on a school night; on weekends, it’s a fifty-fifty chance as to whether his parents will let him sleep in, but the option is out of the question on weeknights. And he won’t be able to claim sickness to get out of school attendance either; he’s fairly certain that his parents would force him to go even if he was actually dying.

But looking at Logan, at the slight flush in his cheeks and the barely restrained motion as he rocks back and forth on his heels, he is tempted. Improving the standard memory enhancement potion has been Logan’s passion project for months, and he looks as if he truly believes that this will be a breakthrough.

And Logan came to him. Not any of their other friends. Him.

“You wouldn’t rather somebody else go along?” he checks. “Virgil, perhaps? He has an odd knack for tracking down magic.”

Logan’s brow furrows. “I am aware,” he says. “But Virgil is not the one who has been supporting me as I work on this. If it’s going to be anyone, it should be you.”

Something in his stomach does a little flip at that, a delighted twirl. He has known Logan for more than three years now, since the moment they were alchemy lab partners their freshman year of high school. Janus had expected him to react the same way everyone else does upon meeting him, to stare at the left side of his face at the very least, the side that has been covered in thick yellow scales since the moment he was born. Most people recoil, and some even scream; school up to that point had been a lesson in ostracization. From the very start, his peers labeled him disgusting and unclean, no matter how many times he tried to explain that his curse is not contagious, that he was born with its effects already in place, that he never did anything to deserve it.

Even his own parents dislike him, though they try to disguise it. They push him constantly to do better, to be better, as if academic achievement will make up for the fact that in their eyes, their son is permanently disfigured.

He expected his high school years to be no different than the rest of his schooling. Expected to end up alone once again. He’d even persuaded himself that he didn’t mind, prepared himself for the bullying, for the name-calling, prepared himself to hear snake and freak and monster. That is, if anyone bothered to acknowledge his presence at all.

But then, Logan looked at him as if he was a person. As if he was no different from anyone else. And Janus spent their first few lab sessions on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the disgust or the fear to come, because surely, surely it had to be there. But aside from a few questions about his curse and the way it worked, worded clumsily and asked awkwardly, but startlingly genuine, there was nothing.

And for the first time in his life, Janus had a friend. Someone who liked him, who wanted to get to know him. Someone he could talk to, rely on, be with without having to stay on his guard.

To this day, he’s not certain that Logan understands how much that meant to him. Still means to him.

“I understand if you don’t wish to accompany me,” Logan says. He tries to sound nonchalant, but Janus picks up on the minute slump of his shoulders. “I… do realize that it is rather late. My apologies, I don’t believe I thought this through all the way.”

Janus sighs, feeling a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I’m awake now, aren’t I?” he says. “This is absolutely how I wanted to spend my night, but you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if I let you go by yourself and you ended up trapped in a faerie circle or something equally embarrassing, and we can’t have that.”

Logan makes an offended sound, but he, too, has begun to smile, the light returning to his eyes. “I’ve never been trapped in a faerie circle in my life,” he says. “I know better than that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right, because you’re always so good at remembering to watch where you’re going,” he says. “Give me a moment, let me grab a jacket and shoes.”

Logan waits patiently for him as he tugs on a few layers to ward off the fall chill. When he’s sufficiently bundled, he clambers over the windowsill, landing softly in the grass by his friend’s side.

“I expect you to have me back before my alarm goes off,” he says. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that my parents will murder me if they find out I’m doing this.”

And Logan grins, and somehow, that makes Janus feel worlds better. “Of course,” he agrees. “I imagine my parents would as well. Perhaps they would bury me next to you.”

“How poetic,” he quips. “We’ll have to have Moon Ivy planted on our graves. Lead the way.”

He gestures, and Logan takes the lead, and together, they set out. It feels a bit like an adventure, like the world is just made up of the two of them and everything else is silent and still under the cover of night, only the moon to light their way.

It takes half an hour to get to the park, and twice that long to find any ivy at all, and by that time, Janus is cold and more than a little bit miserable. But looking at Logan’s face, elated and filled with wonder as he takes the first clipping, tiny and glowing blue in his palm, Janus can’t help but think that this was worth it.

Especially when Logan turns to him, staring at him with that same look of wonder, of excitement.

Yes, Janus thinks. Definitely worth it. And really, that’s all there is to it.

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle

[cake-writes]

Forever Yours

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: SAPPY AS HELL, Fluff, Angst, War References

Summary: Two lovebirds exchange letters during the War.

Written to this song on repeat. Enjoy!

June 16, 1943

Hey sweetheart,

It’s been 19 hours since I kissed you goodbye, but I’ll never forget the dress you wore to the docks. You took my breath away! Nearly tempted me to do something I shouldn’t have... at least not without permission, and we can’t have that, can we? 

I’ve just gotta see you in a white dress again, sugar. Mark my words, as soon as I come home, I’m gonna have a long talk with your parents. Gotta ask ‘em properly. I just wish I could have done it before I left. You would have said no, though, wouldn’t you? Until I’m yours for good, not government issue. My girl’s just too smart to get tied down without thinking it through! That’s one reason out of a thousand why I love you.

I know how upset you were that you couldn’t send me off with a smile, but I’m a little happy that those tears were for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be able to say that you’re mine.

Miss you already.

Bucky

June 17, 1943

To my best girl,

There’s not much to do on this godforsaken ship other than write to you, so that’s what I’m gonna do. 41 hours since I saw you last and I’ve been sick as a dog. Isn’t the Army supposed to make me stronger? But here I am, barely able to keep anything down. Guess I haven’t gotten my sea legs yet.

The tablets they give us for seasickness don’t help much either, not to mention they taste awful. No one can keep ‘em down, not even Mann and he’s got a stomach of steel. Sorry doll, that’s Archie Mann. One of my bunk mates. He’s a private with B Company, says he’s originally from Mississippi but his folks moved to Brooklyn a couple years back. Small world.

The fellas all say I’m wallowing in my own misery, and you know, maybe they’re right. Wish you were here taking care of me. Then I’d be right as rain.

Forever yours, Bucky

June 18, 1943

Hey gorgeous,

67 hours now. That’s almost three days away from you.

It’s been impossible to sleep. I feel like a canned sardine – got 5000 other men on this ship with me and limited real estate. Our bunks are stacked 4 high, but at least I’ve got a bottom one thanks to my sergeant chevrons. Makes it easier to sneak up on deck at night and write to you, which is what I’m doing right now.

I might be breaking regulations, but I won’t tell if you don’t! You can keep a secret, right, doll?

It’s a full moon tonight. Nothing but ocean around for miles and miles. I think you’d love it out here. It’s peaceful – actually makes me forget for a minute that there’s a war going on. Then I remember where I am and where I’m heading.

Starting to get a little drowsy, now. Maybe it’s the sea breeze. I’m gonna try real hard to dream of you. 

See you in a few minutes, I hope.

Bucky

June 20, 1943

To the girl of my dreams,

It’s been nearly five days, and I can still smell your perfume on the handkerchief you gave me. Hope it lasts. I’m not ready to give you up yet.

You said you stitched that pretty pink flower on there just for me, so I’ve kept it hidden in my pocket for safekeeping. Embroidery is hard work, isn’t it? Becca’s always been terrible at it, but Ma’s stitching is the fastest you’ll ever see. 

When you get these letters, would you mind checking in on them for me? Becca and the girls are gonna be fine, but I’m worried about Ma. Hope she’s doing okay. Her only son going off to war… I know it’s gotta be hard for her, but she’s too proud to let it show. Maybe she’ll open up to you.

Don’t know what I’d do without you.

Love you always, Bucky

June 20, 1943

Sweetheart, 

Well, your handkerchief didn’t stay secret for long. Only for another two hours after I wrote that last letter! Can you believe it? 

The boys have seen your picture, now, too – you can thank Henderson for that. I’ve given him orders to do fifty push-ups every hour for a whole day as a punishment for going through my rucksack, but I can’t say I blame him. There’s nothing better to do. “Hurry up and wait” should be the Army’s motto.

Oh yeah. Henderson is one of my corporals. Johnny Henderson from Manhattan. He’s a rifleman. Rich family, but he wasn’t drafted.

Just seeing your face is like a breath of fresh air, though, and not just to me. Everyone’s compliments were respectful, and I’m gonna make sure they stay that way. Boy, were they all jealous! None of them have girls waiting at home like me. Called me a lucky bastard more than once, and I’ve gotta agree.

Marino said that the pink flower you stitched is a gladyolis gladiolus? That word still doesn’t look right… Correct me if I’m wrong, yeah? No dictionary. Marino’s a florist’s son. Private Joey Marino, my squad’s medic. Italian. Good guy.

Anyway, he said it means ‘faithfulness’ and ‘remembrance’. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, is it, doll? 

Yeah, I’m a lucky bastard, alright.

Unabashedly yours, Bucky

June 21, 1943

Hey beautiful,

It’s only been six days since I got a kiss from you, but it feels like it’s been six years. We’re not supposed to hit shore for another week, and after that, who knows how long I’ll be there? Or if I’ll even make it back?

No, we’ve gotta stay positive, right? That’s what you’d say. I don’t know how I’m gonna make it home to you otherwise. Some of the men here have already been over once, and the stories… well, that’s not something you need to hear. I’m sure you’re already doing enough worrying as it is for the both of us. Don’t wanna add fuel to the fire.

Sorry for the smudges by the way. Someone thought it would be a great idea to smoke while writing a letter to his favorite girl, and then he dropped ashes everywhere. Guess who? Hint: it’s me. I know, I know. It’s a nasty habit, but hear me out. It’s really helped settle my stomach, and Lucky Strikes are a dime a dozen. 

Wonder how long that’ll last where we’re headed. Or how long I’ll last.

I’m sorry. It’s hard to be positive, but I’m trying. I just miss you so damn much, and I love you more than anything. You know that, don’t you?

Bucky

June 22, 1943

To my gorgeous girl,

Dreamt about you again last night. I woke up before we got to the good part! Normally I’d be a little heartbroken, but waking up to a bunch of men laughing at me wasn’t too pleasant. I said your name in my sleep, and, well, I didn’t just say it if you know what I mean.

Why am I even writing this? I don’t know. Hope you have a good laugh at my expense anyway. You deserve to laugh. You deserve to be happy.

At least my poker skills aren’t too shabby. I won a couple packs of smokes last night. Don’t worry, I’ll brush my teeth extra good before I kiss you again... and before we do other things. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. I’ll take good care of you when I get back.

Still thinking about you in that dress.

Bucky

P.S. Just a week away from your good graces, and look what’s happened! You’re gonna have to make a good Christian out of me when I get back.

June 24, 1943

Dear sweetheart,

It’s been nine days, I think. I’m not really sure anymore. We’ve hit some rough seas lately, which has made it pretty hard to write anything without my pen making a mess of the page. Lots of storms! I guess we’re getting closer to England. It rains a lot there, or so I’ve heard.

Rumor has it we’ll dock in just a couple more days. Then I’ll finally get to send these letters off. I hope they get to you quickly, but that’s more self-serving than anything because I can’t wait to hear from you, doll. Wonder how long it takes for mail to travel overseas?

Looks like my seasickness is finally cured! Not sure if it’s the cigarettes or because I’ve just gotten used to it. Been keeping a bucket by my bedside since I got on board, but I haven’t needed it at all the last couple days even with the stormy weather. Haven’t needed it since I started smoking, actually. Correlation or causation? What do you think?

Love you always, Bucky

June 25, 1943

To my one and only,

Never mind, I spoke too soon. Seasick again. More rain.

Do you remember when we got caught in the rain last summer? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. You can hear the rain even from inside the ship, and it sounds pretty similar to where we hid to wait it out. That little cabin in the woods with the tin rooftop – I really loved it there, you know? But what I loved more was spending that little bit of extra time with you. Even if we were soaking wet.

We’ll be in England in just a couple of hours, according to my master sergeant. I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to write you again, but I’ll do it whenever I can. I just hope my letters make it there in one piece.

I love you so, so much. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens. Okay?

I know it’s not fair for me to ask, but if I don’t make it through, could you please look after Ma? At least for a little while? I’ve asked her to look after you, too.

Gotta go now. I love you. 

Forever yours, Bucky

Part Two

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #335

“on my forehead, a birthmark  /  remove it with the kiss of a knife  /  even if it causes me to die”

Do you recover well from surgery? Judging by the two surgeries I've had, oh yeah. I was hyper as hell when I came home from getting tubes put in my ears as a little kid, even though the doctor said I'd be very sleepy. Then, after my cyst removal, I was put on very strong painkillers but was still warned it was going to be a painful recovery, when it totally wasn't. I literally only took painkillers the first day. What addictions have you had? Caffeine, technology. Would you change your name if you became famous? Nah. If Cupid were real, would you hire him to make someone love you? No. I don't want somebody forced to love me. Ever been to an auction? No. Which word(s) do you generally use to describe someone attractive? (e.g. “fit”, “sexy”) It kinda varies with gender. Women I tend to call "beautiful" or "gorgeous," sometimes "hot" or "cute," while men I usually refer to as "handsome" or "hot"/"sexy." The last person you kissed - are they older or younger than you? She's a bit younger. When was the last time someone wanted you to do something, and you refused? Hm. I dunno. I have a hard time saying "no," so. When was the last time you had Pop Tarts? What flavour were they? Many months ago; I kinda stopped eating them because they're truly not filling and just a load of sugar that veils itself as an actual breakfast choice. But anyway, I liked the chocolate sundae ones. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Did you ever play Spyro? I LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!! SPYRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those games were my CHILDHOOD, and it's half the reason I'm dying for a PS4 to play the remastered trilogy. Speaking of which, it'd be awesome if they remade the The Legend of Spyro trilogy as well. I might just like those games more than the originals, but that's a bold statement I'm unsure about. Have you ever dated someone who was of a foreign origin? I dated a Hispanic guy for less than a day. Have you ever read any of your idols’ books/autobiographies? Ozzy Osbourne's, yes. I'm just fucking waiting for Mark to write one, but he's always said he has so little interest in writing about his life. DO IT, YOU FUCK. Do you own any succulents? No. I think they're pretty, though. Do you have a drone? No. What’s your favorite Netflix series? *shrug* What is something a lot of people like but you don’t? Summertime. The heat, the humidity (at least here), the sunburn from just standing outside for ten minutes... I hate all of it. The ONLY two things I enjoy about summer is swimming and then flowers, though spring is the more floral season here anyway. Do you have revenge fantasies that you never actually play out? They've... happened. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Pretty sure forever. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? Once upon a time, that was the plan. Now, nah. I'd just want to be in a healthy, stable, and long-term relationship. What do you think about divorce? It's sad, but necessary for some people in order to be happy, which everyone has the right to be. I used to be very firmly against divorce except in extreme cases like abuse, etc., and I'm still definitely no fan of it and think couples should do their best to work things out, but it's incredibly unfair to believe that someone should be stuck for the rest of their life with a person they just don't love anymore. Getting married can be a mistake; don't damn people forever to be chained to their bad decisions. Do you remember the first time your heart broke? What was the reason? It was probably when Dad just abandoned us. What's the worst prank someone has ever done to you? I don't think anyone's ever pulled a sick joke on me. Have you ever seen someone sleepwalk? Yes; my little sister deadass tried to walk outside late at night. Thank God I was on the computer in the living room and stopped her. What song are you listening to right now? I just turned "Mutter" by Rammstein on. When is the last time you cursed? I'm not re-reading, but I have probably cursed fifty times in this survey already. It's so deeply ingrained into my vocabulary. Are there any words on your shirt? No; it's just a plain gray tank top. Why do you forward forwards? I never do because they annoy the fuck out of me. How many people are you interested in at the moment? Just one in a healthy and logical way. I can't be truly interested in Jason because like come on I haven't spoken to him in four whole years. My PTSD just ensures I never forget the memory of who he was, who probably no longer even exists. I mean, look how much I'VE changed in four years. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nnnnope. Who was the last person (apart from family) that you spent time with? What did you get up to? Apart from family, I have no idea. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them got on your nerves? Venus never does, but Roman can get on my nerves sometimes when I don't let him lay on me when I'm on the laptop in bed. He's a large cat (not overweight, just a big male cat) and blocks the screen big time unless he lies down properly, which he doesn't always do. He still tends to win when he tries to come over, but sometimes I'll block him with my arm, and this spoiled brat will actually slap it a few times before walking away lmao. Would you rather live in a house with a swimming pool or an indoor cinema? Absolutely a pool. I want one badly. Do you own a credit card? If so, do you currently owe any money on it? Could you afford to pay it off tomorrow if necessary? No. How many hours of sleep do you typically get each night? Is that enough to function or would you rather have more? Especially lately, I don't get nearly enough. Like at the time I'm answering this question, it's 4 AM, and I've been up for almost a couple hours. I struggle with falling asleep, I will ALWAYS wake up at least once in the night, and I jerk awake from nightmares regularly still. It's a big reason why I pretty much require naps. Does your house have a loft/basement? Are they functional or do you just use them for storage? We only have an attic. Do you suffer from road rage? What kind of thing tends to set you off or wind you up while driving? No. I'm way too timid of a driver to get that outwardly pissy about stupid people. I'd just judge them in silence, haha. What kind of animal did you last see in the wild? Is that a common sight where you live? Because of just how common they are, I'm going to assume this excludes birds, in which case it was probably a squirrel? Yeah, the normal brown ones are common. Do you post a lot on social media? If so, what kind of thing do you tend to post on there? Since I was fucking stupid enough to post a suicide note on Facebook (I don't want to hear a goddamn thing about "attention seeking," I genuinely wanted to say goodbye), I almost never, ever, share things about my personal life. Even before, it was rare for me to actually share what's going on with me. All I really do now is share relatable, wholesome, or funny shit I find, as well as political things I'm in firm agreement with. What are some habits you have in common with your parents? I pace like my dad, and it drives people crazy because it apparently makes them anxious? I can't think of an obvious one I have with Mom, but I'm sure one exists. Where's your favourite place to swim - the ocean, a pool, river, lake etc? I feel safest and most clean in a pool, but c'mon, swimming in the ocean is so much fun. When you're saving your place in a book, do you use a bookmark or fold your pages down? Or something else? It depends on the book, it seems. Especially if someone else owns it, like in school or something. Is any part of your body hurting at the moment? Is there a specific incident that caused the pain? My legs always hurt. I've shared enough as to why; it wasn't an actual, singular "incident." What was the last thing to make you laugh out loud? OH MY FUCKING GOD. So in group therapy the other day, one of the girls had her bearded dragon out, and he was being aggressive. I think he tried to bite her aND SHE SAID WITHOUT REALIZING HER MIC WAS ON, "fucking dickhead," and everyone d i e d. She's a really cool chick, I'll miss her when I'm finished with PHP. Who was the last person you heard sing? Myself, surprisingly enough. I barely ever sing. Do you bite your lips a lot? Yes, especially when they're dry. .-. What part of your body would you never get pierced? Anyone who gets a piercing "down there" has a greater pain tolerance than this bitch right here. Have you ever dated someone with tattoos? Juan had quite a few. I don't remember if Tyler did... but I think maybe a The Legend of Zelda-related one? Have you ever failed gym in school? No. Are you scared of dogs? No; I love dogs. What is the saddest movie you’ve ever seen? Man, idk, I'm a little bitch when it comes to emotional movies. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is high up there, as is of course Johnny Got His Gun. Old Yeller, too. Which one of your friends is most likely to be famous one day? Why? Sara's gonna write a fuckin book series ok you can't convince me otherwise. What is the worst present you have ever gotten? Damn dude, what an ungrateful question. I'm just appreciative someone even thought TO give me something. Do you shave your arms? My armpits, yes, but not my arms themselves. How many people have you dated? I only count three as even remotely serious: Jason, Sara, and Girt. Have you ever performed in a play? I remember back in Sunday school as a tiny kid I played Mother Mary in one we did in class. Do you chew gum? I have been more lately since my doc upped the dosage of one of my mood stabilizers (which I think is actually helping); I mention that because apparently a side effect is dry mouth, and it's the fucking Sahara in there. He advises those who deal with it to always carry around hard candy or something like that for the sake of forcing salivation, so gum works for me. How old were you when you first started dating? I was in the 7th grade when I had my first "boyfriend," but it was total puppydog love. I started dating my first "real" bf when I was just shy of 16. Are/were your parents strict? Dad, no. Mom, only to a degree that I feel was pretty reasonable. She only ever wanted to prepare us to be functional, independent adults. Didn't work so well on me though, ha... Do you wear glasses? Yes. God, I need new ones. I'm blind as hell. What do you miss most about your childhood? Being so outgoing and happy to just be weird lil me. Do you write “To-Do” lists? Not really, no, but I do have notes on my phone about a couple things, like a bulleted list of planned monetary investments by importance, as well as a list of drawing ideas. Do you have a favorite quote? What is it? I don't, really. There's loads I like, but no one favorite. Could you survive as a vegetarian? I pretty desperately want to, but I don't know if it's realistic. I am so, SO picky, and without meat, it's very questionable as to where I'd get an adequate source of protein. I still want to try again though once I'm at my goal weight. Has anyone ever asked you for your autograph? Lol no. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yeah, but that was a looong time ago when I was actually some semblance of pretty. Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? I used to be someone who firmly stood by nighttime showers, but now I'm all about them in the morning. It's a nice way to wake up and start the day with productivity. Could you handle living with a male roommate? I mean, I lived with my then-boyfriend once, but I'm going to assume you'd consider him more than a "roommate." We lived with our two other friends, though, also a couple, and I was totally fine with living with them. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yes. Do you like Freddy Krueger? His concept is very scary, but all the movies I've seen bits of have always been super cheesy. Which do you prefer, Naruto or One Piece? I haven't seen either and really aren't interested. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I've never really watched his movies, but I'm a fan of his music. What’s you fetish? I don't have one. Have you ever been in the “friend zone?" Well, what I'd call a "fake" one with Jason after the breakup until I was blocked on Facebook. I know now he absolutely did not want to be friends; he was trying to appease me. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? Definitely conservative. Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Yeah, me. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm certain Mom was, but idk about Dad. I think so. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. What was the last thing that you recorded? I think Mom and I singing "happy birthday" to my late dog Teddy; we knew it would be his last. Do you like the show Futurama? Not really. Have you ever been in a choir class? I was in the elementary school chorus, as well as the choir at my childhood church. Are you ashamed of any of your family members? No, only myself. Were you a chubby child? No. Did you ever have senior photos done? No, even though I wanted them. Who is the person you dislike the most? God, this is so petty... but it's the girl Jason dated after me. I know it's childish as hell to feel like she "took" him from me, and I just feel this horrible hatred towards her that is entirely uncalled for. I just can't get myself to move past it. Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? No, as I'm unemployed and also don't have disability, so I literally can't. How do you usually celebrate New Years? I really don't do much. Sometimes Mom will grab a pack of daiquiris, but that's pretty much the extent of it. Does the place you work have music playing? What sort? N/A What was the last job interview you went to? At a local grocery store to work in the deli. Got the job, lasted there for not even two hours. :^) Do you know anyone with autism, mood disorders or learning disabilities? Autism and mood disorders, yes. I myself may have high-functioning Asperger's (yes, I know that term doesn't technically exist anymore, it's just the umbrella term of "autism," but w/e). Have you ever had an immediate relative pass away of cancer? My grandmother died of pancreatic cancer, and it's pretty much guaranteed that, unless there's some sudden accident, my mom will die of cancer, too. Hers got too bad to entirely eliminate every trace of cancer cells, so it will inevitably re-emerge at some point, just obviously some place else given that she had a total hysterectomy. Would you rather work in an office, warehouse or on a retail shop floor? Office. Are you a fan of sweet, sour, salty, or savory snacks? I enjoy all of those, but sour I think tops the list.

[oftenderweapons]

The Conversations - part 2/3

Characters: Seokjin, Jimin 

Wordcount: 3.4k words

Genre: slice of life, discussion of NSFW topics, conversation

Rating: suggested 18+

And I’m back! To celebrate the milestone of 100 readers, I’m beginning to add banners to the one-shots I’ve posted so far! 

In addition to that, after posting the Jin Stress reliever scenario, I’ve decided to post also this piece to give a more in-depth analysis of how Jin reacts to what happened in the one-shot. 

Jimin and Jin discuss what happened during Jin’s latest encounter with his girlfriend, nicknamed Angel, his view on their relationship and his s/o’s requests. Jimin talks about his partner, Princess, how they reached their balance within their relationship and offers Jin some tips on how to face his struggles with the new lifestyle he’s approaching. It briefly mentions other members.

This huge mess is unedited, and it’s 1 am, and I’m dumb, please bear with me :)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: hinting at smut, quite detailed description of psychological mechanisms of BDSM, mentions of masturbation, gagballs, blindfolds, spanking, domination and submission; establishment of rules, limits and punishments; angst involving gender roles and social constructs; both the guys are struggling, a tad embarrassed here and there, but nothing major, just opening up to each other. Jimin is a loving fairy, Jin is a curious bumblebee, and we all love them to bits. Enjoy!

Here is my masterlist!

--------------------------------

Jimin took off his earphones after something that sounded like a knock on his door. 

“Yeeees, come in!” He screamed, still sitting on his bed, pausing the video playing on his tablet. 

“Hi there.” Jin poked his head through the barely opened door. 

“Hi, hyung. Is everything okay?” The context seemed a little bit suspicious to Jimin, his sixth sense catching a slightly off vibe. 

“Yeah. How are you, by the way?” He asked, his expression kind and happy, but his laugh coming off nervous. 

“I’m okay, just tired from practice. I’m watching the sample, trying to understand the transition, in the break you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nasty transition.” 

That gave him away. “Do you need to practice?”

“No, not really. But you know, if you’re tired I can come back another day, I was just checking on you.” 

“Hyung.” Jimin sat up, his legs dangling from the side of the bed as he pat the space at his side. “Come here.”

“May I?” Jin gestured at closing the door. 

“Yes, of course.” Jimin replied, putting down the tablet on his bedside table. 

Jin clicked the door shut softly and looked at his bare feet as he approached the bed.

“What is it? The Magic Shop is open, Fairy Jimin is here to assist you.” He cupped his face with his hands, his fingers moving in a jazz. 

Jin blushed, his fingers contorting in his lap. “Actually, it’s not that kind of conversation. Sort of… More mature.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed. “It’s okay.” He angled himself toward his friend, crossing his legs on the bed and shrinking inside his sweater. “You’re safe here.”

“Thank you. I might-- I’m not completely comfortable talking about it. But I really need your help.”

Jimin smiled softly, placing an hand on his shoulder. ”Take your time.”

Jin’s finger joints cracked noisily. “Ehm, the other day I accidentally overheard your conversation with Taehyung. I’m sorry about it.”

Jimin shrinked even more, his cheeks blushing delicately. “That was really private.”

“Again, I’m very sorry.” Jin tried looking at the other man with honest apology in his eyes. “But eventually that led me here. Because I sort of need your help. That is, if you wanna talk about it.”

Jimin toyed with his sweater paws, his fingertips appearing only to comb back his hair. “I guess it depends on what you wanna talk about.”

“I have some questions.” Jin also settled in more comfortably, mirroring the dancer’s position. “It’s sort of delicate.” A tense pause. “Angel and I--” Another long pause. 

“You’re experimenting?” Jimin asked. 

“Yeah.” Jin exhaled deeply, more comfortable now that the other was helping him with the talking. 

“Does she want to take the lead?” Jimin was absolutely careful with the wording. 

“No, quite the other way around, actually.” Jin hid his eyes behind his palm.

“Okay,” Jimin licked his lips, slightly more relaxed. “Then why are you here? Why didn’t you ask Taehyung or Hobi?”

“Is Hoseok…?”

“Yeah. And a pretty strict one.” Jimin giggled. “Yoongi, also. But not really. It’s not as bad as the other two. Namjoon is softer. Not really a dom, but not vanilla either.”

“I thought he were more... like you?”

Jimin giggled and then frowned. “What do you mean ‘like me’?”

Jin struggled a second. “More… submissive? Like fifty-fifty?”

“I guess you should ask him.” He said, slightly upset. 

Jin blushed. “Sorry.”

Jimin realised his mistake. “Nevermind, I was rude. No reason to be sorry. There’s nothing wrong with being submissive. It’s a matter of character. Personality. You don’t really choose.” He replied, and his words felt almost mechanical.

“So you...” Jin once more struggled. 

“Why did you want to talk to me? And not the others?” Jimin asked softly, trying to understand.

Jin’s eyebrows arched. “I really need to understand what it feels like for her. Why she needs it.”

“Okay.” Jimin nodded. “Everyone has their own reasons, and talking with me won’t substitute talking with her. You’ll have to, eventually. If you really care about her.”

“I understand.”

“Princess and I got into this carefully. It’s really a matter of communication and experience. You need to trust each other and not be afraid to say what you like and what you don’t like.”

“So you need to talk it out.” Jin was approaching the matter pragmatically. He just needed more information. Someplace to start. 

“I’d say so, yes.”

“I don’t really get why she wants me to be hard on her?” Jin spit the question out in frustration. 

“I’m not the best person to ask, but I’d say it’s not a matter of being hard on someone. It’s more of a matter of discipline.”

“Like what?”

“Sometimes you feel a little bit lost, and you just want someone to give you rules, like limits, like you know, the line on asphalt that indicate where the road lays?”

“Do you mean road signs?”

“More like the roadside. Road signs are things like commands. Instructions.”

“Okay. So she needs roadsides.” Jin asked, confused.

Jimin giggled. “Imagine feeling vulnerable in a big, dark room. Now, imagine leading a person through that room. That’s what she’s asking you.”

“I need to lead her.”

“Yes.” Jimin’s lips arched upwards, glad that Jin was getting in the right mindset. “It also depends on the type of submissive she is. They are not all the same. For example, the dynamics between me and Princess are not always the same. Sometimes she’s the one in command. Sometimes it’s me. Though it’s mostly her.” Jimin disappeared into his hoodie, laughing as a hand covered his mouth. 

“So a person is not always submissive. That’s right.” He nodded in agreement. “We’re usually pretty even, both in charge, but sometimes she wishes I took control.”

“That sounds nice. It’s a matter of balance. Would you feel comfortable taking control?”

“Well, sometimes I wish I could.” Jin huffs out a tense laugh, frustration and tiredness suddenly overwhelming him. 

“Is it stressful for you?” Jimin reached out for him, putting his hand on top of Jin’s.

“Sort of. I feel— Conflicted?” Jin’s forehead creased, mouth pouting.

“Let’s do pros and cons.” Jimin fumbled around for a while, looking for pen and paper. “Seeing it written down will help you reconsider the actual size of the issue.” Jimin’s kind smile eased Jin’s nerves a little.

“So, let’s start with the reasons why you don’t want to do it.” Jimin held up a notepad and a pencil. 

“Hurting her.” Jin didn’t need to think for one second.

“Okay, next.”

“Because it’s disrespectful.”

Jimin tried to keep a poker face, but he twisted nose in a funny way. “Next.”

“Because I feel like I’m not loving her when I treat her like that.”

Once more the younger man encouraged him to proceed.

“Because thinking about it makes me feel dirty.” He waited a few second. “Because I don’t know what to do. And how to do it right.” He blushed. “And I don’t know if she likes it because she cries out and I don’t understand whether it’s good or bad and her face scrunches up like I’m hurting her, you know?”

Jimin nodded, his face opening in warm understanding, then he drew a harsh line, dividing the page in two vertically. “Okay, now the pros.” 

“Because I want to make her happy.” Once more he didn’t hesitate in putting his Angel first.

“And?”

“I am so tired of feeling this… pressure.”

“Who’s pressuring you?” Jimin asked. 

“I feel this tension, inside. Between doing what’s right and feeling right.”

“There are a lot of things I am currently not understanding.” Jimin scratched his head cutely.

“I-- There are all these things that society accepts. That we’re taught, about love, and about intimacy with the person you love. That it should be sweet and loving and respectful. But then there are all these other things that I want that are none of that, none of what we’ve been taught.”

“Okay, hyung. But are you saying that if I want to bend my girlfriend against the kitchen table and fuck her into next week, then I’m sick?”

“No!” Jin said, already defending not himself, but Jimin. “You have each and every right to do what you want. And it’s your relationship, in your house, with your rules.”

“This applies to you too, right?” Jimin grinned, showing exactly his point.  “Intimacy is creating that place where you have special rules just for you and the one you love. It’s a bubble. Made of understanding, trust. And negotiated boundaries. If I can do that in my own house, you can do that in yours.”

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

“It’s okay, hyung.”

“I also want to give in because it feels so good when I do.”

“So you do have dommed already?” Jimin was immediately curious.

“It was not planned.” Jin looked like he was protecting himself. “Absolutely unintentional. But next time I need to have some structure. Some knowledge.”

“You should create that with your Angel, hyung.” He shouldn’t push him, Jimin reminded himself. 

“May I ask how did you and Princess build that?” Jin asked, again just looking for general knowledge.

“We, uhm. For the first month or two we were a very traditional couple, we did nothing too extreme. Then one night I was tired and tense, we were rehearsing a lot back then, and I was always so in control of myself because of dancing, straining myself towards perfection. And I came home and that night Princess took control. She asked me what I wanted and she did it. As long as I did what she wanted me to. It doesn’t need to be gagballs and blindfolds. All you need is the mindset.”

“So I don’t need to like… Spank her or…?” Jin blushed. He didn’t mind spanking Angel. Not one bit. But other things felt dark. Too dangerous. Maybe if he had more experience...

“That depends on her. If she asks you to, you need to choose whether you want to or not. Usually it’s more comfortable to decide what you can or cannot ask beforehand. It helps avoid misunderstandings and second thoughts.”

“Great. And what about rules?” Jin asks, once more curious.

“Well, that depends on the kind of power play you are part of. There are different kinds of domination and submission. Some doms have rules that only have to do with the submissive’s sexual sphere. Others have rules that affect, so to say, even their every day life. What to eat, how to dress, how to behave, etcetera.”

“How did you get to know all of this.” Jin’s question came naturally. How could he possibly get to know all this stuff?

“Reading. Watching documentaries. Chatting with Yoongi and Tae. I think Yoongi hyung could really help you with your side of the situation. As far as Angel is concerned, well, I can help you.” His eyes twinkled happily.

“Thanks. Okay, so I don’t think I really want to put rules over Angel's everyday life.” Jin was already sure of that. He didn’t feel comfortable telling her what to do and how to dress. She’s a grown woman. On that he would not budge. He knew that was his limit.

“That’s okay. That’s where you stand. You could decide some overall rules, and then negotiate them again as you go, if the two of you need them. Usually having three to five rules is a good compromise. They should be easy to remember, mutually agreed and pretty generic. For me and Princess they’re extremely easy: no cheating, no teasing, no going to bed upset with each other, no selfish pleasure - that is, yeah, you can masturbate as long as you tell the other, and finally, never be afraid to ask.”

“Wow.” Jin thought that those kind of rules -- well, most of them -- were already included in his relationship with Angel. He thought about her and toys. How he would love if she told him about that. He would ask for a rule about that. 

Jimin misunderstood Jin’s absent gaze. “It might sound big, but it’s actually pretty cool.” He tried making the conversation lighter in fear of scaring his hyung. “I know what I can or cannot do. If we go against the rules, obviously there is punishment. I know that that word sounds scary.” Jimin paused again. “It’s normal to feel insecure. Punishment has been used against us so many times since we were children, but it’s a very good way to deal with guilt.” Jimin removed his hand from Jin’s, playign with his sweateer paws. “Princess and I are both perfectionists. If we’re not perfect at something, we tend to turn to guilt, mortification and self hate. Having someone punish you makes you feel like you have paid for your mistake, so no need to worry about it no more. I didn’t learn the choreography after a day? I’m going home bitter and tired and Princess will take it from there, choosing whether to treat me to remind me I’m still good or to punish me because I was mean and hard on myself. And sometimes I do the same for her.” Jimin looked Jin in the eye, offering his own vulnerability in exchange for that of his friend.

“That sounds so good.” Jin averted his glance, his thoughts running wild, imagining how good it would feel to finally validate his own needs. And Angel’s needs. To give her everything she has ever dreamed of. To liberate her. To explore his need to treat Angel like his fuckdoll, to reward her with orgasm after orgasm, watching her scream as he rammed into her. To make her cum like he did last time, nothing but him inside her. 

Jimin giggled. “It is good. Punishment is not an instrument to torture, but rather to redeem. To cleanse. To regain balance after a fault.” He lost himself in the memory of the heavy smack of your wooden hairbrush on his bum. “It’s a way to feel like you earned forgiveness.”

“Is it why she wants it?” Jin’s eyebrows arched. 

“Maybe. Maybe she just thinks that a little bit of pain enhances the pleasure. Maybe it’s away for her to exorcise fear. Or shame.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes I feel… ashamed. Of what I like. Princess knows it. It’s normal, especially when society teaches you that what you that the man should take the lead, that he should be strong and authoritative. So sometimes I feel wrong when I don’t want to be the dominant one, when I don’t want to decide and I need someone else to do it for me, when I need someone to take care of me.” Jimin felt vulnerable opening up like that, but at the same time he was glad he was helping his friend. “Princess sometimes makes me do things that I don’t have the courage to ask, but that I like. It makes me feel less ashamed because she’s asking me to. She is validating that part of me that wants those things.”

Jin nodded, patting Jimin’s shoulder. He thought about his girl. How she asked him what she wanted. “Angel is not ashamed of asking, though. She’s asked before.”

Jimin also nodded, already knowing his reply. “Maybe she’s not ashamed of asking, but a part of her is ashamed for wanting those things. Maybe she’s asking because she has grown tired of being ashamed and needs you to do something.” Jimin pressed his fists to his chest. “At least, that’s how it works, for me.”

“Okay. Well, now that I think of it, she did mention that sometimes she feels… dirty for wanting some stuff. Especially since it’s stuff she thinks I don’t like.”

“May I ask about that? I mean, you said she thinks you don’t like it. So, do you like it or not?” Jimin’s body opened up, leaning into Jin slightly, as if to offer comfort. He tried to sound less intrusive.

“Oh, I like it. It’s just that… It scares me. I don’t know it, and I could hurt her because I’m not that experienced. In that side of me.” Jin hid his head between his shoulders.

“Okay, there is stuff you should discuss. Limits. For example, with Princess I know that her neck is very sensitive, but I cannot choke her. She likes it when I cum on her, but not on her face. I can leave lovebites on her, but if she has something like an appointment with the doctor, I cannot leave marks and bruises. It’s all stuff you talk about when you negotiate rules, punishments, limits and safwords.” Jimin looked down. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“Don’t worry. It actually helps discovering more stuff about this world.” Jin again aimed at putting Jimin at ease.

Jimin moved on. “Great. So, you mentioned you already had some powerplay. What did you like, what was not your thing?” 

Jin thought about that night. Every second was still fresh in his mind. He’d thought about that so many times that the memory looked like a well-used path in the woods, the tracks made of brown gravel instead of lush green grass. “I liked how happy she looked. She was there, with her big eyes open wide, waiting for my instructions. And she loved looking at me. She looked like she was enjoying my own pleasure.”

Jimin nodded happily. “That’s how it works. Usually a submissive physically enjoys their dominant’s pleasure.”

“And she liked me being rough. Actually got off to it.”

“Okay. And did you like it?”

Again he remembered the sweet heatwave rolling down his spine, the memory of the feeling sparking new desire. “Yes. She was… I’m sorry if I get too descriptive, but I was sitting on the bed and she was there, kneeling before me, looking at me like she wanted nothing but to see me cum and-- It was hot. I couldn’t hold myself back.”

“It’s okay. It’s a good thing that you can identify what you like. Now, what bothered you?”

Jin again revisited the whole memory, playing rewind and replay. There wasn’t much he hadn’t liked about the intercourse. It was the aftertaste of it. “I didn’t like how I felt afterwards. Like I had to clean myself morally. And I didn’t like how Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde I felt as we… made love?” He felt doubtful at the expression.

“You can say fuck, hyung. There’s nothing wrong.” Jimin raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing wrong with fucking your girlfriend. Or wanting to. Some people cheat on their girlfriends because they feel like they’re not free to fuck them. They have a person to fuck and another to make love. The secret to a good relationship is feeling like you want to be sweet but also harsh to the same person, that you feel love and lust for your partner. I feel honoured when Princess wants to fuck me. Or when she wants me to fuck her. She feels desire for me. And that means that she won’t look for someone else.”

“I understand.” Jin closed his eyes, every precious moment with Angel suddenly overwhelming him. “I really want to be the one that she wants.”

“That’s nice. But you should also be the one that you want for yourself. You should feel free to chase after what you want. And if that’s sending your girlfriend into toe-curling orgasms, then be it.”

Jin laughed and Jimin’s honest comment. “I’m really thankful for this conversation.”

“I am, too.” Jimin approached the next question carefully. “So do you think you’ll try and work this out with Angel?”

Jin pondered his answer. “I’d love to. But we’ll take our time. Talk things out.”

“Getting into this with Princess was not easy. She was not used to domming before me, so she had to learn things too. But she’s loving it now. She already had that mindset, the one that you feel. Once you learn what you like and what your partner likes, that’s all downhill. Trust yourself. Happiness is all yours, not what society expects from you.”

Jin smiled brightly. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Tell me if it works out, hyung.” Jimin patted his hand. “And when you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

[tlbodine]

What exactly is 'character voice'? Is it merely a character having opinions on things? And how do I have good voice if I am writing in first or third person omnipresent? Do I give the narrator's opinion on things? The character's opinions? The different opinions of the characters?

Voice is a tricky thing to pin down -- a bit of a “know it when you see it” type thing. But I’ll see if I can break it down a bit. 

First: Stories will contain both “authorial voice” and “character voice.” Authorial voice is the individual writing style of the author, and you’ll start to notice it most strongly after you’ve read multiple works by one author. Character voice on the other hand is unique to the character. A strong character voice will often overshadow the author’s voice, which is usually a good thing! It keeps every book you read from an author from sounding the same. If you’re reading a book in first person or close third POV, the narrative should be in the character’s voice. If you’re reading it in a more omniscient POV, the narrative might have a very different voice. Books that alternate POVs might have different voices for different perspectives, so that you could tell who’s speaking even if the chapters weren’t labeled. 

But OK. What makes up Voice in writing? 

Opinions. Characters with a strong voice have opinions about the world, and those opinions color the way they see things. They don’t sit and tell you how they feel, but instead deliver the world through the lens of those opinions.

Focus. What a character chooses to pay attention to vs ignore in the world around them. This gives an underlying glimpse at what is important to them. 

Word Choice. On a structural level, voice comes down to word choice, grammar, syntax, etc. being used with purpose to create a cumulative effect. 

Books without a strong voice sound dry, like a technical manual or book report. They lack any poetic devices or colorful insights.  A strong voice is one that doesn’t sound generic, which means it’s not usually “correct” from, say, a middle school English class perspective. (In fact, some young writers may often butt heads with teachers over the use of voice in writing -- I know I did. Once you get good at it, 

It might just be easier to show this in action than try to explain it so...

Carrie, by Stephen King: 

She had tried to fit. She had defied Momma in a hundred little ways had tried to erase the redplague circle that had been drawn around her from the first day she had left the controlled environment of the small house on Carlin Street and had walked up to the Barker Street Grammar School with her Bible under her arm. She could still remember that day, the stares, and the sudden, awful silence when she had gotten down on her knees before lunch in the school cafeteria -- the laughter had begun on that day and had echoed up through the years. 

Carrie calls her mother “Momma” even in her head, which already implies a lot about her socioeconomic class, upbringing, and intelligence. She didn’t try to fit in, she tried to ‘fit’ -- a non-idiomatic description. The run-on second sentence gives a hint of a racing thought. “Redplague” as one word is evocative and more powerful than a more drawn-out metaphor might be. 

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams 

Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby, and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and predilection for little fur hats. 

Comedy lives or dies on the strength of its voice, and Douglas Adams is a master at a very specific type of comedy. Here we see it on display. Prosser is an antagonist, and he’s here being described in a way that suggests, without stating outright, that he’s quite pathetic. We open with a cliche saying, and then immediately deconstruct it in a way that’s overly precise -- a technique of absurdism. Then we compare him to Genghis Khan (also a villain, and a very strong one) in a side-by-side parallel that definitely paints Prosser unflatteringly (his genes are “juggled,” a word that evokes clownishness) and the “little fur hats” detail is the icing on the cake -- imagine standing beside Genghis Khan and the ONLY thing you have in common is the hat! (”Predilection” is also a fussy-sounding word. “Stoutness about the tum” sounds like a childishly euphemistic protest, sort of like “big-boned” but dialed up to 11). 

The Cabin at the End of the World, by Paul Tremblay 

Wen’s eighth birthday is in six days. Her dads not so secretly wonder (she has overheard them discussing this) if the day is her actual date of birth or one assigned to her by the orphanage in China’s Hubei Province. For her age she is in the fifty-sixth percentile for height and forty-second for weight, or at least she was when she went to the pediatrician six months ago. She made Dr. Meyer explain the context of those numbers in detail. As pleased as she was to be above the fifty-line for height, she was angry to be below it for weight. Wen is as direct and determined as she is athletic and wiry, often besting her dads in battles of wills and in scripted wrestling matches on their bed. her eyes are a deep, dark brown, with thin caterpillar eyebrows that wiggle on their own. Along the right edge of her philtrum is the hint of a scar that is only visible in a certain light and if you know to look for it (so she is told). The thin white slash is the remaining evidence of a cleft lip repaired with multiple surgeries between the ages of two and four. She remembers the first and final trips to the hospital, but not the ones in between. That those middle visits and procedures have been somehow lost bothers her. Wen is friendly, outgoing, and as goofy as any other child her age, but isn’t easy with her reconstructed smiles. Her smiles have to be earned. 

The thing I love about Tremblay’s writing style is how wonderfully understated it is. At first blush, it seems very straightforward and precise. But the details work to give such a rich image beyond what’s on the page -- like one of those paintings that creates a cat with just like, two brushstrokes of ink. This paragraph is jam-packed with information -- the character’s age, race, adoption, gay parents -- but also illustrates her character indirectly: a kid who is interested in precise numbers, competitive in a specific way, self-conscious, skeptical. Little lines really stand out, like “caterpillar eyebrows” and “reconstructed smiles.” 

Horrorstor, by Grady Hendrix 

It was dawn, and the zombies were stumbling through the parking lot, streaming toward the massive beige box at the far end. Later they’d be resurrected by megadoses of Starbucks, but for now they were the barely living dead. Their causes of death differed: hangovers, nightmares, strung out from epic online gaming sessions, circadian rhythms broken by late-night TV, children who couldn’t stop crying, neighbors partying til 4 a.m., broken hearts, unpaid bills, roads not taken, sick dogs, deployed daughters, ailing parents, midnight ice cream binges. 

But every morning, five days a week (seven during the holidays), they dragged themselves here, to the one thing in their lives that never changed, the one thing that they could count on come rain, or shine, or dead pets, or divorce: work. 

This is the opening of the book, and it does a perfect job of setting the tone for the story -- a combination of humor and horror, a lighthearted touch on a really dismal subject. Like the Douglas Adams example, it relies on an excess of hyper-specific detail to create comedy through absurdism. Describing the store they wrok at as a “massive beige box” says a lot -- beige is a boring color, box is a boring shape (and implies constraint, the opposite of “think outside the box” etc.) Calling the workers “zombies” and using zombie words (”stumbling”, “streaming”) invokes a specific set of concepts -- mindlessness, for starters, and death -- and using that to describe going to a job certainly implies something about what it’s like to go to work, right? This paragraph could just come outright and say “work is soul-sucking and pointless and takes you away from things that are important” but it illustrates that instead. A perfect example of “show don’t tell” in action. 

Hopefully that gives a bit more illustration to what I’m talking about. As you read, pay attention to the way things are said and how that varies from one book to the next, and you’ll get a better intuition for voice (and learn to craft your own through practice). 

Some general tips/things to think about when creating strong voice for your narrative and characters: 

Education and socioeconomic level of the characters. A professor will talk differently from a car mechanic; a college graduate sounds different from an elementary school student; an inner-city black teen will use words differently from a New England socialite. Think about what kind of background a character has and choose vocabulary and syntax that makes sense for them. 

Evocative descriptions. Words come with baggage, and good writing puts that baggage to use to create a meaning stronger than what’s on the page. Precision with language, not just what words mean but what they imply, is the hallmark of good writing. 

Words used uniquely -- in other words, avoiding cliches and descriptions we’ve seen before in favor of creating new word combinations that do the heavy lifting of the previous bullet point. 

Hopefully that helps! 

[myownprivate-johnnyutah]

If Found (Chapter 1)

AN: A Fluff-as-Fuck Penpals Story because we’re in a fuckin’ pandemic and I want to write about yearning, goddamnit. I have no outline, no plan and am just going wild with it. 

Synopsis: After losing a notebook in a Brooklyn bar two years ago, Alana Miles has lost a few more things and gained some others. Lost? Her tiny Brooklyn apartment, her first love-turned fiancé, their shared cat. Gained? A small rental house in her hometown, a second book deal, a rescue bulldog and a facelss email pen pal she may or may not be falling for. (AO3)

Wordcount: 1,530

September 2020

It’s a little early to be up for a Saturday, but she cracks open her laptop anyway— careful not to jostle the sleeping bulldog deep snoring across her legs. Alana has tried to let herself sleep in on weekends, lately. With the weekdays full of deadlines, interviews and long calls with her editor normally kicking off before her morning coffee’s kicked in, the few blissful hours of no screens and light-blocking blinds on Saturdays were usually her favorite thing. Usually.

It’s not her fault, though. Because of stupid timezones, there was a message waiting for her that she’d be itching to see and even after years (plural) of back-and-forth emails with her accidental pen pal, the little rush of seeing where the conversation would go next was enough to make her a bit more of a morning person (even when she doesn’t have to be). 

To: Miles2Go@mail.net.

From: KCR@mail.net

Subject: RE: RE: RE: The Not-Divorce is Finalized! 

A, 

Sure, okay, I believe you.

I know you said you were fine and I understand I’m maybe half-obligated by the terms of our friendship to take that at face value and instead pivot to asking you about your day or the book proposal or whether you got around to reading that book I sent you (it’s a chapbook, honestly, and you pretty much read for a living). And I will ask those things. 

But I wanted to add, RE: your point on “closure not even being a fuckin’ real thing” that I’m not sure if I agree. Provided you’re giving yourself the grace to step away and close the chapters, relationships, painful memories in order to open something up, it’s as real as you want to make it. 

But what you’re going through (all of it), it’s draining and exhausting and you’re carrying a lot. Closing a door doesn’t mean everything’s resolved behind the door, just that you’ve resolved to let yourself be on the other side. 

I think you’re brave and good, if that helps. And I hope you’ll read that goddamn chapbook so we can talk about it.  

Yours, 

KC

Welp. That’ll need coffee to respond to, she thought, slowly inching her legs out from under Bruce (who let out an insulted snort before snuffling back into the duvet) and heading out to the kitchen. 

Mug in hand, she made her way out to the porch and took in the fall morning: the lake’s got the beginning reflections of red and orange showing through and the smell of burning leaves (they still do that out here) is already making its way to her door. The tiny one bedroom house she’d been renting is about five minutes from where she grew up (where her parents still live). It’s modest (if maybe cramped) but has big windows, a monthly rent that doesn’t drain her bank account beyond recovery and lets her be close to her mom for doctor’s appointments and long meetings with specialists that she trades off with her sister and brother. 

She leaves the door open a crack, since Bruce is unlikely to last long in the bed alone before stumbling out to his sunny porch bed, and takes a seat on her own “grown-up porch couch” — an oversized wicker basket chair her little brother salvaged from a friends’ student house and spray painted white to look less wretched, paired with some overly fluffy pillows her twin sister bought her. She cracked open her computer again and tried to figure out how she’d respond.

She tried, not infrequently, to picture KC. She was sure he was good looking, despite that name feeling so deeply undignified and childish for a man in his forties. (Or is he fifty by now? A funny thing about surprise pen pals is you never really exchange birthdates or A/S/L — and, in their case, they just went for the emotional jugular). She imagined a doe-eyed John Cusack-type (maybe a bit more “High Fidelity,” actually) or, of course, a Tom Hanks “You’ve Got Mail” has crossed her mind but neither really ever felt right. 

She knew a lot about him, after nearly two years of correspondence. He’s told her about the long scar going up his stomach that he got in a motorcycle accident (how he’ll forget its there even after 20 years); she knows he works in film but simply says “I help people tell lies for a living” when she asks for specifics; she knows he fell in love a few years back, after thinking he was never going to fall in love again (and that he has a gift for emphasizing the sweet of a bittersweet ending) and she know she’s a Virgo with a Cancer moon. He knew a lot about her, too: He knew birds freaked her out, that she was in the middle of final proofs of her first book and the proposal on her second; he knew she broke off an engagement (and thus a relationship spanning nearly all of her 20s) in the last year and reflexively performed being cavalier about it; he knew her mom was sick and that she left the life (the one she secretly wasn’t all that wild about) in Brooklyn to be closer to her.

It’s funny the way these little stories and pieces of ourselves can be assembled to make a person feel so whole and so close, even if they’re thousands of miles away and you’ve never seen their face and you probably wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for the right amount of happy accidents flowing in succession. 

He was her happy accident and, if she were the fate-believing type she’d believe it was some of that kismet that brought him to that Fort Green bar on that rainy afternoon. She’d been transcribing some notes in one of her many junk-ish notebooks (full of story ideas, a few email addresses and phone numbers for sources, a scribbled quote, some ticket stubs and a lone piece of gum between the back pages (whoops) — all organized by chaos) and got a call from Brandon, her then-fiancé reminding her that they’d need to leave their Greenpoint apartment for his department chair’s dinner party on the Upper West Side (a thing she’d forgotten she’d agreed to do) shortly and if she was still stopping to grab the wine. 

In her rush to settle up her tab, scamper to the liquor store next door and procure a fancy-ass bottle for the academic circle jerk, she left the notebook behind. Luckily, she’d remembered to scrawl her email in the front cover that time —she wasn’t going to let some rando find her address!

KC, as he told her later in one of their subsequent emails, found it and “began trying to decipher its many, many mysteries (the gum, for example).” 

She couldn’t be mad, she 100 percent would’ve done the same thing if fate, kismet, the universe’s funky algorithm, who knows, left someone else’s brain-dump to her doorstep. Between that confession (and the charming apology that came with it), the emails just didn’t stop — long after he’d sent the book back. 

Despite this two year friendship, she hasn’t seen his face — and only recently heard his voice. She knows he’s older than her 34 years by a not-small amount.  (He doesn’t have an instagram or a Twitter and when she asked him why he responded “Oh, that. What would I do with that stuff, really?”) And 95% of the time it doesn’t bother her. But then she sees emails like that and thinks of his deep, thoughtful voice (the calm, intentional pauses when he speaks that make everything go soft and quiet over the phone line) and something in her twitches. 

It’s been a long 18 months of being very single and maybe, just maybe it’s messing with her head to have such careful, considerate attention 4-8 (depending on how much they write and how busy they are) times a week. 

To: KCR@mail.net

From: Miles2Go@mail.net.

Subject: Doors Open & Closed — moving on.

KC, 

That poet soul of yours is working overtime today, bud. It’s too early for my icy heart to thaw the way it needs to if I’m going to adequately respond, so take this: I know. You’re right. I’ll try. Thank you. 

And try to let it be the end of this for now. 

I’m digitally and spiritually cleansing this space and cracking open this sad  pamphlet of a book you sent me. Stand by for my thoughts. 

Chilliest regards (with a gooey center), 

A

P.S. You promised me that shortlist of “films I need to watch now that I work from home and can watch movies all day.” Keep in mind, my attention span is like my love life: short, sad and ridiculous. 

She hits send and quickly checks in on the few dangling work emails that couldn’t wait until Monday. It’ll be a few hours before her West Coaster pen pal is up and a few more before he’s near a screen. He’s an early riser, but more of a yoga, outdoors-y, going jogging (ugh) kind than a feverish AM emailer. But she’ll forgive him that one (admittedly well-adjusted) flaw for now.

[sunmoonandeddie]

i think you might be my soulmate

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,589

summary: Steve finds out a little more about Alexander Pierce.

prompt: ‘I think you might be my soulmate.’

warnings: swearing

a/n: This was written for @whirlybirbs Endgame writing challenge and the theme was nostalgia, so we’re going back to Winter Soldier and that infamous escape scene.

“Rogers.”

He stared out the window, his chin resting on his fist as he watched the clouds passing by.

“Rogers.”

It’d been a long time since he’d gotten to just sit and watch the sky.  He could remember when he was young, back before the war and the weight the title of Captain America on his shoulders, sitting by the window with Bucky and picking out shapes in the clouds.  It was as close as he could get to being outside when he was sick and despite how much it paled in comparison to actually getting to sit outside on the grass, his best friend had never complained.

“Rogers.”

He’s vaguely aware of someone saying his name, the way you’d be aware of a fly buzzing around your head.  It was more of a nuisance than anything else and it wasn’t doing anything to bring him out of his daydream.

“ROGERS!”

The blond super soldier finally looked up as a hand slammed down onto the table in front of him, his blue eyes meeting the beady, bird-like ones of Alexander Pierce.  The man who’d he been arguing with for over an hour now.  “Pierce.”

Pierce let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples as he paced back in forth in front of Steve.  “Why won’t you work with me on this?”

“I am.  I’ve told you everything I know,”  He said, his mind flashing back to Nicholas Fury breaking into his apartment just the night before.  He’d been having a good night before it’d been interrupted by the sound of jazz music coming from his apartment.  He’d even somewhat asked out the nurse that lived next door.

The nurse that turned out to be Agent Sharon Carter of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Yet, somehow I don’t believe you,” the older man said, a piercing looking in his eyes as he rested his palms on the cool wood. “Are you really going to tell me that you don’t know why Nick came?”

“Is it so hard to believe that Nick Fury could have a friend?”

Both men looked up just in time to see an absolutely stunning woman walking in the doors.  Your hair and makeup was done perfectly, not a single hair was out of place.  Your pencil skirt and heels made Steve hesitate on identifying you as an agent.  You were most likely an administrative worker, an assistant or something.  He knew that if you were higher up, he’d have already met you.

His mouth felt dry as he watched you move to stand beside Pierce, holding out the file that was in your hands to him.  “Rogers, this is Y/N L/N,” the man said absentmindedly as he opened up the file and began to flip through it, brows furrowing as he stared down at one page for a remarkably long time.  “My best secretary.”

“How kind of you, Alexander,” you drawled, drier than the Sahara Desert and bringing a smile to the blond’s lips as Pierce remained unaware.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake across the table.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

Your hand seemed to slot against his perfectly as your eyes locked onto his.  “The pleasure’s all mine.”  Your eyes seemed to put him under some kind of spell as he stood there shaking your hand for much longer than what was socially appropriate.  “And don’t let him fool you, I’m much more than a secretary.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, and he winced as he realized how it could’ve been taken as a jab.

But your laugh said otherwise, your hand moving to cover your mouth.  “They told me you were charming,” you said, before pointedly looking down at your hand, “Even if you are a little rusty.”

Steve yanked his hand away, his cheeks flushing as he realized just how long he’d been holding on your hand.  He wiped at his jeans, hoping desperately that you wouldn’t think he was weird or gross because his hands were clammy and when the hell did that happen?  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  Your bottom lip was drawn in between your teeth as you eyed him. “It’s sweet.”

“Rogers, are you done flirting with my secretary or can we get back to our discussion?” Pierce asked harshly, though he hadn’t looked up from his papers.

Your eye roll caused Steve’s lips to tug up into a smile, though he tried to hide it before the man could see it.  Your gaze turned back to him, flicking back and forth between you two.  There was a sudden urgency in your eyes, and when you spotted the mug of coffee on the table, you nodded towards it.

He hesitantly picked it up as he tried to figure out where you were going with this.  One second you’d been all smiles and flirty tones and the next you were on edge, as though ready to bolt at any second.

He didn’t even have time to think before you reached forward, knocking the mug from his hand and spilling it over his stealth suit. The hiss of pain that fell from his lips caused Pierce to finally look at you two, a glare etched on his features.

“Y/N, what has gotten into you today?” He demanded, snapping the file shut.

“Captain Rogers, I’m so sorry,” you said, rushing around the table to him.  You dabbed at the brownish wet spot on his suit with your sleeve, not looking up at him. “If you come with me, I can get this out in a jiffy.”

Steve was getting more and more suspicious, but the look in your eyes made him nod.  “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

“What about our discussion?” The other man asked, watching with wide eyes as you began to lead him out of the room.

“I’ll have him back in five minutes,” you reassured your boss, flashing him a bright, disarming smile before the two of you were out the doors and you were taking him down the hall.

It was easy to keep in step with you as you marched down the hall.  The smile had dropped from your lips, other than when you nodded at a coworker in greeting. He was yanked into a spare room once you rounded a corner, the door shut and locked.

“Are you really trying to play seven minutes in heaven right now?” He asked, feigning confidence even though his hands were still clammy.

The small smile you granted him made it worth it though. “I didn’t even know you knew what seven minutes in heaven was.”

“I’m not that old.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Then what’s Tinder?”  At his dumbfounded expression, a triumphant grin spread across your face.  But then you seemed to remember the urgency with which you had dragged him out of there. “You can’t trust Pierce.”

He stared at you incredulously, a million thoughts running through his head.  “What?”

You were nervously glancing at the door, as though expecting people to break in at any second.  “He’s always been secretive, has been since I started working for him two years ago.  But lately…” A shiver ran through your spine. “He’s been getting these secret meetings late at night, with people I don’t know and he won’t introduce me to. He tells me to go get coffee for myself at eight fifty-five every night, and when I come back, his office is locked. They’re still there when I leave for the night at ten.”

“Any idea who it might be?”

“I don’t know who they are.  They’re not on any record, any meeting schedule I have for that time is blank,” you said, fear rolling off of you in waves.

Steve reached out and took your hand, squeezing it in an attempt to soothe you.  “How often do these meetings happen?”

“It used to be twice a month but now…”  You swallowed thickly around the lump in your throat.  “Now it’s every night.”

“Could you hear anything they were saying?”

You bit your lip as you tried to think back to all those times you’d sat at your desk, hands shaking even though you didn’t know why. The meetings your boss had held had always given you an uneasy feeling and it had only grown as the meetings became more frequent.  “Something about Project Insight…  And hail.” Your hand rubbed your elbow anxiously. “I don’t know what they were hailing, but I know they said hail.”

His heart was beginning to pound in his chest as he remembered Fury’s message just the night before.  His message that S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised and he couldn’t trust anyone.  But something in his gut told him he could trust you.  You weren’t an agent, you weren’t affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D. other than the fact that you’d been hired as Alexander Pierce’s secretary.

And something told him that part of the reason you’d been hired was because you were normal.  You held no loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. and therefore, most likely wouldn’t report any strange meetings.

Oh, how wrong your boss had been.

A sense of admiration and respect bloomed in his chest as he looked down at you.  You had no reason to tell him any of this, other than the fact that you had a good heart and suspected your boss, one of the most powerful men in the world, to be up to very not good things.  It took a certain type of bravery that not many had.

“Why are you telling me this?”

You swallowed, but you stared up at him resolutely. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but if it’s something that could hurt others, I have a duty to try my best to prevent it.”

And fuck, that was kind of hot.  “Okay,” he said slowly, trying his best to not let his worry show.  If he did, it would only make you panic more and he couldn’t have that.  “I need you to do exactly what I say, okay?”

You nodded, relief flooding your face as you realized he was going to help you.  “Okay.”

“After we go back to the conference room, I want you to go back to your desk as normal.  Don’t let anyone think anything is wrong, alright?”  Steve’s hands moved to rub your shoulders comfortingly.  “If you seem on edge, the people working with Pierce are going to notice and that’ll tip them off.”  When he saw the way your hands were trembling, he added, “I’m going to make sure you’re safe.  I promise.”

His words seemed to soothe you as you took in a deep breath, nodding your head once.  With one final look at him, you opened the door and led him back towards the office. He could see Pierce through the glass doors, his arms crossed over his chest as glared out the window.  Your desk was right off to the side of the doors and you shot him one last worried look before taking your seat.

“Everything will be okay,” he said, even though it was a promise he didn’t know he could keep.  All Steve Rogers knew in that moment was that he needed to protect you.  You, this beautiful, wonderful woman who risked a lot for the good of others.

If he wasn’t currently about to make a run for it, he’d even consider asking you on a date.

When he stepped back into the office, Alexander Pierce’s beady eyes fixed on him immediately, though he quickly looked down at the coffee stain still on his suit.  “I thought Y/N was helping you with that,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“Her Tide stick ran out,” Steve said quickly, grateful that he’d seen Pepper with the little contraption enough times to know what it did.  “Really, it’s no problem.”

He didn’t seemed pleased despite his explanation, taking off his glasses and peering at them before putting them back on.  “So, about our discussion—”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about Nick Fury or why he was in my apartment,” the blond interrupted, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.  “If you don’t mind,” he said, motioning towards the door.  “I have plans.”

“You have a date or something, Rogers?”

“Something.”

Pierce laughed, the sound harsh and cold.  “Steve Rogers on a date.  I’d say it’s about time, but I doubt there’s a lot of people in your age range looking to date, am I right?”  He smirked as he took in the man’s appearance.  “But you might want to leave the shield at home.”

Steve hoped his grimace came out as more of a smile, and he nodded.  “Yeah, right.”  He reached out and shook the man’s hand.  “I’ll sure I’ll see you soon, Pierce.”

“I’m sure you will, Rogers,” the older man said, his grip a little tighter than what could be considered necessary, though he didn’t notice since he had super soldier strength.

The blond exited the office, nodding at you in acknowledgement.  It seemed to be enough as he watched your shoulders relax just a bit.  But as he headed towards the elevator, he suddenly became aware of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team filing in with him, lead by Brock Rumlow.

“Before we start, does anyone want to get out?”

Steve wasn’t sure how he got himself into the situations. Bucky always used to say he went looking for trouble, but he’d actually been trying to stay out of it lately and somehow he still ended up in a mess.  He didn’t start his day planning on taking out the entire S.T.R.I.K.E. team and then jumping out the window but sometimes things happen.

He had just crashed through the roof of one of the buildings of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters when he heard your voice.

“STEVE!”

His head turned, a rush running through him as he saw you running from the elevator.  You still had on your heels and your pencil skirt, yet didn’t seem to care as you ran towards him.  “Y/N, what are you doing?!” He asked as he ran to you.

You pressed a set of keys into his hand, squeezing it tightly.  “Your bike.” Your cheeks were flushed, your hair in slight disarray as you stood in front of him, and fuck, you looked so beautiful.  “Go.”  When he didn’t move, you pushed at him, trying to get him to snap out of whatever stupor he was in.  “GO!”

“This might be a bad time and might sound weird,” he said quickly as he stared down at you with radiant blue eyes.  He was completely captivated by you.  Your beauty, your bravery, your desire to do good even if it cost you everything.  All of it. “But I think you might be my soulmate.”

“If you get out of here alive, I’ll let you take me on a date,” you said, before pushing at him again.  But there was a little bit of mirth in your eyes as your hands pressed against his chest, fully aware that if he didn’t want to move he wouldn’t.  Trying to move him was like trying to move a mountain.

A smile spread across his face as he nodded, running towards the exit.  But as he neared the exit he turned so he was running backwards.  You were still standing in the same place, seemingly not caring that a horde of S.H.I.E.L.D.—or HYDRA, he wasn’t sure if there was any difference now—agents were running towards you, guns up and ready to fire.  “I’M HOLDING YOU TO THAT!”

“I’m counting on it!”

[makeste]

BnHA Bonus Diversion: Horikoshi’s Sketches

of all the things I could have spent time writing a post about on my morning off, it ended up being this. but in my defense, Horikoshi’s sketches are actually amazing and this was kind of overdue.

so! as you may know, Horikoshi Kouhei frequently gets bored and doodle-y and is then kind enough to share the resulting drawings with us. sketchy boi. but not sketchy like that. though he did invent Mineta so maybe a little. 

anyway, because he’s so disgustingly talented, these pictures are usually amazing. and there are a lot of them. when I finally got around to doing this post, I ran a search for “Horikoshi sketches” and it turned out there was a whole wiki page dedicated just to them (god bless whoever is running the BnHA wiki, they do such a good job). and, well...

two hundred and eighty-eight. you may recognize this as being nearly fifty more than the current number of chapters. this would mean he’s releasing at least one sketch a week and has been doing so for the past five years! fortunately (for me, who has to do a recap of all these), this number is slightly misleading, as this page apparently includes some of the character sketches he did for the volume omakes. so I don’t have to go through 300 sketches omfg. but still, there are a lot! so I’ll just go through them and post my favorites and see how many we can get through in this post I guess.

these are all in alphabetical order according to their file names on the wiki, and like I said, I’m not doing all of them, just the ones that catch my eye the most. which is still a ton of them. honestly we’re about to find out whether tumblr text posts have image limits. (ETA: the limit does not exist!)

right off the bat we are getting off to a great start! love me the ladies of class 1-A. these girls are all so, so valid. I love how Deku is there too and his hair is transforming into a tree or something.

this is a sketch from chapter 10. this cat I guess just came up to them and they were like “...” and the cat was like “...” and long story short they’ve been like this now for a whole hour. meanwhile Aizawa is wondering where his cat has gone.

why are they dressed like it’s world war I. ??

holy fuck this cat. did it eat the other cat. anyway do you guys think Momo and Todoroki were walking to school together because that’s some cute shit omg. we know there is a cat that hangs out around Shouto’s house, so he’s probably good at playing with stray cats, and they probably really like him because he is calm and kind.

holy shit.

oh my god I need Tsuyu’s siblings to come visit the dorms at U.A. and play with Eri!! now.

posting this one because it’s cute, but also because it notably has nothing at all to do with the actual chapter 120. but that’s okay.

what, and I mean this sincerely, the fuck.

are they making chocolate?? you know, canonically we haven’t actually had a Valentine’s Day yet in the series, and now I’m really hoping we get a little mini plot. things that would happen:

every single girl makes chocolate for Todoroki and he just accepts it very politely and obliviously.

they actually make enough chocolate for everyone (except Mineta. and honestly they would have, except they know how that’s gonna go down, and no. Tsuyu really would have made you some pity chocolate dawg, but you brought this on yourself). but don’t end up giving it to everyone. specifically several of them thought better about giving some to Bakugou after seeing him react to the first unlucky person to give him some (y’all know that song I THREW IT ON THE GROUND by the Lonely Island? I’m sure you can understand my meaning here). and also Jirou gets way too flustered about giving some to Kaminari and chickens out. she gives it to Momo instead. hmmMMMM.

Satou also makes chocolate for everyone, EVEN BAKUGOU, and it’s delicious. no one is throwing his chocolate on the ground.

Aoyama makes chocolate for Deku because!!  ☆ ☆ WE ARE FRIENDS, MON AMI  ☆  ☆  ☆ oui oui baguette.

I love everything about this, but especially Ochako’s face. she’s just like. sincerely trying to figure out exactly where she went wrong.

excuse the fuck out of me but DID HORIKOSHI SERIOUSLY HINT AT THE FUCKING A-BAND A WHOLE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY CHAPTERS BEFORE IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. omfg. “what a cute AU!” “yes... AU,” Horikoshi agrees, nodding to himself. although after giving it some thought, he made the wise decision to switch Kaminari and Bakugou’s instruments. because we all know Bakugou was born to play the drums.

NO!!! VIDEO GAMES!!! IN CLASS!!!!!!!! [does a fucking aerial while emitting furious little huffs and bitchslapping Kirishima in the face]

I can’t figure out what’s going on in this picture. it appears to be baseball, except that Bakugou doesn’t have a bat. which I guess is the joke?? because his quirk is so strong he doesn’t need the fucking bat? except that I feel like that would result in either a broken arm or a blown-up baseball. idk this would make more sense with him as the pitcher.

“we really do love this AU, Horikoshi-sensei.” “yes... AU.”

this time it’s Shouji on the drums. I get that we all want to see Bakugou shred guitar, but it feels like he was just postponing the inevitable.

a full 85 chapters before he actually did this in the manga. god he really does enjoy foreshadowing with these things. I need to start paying more attention to these.

I have no words.

actually I do have words, and they are, “is that a fucking toothbrush.”

also is it just me or does he look, like, really swole in this pic. like, this is what the scarf has been hiding the whole time?? here we all thought he was a beanpole who subsisted off of energy bars and plain rice, but like. nope.

:) showing that there’s no hard feelings about the whole shooting-you-in-the-fucking-face thing. All Might is squeezing his hand awfully tightly, though.

all of them are so good-looking when they’re not trying. and then they open their mouths.

I am pained that there hasn’t at least been a karaoke chapter in one of the light novels yet, guys. pained. I NEED THIS.

holy fuck Todoroki. what are you, a mermaid?? I feel like this is a result of a prank gone wrong. like the other guys were sick of the girls always pining after him, and so they tried rubbing a balloon on his head in an effort to make him look ridiculous, only IT BACKFIRED COMPLETELY. shit.

fuck me I love this. of course Kami blowdries his hair and puts a ridiculous amount of effort into achieving the same kind of boyishly tousled look Todoroki is JUST NATURALLY BORN WITH. some things in life just aren’t fair. also lmao Deku.

oh my god. how are they all so cute. this was from episode 12 btw. you’re welcome for saving your life All Might.

I don’t have the slightest idea wtf is going on here but omg.

this was for episode 16 of the anime, a.k.a. the obstacle course episode of the Sports Festival arc in season 2. I can’t read what they’re saying, but I’ll tell you what, I know Bakugou is being a rude little shit and I’m here for it.

SHINSOUUUUUU. this was for episode 20. his one and only appearance in the anime so far. he knows he’s here for a good time not a long time.

lmao. my headcanon is that Monoma actually ended up losing after this, but somehow still managed to be smug about it.

lmaoooo. Kacchan refusing to even acknowledge that this is a thing that is happening for some reason.

HAWKS DID YOU REALLY KILL THIS MAN. COME ON OUT HERE I JUST WANT TO TALK.

I feel like taming Deku’s hair is arguably even more of a feat than taming Bakugou’s. meanwhile Iida looks 90% the same. and Todoroki is. well. just goes to show that this look is not for just anyone.

I have never in my life seen Katsuki so full on just done with life. like he is so fucking over this shit. he’s just rolled over and accepted it. I have never seen Bakugou fucking Katsuki just sigh and be all, “you know what, this might as well happen.” not until this moment. wow.

you guys I’m crying.

is it just me or do the little matroyshka dolls actually look like little nun Jeanists. though the hair swoosh is going the wrong way. Monomas, maybe.

HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS? my god, how useful would Shouji’s quirk be for this sort of thing. and Shouto looks so surprised (on like, a Todoroki scale) to have actually caught something. oh my god. so fucking cute. c’mere you. someone needs a hair ruffle.

I feel like this is how Tokoyami would want to be remembered. yes I know he’s not dead.

oh my god. so I’ve seen this one floating around on tumblr, but like. ffff. it’s my favorite ever. they are. so. fucking. cute. both looking up to All Might. and then the contrast between their innocent happy faces and their shocked and worried expressions watching All Might at Kamino. god it fucking destroys me. all four of these kids need hugs goddammit. the older ones because they’re heartbroken, and the little bubbas just because they’re so stinkin’ cute omfg.

I LOVE HER AND I’M NOT SORRY. please Horikoshi give me more Bakufam in this upcoming arc. who do I have to bribe or threaten.

STRANGER DANGER omg. Toga no. that’s not nice.

Horikoshi what did my heart ever do to you for you to treat it like this.

villain Iida from episode 7 holy fuck I’m dying.

here come the New Year’s sketches! I’ve been looking forward to these. Kacchan photo strategy: never look directly at the camera.

I wonder which animal year 2016 was. rooster, probably.

fucking look at Todoroki fucking Shouto stuffing his face yet again. can you stop chewing for one fucking second. we’re trying to take a picture you slob.

the year is 2018. Horikoshi Kouhei attempts to draw a dog, because it’s the year of the fucking dog. it does not go well. panicked, he takes the All Might he’s already started drawing, and for some reason attempts to turn it into another dog. it goes even worse. now he’s really starting to sweat. “oh shit,” he whispers, drawing Deku upside-down in his unrest. “oh fuck.” finally he just draws Bakugou shouting the words HAPPY NEW YEAR in giant letters across the screen, hoping that’ll be enough to distract everyone from all the rest of it. it is not.

oh my god. thank you so much to everyone who went to SDCC and made him so happy. this is the purest thing I’ve ever seen. also loving Bakugou tolerating the shit out of All Might leaning on him omg. I’m so fucking weak for this as always.

this is Horikoshi’s most recent sketch! lookit, he’s so happy with the toy him omg. it actually is really badass.

league of dorks. I love Toga’s face. and how Horikoshi clearly put more effort into drawing Tomura’s Face Hand than the entire rest of the picture.

I don’t understand a single element of this. wow. also this is twice now that Horikoshi has drawn the fucking Predator in these sketches. just pointing that out. of all the films to make multiple references to. what’s going on here. and is Mineta playing the fucking little sister in Totoro. am I losing my fucking mind.

this was for the season 3 premiere. I love how Bakugou and Deku are wrestling for control of the screen. but he knows better than to touch Mineta I guess.

Iida and Ochako are the only two reacting appropriately here. Bakugou just looks concerned. to be fair I guess that’s appropriate too. but Deku is all “fuck YEAH All Might you go ahead and SMASH YOUR FACE RIGHT THROUGH THAT MONITOR” and I feel like his blanket approval of all his mentor’s actions has finally gone too far.

this just goes to show you that even a very simple sketch concept can pay off dividends if you play your cards right. good job Horikoshi.

he could run faster if he just pulled his fucking pants up. does anyone have any brain cells to spare for my son here. please he needs them. I don’t know what he thinks a belt is actually for...?

hello this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and also is Kirishima doing the kage bunshin pose from Naruto or.

sob Aizawa I’m dead. I fucking love how Mineta is like HE’S CLEARLY FINE IT WAS A FLOP as though Kirishima is not literally covered in fucking grape balls. something else I also love is that Katsuki is number 10 and Deku is number 11. even in a soccer match he can’t stand to be lower then his rival sob. also Ochako is straight up about to rip off Mina’s head jesus christ girl run.

there aren’t even words for how much I ship this. just emotions. omg.

this is one of those pictures that keeps getting more wtf the longer you stare at it. naturally your eyes are drawn to Todoroki’s reindeer antlers first. by contrast, Ochako looks relatively normal, even with the odd pose. but then you notice Deku’s Christmas tree hair. from there your eyes are drawn down to his strange lack of a shirt. and then, finally, you spot him. Tokoyami. you wonder if the mangaka has finally gone too far. you’re still not sure.

for once it’s not Todoroki who’s leaping into action with his mouth full. never one to back down from a challenge, Bakugou has picked the absolute least practical food to consume whilst in the middle of battling. I can barely eat spaghetti without making a mess when I’m not throwing down. I’m not sure what a good food to eat while throwing down would be, but maybe something more portable, like a calzone.

I feel drawn to him the same way one might be drawn to a stray cat, even though you’re pretty sure the cat is really wary of people and will probably try to claw or bite you if you get too close. I would like to pat him on the head, but he might try to blow me up. eh, worth it.

look at the Baku Protection Squad trying to do some fucking Abbey Road thing. damn you can really see how short Tokoyami is in this. also Bakugou buys pants that are at least three sizes too big I s2g.

and that’s it! anyways, this was fun as heck. I’ve bookmarked Horikoshi’s Twitter now so I can keep up with the new sketches as they’re released. this is fucking great, and a whole new bonus to being caught up with the manga that I haven’t been appreciating until now. fucking love it.

[freakie-deakie]

Hyunjin // If We Let Go (Part 2)

Guys oh my gosh I didn't think you were gonna like the first part so much and all the positive responses made me so happy I just 😭🙏❤️💕💓💞 tyty I love you all sm

Okay so this was originally a one shot, but I decided to make it into a mini series. I feel like this chapter is a little slow, but I've already started on the next one I promise it gets more exciting. I hope you enjoy it~💕

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Hyunjin x Reader (angst mini series // 3k words)

There was a soft knock at his door, drawing Jeongin's attention back to the outside world after several hours of appreciated solitary confinement. It felt nice for him to blow off some steam through listening to music and napping in his familiar area. His roommates didn't even bother him, which felt like a rare blessing that grew from roots of pity, but he'd take solace in quietness wherever he could find it.

"Do you..." Chan's voice faded away as he gathered his thoughts. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he tried. "I made breakfast for us."

Bang Chan didn't make breakfast for everyone in the shared apartment. Part of him wanted to, and to have everyone eat together when morning came, thinking maybe it would dispell some tension between his teammates. The other part of him knew that it wouldn't work. Even if he had cooked for eight, Felix having been absent and at your aid, many of the members didn't want to look at each other after the bomb had been so casually dropped into yesterday's conversation.

Jeongin's refreshing period of isolation was probably the only reason he didn't get instantly defensive, yet it still hadn't drained his habit of sarcastically shrugging off serious situations.

"You mean about how I totally embarrassed myself and let everyone know about my crush on my friend's ex?" He laughed bitterly. "Thanks hyung, but I'm good."

A sigh could be heard through the thin wood that separated them. "I'm gonna come in," Chan spoke softly.

Before he could even jiggle the door handle, the youngest was already out of bed and holding the door shut. "Hyung, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget it."

"Let's talk for just a minute," Chan bargained. "Please."

There was a moment if silence and contemplation on both sides of the door. It was so fragile that it was eventually broken by only a soft huff and a click, the younger swiftly opening the door, pulling his older brother inside, and closing it once more.

"Felix is gonna stay with Y/N until things settle down a little bit but-" Chan cut himself off when he saw Jeongin's eyes start to squint to hold back tears. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He was quickly at his side, pulling his head to his shoulder in a masculine attempt of comfort. The other could have cared less about his masculinity at that moment as he wrapped his arms around his hyung's torso as tightly as his unsteady muscles could let him hold on to someone.

"How could someone be so cruel?" he begged the answer. "And why did I have to say that? I kept it a secret for so long, why did I have to say it at the worst time, in front of everyone?"

Chan held the back of the younger's head, wrapping his spare arm around him to pat his back. "I don't know what they were thinking, honestly."

"I really like her," Jeongin confessed. "I want her to be happy. Why are they so unfair to her? And she'll never know how unfair they've been. It's not fair," he cried, pushing his face harder into the other's shoulder, focusing on trying to keep his breathing under control. Chan mentally noted that Jeongin was still unaware that Y/N had heard the majority of the conversation that took place as he had stormed off before they'd detected her presence.

"I know," Chan soothed, running his hand over the baby hairs at the base of Jeongin's neck. "I know."

•

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bacy," Felix taunted, moving the plate of fresh cooked breakfast foods under your nose, approximately half of your body being draped off the side of your cramped couch. He shook you lightly, trying once more. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty~"

Your eyes fluttered open, still feeling heavy and bound by the seal of dried tears. "You're too good to me," you croaked, slowly sitting up and taking in your surroundings.

"Someone has to be," he commented sideways. There was a small pause before you both broke out into a series of awkward chuckles. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," you agreed.

"Aish, I'm sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit." He put your plate in your lap and went to fetch his own.

When he sat down, he slowly placed a bite of egg in his mouth, eyeing every one of your movements closely as you ate, acting as if he expected you to break down at any moment. He wanted to talk, hoping venting would help you, but he had no idea how to start a conversation about-

"Maybe I'll just become a lesbian," you stated simply, popping a grape in your mouth.

He choked on his bite, holding a hand to the base of his throat and coughing. 'I guess that's one way to do it.'

"I mean, I find girls attractive. Like, maybe not as in I'm attracted to them, but I'm not blind. Who knows, maybe I'll end up gay? Women seem so much easier. Like, I know what a girl wants, 'cause I am one. I don't know how to play my cards with guys. I don't understand how much care I can give them before it hurts their stupid dick-pride, or how much care I can ask for before I get annoying and needy-"

"I'm gonna have to stop you right there." He glared at you from your side. He knew you had a tendency to hide your feelings with twisted humor, laced with self depreciation. "You're not annoying or needy. You just had a bad apple for a boyfriend."

You sighed, laughing with void emotion. "I don't know.. I don't wanna dwell on this."

"It hasn't even been a day. No one will judge you if you take some time to heal-"

"I've had plenty of time. Time is a virtue. In the time I've had, I decided I want to forget everything. Close a chapter, get a fresh start."

"You've literally been awake for like two minutes."

"And in those two minutes I decided to become a lesbian and not care that giving someone four months of my undivided love and attention was only for a bet because my significant other was actually repulsed by me. Look at me, gettin' on with my life."

"Look, Hyunj-" he stopped himself when he saw your eyes flicker with petty anger. "The guy was undeniably a brainless dick, but like you said, up his. So now, self-care. And self-care starts with talking out the things you need to talk out to prevent bottling. I know this because I watched a lot of Dr. Phill."

You poked his leg with your fork, earning a yelp. "I'm not bottling, I'm just being the bigger person and letting go."

You both ate in silence until your brain formulated another question. You were about to ask, but Felix confessed before he even knew you were on the same page.

"By the way, I had to pick your lock last night. I got the door open, low-key might have broken your handle though. Someone is bringing your purse later."

You eyed him with such false disgust that he gave you one of his own biscuits as an apology.

You laughed lightly, putting it back on his plate and standing, done with your own. You dropped it off by your sink and rewrapped yourself in your comforter.

Felix finished eating just in enough time to move his plate from his lap to the coffee table and allow you to take its place.

"I don't wanna cry on you," you chuckled, tears coming back to your eyes. "I don't wanna be weak; but if you don't leave, I'm going to."

Yet again, Felix tried another not-well-timed joke to sooth you. "Well you just laid on me, fatty. I don't really have an option now, do I?" More tears threatened to spill from your eyes at that. You buried your face in his chest, a small sniffle escaping you. "I'm sorry, that was mean. And it's not true, you're beautiful and I want you to cry on me."

"Do you think that's why he didn't like me? Because I'm-"

"Don't you even call yourself fat." He looked down at you, his hand that wasn't holding you up and rubbing your back threatening to flick your forehead. "Or clingy, or needy. Sure, you sometimes one-eighty your emotions, but that's part of your perfection. You're perfect; it's that dick that needs some serious readjustments."

You softly hit his chest, chuckling to yourself as your face continued to become a fully functioning water park. "Shh, this ain't about your opinions. Just let me rant." He removed your hand from his chest and held it, his thumb running over the back of it.

"I want you to rant in a healthy way then. No self deprecation, understand?" You pitifully nodded, wiping at your eyes until the skin of your cheeks was raw.

"I don't wanna do this. I'm not good with talking through actual emotions. Can we just go lay in bed and watch movies? I think I wanna call in sick today anyways."

He gave you a couple of minutes to calm down before lifting you and stumbling to your bedroom. He plopped you on the bed and moved to get your laptop. "The Lion King, Frozen, The Lone Ranger? What are you in the mood for."

"Fifty Shades," you said just to tip him off.

"My Little Pony it is."

•

The first thing Hyunjin did when he got up was stretch and check his messages out of habit. But there were none.

On any normal day, the group chat would have been being spammed with the names of Spanish foods beginning with letters A through Z, or an argument about which horse breed is the best. If not that, there was always your message waiting in his in-box. Today, there was nothing.

His room was empty, too. He figured his roommates had probably crashed with someone else.

He rolled out of his bed, slipping his feet into his slippers and straightening his pajama-bottoms. Scratching the back of his neck, he padded down the hallway and into the kitchen. There was nobody.

Everything was eerily quiet.

He found two plates of food on the stove top, but as no one in the dorms had ever made breakfast for all of them, he knew their owners would return for them soon. He poured himself cereal and sat at the counter.

Low and behold, he was right. As he scrolled through media pages on his phone, two bodies joined him in the kitchen. One, the baby of the group with tears running down his face, his red puffy eyes being more than enough to make Hyunjin freeze and rest his spoon in his bowl and phone on the counter. Neither, though both noticing his presence, decided to acknowledge him.

"Jeongin.." Hyunjin tried. The maknae didn't turn to him, taking his plate from Chan and heading towards the door, the leader right behind him. "Jeongin, what's wrong?"

"Screw off, hyung."

Being the responsible figure in loco parentis, Chan obviously wasn't in support of his members fighting. Tension only made everything more horrible, from tight living conditions to an already stressful work environment. At the same time, he felt Hyunjin deserved to hear those words. He still deeply cared about him, and didn't want him to think badly of himself, but he wasn't against someone telling him to reevaluate himself.

Hyunjin received the silent treatment from the majority of his members all week. Others involved in the scandal hid away in their rooms most of the time. Felix had come home, but refused to sleep in the same room as Jisung, opting to sleep in the couch instead. You hadn't reached out to any of them since you kicked Felix out of your apartment so you could cry in peace. Most of you found yourselves drowning in work to avoid the problem that resided between you all.

All lines of communication were too quiet. Not even the members texted each other. Social silence.

And so, for the third time, Felix finds himself picking the lock on your door. A sigh of relief fell off his lips when a soft click and low creek alerted him that he now had safe entry.

He slipped inside, passing the kitchenette and into the living area. He found you sprawled out on the sofa, catching Z's while anime played in the background.

Upon further investigation, he discovered your bed made, not a wrinkle in it's sheets, and two empty boxes of microwavable popcorn. The trashcan was overflowing with butter lined bags that smelled of (favorite seasoning), the smell so far past being intensely olfactible that he gagged.

There weren't any used dishes laying around, aside from the mug of a suspicious liquid on the coffee table in front of you and the half eaten bowl of popcorn ready to slip out of your grasp.

On your work desk sat a completed stack of papers that stood impossibly high for a stack of papers. 'She's overworking herself.'

He shook his head, closing the door and making his way back towards the entrance to your kitchen. He was going to break your unhealthy food cycle that consisted of popcorn and what he assumed to be some sort of caffeine. He started at an ungodly hour, seeing as he was going to be cooking for a decently large group of people.

--a few hours--

When you woke up, you didn't even clock the other people in your house. You pulled yourself off of the couch and slumped to the bathroom.

"Wow, she looks like death," Changbin commented to the boy at his side who sipped his coffee and nodded.

When you finished your business, you washed your hands and looked in the mirror. Your hair was distraught, clothes disheveled, and skin under the attack of a light break out.

Groaning, you turned on the shower to let it heat up and ungraceful stumbled out to turn on the coffee machine. It wasn't until you had passed them and noticed the already made coffee that you noticed the six boys who resided in your kitchen and were watching every one of your movements closely.

Changbin and Chan sat at your island bar, Jeongin leaning most of his weight on the prior. Woojin stood by the cabinets, and Seungmin leaned in the fake marble countertop. The artificial ginger with the thick accent stood over the stove, a spatula hovering above the scrambled eggs.

You all looked at each other.

Silence.

Awkward silence.

"Well, uhm," you started, trying to gather your thoughts before your mouth ran off and left you behind. At least, you tried to but all you could really process was the fact that you looked like an absolute mess and you had no idea why there were people in your apartment. "Since you already started the coffee, I guess I'm gonna hit the shower," you said quietly, holding up a peace sign and backing out of the open space.

When you returned, everyone ate in uncomfortable banter, most of which was praising Felix for his cooking skills. Finally, you got around to asking, "So why are you guys here?"

They looked at one another with confusion. "You sent us all messages last night telling us to visit you today," voiced the leader. Felix's mouth stretched into a wide, impossibly-missed grin.

"You little snake," you said, narrowing your eyes at the boy who sat across from you. "I gave you my phone password for emergencies! How did you even get my- Did you break into my house again?"

"This was an emergency," he whined. "We miss you! We want to make you happy. And you needed to eat something that wasn't junk food."

You huffed, sticking another bite in your mouth. "You're such a worrywart. I'm fine."

"Y/N," Changbin cut in, "we're never gonna stop worrying about you."

Breakfast continued, eventually falling into more inviting idle chat about anything and everything that was not involving the tree people who were missing from the crowd. Afterwards, four of the boys excused themselves for work.

"Jeongin, Felix, it's cool if you two want to stay or go home since you recorded your parts yesterday."

You chuckled at the hard working men standing by your door. "You guys really still have to work on your days off?"

Chan sent a wink in your direction. "We'll sleep when we're dead, babygirl. Don't worry about us."

"Speak for yourself, hyung. I need my naps," Seungmin butted in.

"We're off to the studio if you need anything," Woojin restated before walking his children out the door.

You played video games for a while with the two that were left. After a while, you ended up just watching them because you were still moderately tired from pulling late nights. Work had been drowning recently, but it made for a good escape, almost convincing you to stop swimming away from it. Almost convincing you to sink.

A couple of weeks went by like that. Working, working, working, spending time with Felix, working, working, spending time with Jeongin, working, working, being occasionally visited or checked in on by one of your friends that didn't stab you in the back, working, working, and more working.

You unintentionally used work as a way to distance yourself from everyone. You voluntarily let your job as a(n) (occupation) consume you. You didn't have time to worry about your boys, or boys in general. You didn't have time to remember that you loved someone who had bet against you or that one of his best friends had admitted to liking you in the fire of the moment.

It felt like heaven to have none of that be relevant anymore.

But it was more than relevant to Hyunjin, who was now missing a surprisingly large piece of his day.

You.

Even he couldn't believe how long it took him to come around to the idea that you were important to him.

[gukyi]

moonlight melody (ii.) | jjk

summary: when your loving best friend playfully pranks you one too many times, you decide that revenge is best served hot, over a period of thirty days, and with a little extra help from the best violinist you know (sorry jimin).

or, the one where during your month-long vacation in italy with your youth orchestra, you realize that vengeance is sweet but fake dating jungkook is sweeter.

{fake dating!au, university orchestra!au, vacation!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader word count: 25k (still sorry mobile users) genre: fluff, minor angst warnings: more obnoxious slow burn. lots of comparing jungkook to famous italian renaissance artwork. characters being oblivious. the usual in your fake dating lineup. the beautiful image of hoseok wearing bright yellow shorts with green polka dots. a/n: i said a week, i actually meant a week and a day. here she is, folks. this fic is straight up 104 pages in my google doc, what a beast. is this the monster or am i? the world will never know. big thanks to everyone who’s been waiting so patiently for this fic!! you guys are the reason i even finished it. im now going to hole myself up in my room and watch my concert vids.  edit (4.16.20): the very wonderful @jtrbluv​ made this incredible playlist for this fic and i can’t recommend listening to it enough!!!!! please put this on while you read <3

part one | part two (finale)

The first thing that Seokjin says when your train pulls into the Santa Lucia station in Venice is, “if I don’t become an Instagram model and make thousands of dollars off of tea detoxes and teeth-whitening products after this trip, then I don’t want to hear it.”

The first thing that Yoongi says when your train pulls into the Santa Lucia station is, “You have fifty-three followers and all of them are fake accounts you made to follow yourself.”

Seokjin gasps, appalled at such an accusation thrown his way. “How dare you challenge my integrity, my honor, and my dignity.” He asks like a presidential candidate being insulted during a televised public debate. The comparison honestly isn’t that far off.

“You had any of those to begin with?” Jimin mutters under his breath, but it’s loud enough for everyone within a five feet radius of him to hear it. Taehyung chokes back something between a bark of laughter and a snort, and winks when Seokjin turns his head around to glare at him both threateningly and affectionately.

“Okay, second of all, fuck you,” Seokjin spits out, the resolve of the aforementioned presidential candidate shattering. Though, with any hint at how politics is turning out these days, you suppose swears probably aren’t off the table just yet.

Namjoon scrunches up his nose, looking as lost as he always is. “What happened to the first of all?” Seokjin shrugs because it’s incredibly clear that he has no idea where the first part went either.

“Feels like just yesterday we were in Rome,” Taehyung muses to himself, false-nostalgia tainting his tone. He looks thoughtfully up to the sky as if reflecting on past memories.

“It was yesterday,” Hoseok interrupts. “In fact, it was this morning, too.”

“Did. I. Stutter.” Taehyung says sharply without turning his head. Perhaps he would look a little more menacing if he didn’t have this absolutely horrendous sunburn decorating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, making him look more like a Strawberry Shortcake character than a university student. It doesn’t help that his shirt is almost comically frilly. He looks like he walked right off of a high fashion runway.

You barely notice Jungkook coming up behind you, suitcase and violin in hand. He touches your side to get your attention, and when you turn to him you make no effort to fight the smile that grows on your face. His being always seems to lighten up your mood.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Bang wants to give us this week off to explore Venice on our own,” he whispers, out of earshot of everyone else. You know that the second Jimin is going to hear this he’s going to beat his chest and holler like Tarzan. Jungkook knows better than to speak loudly.

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. Even if you are all college students you are, quite frankly, shocked that Bang would give you that much freedom. A whole week all to yourselves? It sounds like a recipe for disaster, but everyone always says to try new things.

“Seriously,” Jungkook confirms with a nod. “I think Bang’s gotten so sick of us that he’s willing to let us loose like animals for a week so he can recover his lost brain cells.”

You hum in agreement, Jungkook’s suspicion probably not that far off. A middle-aged man can only take so much from fifty college students before he is driven off the edge. You don’t blame Bang in the slightest, especially because on your last night in Rome, it took seven of you to convince Taehyung not to sneak into Bang’s room and write the entire Bee Movie script on the complimentary notepad. You are wholly unsurprised that Taehyung still has at least the first 300 words memorized.

“We don’t have any performances here, do we?” You ask Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head, purses his lips. “Don’t think so. They start back up in Florence.”

It’s hard to think about Florence, now that you’re here. But Florence is only a week away and then you only have about ten days there before your trip is over, your time is up and you have to board a plane back home. It feels so far away and yet at the same time, you know that it is right at your doorstep.

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “I’m surprised Bang didn’t schedule any.”

“I will bet you all of my college tuition that Bang organized this trip so he would have this week of peace right in the middle of all the chaos. The eye of the storm.”

“Are we the storm, Jungkook?” You ask even if you already know the answer.

Next to you, it seems that Jimin has convinced Hoseok to play his newest piece out loud, and so Hoseok’s grainy rap blares through his grainy speakers as everyone hoots and hollers. You are pretty sure that Taehyung is doing every outdated dance he can think of to the beat, crying out in enthusiasm at Hoseok’s song. It’s a good song, you’ll admit that much. If this were a movie, then some agent or music producer would coincidentally be walking by, hear Hoseok’s song, and offer him a prestigious record deal right on the spot. Instead, the only passersby are disgruntled tourists who frown as they pass your rambunctious crew, shaking their heads to themselves.

Jungkook nods. “We’re the storm.”

You wish you could say you were shocked.

Bang rounds everybody up at the lobby of the hotel you’re staying at, not necessarily one of those chain lodgings but also not a tiny alleyway of a place. Behind you, you can hear Jimin and Taehyung plotting to steal Seokjin’s clean underwear. Boys are disgusting.

“Okay, everyone,” Bang announces with a clap of his hands, loud like the beat of a snare drum. “As you may already know, I don’t have any performances planned for this week in Venice.”

Small gasps and very loud whispers break out throughout the orchestra. Jungkook reaches down, and for a second you think he’s going to grab your hand, but instead he pinches the side of your shirt and makes you squeak, much to the disruption of everyone else. As the blood rushes to your cheeks you give Jungkook a heavy shove, your upper body strength from all that cello-lifting paying off when he stumbles slightly. Fucker.

“And I am making the slightly-unsettling decision to give you all this week off to do what you please,” Bang continues, and so do the gasps. You can hear the smack of skin that signifies a high five, and turn around to find Jimin wincing slightly as he caresses his reddened palm. Next to him, Taehyung grins, almost proudly. “Nothing is planned save for a couple of small things closer to the end of our stay here in Venice, so you all have until then to do what you wish.” He eyes Taehyung and Jimin suspiciously. “Please don’t make me regret this decision.”

And even if Taehyung and Jimin are orchestral hooligans at best, you know that they’ll keep on Bang’s good side.

Bang ends his announcement there and goes to speak with the hotel staff to check in.

Namjoon clasps his hands together as the seven of you turn to face him, waiting for his next move. “Now that Bang’s not going to be breathing down our necks, I say that we take our time in Venice to go—”

“Sightseeing.”

“Drinking.”

Seokjin and Yoongi glare at each other.

“Uh, I was going to say we go and explore, but alright, I guess,” Namjoon says tentatively. “I think that we should divide up into two groups just to make travel a little easier, though. I don’t think the water taxis outside can handle eight fully-grown college students.”

“Well,” Taehyung interrupts. “Seven fully-grown college students and Yoongi.”

Yoongi tweaks Taehyung’s nipple in retaliation, eliciting something between a hiccup and a squeak from the latter.

“Okay, I call Namjoon,” Jimin announces, latching himself onto Namjoon’s arm. The process feels eerily similar to when you had to pick groups for projects in high school.

“I call Jimin,” Taehyung mimics, and suddenly Namjoon’s got himself an entire conga line on his arm. He sends something of a pained look Yoongi’s way, and you’re pretty sure that it is out of pity that he joins Namjoon’s group, leaving you with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Seokjin.

“Have fun losing all of your brain cells, fuckers,” Seokjin teases. Namjoon’s face, if possible, becomes even more distorted.

“Bold of you to assume I had any of those to begin with,” Taehyung responds cheekily, just the right amount of self-deprecation evident in his voice. “At least we’re not stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird McLovebirdson.”

“Excuse you?” You say, only mildly offended that Taehyung would tack a name such as that onto you and Jungkook’s relationship or whatever the hell it is that the two of you have going on.

“Leave him, Thumper,” Jungkook says with a fond smile. Taehyung glares at him suspiciously. “He’s just teasing you.”

“You’re the only one allowed to do that,” you say with a pout, making Jungkook poke a pointer finger into your chipmunk cheeks.

“Is that right, Thumper?” He asks with a smirk.

Seokjin huffs out a sigh. He looks about as pained as Namjoon, but for an entirely different reason. With a groan, he asks, “Anyone willing to trade?”

The films that romanticize early mornings in foreign countries and strolls along cobblestone alleys are bold-faced lies, that’s what they are. They are ridden with the sweet, deceitful art of movie-magic and morphed into constructions designed to appeal to the losers in their bedrooms watching them on their shitty Windows laptops. They are anything but the truth.

It is six in the morning when Jeon Soyeon is shaking you awake, and six-thirty in the morning when a certain fake boyfriend is outside your door, a guilty grin on his face.

“Care to explain why I’m up at the ass-crack of dawn, Jungkook?” You ask with a single raised, eyebrow, tapping your foot impatiently with your hand resting on the side of the open door.

“Okay, first of all, the sun rose like, an hour ago, so I don’t wanna hear it,” Jungkook points out. “Second of all, Seokjin and Hoseok said that they’d meet us in San Marco at eight, so I thought we could grab breakfast together.”

“Did you text Soyeon and ask her to wake me up for you?” You continue to interrogate, paying little attention to the plans at hand that Jungkook’s suggested.

Jungkook smiles guiltily. “I wanted to surprise you?” He says it more like it’s a question that he’s asking you rather than something akin to a romantic statement.

You turn your head around to sneer at Soyeon, who is honestly too kind to be blackmailed into doing Jungkook’s dirty work. She’s pretending not to listen to your conversation, whistling loudly to herself as she stares at the corner of your hotel room, acting natural. You know you won’t be getting any direct eye contact from her before you leave for the day, so you exchange the glare on your face for a sigh, looking back to Jungkook. He’s looking as hopeful as ever, though you have a sneaking suspicion he already knows you won’t turn him down.

“Fine,” you relent, rolling your eyes. You grab your mini backpack from where it rests against the television stand/dresser hybrid. “You owe Soyeon a gelato for getting her to do this for you.”

“Believe me, I know,” Jungkook says with a nod, clicking his tongue and sending a finger gun Soyeon’s way. She grins in response, waving wildly to the both of you. At least someone’s getting something out of this ridiculous deal. “Come on, we better go before Bang catches us up this early.”

And this is how you land up at a small Venetian café far from any major tourist sites after stumbling around the slowly-waking city. The tourists aren’t awake yet, the busy streets aren’t filled yet, and it feels sort of like this is your everyday reality: a coffee in the morning on a sidestreet in Venice with your boyfriend. Well. Almost boyfriend. Very close to being a real boyfriend boyfriend. Fake boyfriend.

“You ever crave something disgustingly unhealthy for breakfast?” Jungkook asks as he digs into his breakfast pastry, berry-colored jam leaking from the sides.

“As in?”

“Some healthy, hearty Shin ramen.”

“Don’t tell me you eat that for breakfast,” you say in slightly horror, looking up at Jungkook. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of ramen for meals, but at least you tend you gravitate towards granola bars for most of your morning meals.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead choosing to grimace as his answer.

“That is absolutely horrifying,” you tell him.

“It does a fantastic job of waking you up, that I can confirm,” Jungkook tells you, pointing at you with the spoon by his untouched caffé latte. You told Jungkook he could just order a hot chocolate since he hated coffee anyway, but the latte was barely two Euros and Jungkook honestly panicked at the last second. You feel bad, because he’s wasted his money either way, so he might as well do it on something he’ll enjoy.

“If you won’t drink your latte, can I have it?” You ask tentatively, motioning to it. Nothing like a good bit of caffeine in the morning to get you ready for action.

Jungkook nods, almost too enthusiastically, even going so far as to push the saucer towards you, the pattern in the cup swishing with the movement. “Sure, go ahead.”

You take his cup and bring it to your lips, sipping softly as the hot liquid runs down your tongue, stinging your taste buds just the right amount. Your group doesn’t have too much on your itinerary for today, which must be the reason why he’s so resigned, so laid back. Or perhaps that’s just his normal disposition. Regardless, watching Jungkook as he plays around on his phone distracts you enough while you’re drinking to give you an awful foam moustache, much to Jungkook’s enjoyment.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jungkook says as you’re reaching for your napkin. “Let me take a picture of you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself. “Must you?”

Jungkook’s adamant. “Yes. I don’t have a single photo of you on my phone and we’ve just spent the last week and a half in Italy.”

“So the first one has to be of me with a coffee moustache?”

“You look cute!” Jungkook insists.

You scoff. “I beg to differ.”

“The more you talk the more your moustache fades,” Jungkook tells you with a pout. “C’mon, Thumper, please?”

You resign. “Quickly.”

Jungkook silently fist-pumps the air before snapping a photo of your pout. The moment his camera begins to lower you wipe off the remains of your coffee moustache with your finger, sticking it in your mouth to finish the job. You paid money for this thing. Actually, he paid money for this thing. And you’re not going to let it go to waste either way.

“See? Cute,” Jungkook says, shoving his iPhone in your face to reveal your glowing, coffee moustache-laden grin as his lockscreen, visible to anybody who turns on his phone and swipes left to spam his camera roll. You have to admit, even with the unflattering view Jungkook’s knack for photography still shines through. The photo looks much better than anything you could ever do. “You look great, Thumper. Lockscreen-worthy.”

“Can you explain to me where the Thumper came from? I feel like I never got the memo,” you ask, the thought just popping into your head. The nickname is endearing, sure, much more so than something basic like “baby” or “angel” and much less greasy than “darling” or “sweetheart”, but you’re not exactly sure where it came from. Not that you’re complaining.

“When your cheeks puff up,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of pastry, “you look like Thumper from Bambi. You know, the rabbit. The resemblance is, quite frankly, uncanny.”

“You’re saying I look like a cartoon bunny.”

“In a cute way!” Jungkook emphasizes. And then, softly, “You should know by now that I think everything you do is cute, Y/N.” Jungkook says it like he’s discussing the weather, taking another bite of his breakfast.

You pause, parted lips slowly sealing themselves as you sink back in your chair.

You didn’t know that at all.

Piazza San Marco has already begun to overflow with tourists by the time you and Jungkook arrive, seeking out familiar faces. The conversation from earlier is almost entirely forgotten, save for you. Sometimes, in fake relationships, you’re starting to think you prefer it when everything is a lie rather than hearing the truth come out.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is as normal as ever, tugging you with your hand in his own when he spots Seokjin and his bright red baseball cap, worn backwards like a frat boy. You can only hope that he’s got SPF 100 on his face, because the sun already seems to be burning right through the pavement. Hoseok has on his terrible shorts. Maybe you should stare into the sun, go blind just so you don’t have to lay your eyes on those monstrosities. Permanent retina damage doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“I cannot believe you are wearing those,” you say when you walk up to them, staring Hoseok’s shorts down. He flaunts them, feeds off of your disgust. They look just as awful now as they did in eighth grade. Not much has really changed since then. Maybe your heights.

“Were you under the impression that I wouldn’t?” Hoseok challenges, posing a valid question. Perhaps Hoseok packed them just to spite you at eleven at night, three hours before you had to go to the airport, but he also definitely fully intended on wearing them, and now, here you are.

You narrow your eyes. “Touché.”

“What are we doing today, Less Important ‘Seok?” Hoseok asks enthusiastically, hands on his hips like a superhero from a cartoon. He turns to Seokjin with a grin on his face like he didn’t just send him a thinly-veiled insult, one that takes Seokjin approximately five seconds to process.

Then Seokjin says, “Excuse me?”

And Hoseok smiles.

“I say we go explore,” Jungkook suggests, adjusting the straps of his backpack. He’s got luggage locks on the damn zippers like the world’s most cautious tourist, but you find the neon green locks quite endearing. Nothing like the fluorescent color of a Sharpie highlighter to deter those pesky pickpockets. “Today’s a great day for all of those Instagram shots you want.”

Seokjin seems to perk up at that idea. “Nice, brand deals here I come,” he says, rubbing his hands together evil-villain-style.

“I could really use some photos for my portfolio,” Jungkook says, sort of like an aside.

“You’re making a portfolio?” You ask him, curious. It’s incredible, that Jungkook has so many projects going on at once, so many talents that he’s already refined, perfected. You can barely walk in a straight line, sober.

“Yeah,” Jungkook tells you softly, hand reaching up to tug on the camera strap around his neck. “To remember the, uh, the trip. It’s very picturesque here.”

Seokjin’s loud voice interrupts the both of you, shifting to see him standing in the center of the piazza with a peace sign by his face. “If it’s so picturesque then why am I not being photographed for my very first sponsorship?” He shouts, motioning to Jungkook’s camera like a CEO standing at the top of a skyscraper, watching down at his minions doing his dirty work. If Seokjin, God forbid, ever became Instagram famous, you know that all of you would end up suffering. He would hold his follower count over your heads for everything.

Jungkook sighs, pressing the silver button on his camera without even bringing it up to eye level to peer into the screen, haphazardly clicking away after making an educated guess as to the lens view. He’s either right on the money or currently taking about ten shots of Seokjin’s knees and nothing else. Either way they are Instagram-worthy.

Seokjin takes absolutely no notice of the fact that Jungkook is half-assing his photos and moves back towards the group after about thirty seconds of random camera-clicking, satisfied. You wonder why Hoseok always has it out for you with his outlandish pranks when you are almost certain that Seokjin is infinitely more gullible than you in every sense of the word. There have been multiple occasions during in which Seokjin has searched for his glasses, only to find out that they were not only on his head, he was also wearing them.

“Okay, the sun is shining, the clouds are gone, it’s only marginally burning temperatures, which means that we are going to avoid every tourist attraction in this city for the entire day,” you declare, clapping your hands together. Nothing sounds truly more awful than marching around a densely-packed part of town with no air conditioning and a million other people with a million other body heats.

“Dude, I’m sweating just standing here,” Hoseok says, taking his grossly-fluorescent visor off of his head and fanning himself with it.

“We could probably alleviate that problem by moving into the side streets, which are shaded,” you say.

Jungkook chuckles, but the lot of you are already moving out of Piazza San Marco, veering towards the nearest side street that you can find, eyes scanning for shade. “Emphasis on the word ‘probably,’” he jokes, an entirely valid statement because even in the shade you can feel the sweat running down your back.

Even without the use of water travel, you manage to find some pretty spectacular places within walking distance. Venice is like playing legato notes in an allegro piece, the kind of city where you hold onto each moment for as long as you can even though your days there are numbered, even though the fast pace of your travel will catch up to you eventually. Bang always reminds the orchestra that you can’t cut legato notes short otherwise they just become mundane, average notes. That’s Venice.

There is no method to your madness, if you could even call it that. Without the pressure to see all of the tourist sites at once, time limits and schedules entirely vacant, you are not walking around Venice so much as you are strolling around Venice, taking in the scenery and landscape without a rush to be anywhere at all.

You would almost imagine that it would be just you and Jungkook together, hand-in-hand as you waltz down the pavement in a gorgeous foreign city, if it weren’t for Hoseok cracking jokes next to you and Seokjin stopping your entire group every block in order to snag another photo. Not that you can really blame him any more, now that you think about it. You’d want to remember as much of this trip as possible too.

“We’re gonna get back to the hotel and I’m gonna plug in my camera and every single photo is going to be Seokjin with a peace sign in front of his face,” Jungkook tells you in mock exasperation, rolling his eyes as Seokjin beckons him over towards a piece of street art that he wants a photo in front of. It’s a very tasteful street art image, an incredibly bright red stack of buildings with a face coming out of it. You laugh at Jungkook’s expense, because that’s what he gets for being a kind, giving, and photographically talented individual.

The two of them prance over to pose in front of the wall as Hoseok and you stay back, hanging around on the opposite side of the street.

“Y/N,” Hoseok says, nudging your side. His voice is soft, muted, meaning that he’s about to tell you something he doesn’t want the other two to know about. “You and Jungkook seem to really enjoy each other’s company.”

You scoff, a little concerned about what direction this conversation is about to go to. “Why wouldn’t we? We’re dating.” Fake dating.

“Well,” Hoseok says hesitantly. “I mean, you’ve barely ever spoken to each other prior to this trip but after you guys got off the plane it just… it seemed like you were happier. You know? Especially this past week in Rome, and now. You just seem really happy.”

“Am I typically unhappy?” You ask with your eyebrows raised.

“No, not like that,” Hoseok says. He lets out a big sigh and keeps his eyes trained on Seokjin and Jungkook, who are still fooling around across the street. “You just seem to really like him. I’m glad.”

You keep silent. For a split second, you feel guilty again, guilty that you’re tricking your best friend into thinking that something so real, so genuine, is a sham.

“I’m glad he’s making you happy,” Hoseok continues, and as bad as it sounds, you want your best friend to shut up and stop talking. Stop saying these things because they make you feel bad and confused and worried all at once. “You deserve someone like Jungkook.” And, as if that isn’t enough, he says, “He looks like he loves you a lot.”

Does he really?

It’s then that Hoseok straightens out his posture and returns to his smiling self as Jungkook and Seokjin make their way over, giggling about something stupid that you didn’t notice. You wonder if Seokjin got some good photos, but then you realize that with Jungkook, they won’t be anything less than perfect.

(Jungkook looks gorgeous when he giggles. His nose scrunches up and his eyes crinkle and he laughs like he doesn’t know how to stop laughing.)

“Ready to go, Thumper?” Jungkook asks, reaching a hand out. You take it without a shadow of a doubt. It’s strange. It’s beginning to feel like it belongs there.

“Where to next?” You ask, facing a crossroads. Each way leads down a different path, one that could lead you somewhere else, but that’s the beauty of it all.

Jungkook grins. “Anywhere.”

You make a vow to yourself that you’ll come back to Italy when you’re rich and famous and can afford to splurge on ten thousand dollar Dior dresses and fast passes to the biggest attractions, but even as a college student with an exponentially increasing amount of student loans and about four dollars and thirty-three cents in your bank account you know that there are some things that you just have to do in Italy.

One of which being a gondola tour.

“You know,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly with his mouth filled with some sort of unnamed pastry with jam, “the gondola tours are 100% not worth your time. You’d do better just walking around yourself.”

The eight of you are gathered at the same café that you and Jungkook found on your first full day here, far from any tourist traps and bustling morning crowds. The old lady who seems to be the only employee speaks very little English, but even though you, a youth orchestra group in which none of you speak Italian, are her only customers at such an early morning hour, she is making a wonderful effort at communicating with you.

Namjoon has already picked up the vernacular of the region. No big deal.

“Okay Mr. I Spent Fifty Euros on the Doge’s Palace,” Hoseok mocks pointedly, drinking his latte with a very unappealing slurp. “Stop being such a hater.”

“In Namjoon’s defense, it’s called the Doge’s Palace,” Taehyung points out.

“Yes, because a hallmark of Venetian Gothic architecture and its rich history have anything to do with a deceased meme from five years ago,” Yoongi deadpans, downing another one of those tiny little espresso shots like it’s nothing. It travels down his esophagus and lights everything on fire along the way and he doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Doge may be dead in our minds but he will live on in our hearts,” Taehyung preaches.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns back to you, the genius who had the idea of an overpriced gondola tour for the four of you in the first place. “They’re overpriced, overrated, and severely underwhelming,” he continues like some politician trying to convince you to join his cause against overpriced gondola tours for the sake of his campaign. Since when did he become the end-all be-all of tour guides? He bought that one travel book on Venice and suddenly he thinks he’s—

“I don’t know, I thought it was a good idea,” Jungkook adds in, swinging an arm over your shoulder as moral support.

Taehyung frowns. “That’s because you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Jungkook chuckles at that, but you can tell that it’s forced and awkward and uncomfortable from the way his body stiffens beside yours and the way his eyes begin to dart around. He must feel just as guilty as you about this whole arrangement, grimacing at the way everyone thinks he’s in love with you.

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

“Very funny,” Jungkook says with a glare to his best friend.

Taehyung winks.

“Listen, if you guys wanna spend your money that way, be my guest,” Namjoon says, resigning his argument. It’s very clear that his debate skills will only get him so far when he’s trying to utilize them with a group of college youths in a foreign country very recently hopped up on caffeine. “But it’ll be a waste of your money.”

Hoseok scoffs. “We’re in Italy on a school-sponsored trip and we already have thousands of dollars in debt because the American banking system is ass,” he reasons. “What’s a couple more dollars going to do?”

To that, everyone cheers.

The last time you were on a boat, you had accompanied Hoseok’s family on his annual fishing trip during spring break when the both of you were twelve. Against both of your better judgement, you and Hoseok climbed into his father’s kayak to boat around the lake that your lodging rested up against despite the fact that neither of you knew how to kayak. Five minutes later the both of you were held up by your lifejackets as the kayak floated away, unmanned, far out of reach as the both of you tread the freezing cold water. It’s one of your fondest memories.

It’s been six years since you were on a boat and the uneasy, queasy feeling you receive from being on one still hasn’t faded. In fact, it seems to be amplified now that you are surrounded by new friends who haven’t seen you throw up before, unlike Hoseok.

Granted, a gondola is kind of the Venetian dream, when you think about it. The kind of activity that everyone in the movies does whenever they visit Venice, and soft violin music is playing in the background as an unnamed man steers the main character and their love interest and everything is romantic and soft and not at all sweaty and crowded.

This is not a Venetian dream. It’s more like a Venetian reality.

Seokjin and Hoseok have been bickering for the past ten minutes on the correct way to put on a lifejacket when neither of them are wearing theirs correctly, and your fake boyfriend is paying you hardly any attention because his face has been stuck in his camera ever since you boarded. The added cushioning is causing sweat to dribble down your back in droplets, turning the part where your shorts meet your t-shirt into a damp, uncomfortable mess. This kind of sucks and yet, you don’t think you’d rather be anywhere else.

Seokjin sighs, looking towards the back row, where you and Jungkook are sitting. He’s got one arm wrapped around your waist—you feel bad because his hand is most definitely damp from your sweat—and the other is holding his camera up to his eye, snapping as many photos as he can as the boat travels down the water, like he’s going to make some stop-motion animation film. “You guys are so lucky,” he says.

“Us?” You ask, confused.

“When I’m rich and famous I want to bring my significant other here and get a gondola tour and travel the city together, and you guys get to do it even though you are neither rich nor famous,” Seokjin declares, exasperated, envious of whatever the hell you and Jungkook have. “This is like, a prime love location.”

“Yeah, because you’d know anything about love,” Hoseok says with a taunting sneer. “Pretty sure the only girl in your life is your bassoon.”

“Talk about her behind my back all you want, but do not insult Bessy in front of me,” Seokjin says, a hard glare etched on his face. The expression makes Hoseok double over in laughter. You’re almost 100% sure that if it were socially acceptable, Seokjin would sleep with his bassoon every night just to make sure it was warm and protected. You know, like a sentient being. Except it’s a wooden instrument. With keys that can bend very, very easily.

“You and your bassoon can suck my ass,” Hoseok continues just to be unbearable. You know Seokjin isn’t taking what he says to the heart, but it doesn’t stop the older from reaching over to ruffle Hoseok’s hair. You swear you can see droplets of maroon sweat fall from his locks as Seokjin gives them a good shake.

“You guys are some lucky motherfuckers, I hope you know that,” Seokjin says, pointing to the both of you accusingly. He’s got something in between a fond look and a sneer on his face. You know he means nothing but the best.

Jungkook pulls you in for a side hug, your body squishing against the heat of his own for a brief second before he lets go. “What can I say, you’re a catch, Thumper.” He presses a sweat-laden kiss to your cheek, but the touch of his lips on your skin no longer catches you off guard. In fact, it’s almost like you were waiting for the next time he would kiss you. Almost.

“I think I might throw up and not from seasickness,” Hoseok says with the most horrified look on his face.

You turn to Jungkook, only to find him grinning unbearably wide, a sun of a smile on his face as he looks down at you. Looks at you like he’s spent all this money just so he could be in a gondola with you in Venice, not for any of the sights along the way. His camera’s still held up in his hand but he’s no longer clicking away, instead savoring the view right in front of him. You can’t imagine what sort of otherworldly acting skills Jungkook might have if he’s able to see some façade of beauty in your sweaty, heat-stricken body, but you suppose that anything’s a stretch at this point. You’re already head-deep into this fake dating thing. How much further can you go?

“Oh!” Seokjin gasps aloud. “The lighting is perfect here! Quick, Jungkook, take a photo of me!” Immediately the man strikes a perfectly constructed pose, pretending to look off into the unknown distance with his head turned away from the camera, faking a candid photo to the soft sloshing of the water against the boat. Seokjin, quite frankly, looks ridiculous, but you have to admit that the light gives him a sort of heavenly glow. One that will probably translate very well on Instagram.

“He’s right, Thumper,” Jungkook says, bringing his camera up to his eye. “The lighting is perfect.”

And without warning, suddenly Jungkook is turning himself ninety degrees and snapping a photo of you before you can stop him, the fond smile on your face too slow to be erased before the camera click goes off.

“Jungkook!” You hiss.

“What?” He asks defensively. Seokjin’s still posing with his head facing away from the camera, and so he’s been totally bamboozled into thinking that Jungkook is snapping photos of him. Hoseok seems to have noticed this fact, and is trying to muffle his laughter as best as he can without giving it all away. “The lighting really is perfect.”

“I look and feel like a pile of sweat in a plastic bag,” you tell him like it’s obvious that he should have noticed how truly disgusting you look. Even though you are by the water it feels like your body is burning from the inside out as a result of the blazing sun despite the copious amounts of sunscreen you’ve been layering on your body. Your hair is matted down and everything is sticky.

“Drifting through the wind?” Hoseok supplies unhelpfully, making you reach over and smack him.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook corrects, and he takes another photo, just for good measure. “I don’t have enough photos of you on my camera, Thumper. You’re my girlfriend and I’ve barely been taking pictures of you.”

“So?”

“‘So?’” Jungkook repeats. “Thumper, everything you do deserves to become a memory.”

For the rest of the day tour, Jungkook snaps countless photos of you, ones of you posing and ones of you caught off guard, refusing to stop despite Seokjin’s indignant cries of “I asked first!”. He says it’s because he doesn’t have enough on his camera, because of all the places you’ve been to in Italy thus far this is the one where he wants to remember you most.

You wish you were good at photography. Maybe then this whole fake-dating thing would seem a lot less fake.

When Yoongi suggested drinking as a legitimate activity that the eight of you did together while in Venice, he genuinely wasn’t kidding. Jungkook texts you after another long day of walking around and avoiding tourist sites together, skipping down side streets and eating big cups of gelato, while you’re fresh out of the shower in your room. The rest of the girls are all out, so this is the only time you can secure a nice wash other than a rather unholy two in the morning. You just want to decompress, maybe go out in a little for some bruschetta but nothing else, when you read:

going out tonight gonna crack open a lot of cold ones with all the bois

please come with taehyung really wants to try italian alcohol

And then, because you apparently have no choice when it comes to him:

dropping by ur room to pick u up in twenty minutes

Which leaves you twenty minutes to get dressed, dry your hair, and put on some makeup before Jungkook is knock, knock, knocking at your door. The only reason you’re even putting effort into your appearance for such an excursion is because said excursion is occurring at a time when the sun is not beating down your back, and therefore copious amounts of sweat are no longer a factor. Well. If Taehyung has a club in mind, then maybe copious amounts of sweat will be a factor. But that is a bridge you will burn when you get to it.

You don’t really know what nightclub life will be like in Italy, though you’re fairly certain sleazebags of the male specimen are probably a universal issue. Luckily, you’ve got yourself a very handy dandy fake boyfriend to rescue you should any trouble arise.

To be quite honest, you’re surprised that nobody in your group’s made any effort to legally acquire some booze beforehand. You’d think that they’d take advantage of the lower legal alcohol limit as soon as they set foot in the country, but it doesn’t seem to be very high on their list of priorities. That is, until now.

You have just finished adjusting the collar of your dress when Jungkook knocks on your door, the sound of his fist against the wood reverberating around your entire hotel room like an echo getting farther and farther away.

“No entourage?” You ask, surprised to see him standing alone. You’d been half-expecting him to knock on your door with the entire possy behind him, waiting. He’s been fidgeting, that much you can tell, by the way his hands have been clasped together and his right foot’s unnatural position towards the left one.

“Just me, Thumper,” Jungkook admits guiltily. “Ready to go?” He holds out his hand, warm palm waiting for your softer, rounder fingers to join with his long, slender ones.

“Nothing quite like getting drunk in Venice on a university-sponsored vacation,” you say in lieu of any sort of greeting. You figure that your hand intertwined with his is enough of a hello.

He grins. “If the entire world turns to shit, we can blame Taehyung.”

It seems like a good enough plan to you.

Speaking of the devil himself, you and Jungkook meet him and the rest of the bunch in the lobby. Taehyung’s got sunglasses on the head—even though it’s eight at night—for the aesthetic and a very nice satin shirt you are absolutely positive is going to be going into the garbage after tonight. Not that you have ever had any drunk experiences with any of them besides the occasional thing with Hoseok in high school (you drank together in your bedroom without your parents knowing, how scandalous), and even then it was in the comfort of your own home without much of a risk factor.

“You are going to lose those sunglasses so damn quick, Tae,” Jimin says as you walk out of the hotel, already beginning to scan the streets for the closest bar. He even makes a show of snatching them off Taehyung’s head, wearing them himself just for fun. Taehyung makes grabby hands and says some stupid insult about Jimin’s height as he retrieves them from Jimin’s nose bridge. “Last time you got drunk you lost your Epipen. Who the fuck brings an Epipen out to go drinking?”

Taehyung gasps. “You never know which places might have corn!”

“In their drinks?”

“Is Taehyung allergic to corn? Is that what I’m getting here?” You ask, leaning over to ask into Jungkook’s ear. Not that Taehyung wouldn’t answer you perfectly fine either, you just think he seems rather busy, bickering with Jimin and playing a game of capture the flag with his sunglasses that he’s wearing at night.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods. “But it’s like, just raw corn. The moment you cook it, he’s not allergic to it anymore.”

Not that you’re one to judge allergies or the people who have them, but Taehyung’s allergy is so specific that it fits him perfectly. Like, if nothing else, that is the most Taehyung thing about him. His allergy to raw corn.

“Hey! There’s a bar!” Seokjin shouts as you stumble across a little nook tucked away on one of the Venetian side streets, a wooden sign hanging above the open archway that reads BAR. Not many people are frequenting said joint, mostly because it’s a weekday at eight and literally nobody except people with a lot of free time (i.e. college tourists) go drinking on weekdays at eight.

You don’t rush into the bar per se, but the average speed of the group overall seems to increase before becoming a constant rate of significantly-faster-than-before as everyone gets to the bar, ready to live the dream of being zazzed in a foreign country to the highest degree possible. You know, even if you’ve never gotten drunk with him before, that Taehyung would immediately go up to the bartender and demand the strongest thing they have if the two spoke the same language. Unfortunately, Taehyung’s trapped looking at the chalkboard with fun chalk colors and hoping that his alcoholic beverage translations are accurate.

Not that any of the drinks would have raw corn in them to begin with.

For a particularly bustling city, even on a pretty average day, it surprises you that despite the date and time, there are only a couple of other patrons in the bar. Venice is busy every hour of every day, even if some times are more packed than the others, but your group makes up a hefty majority of the people in here. Rambunctious, boisterous college students who don’t know good alcohol from bad because all alcohol tastes the exact same flavor of instant regret.

Even still, Italians are known for their booze, and that is simply something you cannot escape while here. It doesn’t take much, just a bit of clambering to order, before you can already feel the liquid going to your brain, a haze settling in in your mind that doesn’t seem to be able to dissipate. Not that anyone else in your group is faring any better, because quite frankly, none of you seem to be able to hold down your alcohol well. Besides Namjoon, who is doing remarkably well.

Hoseok is draped over Seokjin’s back, unintelligible moans leaving his lips and fanning out on his shoulder. The heat makes Seokjin drunkenly try to toss ice cubes Hoseok’s way, but his aim is very unsurprisingly terrible. You’re almost positive Seokjin doesn’t have that kind of hand-eye coordination even when sober. Yoongi has struck up a wordless conversation with the bartender and seems to keep receiving drinks upon drinks, but they are very obviously watered down with soda and lime. Jimin is only the slightest bit of a disaster, but it is Taehyung that is slowly jumping off of his rocker.

The alcohol seems to have subdued Jungkook slightly, leaving him in the same mindless fog that you’re in. Neither of you know what’s just happened in the past five minutes but you know that you’re in Venice, and you know that you’re together.

And that’s really all that matters.

Taehyung is in the middle of a recreation of the Bee Movie script yet again, only he is reciting it dramatic monologue-style, meaning he’s about to collapse on the table as part of the theatrics of it all, when Namjoon suggests that you leave and start heading back. It’s late. The time feels like it’s passed too quickly. Jungkook is warm and the alcohol has given him a soft glow. He is gorgeous and you adore him, really adore him, only the slightest bit.

Even if Namjoon is definitely the most sober one out of all of you—something you admire, especially since over the course of the evening he certainly didn’t shy away from the drinks when given—none of you really know where you’re headed. Your cardinal directions have switched and the sun is already far below the horizon so you can’t figure them out. Namjoon’s phone is on three percent. The world is your oyster.

There is nothing quite like the fantasy of stumbling around a romantic, street-light-laden city like Venice while inebriated. Not to the point of any serious harm and certainly not enough to incapacitate you so severely that you’re incapable of any sort of basic function, but enough to have your head spinning and for all of the lights that decorate the streets to bleed together, like a photo out of focus. Enough for the world to seem a little bit happier even if nothing has changed, and even if there has just been a new political campaign designed to ruin the very foundation of democracy.

When in Venice. When life hands you an instrument, it is music that you must play.

Somehow, someway, you get lost. Not that you’re at all surprised by this since it took five minutes to get from the hotel to the bar and you’ve been clambering around Venice for at least fifteen. Somehow the direction your group has vanishes and it is like all hell breaks loose but nothing actually escapes. Jimin and Taehyung are in a constant state of giggles, laughing and laughing and laughing about something that nobody else will find funny. Namjoon has somehow been coerced into giving Yoongi a piggyback ride, and so he trudges along as Yoongi sucks on an ice cube from the plastic cup in his hand, wincing whenever the cold touches the back of his front teeth. Somehow, Seokjin and Hoseok haven’t ripped each other’s heads off and are instead engaged in a very serious game of drunk chopsticks, Hoseok continuously pulling the move where he splits up his one hand into two, just to bother the elder.

Somehow, Jungkook hasn’t let go of your hand. Not since when you left to go down to the lobby a couple of hours ago. This entire time you’ve been connected by a lifeline, your two hands interlocked between your bodies as you sip your margaritas and cocktails and pretend just for a second, that none of this is fabricated. Pretend that just for a little bit, when your brains are clogged and your hearts are beating, that there is no big reveal at the end of this trip to devastate your friends, no messy breakup you have to stage all for the act. That Jungkook can be Jungkook and you can be you and the us, whatever us it is that you have, can just be an us.

Somehow, after another eight minutes of walking (and three of Jimin yodelling) you find yourselves in, of all places, Piazza San Marco. The tourist traps are closed for the night but the view will never die, the sight of such a gorgeous location will forever hold the same beauty. Not that Piazza San Marco was your intended destination, but it certainly is a stunning one. One that even at night, when all of the visitors have gone back to their hotels and only the locals, free to roam as they please, are out for a nighttime stroll, takes your breath away.

“Hey, I recognize this place,” Hoseok points out mindlessly. He won the game of Chopsticks, and now Seokjin wants a rematch.

“Piazza Marco Polo,” Jimin tacks on incorrectly, too busy trying to wrap Taehyung up in his sleeves. So far Taehyung’s shirt is wholly intact and his glasses have made their way from the top of his head to the back of it, hanging off of his ears like a true college student.

“Gorgeous here,” Namjoon comments aloud, only one who can articulate such an admiration for the view while mildly hammered. He’s one of the lucky ones; the alcohol flows in and out of his system at the snap of his fingers. “Even at night. Gorgeous.”

“Imagine living here,” you add on just for some food for thought.

Living in Italy would be as much of a dream as you could imagine. A little apartment in the good side of town, top floor with no elevator or air conditioning. Dark red shutters and a soft breeze that blows through the windows. Street music playing from below, history right at your doorstep. Art museums with the world’s treasures only a fifteen minute walk away. The best cheese, wine, meat in the world, at your fingertips.

And then suddenly the dream changes. You blame it on your drunkenness before you can make out the new image in front of you. You’re still in Italy, still have that apartment in the good side of town with a soft breeze and maroon shutters. But there’s a figure standing by the tiny kitchen island. A violin case by the couch. There are Polaroids decorating the walls, each with scrawled dates underneath them. The figure turns around and it’s Jungkook. Suddenly the image is different, you are in Italy and you have an apartment and you eat the best cheese and drink the best wine and Jungkook is with you every step of the way. Almost like it would feel strange if he wasn’t. Like he belongs here.

There is art, and there is art.

There is art that the world has analyzed, stared right through the cracks in the paint. Art that is revered, honored, with plaques and Wikipedia pages and courses dedicated to them. Art that is meant to be shown off, boasted by museums as if to say “Look what we have”, art meant for the human to look at.

And there is art, art that the world has ignored. Hidden art, shadowed by the things that people recognize, that people know. Art that peeks in through the cracks in the paint and raises its hand softly to say that “I’m here. Don’t forget about me.” Art that is meant to sit in plain sight, right in front of you but never obtrusively. Art that moves with you.

There is Jungkook.

Lost in thought, you turn to find Jungkook sitting down on an empty step, swallowing heavily as his body slowly but surely rids itself of the alcohol. The haze is still there but no longer is it growing. Only settling.

“Hey,” you say softly, finding yourself getting down next to him. Jungkook’s eyes are transfixed on the stars. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not,” Jungkook says, swaying only the slightest bit. You could blame it on the wind if there was any. He keeps his gaze trained on the sky above. Not many stars are visible from here, the city lights keeping them hidden from his view, but you can make out a few. The lucky ones, not shadowed by the weight of human life.

“You are,” you insist, and he doesn’t fight it. “What kind of a fake girlfriend am I supposed to be when my fake boyfriend is drunk?”

Jungkook forces a chuckle before pausing. You don’t really expect him to answer. When you look back down, the rest of your group are charging around Piazza San Marco, so much free space that they don’t know what to do with themselves. If you squint, you think you can see Yoongi and Taehyung sparring. Or at least, Naruto-running towards each other.

“You don’t have to be my fake girlfriend,” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. You turn to him, caught off guard and surprised he even responded to you when you had spoken to him well over thirty seconds ago. “You could… we could—” You don’t understand. What’s he trying to say?

“Jungkook?” You ask, leaning in, hoping that his eyes will meet yours, even just for a second. He sounds like he’s about to spill out his deepest secrets, his darkest fears, to an unsuspecting stranger.

“Oh, God,” Jungkook says before he rushes to his feet and beelines to the nearest public trash can. You gasp to yourself, watching in horror as Jungkook leans over, body rocking back and forth. He doesn’t actually vomit, nothing comes out of his mouth, but it is the sight of such uneasiness that has you truly worried.

“Jungkook!” You should, getting up yourself and jogging over to him. He still has yet to empty any of the contents from his stomach out of his mouth, and as you reach him his body seems to slow, like the whole thing was just a false alarm in the first place. “Jungkook, are you okay?”

Jungkook looks up at you, and even if you are both shrouded in the darkness of the night you can tell that he’s embarrassed. But it’s like his entire demeanor just shifts, a volta in his personality, when he sees you, his shoulders lightening up and a soft grin breaking out onto his face. “Yeah, Thumper,” he says, promises, even as he stands next to a public trash can. You swear someone wolf whistles, but you are hardly paying attention. “I’m okay.”

Venice ends like this: for once, the skies are cloudy. Not that the overcast weather makes the temperature any less boiling, because even if the sun is gone the humidity remains. But the clouds are nice. You’re leaving on a Thursday, when all of the other tourists who are leaving on the weekend are still in the heat of their explorations around the area, desperate to cram in as much as they can in a three-day period.

Venice ends like this: even though you’ve seen Jungkook plenty since then, he hasn’t made a single mention of what happened that night in Piazza San Marco, and you aren’t going to press him on it any further than you did then. What Jungkook said that night was a fragment, pieces of an incomplete sentence that his brain couldn’t add the finishing touches to, not necessarily just because he was drunk but because it didn’t seem like he had the final words to say anyway. Venice ends with what you are certain are memory cards after memory cards of Seokjin and you in Jungkook’s possession. He could never really keep himself from pressing the silver button on his camera.

Venice ends like this: with an unfinished story on a cloudy day.

“Florence, here we come!” Seokjin shouts as everyone is rolling out of the hotel, ready to head to the train to take you all the way down south, the final destination on your trip.

It feels bizarre, calling it the last stop. The final place. Because you still have over a week there, but it’s the last over-a-week you’ll have in Italy, the last several days before you inevitably have to fly back home, a plane ride you are absolutely dreading. Italy is the kind of place that makes you wonder why you didn’t visit sooner. Florence is where all of the lasts will be, last gelato, last museum, last sidestreet. Last performance, last painting. The very last of your relationship with Jungkook, whatever behemoth of a fake relationship it’s turned into.

Time flies so quickly, and yet you feel as though the next week will pass by like molasses. A last week to savor the best and forget the worst. The last week you will have to spend walking around Italy with your hand in Jungkook’s, with him taking an unnecessary amount of photos of you, with him stealing your pasta and you sharing his pizza.

Lots of lasts. Lots of firsts, too. Everything is unfinished but this feels final, no matter what.

“Can’t believe we’ll be home in ten days,” Namjoon says, his words eliciting a grumble from the rest of the group, who refuse to face the truth until it knocks them square in the nose.

“Feels like just yesterday Yoongi destroyed his internal organs by downing multiple shots of espresso,” Taehyung reminisces like Yoongi’s nothing but a memory, a piece of the past.

“I’m right here, fucker,” Yoongi mutters, standing next to him with his flute in his hand.

“Sometimes I can still hear his voice…” Taehyung trails off, purposefully looking in the opposite direction from where the flutist is standing just to bother him more. Yoongi then proceeds to practically knock Taehyung right into Seokjin, who then shoves him back, leaving Taehyung caught in a push-and-shove sandwich as the two go back and forth like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

“Better make the most of this, right?” Jungkook asks to you as you slowly migrate from the hotel, saying goodbye to the staff as you shuffle out with your big suitcases and backpacks and instruments. You’re positive that the hotel employees are thrilled to be rid of you. “Only one place left.”

“So many things that we have to see there,” you say, already dreaming of the gorgeous artwork and the history-rich architecture that’s waiting for you a mere two hours by train away.

“Well,” Jungkook says somewhat haughtily. He can’t hold your hand because his are filled and so are yours, but he can nudge up against you, sticking close to your side, like he’s afraid that if he loses you he’ll never get you back. “We’ll just have to stick together, hmm?”

You think of Venice. And Rome. And the way that Jungkook can see the beauty in everything, the way he can capture it even better than he can view it. The way that with a simple change of degree the whole angle changes, the perspective alters and becomes something brand new but not any less beautiful. You think of Jungkook and you think that, if it’s your last week in Italy, you may as well milk this relationship dry while you still can. Before whatever comes after a fake relationship, be it friendship or that awkward limbo of acquaintances or barely acknowledging each other on the sidewalk. And even if you know that Jungkook is waiting for the day when you break up to come as well, you pray you won’t lose him to distance, to time. Pray, selfishly so, that he’ll stay close to you.

It is people like Jungkook, you recognize, that are people you need to cherish.

On the train, Hoseok and Jungkook play rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to claim the seat next to you. What’s funny about this round, however, is the fact that Hoseok puts out scissors three times in a row, making it easy for Jungkook to beat him and secure the spot right beside yours as his home for the next two hours. Hoseok had taken a psychology course in freshman year and his professor taught him the most foolproof way to win at rock-paper-scissors every time and Hoseok disregarded it entirely. Curious.

Jungkook, having very evidently not gotten enough sleep the night before, settles in down next to you before saying, “I’m tired, can I use you as a pillow?” He leaves no space for a response as he places his head in the crook of your neck and his eyes flutter shut.

Florence does not need photos to take your breath away. Florence steals your lungs right from your body, leaving you no room to even try. Cuts off your air supply from the source in order to leave you in a permanent state of awe, like you’ll never get used to a city like this.

Granted, you’re extremely excited just to be here, an enthusiastic puppy getting taken to its new home for the very first time. Not unlike the other two cities you’ve visited thus far, Florence is rich with art, history, culture, and you simply cannot wait until you dive head first into it all. Florence is the type of city that always has you on the edge of your seat, wanting more. A perpetual cliffhanger.

The nicest thing about the city is that everything is within thirty minutes of everything else. At no point in time will you need to hop onto some form of public transportation, whether it be a train, a taxi, a gondola. Nothing is truly off limits in Florence, not when you have so much time to spare. Florence is the city where you are meant to get lost, begin wandering down some side streets and lose your way entirely, because what is the beauty in the destination if you ignore the beauty in the journey?

“I was supposed to be saving my money for textbooks next year but fuck that shit!” Jimin cries out as you head down towards the Arno, making your way right towards Ponte Vecchio. Not that any of you have any intentions of buying jewelry that costs more than a mortgage, but you know that the stores along the main street that takes you there are worth your while. “Thank you illegal PDFs!”

“What the hell are you even going to buy?” Seokjin asks, looking Jimin up and down like a mannequin. “You already own like, one of every single clothing item in existence.”

“I reject this statement,” Jimin declares, but it’s no use. Seokjin’s right. Jimin seems to own everything despite what you know is a lack of funding in his bank account. He must go thrifting a lot. “I’ll figure out a way to spend my money, don’t shame me.”

“Think about it, Seok, how often you gonna get to go shopping in Italy?” Namjoon reasons, the peacemaker within the group.

Seokjin scoffs, as if that’s even a question he’s being asked. “Lots, obviously? Just gotta wait until my Instagram career takes off. Then I’ll be here every summer, bitches!”

Everyone laughs, partly because Seokjin’s enthusiasm is just genuinely amusing and partly because you all know that his Instagram career is going nowhere except the garbage. Things like that only happen to people with connections or people who are rich. Seokjin is neither, though he swears that he has a second cousin who’s a K-pop star. You aren’t necessarily sure if you believe him.

“Have fun melting your goddamn face off,” Jimin comments bitterly. His pointer finger and thumb are pinching the collar of his shirt as he fans it out in the hopes that he’ll cool down what must be burning skin underneath. Jimin’s got a casual dress shirt and shorts on and his sweat stains are quite honestly, record-breaking. You can’t imagine yourself to be any better. Simply walking on the concrete makes your body temperature rise something fierce and unrelenting. “It’s balls hot here.”

“It’s balls hot here everywhere, climate change is real,” Yoongi says snidely, though he isn’t faring much better. “This is what greenhouse gases are doing to our goddamn ecosystem.”

“I’m sorry?” Taehyung asks, and you already know that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to earn him some sort of physical response from Yoongi. “Global warming is a hoax created by China to steal American jobs. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Yoongi mutters even if the fondness peeks right through his words.

Fanning yourself as you beeline to the closest shaded part of the sidewalk, where the veranda offers a brief and weak respite from the blazing rays beating down on you, you heave out, “I could go for a water bottle. How about you Jungko—?” You turn to find the boy you thought had been walking right behind you gone, vanished into thin air. You know he couldn’t be far but the crowds on this road seem to be never-ending, and for a split second you’re worried you’ve lost him entirely.

“We lost Jungkook!” You shout to the rest of your friends, who are currently loitering outside a watch store as Jimin and Namjoon take a peek inside. They all shrug in response, none of them feeling any sort of a sense of urgency to find the boy. What if he’s been sucked into a black hole and none of you know because none of you bother to look for him?

“Of course we did!” Hoseok says, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “He’s probably taking photos in one of the alleys!”

“I’ll go get him!” You shout to them. Hoseok gives you a thumbs up before he caves and walks into the watch store, desperate for any sort of air conditioned haven that he can find, even if not for very long.

Walking against the current of the crowd, your eyes scan the smaller streets that jut out from the main one, searching for the boy with the camera. He must be down one of these, in no scenario would he ever stop in such a busy road to take photos. And then, near the very beginning of the downhill slope, you see a mop of dark hair and a camera.

“Jungkook!” You call, rushing over to him. He’s looking at some smaller works of street art, tiny little drawings on the sides of buildings and walls of political cartoons, lips, stick figures. They look like tattoos on the skin, each with a different meaning, spread out along an arm or a chest or a back. Little drawings that make up a bigger picture. “Jungkook, you disappeared on us!”

“I hate being in the sun,” he tells you, which, valid. You hate it too. Never have you hated that ball of fire in the sky more than this vacation. “And these drawings are amazing. Very quirky, would probably get accepted into a top college.”

“You can’t just vanish like that, you know,” you tell him pointedly. “It’s busy as shit here. We’d lose you. I’d lose you!”

Jungkook places a hand on his heart, feigning appreciation. “Aw, would my girlfriend miss me if I was gone?”

You barely take notice of the way the word “fake” has slipped from his mind.

(Maybe if you pretend it’s not there this time, you can pretend that it was never there to begin with.)

You scoff, rolling your eyes even if his words cause a little grin to break out on your face. Jungkook seems to have this permanent effect on you where, in his presence, you’ll always end up smiling. He’s just a wonderful person. Someone worth smiling for. “No, just don’t wanna be held liable for your disappearance. I’d have to pay your college tuition. Fuck that.”

“Ever the romantic, Thumper,” Jungkook says. His smile reaches his eyes, makes little wrinkles appear at the corners of them. People say wrinkles are bad but wrinkles are proof that you are living your life the right way: filled with laughter and joy. Finding something truly wonderful and being unabashed about your admiration for it. That’s how you’re supposed to live your life. “Say Firenze!”

Yet another classic Jungkook as he catches you off guard, quickly pulling up his camera and snapping a photo before you can object, the familiar click of the camera ringing out throughout the alley. You know what the photo looks like before he can show it to you, know exactly what it’s going to be before seeing it yourself. It’ll be you, standing in front of the conjunction between the alleyway and the main street, the perpendicularly-moving crowd an unfocused blur behind you. It’ll be you, clear as day, with the beginnings of a giggle on your face.

(You. In love with the man behind the camera.)

“That’s going into the portfolio for sure,” Jungkook declares as he quickly scans through his most recent takes. “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jeon,” you say as a warning, even if you know he’s right. In everything that Jungkook does he is improving, getting one step closer and closer to complete and utmost perfection. Jungkook is the kind of person God created and then realized that they were too close to immaculate, but it was too late, because he was already here. “Come on, we gotta meet up with the rest of them. Pretty sure Jimin’s about to drop all of his money on a watch.”

Jungkook sighs. “Not again.”

This time, when you walk into a clothing store, it isn’t one with articles that cost more than a car. Luckily. Meaning you can comfortably shop without your eyes widening comically when you look at the price tag. It’s another one of those movie fantasies, shopping in a visually, culturally, and historically breathtaking place like Italy. Another one of those silly tourist things you’ll do just for the hell of it.

You’re in the middle of inspecting a button-down shirt, one that is entirely asymmetrical in both its design and its pattern, with horizontal and vertical stripes crashing into each other, when Hoseok comes up to you with the most obscene shorts you have ever seen (save for his awful, awful denim ones). They are a fluorescent canary yellow, the color you would find in a Crayola box for elementary students, and they have bright green polka dots covering them. They’re horrifying, and yet, only Hoseok would ever be able to pull them off.

“What in tarnation,” you say, not so much a question as it is a gasp, eyebrows furrowing instantly as Hoseok holds up the offending article of clothing. It looks more like a very diseased banana than a piece of clothing.

“Aren’t these great?” He asks enthusiastically. “And they’re on sale!”

You wonder why. Maybe if you were back home, at your own shopping mall, you would tell him that he’s about as fashionable as a colorblind giraffe and that it would be a waste of his money, but you’re not back home. You’re in Italy, and if in Italy Hoseok wants to buy what may or may not be the ugliest pair of shorts you’ve ever laid eyes on, then, well, who are you to stop him?

“You know what, Hoseok?” You say, nodding your head in support. He deserves to treat himself, even if his tastes are questionable at best. “You do you.”

“Treat myself, bitch,” Hoseok says confidently, turning to face what you’re browsing through. It’s mindful shopping, not the same kind that you do back home, because you only have one chance to buy something nice. No returns, refunds, or exchanges. “What are you gonna get?”

“I don’t know. Something nice.”

“Way to be specific, Y/N,” Hoseok says sarcastically.

You scoff, accosted. “You have no right to be talking to me about fashion when you have those monstrosities in your hand.”

Hoseok gasps. “How dare you insult these shorts. They are now my pride and joy and I will always wear them around you just to spite you.”

“First of all, fuck you,” you spit out though there is no animosity to your words. Hoseok cackles before prancing off to find some other hideous items in the sale section hidden in the back corner, away from the customer’s view. Not without good reason, of course.

With your best friend gone, frolicking around the store’s lower level, you begin to migrate yourself, eyes scanning the racks and shelves and mannequins for something to catch your eye. For some reason you seem to have become pickier than before, as if the change in location suddenly altered your own taste when it came to shopping, like you’re being stingy because you know you can’t just up and return the items like you could elsewhere.

That is precisely when you feel a figure slide up next to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek to alert you of his presence.

“Hey, Thumper,” Jungkook says. “What do you think?”

Over his graphic tee, he’s got on a faux leather jacket, a sleek black material that looks much more expensive than it actually is. It fits him extremely well, hugs the biceps he’s gotten from so many years of violin-holding and perhaps a couple years of some devoted weightlifting as well, compliments his flawless figure and small waist. It looks great on him. You find it only a little strange that a store in Italy is selling a high-quality, thick leather jacket in the middle of summer.

“It doesn’t go with your shoes,” you tell him, looking down at the Jesus sandals look he’s sporting.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Aside from my shoes, what do you think?”

You can’t help but be honest. This relationship has turned you into one hell of a softie. “It looks great on you, Jungkook. Everything does.” It comes out kind of like a sigh, like it’s something he should already know, so why is he bothering asking you? Does he need you to tell him that he’s beautiful too?

“You really think so?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as he takes the jacket off, hanging it over one arm as he flattens it out.

“Well, after Hoseok came up to me with the Satan of shorts, everything in this store seems nicer than it really is,” you joke. Jungkook laughs knowingly, having obviously caught a glimpse of Hoseok and those demons while walking around as well. “But yeah, I’m serious. You should get it.”

“It’s a little expensive,” Jungkook says hesitantly, eyeing the price tag. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not worth it. It’s not even real leather.”

“So? Save a cow and get it,” you tell him. “You shouldn’t be scared of it. We’re in Italy. You’re with your youth orchestra group. I’m here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Words to live by.

Galileo Galilei once said that you must “measure what is measurable, and make measurable what is not so.” And you’ve lost count of the amount of times that Jungkook has pulled his hand into yours but you know that he’s kissed you on the cheek five times and you’ve seen him smile about as many times as there are stars in the sky. But what you cannot measure is your relationship with him. There is a contract written on a napkin somewhere but you wonder if he’s accidentally thrown it away while cleaning out his backpack, and you begin to wonder if you even care if he has. Galileo Galilei says that you need to make measurable what is not but you don’t know how you’re supposed to begin counting out your relationship with Jungkook when you yourself don’t even know how to define it. All of these numbers must add up to something but there is an unforeseen variable that you cannot solve for.

Galileo Galilei is a genius, but even still there are some unanswered questions.

On the edge of Florence and north of the Arno river is a smaller, less frequented church than the Duomo in the center called the Basilica de Santa Croce, and it is where Galileo is buried alongside people like Dante, Machiavelli, and Michelangelo. It is the deathbed of legends, of names permanently etched into history as shining stars, forgers of what is now the present. The Basilica de Santa Croce is not only an architectural wonder but it bears the names of some of the world’s most famous writers, philosophers, artists, leaders.

It just so happens to be your tourist stop of the day.

“That’s Dante!” Jimin shouts as you come up to the church, pointing towards the statue to the left of the main doors. Engraved in the stone is his name, Dante Alighieri. “He wrote that one book about hell.”

Namjoon looks as though he’s about to have an aneurysm with Jimin’s very obvious lack of deep and immense respect for not only the book but also the author behind it. You are willing to bet very good money that Namjoon poured out his heart, mind, and soul into the study of the book, whenever he was forced to read it during his mandated schooling. Coughing, he corrects, “He wrote the Divine Comedy, largely considered to be Italy’s greatest literary work, one of which features the poem Inferno. Yes.”

“That’s what I said,” Jimin says pointedly, making Namjoon sigh. You suppose that’s what he gets for easily being the only one in this entire group who’s somehow managed to retain the majority of his brain cells. You are actually quite impressed he hasn’t lost more considering how often he spends time with Taehyung.

“I’m really looking forward to this one,” Jungkook leans in to tell you as Namjoon doles out the tickets. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday and there is absolutely no line to enter, a shocking sight in a bustling tourist center like Florence. “Inferno was my favorite thing that I’ve ever read in all of high school. Knocked out Slaughterhouse-Five for the top spot.”

“Damn, what did Vonnegut ever do to deserve that, huh?” You joke, holding out your ticket for the guard waiting at the door to inspect. He gives a hearty yet stern nod and you and Jungkook walk inside. Ahead of you, Seokjin and Taehyung are already “ooh”-ing their way around the Basilica, much to the chagrin of literally everybody else. Hoseok’s already on his way to shushing them.

Jungkook loses his ability to speak when his eyes catch up with his mouth as he takes in the sight before him. Graves are littered throughout the entire building but shrines have been built into the walls, with messages and statues and marble decorating their designs. The people here deserve to be buried with such high distinction, revered so deeply not only by Italians of hundreds of centuries but by the whole world for their contributions to society, beliefs that have shaped the world as you know it.

You’d think he’d been rendered entirely speechless if it weren’t for the awe-stricken “Wow” to leave his mouth as he stares around the building, unable to focus his eyes all on one spot for there is simply too much to see. He doesn’t know where to turn but he does seem to be drifting towards Michelangelo’s tomb, a move you definitely saw coming considering the past two weeks spent here. Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung are busy looking at Machiavelli’s burial site, and a quick glance their way tells you that Namjoon is currently reciting all of Machiavelli’s greatest accomplishments as Jimin and Taehyung dumbly listen in. Hoseok and Yoongi are strolling around without a clear destination in sight, letting the grandeur of the place sink in. Seokjin has striked up a conversation with another group of Korean tourists, a family with two young children. They seem to be getting along incredibly well, and Seokjin even offers to take a photo.

“Never in a million years did I ever think I’d get to be here,” Jungkook tells you as you come up to Michelangelo’s tomb. A bust of the artists rests atop a stone coffin, and next to it, statues. “These women represent Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting,” he informs you, pointing to each respective statue. “His favorite things.”

“That’s—”

“It’s nerdy, I know,” Jungkook jokes, even if he continues to stare. He takes it all in like a breath of fresh air after being locked up for a year, lets it pierce his skin and melt into his bones. “I don’t know, I just think that he’s a genius.”

“It’s not nerdy,” you promise, equally as floored by the sight in front of you as well as beside you. Jungkook speaks like his passions aren’t worth being passionate about, but you think that he’s brilliant. “It’s really fucking cool, actually. The fact that you love this stuff so much, Jungkook. It’s incredible.”

“You think so?”

You nod. Knowledge is beauty and Jungkook is the most beautiful of them all.

Conveniently, right beside the Basilica de Santa Croce, on a road barely a five minute walk away, is a gelato store with an abundance of flavors to choose from. And it just so happens to be next on your list of places to visit, the overwhelming heat of Florence scorching your skin the moment you leave the blissful shade of the church.

On the Via Dei Neri there is a little gelato shop that bears the same name as the street, and when you arrive it is mostly empty, save for a couple of tourists who are seated in the plastic chairs in the corner of the store. Admittedly, the gelato here looks a lot more scrumptious than the thick, artificial flavors of Rome and Venice, beautiful colors and swirls decorating the tubs of the sweet.

“Wow, look!” Hoseok says, smacking your shoulder roughly as he points. “Mango cheesecake! And rice!”

“Rice?” Seokjin overhears, budging in. “Move over. My Asian ass is shaking.”

The one in Rome had over a hundred flavors but every single one of these look more delectable than any of the ones there. You can’t help but ache to taste each and every one, even if you know you’ll only be able to consume one or two before your stomach is filled to the brim.

This time, you are a little more giving with your blackberry and rose gelato, allowing Hoseok a single scoop of each with that tiny plastic spoon of his, letting him divulge into your gelato as you respectfully decline a bit of his own. He’s already attacked the entire surface area of the damn thing, and while mango cheesecake sounds delicious, Hoseok’s saliva, less so.

“It’s your loss,” he tells you over a mouthful of the dessert. He then proceeds to slurp up half of it like an animal starved. Your best friend is, quite frankly, disgusting.

“What’d you get,” Jungkook asks as he plops down heavily into the open seat next to you. You can hear the bone-shattering crash of something and peer under the table to find his phone lying face down on the floor. “Ah, fuck it. It’s already broken.” He shrugs carelessly and makes no move to retrieve his cellular device, much to your anxiety. You don’t know what he’s on but it’s certainly doing wonders for your fine lines.

“Blackberry and rose.”

“Oh, can I have some?” Jungkook asks hopefully. You sigh, resigning yourself to a life of letting all of the people close to you mooch off of your food, and hold out the cone to him. He helps himself to a small scoop of each flavor, humming in appreciation as he pops the whole thing into his mouth. “Mmm,” he says. “A rose by any other name would taste as sweet.”

“Nice wordplay,” you compliment dryly. “Let me have some of yours.”

“It’s mango,” he tells you, scooping some and holding it in front of your lips, ready to feed you. You comply instantly, opening your mouth to let him pop the spoon inside. And then, catching you off guard, he quickly takes a dollop on the tip of his finger and wipes it on your nose, much to your shock.

“Every fucking time we get gelato they’re at it again,” Jimin huffs when he sees the both of you giggling in the corner, retreating to the table where Seokjin and Yoongi sit, clearly trying to avoid looking your way so they don’t vomit up their gelato. “I think we’re gonna have to exile them from our gelato-scapades.”

“You know you don’t have to talk about us like we can’t hear you, right?” Jungkook asks pointedly.

“We know,” Jimin nods. “Go be gross elsewhere. I’m trying to stuff my face into the food of my culture.”

“Gelato is not the food of your culture,” Yoongi says. “We have the same fucking culture.”

“Ah ah ah,” Jimin says, shushing Yoongi with a finger to his lips. Yoongi, in retaliation, licks Jimin’s entire digit, but Jimin doesn’t even flinch. Like it’s normal for his finger to be licked by his friends. “This is rice gelato. Therefore, food of my culture.”

Seokjin, the biggest cone of rice-flavored gelato in his hand, high fives him.

Almost never does Bang receive enough credit for the work he puts into this orchestra. It’s his heart and soul and you are almost positive it’s the only thing he cares about, even if he’s spending the majority of his time sending glares Taehyung’s way. He’s the reason you’re even in Italy in the first place, and he is also the reason that you are currently standing in a line with tickets to enter Florence’s most famous art gallery instead of having to wait around for four hours in the blistering heat just for a spot in line.

“I pray to all of the higher powers above us and perhaps some demons as well just be sure that this place has air conditioning,” Taehyung declares as he attempts to fan himself with his ticket, the floppy piece of paper doing absolutely nothing for his body temperature. Even though you’re standing in the shade, covered by the shadow of the Uffizi, the heat is, quite frankly, still overwhelming.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Seokjin mutters. “The Lord works hard but the sun works harder.”

“Fuck that,” Taehyung grumbles, as if that’s going to do anything to calm the 500% humidity currently permeating the air.

“If you’re going to spend this entire trip complaining about the heat you’ll never be able to actually enjoy it,” Namjoon advises wisely, preferring to keep his obvious distaste for the weather to himself.

“That’s where you’re wrong, good sir,” Taehyung says, shooting Namjoon a finger gun alongside a wink. “I can complain about the heat and enjoy the trip at the same time. I’m a good multitasker.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. Taehyung’s always been like this.

The Uffizi, ironically enough, is shaped like a gigantic U, where you start at the very top floor of the museum and make your way around and down, slowly traipsing through room after room of stunning artwork, whether it be sculptures, paintings, and everything in between. You find the setup to be much more manageable than some of the other museums you’ve been to in your time as a museum aficionado, the layout easy to navigate and certain exhibits entirely unhidden.

More than once does Jungkook urge you to break away from your tour group and go exploring, and you almost cave in once or twice, but you understand that, between the two of you you are part of that select group of kids in your orchestra that don’t actually give Bang minor headaches, and therefore you should probably stay with your group, for Bang’s sake.

“This city is the birthplace of the Renaissance as we know it, please?” Jungkook asks, tugging on your arm as you enter another room filled entirely with stone sculptures and busts. You actually find his desire to abandon the tour group quite endearing, like he appreciates art so much he wants to explore it, admire it, cherish it in his own time, without having to keep up with the quick pace of the tour guide. It is something so unabashedly Jungkook, an unapologetic want to let the art sink in for himself without the crackly voice of a tour guide speaking into his ear.

“Jungkook, you know we shouldn’t,” you advise him, quite honestly shocked that you have turned into the sole diligent orchestra member between the two of you. Never in a million years could you imagine Jungkook wanting to break the rules and you wanting to follow them considering who you are as individuals and who you hang out with as friends.

“Aw, come on, Thumper, live a little,” he pleads. “Look, we’ve already drifted to the back of the group.”

He motions up ahead of you, where the tour group is currently gathered around a particular sculpture that even Jungkook bears very little interest in. You and Jungkook have strayed behind, and the rest of your friends are closer to the front, too immersed in the tour to notice your absence. Jungkook’s got a gleam in his eye and a wonder decorating his features, like he’s aching to get out and explore as much as he can. One of his hands is held tightly to his camera, the other, in your own. You can’t believe you’re about to do this.

“Fine,” you submit to his desires, not that you seem to mind very much either. You seem to have gotten progressively weaker and weaker to Jungkook’s causes as the trip’s gone on, both a blessing and a curse. “But if we get in trouble, it’s your fault.”

“Yes!” Jungkook cheers. He keeps his eyes trained on Bang, and when the conductor has his back turned to you, he grabs onto you and you quickly shuffle out of sight.

“This is literally such a shitty idea, Jungkook,” you tell him as you enter a different room, filled less with sculptures and more with art from the Gothic, pre-Renaissance periods. “We could get lost.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jungkook says, shrugging off your concerns. “I snagged a map. Look. We’re a couple of rooms away from The Birth of Venus and Primavera.”

“You just wanted to explore this place by yourself,” you say matter-of-factly, sighing as Jungkook tugs you towards another piece of artwork, lined with gold, blue, and red. It portrays a part of the story of Christ, a common muse amongst the artists of the age.

“This is true,” he admits to you, “but I’m not by myself. Look, I’m here with you.”

And maybe he only means that in a literal sense but you take it to heart anyway, allow yourself to fall into this fleeting dream where you and Jungkook are in Italy together, no loud group of friends or youth orchestra to interrupt your plans, where it is just you and him and the city of Florence all to yourselves. Where you can do what you please and take as much time as you need and explore all you want without anybody stopping you. Where you can hold hands and it isn’t just for show and take pictures of each other to preserve in the photo albums of your brain and your heart. A dream where you are in Italy together and there is no contract standing in your way, a bitter reminder that even if the location is real your relationship is not.

“I guess,” you say out loud, more a reminder to yourself than to him that you are together physically and nothing else.

“Come on, Botticelli is a couple of rooms over,” he says quickly, tugging you towards the prize he’s got his eyes trained on, arguably the most famous of the pieces housed in this museum. They’ll have crowds in front of them, for sure, but that’s alright. Jungkook’s tall, and he’ll be able to lift you up in more ways than one.

Though Jungkook does seem to be in a bit of a rush to get to the paintings, he takes his time exploring each room, reading the plaques in earnest and staring as closely as he can at the paintings, analyzing each one like the art student he was meant to be. It’s wondrous, really, the way he falls so deeply into the art in front of him, like a well he’ll never escape from. He looks at each piece like it is just as important as the one next to it, even if they aren’t nearly as famous as others, because to him art is a gift, a treasure that should be preserved, recognized, and celebrated.

As you approach the open doorway to the room containing Botticelli’s work, Jungkook gasps softly beside you, floored even from seeing the work from far away. It’s right there, right in front of him, and it’s as though Jungkook doesn’t really know what to do with himself now.

“Hey, let’s go,” you murmur to him. His feet seem to have given up and he’s rooted firmly in place, like if he takes another step he’ll simply collapse. “Come on, Jungkook. You’re almost there.”

It seems as though he’s in a trance as he follows you along, tugging him closer and closer to the piece. Primavera has less of a crowd in front of it than The Birth of Venus a few meters away, and so you pull him up close, standing right in front of the painting as he stares at it from in front of the glass that protects it.

“Look,” you whisper to him as if he needs the extra instruction. Jungkook can’t help the way his camera immediately comes up, knowing that even if he stares down the painting for another fifteen hours it will never be preserved in his brain the way a photo is.

You don’t know if you’d rather gaze at the artwork or at Jungkook, who is as much of a masterpiece as everything else in this museum is. You elect, just for today, to let your eyes drift to the art, because maybe, selfishly so, you’ll be able to continue looking at Jungkook long after you’ve left Italy. You barely notice the way he leaves your side to get a couple of different angles of the painting, allowing yourself to sink into the art as much as he has. You lack the analytical abilities and artistic prowess that Jungkook possesses at the tips of his fingers but that’s alright because you don’t need either of those to know that this is a piece of artwork worth saving.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook says when he joins back up at your side, your fears of being caught by your tour group long forgotten. You can’t help but wish that he wasn’t talking about the art but instead talking about you, but that is a thought to be shoved into the deep crevices of your mind, far from anything that may leave your mouth.

The crowds mean absolutely nothing when Jungkook lays his eyes on The Birth of Venus, the painting illuminated by a single bulb but otherwise shadowed for safe-keeping purposes. There’s an entire Chinese tour group standing in front of the painting, old ladies whipping out their massive iPads to take a thousand photos from the exact same position as though one of them will turn out better than all of the others.

“This,” Jungkook says when you finally make your way towards the painting. He doesn’t need to elaborate. You know. Italy is a dream for someone like Jungkook, someone who can’t help but fall in love with every new piece of art he comes across. And Jungkook is a dream for someone like you, someone who can’t help but fall in love with—

“Is this what you had dreamed of?” You ask him softly. Jungkook isn’t taking out his camera for this one. He doesn’t need to. This one he’s studied, analyzed, inspected, down to each and every stroke of the brush. Even if Jungkook isn’t an art major he is an artist nonetheless, and a painting as famous as this one is something he doesn’t think he’ll forget. Not in a million years.

“More,” he whispers back, and it feels sort of like a slow motion movie, like the world is stopping but you’ll forever be able to gaze at this painting, like it is the only thing left for your eyes to look at. That’s what this feels like. Jungkook’s grip on your hand has gotten tighter but you don’t mind at all, not when he looks like he’s just seen a supernova burst in front of him. Jungkook’s eyes are permanently decorated with wonder but right now they seem to have something else in them too, like awe, like amazement, like pure beauty is staring him right in the face and he doesn’t know what to do with himself because of it.

“Don’t you want to take a photo?” You ask, nudging his camera. Jungkook’s camera hangs limply from his neck and even if he’s got a hand holding the device he makes no move to do anything about it.

“No,” Jungkook says. “This is the kind of thing I want to remember all to myself.”

Sometimes, you wonder what goes on in that head of his when he sees artwork like this. Artwork so famous, so revered, so breathtaking, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to react other than with an open mouth and an awed expression. But then you realize that the way he feels when he stares at paintings like The Birth of Venus, like The Last Judgement, is the way that you feel when you stare at him. Because even if he doesn’t realize it, he himself is art, the same kind of art that he loves. Art that is worth remembering.

You and Jungkook catch up with your group somewhere along the first floor, near the end of the guided tour. Not that any of them noticed that you were missing in the first place, though Hoseok does send you a wink and a cheeky little smirk when you make a reappearance. And as the tour guide wraps up, pointing out a couple of the last few notable pieces of art, you ask Jungkook how he feels, and he tells you that he never wants to forget this moment, right now, because it is everything he has ever wanted.

The city of Florence is littered with so many art museums, galleries, palaces that it’s hard to catch a break in such a bustling city. Not that you really mind, especially since they give you the evenings off to do your own thing, but it’s easy to recognize that this city is the birthplace of the Renaissance when, with each corner you turn, there is another place to be discovered, art to be found.

Someone who very, very obviously does not mind this whatsoever is Jungkook. In fact, when you spend so much time with him you often times find yourself roped into his expeditions to seek out more paintings, sculptures, churches, architecture, anything that even screams Florentine art to him. Not that it’s something that particularly bothers or inconveniences you. Especially when the rest of your friends are sick of Jungkook’s unyielding desire to art and you are, as his honorary fake girlfriend, are not.

Throughout your week and a bit in Florence you can’t count on both of your hands how many different museums, churches that you’ve explored together. Jungkook’s got a hand on his camera and he doesn’t seem to want to let go, constantly taking photos of the art and the mosaics and the designs and of you, even if you sometimes tell him you look awful and that the art is worth remembering more than you are. Jungkook seems to beg to differ. He says that all the photos are for his portfolio. You imagine that thing must be a mile long at this point considering how many memory cards he’s gone through during this trip.

“I’m hungry,” you whine one day when you’re journeying on your own for a little around lunchtime. You’ve got an arranged tour (courtesy of Bang) for later in the afternoon, a trip to The Academy to see Michelangelo’s David, but right now you’re free to do what you please. Jungkook’s already gotten you to go into the Basilica di San Lorenzo this morning, and your stomach is grumbling.

“Hey, here’s a place,” Jungkook points out as you come up the street to a restaurant in a square-that-is-not-a-square-but-more-like-a-triangle, a place with indoor and outdoor seating. The smell that wafts through the air is enough to have you and Jungkook both asking for a table for two, sitting down by the side of the covered outdoor veranda as you stare down the menus. They’ve got a pasta list the same size as some of the essays you submitted in high school, all of which look as appetizing as the previous.

“This place knows how to treat pasta-lovers well,” Jungkook comments as you pick out your pasta of choice, one with truffle that you know is going to be stinking up your breath for the rest of the day. It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make for the sake of the meal. “I want to order everything.”

“Slow down there, tiger. We can come back, if you’d like,” you suggest, the implications of another fake date slipping your mind. The question of “What are we?” makes you laugh from how overused it is, but even still, it applies perfectly.

The waitress comes by quickly, taking your orders and swooping up the menus, and you’re left alone listening to the sounds of the street music from several meters away, a father and a son performing in the middle of the square to passersby. It feels peaceful, homey. Like this is where you are meant to be.

“Let me take a photo of you,” Jungkook pleads, already making to get his camera out. “Please?”

Instead of objecting like you normally would, you nod, allowing Jungkook to snap as many pictures as he wants. It’s high time you indulge him, with how much he asks you to. Smiling softly, you grin towards the camera as he snaps away, unable to erase the smile that grows on his face at the sight of you. You wonder if you really are that photogenic, because all of your school IDs say otherwise, quite frankly.

“Okay, now let me take a photo of you,” you demand, making grabby hands over the table towards Jungkook’s camera. Very rarely is Jungkook ever the one in front of the camera, always preferring to be behind it, have his finger clicking away on the silver button, which you find astounding considering how deserving Jungkook is of having his photo taken, deserving to have that luxury just as everyone else.

“What? No way,” Jungkook says, holding his camera near and dear to his heart. “No. I don’t get my photo taken.”

“That’s about to change,” you declare, going so far as to stretch over the table to see if you can loop Jungkook’s camera over his head to snag it for yourself.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook asks indignantly, though he’s making absolutely no move to stop you, already resigning himself to the reality of you snagging a photo of him. You easily pull his camera from him, sitting back down in your seat and holding the camera up to your eye, letting the lens focus in on the man sitting in front of you.

“You heard me,” you tell him. “Smile, Jungkook. A picture’s worth a thousand words.”

With a sigh, Jungkook does. He closes his eyes and grins widely and even through the tiny viewfinder he looks gorgeous, looks like he’s just part of the photo instead of the focus of it. Looks like he belongs here, in Florence, surrounded by the art that he so loves and the food that he craves. He smiles and it reaches the corner of his closed eyes and God, he’s beautiful. You don’t think the camera does him justice, but it sure as hell comes close enough. With a click, you take the photo and lower the camera, hoping that maybe, if he doesn’t hear you, you’ll be able to look at him just a little longer.

“Alright,” you say softly, handing him back his camera. “There. Now you’ll get to remember yourself here, too.”

Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll remember the girl behind the camera as well.

Michelangelo’s David is the kind of art that you don’t know what to do with yourself when you finally lay eyes on it. The kind of art that renders you not only speechless but your mind blank, an iconic piece of work that is the emblem of an era, an art form in and of itself. That’s what it is. David is the kind of art that holds nothing less than the highest praise possible.

It’s strange, organizing a tour group for a place like the Academy. It’s small, well-known only for its housing of Michelangelo’s famed statue. There’s not very much else to see other than some lesser known pieces, nor is the place suited for massive herds of people at a time. Even still, the building manages to cram in fifty youth orchestra members without too much of a hassle, so you suppose that the capacity is bigger than you thought.

David is, unsurprisingly, the main attraction. He has an entire section of the biggest room all to himself, standing proudly at the end of it. And even peering through the cracks of the doors in the entrance is enough to get Jungkook grinning, aching to see the sculpture for himself. Michelangelo isn’t necessarily Jungkook’s idol but he’s someone Jungkook knows so deeply, so profoundly, that it leaves a heavy impact on him either way.

When you make it inside the main room, Jungkook stops. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at the sculpture, the five-meter tall man of marble proudly waiting for him at the end. The rest of the group shuffles ahead of him, desperate to get as up close and personal with the statue, but Jungkook refuses. He stays back to admire, looking above all of the people gathered around the glass barrier protecting the sculpture, a perfect view of the Biblical hero. Wordlessly, he pulls out his camera, immediately snapping a photo.

There is so little to say and so much to look at. What you are laying your eyes upon is nothing less than the symbol of an artistic god. Jungkook keeps a firm grip on your hand but says absolutely nothing, instead opting to simply walk up to the sculpture, look at it with his own two eyes, let the sight sink in like he has with so many others. This is a piece of art he wants engraved into his brain, etched permanently into his memory, and it’s easy to understand why.

He says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes, the way he gazes at the statue like if he blinks, he’ll forget it entirely. That expression of pure wonderstruckness in his eyes, decorating his face. He’s smiling, though. Like this is where he’s meant to be, nowhere else. He’s smiling and he’s beautiful and David is art but so is Jungkook, in every sense of the word.

It’s strange. It’s like you’ve fallen for Jungkook without even meaning to. Like the napkin on the tray table means nothing anymore.

With two days to go before you have to leave Florence, leave Italy once and for all, things are beginning to wind down. With visits to the major attractions already tucked under your belt and your last performance over last night, Bang seems have lost all motivation to keep his youth orchestra organized and instead has just given the lot of you free reign until you have to meet in the lobby of the hotel the day that you leave. It’s probably a mistake on his part, but you aren’t going to ruin your freedom by admitting that aloud.

Hoseok dragged you out the entire day on the hunt for clothes, leaving Jungkook to his own devices as Taehyung clung to him like a koala bear, citing his newfound girlfriend as reasoning for their lack of physical contact over the past few weeks. Jungkook had repeatedly reminded Taehyung that the two of them have slept in the exact same bed every single night since the beginning of the trip, and Taehyung is no stranger to draping his entire body over his bed buddy for the sake of warmth and comfort.

You and Hoseok and Jungkook and Taehyung reach the lobby of the hotel at roughly the same time, far past normal dinner time for such non-Italians like yourselves. Hoseok’s got about five shopping bags in his hands and looks about ready for a fat nap, but Jungkook and Taehyung are alive as ever.

“Long day, Hobi?” Taehyung asks when he sees your best friend, already collapsing into one of the chairs in the lobby.

“The longest,” Hoseok agrees. “Made all the more long by this one right here.”

“Excuse me!” You cry indignantly. You can’t believe Hoseok would roast you like this in front of your own fake boyfriend and his best friend. How could he do you like this. “I am a morale booster and incredibly fun to be around. Jungkook, vouch for me.”

“She’s fun sometimes,” Jungkook admits nonchalantly, making you sneer at him. Of course.

“Alright, fuck you.”

“You wanna bet?” Jungkook challenges.

“I’m taking Hoseok to the hotel restaurant before the two of you start doing something about the obvious sexual tension in the room. Okay, bye!” Taehyung says quickly, grabbing onto Hoseok’s arm and practically dragging him towards the hotel elevator before either you or Jungkook can stop him. The two of them disappear from your sight faster than you can say Florence, and pretty soon is it just the two of you waiting in the lobby.

“Have you eaten?” Jungkook asks, checking the time. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and the last thing you had was some plum gelato in a gelateria by the Duomo a couple of hours ago. You are, admittedly, a bit hungry.

“Not yet,” you tell him.

“Cool.” Jungkook nods. “Let’s go out.”

And so you and him leave the lobby in search of a nice restaurant to settle down in, perhaps indulge in a spritz since it is your second-to-last night, after all. Not that there’s a shortage of them around, but most of them seem to be filled to the brim with tourists, persistent waiters inviting you inside in the hopes that they’ll be able to gain your custom.

“Was there really some unresolved sexual tension between us in the lobby?” You ask, Taehyung’s words popping back into your head as Jungkook swings your interlocked hands together in between your bodies as you walk. “I didn’t even notice.”

“I don’t know, man, you were the one who said ‘Fuck you’. I didn’t know you wanted to bone that bad,” Jungkook jokes, though the sentences come out of his mouth completely seriously, making you gasp.

“Not like that! My God,” you exclaim in shock, giving Jungkook a shove. “Don’t talk about it like us wanting to bone. That’s so… unsexy.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Would you rather me be sexy about it? Didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, either.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You love me,” Jungkook teases. It’s weird. Maybe you do.

“That’s debatable,” you warn, especially after the conversation you’ve just had. “Don’t forget about our napkin contract. Nowhere did it have any specifications on any sexual tension, real or not. So I don’t wanna hear it.”

Jungkook nods, lips pursed into a tight line at the mention of the napkin. “Yes, the napkin contract,” he says stiffly. “I had almost forgotten about that.”

That makes two of you.

You eventually stumble upon the same restaurant you had eaten at the day you went to see Michelangelo’s David, the one in the square-that’s-a-triangle. It’s busy, but the sound of Italian drifts through the air and you and Jungkook both know that you’ve found yourselves a restaurant worth visiting a second time, one without obnoxious tourists such as yourselves to ruin the immersion.

The two of you order the exact same things you did the last time you were here, but Jungkook’s left his camera with Taehyung (on accident, of course), meaning no photo opportunities tonight.

“Cheers to our second-to-last night in Italy,” Jungkook says, holding up his orange spritz. You grab your own, clinking his glass.

“Cheers.”

It’s bittersweet. You don’t want to go but you don’t know how much longer you can do this if you stay. Like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s not real in the hopes that maybe, if you grab tight enough, it will be. You know that the feelings, whatever kind of feelings they are, you have for Jungkook are indecipherable at best. Wondering if you’re in love with him or just in love with the feeling or if you’re even in love at all. When you look at Jungkook it’s not necessarily love. No fireworks, no fanfare. It just feels like beauty. Like you’re staring down a sense of euphoria in the face, and it’s him. Peculiar.

Your curfew is at ten o’clock sharp, but you and Jungkook have spent the last two hours lounging at this restaurant, making mindless jokes and tasteful commentary and laughing all the same. You’ll probably miss your curfew, but neither of you seem to mind. It’s gotten quieter at the restaurant now, most of the customers long on their way, but you and Jungkook have stayed. Watched as the sun set and the street lights came on, illuminating the cobblestone roads and alleyways as everyone makes their way back home.

“Do you wanna go?” Jungkook asks. The check has long since been taken but you and Jungkook made no effort to leave when it did. In fact, your waitress even gave the two of you a small glass each of complimentary champagne.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” you whine, the idea of bringing this night to a close so soon incredibly unappealing.

Jungkook shrugs. Grins softly. Holds his warm hand out. “We don’t have to go back to the hotel.”

And this is how you end up strolling the streets of Florence, long after the other tourists have gone back to their places of lodging and only the locals remain, celebrating at bars and making their way back to their own homes. It’s a clear night tonight, not a single cloud covering the navy of the sky. There are hardly any stars visible in a bustling city like Florence, but that’s alright (Jungkook’s eyes are more than enough to keep you satisfied) because the moon is out, a crescent glow alongside the warm yellow of the street lamps.

The feeling is like the first day you put fairy lights up in your room and the sun sets and suddenly everything is romantic and wonderful and cozy all at once, a foreign sensation you are perfectly willing to get used to. That’s what this night feels like. Cozy. Homey. All things that make you wish it wasn’t so soon that you had to go, because you’ll never get something like this again. Something so intimate, so real.

There are only a few street musicians out playing now, most of them having packed up for the night, awaiting the next day to start the process all over again, but there is enough to create a little soundtrack for your stroll, the hazy hum of background music soothing your pounding thoughts. Jungkook doesn’t have his camera but it’s nice to see him without it, nice to see him walking with no purpose in mind, without his beautiful eyes hidden behind the black device in his hands. Without that camera looped around his neck it feels more like an everyday evening stroll rather than an excursion in Italy, like this is something you do normally, a routine that you have. It’s nice. It’s warm. It’s all him, really.

“This is so peaceful,” Jungkook comments as you stumble upon a lone street musician. She’s playing a soft melody on her flute, the soprano sound soothing, music to your ears. You don’t recognize the tune but you don’t need to, not in order to appreciate good music and talented players.

You and Jungkook wait around her for a while, loitering on the other side of the street as the moon reflects off of the silver of her instrument. She seems to notice your presence, smiling to herself as she continues to play. No dancing, this time. No need for it. You and Jungkook can simply sway back and forth the sound, the melody, without needing to break into moves.

When she finishes what you are sure is the fourth or fifth song you’ve hung around for, Jungkook walks up to drop a five Euro bill into the case in front of her, a donation she greatly appreciates. She deserves much more than five Euros, the both of you know as much. Someone as talented as her deserves a spot in an acclaimed orchestra. She’s not playing Top 50 Disney tunes, she’s playing sonatas, chorales, etudes, classics, all from memory. It’s clear she’s been studying the craft for plenty of years. The two of you clap as you leave, continuing to meander down the rest of the street, telling her grazie as you go. She deserves a lot more than this, but it’s all you can offer her right now.

“That was so nice,” Jungkook comments as the two of you wander around. You have no idea where you are, not with all of the stores you had been using as landmarks closed up, blinds drawn and doors locked, but that’s alright. Sometimes you don’t need to know where you’re going, you just need to know that you are going.

“I know,” you agree softly, humming the tune she had left you with. “Bang would like her.”

“I think that the London Symphony Orchestra would like her, quite honestly,” Jungkook compliments, something you absolutely have no choice but to agree with. She made your night.

“This is nice, too,” you add on softly. There’s little energy left in your bodies after such a long day, but just enough for you to continue to wander, no desire to go back to the hotel any time soon.

“This?” Jungkook asks, confused. He doesn’t stop walking but he does turn to look at you, a bewildered expression lacing his features.

“This. Walking around at night with the street lamps. It’s like… seventy degrees and breezy. There aren’t any more tourists. The alleyways are dark but still comforting. I like this. I like being here.”

The “with you” goes unsaid but you hope that Jungkook picks it up anyway, hope that he recognizes all the thoughts in your head you are too afraid to say aloud for fear that they may be lies or worse, that they might come true. Hope that the things left unsaid are said nonetheless, but in a wordless way.

Jungkook hums to himself, turning back to face forward. You don’t know what that means, but you can feel the way his hand on yours gets tighter, afraid to let you go. What’s bizarre is that you’re afraid for him to let you go as well.

There is something about Florence that feels more final than any of the other trips. Like this is the end of the road, the last stop. Because the nagging voice in your brain keeps reminding you, over and over, that you and Jungkook agree to stop with this fucking nonsense, put an end to this fake relationship but this real contract at the end of this vacation, and here you are. When you first wrote that thing down on the airplane napkin the end of your trip in Italy felt light years away but now, now it’s just on the horizon but you think you’d rather never see the sun again.

“I like being here, too,” he says softly, so inaudible that you could barely hear him if it weren’t for the quietness of the world around you.

You eventually become aware of your surroundings when you come across the magnificent Duomo, made all the more enchanting in the moonlight. It’s difficult to miss and even more difficult to not know where you are, other than the center of the city. Your hotel shouldn’t be too far away from here, down one of the side streets that connect to the square where the Duomo rests. Even in near darkness, it is an architectural marvel. The stones aren’t as colorful in the dark but that’s alright because you can still see the different patterns, the different shades of marble as they blend together.

“Hey, look,” Jungkook says, pointing up. There’s a bird flying overhead and it makes the entire scene all the more romantic. “A beautiful end to a beautiful stay in Italy.”

“Speaking of ending things,” you say, the idea popping into your head before you can stop yourself. You know you shouldn’t. Selfishly, you know that if you don’t mention anything then maybe this façade of a relationship can continue far past the end of this trip, but you won’t do that to yourself and more importantly, you won’t do that to him. You’ve fallen in love but it feels more like you’ve fallen in love with the feeling than with the boy. You can’t do that to him. “When are we gonna tell our friends?”

“About what?” Jungkook asks, clueless. Like he’s really forgotten.

“About us, silly,” you say, hoping to keep the tone light in spite of the darkness around you. “We’re finished in a couple days. The least we could do is fess up and come clean.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, the realization sinking in. The smile that once decorated his face is gone, replaced by something unreadable. “Right. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. Oh God, it’s getting awkward. It’s getting awkward and tense and stiff and this is exactly what you didn’t want, what you were hoping wouldn’t happen because that means that this fake relationship has become too real. It means that somewhere you had crossed the line between acting and reality but neither of you know when that happened and now you’re too scared to go back. Fuck. “I mean, I’ve always been pretty bad at confessing.”

Jungkook’s silent. He’s thinking. You can tell by the way his mouth sits solemnly on his face, the furrow of his brows. He’s standing in front of the Duomo with you but no longer are your hands intertwined. You can’t remember when they stopped being connected, and more importantly, you can’t remember who did it first. He’s thinking and you’re afraid to find out what about, worried that whatever he says will cause the whole thing to come crashing down like a wrong move in a game of Jenga. That’s what this feels like, now that you think about it. That’s what this whole relationship has felt like. Like a game of Jenga where everything is fine until everything isn’t.

And then, Jungkook pulls you in close, his one hand on your waist and the other around the back of your neck, and he kisses you.

Really kisses you. His warm lips press firmly onto yours and you gasp at the sensation but your body immediately melts into it, a feeling you cannot believe you starved yourself of for so long. He’s always been right there but you’ve never done anything about it until now, and now you don’t know what to do because of that. He really kisses you and it feels like a million years and a split second all at once because holy shit Jeon Jungkook is kissing you and you’re kissing back and then—

“I’m bad at confessing, too,” Jungkook says shyly, out of breath. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe he’s just done that but it’s too late to take it back.

“Jungkook, what—”

“This whole thing, I don’t want it to end, Thumper,” he tells you. “It’s always been real to me. Fuck the napkin contract. I’ve always wanted to be with you, prank or not. I don’t want it to be over.”

It’s too much. It’s everything you were hoping to hear but your mind can’t seem to process it. Like a tsunami crashing into a pier, and you’re standing on the edge of it hoping that you stay dry but at the same time wishing it takes you with it.

Practically speechless, you say, “Jungkook, I—”

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, but you already feel yourself drifting away, a piece of wood floating out to sea. Your feet are moving faster than your heart but that’s alright because when in doubt, run.

“I can’t, Jungkook,” you say softly. You don’t notice the tears until they’re streaming down your cheeks, warped from your footsteps on the cobblestone as you dash away. “I can’t.”

You don’t turn back around but you don’t need to, not when you know Jungkook will still be there, as heartbroken as ever.

The next day is spent in your hotel bed, and that’s it.

You’re kidding, but you wish it was like that. You snuck into your hotel room far past curfew to a bed and a half of your sleeping roommates and, barely remembering to wipe away your makeup and brush your teeth, climbed into bed sniffling, wishing that the whole thing had just been a memory.

You know that it’s real when you wake up the next morning to find five missed calls and a dozen texts, all from Jungkook. You swipe away each one, letting the notification disappear from your phone, and that’s when you notice your empty room and the knock at your door. Hardly caring about your just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, you trudge up to the door and find an animated Hoseok behind it, eyes wide and bucket hat a fluorescent highlighter yellow. He’s always had a thing for colors like that.

“Y/N! Ready to—oh my god, are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine, Hobi. I just woke up,” you tell him, not wanting to alert him of anything alarming. You’d hate to ruin his vacation with woes of your non-existent, pretend love life. It’d also mean explaining the entire thing to him, and you don’t know if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself like that. Not yet, at least.

“You just woke up?” Hoseok asks, in shock. “It’s noon! You never wake up this late, not even back home! Are you sure everything is okay?” He asks. He’s too good of a friend, too used to your mannerisms and habits. Nothing slips by him, goddamnit.

“Yes, I swear, Hobi,” you say, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep gunk out of them. “What do you want?”

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come out with me and we could go on a last-minute adventure before we have to leave tomorrow,” Hoseok suggests, an excursion that sounds much-needed considering the overwhelming amount of time spent with Jungkook the past few weeks, only to find yourself starved of his contact. “You could invite Jungkook, if you want. I don’t know what he’s up to…”

“No! No, it’s okay. Jungkook doesn’t need to come along with,” you exclaim, perhaps a bit too loudly for your liking. Hoseok scrunches up his nose in confusion, tilting his head like a bewildered puppy. Quickly, you search for an excuse before he can say anything. “I’ve been spending so much time with him recently. We should just do something together.”

“Alright… whatever you say, I guess.” Hoseok’s still hesitant, rightfully so, but he leaves you be and lets you get ready, camping out on your bed playing the new Harry Potter game on his phone. Last you heard, he was getting ready to duel that “bitch, Merula” in the courtyard. You emerge from your bathroom fifteen minutes later, though you would hardly consider yourself Italy-ready, you look mildly acceptable and hope that you’ve done a good enough job disguising the bags under your eyes, that the puffiness from last night’s crying extravaganza has gone down. It’d be nice if you could just simply go through the rest of the day without having to think of Jungkook but you can already feel yourself worrying about him and what he’s getting up to, what state you left him in last night. You don’t think you can bring yourself to see him again, even if on accident.

Hoseok’s animated self keeps your mind fairly occupied, though. He does a good job of distracting you even if he isn’t trying to, another one of the qualities he possesses that you so envy. He barely takes note of your less-energetic self, much more tired and reserved that normal, chalking it up to vacation fatigue rather than self-inflicted heartbreak. Luckily enough. You’d rather not start out your next conversation with him with, “Hey, remember when I told you Jungkook and I were dating? Well, it was all pretend except I ended up falling for him and now I don’t know what to do with myself, please help?”

“We didn’t get to spend a lot of time at Palazzo Vecchio, let’s go back,” Hoseok suggests, skipping up the street. “There’s that baby David that we didn’t get a very good look at.”

“We saw the real thing, Hobi,” you remind him.

“I know, but this one is just as cool and just as important,” Hoseok insists. “Namjoon told me that Palazzo Vecchio is Florence’s city hall. Isn’t that cool?”

You suppose it is. Though, anything that Hoseok gets excited about is cool in your eyes.

You spend the day out with Hoseok and it lightens your mood extraordinarily, Hoseok’s joy and excitement contagious, getting the best of even you. You knew that you made the right choice when you befriended Hoseok back as children. He always seems to know exactly what he’s doing, without even trying. The sun works hard but Hoseok works much harder.

“Can’t believe this is all over tomorrow,” Hoseok admits as he spreads out in the center of Palazzo Vecchio, happily lying down like a starfish in an aquarium display. You wonder if just the front of his body will get tanned from this, even if he spends only five minutes in the position. You’ll never let him live it down if he returns home from Italy with the front half of his body much darker in color than the back half. He’ll look ridiculous. “Wish we could stay here forever.”

“You and me both,” you admit. You wonder what Jungkook is doing right now, if he’s thinking of you just like you’re thinking of him.

“Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession.”

“He did do that yesterday, didn’t he?” You ask. You have this vague memory of him at a cafe somewhere in Florence, ordering either a third or a fourth espresso shot like the absolute heathen he is.

“Wait, let me rephrase that. Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession in Rome,” Hoseok emphasizes, making you laugh. He’s right, though. It does feel like just yesterday you were landing at the Rome International Airport and Jungkook was placing a slobbery, wet kiss on your cheek. Feels like just yesterday the two of you confessed your relationship to your friends. Feels like just yesterday you were standing in the Sistine Chapel, staring up at the ceiling together.

And it was just yesterday when all of the memories came crashing down around you, an earthquake striking your mind and leaving it in nothing but a pile of rubble.

“Are you gonna want to come back here? When we’re out of college and paid off our student debt?”

“So, never?” You joke even if the harsh reality permeates your jest. Capitalism can suck your left big toe.

“Okay, true,” Hoseok admits. “But seriously. Are you going to want to come back? When you’re older? Before the rising sea levels suck this entire peninsula under the ocean?”

And you think to yourself that you’d love to, but only if you got to come with a certain someone. Wishful thinking.

Hoseok drops you off at your hotel room after you grab some sandwiches to eat for dinner, and you’re about to close the door and pass out from a long day of walking and an even longer day of thinking, when you spot Seokjin jogging towards you. You think that he’s going for Hoseok but then he stops at your room, sending you a small smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “Mind if I come in for a second?”

“Come on in,” you invite him inside. Seokjin paces about the little floor space left in your room—Minnie’s ridiculously messy—before taking a seat on the edge of your shared bed with Miyeon and the only surface that isn’t covered in clothes. “What’s up?”

“Have you spoken to Jungkook recently?” Seokjin dives right in. The mention of his name is an arrow to your heart but the abruptness of it all causes alarms to go off in your brain.

“Uh—” you begin, sputtering for an answer that won’t lead to you giving yourself away. “Why do you ask?”

“Because his mood has taken a 180 this past twenty-four hours and I am almost certain it has something to do with you,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like he’s placing blame or pointing his fingers at you. It more just feels like an observation, something he’s picked up on in the past day. You’ll give him credit for that, at least.

“Wow, alright,” you say, hands up in surrender.

“Listen, Y/N,” Seokjin says before running a hand through his hair. It reaches the back of his neck and he tilts his head back, exasperated. “I know that you and Jungkook have had a fake relationship this entire time.”

“What?”

You stumble for a response, stuttering hopelessly even though Seokjin’s very obviously seen through your entire act. Are the two of you that transparent?

“Unlike everybody else, I didn’t have my headphones in when the two of you were discussing the terms of your agreement on the plane. I had very conveniently locked them up in my overhead carry-on and was much too lazy to fish for them,” Seokjin says pointedly, making you groan in despair as you collapse on the bed beside him.

“God, could this vacation get any worse?” You ask to the higher powers above you.

“I didn’t tell anyone, obviously,” Seokjin reminds you. “And quite frankly, I had no idea that it would snowball into this. I thought the two of you were just doing this for laughs and that’s it. You were gonna get everyone real good.”

“That was the plan,” you mumble bitterly.

“You know, Taehyung and I spoke a couple of days ago. About the two of you.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” You ask, grumbling into the pillow you’ve stuffed over your face. If you pray hard enough, maybe the ground will open up and swallow you whole.

“No, I’m rather good at keeping secrets, even if I wasn’t supposed to find out in the first place,” Seokjin says haughtily. “Taehyung told me that he was really proud of Jungkook for stepping up and confessing to you on the flight.”

You suddenly feel very guilty.

“He said that Jungkook had had this huge crush on you for ages beforehand and was just too scared to do anything about it.”

That makes you pop up like a puppet in a box, the pillow coming off your face and straight into your lap as you turn to Seokjin, shocked. “What?”

“He said that Jungkook really deserved somebody like you, because you made him so happy,” Seokjin continues, as if the life-altering revelation that Jeon Jungkook has been harboring this massive crush on you for ages prior to the agreement isn’t enough. “He said he hadn’t seen his best friend this happy in a really long time.”

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

“You’re fucking with me,” you declare, the only feasible explanation at this point. There’s no way this is real. This is just another big prank orchestrated by all of your friends because Seokjin went on blabbing and now they’re getting back at you in the cruelest of ways. There’s no way that this is real.

“I’m not,” Seokjin insists firmly, and there’s a desperate part of your heart that’s aching for it to be true but your brain has the power and it’s telling your heart to move on. “But Jungkook’s been really down lately. I know that maybe you thought that the relationship was fake but it’s obvious that he didn’t.”

“It—I—” you begin, unable to form a coherent sentence. “But I was the one who fell in love with him! How is this even possible?”

Seokjin chuckles, a smile blossoming on his face. “I guess he had already fallen in love with you before this whole thing even begin.”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you groan to yourself, collapsing back onto the bed and pressing the pillow over yourself, muffling your wails.

“You’re not, Y/N, listen,” he demands, pulling the pillow away from you. You wrestle him for a couple seconds but eventually let him have his way, the heat of the cushion coming off of your face. “Maybe the relationship was pretend on paper but it was rooted in reality. For the both of you. It’s clear that there are some feelings between the two of you. Maybe that’s why we all fell for it. Because it was real. You guys thought you were fooling us but the only people you were tricking were yourselves.”

“When did you get so wise, hmm, Seokjin?” You ask ruefully, unsure as to what to do next. You can’t just go back to Jungkook and ask to call an end to the fake part and but leave the relationship.

“I’m not wise, Y/N,” Seokjin says. “You two just looked like you needed a third party to help out.”

You grin, unbelievably thankful for a man by the name of Kim Seokjin. “I guess so, huh. So, what now?”

“Well, as far as I last heard, Jungkook was hanging around the Duomo. He told Taehyung he wanted to stay back for a little while.”

Your face lights up and your heart starts beating. “Really?” You ask, perhaps a bit too hopeful.

“Yeah,” Seokjin nods. “Go get your man.”

You bolt out the door.

Sure enough, you find Jungkook walking around the edges of the square, headphones in as the sun slowly sets over the horizon. There are still plenty of people out and about, finishing up their meals or just settling into their seats, and the street musicians are alive and active. Jungkook comes to a halt in front of a pair of violinists playing on one of the smoother streets in the area, a small crowd gathering around them.

Quickly, wordlessly, desperately, you dash up to Jungkook before he can slip from your sight and out of your hands forever.

“Jungkook!” You shout, and he can barely hear you over his music but he turns nonetheless, eyes widening when he sees you rushing towards him, already out of breath. You’re in orchestra, not a sports team. “Jungkook, wait!”

He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, but he does take a single earbud from his ear, turning to you with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up nose. “Y/N, what—?”

“Jungkook, don’t go,” you say as you catch up to him. Your shout seems to have interrupted the music in the background, both violinists and the crowd around them stopping to watch you. “I don’t want this to be over either.”

“What are you saying—?”

“I’m bad at confessing, too. Really bad. You probably already figured that out,” you joke, chuckling bitterly to yourself. “But when you said that you it’s always been real to you I realized that it’s always been real to me as well. That I don’t want to let you go, not here, not on the plane, and not back home. I want to be with you wherever you go.”

“You’re shitting me,” Jungkook says.

You shake your head, smiling at his disbelief. Like he can’t believe that all of his dreams are coming true. “I’m not. Fuck the napkin contract. That shit’s probably all crumpled up anyway. I want to be with you for real, no faking it, no acting, no games. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Thumper?” He asks, coming up to you. His warm hands find purchase on your waist as he pulls you in close, guarding you tightly. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until his thumb comes up to wipe a stray tear away, and you laugh.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. For real, this time. No more contracts,” you tell him, gazing up into his eyes.

You have seen Jungkook stare at the most brilliant pieces of art in the world, seen him gaze into his camera to get the perfect shot, seen him glance at his music quickly before launching off into a song he’s memorized, and finally, you can say that you’ve seen Jungkook in love.

“You know what, Thumper?” He asks. “I love you too.”

When you kiss, the entire crowd and the two violinists explode into applause, but you barely take notice of them when Jungkook’s lips are on yours. Maybe Italy’s over but you and him are just beginning.

“Tell me about that portfolio you were making,” you say on the flight home. Everyone’s asleep around you, all but Seokjin wholly unaware that your relationship was even a farce to begin with. You think you’d like to keep it that way. Though maybe, in five years, you’ll come clean. Hopefully by that point, none of them will mind anymore. You’ve pushed the armrest that separates your seats up so you can snuggle up against him, his body temperature all the warmth you need on this frigid airplane.

“Oh, that?” He asks. He pulls up a page on his computer, and suddenly you’re presented with an entire album of pictures of just you, some you recognize and some you didn’t even realize he had taken. “It was this.”

“Are these all of me?” You ask, leaning in close. There must be at least four hundred photos in here and each of them have at least a bit of you in them, whether it be you talking with Hoseok or Namjoon or Yoongi or staring at art without knowing that Jungkook had been behind you, or the ones he’d convinced you to pose for or the ones that he sniped right before you had realized.

“Essentially, yes,” Jungkook admits guiltily, a cherry red tinting his cheeks as he curls in on himself, embarrassed. “I thought that when Italy was over, we’d just go back to being acquaintances or something, and I didn’t want to forget it. So I made this.”

“You have an entire album dedicated to me?” You ask. God, being in a relationship has turned the both of you into fucking softies. “I’m touched. Thank you.” You add onto your gratefulness by pressing a kiss into his cheek, making him blush impossibly harder.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to forget anything,” Jungkook says, something you can definitely agree with.

“Well, now you don’t have to,” you promise. “We can make new memories all the time, so you can delete that photo album of me. Or at least turn it into an Italy album rather than just a My Girlfriend album. That’s fucking cheesy as shit.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m never getting rid of this thing. There’s gems like this,” Jungkook says, pulling up a photo of you blowing into a tissue after a particularly hard sneeze in Venice.

You gasp, both endeared and incredibly offended. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I hate that I love you.”

“You know what? I’ll take it,” Jungkook says, pulling you in and planting a wet kiss on your cheek, right at the corner of your lips. “I hate that I love you, too.”

“Get a room!” Jimin shouts from next to you, sitting in the seat directly across the aisle from yours. He’s got this disgusted look on his face, but you and Jungkook just grin to yourselves. You have a feeling that you’re never going to get sick of grossing out your friends with your obnoxious public displays of affection.

“Can’t, the bathrooms are too small for what we want to do!” Jungkook calls back, making Jimin dry heave onto the floor beside the two of you before angrily stuffing his headphone back into his ear and hoping that the two of you will just shut the fuck up, for once. “I’m never gonna get sick of doing that.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Thumper, do you want to see all the photos I took of Seokjin? He’s gonna become Instagram famous, but not in the way he wants to because all of these photos are meme-worthy,” Jungkook asks, already clicking around to pull open the album.

“Oh my God, yes. You gotta send all of these to me,” you say, wrapping your body around Jungkook’s left arm as he begins to filter through each photo.

Jungkook’s got the window shade next to him cracked open the slightest bit, the night sky wholly unobtrusive considering the rest of the cabin is dark. You can’t make out the moon but you know that it’s there, somewhere, singing a melody that only the two of you can hear.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[tellmewhatyouc]

TLW: The Untitled Sequel (Ch. 2)

Chapter 1

Words: 1762

At around 6 AM, Danny got a call from Sung’s ship, and he didn’t waste any time getting over to the abandoned lot Sung had parked in. He was still wearing his pajamas, and his hair was a mess from tossing and turning in his bed, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to address his issues as soon as possible.

The only part of Sung’s ship he’d seen before was the medbay, so the exterior was quite the sight. It was big, maybe fifty feet across, and the outer coating was a pristine white. Tinted windows lined the side of it, some smaller while a couple spanned the whole height of the thing. He wasn’t sure how the fuck a ship that big wouldn’t attract any attention, but he could only hope anyone who walked by it would mind their own business.

Hesitantly, he approached what appeared to be the door, and gave it a knock. It slid open soon enough, and Sung greeted him with a smile. He was in his casual wear, with a pair of visor shades instead of his usual headgear. “Hey there,” he said. “Stand back for a sec?”

Danny did as he was asked, and small flight of stairs slid out from the bottom of the ship. He took the hand offered to him before he stepped inside.

“So… welcome,” Sung said with open arms, gesturing around him. The interior was just as pristine as the exterior, with white panels on the walls and a shiny black floor. Before Danny could get a good look at the console, Sung put a hand on his back and directed him down the hallway. “I’m sure you remember my medbay,” he said, “Although I like to think I’ve added some improvements within the past few decades.”

Danny was still a bit too dumbfounded to say anything intelligent, so he kept his mouth shut. As they walked into the medbay, he noticed some similarities, but it had definitely gotten an upgrade since he last saw it. Mainly, everything looked cleaner, more organized.

Sung grabbed a light blue notebook and pen from his desk before he patted the table in the center of the room. “So, you said you were experiencing fluctuating energy levels?” he asked.

“Uh. Yeah.” Slowly, Danny walked towards Sung. He looked at the table— the table he’d just recently seen Sung operating on himself upon— then back to Sung. “Could we do this somewhere else?”

Sung furrowed his brow. “I… suppose we could go to the kitchen,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I just didn’t realize this would be so, uh… clinical?”

“Clinical?” Sung repeated as he grabbed a leather bag from under the table. “I’m still your friend here, I’m just… assessing your current state. Like a doctor. What did you expect?”

“I’m… not sure,” Danny mumbled, eyeing the bag. “Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve seen any sort of doctor.”

“Well, it’s very important to do so,” Sung said as he gestured Danny out of the room. “Humans are so vulnerable to physical ailments, it’s always good to make sure nothing’s wrong.”

“I mean, I haven’t really gotten sick or anything since I was a kid, so...” 

“Precautionary care is very important, Danny,” Sung said. After a short walk down the hall, they entered a small kitchen. Sung set his bag down on the counter and patted one of the stools beside it. “So. You’re having trouble sleeping?”

Danny nodded as he sat down. “Yeah. Even when I’m tired. Which is most of the time.” Sung opened his notebook to the first page, and Danny noticed already written a few things down. “And I’m not hungry, like… at all. I’ve been trying to keep up with regular meals and stuff, but most things are kinda hard to stomach.”

Sung hummed and wrote some more. Danny leaned over to try reading it, but as expected, it was illegible. Although, he did seem to be writing a lot more than what Danny had said. Maybe it was time to speak up again.

“So, you’re, like… actually a doctor?” he asked, “For real?”

Sung glanced up from his notebook, but didn’t lift his head. Danny could see parts of his eyes.They were vaguely indigo. It was unnerving. “Haven’t we had this conversation already?”

“Yeah, I know, but the whole… medbay situation,” Danny said. Sung was still looking at him. He turned his head away. “It’s like… a clinic in there. I figured you just took care of the band and stuff.”

Sung finally shifted his focus back to his writing. “I’ve studied a lot of species in my travels,” he said, “Hence all my degrees. I have more than enough knowledge to care for patients from basically anywhere, and that’s how I made a living before I found the rest of the band.”

“Uh… huh,” Danny said, nodding slowly. “That’s cool. I guess it’s just weird thinking about you doing something so… serious.”

“Well, I like to think I didn’t take myself too seriously,” Sung said with a chuckle. He finally put his pen down, after he had a full page of notes. “Sorry for the wait. I have no idea what’s wrong with you.”

“Oh, cool,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “That’s promising.”

“I’d like to get a better look at you, see if there’s anything I can find from a physical standpoint,” Sung said. “Is that okay?”

Danny shrugged. “I guess,” he said. Admittedly, he didn’t really know what to expect. Knowing Sung, his practices probably weren’t entirely traditional, but he trusted him anyway.

Sung started by listening around his chest with a stethoscope, and Danny didn’t mind it all that much, although the periodic ‘hm’s and ‘ah’s were a little concerning. The room was silent otherwise, until Sung stood up straight and wrapped the stethoscope around his neck.

“Well, that all sounds good,” he said. “So at least we’ve ruled out one thing.”

“Great,” Danny said, “Are we done?”

Sung furrowed his brow. “No, of course not. We've got the whole rest of your body to cover.”

Sung went through all the other basics, checking Danny’s eyes, ears, and mouth, writing down quick notes all the while. He didn’t talk much, which Danny was okay with, because the exhaustion was really starting to kick in again. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, and by the end of the exam, he’d lost that battle.

When he woke up, it took him a good few minutes to remember where he was. Sung must’ve put him in one of his recovery beds at some point after he’d dozed off, and apparently, he’d been tired enough to sleep through it.

Slowly, he sat up, pushing the blanket aside. “Sung?” he called out, moments before he spotted the man in question.

Sung looked up from his desk and smiled. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted. “Feeling any better?”

“Um… definitely more rested than before,” Danny answered, looking around the room. “Did you… what did you do to make me fall asleep?”

Sung shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, “I was just checking you over. I asked you to lie down at one point, and after that, you were out cold. That was a couple hours ago.”

“...Huh.” Danny stood from the bed, then wandered over to Sung’s desk. He had the same notebook open, now a few more pages in, and a textbook with some human anatomy diagrams open beside it. “Well. Any idea what’s wrong with me?”

“Well… I have theories,” Sung replied. “One of which is, in fact, some form of time-travel-related ailment.”

“For real?” Danny asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That sounds… bad.”

“Well, it’s not too bad,” Sung said. “You should be okay. It looks like it may be more of just… a series of side effects, as opposed to an illness of its own. And if that’s the case, they’ll wear off eventually.”

“Okay… how long does ‘eventually’ go on for?” Danny asked, “Are we talking a few days, or, like, a year?”

Sung shrugged. “It’s time travel. Could be anything.”

Danny frowned. On top of his already-present anxiety, his stomach turned with the uncertainty of it all. “Wait, so… what’s wrong with me, exactly?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

Sung spun around in his chair to fully face Danny. It was usually difficult to tell where he was looking through his visor, but at the moment, his gaze was almost tactile. “It’s really nothing to be too worried about, Danny,” he said, “I think your body is just a little out of whack from all the time jumps, as it’s not something you’re used to. I’d recommend just going about your day, trying to get back to your normal sleep and meal schedules as best you can. Keeping a routine should help.”

“Well… how do you know it’ll help?” Danny asked. “I thought you said you’d never seen something like this before.”

Sung shrugged. “It’s a hypothesis, not a fact,” he said. “For now, you should go home and rest, do some familiar stuff. Being on an alien's spaceship probably isn’t helping. But I’ll stick around for now, and you can come check in with me again tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.” Danny nodded and turned towards the medbay door. “I guess I’ll--” he stopped and spun around to face Sung. “Wait. You said you had… theories. Plural.”

Sung nodded. “I did, yes.”

“So what are the others?”

“Uh… well.” Sung turned back to his desk, skimming through his notes. He’d written more than Danny had thought. “Either some form of allergic reaction, or… you’ve developed some sort of mental illness.”

Danny crossed his arms, taking a moment to process that. “Well… okay, how would you treat me for something like that?” he asked. “Maybe it could help.”

Sung turned to face Danny again, an eyebrow raised. “Do you think it’s a mental illness?”

“...I dunno.” Danny shrugged. “I told you, I’m all fucked up. I can’t exactly psychoanalyze myself.”

“Ah, so you want me to psychoanalyze you,” Sung replied with a chuckle. “I mean… I can try. We can talk about it. But, for now, I really think you should go home and get some rest. Eat a meal. Spend some time with your friends. And report back to me tomorrow.”

Danny let out a sigh. “Alright,” he said. He took a few steps towards the door, but paused to glance back at Sung. “Ah… thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

[vaguely-concerned]

empire of ivory here we go!

previous temeraire let’s read here

- um excuuuuse me I have waited two books for us to come back home to britain to see everyone again and now everything is awful and shitty and scary and my fave is leaving and nothing’s how it should be??? no??? this is unfair??????

- tharkay NO please don’t go everything provably goes to hell whenever you leave D:D:D:

(to be fair to him I guess it’s understandable to want some time alone to process the absolute outrageous bullshit he just pulled for a guy he’s known for like four months)

he used his page time well tho; instantly convincing roland of his worth and making her laugh... giving laurence his cup of tea b/c he looked like he needed it more... telling laurence that he’s leaving because he promised to do that much at least... truly the best boy, off to fetch more dragons apparently because it wasn’t quite crazy enough the first time

- god I love jane roland, I’m so glad my two faves got along instantly, between them they could... maybe protect laurence from himself? at least a little??? I can but dream

- I think this is the most emotionally invested I’ve been in a piece of media since that time I spent a few months completely incoherent over uncharted, and naughty dog very kindly held my heart in their hands and chose to be gentle with it in the end but I am not so sure that is how it’s going to be for this series and I am Not Prepared for the suffering

- I love whenever laurence thinks uncomfortably about one of the various and sundry atrocities committed by the government he’s still pledged all his loyalty to. yes william maybe the british empire... is in fact not good and has enough blood on their hands to dye the ocean red. I can’t wait until he connects the dots here (and presumably has a pretty intense crisis if faith about it because it seems like one of the loadbearing structures of his character... actually no wait I’m not ready to see this D:D:D:)

- the little details like the fact that he just calls bb!roland ‘emily’ and harcourt becomes ‘catherine’ so easily in his narration now are so so sweet  

- lord allendale is one of those dudes who have good politics but is a shitheel to his family and I want to smack him

laurence being the mortified poster boy of this party, though? priceless, imagine coming up with a protagonist this effortlessly involuntarily hilarious, it’s the mark of true genius

- I don’t usually quibble over things like this, but I think the edit for this fourth book specifically is a bit lacking? I’ve come across a lot of mistakes even my dumb ass can pick up on already, and I’m only a hundred pages or so in

- caught between crying and cackling at this part b/c like laurence I’m  d e v a s t a t e d  at the thought of temeraire getting sick but also temeraire is just like cheerfully getting laid the whole time

also how did none of the aviators think to give laurence The Talk about giving his dragon The Talk, you all know what he’s like

- oh thank god

- I have spent half of today crying about dragons coughing, how are you this fine evening good reader

- btw this series fills a hole in my soul left by jkr giving me all those tantalizing hints of different types of dragons in ‘fantastic beasts’ and never following up on it

- tharkay may not be here but laurence just mentioned him like once in his narration so let’s take the excuse to reminisce about the good old days (when tharkay was here)... remember that time when the one of his own jokes he laughed openly at was about lawyers and laurence frankly should have responded better b/c it was kind of funny and sadly temeraire doesn’t have the worldly experience to know it yet.... aaah precious, he truly is a sardonic blessing to my heart and deserves the world

okay back to our regularly scheduled content   

- riley why u gotta b such a bitch about this

(I love how laurence is constantly doubting himself over this tho, as if he’s done something wrong in this situation... like honey baby if there’s one thing worth breaking a friendship over it’s probably them being cool with slavery lol. it shows how much laurence has grown, considering that this disagreement has always existed between them but he used to be willing to just overlook it... I’m so proud of you laurence)

also lol @ berkely coming in to tell them everyone can hear them, I have a desperately soft spot for him and maximus. just the image of both of them turning to him ‘united in appalled indignation’ like ‘excuse you???’ and him giving exactly zero fucks... *chef kiss emoji*

- most important information revealed in this book: a) dragons are not widely considered to have committed original sin, thank you reverend erasmus and b) laurence has taken time out of his day at some point to worry about it b/c he’s a dork

(this is the sort of world building I am hopelessly weak to lol)

- gong su tricking temeraire into eating in the most melodramatic way possible... god bless you chef

- fkjhsadkjfhsdkjalhfaskjldhf laurence judging chenery for what he’s wearing while going out into the jungle in full uniform hat included himself... I caaaaan’t

- demane has only appeared on three pages so far but if anything happens to him I’ll kill everyone in this book and then myself

- ‘average dragon speaks one million languages’ factoid actualy statistical error. Temeraire Linguist Georg, who wants a pavilion thank you very much & learns over 10,000 languages each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted <3<3<3

(I love that temeraire is like... a nerd dragon with a hopelessly jock captain)

- laurence effortlessly rating the relative hotness of the other male aviators to try to suss out who harcourt has slept with fjsaldfhsdkljafh do you ever hear yourself think william

like this is the thing about him it’s so easy to headcanon him as bi b/c he can be so mindbogglingly oblivious it’s entirely possible he literally wouldn’t even have noticed until someone smacked him over the head with it

- see I’m very happy they found the cure but I don’t fucking trust it b/c the pattern of these books tends to be to give you one moment of ‘oh phew everything is going to be okay’ about 2/3 into the story and THEN everything goes to hell and fifty pages later laurence is dissociating and napoleon has conquered prussia 

- THERE WE GO RIGHT ON SCHEDULE

temeraire is never going to let laurence go anywhere without him again and rightly so

- hasn’t mrs erasmus been through enough. can’t she just be allowed to chill 

- this is really cool world building but I’m too stressed out to appreciate it

really enjoy the description of architecture tho this sounds so awesome

- sfahdfklsahdfksjda laurence making sure his clothes are as washed and presentable as possible... I can’t with you you beautiful idiot

- TEMERAIRE OH MY GOD IS HE HERE IS LAURENCE HALLUCINATING PLS SAY HE’S ACTUALLY HERE

- ...well I mean if anyone has a freudian excuse for being kind of dickish I guess it would be these guys? it’s actually pretty chill of them to only flog one of them (laurence, because he just can’t play it any way but stupid lawful good at every turn) and not just killing them all I guess, they kept them fed and stuff

- oh thank god

- temeraire you are the most darling dragon boy and I love you

I was really really worried for a moment there that the reference to the Colosseum was a not-so-subtle hint they would have to gladiator fight to the death but thankfully they were basically just calling in a parliament

- DID THIS MOTHERFUCKER JUST STAB A CHILD IN THE STOMACH?? I HOPE HE ACCIDENTALLY SHOOTS HIMSELF IN THE DICK AND DIES pls say demane is going to be okay

- aw okay finally something good for mrs erasmus I will take it

- laurence you useless fool of a narrator is demane okay?? 

- god roland is just so cool naomi novik really gave us a jovial butch silver fox aviator lady huh... she did that for us and I for one am full of gratitude

- oh thank GOD (hm I sense a running theme here lol) the kid is going to be okay I can breathe again

- iskierka the pirate captain + temeraire’s reaction... perfect

- ;____________; I would lay down my life for temeraire and also that’s a gutpunch of a moodswing... the perfect hilarity of ‘that is an ugly hill’ immediately followed by That... jesus

- awww every time volly shows up again is a joy (temrer!!!)

- laurence... laurence you need to stop asking people to marry you because you never actually really fucking mean it!!!!! have you learned nothing about yourself since book 1, trust your goddamn instincts for once in your life you and roland have been doing perfectly okay thus far as like... affectionate fuckbuddies right? 

(her reaction was priceless tho god bless)

- aaaah there we go the british government is looking more like itself... welcome to the world of realpolitik laurence I’m really sorry :(

- “It is only dragons, you know” JANE ROLAND WTF DID YOU JUST SAY

- “This government is not of my party; my king is ill and mad; but still I am his subject. You have sworn no oath, but I have.” He paused. “I have given my word.”

:) this is... fine

(like. I know this is necessary character growth and he’s basically been a waste of a good man in service to a government like this the whole time and the writing’s been on the wall since book 1 but I don’t want this to be happening to hiiiiim)

- tfw... ur dragon boi is so good... that being anything less than good for him in turn is unthinkable...................... b o i

- ...jane doesn’t really know him very well if she didn’t see this coming from a mile off tho does she

I mean I guess she has other stuff to think about but this shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone

- remember when he thought the entire corps was weird and now he’s finally at home there... and has to leave it behind :):):) super extra fine is what this is

- yeah okay laurence definitely has a crush on ol’ bonaparte noting that down lol he’s all but blushing after that kiss on the cheek 

also... if you just overlook the dictator thing for a moment is napoleon wrong about what he’s saying tho. (no and not even laurence is prepared to say so he’s just going to go back there and get murdered anyway b/c idk lawful good is dumb as fuck sometimes I guess)

It’s really cool how the author shows that napoleon has a better handle on laurence’s psychology after barely meeting him than a lot of people he’s known for years now, though, really adds to his menace and appeal as a character

- wow uh that’s one way to end a book... it’s actually tipped over from tragedy into a strange sort of hilarity for me now: he literally got sued out of his life’s earnings for being a decent human being, committed treason for the same reason and is about to be hanged for thinking genocide might have been a step too far -- in the span of thirty pages. I believe ‘that escalated quickly’ is not too much of an exaggeration here

- SIPHO IS GONNA WRITE BOOKS ONE DAY YOU GUYS!!!! I PROUDLY WELCOME OUR SECOND NERD TO THE CREW

 - I think this one might be my least favorite so far? not that I disliked it, it’s just the one that’s hit the worst by the fact that there’s not always that much time spent with the cultures central to the book; tswana seems really interesting but because of the way the plot played out and our limited perspective though laurence it just didn’t work for me? the cool shit comes in sipho’s book at the end, like how thoroughly they kicked the europeans out of the coast of africa, which is very cathartic (I will say that most of the second book being set on the ship and then only a sliver of it is actually in china annoyed me too haha) 

I have the distinct feeling this book is setting up for some Misery and breaking of the pattern a bit in the next one though, which will be interesting! ONWARDS TO MORE PAIN AND LAURENCE IS ALREADY PASSIVELY SUICIDAL FROM THE OUTSET SO LIKE... I’M SURE THIS WILL BE REAL FUN :)

maybe my boy will be back tho? silver linings silver linings clinging to some silver linings

[penny-beee]

surprise surprise

Word count: 2.5k

Genre: fluff

Summary: you’re an idol and friends with Monsta X, who happen to move in down the hall from your apartment and your feelings for Wonho become known to him.

I had just finished my stage for the night, my ankles wanting to fall off from my legs, they carried me to my dressing room. My manager Soora stood in the middle of the room, phone in hand, ready to leave.

“Hey, let me change and then we can go.” I spoke, harshly as my voice had been heavily used throughout the long night.

“Alright, you also have a photo shoot at Vogue tomorrow, so I advise sleeping as soon as we get home.” She warned as she left the room so I could change.

I grabbed my overnight bag and took out my distressed boyfriend jeans, black turtleneck sweater and black docs. I slipped into my new clothing and threw my old stuff onto hangers for my people to come collect and wash. I put a white overcoat on my frail shoulders, picking up my purse and heading out of the cold and empty room. Soora was standing earnestly at the end of the hall, the keys to my G-Wagon in one of her palms, smiling I grabbed the keys and told her to follow me. We walked silently to the parking garage, careful of not being caught as it was just her and I walking.

Soora has been by my side since grade three, she was an exchange student from Korea and had been shy to everyone but me. We became friends quickly and have been inseparable since, I followed her to Korea for a change of scenery when I was eighteen, we had gotten our own apartment and she had started working at JYP Ent. while I was working at a school teaching English to children. She came home one day saying JYP wanted a new solo artist and she showed him a video of me singing one night to my parents. Proud of herself she talked me into going to the agency and being signed without any former training. JYP just said “with a voice that good and a talent for the piano, we don’t need training.” And here I am, six years later, driving a maroon wrapped G-Wagon, my own high rise apartment in Gangnam, and my best friend managing me everyday.

Before I could count to ten I had pulled up to my building, the tall glass windows sparkled in the moonlight, one reason I loved coming home so late. I parked in the numbered spot for me, Soora sniffled as she opened her door. We both walked in silence to the elevator, nothing new from us. We knew better than to talk when we were both exhausted from work. A hushed groan came from my lips as we entered the second to top floor. Brown boxes lined a few of the walls, new neighbors?

“Looks like we have new neighbors, wanna go say hi?” Soora offered.

“Why not, I’m sure it’s another old couple.”

Sighing, I grazed over to the opened door. Loud raps came from a speaker I could see on the window seal. A man peaked from around the corner. Ki-hyun?

“Ki-hyun? Why didn’t you tell me you were moving?” I chuckled, walking in now as if I owned his place.

“We’ve been so busy, it’s only Wonho, Minhyuk and I though. The other four are in the apartment underneath us.” He sounded out of breath when he spoke, like he had been running laps on a high school track.

“Oh. Well do you need any help unpack-“

“(Y/n) we gotta get you to bed actually. Remember the early schedule.” Soora chimed in, an awkward chuckle left her lips.

“Ah that’s right, hey, after the photo shoot tomorrow I can come help?”

“Uh, I think so. I think Minhyuk is gonna go to dinner with Jooheon and Hyunwoo, so it’ll be us and Hoseok.” Winking at the end of his dastardly sentence, I softly hit his shoulder. He knew how I felt about Hoseok, even if Hoseok himself didn’t know; it was still embarrassing.

Flashing Ki an ungrateful smile, I turned on my heel and looped my arm into Soos’. Her and I paced to my front door at the end of the hall, I punched in my four digit code and waited for the beeping to stop so the door could unlock. Swinging the wooden brick open, the moon lit up the apartment just perfectly. My wall of windows never kept me unsatisfied, Soora and I had rented the apartment together to save money.

To the left was a spacious kitchen, white marble counter tops with black cabinets sat still. A rice cooker and a fancy espresso machine being the two appliances I used most sat away from each other. A big plant took up the middle of the island, just above the stove top, and diagonal from the bar stools. As we walk in, a big grey sectional gazed out at the big city lights, a white fur rug was squished underneath, adding some texture to the solids. My favorite part was the glass coffee table, three books on Vogue Italia stacked up on the corner. A 60” tv looked down on the watcher, on the slick white wall that was just right of the couch. Down the hall to our left, sat three doors. Sooras room, her bathroom and my bedroom door. My room being to the right, opening up the white plank, a California king mattress laid on the floor in the upper corner, letting me wake up every morning to a beautiful skyline. White sheets thrown around the bed kept it relatable, a few pillows half off the bed. The back walls were all window, a few being able to open so a nice breeze could come in now and again, the two other walls that were pure masonry, held planters and a few family pictures. The wall adjacent from my master bed held a huge 72” tv, and an old white dresser my aunt had given me gave itself a home underneath the massive electronic. The last wall with the planters only kept my master bath and closet. Nothing special, my room smelled of rich perfumes and earthy plants.

I kicked off my Docs and fell onto my custom mattress. ‘Help Hoseok unpack or stay home and pretend to be sick?’ I weighed the options in my head. Hoseok debuted after I did, all of Monsta X did, so I am their sunbae, but I’m also younger, so every time I see Hoseok or Changkyun they’re extremely awkward, like they don’t know how to address me. For Hoseok I think it’s freaking adorable, but for Changkyun I think he’s just teasing me at this point, as he’s always been like an annoying older brother.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and shifted in the sheets to get comfortable. Drifting off into the world of incoherent thoughts and dreams.

The next day had passed slowly, I had been in about four outfits and four makeup looks, ranging from editorial to girl next door. Soora had gone to get me two rolls of kimbap, leaving me alone to do the interview. They questioned me on my techniques and private life, but nothing about who I am as a person, so I have them the most interesting stories and examples I could, in the end gaining their interest in my more.

“We have a deal with a few brands that we want to recommend you to, would you be up for it?” The man asked me, he had put his recorder and notebook away.

“With all due respect, I love making music and I love modeling. But I’m already so busy as it is, and I need to focus on myself at the moment, but if the offer is open at any time I would love to call you when my mind changes.” I politely declined his offer.

As much as I love modeling, I’m not just a pretty face. I have heart and character. The interview had rubbed me the wrong way, as he didn’t care about me personally and only my love life and secrets on music. So I declined.

“Alright, well here’s my card then. The issue will be in this months magazine, we’re gonna try to put you on the cover as well as a few pages for the interview.” He takes a smile and handed me his paper card.

Thanking him contently, I went to the changing room. Soora stood there with her face plastered on her phone. Stuffing her face with out of her kimbaps. “You should’ve taken it.” She sighed.

“Yeah I know but he doesn’t care about me, he cares about the money. So whatever. I’m still selling out arenas of fifty thousand almost every night.” Giggling at my random burst of confidence, I skipped to the bag that held my change of clothes. I pulled out a pair of black Nike joggers and a matching black nike sweater. To counteract I added a pair of maroon Adidas.

“Let’s go, we have to help Ki and Hoseok.” I chanted, grabbing my foil wrapped meal and bags.

“You mean ‘your-seok?” She giggles at me, standing up quickly and slapping my butt.

“Hey! Not funny, I don’t like him that much!” I shouted as I chased after her.

We had arrived at the apartment building and walked up the stairs to the seventeenth floor since we needed to work off the food we had just stuffed into our empty bellies. Again Ki-hyun left the door open, boxes still sat against the blank taupe colored walls.

“Boys?” I called out, Soora had decided to go home and take a nap so I entered alone.

“Hey! (Y/n)-ah.” Hoseok called, rushing over to give me a comforting hug. He smelled of ramen and cologne, not too surprising.

“Hi Seokie. Where’s Kiki?” I asked him, he better not have ditched on purpose.

“Oh he decided to go get food with the boys.” Hoseok gave me a gummy smile, twisting his frame ever so slightly. “He also told me a secret. I apparently have to keep it from you.” He chuckled at his candor.

“What the hell Seok! Why mention it if you can’t tell me?!” I shouted, the one thing I hated more than anything was when people started a sentence and didn’t finish it or said they had something they wanted to tell me but couldn’t. ‘Why bring it up?’

“You’ll see, it’s okay.” He smirked his left eye almost closing at his effort. “Okay, go bring in the boxes that say kitchen. You can organize the kitchen since you have good decorating skills.” He smiled, his hand lingered on my shoulder as he turned to walk away. Something was off about him.

I followed his request and squatted down for the cardboard. Both about twenty-five pounds each, luckily they were stacked on top of each other so I could easily grab them. Few beads of sweat fell down my neck, trailing under my warm sweater. I placed them on his granite island, the boxes coming up about a foot taller than me. Hoseok came out of his room shirtless, a pair of Nike workout shorts only wrapped around his torso, his hair was damp from sweat that had collected as he moved the furniture in his room. He walked with a slight waddle as he made his way to the stainless fridge, grabbing a water bottle he chugged it down.

A soft chuckle left his now damp esophagus. “Don’t stare too much (y/n) your eyes might break.”

Awkwardly, I snapped out of my trance and reached up for the highest box, bringing it down to my height. Two arms surrounded my body, vainy hands perched on the counter, I could feel his chest muscles slightly tensing. “Why didn’t you tell me you find me attractive and/or like me?” He questioned, I was frozen.

Clearing my throat, I gained some of my normal confidence and spun around, now being at an equal level to his chin. I gazed up at his brown orbs. “I’m a busy person.” Was all that came flowing out. ‘What the hell, (y/n)?!’ I internally shouted. Of all things to say, that was all that came out.

“Ah, and you think I’m not?”

“No, I don’t want to start something I can’t finish.” I shrugged halfheartedly, or.. ‘I’m too scared to start something that I know won’t be reciprocated.’ I repeated to myself.

“ What if I want to make it work and finish?” He questioned, a slight pout left his plump lips. His body came closer to mine, pinning me to the counter.

“Hey, I’m sweaty from helping..” I tried to counter argue.

No movement from him. “I don’t care, tell me you don’t want to kiss me right now and I’ll stop and we can pretend nothing happened.” His damn lips were a marketing tactic for a long ride ahead, figuratively and literally. “That’s what I thought.” And his lips met mine, as simple as that. No crazy intricate ‘fireworks’ or cheesy quotes. Just two adults making out in the kitchen.

He pulled away, his hand under my jawline, thumb pressed to my cheek. A kind and shy smile spread upon his cute face. “How long have you kept these feelings from me?” I questioned him, my hands were laid softly on his lower back. Pulling him in more, no space between our vastly different bodies.

“About three months? When you started your latest come back?” When I had come over drunk the night of my MV release and baked cookies all night.. the night I was so trashed I danced to the poppy music I grew up to and baked in his sweatshirt I found lying on the couch. The morning him and Jooheon woke up to me passed out on the couch with a plate of cookies sleeping on my stomach. “I didn’t think I would like you this much, but I’m glad it is being reciprocated. You lying there on my couch in my sweater, chocolate faced and cuddling a plate of sweets. Damn, I couldn’t help it.” He chuckled, stretching the back of his damp neck with his fingertips.

“You ate all those cookies before I even woke up..” I awkwardly laughed at his tender confession.

“Well, would you like to officially go on a date? Or just stand in this position?” He winked, knowing he was shirtless and sweaty, he grabbed my chin between his index finger and thumb and pecked my lips. “Get ready princess, I have an idea.”

And with that, three years later, here I lay, my head in the crook of my now fiancés neck. The morning sun muted from the white curtains that swayed in the breeze. We had gotten a new apartment, not as fancy as the last but definitely bigger. His muscular arms were secured around me, almost protectively so I couldn’t leave him in the middle of the night for water. His light snores and hushed speaking silenced as his eyes opened. Looking down, he saw my gaze and smiled wholeheartedly. Hugging me tighter, we laid engulfed in each other’s realities.